mugs of tea was what most of his regulars liked to do, not to mention ply him with biscuits, like they were fattening up a golden calf; it was a wonder that he wasn’t as fat as one too. Perhaps one day he would be, he thought, if he kept on accepting them.
He leaned down to kiss her whiskery cheek. ‘Always,’ he said. ‘And thanks, Mrs Hanley. I’m ready for this.’ He gave her his best smile – his mam always said he had a way with the pensioners. ‘This is just what I need.’ He leaned a little closer. ‘Here, and don’t tell my mam, but you make a much better cuppa than she does.’
Mrs Hanley gave him a friendly slap on the backside. ‘Cheeky bugger, she’ll have your guts for garters if she hears you saying that. How is she, love? Coping?’
For which, read ‘… with your uncle Nicky,’ Joey thought. Was there anyone who didn’t know about his uncle? ‘Oh you know, plodding on,’ he said, taking a slurp of the tea. ‘Bit stressed at the minute, what with my uncle Nicky staying for a bit – it’s a bit cramped and you know what mam’s like about the house. And he’s not the tidiest of blokes, if you know what I mean.’
Mrs Hanley made a good stab at looking surprised to hear this. ‘Oh, so he’s out of the big house, is he, then?’
Joey nodded. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘Well, I have to say, your nan would be pleased to know that, God rest her soul.’ She made a sign of the cross as she spoke. ‘Terrible business, him being locked up for so long. Terrible. Terrible thing to die knowing your flesh and blood’s banged up …’ She shook her head. ‘God rest her soul,’ she said again. ‘Would have almost been better if she’d gone not knowing, wouldn’t it? If she was going to go, that is, if you get my meaning. She was a fine woman, your nan.’ She made another sign of the cross.
Joey nodded. That was another thing. Everyone seemed to know his nan as well. Bar him, that was. His mam hardly ever said anything about her. Never had. Only that she’d died of cancer, very young, and that for the short time she’d known him, she’d doted on Joey. But the little she had said, she’d always said in that way she had which made it clear that that was all you needed to know. That there wasn’t more to come. She could be tight-lipped, like that, could his mam. ‘Still, he’s out now,’ Mrs Hanley was saying. ‘Has he got any plans?’
Joey decided that ‘getting pissed and seeing men about dogs’ perhaps wasn’t quite the thing. ‘Oh, this and that,’ he said instead. ‘Right now he’s just finding his feet. Anyway, I’d better get on, hadn’t I?’ he added, placing the half-finished mug of tea at the edge of the doorstep. She promptly picked it up. ‘I’ll make you fresh for when you’re done,’ she said.
Not more tea. ‘Honestly,’ he said. ‘There’s no need.’
‘There’s every need,’ Mrs Hanley said firmly. ‘Oh, and one thing, love,’ she added, glancing up and down the street. ‘Word to the wise. You take care around that uncle of yours, okay? Make sure you stay on the straight and narrow. Don’t be led. Between you and me, that uncle Nicky of yours can be a bit of a bugger.’
Something else Joey had heard at least a dozen times before. Mud sticks, he decided. And after all, it was probably fair enough, because his uncle was a convicted murderer. But with mitigating circumstances, as his mum had always told him. A good man who had once, long ago, done a bad thing, by accident. Joey had lived with it so long that it ceased to feel shocking. It was something from the distant past, done and dusted, forgotten. He’d served his time for what he’d done, and was apparently very sorry. What more was to be said? His mam loved Nicky, and his dad loved Nicky. And that was good enough for Joey.
But perhaps, when it came down to it, his uncle Nicky was the problem. For all that they loved him, perhaps his mam and dad were scared that he might lead Joey astray. Not the music. Not Paula. Just his plain old uncle Nicky. Perhaps that was it. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about me, Mrs Hanley,’ he said. ‘I’m good as gold, I am. Pure as the driven snow.’
Mrs Hanley considered him for a moment. Then she winked. ‘Well, whoever she is, make sure you hang on to her,’ she answered. And had gone back in to boil the kettle before Joey had even digested what she’d said.
Then it clicked. I intend to, he thought.
Paula stepped out into the street and gaped. ‘Really, Dad?’ she squeaked, not quite able to believe what she was seeing. ‘You mean I can have it now? Seriously? Oh my God!’
Christmas, it seemed, had come early. After a long lie-in – the band had been rehearsing till late the night before, and she’d lingered a bit, with Joey – she’d come down to find an unlikely silence. Her dad was out somewhere, her younger brothers too, the latter being an extremely rare occurrence for a Saturday morning, as they were usually glued to some rubbish on the TV. And her little sister Louise had been in a decidedly funny mood. Which wasn’t that unusual – Louise had just turned thirteen and become the family diva overnight – but there was definitely something going on in the house that she wasn’t party to.
And now, out in the street, winking diamonds of sunshine at her, was the reason. Parked at the kerb was a beautiful red Mini. Christmas had come very early.
Her dad, Eddie, stood proudly by the open driver’s door.
‘Yes. I just told you. So, come on, lass, don’t just sit there gawping at it,’ he urged, as her brothers tumbled out of the passenger side door.
‘You deserve it, baby,’ her mam said, appearing at her side and shunting her forwards to take a closer look.
‘But I didn’t even know you’d got it,’ she said to her dad, touching the gleaming paintwork. ‘God, Dad, it’s beautiful. It looks brand spanking new!’
‘Well, she’s definitely not that,’ her father told her. ‘She’s a middle-aged lady. Needed a fair bit of TLC to coax her into showing her best side, I can tell you. Bit like your mother.’ He quickly ducked to avoid a whipping with Josie’s furled tea-towel. ‘Inside and out, mind – there’s been a lot going on under that bonnet. Reconditioned engine, new gearbox, new clutch, bit of a paint job.’ He stuck his hands out, which were a mass of cuts and scrapes and bruises. ‘As my poor porkies can testify.’
Paula didn’t doubt it. Her dad was a legend. He could do anything. Make anything. Fix anything. Everything. And he was a fine, fine mechanic. Everyone said so. And had clearly been beavering away in secret for weeks – maybe months. She felt tearful all of a sudden. What had she ever done to deserve a mam and dad like she had? She cleared her throat – she wasn’t a crier – and hoicked a thumb at her youngest brother, Tommy, who was sliding his grubby hands over the bumper. ‘Oi!’ she said. ‘Get your grubby mitts off, Tommo! Out of bounds, you hear? No touching!’
He stuck out his tongue. As did his older brother, Sam.
‘Off inside and make your beds, you two,’ her mam said. ‘And clear your bedroom up while you’re at it. So you like it, love?’ she said to Paula as her brothers thundered back indoors. ‘We’ve been that excited to show it to you.’
‘It’s just –’ she was struck dumb again. ‘It’s just incredible, Mam. I can’t believe it’s really mine. It’s so – so pretty.’
‘Just like you,’ her dad chuckled. ‘Anyway, now you’re so famous, me and your mam felt you ought to have the car to go with it. Besides, no point leaving it mouldering in the lock-up for six months, is there? All the gadding about you do these days – or rather nights – you need your own set of wheels, don’t you? Just don’t be drink-driving, okay? Not even one. I know what it’s like when you’re doing shows in pubs. All too easy to get caught up when everyone else is drinking, and –’
‘Gigs, Dad,’