Our Vinnie (23 page)

It was something to do, at least, Josie decided, as they walked down to the park. It was at the bottom of the estate and had been there since long before she was born; a huge scrubby grass area surrounded by woodland – a place of secrets and adventures and many a childhood gathering. It also had a play area, complete with swings and a slide and a rusted iron climbing frame and a roundabout that, since going on it once and throwing up, she had always avoided like the plague.

There was also a big duck pond, which rarely saw any sort of wildfowl, but which, despite being full of old tyres and shopping trolleys, would become the estate’s impromptu paddling pool during the summer. Despite the scummy brown water and the unmentionable things floating on it, the local kids were always happy to strip down to their underwear and have a splash about on any half-decent dry day.

Which today wasn’t. It was cold and cloudy and threatening drizzle, so as soon as they arrived, Robbie split off to join a group of boys playing football on one of the pitches, while the girls raced ahead to join the queue for the slide.

Josie found a spot on the grass where she could keep an eye on all of them, happy to at least half-drift off into the world of her own reveries. At least she was out in the fresh air, rather than staring at her four bedroom walls, and being with Robbie and Sam and Lou always lifted her spirits.

Not that she could relax too much, not here. Horton Park wasn’t just a place for kids to enjoy innocent pleasures. People were regularly mugged walking up here, night
and
day, and it also had the unofficial status, through years of tradition, of being the place to be if you wanted to arrange, or view, a fight.

It had been that way for years – for as long as Josie could remember, certainly – if you had a grudge match in mind, and you wanted it played out in public, you’d put the word around and get yourself an audience.

It was generally something of a big social event, as well. If it was between two big rival families, and the weather was fine, supporters would even bring picnics and tartan blankets and make an afternoon of it.

And it was much the same if the exchange took place between kids, only with boiled sweets, rather than cans of beer being passed around. Barley sugar, Josie remembered – that was always a favourite. And her favourite Yorkshire mixture, too. The kinds of sweets that were guaranteed to last the length of a good meaty fight.

It was quiet on that front today, however, just overrun with kids, which kept her three occupied for a good couple of hours. Which suited her perfectly, because it meant they’d be worn out, which was always a good thing. It meant that when she put them to bed they’d be out like a light, and she’d have free rein over what to watch on telly, because the idiot would be either spark out or actually out, down the Bull.

Hopefully the latter
, she thought, as, with the sun beginning to sink towards the horizon, she started the usual process of ‘just one more swing/slide/go on the climbing frame’ before she was able to prise them away. It didn’t take too long, however, as with the darkening sky came the cold, and as they headed back Sammy and Lou’s hands were like ice-pops in hers.

‘Can we have hot dogs and chips?’ Lou wanted to know as she skipped along beside Josie.

‘We’ll have to see what your mam has in her cupboard, mate,’ she said. They’d not even asked where their mam was, much less when she was coming back. Which was sad, Josie decided. If she ever had kids herself, she’d hate to think they wouldn’t be looking for her, wondering why she wasn’t there. ‘I tell you what,’ she said, ‘if there’s nowt, we’ll get some money off Robbo to get some. How’s that sound?’

Lou looked up her. ‘You might have to ask me nan then, Auntie Titch. Me mam says he never has any money.’

‘It’s okay,’ Robbie said, jogging along beside them, ‘I can get some. If there’s none in I’ll go and nick some from the Paki shop. I could get some of those special bread rolls as well if you like.’

‘There’ll be no need for that, Robbie,’ Josie chided, looking at him sternly. ‘I’ll make something nice for tea for us,
whatever
we find.’

That was sad, too. That Robbie already knew all about stealing. It wasn’t right. But, as luck would have it, there was no need for any further debate on the subject because there was a tin of hot dog sausages in the cupboard in any case. No special bread buns but they were just as good rolled up in white sliced anyway and, as there were a few potatoes too, she also rustled up a big pan of chips. There was even a bottle of ketchup, which made it feel like a feast, which they all ate gathered around the coffee table, watching the cartoons on TV.

