Saturday's Child

‘Rob would beat her to death.' I need to go to the hospital.'

'Rob would hit her, mate. She's scared of him. I've seen her. She's taken a beating.'

'Mr Innes, Cal, I need to go to a hospital.'

I look up at George, find him staring at me. Pleading. I get

to my feet, grab the cricket bat and throw it onto the back seat. 'I can't do that, George.'

'C'mon, it's the least you can do — you broke my fuckin' legs.'

'And you don't know how close I came to killing you, you ungrateful bastard. I wish I'd broken your mouth.’

‘You've got to take me to the hospital.’

‘I'm not taking you anywhere.’

‘I told you everything.’

‘You didn't tell me where he is.’

‘I told you everything.’

‘You think he's gone back to his flat?’

‘I don't know.'

'What'd he say to you after you left me the other night?'

George's head twists like he's been through this and through this and he still can't get a handle on it. 'He said that it was over. He said that there'd be no more trouble from you, and Alison would be happy with that.'

'So he went back to his flat,' I say.

'I told you, I dunno.'

I move towards George and he flinches, tries to pull himself away. I grip his shirt collar and pull hard, drag him screaming to the back seat of the car. I throw the seat back and get behind the wheel, adjusting the rear view so I can get a better look at him. 'Tell you what, George — as soon as I find Stokes, I'll drop you off at A & E.'

He summons up a mouthful of spit and aims it at me. When it connects with my face, I feel fire in my cheeks. I lean over the seat and slap him open-handed. George recoils, his face growing red.

'Don't play gangster with me, son. Else I will finish you off.'

Driving back to Benton is a chore. My arms feel like lead weights, my vision blurred. Sick of the same streets, the same battered faces on the corner. I take a swig of the vodka to keep my blood going and have to tell George to shut up. He's moaning in the back seat that he's not comfortable. I tell him he's just going to have to make do. Life stinks, so hold your nose. At least I've had the decency to promise him a hospital. More than he ever did for me.

George says, 'Why me, man?'

'Why you what?'

'Why'd you come for me?' He stops himself. 'I know, for last night — '

'That's a good enough reason.'

'But it's not the only one, right? You're not just out to do me over.'

'You were the only one I knew I could find in a hurry.'

'Huh,' he says. 'You didn't have to bring the bat with you.'

I look at George in the rear view. 'What the hell else was I supposed to do? You deserved it.'

He falls silent. Tries to move, but falls back against the seat. Now he's propped up against the windows, staring up at the roof of the car. Mud on his face, blood hardening his top lip. He mops at his mouth with the back of his hand, then looks to see if he's still bleeding. Every now and then, he'll glance at something on the floor of the car.

I watch him. I know what he's thinking. If he could only get to the bat, he'd let loose with it on the back of my head. I catch his eye. I wouldn't bother, George. Think about it this way: you use that bat on me, I'll probably black out, right? I black out, I lose control of the car.' I press my foot on the accelerator; the engine roars, momentum pushing me back in my seat. 'I lose control of the car, we're just a twisted heap of metal and bone.'

'I wasn't — '

'Course you were. If I was in your position, I'd be thinking the same thing. Now picture this: I crash the car and, through some miracle, you haven't gone through the windscreen. Maybe you're so limp back there that you come out of it unmarked. We're in the middle of nowhere. How fast d'you think you can run on two broken legs?'

'Mr Innes — '

'Nah, hold up, let me speak. And don't go offering excuses, because you've got priors for making daft mistakes. So listen to me. You even look at that bat again, and I'll fishtail this car all over the sodding road, make things proper uncomfortable for you back there.'

George sighs. It sounds painful. He keeps his eyes on the passing scenery.

'We're going back to Rob's and you're going to sit quiet until I see him. Then when the cavalry's arrived, I'll take you to the fuckin' hospital, alright?'

'I don't even know if he's still there,' says George.

'Why wouldn't he be?'

George shakes his head, sucks his teeth. His eyes are shining. The guy's crying again.

'Look, I'm sorry to do this to you, but you brought it on yourself. You're a bloody idiot.'

'Don't I fuckin' know it,' he says.

I reach across and pull open the glove compartment. My head's throbbing, but I toss the Nurofen into the back seat. 'Here,' I say. 'Get them down you. Should dull the pain for a bit.'

He opens the pack. 'There's only two left.'

'I had a toothache.' I drain the vodka bottle and sling it into the open glove compartment, slam it closed. In the back, George dry-swallows the two pills as I pull the car into Manor Road.

The prescription pills rattle in my pocket, and part of me thinks about tossing a few his way. But then, they're mine. I could have given him something to wash the Nurofen down, but there's no way I'd let him get between me and my booze. I might be feeling slightly sorry for him, but there are limits.

I've already tested a few of my own tonight.

FORTY-NINE

Early morning silence gives you space to think, even if you don't want to. The vodka's slipping away fast, and I have the radio on. John Lee Hooker with a slow, mournful tune that I can't name or make out the lyrics to, reminding me of Donna. I switch the radio station. Another dishrag morning, another half-hearted shower of rain against the windscreen.

Reminds me of the last time I saw Kumar. We were out in the prison allotment, turning over manure which stank worse with the rain and the damp. I was keeping my head down and getting on with it, but Kumar had issues with it all. He should have known better than to act up. The screw watching us looked just like Gary Busey. That should have been a sign.

So Kumar said he wanted a cigarette. The screw said he wasn't allowed, that Kumar'd had his smoke break. Busey also said that if Kumar fancied himself a hard arse about it, he'd end up with that there spade in his spine.

Kumar didn't listen. Kumar ended up in the infirmary. When he got out, he mouthed off that he was going to file a complaint. It was inhumane, he said. He had a shit hot brief who'd make toast of Busey and the whole prison.

We stayed away from him. It was one thing to be a crusader; it was another to be a grass. Yeah, Busey was a guard, but he taught a valuable lesson.

You've got to know who's in charge. And sometimes it takes GBH to make a bloke learn.

I'm not proud of what I did to George. Now that the fuzz has disappeared from my brain, I'm getting snapshots of last night in every hangover-heightened detail. I could have killed him. And if I could have killed him in that state, it makes me wonder what else I've done when I'm drunk. Part of me wishes I could just be an arsehole when I'm pissed like everyone else. Why I get the fear is beyond me. But fuck it; I'll go to confession.

'What'll happen to Rob?' asks George.

He's been quiet since we parked. Now his voice seems back to normal. The Nurofen must have kicked in and he's had the chance to swallow enough spit to kill the rawness in his throat. He's been cadging cigarettes off me. He's got one in his gob right now, smoke waiting out through the front window.

I don't care what happens to Rob,' I say. 'It's not his fault.' I don't care.'