The Survival Game (8 page)

Phillipo nodded his head as he recollected. ‘She never recovered from that,’ he said. ‘That sad look never left her face.’

‘Yeah, and she keeled over while I was still inside, didn’t she? Died of the shame. Remember the looks I got off people in this very church during her funeral, when they gave me compassionate leave. That’s why I don’t come here often…’

‘I understand,
re
.’

John began shaking his head. ‘You know, I’m no better than my dad,
re
. He killed mum with his bullshit, and I killed
Yiayia
with mine. I don’t wanna be like that for
my
kid,
re
. But I couldn’t help the things I did. You know what it’s like growing up without a mum? Without a dad? Having to live with
Yiayia
and her craziness, and her black cat? It ain’t easy,
re
. You don’t grow up normal like everyone else.’

‘I can imagine, Yiannaki…’ Phillipo sympathised.

‘I mean
Yiayia
’s interpretation of the Greek Orthodox was so twisted—
ikones
up on every wall; crosses on every door, it was like she was trying to keep vampires out or something. It was madness. And everything I did was an
armatia
. Everything. I sit at the table after six o’clock, it’s an
armatia
; watch the telly during the day, it’s an
armatia
; take a dump on a Sunday, it’s an
armatia
. Nothing I did was ever good enough, it was all about guilt. I was always guilty. Lazy she used to say to me. Stupid.
Okniaris
—lazy. That’s why I ended up rebelling hard,
re
. That’s how I got into the drugs and all that crap, and that’s why I went and joined the
strato
as well, just to get away from
her
.

But she was my
yiayia
, the only real parent I had. And I loved her regardless of all that
skata
.’ He huffed. ‘I never got an education, didn’t have a business to take over from my old man. What was I supposed to do? I used to sell drugs to get by. You do what you gotta do to survive in this world,
re
.’

‘Unfortunately, this is life,’ Phillipo agreed, nodding his head, staring blankly at the church pulpit.

John puffed his cheeks. ‘Anyway, what’s done is done,’ he said, flipping his hand on the air.

Silence took over for a while. John shifted in his seat while he stared at the
Panayia
again.

After a while he spoke. ‘Anyway,
re
, I didn’t come here to have a moan up and dig up the past.’

‘Well, I didn’t think it was a friendly visit, Yiannaki…’

‘No. I was hoping to find you here so I could take Holy Communion.’

‘Why, Yiannaki?’ Phillipo asked without flinching.

‘Cos I…’cos I think I’m about to commit loads more
armaties
to go with the rest, and I want to cleanse my soul first.’

Phillipo tutted angrily and rolled his eyes. ‘What have you got yourself into now?’ he asked in a stern voice.

John took in a deep breath and held it. ‘There’s something I have to do,
re
. It’s partly good, but there’s also a bad side.’ He turned to face Phillipo for the first time.

Phillipo now noticed his bruised eye. ‘What happened to your eye, Yiannaki?’ he asked.

‘Nothing,’ John replied coldly. ‘
Nothing…
’

‘Are you in some kind of trouble, Yiannaki?’ Phillipo asked in a concerned voice. ‘Is someone threatening you?’

‘No, no, no, nothing like that.’

‘Well, what then?’

John went silent and looked up to the
Panayia
for help. Inside he was torn; a groan of anguish flew out of his chest. He just couldn’t help it, he was in a corner again and he hated it.

Phillipo then put his hand on his shoulder. ‘
Yiannaki
, you are my cousin. Let me help you.’

‘I can’t tell you
re
, Phillipo. But, it’s something I have to do. I messed up and I have to put it right, but while I’m gonna be at it I’m… I’m a bit scared of what I might do. What I might
have
to do. But, it’s not for me,
re
, it’s for my wife and my
moro
. For them. It’s for them. So they can have a good life. I don’t wanna be like my dad. I don’t want to do to them what that bastard done to me and mum and
Yiayia
. Any
armaties
I’m going to commit are for their survival, for their happiness. Is that wrong?
Is it?
’

Phillipo shook his head and looked John sincerely in the eye. ‘A man committing a sin because he has no other choice
can
be forgiven as long as he understands and accepts he has sinned and asks for forgiveness.’

