Southsiders (6 page)

This time it worked. His signature may not have been as valuable as Elvis’s, but it did look pretty grown up for a lad of his age.

Lurch took the forms. Rolled a blotter over the ink and folded them up neatly.

“And here’s your cash.” He slid it over the table. “£1000 as agreed. To be paid back in full within a period of sixty days with the accrued interest of 10% per thirty days.” Jesse’s face wrinkled at the news and Fish must have noticed. “Bring back either £1100 after thirty days or £1220 after sixty and you can take your precious records away with you. Should you fail to do so, the goods will be sold in the shop at whatever price we deem fit. Understand?”

Jesse nodded. Felt the thickness of the cash he was holding. It was thicker than any of the books he’d ever read. “Thanks, Mr Fish.” His voice had a nervous crackle to it, betraying the fact that he felt like Hansel imprisoned in a house of gingerbread. “I’ll see you next year. Happy Christmas.” He’d have leant over and offered his hand had the memory of the first shake not been implanted in his brain.

He tucked the cash safely away into his inside pocket, nodded to the two gentlemen and left the shop, heading in the direction of the housing association rent office with a gentle bounce in his step as he went.

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T
he stairs were murder with arms full of groceries. Jesse had maybe gone a bit far on his first time in charge of the budget and the shopping list. Not that he was regretting the purchasing of all those Christmas decorations. The flat was looking pretty Spartan and the ancient collection of decorations weren’t going to be up to the job for yet another year.

By the time Jesse got to his floor, he was completely out of puff and dropped all of the bags before going over to his door.

“Hello, Jesse.” The voice came from behind. Gave him a start. There was something familiar about it, but it took him a while to place it. Rupert Wallace, Social Work. “I see you’re feeling a bit better now. That’s good.” Wallace always managed to sound sarcastic even when he was trying to be nice.

Jesse turned to face him. He wore a black duffel coat with polished wooden pegs for buttons, drainpipe jeans and a pair of shiny brown brogues.

“Yeah. I’m quite a bit better.” What the hell was Wallace doing there? And how the hell was Jesse going to get out of this one?

“I’ve been waiting for a while. The nice man on the ground floor let me in.” Nice? In this block? Must be someone new.

“Did you want to see me?” Jesse asked.

“You and your parents really. Can I come in?”

Questions like this from people like Wallace were never really questions at all. They were more like instructions or orders made to sound like something else. “Suppose so,” Jesse told him and went over to pick up his bags again. He struggled over to the door with his load and opened up.

When they got inside and Jesse turned the lights on, Wallace gasped. “Is something wrong?”

“Course not.”

“It doesn’t look right. Like it’s someone else’s house. What the hell’s happened?”

Jesse shrugged his shoulders in reply.

“It’s...” Wallace paused for a moment. “...tidy. The place is tidy. There must be something wrong.”

It was nice of him to notice. And, yes, it was tidy.

Jesse led Wallace through into the kitchen. The floor tiles shone and there was nothing but a clean plastic table-top where the piles of mess usually lived. There was even the whiff of cleaning materials and soap about the place. No wonder Wallace was freaking out.

“Mum’s gone sober. Hasn’t had a drink for weeks. It suits her. Makes her gentle and kind. I don’t think you’d recognise her.”

The social worker rubbed at his forehead with his sleeve. “No, I bloody well wouldn’t.”

Swearing was another of those things people like Wallace could get away with. Like using words like damned and buggered made him an all right guy. Just like the people he was sent to work with except for the job, the clothes, the posh accent and the lifetime of opportunities.

“Are your parents around?”

“They must have popped out. Said something about picking up a Christmas tree when I went out shopping.”

“It’s funny. I got a call from the school today about your attendance. They mentioned that you’d been off again. Too ill to get in. They also said that there was something unusual about the calls they’d had from your dad.”

“How’s that?”

“Something about the voice. Like it was someone pretending to be him. Do you have any idea what that might be about?”

“He’s had a bit of a cold an’ all,” Jesse said, the body-swerve being about as natural to him as it was to a footballer in the SPL. It might have been better if he’d been able to dive like one, then he’d have been able to jump from the window and get away from it all.

