Cleaning Up Read online

  It was an Asian bloke who picked them up, a young guy playing some noisy beats per minute. Darrin asked him to turn it down and the young guy did, not mithered at all by the request. The three men shared silence and the melded fug of sweat and a little too much after-shave as they smoothly drove away from the roiling blather of the city centre.

  Tommy had no plans for the weekend and that was just fine, if it cleared up maybe he’d take a trip over the tops to catch up with Wayne. If not he’d relax and have a people free day, maybe go down Doug May’s gym later on and have a workout with the old goat. He’d seen Dougy’s young lad clocking him last night. He’d thought about going over for a chat but young Daz was with a gaggle of plod and they’d stood out like a turd in a spa with their un-groovy haircuts and try hard denims. He knew Big Ged from the old days, Tommy reckoned that DS Keegan had to be up in his mid fifties by now. He had been a wild one had Ged, with plenty of rep for being handy on the cobbles. There was a time when the big man could have gone either way but being a copper seemed to be enough of a valve for his particular energies. Keegan had seen him early in the piece and tipped him a wink. Tommy didn’t bother going over for a chat though, underneath the bristling bonhomie Keegan was heavy company and it would be too much like shop talk.

  Jimbo had insisted that they engage with a table full of obviously married women. He’d indulged him and one of the ladies had been obviously interested. She was nice on the eye but he didn’t fancy being somebody’s cheap frisson for the night. She backed off quickly, so no fuss either way. He liked the crowd in Piccolos and the relaxed good will and expansive cheer reminded him of some of the bars that he frequented with Bonnie during his time in the very gay friendly bars of inner-city Sydney. There was some prudent muscle on the door, a couple of polite bouncers that maintained a friendly but rigorous door policy. It was enough to keep the numb nuts and thrill seeking gawpers away.

  He’d had some fun watching Jimbo at work. His mate slipping through the gears with his well honed patter, the lad fully engrossed in the game. Jimbo was forty five going on twenty two, incorrigible, unsinkable and daft as a brush.

  The chat with the ladies had made his mind wander onto his current ‘hobby’- the trawling of internet dating sites. He’d vowed to stay off the computer over this weekend, although he knew that it was a promise that he was likely to break. What was once a (too) easy way to kill time and assuage the loneliness was now beginning to shade into ‘must do’ addiction. He was spending hours cruising dating sites of the down-market variety, engaging in virtual chat with strangers, cock out of his pants whilst sitting at the keyboard. His mind had even started to go there whilst he was at work too. Tommy knew that he was tumbling towards risky behaviour.

  So, he stoically resolved, breakfast, and then he’d get stuck into some housework. An hour later and he was done and it had just started to rain. He glanced at the computer and then, with a reproachful snort, he made his way into the bedroom to grab his gym gear. Dougy would sort him out, he was better than bromide that grizzled old sod.

  It had been a toss weekend. Mum had kept him on the leash for the full duration. The only concession that she’d allowed him was the Xbox and he’d had to play it up in his fucking room. He was up there for hours whilst she played her dopey tunes in the lounge, sitting there on the sofa hogging the phone, busy doing nothing other than chatting at excruciating length with her girlfriends.

  Pasquale had no credit on his mobile either so he couldn’t text the boys to find out what was going on. He thought about knocking hers off and getting a message to M or Junior, he knew that there was going to be a party down on the Barrington tonight. In his ongoing frustration he’d toyed again with the notion of leaving home, luxuriating in the thought of being able to do exactly what he wanted to do when he wanted to do it. But, he couldn’t really think past the act of leaving, and, if he pushed it, he felt a kind of vertigo, spinning out with the uncertainty of it. He was more than anxious about that uncertainty, in fact it scared him shitless.

