The Graft (40 page)

 
Tyrell walked slowly around the station, watching Kerr as he did his rounds. He saw him slipping packages into small grubby hands and chatting to other boys. Waiting his chance, he followed at a distance until the boy walked out of the station and around the corner.

As Kerr looked round to check for traffic, Tyrell grabbed him firmly by the top of his arm. Squeezing him tightly, enough to hurt but not to mark, he whispered, ‘You walk with me, Kerr, and if you try anything I will punch your fucking lights out, you hearing what I am saying, boy?’

Kerr looked up into the man’s face. He was frightened and it showed. It was only then at such close quarters that Tyrell saw how young this boy was. Distance and his height made him look a lot older.

‘Who are you, man? What you want with me?’

‘I am Sonny Hatcher’s dad, Kerr, and I want a little chat with you.’

The boy stopped struggling then and walked sedately beside him back to where the car was parked. But Tyrell still kept a tight grip because he knew now that you could not trust anyone.

Anyone at all. Even those closest to you.

Chapter Twenty

Tammy didn’t even realise that her mother-in-law had left the house, she was too busy getting ready to go out. In her heart of hearts she was embarrassed by the events of the day before and, being Tammy, had decided to get all her cronies together again and front it all out.

Every time she thought about that fight she flushed with shame. This had happened to her a lot over the years. She would wake up the day after a big tear up, think about what had happened and want to die there and then in her bed, always vowing it would be the last time she drank or drugged.

Now she would have to go back to the wine bar, make her apologies by ordering the most expensive wines and murmuring a few noises that sounded contrite, and then it would all be over and she could get back to normal.

No way would she be barred, they wouldn’t dare, but she felt she should make all the appropriate moves for appearance’s sake. That was the upside to being married to Nick Leary: no matter what she said or did it was quickly forgiven. Nick’s name got her whatever she wanted, and a lot of the time whoever she wanted.

She would go out looking like she was too expensive for everyone around her, which in truth she was. The jewellery too was part of her armour against the rest of the world, like the cars and the house.

She opened her jewellery box and saw the array of diamond rings, bracelets and watches. There was not a piece of designer bling she did not own. Yet it meant nothing to her. She remembered back to when she was first with Nick, when he had still loved and wanted her, and the little diamond ring he had bought her with his wages off Romford market.

It was a diamond chip really, but it had meant they were engaged.

Her mother had got out a magnifying glass to look at it, for a laugh, but it had not been funny and Tammy remembered Nick’s face then. He had been angry and embarrassed because at the time it had cost and meant so much it wasn’t right to mock it. ‘So much’ meant something very different today. She had everything a woman could want, materially at least. Yet she wasn’t happy, and knew in her heart she never would be happy, not in the way other people were, and now she was at a stage where even
things
didn’t make her happy any more.

At least not for long anyway.

The next ring she’d been given had indeed been a rock, and she still had it, still wore it in fact, even though she could never insure it because it had been kited. She’d had the satisfaction then of seeing envy in her mother’s eyes at the life she was getting for herself. Her mother had resented the houses, the cars, and Tammy’s whole way of life, and somehow her resentment had made it all worthwhile.

So how was it, all these years later, that her mother ran a poxy little bar in Marbella with her toy boy and Tammy now envied
her
? At least her mother was getting a regular rogering, but then so was she, except hers was no longer coming from the man she’d expected it to come from. From the man she loved. The man she had married. In fact, she often wished Nick was a womaniser like her friends’ husbands. That would at least have been a normal worry, something she could have coped with.

She put the TV on and looked on her Sky Plus for the
Will and Grace
she had taped. She loved them and their humour, liked their uncomplicated world. She could watch the same episode over and over again, and Nick, though he moaned, loved the programme as well.

She often fantasised about living like they did on American TV where everything was always neatly resolved and fun, and they all dressed phenomenally well and had great apartments and enjoyed their lives. They ate huge amounts of food too and never put on weight. It was the business as far as she was concerned.

If only Tammy’s problems could be solved in half an hour with a few great one-liners and a laugh, how much easier life would be.

Well, she had the one-liners, but unfortunately they were of the narcotic kind.

She could hear the low rumble of her husband talking downstairs and smiled. Billy Boy was all right, she liked him, and he had been pretty good in the kip if she remembered rightly. Tammy smiled slightly at the memory. He’d been into oral sex. Well, so had she. It had been quite memorable in its own little way.

Then she immersed herself in the programme as she applied too much make-up and snorted too much cocaine. Looking in the mirror without the usual smile she displayed to the world Tammy saw the signs of ageing: the deep grooves by the side of her mouth caused by her discontent and the crow’s feet that looked more like vulture’s feet to her at the moment. She forced the smile she knew would banish the look and maybe convince herself and her world that she was happy for a little longer at least.

Going to the fridge integrated into her wardrobe, she poured herself a shot of vodka. Knocking it back, she quickly poured another.

Was this always to be her life now she wondered. Then she laughed. The coke was getting to her, she could feel the buzz and along with the buzz she could feel the idea of taking a long holiday coming over her, and had a hunch she would be going on it alone.

Suddenly she didn’t want Nick cramping her style, depressing her, and their villa in Marbella was empty. They hardly went there now. It had been a retreat for her and the boys once, but the boys got on her nerves when Nick wasn’t around because he had always been the one to keep them amused. For some reason her own kids got on top of her. They wanted more than she was willing to give, and if Angela had really gone on the trot then what was she supposed to do when the holidays came round again? The nanny was fucking useless in most respects. James especially walked all over her. They couldn’t stay at school all the time though, could they? She would have to look into it. They seemed settled enough there and she really didn’t have the energy for them any more.

