Magnificent Joe (22 page)

When I call Laura from the hospital phone box, she laughs. ‘For fuck's sake. You and hospitals. What are you doing there this time?' I explain the situation and she stops laughing and agrees to come and get
us.

Joe gets a crutch, but he just can't co-ordinate his body with it, so he leans on me all the way to the exit. When we get outside, I sit him on a bench and we wait. He's a bit buzzy from the painkillers, and watches a crisp packet in the wind with all the concentration of a snooker player lining up a shot on black.

‘You're a lucky cunt, you,' I tell
him.

He just shrugs. He's not lucky anyway, but he may as well be told it. It might
help.

It's dark outside now, but there's a streetlamp above us and Joe looks pretty old in its light. I begin to panic at what I find myself saddled with – this ageing idiot I have to care for – so I go and sit next to him and put my head between my knees. I'll ask Mr Green about Social Services again; maybe this latest fuck-up will persuade someone into action.

‘I don't want to be in the panto anymore,' Joe announces.

‘Probably a good idea, mate.' At least he sees sense. I sit up straight, about to offer him some sort of sympathy, but as I open my mouth, Laura pulls up next to us. With some difficulty I help Joe into the back
seat.

‘You'll not get much in the way of conversation out of him,' I say as I get in. ‘He's full of pills, aren't you,
Joe?'

No response.

‘Well, let's get you home, then,' she says, and we drive off. I hope I've seen the last of that hospital for a good, long while.

By the time we get to the dual carriageway, Joe is asleep. His big, wet snores fill the
car.

‘It's good what you're doing for him, y'know,' Laura
says.

‘I don't know that I'm doing any
good
, but it's a right pain in the arse.'

She reaches over and puts her hand on my thigh. ‘Don't worry. You're doing the right thing.' She stops and takes a breath, glances at
me.

‘What?'

‘Oh, nothing.' She sighs, and we drive the rest of the way back to the village in silence.

We pull up outside my house and I turn in my seat and shake Joe's uninjured leg. ‘Wakey, wakey. We're back.'

He opens one eye, then the other and looks around. I watch the expression on his face firm into one of full consciousness and then he says,
‘No.'

‘No, what?'

‘I want to go home.'

It hadn't even crossed my mind that we should take him back to his place; I've almost become used to him snoring on my couch.

‘I thought you didn't like it there.'

‘It's my house.' He shrugs.

‘But you'll need some dinner – you must be starving.'

‘I'll cook some beans, then.' He looks me right in the
eyes.

‘All right, then, we'll take you there.' I turn to Laura.

‘That's fine by me,' she says, and starts the car again.

As we drive, I keep glancing back at Joe, but he's just looking out of the window, expressionless. Did he hear what I said, when I called him a pain in the arse? No. He was definitely asleep.

When we reach his house, I help him out of the car. ‘Have you got your key?' I
ask.

He pats his pocket. ‘Safe and sound.' Then he starts to hobble off without me. I pick up the crutch and follow
him.

‘You should keep your weight off that ankle,' I
say.

‘Don't fuss,' he mutters, and unlocks the
door.

‘You're going to be all right, then?'

‘Aye.'

‘All right. Well, see
you.'

‘See
you.'

And with that he goes in and leaves me standing in the yard. I walk back to the
car.

‘Well, he doesn't seem that dependent on you right now,' says Laura when I get
in.

‘That was weird.'

‘Maybe what happened made him realize he needs to take care of himself.'

‘I thought I'd be wiping his backside before long.'

‘Well, let's hope he keeps it up,
eh?'

‘Aye. Let's hope.'

‘Come on, don't be so miserable. He'll be all right. He doesn't seem as daft as you make him out to
be.'

‘He's not. I suppose it's good that he at least wants to
try.'

‘Course it is. Come back to mine?'

‘Yeah. I'd like that.'

—

When we get back to her place, Laura tells me I look hungry and makes me a sandwich. I wolf it down; I was starving. She sits on the other side of the table and watches me eat with a slight smile on her face, saying nothing. I carry my plate into the kitchen and wash it, and when I come back, she is still sitting there. She looks up at me. I feel like something important is unsaid.

‘Is there something you want to tell
me?'

She bites her lip. ‘Not
yet.'

‘Not
yet
?'

‘Come upstairs.'

In the bedroom, there are two cardboard cartons on the floor, sealed with parcel tape. She nods at them. ‘Geoff's clothes – the ones he didn't take. I packed them up this morning. I was going to carry them down to the garage.' She shrugs.

‘I'll do
it.'

‘They're not heavy.'

‘I'd like to anyway.'

‘Leave them for now.' She pauses. ‘Look, he's not coming back. And if he does, we'll just tell him to fuck off, all right?'

‘All right, then.'

