perhaps. He hoped he’d gotten away with it – respect to the lad. He’d torn straight in to help, even though he was plainly bricking it. As far as Vinnie was concerned that cemented their friendship for ever.
A successful Saturday, all things considered.
Monday arrived and Vinnie went to brick-laying for the first lesson of the week, as per usual. His group – a bunch of six lads he barely knew – were building a wall in the gardens at the back of the centre. The reason why eluded him, because it seemed pretty pointless, other than to give them something useful to do. Well, useful, that was, if building walls was your thing. And the one thing he knew he had no intention doing was spending the rest of his life slapping mortar onto fucking bricks.
The dimwits he was working with were like robots, too. All ‘Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir’ morons. They never even questioned the futility in the exercise. Vinnie sighed and shook his head as he picked up a trowel and a bucket. He’d let these monkeys do the hard graft today, he thought. No point him killing himself when he had no intention of becoming anyone’s labourer. No, Vinnie fancied himself becoming a carpenter. He’d really loved making his bookshelf and had taken real pride in carving intricate patterns into the sides. He had decided there and then that when he was ready to do some honest work, it would be something involving making things from wood.
And on his own – not as part of some brain-dead group of wets. He preferred his own company much better.
He had only been there for 10 minutes when he was summoned to the office. A tall lad of about 17 who he’d never seen before, who looked like he could handle himself, had come to escort him, and after washing his hands in the bucket outside and wiping them on his T-shirt, Vinnie followed him back into the building. The lad didn’t speak so, taking his cue from him, Vinnie kept his mouth shut as well. Ignorant fucker, he thought. Probably thinks I’m scared of him.
They walked down the main corridor, their boots slapping in time on the navy-blue lino, towards the office where Mr Bastion was housed. Vinnie winced as he approached – it was almost automatic. He hoped that he wasn’t going to get the shoe treatment again. His arse was still throbbing from Saturday, the bastards. He glued a grin on his face and pulled his shoulders back a little. He’d not been told what he had been summonsed for, but it didn’t take a brain surgeon to work out that it would almost definitely be about Saturday. So he’d go in smiling and just take what he had coming.
When they got to the door, the big lad knocked and glanced at Vinnie. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done, man,’ he said, ‘but good luck. I think you’re gonna need it.’ Then he smiled and sauntered off, leaving Vinnie to wait to be called in.
Vinnie watched him go while he waited for the door to be opened. Luck? He didn’t need luck. He just needed bravado right now. He was just thinking how much, when Mr Bastion opened the door and, as Vinnie looked inside, all thoughts of going in with a cocky attitude vanished, along with the half-smile he’d stuck on his face.
There were two coppers – that was the first thing he saw, two fucking coppers. Joe with his mum and dad, and … oh, fuck.
‘All right, Mother?’ he said, following Bastion in and trying to swagger, while at the same time trying to compute what the fuck she was doing there.
His mam looked as she always did: completely over the top. A big red coat, with what looked like Tarka the bloody Otter slung round her neck by way of a collar, lipstick the colour of freshly spilled blood and hair the sort of silvery blonde you saw on film stars. She actually looked like one herself, in this dour masculine company, and in any other circumstance he’d be pleased and proud to see her. As it was, the best he could manage was a nervous grin, and even that was forced. She was looking daggers at him.
‘Lovely this, Vinnie, innit it?’ she snapped. ‘Innit?’
She waited just a heartbeat, giving him scant time to answer, before adding, ‘Sally’s here as well. She’s just parking the car up.’
So there was no chance of sweet-talking his way out of this one. Not now. Not now the Queen of fucking Sheba was here.
‘Sit down, Vincent,’ Bastion said, and then, pointing to the coppers, ‘these policeman will be sitting in while we have a bit of a chat, but they will then need to talk to you alone.’
June bristled in her seat. ‘I know the law, love,’ she said, glaring at him. ‘I’m his mother, okay? And I’ll be sitting in any interview.’
One of the coppers nodded to Bastion. ‘That’s fine,’ he said, glancing at Vinnie before smiling at June. ‘We would expect Mrs McKellan to join us.’
There was a single empty chair in the room. Bastion nodded towards it and Vinnie sat down on it, wincing. The next 30 minutes were to shape the rest of his life.
The social worker rushed into the room, puffing and panting, clutching her briefcase. There was a sheen of sweat across her forehead, which sat at odds with the chilly atmosphere in the room.
‘So sorry I’m late,’ Sally said, swivelling as she looked for somewhere to sit down.
‘Up, McKellan!’ Bastion barked. Vinnie duly stood up again and stepped aside for Saggy Tits, who smiled at him with something that looked suspiciously like warmth. Had she been missing him? Now, that would be a turn-up.
‘Thanks, love,’ she said, putting her case on the floor and shrugging off her coat. ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘The traffic was murder on the way down.’
She sat down heavily on the wooden school chair that Bastion had brought in and parked next to June, before throwing a look at Vinnie that, if anything, topped his mother’s. Vinnie tipped his chair back onto two legs and leaned it against the office wall behind him, his mind working overtime now. He eyed up the coppers. These bastards look like they mean business, he thought. He wondered if he was going to get formally charged or something.
‘Sit up straight, boy!’ Bastion barked, making him jump. ‘And for God’s sake, put that ruddy chair straight!’
The headmaster’s face was reddening, Vinnie noticed, in anger and what looked like frustration. Well, it must be frustrating for him, Vinnie thought, having this shit to deal with. Having to have the coppers in his nice, well-behaved, goody-goody school. It was a slightly cheering thought. The police presence would really help Vinnie’s reputation with the lads, even if it did potentially mean a spot of bother. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he said to Bastion, giving him a mocking salute for good measure.
If Bastion wasn’t impressed, his mother was even less so. ‘Stop acting the prat,’ June snapped. ‘You don’t know how much trouble you’re in, lad.’ She glared at Vinnie and then turned to look at Bastion, ‘Now. Are we going to start this meeting or what?’
A couple of minutes droned on and Vinnie found himself soon zoning out as Bastion started to read out some report he had put together – obviously had nothing better to do over the weekend. But as he read, Vinnie started zoning back in again, at first with a kind of pride, but then with an increasing sense that this was turning into a hatchet job. It was a report that was beginning to paint Vinnie out to be the Devil incarnate. A monster who’d viciously attacked poor Joe – poor Joe? What – without any ‘provocation’ or any ‘regard for the consequences’? He read out about Vinnie’s thieving, his poor attitude to learning and conforming, and finally, finally, he got to the point.
‘So we feel that we have no choice,’ he finished, with a tone of regret and exhaustion, ‘but to ask that Vinnie be removed from this establishment, and placed instead somewhere more suitable for his needs.’
What? Thought Vinnie. WHAT? Be removed? What was he on about? There was no way he was going to swallow this shit. The whole point of assaulting Joe had been to give himself a bit of status here – not be shipped off somewhere else altogether. Christ – if