  Matty had talked about getting a place of his own. The prick was starting to make some real spends now too, muling smoke for the bigger lads on the estate. He’d shown them a fan of twenties over at his place, M had to have been carrying about four ton there at least. The older boys were moving smoke, crack and ice and, according to M, there was plenty of it to be moved. Matt loved to talk about the older boys being ‘mobbed up’ but you never knew with him what was bullshit and what was real. He could say both within the same sentence. But he and Junior couldn’t mask the fact that they were impressed and whenever he thought about it he felt giddy with the possibilities that such money would give him.

  She ordered in a pizza on the Saturday night and then cooked him his favourite meal on Sunday afternoon. They watched a movie together in the evening and they’d even had a bit of a laugh together. Fuck it he’d go in to school tomorrow - keep the peace.

  Tommy had taken the old man over the tops for lunch on the Sunday. Pub grub washed down with a couple of pints. His old man was eating like a bird these days, a couple of tastes of the steak pud, a few chips and a desultory stab at the vegetables - Mick had never been that big on his greens. Tommy was as hungry as a horse after his workout with Dougy and he cleaned up the old man’s plate too - Mick watching on with a fond, tolerant amusement.

  His dad wanted a cig’ after the meal so they went outside and sat on the bench that was just to the left of the entrance of the pub.

  ‘Ta for that son, nice grub that. It’s a bloody grand day eh?’

  ‘Yeah it’s a good-un alright Mick, nary a cloud in the sky.’

  His dad turned and smiled at that. ‘Pity there’s not more of them. You going to go back then son, get out of this bloody shithole?’

  His old man hadn’t mentioned that for a while and Tommy was taken off guard by it - surprised by the lack of context. It was a conversation that they had been having on and off for the last twenty odd years.

  ‘Probably Mick, probably, no rush at the moment though, I reckon.’

  His dad jutted his jaw, he removed a non existent flake of tobacco from his lower lip then took another tug on his gasper.

  ‘Don’t let it slip away son. I know you’ve got the job here now but, bloody hell.’

  Tommy didn’t reply, they both knew why he was still here.

  They passed a few quiet moments together. His Dad smoked down the fag, crushed the dimp underfoot then stiffly scooped down to pick it up off the floor.

  ‘Fancy another then Dad?’

  ‘You alright for the driving like?’

  ‘On top of all that grub, no problem.’

  ‘Bugger it then son eh - why not?’

  Tommy did the honours and took their beers back on outside. He handed the old man his and they sat and drank in an easy silence, the pair of them gazing over at the wide valley that unfolded to the south of the pub, taking in the view of the variegated greens and the stone walls that latticed the near and distant hills.

  Not too bad, Tommy thought, for a shithole.

  For Darrin and the crew Saturday had been a bit of a shocker. A couple of lads had been caught shoplifting from the grocers, which was down near the canal on Dyke Road. The shopkeeper had nailed the pair whilst in the act, re-obtained the goods and had given them a well deserved boot up the arse for their troubles. The store doubled up as a takeaway curry joint, and the owner’s cousin and nephew had been out the back cooking up in the kitchen. They’d heard the ruckus and had rushed out to help send the shoplifters packing.

  Unfortunately, the dipshits had not been duly chastened by their experience and, an hour or so later, they’d returned. But, there was about twenty of them this time. They’d steamed into the shop and had systematically started to wreck the joint. Hasty calls by one of the three amigos had rallied the local Asian community and soon it was on for young and old. The raiding party had scattered when the cavalry had quickly started to arrive. Grown men tooled up with bats and b
ars were a little out of their purview. A couple of the vandals had been grabbed, smacked around a bit and then handed over to the coppers. But, there had been ripples from the event, later that evening an Asian schoolboy was knocked unconscious just a couple of streets away from the shop then, later still, a wheelie bin had been set on fire on the edge of Leeside and that had been underpinned with some Stone Age apocalyptic dancing and chimpanzee arm waving. It was more than intimidating enough to scare the shit out of some of the local residents and provocative enough to further anger plenty of others.

