The Bombs That Brought Us Together (16 page)

‘Who has the keys?’

‘Only me and Pav.’

‘Not quite.’ The Big Man put his finger up teacher style. ‘I have one as well.’

‘But –’

‘My locks, Charlie. My game. Do you think I was going to allow you to lock things away in my town? Come on, you’re cleverer than that.’

‘I suppose not, no.’

‘But the shed is secure?’

‘As anything.’

‘Good. I need you to take these back to your shed for a bit.’

‘The guns?’

‘I need you to put them somewhere safe.’

‘And do what with them?’

‘Keep them for me. Hide them.’

‘Why can’t you keep them here?’

‘I’m The Big Man, Charlie. Do you think Old Country don’t have their tabs on me?’

‘No, but –’

‘Call it security purposes.’

‘What if I get caught?’

‘You won’t.’

‘But what if I do? They’ll torture me or something terrible like that.’

‘Who? Old Country?’

‘Yes. They’ll torture me to find out who gave me the guns.’

‘And you’ll not grass. One thing I loathe is a grass. You’re not a grass, Charlie, are you?’

‘No, but –’

‘You’re now working for Little Town Security Services. Congratulations.’

Did that mean that I was a junior Rascal now? Not a job I wanted.

‘And what do we get?’

The Big Man looked at Muscles and Square Jaw. All three shook their heads.

‘Jesus, the youth of today,’ The Big Man said to them. ‘You get to be in here. You get the stuff you ask for.’ The Big Man patted his heart four times. Not much of a gift that was. ‘I told you I’d look after you, didn’t I?’

‘Yes.’

‘So, I’ll look after you.’

‘Right.’

‘Now, come on and let’s shoot the stuffing out of this Old Country whore.’

Square Jaw positioned the mannequin.

MENTAL MEMO:
NOW THE DARK SIDE HAS BEEN ENTERED IT’S VITAL TO FIND THE DOOR THAT LEADS STRAIGHT OUT OF IT. IF NOT, MUM WILL DESTROY ME.

Six bullets make a round. I fired two of them at the target.

Five aims to the head: two hit.

Four aims to the heart: one hit.

Two aims to the lady garden: two hits.

One aim to the gut: miss.

Let’s just say if that target had been a real woman she’d have been lying on a slab by now. In all the books I’d read about men blowing someone’s brains out, all the movies I’d seen with characters banging away at each other in a final shootout and, all that time, when I think about it now, I never knew how thrilling it would be. I couldn’t tell how much fun they were having. I do now. It gave me a massive inside tingle. I didn’t tell The Big Man that firing the gun gave me goosebumps every time I pulled the trigger; I didn’t want him to
know how much I liked it. And I did. I really did. But you never know what people might do with that information; he could’ve had me down as this young sharpshooter and before you can say READY-AIM-FIRE I’d be roaming the streets of Little Town in search of legitimate targets.

The drive back from the coal mine was blanket-free. Window open. Front seat. Thankfully my lungs were reintroduced to my body. On that journey I kept telling myself that Pav mustn’t know. He mustn’t have a clue about any of it. Even though the shed was his domain as well, I knew he’d go ballistic.

Before I dragged one of the chairs to the other side of the shed and pulled a board loose from the floor and placed the steel carefully underneath until I couldn’t see it, I held the thing up towards my eye and peered through the aim groove. I so wanted to pull that trigger again. Just one more time. The gun was well hidden now: we had both reached a dark side.

Sheds are great things; they’re so versatile. When Erin F comes to the shed there’ll be no faffing about. With my fifteenth birthday looming I’m going to have a whopper of a party. It’s going to be an animal. It’s going to be topper. Erin F and me in a cramped space celebrating my birthday.

Pav will be there too!

My tactic is to play it cool, show her the sharp side of Charlie Law. My sensitive side. Then, maybe …

Pav will be there too!

Hold hands first … then go for a cuddle … then, maybe …

PAV WILL BE THERE TOO!

I hate having the feeling of wishing Pav would get a bad flu in time for my party.

Maybe just a twenty-four-hour flu would do.

Maybe an obstacle put in place.

It’s amazing the things that go through your head in times of stress.

Maybe I could just shoot him?

In spite of the presence of Old Country patrols on our streets, school had finally decided to reopen for the education and enlightenment of Little Town’s youth (and Pav). The thought of seeing Erin F again fluttered my heart.

