The Graft

  For all he knew it was Sonny’s own dad who had started him off on the rocky road. Maybe Tyrell Hatcher was in fact a nonce, but Willy’s shit detector was telling him he was safe. This man did not have an ulterior motive like so many others did, as he knew to his cost.

  In Willy’s case it had been his mum’s boyfriends. All she had ever done was get drunk, and he had had more uncles than a lottery winner on a council estate. He had learned young what to do to stop them hurting him, learned how to keep them sweet and get a few quid from them so at least he would come out of it with something more than a sore arse and a sense of smouldering anger that even he had sense enough to know would one day explode on to an unsuspecting public.

  The thing was a lot of them looked normal. They didn’t look like nonces and they didn’t sound like nonces, which of course was their armour. If he accused them no one believed him, least of all his mother. They would tell her he was just after attention, or else lying because the uncle was about to accuse him of stealing from him, tell his mother how Willy had been found out so now he was saying all these bad things to get them in trouble, make them go away from her even, and his terrified mum would then decide to believe them because it suited her.

  His uncles could give her money aplenty, and drink, and laughter. He couldn’t give her that.

  And then the uncles would wait a while and start it all again, because they knew they were safe, she didn’t believe her little boy, she didn’t want to. She preferred her safe little life with the man and his money so she turned a blind eye to it all. Or rather, a drunken eye.

  He had never felt safe in his life till he had hit the streets. Oh, he knew all the ruses nonces used by then, had had to learn them the hard way. It was how he’d survived. He would rather be in a cold shop doorway than anywhere near his mother’s house. At least anything that happened to him now was because he allowed it to happen, he was in control to a certain extent.

  But it had all left its mark on him and Willy was glad in one way that he had HIV. At least he knew he would be out of it all soon and then nothing would ever bother him again. He was fourteen years old and already he was finished with life and all the people he’d met. But tonight was like a holiday for him. He had a full belly and a few quid and he did not have to use his mouth for anything but talking.

  What a touch!

  He could hear Tyrell moving about in the lounge and carried on checking himself over. He was bad lately, breaking out in rashes and sores. He needed to get to a clinic and get to one soon, but Willy was always frightened that they would involve Social Services. That thought scared him. Knowing his luck they would send him home again. The Terrence Higgins Trust was supposed to be good so he would try them soon. Until then, he was going to get out of the bath and have a nice cold beer and hopefully watch a bit of telly.

  It was strange to feel normal, which was exactly how he felt now.

  Normal.

  This was what Sonny had yearned for all his life, Willy knew that and had empathised with him. But he also knew that Tyrell’s wife was not the most accommodating person in the world. Still, she did not seem to be around tonight so he would do what he had always done, make the most of what he had.

  Wrapping himself in a nice warm towel and sitting on the toilet, Willy started to cry. He was only crying because he was hurting, he was under the weather and sleeping out in the cold had made him ache. He was not crying because he was sad or anything. He told himself that over and over again.

  Nick Leary had left Frankie’s place and driven back to Essex and then, because he was still buzzing, he’d decided to call in at the pub. There was a lock-in as usual and a few of the regulars were in such high spirits they were having piggy-back competitions in the bar.

  His presence made everyone subdued at first. Gary Proctor’s death had caused a stir as he had known it would and no one had as yet had the guts to ask him about it outright. He knew that no one would either, not unless he brought it up first.

  Everyone was scared of him. It had afforded Nick comfort in the past to know that merely raising his voice could send shock waves through his so-called friends; now all it did was depress him. He had finally learned that he actually had no real friends. With his lifestyle they were a luxury he could not afford.

  He had already sent the grassing rumour round though if it had come from any mouth but his it would have been dismissed out of hand.

  So all in all he was set like a jelly.

  Albeit a lonely jelly. But that was the price you paid for his kind of life. He knew none of the people around him would understand about little Frankie, that was a secret he would have to keep. Would kill to keep, in fact. Image was everything in their world and once that image was tarnished it was time to leave the party and go home on your own.

  Nick walked purposefully to the bar where drugs were openly lying around and the drinks were being poured over-generously. He enjoyed the obvious fear of not only his bar staff but the clientele as well.

  Everyone had heard about Tammy’s tear up and he knew it would be a topic of conversation for years to come. Tammy, God love her, was a legend in her own lunchtime. And that was how it should be: she was so over the top she should have been a transvestite by rights.

  But at least it had given everyone a new topic of conversation. Gary’s demise would only be talked about again once when it was time for his funeral. Nick wasn’t going to go, and he would let everyone know he wasn’t going. Grasses didn’t get buried like normal people. They got planted alone, with no fanfare and no interest.

  He was scowling as he looked around the bar and saw all the usual suspects. Turning to his old friend Joey, he said loudly, ‘Have you been fucking repossessed, Joey, and not told no one? Because to my knowledge you ain’t been home for months.’