  Word it was that a group of lads from the Coleshaw, a gang of black and white united in their wanton idiocy. The area was cordoned off until the wee hours of the next day and community leaders had been brought in quickly to dampen down the aggro. It was a right royal pain in the arse, exacerbated by the usual Saturday night shenanigans in the town, which included a mass brawl in Beckhams, the plastic city-centre wine bar with the subtle hint of a plumber’s arm pit, and a sexual assault in a side street down near the theatre.

  When he got back to the station he was told by Sarge Thomas that there had been another mugging on the Barrington and he’d be up there with a D straight after tomorrow’s footy match.

  If anything the game at the Shed would be a relative balm after the Saturday shit storm, it ran like clockwork these days. True, the modern day reign of peace was occasionally punctuated by the odd group of visiting knuckle draggers who’d made the trip to the game by car. Such interlopers were often pre-determinedly set on trawling the local pubs with the purpose of sharing some of their opinions with the locals. They came looking for a fight and they always seemed to find one, so maybe some blokes just enjoyed getting filled in.

  He had the coming Monday off. Roll the fuck on.

  Pasquale had managed a full week at school, well half a week really, as he had bailed out on all of the afternoons apart from the Monday. He knew plenty of the other kids there well enough, in fact, he’d been to primary school with most of them. One or two had been friendly with him but most of the others had kept a bit of distance like he had the pox or something. In the afternoons he’d made his way on down to M’s on the Barrington usually via the game store in the precinct. The new GTA was out this weekend and, this Saturday, M was adamant that he would be at the front of the queue.

  He’d had a puff with M and Junior and then they’d gone down to the estate for a chat with the slightly older lads who usually hung out around the shops. The local boys tolerated their presence with a belligerent amusement, the three of them posed no kind of threat and, thankfully, all the Barra boys knew, at least by reputation, Junior’s older brother Wes. So, they were not likely to give them too much shit, not while Junior was around anyway.

  Wes was probably coming out of nick early in the New Year. Junior respected his older brother but that respect was tinged with obvious concern around the homecoming. Wes always brought a shitload of trouble home for Junior, his mum and his sisters to deal with. Junior didn’t want to go back to it.

  After a few minutes of back and forth M had been pulled away by the older boys and they were engaged in a tight circled straight faced conversation. Matt managing to shut the fuck up for at least two minutes, the odd ‘sorted’ and ‘cool’ coming from him, M revelling in being seen with the big boys. He’d waved away the offer of more smoke when they got back to M’s place. He didn’t want to be red eyed and shuffling when his mum got back from work. It was OK between them, at the moment. M hadn’t been mithered by it; he’d met his mum and was always careful around her. Besides, him knocking it back meant more for him and Junior.

  A couple of kids at the school had mentioned this Friday’s alcohol-free music night down at the Centre. He knew a few of the girls who were regulars down there and they were well tidy. But, he didn’t think that the three of them would bother to go, the Centre had way too many rules and restrictions, and the workers there - Sonny and the others - had a reputation for not taking any shit.

  They’d probably get down the precinct for a while and, if Matt’s mum was out on one of her benders, they’d hang out there later on. Last summer she’d been gone for a full week and he’d been bunkered down at M’s for most of it. Maybe Tish and Sharyn would be at the precinct. Tish had let him cop a feel just a couple of weeks ago. She was tasty but a little too sure of herself. Knowing amusement in her eyes whenever she gave him the once over.

  Monday was a write off. Darrin was knackered after the weekend’s shenanigans and only managed to crawl out of his pit at midday. He did a quick reheat of a takeaway that he’d picked up last night and then chilled out on the couch for most of the afternoon. He intermittently toyed with the idea of making an impromptu visit to his mum’s for an evening nosh up but that would mean the tedious trade off of a couple of hours of having to listen to and tolerate his parent’s low level bickering. His dad would definitely be home this evening, he didn’t usually open the gym on Monday nights unless some of his boys were competing, whereupon it was on six nights and six mornings. The reality was that the gym was the only place that the old man was truly happy, the rest of life just a test of his old man’s patience.

