Wreckage (16 page)

I fear for him, I do, I fear for his life on this earth and his soul in the next. So many holes for us to fall into and most of us can never get back out again. He’s broken my heart, that child of mine. Honest to God he has.

One moment I’ll always remember till me dying day; he came back from the school one day when he was about ten and I asked him how it went and d’you know what he said? ‘How was your day, son?’ I asked
and
d’you want to know what he answered? ‘Boring an pointless, Mum,’
that’s
what he said. About ten years old he was. And the thing is, he probably really
had
gone into school that day cos, if only for three words, he was articulate and he could express his feelings without shouting or breakin things. An I got a glimpse of the boy he could be, just for that one moment … of an energy inside him that, with help, might’ve been steered towards something positive. But then the next day the Truant Officer brought him home an that was thee end of that. I’ve never seen that potential a second time from him. Not even a glimpse.

But he’s my lad an he’s unhappy an he’s breaking my heart, he really is. I don’t know what to do. Big black holes are waitin for him an I don’t know how to keep him away from them, he’s gonner fall in. Maybe he fell in ages ago. Them Maguires are bastards, just smaller versions of Bush and Blair an bin Laden and that Thatcher one. There’s no difference – all of them, thee all target innocence. Why does He let this happen?

Father Donaghy. I’m goin round to see Father Donaghy an I’m gonner ask him why he thinks God lets innocence be destroyed. An I’m not gonner leave til he’s given me a satisfactory answer an then I’m gonner ask him how I can defend meself before Him an then I’m gonner ask him what’s gonner happen to that big picture of New York in the Holiday Inn foyer, the one I have to polish every day, the one with them big buildings that don’t exist any more, the one with the hidden hole. Cos all these things need answers, an I can’t do it by meself, can I? No. No one can. Daft to even think otherwise.

ALASTAIR

Where where where where where

WHERE

Ow to find two neds in a city fuller fuckin neds when every second ned looks like the neds I’m after …

where the friggin hell

needle in a fuckin haystack, lar, no lie, no mess … how’m I supposed to find em … little twats could be friggin anywhere …

But:

Find em. Then money. Then return. Then laugh at Darren freakin fuckin out cos he’s back to square fuckin one.
Then:

Then

?

Worry about it
then
… just now do what yer know yer’ve gorrer fuckin do … deal with this, man … sort it fuckin out …

First time in yer life man this this this this
thing
… what is it … just avin this fuckin
thing
to do … nowt else just this
thing
to do …

… ow me ed … pure
bangin
man …

but this
thing
this
thing
I’ve got this
thing

d’yeh know wharrit is I’m … I’m what …

what if she’s dead? Thee ahl queen that cunt hit with thee ammer, what if she’s carked it? What then?

I

don’t fuckin know

just know that this
thing

I’ve

got this
thing

got this
thing
to do.

DARREN

I’m norra bad guy. No way. Know some people think I am, like, but I’m norra bad guy
rerly
. I’ve just adter do bad things sometimes, to defend meself an get what’s mine by rights, like, an live the way I wanner live I’ve sometimes adter do some bad things.

But I’ve never wasted anyone as far as I know but if what I’m suspectin terns out to be true then that Alastair one is dead. Pure fuckin
dead
, lar. No lie. Cunt’s a corpse.

Only one werd for this shit:
BETRAYAL.
Sums it up, that one werd. No two ways about it, lar, that Ally is one betrayin twat an that’s that.

Gorra keep calm, tho. Just calm it down, like, think it through. Lose it an yer’ll get nowt done, end up locked up an that Judas cunt’ll be walkin around laughin. That
cunt
. Laughin. Fuckin laughin at me walkin round with his swag an I was gunner buy me ma a prezzie with that swag cos thee ahl queen’s been on a lowey lately about summin, just dead sad aller time like, an I was gunner buy her a prezzie to cheer her up a bit like, but that twat Alastair has fucked all this he’s

all me fuckin plans, man – fucked over – battered – smashed in bits this ain’t fuckin right it ain’t fuckin
right

betrayal

Thee. Werst.
Thing
yeh could ever do to anyone is stab em inner back like this, graft with em an then
nick
all the swag. Like that gobshite Colm who did the runner with Joey’s droogs, meant to be livin somewhere in Wales now. Or that Belfast musher Gillespie who T managed to track down an is now fertilisin a field on the Wirral somewhere an that’s gunner happen to that Alastair that thievin bastard that Judas that fuckin

calm down yerself

don’t lose it lad keep it togeth

BETRAYALBETRAYALBETRAYALBE-TRAYALBETRAYALBETRAYAL

shame and

some fuckin shame

he’s fuckin well
dead
, man. I kid you not that twat is
dead
.

JAPANESE TOURIST

Ai!

OLD LADY

Gah! Me ankle! Jesus Mary Mother an Joseph God an all the saints me ankle!

LENNY REECE

Surprised at Tommy I yam, see. Never seen him this upset I haven’t an I’m surprised cos
he’s
surprised; I mean, could he not have seen this coming? Didn’t he
know
that at some point a feller like Darren would rip him off? It’s happened before, many times, so why’s he gettin so hot an bothered
this
time? It’s not because
Darren
’s a slimy stoat scally who yew carn trust as far as yew can throw him but simply because yew carn trust
anybody
, an I’m shocked that T doesn’t seem to know that. I mean, that’s why I entered this game in the first place, see, cos I knew from an early age that the world was all dog eat dog, all betrayal, all survival of the fittest like, an looking arfter number one so what was-a point then of joining it? That’s what I asked myself; why join-a workforce, like, the rat race, when with the right kind-a backing an-a gun I could make a life for meself in whatever way I wanted to? Which is why I’m
yur
, now, having me ear barked off by Tommy on-a mobile:

—I mean it’s the fuckin lack of trust that herts, Len, know wharram sayin? I mean I gave them blerts a cushy number to keep em sweet, like, a jaunt inter Wales, piecer piss, fuckin day out rerly, likes, an I find out thee’ve binned the fuckin motor I gave em an screwed a fuckin postie without tellin me. Without even friggin
askin
me, likes. Just went n did it off theer own backs an thee weren’t even gunna give yours truly a cut, weren’t even gunna fuckin
tell
me about it. Believe this shit, Len? Can’t fuckin
believe
it, me, no lie. Notten down for cunts like that, is thee? Notten fuckin
down
for them, lar.