‘His stuff doesn't matter; you can burn it all if you want. Right now, I want you to concentrate on
me.'

She undresses and I watch her. My body hums with the sound of an orchestra warming up, the growing excitement of having something so beautiful all to myself. For now, at least.

This time I go down on her. I don't have much experience of that, but she kneels over my face and tells me what to do. As she comes, I find myself moving in time with her and every movement seems just right. Then she rolls away from me and lies on her back, shuddering. After a time, she opens her eyes and reaches out to me, pulls me onto
her.

Later, we lie together cuddled up under the duvet, and she says to me, ‘I was your first, wasn't
I?'

‘Well, yeah. I'd never had a girlfriend before I went inside, and you don't get many opportunities in prison. None you'd want, anyway. I suppose it's part of the punishment.'

‘And has there been anyone else? You know, since the first time we
met.'

I struggle to find an answer to that. I want to curl away from it, like a worm from prodding fingers.

‘It's just that you act like this is all new to you, like you don't quite trust
it.'

I almost say, ‘Of course I don't trust it,' but instead come out with, ‘Well, you'll just have to keep up the persuasion.'

She bites me gently on the shoulder. ‘But am I your only
one?'

‘No,' I say. ‘There were others. Just not
girlfriends
.'

‘One-night stands?'

‘Aye. We used to go out on the town sometimes, me and Baz and Geoff.'

‘Oh, out on the pull. I
see.'

‘Well, it's not as if I made a very good average, is
it?'

‘It's quality that counts, not quantity.'

‘Well, there wasn't much quality involved.' I don't know what I can tell her about it. ‘It just…It never worked out very well. That's
all.'

If I was expecting sympathetic noises, I'm not going to get them. She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Were you trying to pretend you knew what you were doing?'

‘Yeah.' I shrug. It's true, in a way. ‘Yeah, I
was.'

‘Well, that was your first mistake.' She swings her leg across my body and kneels above me. I relax and let her pin me down. She's no older than me, but so full of experience that I really do feel as if she's schooling me. How did she go through what she went through and end up like that, when I ended up like this? ‘So what you're telling me,' she says, ‘is that you need an education? I can corrupt you just how I want because you don't know any better?'

I sit up and put my face on her neck, feel her pulse against my lips. ‘I don't know about that.'

She pushes me back down. ‘Did Geoff ever chase women when you went
out?'

‘Not very successfully.'

‘I mean after he was with
me.'

‘No. We'd stopped doing that kind of thing by then. If you want the truth, he always said you were a dirty bitch and you were all he needed.'

‘Hm. You wouldn't think it from looking at his Internet history.'

‘He was always daydreaming about this or that. It was how he lived. He would never…' I
stop.

‘You've just realized you're talking like he's dead, haven't
you?'

‘Aye.'

She climbs off me. ‘There's something I've got to show
you.'

She leaves the room and goes downstairs. She reappears with a piece of paper, which she hands to me. ‘Look at this.'

‘Mortgage Statement,' it
says.

‘Why?' I
ask.

‘Look at the numbers.'

I follow the column of figures down the page and they end with a zero. I look back up the column and realize what it means: the entire balance of the mortgage – plus the penalty – was cleared with a single payment last
week.

‘Christ. Geoff did this?'

‘Who else?'

‘Where did he get the money?'

‘I've no idea.'

‘How long have you had this?'

‘It just came today.'

I look back at the statement, but it still ends with a big, fat nought. ‘Fuck me. I thought it was Barry that was on the make.'

‘Do you think Geoff's into something dodgy?'

‘For sixty-odd grand, do you really think he isn't?'

‘I'm scared.'

‘So am
I.'

‘Come here, you little slut.' The American at the corner table reaches out and pulls the whore into a wet, hard kiss. She twists away and giggles half-heartedly, but from where Geoff is sitting he can see that she isn't comfortable. Her shoulders are stiff, and she keeps looking around the club. The American stuffs more cash into her stocking top. He's been doing that all night. Geoff tosses back his shot and waggles the glass at the barman for another.

He turns to the Australian backpacker next to him at the bar. ‘Look at that cunt over there. He's fucking mauling the poor lass.'

‘Are you sure you're in the right place, mate?'

‘Course I'm in the right place; I'm no prune. I'd just like to see him treat her with a bit of respect and some fucking…what's the word?'

‘Decency?'

‘Aye! Decency. He's having his fun. Why does he have to treat her like shite and
all?'

The Aussie shrugs. ‘She's getting paid.'

‘I don't like
him.'

‘You're pissed as a fart, mate. You should get out of here and go to
bed.'

‘I'm not going anywhere.'

‘Suit yourself.' The Aussie picks up his drink and wanders off through a bead curtain into the brothel at the rear. As the beads swing back into place, Geoff just catches sight of him linking arms with the little girl in the hot pink skirt, the one who sucked Geoff off earlier. She was really gentle and Geoff had liked her a lot. He hopes the Australian isn't a bastard to
her.

