Musclebound (25 page)

‘Her – ‘

‘Shurrup.’ I snapped his lead on. His training had taken a dive over the last few days.

‘Hip,’ he said sadly.

‘Heel,’ I said. I thought he’d forgot everything but he fell in and trotted to the gate on my left-hand side. He didn’t try to gallop away or pull or nothing.

‘Maybe you ain’t attack material,’ I said. ‘Like I ain’t stinking-rich material.’

‘Herf?’

‘What’m I going to do with you?’ I was trying to unlock the gate but he kept jumping up to lick my hand.

‘We run a lean clean machine here,’ I said. ‘We ain’t got no room for passengers.
Sit.’
He sat with his mouth open and his tongue out.

‘You’re so bloody big,’ I said. ‘I thought you was going to be me best dog ever. But you’re soft.’

I locked the gate behind us and we started along the road.

‘I could give you to Simone,’ I said, ‘except she’s scared of dogs.’

‘Herf?’

‘Or Keif,’ I said. ‘He likes you. God knows why – you’re such a woejous article. Trouble is, you’re too bloody big to be a pet.’

‘Herf.’

‘And you’re too gobby, and you eat too much.’

I had Milo on my left, and I had the Puma bag in my right hand, and I didn’t know what to do with neither of them.

I named Milo after the greatest wrestler that ever lived in the whole history of the universe – Milo of Croton – but he turned out soft. I bet Milo of Croton didn’t go into any of his fights nattering and chattering and licking people’s hands.

We were walking along, up one street and down another, while I tried to think what to do. It was raining steady now and we was the only living souls out on the streets.

‘OK, Milo,’ I said, ‘you’re so gobby – talk to me. Tell me what to do.’

But, just to be contrary, Milo gave me a sniffy look with both ears flat, and stopped to lift his leg on the rear wheel of a car. He didn’t say nothing at all.

But, paint me purple and hang me on the hall wall, the car he chose to piss on was a red Carlton. It wasn’t
the
red Carlton ‘cos it had all its windows intact, and Carltons are common cars. But I was so struck by the fact it was a red Carlton, I thought it was that old mojo working again.

‘Milo,’ I said, ‘you’re a genius.’

‘Herf,’ said Milo, grinning at me.

Usually I hate Sundays. The men don’t come to the yard so there’s none of that lovely banging and crashing to fall asleep to. It’s silent and lonely and when you can’t sleep all you can do is lie there and think there’s nobody around who cares if you live or die. But this Sunday I had business of my own and I didn’t want no one turning up for work and finding me at it.

So it was late, nearly eleven in the morning, before I had a wash and tumbled into my new sleeping bag. And then I was so butchered I didn’t hear the silence. I just crashed straight into sleep without even stopping to ask its name.

I dreamed Wozzisname was running away from me, down a long straight road carrying a Puma bag. I almost caught him but he turned round and said, ‘You can’t even catch crabs.’ Then he went down a storm drain head first and I didn’t want to go in after him. But someone in the audience said, ‘Aincha going to go back in, Bucket Nut?’ So I had to dive in ‘cos there was a big crowd of people watching and I had to prove I wasn’t yellow. But I was scared I wouldn’t be able to breathe.

I don’t remember what happened next, and anyway, who cares? Dreams are rubbish. It’s the real things which count – like real money. You can keep all the pretend stuff. I don’t want it no more.

I should of slept for seven days solid. Anyone who went to bed feeling like me deserved a really good kip. But I must of been too uncomfortable. So I woke up after only five hours.

It wasn’t enough, but I needed aspirin more than I needed sleep so I got up and went out.

It’s a good job I did, because I found Simone waiting at the gate and it looked like she’d been waiting ages.

‘Why didn’t you come in?’ I said.

‘It’s your bloody dogs,’ she said. ‘They don’t like me.’

See, it was Sunday and the dogs have the yard to themselves on a Sunday.

‘Don’t take it personal,’ I said. ‘They’re trained that way.’

‘Well it’s a nuisance,’ she said. ‘I’ve been standing here in the cold for hours.’

‘I’m going out for an aspirin and breakfast.’

‘Breakfast?’ she said. ‘I can see you might need something for your head. You look like the Elephant Man. I hope you aren’t expecting your boyfriend. You don’t want him to see you looking like that.’

‘
Simone,’
I said. ‘Give it a
rest
. You know I ain’t …’

‘Don’t yell,’ she said.

But I wasn’t yelling, honest. You can’t have a headache like mine and yell – it ain’t humanly possible. I let myself out of the yard.