I make a tutting noise. —Shockin, Tommy. What’s wrong with these people, eh?

—You
know
it, man. Summin’s gone dead wrong somewhere along the line, like, too fuckin right. I mean, didn’t I always treat em proper? Avn’t I always fuckin done
well
by em? An
this
is how thee pay me back. Bein taken for a cunt, I am, Lenny. Tellin yeh,
these
little gets don’t half need a lesson in fuckin manners, like. No –

Lie
. —T, I’m entering the underground now, see, so me mobile’s about to go dead. What do you want me to do, here?

—Well I want yeh to fuckin well. You in a
bar
, lad?

—No, no, I told yew, I’m at James Street underground. Tell me what yew need me to do, mun, an I can get straight on it.

He tells me to find Darren. Find Darren! In a city that contains a hundred bloody thousand Darrens!

—Will do that, Tommy. Carn promise anything, like, but I’ll do me very best.

—Aye an when yeh do yeh bring the cunt here an am gunner fuckin –

—Signal’s gone, Tommy. Yewer breaking up. Later.

I close my phone and put it back in me pocket an gesture at-a barmaid for another pint-a dark. As she’s pourin it she asks me where I’m from an I tell her an she tells me that her mother’s from-a same area.

—Oh aye? So yur’s some Welsh in yew, then?

She nods. I smile. Wonder if she wants any more.

Chat to her for a bit then she goes off to serve somebody else, a Taylor clone; tracksuit tucked into-a socks, all-a sovereign rings. Never goin-a find him around yur, am I? Might as well look for a specific pigeon; thousands-a them too an they all look exactly-a bleedin same as well. Altho Tommy did say that Darren’s been given a dig by them two other scallies who came round to see him, trying-a set up some sort-a coke deal, so Darren’ll probably have a few bruises or somethin, providin ey were tellin-a trewth which of course is
doubtful
in itself. Yur’s no honesty in people any more, if yur ever was; lying, deception, it’s a condition of existence now, see. It was a shock at first like, cos, bein brought up in-a countryside like, yur is no lying; everythin an everyone is just out-an-out brutal. No sneakin around or games-playin like, it’s just eat or be eaten, all out in-a open, see, not hidden. But yew get used to people bein sneaky an it doesn’t take long before yew realise to look
under
an
behind
what people’re tellin yew, cos on-a surface, it’s never-a trewth. An why Tommy’s all upset by that revelation baffles me, mun. I mean has he always trusted Darren? Has he never entertained-a notion that Darren or someone else just like him would rip him off, first chance he got? This might mean, shockin as it may seem like, this might mean that Tommy, even, has somethin inside him that’s offended by human snakey-ness. Or no, forget that, mun; all it means is that Tommy needs a sense of what, indignation, he
needs
to feel righteously insulted so that when he gets out-a pliers or-a Stanley knife he can feel justified. Morally vindicated, see.
That’s
what it’s called.

Jeez, these papal pagans and eyr twisted, twisted morality. An yur’s me among em with my own Methodist jihad. Next time yur’s a home game at Anfield or Goodison I’ll hijack the sky-camera blimp an float it into Paddy’s wigwam. Just float it on to-a spikes, all gentle. No one’d be hurt an even I, suicide hijacker, would probably get out safe n sound if I climbed careful down-a fireman’s ladder.
That’s
-a way to do it. See, Osama? No need to cause all that pandemonium, is there, now? Just make a bit of a fool-a yewerself, that’s all it takes. The futile gesture, mun – us boyos are used
to
that, see. An that’s all everything is, in-a end, innit?

I finish me pint an leave-a pub, turn left up towards-a city proper. Now where is a nasty piece-a dark-hearted work like Darren Taylor likely to be? Pub, crackhouse, brothel, church … that’s narrowed it down to several bleedin thousand, that’s all. But I’ll find him, I
know
I will; the sun’s beamin down on me today, I can
feel
it, mun, even through-a drizzle. Luck’s name is Leonard. But first:
food
. I can smell onions. Yur’s one-a them burger kiosks round-a corner, if I remember right. That’ll do for me, mun.

ALASTAIR, HIS GRANDMOTHER KATE

One of those men those men with the wounds those blasted children arms gone legs gone minds gone no hope for them no hope

dim gobaith dim gobaith

I cleaned them

I washed them

Helped them cope those poor ruined men

Back to

Nain

Nain?

Who’s there?

eira

eira

mynyddoedd

Alastair my grandson is that you?

My lost child is that you?

Are you

here I

Alastair?

I cannot hear you my boy

I cannot hear you

through this

hiraeth

in me it kills me it hurts me it is destroying me

hiraeth

Alastair are you here to wash my wounds to rub cream into my inflamed stumps to help me help me sing again remember like I helped you no you were

in
this
war

dros y mor

My children
all
my children floating drifting
cut
from me

You leave

you have gone

You

mynyddoedd

they burst in my head

eira ar Eryri

it’s falling in my breast

ANGEN

No pain at last