‘Charlie! Charlie!’ Mum’s foghorn yelled. ‘You’re going to be late for school.’

Late? Erm. Don’t think so. I’d been up for ages, preparing myself.

Mentally.

Physically.

Creatively.

‘I’ve got flakes for your breakfast,’ she shouted.

Flakes?

Flakes?

Where did she get flakes from?

‘And orange juice.’

ORANGE JUICE?

‘Do you want me to pour you a glass?’

Orange juice AND flakes?

This was too much.

‘You’d better hurry up or your dad will snaffle it all.’ Mum’s voice sounded clear, as though it’d been put through the washing machine.

A thoroughbred wouldn’t have made it to that kitchen faster than I did.

The table was like a Van Gogh painting, or a Picasso, or some other famous artist.

‘Where did you get all this stuff, Mum?’

‘Don’t ask,’ Dad said from behind his paper.

‘But I don’t understand,’ I said.

‘What’s to understand?’ Dad muttered.

‘I mean, orange juice and flakes. On the same table.’

Dad turned his head to Mum.

‘It’s the small things in life, Maggie. Eh?’

I’m sure he winked at her.

Mum smiled.

Please tell me he wasn’t extracting the urine this early in the morning?

‘But how?’ I said. I couldn’t help wondering whether this new-found breakfast bounty was somehow linked to my own
new status as an unofficial employee of Little Town Security Services.

‘Just sit and eat, Charlie,’ Mum said, pulling a chair out for me. ‘Enjoy it, son.’ Mum had a spring in her step. A great big bouncy castle more like. She couldn’t hide her delight in getting rid of me again. Dad was poker-faced. Normal. But secretly he was glad. I could tell. Back-to-school day was like a holiday for parents.

‘Did you buy it from someone?’ I asked.

Dad folded his paper on the line – ‘Utter rubbish they print these days,’ – and looked at me. ‘Don’t ask questions, Charlie. If you don’t want it we can arrange something else for you. Toast and water, perhaps?’

‘No, no. This is fine. Totally fine. Promise. I’m just surprised, that’s all.’

‘Are you going with the Duda boy?’ Dad asked.

‘You mean Pav?’

‘You know who I mean,’ Dad said.

‘I am indeed. I can’t let him go by himself, not on the first day back, can I?’ I said.

‘You just be careful, Charlie,’ Mum said. ‘I don’t want you getting into any trouble.’

‘Why would I be getting into trouble?’ They didn’t answer. ‘Have I ever got into trouble at school?’ Dad went back to his utter rubbish paper and Mum pottered about doing nothing.

‘Just be careful of other people, Charlie, that’s all I’m saying,’ Mum said.

‘People at school?’ I said.

‘At school, outside school, in the street. Everywhere,’ Dad said from behind the paper. He had now reread (or pretended to reread) the same page three times. They were trying to hide it, but I knew their game … and it was up.

‘You’re scared that something will happen to me because I’m pals with Pav, aren’t you?’

They gave each other a snide glance, like they had prepared themselves for this type of breakfast chat, like they had already role-played it.

‘Of course we’re not,’ Mum said.

‘Because Pav’s from Old Country?’ I said.

‘Don’t be silly, Charlie,’ Dad said. Still hiding.

They hadn’t role-played with me being there though. Fatal flaw. A chink in the parenting skills armour.

‘I’ll have you know that Pav can take care of himself. He doesn’t need me to stand up for him. He doesn’t need me to protect him all the time.’

‘That’s not what we’re saying, Charlie,’ Mum said.

‘Look, we’re just hoping –’ Dad tried to offer.

‘Pav’s more of a victim in all this than any of us, by the way.’

More snide looks.

Game over.

‘We’re not denying that the Duda boy is a victim in all this, but our concern right now is you,’ Dad said.

‘You don’t need to worry about me,’ I said.

‘Just keep the head down, Charlie, and don’t get mixed up in any unsavoury business or with any unsavoury types.’

I held Dad’s eyes for a few seconds more than I should have. Did he know about the apples? The shed furniture? Muscles’ visit? Worse, the hidden steel? Did he know about The Big Man? I took a big quenching gulp of the orange juice and was happy to see Dad return to his reading material. What did he know?

Mum took out a huge knife and cut the loaf with it … as well as the atmosphere.

‘I thought you’d be late, Charlie,’ she said.

‘I’ve been up for ages.’

‘I heard you pottering about early doors all right,’ Dad said.

‘Just getting things ready for today,’ I said.