‘It’s just until we have enough money to… till we’re stable. For my
moro
,’ John told him.

‘Have you got financial problems?’ asked Phillipo. ‘Is that what it is?’

John stared at Phillipo with wide eyes. Phillipo didn’t know about John having to sell
Yiayia
’s maisonette to pay back his debts, and he was in no hurry to tell him either… ‘It’s a part of it,’ he said, being economical with the truth.

‘Are you working?’

John shrugged uneasily. ‘Kind of…’

Phillipo sighed. ‘You’re not, are you? How are you getting by?’

‘I’m getting by, Phillipo, like I always have. Look, I’ve just gotta do this one thing and it’ll all be okay again. But I just wanna know that I’ll be forgiven for my
armaties
.’ John rubbed his eyes while he spoke.

Phillipo patted him on the shoulder. ‘
Re
Yiannaki, your sins will be forgiven if you ask for forgiveness. But you must
want
to be cleansed of them.’

‘I do, Phillipo. You know I never meant to hurt anyone. Not
Yiayia
, not Alisha. I’ll admit there was a time when I wished
Yiayia
would die. And when she finally did, it ended up being my fault. I didn’t know what I was doing earlier in my life, and now I have to live with the guilt.
It tears me up,
re. But I always feel like I’ve got no choice.’

Phillipo’s grip on his shoulder tightened. ‘
Re
, listen to me. We all sin. All men sin. It’s the way God has made us. We’re imperfect. A man who catches fish is technically sinning. To destroy one of God’s creations is a sin. But if he’s doing it for food, so that he and his family can eat, then the sin can be forgiven because it was put onto him. He may not have wanted to do it, but he had no choice in the matter. Sinning is not the issue with God. It’s whether you regret the sin, whether you seek forgiveness for your sins. Whether you learn the difference between right and wrong. If you are going to do something bad—and I pray that you aren’t—but are doing it because you have no choice, then God may forgive you for it because
he
has given you this dilemma.’

‘Well why does he do that to us,
re
?’ John asked. ‘What for?’

Phillipo shrugged and his halo darkened slightly. ‘Maybe to see if we really do regret our sins. For him to separate the good men from the bad.’

John turned his head to face his cousin full on. ‘Yeah? And which one am I, Phillipo?’ he asked.

Phillipo sighed and squeezed John’s shoulder. ‘I think you’re a good man, Yiannaki. Your heart is good. But you just always take the wrong path.’

John looked back at the
Panayia
, a sudden feeling of positivity shooting up inside him on hearing his cousin’s verdict. He always saw himself as a good person; he’d just been the victim of circumstance. One
skata
led to another and they couldn’t be undone. What Phillipo was saying to him made perfect sense—he didn’t want to kill, but he’d have to be prepared to for the sake of his family. He was the fisherman, utilising his instincts so that he and his family can live on. And he was about to go fishing.

Survival of the fittest—
what a load of
skata.

‘Phillipo,’ John said in a more upbeat voice. ‘I want Holy Communion. Can you do that for me?’

‘Of course I can, cousin,’ Phillipo replied with a sincere smile and a pat on the shoulder. ‘Come with me to the office and I’ll do it for you.’

Phillipo stood up and smiled down at John, who stood soon after. He zipped his jacket up fully, still horribly conscious of the gun stuffed into his trouser belt. He cleared his throat and followed his haloed cousin out of the main part of the church and out into the office for his Holy Communion.

Above them both, the pained eyes of the
Panayia
watched on.

*****

John got back to the camper site just as rain started lashing down hard. He pulled up outside his home and killed the engine, the sound of the rain beating on the car windows like machine gun fire now amplified. He leant over the passenger seat and grabbed the bag full of Chinese food as well as the tulip he picked from someone’s garden near the takeaway. He stepped out of the car, the rain instantly soaking him. He protected the food under his coat as he made a dash for the caravan. When he got in, Alisha was lying sideways on their bed, a Sudoku puzzle book open in front of her. When she heard him enter, her haloed head turned to the side for a second, then went back again. John went straight over to the table, took dinner out from under his coat, and plonked it down, laying the tulip neatly next to it. He then returned to the front door, opened it, and stood in the doorway, arms folded, staring out into the rain.