‘Simone,’ I said, ‘last night.’

‘Yeah?’

‘At the old Ladywell Baths. Were you there? I thought I saw you go in.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I went. Your … er, personal trainer said he was taking you. But, Eva, there’s something we have to talk about. Seriously.’

I can’t tell you how chuffed I was. She was there. She saw me.

I said, ‘And? What did you think? Wasn’t it brilliant?’

‘Brilliant,’ she said, ‘but, Eva …’

‘It was mind-blowing,’ I said. She was
there
. She saw. She thought it was brilliant.

‘Take it easy, Eva,’ she said. ‘Calm down.’

We was walking up Mandala Street to Hanif s shop. Well, she
was walking – I was practically dancing. She
saw
. She thought I was brilliant.

All the same, when we got to Hanif s I stopped. I didn’t want to go in ‘cos Mr Hanif was one of the people who’d complained about the bent money – as if he didn’t have enough of the straight stuff. Mr Hanif must be mega-loaded – his is the only shop round here which is open all hours, and he won’t give you nothing on tick.

So I handed Simone a straight five-pound note and she went in. She bought me a bottle of the aspirin you can dissolve in water, which was great ‘cos I hate taking pills. She bought bananas, bread, baked beans and bacon too.

Then we went to the Fir Tree so I could have a meat pie and chips for my breakfast, and some of the dissolving aspirin for my head.

She said, ‘Eva, we’ve got to talk.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘not if it’s about that ponce, Greg.’ I was happy. I
was
. I wanted to talk about last night at the Ladywell Baths. ‘I said everything I had to say yesterday.’

‘Yes, but, Eva, that isn’t all,’ she said. ‘You weren’t straight with me. You said you won that money on the lottery.’

See what I mean? The big bring-down.

‘Are you calling me a liar?’ I said.

‘He showed me,’ she said. ‘I still had some of what we were going to give Ma. He
showed
me it was his.’

‘How?’ I said. ‘Why didn’t you give it all to Ma?’

‘You think I was stealing it?’ she said. ‘Shit.’ She got up.

‘Don’t go,’ I said.

‘I’m not going,’ she said. ‘I need a drink. You don’t trust me, Eva.’

‘I do,’ I said. I was amazed she thought I didn’t.

She went to the bar and came back with a white-wine whatsit for her and a rum and coke for me.

‘I
do
trust you,’ I said, when she put the drinks on our table., ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Don’t get so excited,’ she said. ‘I thought maybe you thought I was keeping that money for myself

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ I said. ‘You deserve it more than Ma.’

‘I wouldn’t take your money.’

‘I never said you would. I said you deserved it more than Ma.’

‘Shshsh,’ she said. ‘I told you I was going to do the best I could. And when I went to Ma’s place I saw there was no point giving it to her all at once. She was already bloated so I only gave her a little. And I gave Andy some. I want them to be sober so they remember. There’s no point if they forget. If they forget, they’ll keep asking for more.’

‘There ain’t any more.’

‘I know. That’s what we were going to tell them.’

‘That’s the
truth,’
I said. ‘There ain’t any more.’

‘But, Eva,’ she said, ‘there has to be. Greg said …’

‘Greg,’ I said, ‘that jumped-up baboon and his big black gloves.’

‘Eva,
hush’:

‘No,’ I said. ‘It ain’t right. You believe him and you don’t believe me.’

‘He
showed
me, Eva,’ she said. ‘He’s got this thing like a pen torch. When you shine it on bank-notes you can tell whether they’re all right or all wrong. The money he lost was wrong. And, Eva, the money you gave me for Ma was wrong too. You didn’t win it on the lottery, did you?’

‘I wouldn’t lie to you,’ I said. I swigged the rum and coke down in one swallow. It was very hot in the Fir Tree. ‘Why would I lie to you?’

‘I don’t know, Eva,’ she said. ‘But it’s a very dangerous thing to do. I think Greg is a very dangerous man.’

‘So why did you give him my shooter?’

‘Don’t be so childish, Eva. It wasn’t yours. What were you going to do? Shoot him? Haven’t you had enough violence?’

‘Yeah,’ I said. It was very hot and my head began to feel numb and weird.

‘Don’t let’s quarrel,’ Simone said. ‘I hate fighting. Please, Eva,
all you have to do is give that sports bag back to Greg and he’ll never bother us again.’

‘What sports bag?’ I said. ‘Why won’t you believe me? I ain’t got his sodding sports bag.’

‘I wash my hands of this,’ she said. She drank her drink down. ‘You can’t be helped, can you? I try and try, but you just won’t let me help you.’ She got up.