“That’s a shame.” The tone suggested that Wallace didn’t mean it. His words dripped with sarcasm the way syrup slid from toast. “But at least you’re better.”

There was no hiding the fact that he wasn’t ill, so Jesse didn’t even bother. “Must have been one of those twenty-four hour bugs. I was all better just after lunch.”

“Must be nice, you having your mum around. I mean, really around.”

The guy was fishing, Jesse knew. Being a social worker seemed to be more about detective work than looking after folk as far as Jesse could tell. Problem was, Wallace was good with a line and a hook and Jesse needed to be careful he didn’t swallow the bait. “Aye. It is.”

“Looks like she’s able to look after you and cook and clean and do all the things she might forget when she’s had a couple of gin and tonics.” Wallace got up and went over to the sink. He took a glass from the drainer and held it up to the light and examined it. “Mind if I have a drink of water? I was waiting out there for a while.”

“Help yourself.”

He turned the tap and let the water run, probably waiting until it was cold enough, filled his glass, downed it in one then filled it again. He turned the tap off and turned round. “That’s better.” He hadn’t bothered to sit down and just leaned against the top of the bunker. “I’ll bet your dad’s pretty happy about your mum, too.

Jesse nodded.

“Good. That’s good. It must be nice for him to feel safe around her. There haven’t been any more fights have there? She’s not been beating on him has she?”

Coming from a home where the adults had an abusive relationship could be damaging to a child. They’d said that at the last hearing. Jesse’s mum had cried at that. Sobbed like she hated herself for doing it. What Wallace and the teachers didn’t seem to understand, though, was that to live in a house where the father was beaten by the mum was unbearable. A boy needed his dad to be strong and firm, not a victim. Thinking about his dad cowering and flinching made Jesse want to cry right now.

Thankfully, the phone rang and stopped his tears from flowing.

There was no way Jesse was going to answer while Wallace was in the room, so he just sat and remained as still as he could manage.

“Aren’t you going to get that?” Wallace asked.

Jesse shook his head.

“Do you want me to....er?”

Jesse shook his head again.

The answer machine clicked in. “Hello, Baaaaaby,” it said, styled perfectly on the Big Bopper. “You know I’d like it if you left a message.” And then the beep.

“Hey, son.” Jesse sprang to his feet and then just stood. The sound of his father’s voice made him feel faint. Made him want to pick up and tell him what was going on, only with Wallace there he’d just get himself into a bucketful of shit. “I wanted to say...I mean I just wanted to....I love you, Jesse. I just wanted to let you know.”

There was another click, followed by a silence that was about the size of an elephant.

“Are you all right, Jesse? You look like you’ve heard a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” Jesse said, but his voice croaked out the word and even to himself he sounded anything but. He fell into his seat and waited for his world to stop spinning.

“Would you like a glass of water?”

Jesse held up his hand to refuse. He wanted to tell Wallace to push off and leave him alone. “Push off, Wallace. I want you to leave.” He hadn’t meant to say it. The words escaped his mouth without him being able to put on the brakes.

Wallace’s face went pink and his eyes seemed to retreat, as if he’d been hurt by the remark. “It’s Rupert, Jesse. You know that.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I’m not feeling so well again.”

Wallace rinsed his glass in the sink. “You know Jesse, that was nice of your dad to say that, but it seems a little unusual.” He returned the glass and went over to his bag that was resting by the table. He opened it, rooted around and took out a diary. “I think it would be good if we could all meet. Before Christmas. Say next week?” He scribbled in his diary, ripped out a page and handed it to Jesse. “I’d like to see your mum and dad on Monday. 10 o’clock. It’ll be the first day of the holidays, so you can be here with us. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” He obviously liked the word nice. Clearly he hadn’t been taught in Jesse’s school where the word was banned. Everything had to be wonderful or sweet or pleasant. “Just the four of us. Give this note to your parents when they get home.” He put his things back in his bag and closed it. “And don’t forget, if there’s anything you need you can call me at the office. The number’s on the paper.”