She didn’t ask, because she really couldn’t have cared less about anything he got up to, but Josie’s guess was that Robbo, though he did at least have clothes on, had barely stirred since she’d left him to go to the park. And though it felt completely normal to be cooking for him too – and he wolfed it down appreciatively – she couldn’t help but wonder how a grown man could spend quite so much time doing absolutely fuck all, day after day after day. If she had to live like that, she decided, she’d go mad.

‘Right,’ she said to the kids once the last plate was licked clean. ‘You’ve got quarter of an hour while I clear all these plates and stuff away, then it’s upstairs for bath-time and stories and bed.’

‘Yayyy!’ they all chanted, piling their plates into her waiting hands. ‘Yayyy, Auntie Titch!’ as if she’d just told them she was Father Christmas. All that for a story. They were that short on being read stories. Did their mam
ever
read to them? She doubted it.

It turned into four stories, naturally. Three for Sammy and Lou, from their big nursery story book, and a big chunk of
James and the Giant Peach
for Robbie, which he’d recently got from the library. He loved this book with a passion and would always ask Josie to read a certain passage out loud, no matter which chapter she was currently reading.
‘And James Henry Trotter, who once, if you remember, had been the saddest and loneliest boy that you could find, now had all the friends and playmates in the world.’

Reading that line always saddened Josie. And she knew why as well – because it made her realise that little Robbie, too, was searching for something but, unlike James, he didn’t know where to look.

She’d been upstairs a good hour before they were all tucked in and settled and she was ready to go back down. She’d be sleeping on the couch, so she’d brought her long nightie and her maxi-cardigan – as much to cover herself up as keep out the cold. She’d hoped he might have gone out, but knew he hadn’t – she’d have heard the door go, almost certainly – and that being the case hoped he’d do what he tended to do most evenings: quickly smoke himself into a stupor.

He was certainly on the way when she got back down and joined him in the lounge. He was sprawled out on the rug in front of the fire, his pipe beside him and his drugs paraphernalia laid out in the hearth.

Seeing her come in he pulled himself up onto his knees. ‘You want a quick blast on this, Titch?’ he asked as he raised the milk-bottle pipe up towards her. ‘It’s good stuff. Black Leb from Paki Mo. Gives you a right fucking kick, it does, this stuff.’

She looked down at him in disgust. She’d rather give him a right fucking kick up the arse. It was clear from both the look of him and the pungent smell that enveloped the room now that he’d wasted no time in getting started once the kids were out of the way. How could he live like that? How could anyone want to live like that? She shook her head as she sat down at the far end of the sofa. ‘Nah, mate,’ she said, ‘I can’t be doing with that shit.’ She reached around her to grab the blanket Lyndsey had left out for her on the sofa back. ‘I think I’m just gonna get my head down on here and watch a bit of telly if it’s all the same to you.’

Robbo laughed at her, as she arranged the blanket over her, exposing his raggedy row of teeth. They were stained just like his fingers, an unpleasant shade of yellow. ‘Suit yourself, you big baby,’ he said mildly. ‘Go ahead, and don’t you mind me. I’m gonna get through this little stash and then I’ll be off up to bed myself. Mind you,’ he said, grinning at her, ‘that looks proper cosy. Aww – you want me to come over there and tuck you in, little sister-in-law?’

He’d put on a stupid voice – as if he was speaking to one of the children. Except he never spoke to the children in that way, much less ever stir himself to tuck the poor little bleeders in. And ‘sister-in-law’? Yuck, she thought.
I don’t fucking think so
. ‘Fuck off, Robbo,’ she said to him, equally mildly. ‘Shut up and smoke your pipe. I’m trying to watch
Dad’s Army
.’

She wasn’t sure what time it was. Only that she was dreaming. Was in that weird place halfway between the dream and the reality, her consciousness ebbing and flowing in languid waves. She’d drifted off to sleep at some point – she had no idea when. Was only aware that with the air so thick and fuggy from the drugs, she’d had the thought that she might even be very slightly stoned as well. You breathed some of it in, didn’t you? Whether you wanted to or not.

And now she was where? She was … yes, she was with Mucky Melvin. He was there – right there. Right in the room with her. He’d been offering her ciggies, trying to coax her to get into his fetid bed with him. ‘Come on,’ he was saying to her, in his phlegmy old man’s voice. ‘Come on. You know you like it
really
.’

