Saturday's Child

'Fuck are you talking about?'

'Your man in the black leather jacket. Didn't occur to me until now, really. The guy who took a knife to the tyres of my car, updated the paint job with a spray can. The fucker who replaced that scally who tried to tail me in Manchester.'

Mo hangs up. Something I said? And it's the only con- firmation I need. There was a moment there when I thought I was going nuts, but it's all falling into place now. Morris tells Mo he can't take care of this — either because the lad's a psycho or a fuck-up or because deep down Morris knows that Mo's been keeping it in the family — and Mo, being the tenacious cunt he is, he decides to have me followed. When it looks like I'm straying from the job, looking for Alison, he gets his thug to slice up my car.

And perhaps that would have scared me off before. But the past couple of days have made me stupid, hard. I look at myself in the rear view. Well, not that hard — my face is still black and blue. I stretch out in my seat, pull it back a few notches and stick Johnny Cash in the tape deck. One of the later songs, when it sounded like he'd been gargling with gravel. A man going round, taking names.

My muscles start to relax, my back isn't pinching me like it has been. A couple of clicks in the knee, and my tongue roams the empty socket where my tooth used to be. Thanks for that, Rob. I owe you one.

I'll stay here until Mo turns up. It's that last loose end I need to tie up. I need to see Alison taken home. I don't want to leave and have to come back up here again. This city's given me enough gyp the past couple of days and I don't want any reason to come back here. I'm a Manchester lad through and through. There's something about Newcastle that stinks of failure and mental deficiency. Case in point, the last good band to come out of Newcastle was The Animals, and that was over forty fucking years ago. It didn't get any better than that.

Donna's still up here, though. And she's been in the back of my head since I met her. Part of me wants to call her now, but it's too early. That same part wants to make amends for the way we left things. But then, that part of me is too romantic for its own good. I'm told she looked at me in a different way, like she didn't care I was an ex-con, like she actually cared about what happened to me, like I was actually one of the good guys.

But that's all speculation. It's all reading between the lines, two and two making five.

I might call her, I might not. We'll see how it goes. There are things about me I haven't told her, and those things aren't the easiest to bring up in polite conversation. I don't even know if I can talk about them yet. When I got out, word had already spread. Declan looked at me differently, like I was the type to give up his dignity. Like I was the type to take anything as long as it led to an easy life. This coming from a junkie grass. You know you've hit rock bottom when they start looking at you like you're something they stepped in.

But Declan knew that if it hadn't been me, it would've been him. And he wouldn't have lasted five seconds. Dec was a bigger coward than me back then, which is saying something.

When my dad took his hand to the pair of us, Declan was the first to bolt from the house. When he moved to Manchester, he left me to fend for myself and didn't think twice about it.

He once said to me, 'Cal, I couldn't take it, man. One more day and I would've topped myself.'

My dad's voice was full of thick spit. He sounded like he had a cold when he drank and he drank most of the time. Once the strike of'84 was over with, he refused to work. The unions were gone, he said, and there was no such thing as an honest wage anymore. Everything was poisoned, but it didn't stop him sending me and my brother out to work. He'd pour that cash down his neck and take the back of a hairbrush to our faces if we brought it up. Mam knew, but she didn't show it. She couldn't do anything to stop my dad, so what was the point of dwelling on something she couldn't change? She just pretended it never happened.

Then Dad got stupid. His vision blurred one too many times. He didn't realise I was bigger than him.

'Innes.'

So I knocked the fucker out. My first punch thrown in anger. Hit him hard with my left, broke two fingers doing it. And that pain, that burning, grinding pain of shattered bone on bone, it was fucking worth it. 'Innes.'

I watched him hit the floor. Watched the blood spill out from his mouth. Watched his eyes roll up into the back of head and thought, Oh fuck, I just killed my dad.

A smack on the window jars me awake. My eyes snap open, a whole world of light going through me like electricity. The tape's stopped. I don't know where I am.

Another smack on the window. 'Innes!'

It's Mo.

And through the haze, I think I can make out Alison Tiernan screaming.

FIFTY-THREE

So this were how it panned out, right?

We got there, street were fuckin' deserted. I got out the van and left Baz in there to keep the engine ticking over in case Alison'd fuckin' done us over and sent us to the wrong place. I wouldn't put it past her. She were a sneaky fuckin' bitch. So me and Rossie, we went up to the front door like we was normal lads, just out to pay an early morning visit on a mate of ours and we pressed the doorbell and waited.

There were all this thumping from inside. Someone com- ing down the stairs. I gave Rossie a look what said, you get your fuckin' blade out now, big boy.

The door opened and I grinned at me sister. She were standing there in her nightie, looking all sexy-like, even if she did have a black eye. I jerked me head at Rossie and said to Alison, 'Where is he?'

'Upstairs,' she said. She had red eyes like she'd been crying.

'Cool.' I grabbed her arm and pulled her in the house with us. Rossie were already up the stairs. I closed the door behind us and followed him up. 'Rob, mate? You wanna come out?'

Silence. Rossie were looking at us to do summat and I looked at Alison. 'Fuck is he?'

I dunno,' she said.

'He done a bunk?'

I dunno.'

'You keep an eye on him?'

'He didn't know you were coming,' said me sister. 'Fuck that. Where is he?'

We went in the bedroom and there were the cash in a bag on the bed. Rossie said, 'Fuckin' hell.'

'Yeah,' I said, then to Alison, 'Where is he?'

She were almost in hysterics now — started crying again and her breathing were all over the fuckin' shop. I dunno. He was here. I swear, Mo, he was here.'

I let go of her and zipped up the bag just in case Rossie got any funny ideas.

'We got the money, Mo. You got Alison. Let's go,' said Rossie.

'You fuckin' what? Yeah, we got the money and the girl, but where's the cunt what nicked both?'

'Mo — ' she said. And I wanted to belt her right then, but she caught it and shut the fuck up.

I went round the bedroom like the proper predator, sniffing about. Looked under the bed, but he weren't there. 'He never left this room is what you're telling us,' I said to Alison.

I dunno, Mo. I really don't. He was here the last time I checked.'

'You don't know much, do you? So he didn't leave the room. So the fuck's in here somewhere.' I stopped in front of the wardrobe and looked at Rossie. Rossie shook his head. But what Rossie didn't know were that when fuckers are frightened, they do pretty stupid shit.

When I opened the wardrobe doors, two things happened.