Jesse stood up and followed Wallace as he headed to the door, avoiding the piles of shopping bags along the way.

“Well, thanks for the water. I look forward to seeing you next week. And make sure you’re back in school tomorrow otherwise we might have to take some drastic action. See you.” There was the threat. The gentle application of pressure that he was so good at using. The bastard.

Wallace let himself out and Jesse locked the door from the inside when it closed. He stood for a moment to listen to the footsteps get quieter as they got further away and then he ran over to the phone.

He played the message back. His father’s voice made him feel safe for a moment, until the call ended and left a hole that was bigger than the one that had been there before.

“I love you too,” Jesse said and, this time, he allowed the tears to fall.

He settled himself down. Talked himself around. Picked up the phone and dialled his father’s number.

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R
ay’s tears poured from him, wetting the pillow in which his face was buried. All he’d needed was to hear Jesse’s voice to make everything OK, yet without it the world seemed to dissolve into hopelessness.

He made sure that his sobs were quiet, controlling them as best he could. Last thing he wanted was to upset Izzy. To have her coming up and holding him. Offering comfort and taking away the pain the way she seemed to manage. The humiliation would have just been too much when she was the one who needed looking after.

Actually, her coming up to hold him was exactly what he wanted, only not with the world the way it was. He’d screwed up his life already. His life and the lives of those he cared for. Messing things up for Izzy and Rose would have destroyed him. Maybe them too.

On the wooden floorboards of his room, his phone began to vibrate. It threw out the tune to “Looking For Trouble”, the ringtone for his Edinburgh home.

He quickly wiped the snot and tears onto the pillow case, grabbed his phone and pressed answer.

“Hello,” he said, then “Bloody hell,” when he felt the pain from the wound on the ear he’d just bashed.

“Dad? Dad? It’s Jesse.”

Ray moved the phone to his other ear. “Hey, son. It’s so good to hear your voice. Tell me what you’re up to right now.”

There was a pause on the other end, like the question was a really difficult one and needed thought. “Homework. Can you believe they’re still giving us homework this close to the holidays?” Somehow, it didn’t sound right. Jesse never did his homework, no matter how many times he’d had to miss out on
Golden Time
as a punishment.

“That’s teachers for you. Make sure you finish it. We wouldn’t want you ending up like your old man.” Broken and worthless.

Jesse laughed at the other end of the line. “History. Describe how a famous Scottish inventor changed your world.”

“Who’re you doing?”

There was another pause. “Eh, Alexander Graham Bell of course. One of the fathers of the record player.” Nice one son. “Now ask me a hard one.”

“Is everything all right? Your mum’s not being too hard on you, is she?”

“Course not, Dad. She’s doing OK. Keeping things together.”

“That’s good.” He supposed it was, but it might have been nice to hear she was upset about things falling apart the way they had. Or that she couldn’t live without him. “Is she there? Could I have a quick word?” His heart rate seemed to take off at the thought, like a sprinter who’d just heard the starting pistol.

“Sorry, Dad,” Jesse said. “She’s er...” the pause was painful. “...just popped out to get something for tea. Pizza and curly fries.”

“Great.” Sounded tasty. Had his mouth watering. “Maybe you could ask her to call me later.” God, he was weak. “When she’s got a moment.”

There was a longer pause this time. The kind that preceded bad news. “She told me she never wanted to speak to you again. I’m not even supposed to tell her if we’ve talked.”

This time the pause came from Ray’s end. Anyone would have thought it was his fault their lives had fallen apart the way she was acting. “Never mind, son. It was good of you to call me. Uncle Cliff’s sorted me with a job at the Titanic Museum. I get to go in tomorrow for a look around. He’ll show me the ropes and then I’ll get to start in the New Year.”

“That’s great, Dad.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them sounded sincere in their enthusiasm.

“I meant what I said on the message, you know. I love you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” Getting to look after Rose had reminded him just how lucky he’d been to have a child of his own. Brought back the memories in gigantic floods.

“Love you too.”

Ray smiled.

“Listen Dad, that’s Mum on her way. I’d better go. I’ll call you soon. You can tell me all about the new job then. Gotta go.”