The Graft (41 page)

Willy was listening and nodding as Kerr explained the situation.

‘What do you mean, no one has seen him? Has he left the area? Gone away, got nicked, overdosed? What?’

Tyrell knew all the things that happened to junkies.

‘The last time I saw Justin he was with Sonny, it was a couple of days before he died.’

‘Do you think he knew what Sonny was going to do?’

The boy shrugged. He was dressed in the baggy trousers that were so popular these days. They hung low down on his hips and Tyrell wondered if he knew the fashion came from a prison in America where the majority of the prisoners were black and on Death Row, and where they were not allowed belts in case of suicide so their trousers hung off them.

It was this kind of thing that had sent him mad with Sonny. This was not what they were supposed to be about. He pushed the thoughts aside and lit himself another joint.

‘What - you fucking stupid boy, with your stupid Attica trousers and your stupid fucking talk? Answer me, for fuck’s sake, you think I got all fucking night?’

Kerr didn’t answer, just sat on the sofa staring down at his can of beer.

‘Well, answer me, boy, you a fucking retard or what?’

Tyrell was getting fed up with pussyfooting around everyone, especially these kids. They were adult enough to ruin their lives, why couldn’t they just answer a question?

Willy, though, answered it for Kerr when he said simply, ‘He’s scared, look at him. He’s terrified.’

It was only then that Tyrell realised there were tears dropping from the boy’s chin on to his hands, clasping the can of Red Stripe as if his life depended on it.

 
Billy looked at Tammy as she breezed into the room ready for her outing. Her mobile was glued to her ear and she was wearing the equivalent of the crown jewels if they had been made in Essex. A diamond-encrusted Rolex, Gucci diamond earrings, and at her throat a choker that had cost more than a four-bedroomed detached house. Her hands sparkled with rings, and she was wearing a plain black dress with high-heeled Jimmy Choos.

She didn’t realise just how astonishing she looked. The jewellery ruined the beautifully cut dress, though both men knew it would be pointless telling her that. Nick walked over to his jacket that was lying on the chair and put on his sunglasses for a joke, holding up his arms as if blinded.

‘Fuck me, Tammy, where you going - the Oscars?’

But he knew this was her armour against the world, and in fairness it was a small price to pay to make her happy even if it never lasted longer than it took for the novelty of whatever new toy he bought her to wear off.

She was thrilled by his reaction and it showed.

Billy looked on in amazement at the way they interacted with each other. She kissed her husband goodbye lingeringly while he could have been kissing a maiden aunt. It suddenly occurred to Billy then that Nick was almost sexless. He chatted birds up, talked to them, said all the right things, but no one had ever actually seen him play away. And Tammy was a bit of all right if she shut her trap; he personally had fucked worse over the years. Some right old boilers had danced on his ample hips, and yet here they were, her on her night out - well, day and night out - and wearing enough tom to finance the Cuban economy, and Nick wasn’t even batting an eyelid.

She was also half-drunk and stoned yet he was going to let her drive?

‘You all right driving, Tammy?’ Billy prompted.

She smiled over at him as she answered gaily, ‘I’ve driven while worse than this, mate, but I’ll cab it back.’

She was taking their new Mercedes sports. Would pull up outside the wine bar in it and make her entrance.

Billy didn’t answer her, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t like women drivers at the best of times. The thought of a head on with Tammy Leary did not appeal to him at all.

She left in a cloud of perfume and smiles and Nick rolled his eyes as he said honestly, ‘She is a fucking nightmare. She’s going back to the wine bar where she got arrested yesterday for having a tear up. The tom’s all part of her act.’

He was explaining himself and they both knew it.

‘Now then, where were we?’

Nick was pouring yet more drinks even though Billy still had his from earlier. ‘Not for me, mate, I’m still drinking this one.’

It was said in such a way as to be critical but friendly. Nick had the rushes from the coke and could hear his heart beating in his ears. His hands were shaking and he was consciously trying to act normal. He wished Billy would go so he could sort himself out and see what the fuck his mother was going on about.

He kept looking at his watch. He wanted to get out soon. He had an appointment and was determined to keep it whatever Billy Clarke thought.

 
Hester and her husband Dixon were worried about Angela. She was smiling at the children, and the kids were loving it. Yet in all the years they had been part of her family, Angela had avoided them whenever possible. It wasn’t so much that she was racist as she didn’t believe in mixing the races; no amount of talking could convince her that Dixon was as English as she was.

But for the first time today she was all over them.

It was unexpected, that much was for sure.

Now Nick, he adored them, especially his niece Ria. He was always telling her how beautiful she was, how clever. All three kids adored him as much as he adored them. He was a good mate of Dixon’s as well, and he had helped them over the years although their mother didn’t know that.

Dixon opened a bottle of brandy and poured his mother-in-law a small glass. She looked like she needed it and accepted it gratefully. Tactfully, he then left the two women alone, taking the kids with him to the local park.

When they had gone Angela said, ‘You’ve a lovely home and a lovely family.’

Hester knew how much it had taken her mother to say those words and respected that fact.

‘Why are you here, Mum? What happened with you and Nick?’

‘Nothing happened, I just wanted to see you all. Can’t I see me grandchildren without being interrogated?’

It was said in fun, but they both knew there was no joy in any of it for her.

‘Mum, with respect, you have seen my kids only a dozen times in sixteen years and even then Nick forced them on you.’

The two women stared at one another for a while.

‘You love Nick, don’t you?’

Hester smiled widely, she was so like her father it pained Angela to look at her.

‘ ’Course I do, Mum. He’s been so good to us over the years. He helped Dixon and me get settled, he loves the kids, he is a really good man.’