‘Where's the goddamned waitress?' That American again – he's so loud. ‘Well, fuck her.' He turns to the whore. ‘Go to the bar and fetch me a drink.'

The whore looks momentarily confused and opens her mouth to speak, but the American grabs her by the shoulders and speaks loudly right into her face. ‘Go. To. The. Fucking. Bar. And. Get. Me. A. Goddamned. White. Russian. Do. You. Under. Stand. You. Dumb. Bitch?' The whore nods quickly. The American pushes another note into her bra and pats her on the cheek. ‘Good girl.'

She walks up and briefly speaks to the barman in their gobbledygook language. Geoff hasn't even worked out what ‘please' and ‘thank you' are yet, which makes him feel like a twat, but English has worked for him so far. ‘You all right, love?' he asks the whore.

She looks him up and down. ‘You shouldn't get so drunk in here. Not good place to drink alone.' Then she turns her back to him and stands there studying her false nails, while the barman finishes the cocktail. Geoff doesn't really blame her for playing along; the yank might be a total cunt, but at least he's flash with his cash. Still, Geoff hates people who treat others like that. They remind him of Barry, for a start.

The whore goes back to the American with the drink, sits close to him, and runs one hand up the back of his neck; her other hand disappears under the table. The American throws his head back, mouth open like a pussy cat. Geoff begins to think that the whore has re-established control of the situation, but suddenly the American is looking at her through slitted eyes. ‘You know what we do to little exotic bitches like you in my country?' He's quieter now, but Geoff can still hear him. ‘We grab them by their ears and we fucking skull-fuck them.' He holds up the first two fingers of his right hand and then jabs them straight into the whore's mouth all the way up to the knuckle.

The whore gags immediately and tries to pull away, but the Yank's too quick and too strong. He puts his left hand on the back of her head and holds her tight, his fingers still buried in her face. The whore throws up her hands, but there is nothing she can do, with her whole upper body shuddering and jerking in involuntary spasms. ‘You'd better get used to that, you little bitch, because you can bet your bottom dollar that my dick's gonna go even deeper.'

The whore shoots to her feet with a huge retching sound, then collapses back onto the rolled vinyl bench with her hands at her throat, breathing hard. Her eyes are watering, but she's not crying.

Geoff looks at the barman. ‘Are you going to let him do that?'

‘Not unconscious. Not bleed. Not problem.'

‘Fuck this!' says Geoff, slams the rest of his drink, and marches over to the American. ‘Here, what do you think you're doing? Leave the poor lass alone.'

‘What the fuck? Get the fuck outta here,
man.'

‘You are not going to treat her like that.'

‘What the fuck are you, Scottish or something? I can't understand a goddamned word you're saying.'

Geoff pounds his fist onto the tabletop, so hard that the American's drink slops over the edge of the glass. ‘I'm from fucking County Durham, son, and you're a cunt.'

The American seems to understand that. ‘You motherfucker.' He stands up and Geoff begins to wonder if he's made a mistake: the bastard must be all of six foot five and certainly isn't skinny. It occurs to Geoff that violence was never really his strong point, and for the first time he wishes that Jim was here. The American glowers down at him. Geoff looks up into his eyes and sees the same stagnant little pools of pure fucking nastiness that Barry once looked at him with. Fuck you, he thinks. Then he straightens his back and says, with as much conviction as he can muster, ‘I'm going to rip your fucking head off, mate.'

Geoff was expecting the American to swing for him, but he wasn't expecting to be attacked from behind. Something crashes into the back of his legs and Geoff drops to his knees with a thud that hurts like hell even after all that whisky. The table flies over, glasses shatter, and everything's a blur. The next thing Geoff knows, he's through the door and on his back in the street.

‘Gobbbledy-gobbledy-gobbledy-gobbledy-gobbledygook!' the barman screams down at Geoff, and slashes a machete back and forth through the
air.

Geoff flattens himself against the pavement, scared of losing his nose. ‘All right, all right, I'm fucking going. Put the fucking chopper away.'

‘Gobbledy-gobbledygook!' Someone kicks Geoff in the ribs, and they stalk back into the club, leaving him groaning on the ground.

Eventually, Geoff sits up. Passers-by sidestep him as if he were dog shit. He feels sick and he's shaking with fury. ‘Bastards being bastards for no bastard reason,' he mutters to himself. ‘Just to feel big. Bastards!' He wants revenge, but he can't go back in there. Then it dawns on him. There is one bastard he can strike back at. Those accountants said they were at his service, didn't they? And there'll be a fax machine in the hotel. Maybe those accountants can be persuaded to post a little note for him. He'll just tell them to ‘be discreet'.