She would use the excuse that her nerves were still in tatters after the terrible event, when in reality she never gave that boy more than a fleeting thought. But it really was time for a change of scene.

She was always running away from her problems, and they were always problems she had caused for herself, and as Nick tried to point out it didn’t matter where she ran or how far because
she
would still be there.

But she was going to learn to look out for herself more. That was her trouble, she was always looking out for everyone else. It was time she started to be selfish, time she started looking after
number one
.

Now Tammy had made her decision she felt better inside. It was about time she put herself first.

Happy now, she planned her holiday, conveniently forgetting her sons and her life in England. And the worst of it all was she was actually starting to believe what she’d told herself. Even in her worst drug-induced fantasies she had never gone that far before.

 
Kerr was in the flat with Tyrell and Willy. He had been so glad to see Willy at the Cross that somehow it had eased the fear inside him.

As they had left the station a man had approached them and Tyrell Hatcher had growled at him and seen him off like a Rottweiler. The look on his face as he had cursed at the nonce made him seem a different man from the one he was now. Kerr envied Sonny for having had him as a father, a role model, though it hadn’t saved him in the end.

Tyrell Hatcher seemed like a good man. Now as he gave them both beers and smiled at them with his expensive white teeth, Kerr felt himself starting to relax.

He was still flying, and Tyrell guessed that fact.

The boy had the sunken eyes of an addict. They looked so deep and so beautiful, when in fact it was just the result of the heroin he’d taken. It was what made people trust addicts, those eyes, until they got to know them properly and realised that it was the drug that made them look like that, nothing to do with their own personality.

‘You coming down yet?’

The boy nodded, ashamed to admit he was an addict.

‘You got more?’

He nodded again, looking at Willy who shook his head to assure him Tyrell wasn’t after anything.

If the four-minute warning went off this boy and all his kind would just make sure they had a fix in case they survived it. In a way Tyrell envied them. Everyday worries did not intrude on their lives like they did on everyone else’s.

He said sternly, ‘You want to fix, you go for it, but you don’t get so blasted you can’t talk to me, right?’ He was pointing at the boy with one finger, warning him he knew all the dodges. Tyrell had been there and done that with Jude. He knew his case and he wanted the boy to understand that. Junkies were born liars, they lied about everything, it was second nature to them.

‘You try and bullshit me and I’ll give you the biggest clump of your fucking life, right?’ He poked his dreadlocked head into the boy’s face to bring home his point. ‘I am talking massive hurt, do you understand me?’

The boy nodded once more. He believed him and that was all Tyrell was interested in. With addicts you had to be a greater force than their drugs; if you achieved that you were halfway home.

Willy patted the seat on the sofa next to him and Kerr sat down there gently, as if he was frightened to make a noise. Willy understood that. He knew it was a long time since this boy had been in a straight place where there was food in the fridge and a TV that worked. Where you were not terrified by every knock on the door or any new faces. He had felt the same himself.

He wanted to tell Kerr to relax and everything would be OK, but he couldn’t, Tyrell had taken on the mantle of the man in charge and so he should. It was after all his drum. Willy had no intention of fucking things up for himself. He was hoping for a few more nights in a place where he could read in peace and a man didn’t want
anything
from him.

Kerr sipped at his can of Red Stripe. He was pleased the man had given it to him, it was a friendly gesture even though he could see Tyrell was obviously used to getting his own way. Sonny had talked about his dad a lot and Kerr saw that he had actually underplayed his father, unlike most of his acquaintances who boasted endlessly about their backgrounds, good or bad. Kerr had liked Sonny Hatcher and no one had thought he would die the way he had, but how was he supposed to explain that to the boy’s dad?

Kerr decided it was up to him to take some kind of control so he said quickly and nervously, ‘What are you after, man?’

Tyrell was still getting over his amazement at this boy’s youth. He was big for his age and from a distance looked older, intimidating even. Close up you could see the youth shining out of him. But the boy still had the look of a junkie, that nervousness and furtiveness.

Tyrell knew the boy had priced up everything in his flat as a matter of course and was filing it away for future reference because that was what addicts did. They always had their mind on the future, and the future for them consisted of getting money in whatever way they could. They did not care who they trampled on in the process.

Was that how poor Sonny had ended up in Nick Leary’s house?

Tyrell took a deep drink from his can of Red Stripe and said coldly, ‘Where’s this Justin then?’

He did not bother with any preliminaries, dwelling on Sonny’s death. He knew the best way to keep this boy in place was to fire questions at him and not give him any time to think about the answers.

‘Who wants to know?’

It was said with bravado. Before Tyrell could answer, Willy said simply, ‘Tell him, Kerr. Just for once do something that’s right, eh?’

His words carried more weight than all the punches or threats in the world, and both Kerr and Tyrell were aware of that fact. But Kerr shrugged as if he had no idea what Willy was talking about.

‘No one ’as seen him for a long time.’

Kerr had the English black boy talk, he said ‘arks’ instead of ask, and ‘behint’ instead of behind. It was an accent that irritated Tyrell who was a real Jamaican Englishman. He wondered if boys like this even knew Jamaica was part of the British Commonwealth. He doubted it very much. This boy had no passport, British, European or otherwise. But how the fuck did he think his family got over here in the first place? Tyrell knew it was unfair to be angry with him but he couldn’t help it.