  He smiled then and sniffed loudly and everyone sighed with relief. If Nick was snorting then it was OK for them to do it too. As if reading everyone’s mind he snorted a line quickly and that set the seal on the night.

  Joey wiped a hand across his face. Even though he was still nervous, he said jokingly, ‘You put the fuck right up me then, Nick.’

  But as he looked into his old friend’s eyes he saw that he was not just drunk and stoned, Nick was at danger level once more. He wanted a fight and he would make sure he got one.

  Joey had not seen him like this for years. This was like the teenage Nick who had fought and scrapped to get to the top. Well, he was at the top now, why did he have to keep ruining it for himself ?

  And what was this with the cocaine? Nick had never really been into all that, hated it in fact because he had never liked not being in control. But lately he was coked out more often than not by eleven in the morning.

  He had always said, ‘If you sell it, leave it alone.’ They had seen too many mates go under through dealing while under the influence. It made you stupid, made you either paranoid or over-generous. It made you forget your priorities, they had seen that with other people over and over again.

  Joey took a deep breath and said as casually as he could, ‘Sid Haulfryn is in here, Nick, popped in to see you like. Wanted your new mobile number but I wasn’t giving it to him.’

  He thought he should tell Nick before anyone else did. Sid and Nick had fought a war on and off for years. One minute they were bosom buddies then a frost would set in over some imagined slight and it was the Cold War all over again. They had been mates as youngsters and still had a funny sort of one upmanship going on between them. When it didn’t get violent it was amusing to watch.

  Both of them were big men and both were into exactly the same things.

  Both of them were arrogant too and unable to admit it when they were wrong.

  Nick grinned.

  ‘Where is he then?’

  He looked around the bar and, catching Sid’s eye, shouted, ‘Who let that cunt in?’

  It was said in a friendly but warning voice, and Sid took it in the manner it was intended. He walked over to Ni
ck.

  Sidney Haulfryn was a big man. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a deep pleasant voice that belied the fact he could fight like Muhammad Ali on speed.

  ‘Hello, mate.’ He held up his arms as if to say, What you going to do about me? His love of flashy jewellery was his undoing, his fingers were always heavy with gold and diamonds. It annoyed Nick who thought that any ostentatious show of wealth without good reason was like giving Lily Law a warrant in your own handwriting. Despite all that he was inordinately pleased to see the other man. He was a good joker was old Sid and so Nick conveniently forgot their usual antagonism.

  He could do with a laugh tonight and, love him or loathe him, Sid was a crack. As his old mum would say, he could make a cat laugh.

  Nick was so genuinely pleased to see him he hugged Sid in a friendly manner, pleasing him no end and also pleasing most of the people in the bar. Because if Nick didn’t like someone then they didn’t like them. It was how it worked in their world and no one knew that better than Sidney Haulfryn.

  Sid had a hidden agenda, of course, and he knew that Nick was sensible enough to realise that.

  Nick waved towards the barmaid.

  ‘Get us a drink, all of us.’

  He grinned.

  ‘Everyone in the fucking place, let’s have a party!’

  The jukebox was turned back up to full volume and everyone relaxed, ready for a good night. As no one had any regular kind of job to go to tomorrow, and as their nefarious business dealings could be done at any time of the day, a night-long party was no problem for any of them. It was all about socialising and being seen to be seen. Plus more deals would be done here tonight than in the City the following morning. It was their world and they all loved it this way. Except Nick who was starting to see it all from a different perspective.

  Sidney Haulfryn was pleased by his welcome. He had wanted to talk to Nick for a while and it looked like this would be a golden opportunity.

  ‘I was talking about you the other day. So fucking funny you are, Sid.’

  Nick was laughing as he said it.

  ‘Here, Nick, you want funny? How about this? You heard the one about the bloke in the sex shop in Soho . . . he wants to buy a blow-up doll. The bloke says, “Do you want a Christian one or a Muslim one?” And the geezer says, “What’s the difference?” And the man says, “The Muslim ones blow themselves up!”’

  Nick started to laugh and didn’t stop. He was literally roaring with laughter and Sid, who knew it had been a funny joke, also knew in his heart that it had not been that funny. He watched in disbelief as Nick started to cry with laughter.

  As the noise grew louder and louder he said gently, ‘Give over, you twonk, it wasn’t that funny!’

  Nick was wiping his eyes now. They were real tears, Sid and Joey realised. Joey looked at Sid and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

  ‘You all right, Nick?’

  Sid was genuinely worried and Nick knew that. It just made him feel even worse than he was already feeling.

  ‘Nah, I ain’t all right, Sid, I ain’t all right at all. I can’t seem to get me head together lately, you know?’ He wiped his eyes and then snorted another line before saying, ‘This whole thing is shit, see? It’s all fucking shit.’

