Nicholas was a bit like him really. Yes, his own dad was still alive and kicking, whereas Nicholas’s wasn’t, but Vinnie still felt it was him who had to look out for his mam and sister, and he certainly had an uncle who never thought he’d amount to anything. Actually, scrub that – he had two or three of them.
He touched the spine. He’d left that one for Josie to read while he was gone and she must have put it back again, bless her.
‘Que sera, sera,’ he said out loud, flinging the case onto the bed. It was now a bit lighter – and, without his mam’s gifts, a lot less fragile – but it still caused a mushroom-cloud of dust.
There wasn’t much in the case bar his books and his clothes, but at least the latter were clean. Putting the novels to one side, he pulled out a T-shirt and some jeans from the few items of clothing he possessed. He changed into them quickly, feeling the chill on his bare skin. Even though it was only September, it was an unwelcome reminder of things to come. There would be no more warm pad to return to on winter evenings; he was back to a place with only one source of heat – the fireplace in the living room downstairs.
Dressed and warm again, he hurriedly placed the books back in the bookcase, smiling wryly as he slid each into the space it had created; time really had stood still in here. His few photos went on top, his remaining clothes into the creaking drawers – another wry smile then; he’d have to go back to relying on his mum to wash his laundry. Fat chance! It more likely meant a weekly visit to the bag wash, if he was to have any chance of keeping his things half-decent.
Once changed, he hurried down again, grabbing his Crombie from the newel post, and shrugging it back onto his shoulders. It was as precious to him as his matchstick-modelled caravan was to his mam, and the most expensive piece of clothing he’d ever owned. Camel, rather than the usual black, it hung remarkably well on him, given that his mum had no choice but to guess which size to get. He felt a familiar flicker of guilt for not having written in so long, because he couldn’t have been more excited when the parcel had arrived for him at Redditch. It was the envy of everyone, the coolest thing ever – particularly worn with his ox-blood dealer boots, too. He smoothed it down appreciatively – not bad for a Canterbury lad, eh? – then smiled, realising where the cash had probably come from. Odds on it was the proceeds of a few of those stolen club cheques. Well, he could do worse than get a bit of that kind of action himself. ‘Don’t wait up!’ he called to June as he left.
He wondered about Pete and Brendan as he walked. Would they look different? Would they still have room for him in their lives? He also wondered if they’d got themselves birds while he’d been away. That whole business had been worrying him a bit when he was locked up. They’d both written him letters, quite regularly, too – and now and again had mentioned some girl or other. Vinnie hadn’t had the pleasure of such encounters and it bothered him – he didn’t want to look stupid if his mates decided to talk about shagging and stuff. He decided he’d lie if he had to. Say he’d pulled loads of birds when he’d had weekend leave or something. And if they didn’t believe him? Well, he’d just threaten them with a slap.
Vinnie was looking for lots of things – sex being one of them – but he definitely wasn’t looking for trouble. It might come and find him – probably would, in fact. And if it did, so be it. He would deal with it. But he wasn’t on the hunt for it right now. He was much more interested in settling back into estate life, re-establishing his order in the hierarchy (and in that regard his ‘just-out’ status would definitely be a major asset) and getting a piece of whatever was currently going down. Yes, one day, he’d get a proper job – something with woodworking, perhaps. He really fancied that. But real work – proper grown-up work – that could wait for a while. Right now he had some living to do.
Living and re-connecting, Vinnie thought, particularly with his little sister. He didn’t need reminding how much she had missed him, and as he drew up outside the pub he felt a slight pang of guilt about not hanging around to see her. But only a small one – after so long away, the thought of being looked at and scrutinised and (in his aunties’ case) patted was reason enough to make the Bull his first stop and to first celebrate his return with his mates.
Pete laughed at loud as soon as he saw him. ‘Fucking hell, Vin,’ he said, slapping him across the shoulder. ‘You look like fucking McCloud with that ’tache, mate!’
Vinnie laughed. It was good to see his mates after so long. ‘And you two still look like the ugly cunts I remember,’ he answered. ‘Alright, Brendan? You getting the beers in, kiddo?’
‘Kiddo?’ Brendan snorted. ‘I’ll get the first one for your cheek, but you can’t con me. I know you jail wallahs get a bit of spends to come home with.’
You’re on,’ said Vinnie as they headed up to the bar. It was almost like he’d never been away.
Though there was still a fair bit of catching up to do. No talk of birds, thankfully, but lots of gossip about who’d been up to what and, more importantly, who was on the up and who wasn’t. He’d returned at a pretty low time, what with the miners working to rule and everyone fearful of losing their jobs – that three-day week he’d been hearing about and everything – not that either concept meant much; none of his mates had regular jobs not to go to. It just meant less money around and less stuff to rob.
‘So, what’s going on?’ Vinnie asked his mates as soon as they’d got their second pints in.
‘Not a lot, mate, If I’m honest,’ Brendan told him. ‘Things aren’t great. There’s a scrap yard we’ve been keeping our eye on, but nothing’s concrete yet.’
‘What about your Robbo?’ asked Pete. ‘You’re not already knee deep into his little scam, then?’
‘Gimme a chance,’ Vinnie said. ‘I’ve only been back five fucking minutes! Anyway, what scam? We’re talking the same idiot Robbo? I’m surprised he’s still standing, let alone running a scam. It’s all he can do to tie his own fucking shoelaces, isn’t it? Well, that was the case last I heard.’
‘Same one,’ Pete confirmed. ‘So I’m told. Something to do with Melvin, up by yours.’
‘Melvin? What, Mucky Melvin? You being serious?’
Pete nodded. ‘Yep. And he’s on a right little earner by all accounts.’
Vinnie laughed scornfully. ‘Robbo? Teaming up with old fucking Mucky Mel? Well I knew he was a chancer but getting involved with him? That’s low, even for that prick!’ Vinnie laughed and ordered another pint, while his friends exchanged what looked like an anxious glance.
‘What?’ he said. He didn’t miss much these days. And what he didn’t miss he wanted to know about.
Brendan finished his pint and slid the glass across the bar next to Vinnie’s empty. ‘You got the wrong end of the stick, mate,’ he said. ‘He’s not doing a scam with Mucky Melvin. He’s doing one on him.’
‘Now that makes much more sense,’ he agreed. ‘What’s he got on him?’
Again, he sensed an anxious pause. ‘What?’ he demanded.
‘Listen, mate,’ Brendan said. ‘It’s not for me to say, is it? People talk an’ that, but no one really knows, and that’s the truth. You maybe want to ask your Lyndsey.’
‘So she’s in on it, too, is she?’
‘I dunno, mate,’ Brendan said again. ‘Look, you need to ask her.’
It had been a long time since Vinnie had tasted alcohol and he’d intended to savour it. And he had been, but there was something in Brendan’s tone that took his appetite for beer away suddenly. What was his idiot sister up to now? Prostituting herself for drug money? He wouldn’t put it past her, and he wouldn’t put anything past that moron of a boyfriend of hers either. Perhaps he’d better go see, though, because there was something in Brendan’s tone that wasn’t sitting easily with him. His sister was 26 now. She could do what the fuck she liked. So why the looks?
‘You