The Betrayer (28 page)

Johnny nodded. His mother forgot her promises as often as she made them, but what could he do? Unconditional love equalled blackmail in her eyes. He might only be ten years old, but he was old enough to know he was a victim of loving his mum too much.

He returned to the flat fifteen minutes later. ‘’Ere yer go,’ he said, handing her two bottles of cheap plonk.

Susan grabbed him in a bear hug. ‘You’re a good boy for your old mum, ain’t yer?’

Johnny kissed her, picked up his ball and left the flat. Football was his passion, his main reason for getting up in the mornings, and his PE teacher said that he possibly had the talent to play professionally one day. That thought alone gave Johnny hope. If he was rich, he could look after his mum properly. He could buy her a nice house and help her get better.

Johnny played keepy-uppy as he walked towards his nan’s house. Aware of his stomach rumbling, he ran the last part of the way. His nan wouldn’t let him take the key home with him, so he fished around under the plant pot to find it.

‘Your mother and her junkie friends will clean the fuckin’ house out. Leave the key in the garden under the pot, Johnny, and for fuck’s sake, never tell anyone where I leave it.’

Maureen was washing the kitchen floor as the door opened. She put the mop down and hugged her grandson tightly.

‘Are you hungry, darling?’ she asked. She knew that he would be, the poor little sod always was.

Johnny sat himself down. ‘I’m starving, Nan.’

Maureen handed him a glass of orange juice. ‘How do yer fancy eggs, chips and beans?’

Johnny smiled. ‘Can I have a sausage as well?’

‘You can have anything you like, me little china. You’re filthy dirty, you been playing over them fields again?’

Johnny shook his head. ‘I’ve been playing football over the park. The dirt’s from yesterday. I tried to wash it off this morning, but there’s no hot water indoors and Mummy can’t cash her book till tomorrow.’

Ordering him to go upstairs and have a bath, Maureen started on his dinner. The poor little mite had no life with that mother of his and the sadness of it all broke her heart. Many a time she’d asked him to live with her permanently, but he wouldn’t.

‘If I move out, there’s no one to look after Mum,’ he insisted.

Maureen couldn’t force him to live with her. She’d often felt like contacting social services and telling them the truth, and if she could, she would legally adopt him. She always stopped herself from ringing them, though. Say they felt she was too old to have him and took him into care? If that happened, she’d never forgive herself.

Johnny was very mature for a ten year old. His life had never been easy and he’d been forced to grow up fast. Looks wise, he was as handsome as they come. With his light brown skin, chocolate eyes and cropped hair, he looked like a child model.

Obviously things had been very different ten years ago, when the poor little sod had first arrived into the world. The day he was born she remembered like it was yesterday. How could she ever forget it? They’d caused chaos at the hospital, and their family were the talk of the neighbourhood for weeks after.

James had accepted Johnny almost immediately, but it had taken years for everybody else to get over their racist beliefs and change their tune. By that time, people’s attitudes had improved and England was considered to be a multicultural community.

A happy, sunny-natured child, little Johnny was very difficult not to love from the word go. The colour of his skin was hardly his fault and, as he grew into a toddler, his smile would light up a room. Things were very different now. Time had proved a great healer and he was loved by them all, including Ethel, who doted on the child as though he was her own.

Royston had insisted on a paternity test to confirm that he was Johnny’s father. He’d paid child support ever since, but had very little to do with the lad. He lived in Kent now, with a wife and family of his own, and only visited Johnny a couple of times a year. He’d turn up like a bad penny on the lad’s birthday or a couple of days before Christmas.

Susan was a terrible mum from the word go, but somehow couldn’t help herself. She tried to take care of Johnny, but didn’t have it in her. In her eyes, she couldn’t love and look after a child who had lost her everything worthwhile in her life. In her selfish heart, she blamed Johnny for the whole fiasco.

‘If only he’d been born white,’ she’d often say in front of her son.

Her drinking and drug-taking had started when Johnny was only a few weeks old. Getting out of her box was the only way she could cope with losing Kevin. Puff, ecstasy, crack, sleeping pills, cider, vodka, heroin – anything would do, as long as it made her forget.