  Tyrell had locked away or nailed down anything that could be stolen. Even though he’d felt bad doing it, he knew you could not trust people who were completely boracic and amoral. He had learned that much from his own son. It was only sensible to remember who he was dealing with here. Lives like Willy’s were a series of dramas and tragedies; he knew that better than anyone, having lived with Jude. But he had taken a liking to the boy, and knew it was because he’d spoken kindly about Sonny, had seen him as a friend, which these days was a touch in itself. Everyone else talked about him as if he was shite.

  Willy came into the lounge. He had changed into a Bob Marley T-shirt and a pair of Sonny’s old jeans. Tyrell had packed them with his things when he had left Sally’s. Sonny had liked to keep his good stuff at their house in case Jude sold it while his back was turned.

  Willy Lomax looked almost respectable now and he knew it. The feeling of clean skin inside clean clothes also made him upset in a funny way. It had been so long since he had had a full belly and a relaxing time that he wondered if he was dreaming it all.

  ‘You look much better than you did earlier.’

  Willy shrugged, his trademark ‘me against the world’ shrug, perfected by the time he was nine. Tyrell grinned.

  ‘Right little hard man, ain’t you?’

  Willy took that as a compliment and for some reason this made Tyrell want to laugh. ‘Sit yourself down, mate. And listen to me - if you try and con me I will be annoyed, do you understand me?’

  Willy looked into this man’s eyes and saw danger. He also saw the kindness and generosity underlying it and smiled easily as he said, ‘Never in a million years. You’re a top geezer, and I am having the time of me life.’

  Tyrell knew that the boy spoke from the heart, and also knew that he would get the truth from this child, no matter how bad it was.

  He had a feeling that it would be bad but had braced himself for that. All he needed now was to hear it.

  Nick and Sid were deep in conversation, and Sid was surprised at what he was hearing. He had heard about all Nick’s troubles and guessed Nick knew that much. But he was being so open and honest about them it was painful to listen to him. This was not the man Sid knew and actually, despite the gossip about them, liked. This man was vulnerable, frightened and depressed. Sid would lay money on that being the correct diagnosis.

  Cocaine was making Nick talk. It wasn’t the usual coke-induced mugbunnying that heralded a large intake of narcotics and alcohol, it was an honest and truthful unloading of his personal demons. It wasn’t the usual line of chat of a well-known hard man, either.

  ‘Look, Nick, you got to let this go, mate. That boy is dead and no matter what happens, or what you say, nothing will bring him back.’

  Nick nodded.

  ‘I know that, Siddy, no one better. But I feel that since it all happened my life has changed, see? I feel like I’m being dogged by bad luck.’

  Sid laughed.

  ‘Tell me about it! Sounds like what happened to me after I married Carol. One cunt of a woman that was.’

  Nick didn’t laugh as he would have done usually. He was deadly earnest and Sid looked once more at Joey who half smiled at him as if to say, See what I mean? There was no doubt Nick Leary was well on the way to a nut farm if he didn’t get himself sorted out soon.

  ‘Have another line, guys. Joey, get a few wraps out of the downstairs safe, eh?’

  He smiled placatingly.

  ‘You just had a line. Have a rest, Nick, for five minutes. Give your nose a chance to recover.’

  It was said in jest but Nick pushed his face close to Joey’s and ordered him: ‘Don’t fucking lecture me! Just go and get the fucking coke.’

  People were watching the little tableau and Joey, red-faced and awkward, rushed to do as he had been told. Sidney could almost feel the man’s embarrassment.

  ‘That was a bit harsh, Nick, weren’t it?’

  Sid kept his voice low so as not to be seen disrespecting him. Nick scowled at everyone around them as he answered.

  ‘Look at them, fucking carrion the lot of them! And see that Joey? He’s the worst. He hangs on to me coat tails and I see him all right for his booze, his poke and his fucking gear . . .’

  But Sid couldn’t hear him talking down about Joey and said as much.

  ‘Joey’s a good mate to you. He’s loyal and he loves you like a brother. You shouldn’t mug him off like that in front of people.’

  Somewhere in Nick’s drug-fuelled brain he knew that Sidney Haulfryn was telling him the truth and a spark of shame washed through him for his own meanness. Joey had kept the building businesses going since Gary’s death, the building work and the clubs. He had helped Nick over so much
and he had indeed mugged him off.

  He broke wind loudly and said drunkenly, ‘You are right, so fucking right.’ He was maudlin now and, taking his arm, Sid walked him through the pub and out into the car park.

  ‘Come on, you need some air.’

  Outside Nick sat on the wall that surrounded the car park and took deep breaths to try to steady his racing heart.

  ‘You need a holiday, Nick, for at least a month. Can’t you fly off to your villa in Spain and try and get your head together? Put the last few months behind you, eh?’