A little while later, he could hear the crumpling of the takeaway bag behind him. He smiled to himself. Alisha’s cravings for MSG clearly hadn’t eased off over the last twenty-four. He was happy about that. She’d calmed down a bit since earlier on as well, which was good. She had a bit of sleep, which probably helped, but it was most likely down to the food.

‘You not eating?’ she then asked out loud.

John shook his head. ‘No. I’m not hungry,’ he replied over his shoulder. He took a
cigarro
from the box in his pocket, sparked it up, and puffed away, blowing the smoke out into the air outside. The nerves he was feeling had taken his appetite away, but it wasn’t just that. It was the whole uncertainty of the situation.
Who are these fuckers who mugged him off? Where are they from? How many of ’em are there, and could he take ’em on by himself?
He had no choice but to find out these things or he’d be nothing but the next sorry instalment in the Aziz delivery boy mythos.

You got us into this mess, now you get us out,
was what Alisha said to him all those months ago when all this caravan
skata
started. And that’s what he was doing, nothing more, nothing less. When he was done, he’d ask God to forgive all the
armaties
he’d committed—however many that may turn out to be—just as Phillipo said, and hope that he accepted. The Holy Communion he had back at the church helped to ready him for the job in hand, helping to kill a lot of the crap on his mind, mainly guilt. But there was a load still left. And that would probably never leave.

Behind him, Alisha ate. The smell of fried rice, crispy duck, and chicken Kung Po hit his nostrils, but still he wasn’t hungry. Instead, he just stared out of the doorway at his car. In the glovebox was the Glock he bought at the Cornershop. Waiting for action. And like him, it was getting itchy feet.

He took a final drag on his
cigarro
and threw it out into the rain, blowing out the last lungful of smoke as he checked the time on his mobile phone. 17:21. He nodded his head. It was time.

‘I’m popping out,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘I’ll be back soon. Don’t go anywhere.’ He then stepped out into the rain.

‘What? Where are you go—’ was all he heard as he swung the door shut. He didn’t wanna hang around to answer any of her questions. Instead, he got in his car, stuck on a DnB CD, and drove away.

John made it across the river just as darkness began to fall over London and the lampposts blinked on for the night. He was down south again, doing his delivery run out of working hours ’cos he was convinced Omar—the sly, devious piece of shit he was—knew something about what happened to him the other night. Since he first left hospital, the notion had been bugging him like an unreachable itch right in the middle of his back.

How did the muggers know I was gonna be in that alleyway, at that particular time, with the delivery?
Lucky guess?

Yeah, my Greek
kolo
it was a lucky guess.

Nah, someone must’ve told ’em he was gonna be there ’cos there was no doubt that they were waiting for him. Scream was searching his car for him; their van was waiting nearby.
And who else knew that John was gonna be in that alley at that time?
The one and only Mr. Omar, that’s who. John was a hundred and fifty percent sure that the scumbag had a dirty hand in this. And he was gonna find out exactly what.

He chucked another
cigarro
out of the window, and jacked the volume up on his CD player. Hard DnB was still banging out, fuelling his anger. He was gonna go and unlock Omar’s mouth. He had the key; it was sitting in his glovebox, ready for action.

He flew through Kennington, entering the concrete jungle of south London, eager to reach Omar’s ASAP. Only when he made it to Clapham Road did he finally slow down, crawling past the Grill. He bent his head down low, trying his best to look inside past the tacky Christmas tree lights. But it was too dark to see exactly who was in there, and the rain wasn’t helping things either. He didn’t want to spend too long staring in case Omar clocked him, bricked himself and done a runner out the back or something. So he went and pulled up a little further on and killed the engine. He took a sly look around him before he opened the glovebox and grabbed his gun. He quickly stuck it in his belt while staring at his reflection in his rear view. That damn halo was still shining out from his head and he wondered for just a split second if angels carried Glocks in Heaven. He grabbed a pair of shades from the glovebox and put them on, making the halo go dark. He preferred it like that. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steady himself, to get himself together. When he was ready, he opened the car door and his Reeboks touched concrete. He had another of those sly looks around him before he dived into the Grill. Panpipes hit his ears, and charred meat hit his nostrils as per usual.