Over the years it had escalated to a point of no return. She drank daily, from the moment her eyes opened in the morning, until she passed out later in the day. Maureen had done her best to help her over the years, but no one could stop her self-destruction. Twice Maureen had taken her to the doctor and got her on a methadone and alcohol programme. Twice, Susan had started it and failed miserably within days. Maureen had since given up. Susan had far too many junkies and alcoholics hanging around her to be able to straighten herself out.

Her flat was always packed with low-lifes. None of them went to work; instead they spent all day, every day getting out of their heads. Maureen rarely went to her daughter’s home any more. There were always people crashed out on the floor and she found visiting Susan too upsetting. The flat stank to high heaven, it was an absolute shit-hole and to call it filthy was an understatement. She’d cleaned it a few times over the years, gone over it top to bottom but, within weeks, it was the same as before.

It was a tragedy, but Susan was too far gone for any help that Maureen could offer her. Maureen’s only priority now was to take care of Johnny. She was forever buying him clothes, doing washing and ironing for him and making sure he was fed well. He stayed with her most weekends and she’d give her right arm to have him in the week as well.

‘Is my dinner ready yet, Nan?’

Maureen scooped him into her arms and hugged him tightly. ‘Go and sit yourself down in front of the telly and Nanny’ll bring it in to yer.’

As she took in the tray, she heard the front door open and close.

‘It’s only me, Maur,’ she heard Ethel shout.

Poking her head around the door, she smiled at Johnny. ‘How’s my favourite boy today?’

Johnny giggled, ‘I’m fine, Nanny Ethel.’

‘You hungry, Mum?’ Maureen asked.

Ethel nodded. Since Glad had died, she rarely cooked for herself any more. She hated eating alone and much preferred coming over to Maureen’s. It had taken her a long time to get over her best friend’s death. Glad had spent her last couple of weeks in the London Hospital, but up until then Ethel had cared for her at home. Still, she’d done all she could for her and at least the poor old cow hadn’t suffered the humiliation of being carted off to one of them funny farms.

‘Is a drop of lamb stew and apple pie and cream all right?’

Ethel smiled. ‘Sounds handsome. You’re a good girl to me, Maureen, an absolute diamond.’

Less than a mile down the road, Susan was on a come-down. As Tibbsy, Benno and Dave Taylor re-entered her flat, she smiled like a cat that was about to get the cream.

‘What yer got?’ Susan asked, a hint of desperation in her voice. Her last hit had long worn off and she was clucking like a chicken.

Tibbsy pulled a bag of wraps out of his pocket. Up until recently, he’d been just a user, but now he was a dealer as well. He’d been forced to start selling the stuff to support his own ever-increasing habit.

‘I’ve got loads of temazepam eggs and some twenty-quid rocks, Suze. If you ain’t got the readies, you’ll have to give me your book.’

Susan agreed and handed it to him. He regularly gave her stuff on tick and then cashed her social book himself. She went in search of an empty plastic bottle. She usually had them already prepared, but someone banging on the door earlier had sent her and her friend, Bella, into a state of paranoia and they’d slung them out of the window. Finding an old Diet Coke bottle on the landing, she quickly set herself up.

She burnt a hole in the side with a fag, stuck a straw in and put some used chewing gum around the edge, so that no air could escape. On the top of the bottle she put some foil and tightened it with an elastic band. With a needle she pricked some holes in the foil and carefully laid some ash on top. She shook with excitement as Tibbsy put some crack on top of the ash and handed her the lighter. Smiling, she set fire to the rock and inhaled deeply through the straw.

The hit was immense, pure joy, and, as she passed the bottle to Bella, she felt a feeling of total elation. Drugs made all of her problems disappear and Susan couldn’t get enough of them.

Little Johnny spent a happy evening playing cards with his gran and great-gran. Seeing him yawn, Maureen urged him to stay.

‘Don’t go home tonight, darling. You’ve got no school tomorrow, have yer? Stay here with us and Nanny’ll cook you some nice egg and bacon for breakfast, and then tomorrow, I’ll take you out for the day.’

Johnny wanted to stay, but instead shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell Mum I was stayin’ out. She’ll be worried if I don’t go home.’

Maureen glanced at Ethel. Both women knew that Susan wouldn’t give a shit if the boy disappeared for a week.