  He’d watched a box set DVD for a couple of hours, one that he’d picked up last week. It was a Sci-fi which wasn’t his normal bag, but Barnsey and Johnny Jones had raved about it so he’d given it a bash. A couple of episodes in and he was completely hooked. Humanity trashed by machines that they’d created. Darrin got off on the irony of that all right. He was quickly drawn into humanity’s epic battle for survival too; the survivors’ desperation, lines drawn, all that backs up against the wall stuff. Bit like last Saturday night, he thought, but with better special effects and better looking birds.

  Yesterday, he’d accompanied one of the female detectives up to the Barrington to door knock about the latest mugging. The victim was still in hospital, a broken jaw and three teeth and seven quid the lighter for the experience. The victim couldn’t remember anything but he thought that there were at least two attackers and one of them was ‘a big black lad’. Most of the locals had remained tight lipped and resentful in the face of their questions and he had admired the detective’s patience as they’d made the rounds. He’d felt like belting more than a few of the ungrateful, po-faced fuckers.

  At the end of the first disc he forced himself through some press-ups and sit ups in his cramped lounge room. He’d give his parents a miss. He decided the DVD would provide all the company he needed.

  For Tommy, the week had rolled by as lightly and as drama free as a fluffy white cloud. Thankfully, there had been no great fallout from Saturday’s ruckus on the Leeside, which had surprised him a little, although the weather had been wet and cold, which was usually good news for the local crime stats. Pauline had pulled him in on Wednesday to ask him to help her with a new funding bid that she was putting together. It was the ‘Building Communities’ programme, run through the auspices of the Lottery. Tommy smiled to himself at that bit of information. Mick hated the Lottery, to him it was just another pipe dream for the masses. Mick reckoned you had more chance of getting struck twice by lightning than you had of winning the fucking thing!

  Tommy had pledged to help her, although writing out funding bids were definitely not his thing. He could do it if he had to though, no sweat, he was actually more than competent at that side of the job and, at the moment, Pauline was visibly drowning not waving. Mired in the constant grind of ensuring the long term viability of the Centre and making sure that it was operating at a level that she thought would meet the community’s needs. She was chuffed at his pledge to help and they had chilled out together briefly, sharing some of her slightly over brewed green tea and their youthful travelling tales.

  He knew that she saw him as a bit of a kindred spirit. He wasn’t sure about that but did nothing to dissuade her from the notion. Partly out of pragmatism, as it was a boat that didn’t need rocking, and partly because he liked and respected her.

  He’d stop
ped at Aziz’s on the way home to pick up some provisions. The prices in there were twenty percent up compared to the ever-handy Tesco’s but he would rather pay the mark up than put more money into those fucker’s bulging coffers. Today, Jamal was in the shop busily restocking the shelves, accompanied by Shaista who chastely smiled at his approach from behind the counter. Jamal told him whilst nimbly unpacking some jars of Nescafe, that ‘our Noora’ would be down for a visit in just a couple of week’s time, she was down with the kids for a few days. Jamal’s news had knocked him off balance and he was surprised that his heart had skipped a beat. Jamal finished off a couple more boxes and told him to wait as he went off into the living area behind the counter. He came back with a big grin flourishing a glossy photo which he held at arms length like it was the fucking Koh-i-noor and belonged on a plumped up velvet cushion. Tommy took the proffered picture, it was a current shot of Noora and her family, taken at some collar and tie do. She looked great, as self possessed as ever and that smile of hers - Jesus.

  Sonny popped in to see him the next day and they chatted for a while about tomorrow’s rave. Sonny had his ear to the ground with the local Asian community and he definitely gave the workplace more of a rainbow coalition quality which always looked good in the Centre’s publicity material. Big Lottery are you looking? Sunil was an old Leeside boy; his parents had been living on the estate for most of Tommy’s lifetime. Sonny had been given the word that there were still some rumblings about Saturday’s incidents and that some of the younger bucks were still talking about taking some kind of affirmative action. Luckily, the older guys in the community were holding sway, as they usually did, and any half-arsed retaliation was being held at bay.