And he was stroking her. Weirdly, he was stroking her and laughing. Not laughing loudly. More laughing to himself; finding something funny. And he wasn’t being rough with her. Why wasn’t he being rough with her? Why wasn’t he pinning her down? Swearing at her. Panting. Because he wasn’t. Whatever he was doing was actually rather nice. Kind of soothing and rhythmic and gentle.

Yet there was something wrong, even so. What was the something? She struggled for a moment or two, trying to gather her thoughts. That was it, she realised. That whatever was happening, nice and soothing as it was, was something that shouldn’t be happening; that whatever she was feeling was something she shouldn’t be
feeling
. Not if this was Melvin … she tried to clear her head … open her eyes …
That
was it, she decided. She needed to
open her eyes
. She needed to wake up. Wake up and
see
what was going on.

She rolled then. Turned over on the couch, wrestling with the blanket. Except it wasn’t the blanket. That was gone. It was her nightie she was wrestling with, because something seemed to be stopping it from changing position with her. And with the knowledge came another, much more awful realisation – that the reason her nightie was swizzled up beneath her was because Melvin’s hand –
no, no, Robbo’s hand! Fuck!
– was inside it and trying to get in between her legs.

‘What the fuck are you
doing
!’ she yelped, trying to wriggle herself away from him, panicking. Taking in the scene – him kneeling up so close to her, his eyes so unfocused, his arm still trying to wriggle its way along the sofa with her, a hot urgent presence against her thighs. And then the hand – his other hand – which seemed to come out of nowhere. Which landed square on her mouth, clamping down hard.

He pushed her down, back into the cushion. ‘Shush,’ he whispered, his breath hissing close to her ear, ‘shush. It’s all right, babe. Just lie back and enjoy it. I won’t hurt you.’

Josie felt tears begin to squeeze from her eyes. And at the same time, a rage begin to surge from her belly. The fucking
bastard
. She was
not
going to let him do this. She found some strength from somewhere and was surprised to find it more than sufficient. For all his determination, he was no match for her now she was truly riled. As soon as she began to flail her legs, he released his hand for long enough that she could kick him away bodily, and she did. Upon which he sat back on his heels again and smiled at her. ‘What the fuck is up with you?’ he wanted to know. ‘I thought you were enjoying it. Correction. You
were
enjoying it. Don’t say you weren’t.’

‘Get the fuck away from me!’ she yelled. ‘I’m telling our Lyndsey about this, I swear I am. You dirty fucking bastard. You
filthy
fucking bastard!’

Robbo stood then, and she didn’t know what he was going to do next. It was only then she realised just how stoned he really was. He seemed to hover there, his eyes scanning the room, his head dipping and nodding, before his gaze came to a halt at the wall above the fireplace.

She followed the line of it. There were crossed samurai swords hanging there. Been there for ever. Been there so long that you didn’t really even notice them any more, except in a vague ‘what a wanker, thinking he’s so hard’ sort of way that she suddenly remembered Vinnie once remarking.

Oh, shit
, she thought, watching petrified, as he lurched and staggered towards them. Oh shit, he was really stoned. What the fuck was he going to do? He made a lunge towards them – what the fuck
was
he going to do? Try to rape her at fucking sword-point? And she took the opportunity to leap from the couch, cover the two steps to the TV, and grab the first heavy object she had managed to lay eyes on – a large, multicoloured, glass fish. She wasted no time – there
was
no time – in thinking about it further. Just took her opportunity, as he wrestled with the handle of one of the swords, to bash him over the head with it as hard as she could.

He went down at once, like at least a half a ton of bricks, with the sword, which he’d just managed to free from the wall, still in his hand. It clattered against the coffee table while he half-hit the sofa, landing awkwardly with his face and one arm resting across it, while the rest of him slumped chest down, on the floor.

And she’d drawn blood. She could see it begin to darken and dampen his hair. Could see it –
shit!
– begin to trickle down his neck. Fucking hell, she thought, moving closer, bending down, crouching beside him. Was he breathing?
Oh, shit
, he had to be breathing. She couldn’t have killed him, could she? Surely she couldn’t have
killed
him. Not just like that.