Maureen stood up. ‘I’ll walk back with yer then, Johnny, it’s dark now and you’re not walkin’ home on your own.’

‘There’s no need Nan, I’ll be fine,’ he said, picking up his ball.

‘No, I’m coming with yer,’ Maureen insisted.

Susan still lived in her old flat, which was less than a ten-minute walk away.

As they stood outside, Maureen smiled at him. ‘I’ll wait down here, Johnny. Wave to me when you open the door, so I know you’re in all right.’

‘Bye, Nan, thanks for me dinner,’ he said, running towards the entrance.

Johnny opened the front door and waved goodbye to Maureen.

‘Mum, I’m home,’ he shouted.

Usually the flat was full of people and noise, but tonight he was greeted by silence. Bounding into the lounge, he saw his mother lying face down on the carpet. She’d obviously been sick, because her hair was matted with vomit.

He crouched down and gently tried to wake her. ‘Mum, it’s me, Johnny. Please wake up, Mum.’

There were three empty cider bottles beside her, a syringe, the funny-coloured things she called eggs and an empty bottle with foil on that she used as a pipe. Spotting the discoloured foil with the brown stuff on it, Johnny started to cry. He hated her smoking the brown stuff and injecting the eggs. She went all goofy and funny afterwards and they often made her sick.

She was too heavy for him to lift, so he propped her head up against the sofa, and went and got a bucket of cold water. There were no cleaning products in the cupboard, so he made do with an old sponge and a bar of soap.

Susan woke up as he was desperately trying to wash her hair. ‘Where am I, Johnny? What yer doin’?’ she slurred.

‘You’re indoors, Mum, you haven’t been well, but don’t worry ’cause I’m here to look after you now.’

‘I wanna go a bed,’ Susan mumbled.

Johnny helped her up and led her towards the bedroom. He sat her on the edge of the bed and did his best to undress her.

‘I’ll tidy up the lounge for you, Mum,’ he said, covering her with the quilt.

He waited until she fell asleep and then started on the cleaning. The room was a tip, but he tidied it up the best he could. He put all the empty cans, bottles and drug evidence into two black sacks and dragged them straight out to the chute. They were too heavy for him to lift, so he asked the next-door neighbour to put them in the chute for him. He then found an old brush and did his best to scrub the sick off the threadbare carpet.

Satisfied he’d done all he could, he put on his pyjamas and got in his mum’s double bed. Usually, she had men sleeping in there and it was nice to have her all to himself for once. Seeing her eyes flicker open, he kissed her on the cheek.

‘Goodnight, God bless, love you Mum.’

TWENTY-NINE

James counted the last of the money. Putting the three piles into separate bags, he handed one to Tommy and one to Freddie.

‘It works out eighteen grand each, boys.’

Tommy and Freddie smiled at one another. Easy pickings was putting it lightly.

It had been Bobby Adams’s idea to get involved in the wonderful world of cannabis. He’d moved to the Costa del Sol in the late eighties and had soon got his foot in the door with the locals. Knowing that armed robberies were now a thing of the past, he’d invited Freddie and Tommy over to have a little chat with him.

The villa he lived in was the bee’s knees, and from the moment the lads had stepped off the plane, they had visions of living the life that Bobby had made for himself. On the third night of their stay, he sat them down next to the swimming pool. Opening a bottle of vintage champagne, he handed them both a glass.

‘I invited you over here because I’ve got a business proposition for you. That game you’re in has had it. You need to ply your trade elsewhere and I’ve got the perfect solution for you. I want to start bringing cannabis into England by boat and I need someone trustworthy to collect it for me. There’ll be two drop-offs a month at a seaside resort on the south coast. The Old Bill there are on my payroll, so you’ll have no grief with them. Once you’ve picked up, you’ll take it to a pal of mine’s warehouse. The people who are buying it will collect from wherever you say. All you’ve got to do is unload the stuff off the boat, arrange and meet the buyers, and collect and look after the money. The profits we’ll split down the middle, fifty–fifty, minus the cost of the drug itself.’

Tommy and Freddie decided within minutes that they were willing to give it a go. That was now three years ago, and since then they’d never looked back.