Getting mentally ready for my first day back at school was tough, partly because I didn’t know how many of my old classmates would be there. Who’d been hurt in the bombings? Some areas of housing had been hit, but I hadn’t heard anything about people I knew. And I still had not actually laid eyes on Erin F. It was also tough because I hadn’t spoken about how scared I was going to school with Pav. Scared in case people decided to have a go at battering his Old Country lights in. As his mate, which I am, I’d be expected to play the
role of his sidekick wingman and protect him at all costs, lash out if required at anyone who wanted to banjo him or anyone giving him verbals. That’s my job. But the thing is, I’m actually petrified of physical violence. I’d rather give someone a good talking-to. I was afraid that people would also see me as the enemy because my mate is the enemy – well, he’s not the real enemy; the people from where he’s from are the real enemy. He hates the enemy, like me.

Pav stood at my front door looking like a burst couch. His school clothes were shambolic. The shirt collar made his neck appear like a toothpick in a Polo mint. His trousers were almost falling down, undoubtedly to reveal bogging yellow-stained pants. His shoes were the same ones he wore all the time, scuffed and tired. He’d no tie. His eyes looked as if he was saying his last goodbye before embarking on a five-year stretch in the Young Offenders’. I couldn’t let him get on the school bus looking like a meth head going to court. He may as well have boarded that bus with a huge target on his back. Action was required.

‘Come in for a minute and wait there,’ I said, and rushed to my room, leaving Mum and Dad and Pav to stare at each other. It was nice to hear muffled voices when I was in my room. Armed with a spare tie, a belt and a shoe brush, I ushered Pav towards my room.

‘What is this?’ he said when I produced the goods.

‘You can’t go to school without a tie; they’ll go spare, Pav.’

‘I not know about tie.’

‘Well, you do now; here, put this on.’ I slung the tie around his thin neck. ‘And you’d better give these the once-over.’ I leaned down and rubbed the shoe brush over his scruffy ones. Fifteen times on each shoe with a bit of spit. Could’ve probably done with one hundred rubs on each shoe right enough. Afterwards his shoes weren’t exactly dinner-eating material but my work made a slight difference. Above me Pav fumbled about awkwardly.

‘Come here, let me do it,’ I said.

Pav stood upright and allowed me to tie the tie in a perfect knot. A technique learnt from a Scout book.

‘Why I must wear tie?’

‘It’s the rules, Pav. We all do,’ I said.

‘Rules. Rules. Rules. I hate rules.’

I opened the top button of his shirt so his neck wouldn’t look so tiny in the tie; I gave him a big knot to help his case more. Then I made him pull the belt around the loops of his trousers and tug it super tight. He needed another hole punched in the belt. He stood back so I could have a look at him and all I could think about was the Scarecrow from
The Wizard of Oz
. He was presentable. Just. But Pav would have to learn to do it all himself; I couldn’t go through this rigmarole every day.

‘Where’s your mum and dad?’

‘Dad work early. Mum in bed.’

‘Still upset at seeing your sister?’

‘She again cry. She fear we send back.’

‘I’m sure it’ll get better, Pav.’

‘I hope.’

‘Pav?’

‘What?’

‘If you want, we can do some lingo lessons after school. In the shed, maybe.’

Pav didn’t even need to think about it.

‘What you do, Charlie? You try killing me? One school enough for one day. I learn lingo at school, no?’

One school was enough for one day. For both of us.

My nerves were shattered as we made our way to the bus stop, thinking about what awaited us. What awaited me.

‘Charlie?’

‘What?’

‘You see Big Man yet?’

‘I’m going after school,’ I lied. I didn’t want Pav involved in any of this gun stuff. If truth be known, I wanted that stuff to be mine. I felt like an international spy, or someone important.

‘Tell him we no want presents no more.’

‘I’ll tell him we are done with the presents,’ I lied.

‘I no want anything from him.’

‘I’ll speak to him, Pav. Don’t worry.’

‘I no worry.’

I gave him an everything’s-going-to-be-fine nudge.

Shoulder to shoulder.

Mate to mate.

Buddy to buddy.

‘Think about it: new school, new times ahead. It’ll be good.’

‘Look,’ Pav said, pointing to an Old Country patrol sat about two hundred yards from where we were waiting for our bus. ‘If this new times I no want.’ He looked at it for longer than the nerves could take, probably wondering if his sister was on it. Driving it maybe. Looking at him through mega-powerful binoculars.