‘Where you going?’

‘What do you care?’

‘Please, Simone.’ I got up too. ‘I
swear
, I swear I ain’t got his sports bag. I swear I ain’t got his bent dosh.’

She stared at me. She’d done her eyes different today, and they looked like an Eastern queen’s eyes. I was glad I could look into eyes as pretty as that and tell the truth. Sort of.

She said, ‘Then where did you get the money you gave me for Ma and Andy?’

‘Me head’s feeling funny,’ I said, ‘cos it was.

‘I’ll get us another drink,’ she said. ‘But you’ve got to tell me, Eva.’

She went to the bar. While she was ordering the drinks I held my head in my hands and tried to remember what I thought of to tell her last night. I made up a good story last night. Well, I thought it was good at four in the morning and I had to get it right. I had to, or she’d go away and leave me.

‘Well?’ she said when she got back.

I gulped down half my rum to make me feel better. ‘I bought a lottery ticket,’ I said.

‘That won’t do,’ she said. ‘The lottery doesn’t pay out in counterfeit money.’

‘But I did,’ I said. ‘I bought the ticket. But I didn’t cash it in.’ The rum was helping me remember. I took another gulp.

‘See, Simone, I ain’t got much, I ain’t had so many fights lately. Anyway, I had this lottery ticket and I almost forgot about it ‘cos I wasn’t feeling lucky and I didn’t think I’d win. And then, see, I was broke one time, so I sold it to a bloke in a pub for a drink.’

‘You sold it for a drink?’ she said. ‘And it was a winning number?’

‘Numbers ain’t my thing,’ I said. ‘You know that.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘Then what happened?’

‘Well, it was only a few days ago. Last week.’

‘What?’ she said. ‘What happened last week?’

This was the tricky bit. I slurped a little more rum down.

‘In the market.’

‘What market?’

‘This one, here. Mandala Street,’ I said, ‘cos she had to believe me. ‘This woman come up to me in Mandala Street market and she said she’d been looking for me everywhere. She said my ticket came up and she and her old man won loads of dosh. She said she wanted to give me some.’

‘You’re kidding,’ Simone said. ‘No one’d do that.’

See? I told you it was tricky.

‘She did,’ I said.

‘Oh, come
on,’
she said. ‘No one gives away money.
No
one.’

‘She said it was unlucky not to. She wanted me to pick her another number. She said I wouldn’t be lucky again unless I won some money. So she gave me some of the money I would of won if I’d kept the ticket and not sold it to her old man for a drink. See?’

‘Not really,’ she said. She looked totally flummoxed. I finished my drink.

‘She thought you were lucky?’ Simone said. ‘And she wanted you to pick more numbers for her?’

‘She gave me this form and a pen and I picked six more numbers.’

‘And then she gave you over two thousand pounds? That’s unbelievable, Eva.’

I wanted to say it was true but my tongue turned to felt underlay and it stuck to the roof of my mouth.

‘How much was the ticket worth?’ Simone said.

‘Dunno,’ I said. I was tired. I was tired of telling stories to
someone I loved. I wanted to stop. I wanted us to go back to where we was talking about the Ladywell Baths.

‘It must’ve been worth a fortune,’ Simone said. ‘If she gave you over two thousand pounds it must’ve been worth over a million. Oh poor Eva. Think how much you lost.’

I was feeling quite sorry for myself too. ‘Cos, when you think about it, last night I did lose a million. I lost squillions last night. Some of it
was
for true.

‘They do that sometimes in casinos,’ she said. ‘If they’ve had a good night at the tables, they tip some to the croupier and the doorman. For luck.’

She sipped her drink. ‘So who was the bloke, Eva?’

‘Wha’ bloke?’

‘The bloke you sold your ticket to?’

‘Dunno.’ I took another big swig. It was so hot.

‘You must know,’ she said. ‘You gave him a fortune and he tipped you peanuts.’

‘Didn’t.’

‘Well his wife did,’ she said. ‘She gave you a little tip, Eva, a little drink. And she tipped you in bad money.’

‘Lousy bastard,’ I said. ‘Lousy, mean bugger.’

‘So who was it?’

‘Dunno,’ I said. ‘But I’ll give him what for if I see him again.’

‘Describe him, Eva,’ she said. ‘I’ve got to tell Greg something.’

Greg. That brought me up short. I tried to gather my wits, but I was feeling so sorry for myself and I’d almost got angry with the mean bastard who tipped me bad money. When there wasn’t one, except bloody Greg.