Angela smiled once more. She wanted to ask her daughter why he never invited them to parties at his house, and why he never invited them to his villa in Spain, but she didn’t.

Why ask the road you know?

It was because of her, and now that knowledge shamed her. She had begged him not to let them into her life and he had loved her so much he had agreed. Keeping his sister in the background, keeping them apart. To make matters worse, she had a sneaky feeling her daughter was aware of all this and, being the good woman she was, kept it to herself for fear of finally severing the tenuous link that kept them together.

‘I’ll ask you once more, Mum. Why are you here? What’s happened with you and Nick?’

Hester knew it had to be catastrophic, nothing less would have brought her here, but she wouldn’t push it too far. Her mother would tell her in her own good time.

Nick was the golden boy, her mother’s baby. She had lived with that all her life and now it didn’t bother her so much. She loved Nick, always had and always would. She knew what he had suffered at their father’s hands and even at the hands of this woman sitting before her now, looking for all the world like the average mother.

She had suffocated her son, uncaring about anyone else in the world and when she had still been drinking heavily she had forced her son to take her side no matter what. It had been awful and she respected what Nick had achieved against all the odds. And the strange thing was this woman had been the cause of most of the trouble and upset, but no one could say that out loud.

She had been the instigator of most of her husband’s spite; she would goad him into his terrible rages and there had been a time when she had been a part of it all. When she would make her husband lash out because of what she would say or do.

Yet Nick still saw her as some kind of saint. For herself all she had ever wanted was her mother’s approval, nothing more and nothing less.

‘Have you rowed with Nick, or fallen out with Tammy?’

Angela shrugged.

‘Nothing, I just needed a change, that’s all. Now stop asking me questions and tell me what’s been happening? Carl was telling me he has taken ten GCSEs. Clever boy him, like his father.’ Angela smiled.

‘Dixon spends a lot of time with them. Carl isn’t naturally the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, this has been hard graft for him and he has worked for it. If he gets good grades we’re going to get him a motorbike. Well, a trail bike anyway.’

Angela nodded.

’And don’t forget little Ria is having her Holy Communion soon. We’re having a party as usual.’

Dixon had become Catholic so they could get married in church. It amazed Angela that this little family were so tight together when she knew money must always have been a problem. Why did you never appreciate the right child? Why did most women always see their children so differently from everyone else in their lives?

Hester saw that her mother was miles away and shook her head sadly. She would not get any answers today.

‘I’ll make a cup of tea, eh? Do you want a sandwich, something to keep you going before dinner?’

Angela smiled then, a real smile.

‘I’ll help you with the dinner, lovey, I like to cook. Which was just as well in Nick’s house - Tammy couldn’t boil a shagging egg but she’d ruin it.’

They both smiled now. The truth was that Tammy could cook, when she bothered, she just didn’t bother any more. Hester couldn’t wait to find out what had happened. If her mother was rowing with Nick it had to be serious. She had stood by him through everything and anything, and it had never been her Nick’s fault.

Angela would tell Hester what had happened in her own time. She had waited this long for a visit from her mother and she was not going to spoil it now.

 
‘So you’ve never had any dealings with Tyrell Hatcher then?’

Nick shook his head.

‘The name doesn’t ring a bell, no.’

Billy lit another cigarette as he wondered what Nick was really saying.

‘He’s my little brother’s best mate. You remember Louis?’

Nick nodded, remembering a tall boy with a nice smile.

‘Yeah. And?’

He was getting belligerent now. He poured himself yet another drink as he said through gritted teeth, ‘I ain’t apologising for what I done, Billy. You get up in the night and you find that little cunt in your house and you tell me you would get his fucking family pedigree before you outed him? Is that what you’re trying to say? I never had you down as a social worker.’

Billy was annoyed.

‘Don’t be silly, you know I don’t mean that.’

Nick laughed.

‘Do I? What am I, a fucking mind reader now?’

Billy Clarke had heard enough. Walking over to where Nick was standing, he said deliberately, ‘You want to lay off the fucking gear, mate. I have seen too many of me mates go down that fucking path. You’re paranoid, you’re acting like a cunt, and you ain’t treating me like one, you hear me? I am here as a friend, I want to sort this out. Tyrell wants to know what brought his boy into your home, that’s all. He don’t hold nothing against you personally.’

‘Is that so, Billy? Big of him.’

Billy closed his eyes and swallowed down his anger.

‘Listen to yourself. Look around you. You have more than most people could ever imagine, Nick, and you are fucking it up by shoving it up your nose. Well, that’s your prerogative, ain’t it? But I think you should see Tyrell because that poor fucker has had to deal with not just the death of his son but the life the poor little bastard had to live with his junkie mother.’

‘Junkie Jude?’

It was said with so much hatred that Billy said quietly, ‘How do you know her then?’

Nick swallowed hard before he said, ‘I read the papers, mate. They’re local, and she is renowned for her lifestyle. It ain’t my fault Hatcher left his son with a piece of shit like her, is it? Maybe he should have looked out for him a bit more, eh? Instead of trying to find out what made him go wrong now, he should have tried to fix it before I had to fucking bash his boy’s head in.’

‘Listen to yourself, Nick. This ain’t Tyrell’s fault. And look how we all turned out. Look at my poor mother - we were nearly the death of her. You can’t always blame the parents. You don’t know how your own boys will turn out yet. There’s lots of different kinds of junkies and you don’t seem to be doing too bad yourself. You’ve snorted the equivalent of Escobar’s pension scheme and I’ve only been here a couple of hours, what the fuck is all that about?’