Annie didn't say anything. The truth of what her daughter had said was evident to anyone who knew the situation, who knew the score. Pat Junior was a hard little fucker and, she for one, was looking forward to when he took back what was theirs; she was sick of making ends meet. She was sick of kowtowing to a wanker like Lenny and she wanted her daughter to have some peace of mind at last. That was something she believed would only come with Lenny's demise and she prayed daily for that to happen.
She sat with her daughter and the sound of the rain drumming against the window panes was loud in the room. Annie loved this daughter of hers and she wanted to protect her in any way that she could. Grasping her hand, she squeezed it tightly as she said quietly, 'Stop worrying, Lil. We'll be all right; the boys will look out for us.'
Lil, laughed then; a low, sad laugh that sounded empty and hollow. 'Oh, Mum. I think I'm pregnant again.'
Annie closed her eyes in distress and annoyance.
'You are joking!'
Lil shook her head sadly. 'I wish I fucking was.'
Annie realised she was being serious and knew that it was true. 'Whose is it then?'
The loudness of her voice, and the anger she could barely disguise, hit a nerve and Lil stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray as she shouted: 'Who are you, Mother, the fucking police? Mind your own business for once.'
Then she saw her mother's face and the realisation of what had happened to her again finally hit home.
'Oh, Mum. What am I going to do?'
Annie stood up and went to put the kettle on. 'Well, you better knock the drink on the head for a start. The child will be born with a fucking hangover and a lighted fag.'
Lil didn't answer her, she just poured herself a large drink and lit another of her endless cigarettes. This was the last thing she needed in her life and, like everything else that had happened to her, there was nothing she could do about it.
Christy and Colleen were playing in the park nearby. It was a cement paradise for the kids who lived around the area. The walls that surrounded the small park were completely covered in graffiti, brightly coloured and deliberately obscure. The people around and about had no idea that the messages meant something to the kids who frequented the area. The police and the parents of the children who used the park had no idea that it had any real meaning whatsoever. They just saw it as a necessary evil, something the kids did because they were bored. It actually meant a lot to the teenagers; it was the writings of the ICF and the inner-city firm gave all its members the information they needed to know about where a fight or a rally would be. Christy and Colleen knew that, even at their young age.
They were on the swings when they heard someone screaming nearby, in one of the high-rise flats. It wasn't unusual to hear screams on this estate; in fact, it was more unusual if there was no noise whatsoever. The park was a place of dangerous proportions; it was a place where anything could happen, and frequently did. Murder was not unheard of and fighting was a daily occurrence. But for the kids it was a place to meet up and chat, listen to music or score anything that took their fancy. Even though Christy and Colleen weren't scoring yet, the dealer knew that at some point in the future they would be. It was how the estate worked, how the black economy survived and how the kids learned how to waste their lives at a very early age.
'Did you hear that, Col?'
Colleen nodded, her open face troubled. This wasn't the usual screaming from a couple who had drunk too much and were fighting. This was a different scream; it had an edge of fear running through it that communicated itself to anyone who heard it. Colleen and Christy saw people coming out of their flats and congregating on their balconies. After a while they all walked down the stairs and the children saw them going towards the refuse area: the underneath of the flats where the big industrial-sized bins were housed. They got up in perfect sync and holding hands, they followed the sounds of the night. There was definitely something exciting going on and they, like the kids following them, wanted first-hand knowledge of whatever had caused the adults to abandon their televisions and come outside their homes into the cold night air.
'All right, Mum. What you doing?'
Lil was ready for work, her hair and make-up were done and her clothes were ironed and much sexier than she would usually bother wearing. The boys had burst into the flat and the evening air swept through the house, making Lil shiver. She really didn't want to go anywhere tonight if she could help it but she needed the money. After her run-in with Lenny she wasn't looking forward to seeing him again in the near future but she knew that was what was going to happen.
She felt her son's lips on her cheek. Pat had always been tactile; kissing her and hugging her. Lance, on the other hand, knew that physical contact with him would make her ill. She smiled slightly at him and bowed her head in a gesture that said she acknowledged his presence. Lance nodded back at her and put the leather shopping bag he was carrying on to the table. Then he opened it up and started removing the money inside it.
Patrick picked up three thousand pounds and gave it to his mother, dropping it in her lap as he said seriously, 'Your days of working for that cunt are long gone, Mother. You do not go back there, right?'
It wasn't a request and Lil knew it. Picking up the money she stared at it for long moments and then she placed it back on the table.
'You been out robbing?'
Her voice was neutral, there was no accusation in it at all. She sounded matter of fact, as if she just wanted to clarify something, which of course she did.
'Mum, of course we've been out robbing. Use your loaf, woman! We are intending to do a lot more robbing in the future and all. So get with it and take the poke and tell Lenny Brewster he can shove his job…'
Lil nodded. She was smiling now and she said loudly, 'Shove his job up his jacksy.'
Patrick grinned again and Lil noticed Lance was smiling as well. She wondered how she had existed with him so near to her; his whole attitude, his stance and even his voice made her want to scream.
She put the money on to her lap and watched as Pat gave Annie a few hundred quid. She saw the old woman's thrilled expression and her relief that she had a few bob in her bin and could have a spend-up in front of her neighbours. Annie Diamond would never change while she had a hole in her arse.
'Thanks, son.' The gratitude was in her voice and in her eyes.
'Lance was with me, Mum, it was a joint effort.'
They were laughing together then and she knew they had smoked some pot; the joint pun was the giveaway. She smiled at Lance and he busied himself getting beers out of the fridge, unable to look her in the eye.
Pat watched them both; he had been observing the way they danced around each other for years and he knew that it would never be any different. They lived under the same roof but they could have been on different planets for all the contact they actually had with one another.
Christopher and Colleen burst through the front door. They were both talking at once and neither was making any sense whatsoever until Patrick eventually hushed them both up.
'What the fuck are you on about? One at a time.'
He pointed at Christopher then. 'Tell us what is going on.'
'There's Old Bill all over the show, all over the flats…'
'What for? What have you heard?' Lance's voice was high. He was frightened and it was apparent to everyone in the room, even the youngsters. Patrick knew his fear was that they had been grassed by someone and that the filth were on their way to arrest them.
Colleen picked up a piece of cake and bit into it before saying, 'They found a baby. A dead baby over in the flats. It was in the bin; someone heard a crying sound but by the time the police and that got there it was dead. Mrs Jones said that it was because someone had emptied their rubbish down the chute and it had landed on the poor thing.'