‘Here,’ she said to Robbie finally, having found him a stray chocolate biscuit in the tin at the back of the kitchen cupboard, ‘got a treat for you. Make sure you don’t touch that fire, okay? I’ve got to go now. And off to bed with you when you’re tired – and that’s an order, mush.’
Robbie grinned. ‘I’ll do you a picture next, if you like, Auntie Titch. So’s you can put it on your bedroom wall and make it pretty. What shall I do? You want a pony?’
‘I’d like a unicorn,’ she answered immediately. ‘That’s like a horse but with a horn. Like a rhino has, only prettier. They have flowing manes, and they’re white and they’re magical creatures.’
Robbie frowned. ‘But I don’t have a white colouring pencil. An’ the paper’s white, too, so –’
‘Make mine a rainbow one, then,’ she said. ‘Any colours you like. Make it a colour-changing one, one that’s magic.’
Just like it would be a magic trick if her sister shaped up and looked after her kiddies properly, she thought sadly as she made the short journey home.
It was just coming up to ten by the time Josie’d eaten and gone to bed, having had her beans on toast in front of the telly. Still only early, but she wanted to be sure she was asleep before June and Jock got in. They were bad enough sober, but she definitely didn’t want to have to lie there and listen while they crashed about, pissed as farts, downstairs.
Not that she could sleep. She hating being in the house on her own all the time while her mam and dad got pissed down the pub. At least Caz had a dog to keep her company. She missed Vinnie so much, particularly on evenings like this when, alone in the empty house, she felt so lonely.
She was also kept awake by a simmering sense of anger – was she the only one who cared anything about her family? Her mam and dad were up to God knew what – she didn’t even want to think about it – and her sister didn’t seem to give a shit about anyone or anything – least of all her three poor little kids. And as for Vinnie … well, Vinnie was locked away somewhere, wasn’t he? Did he care? Did he think about her? Worry about her the way she worried about him? She hoped so, but what could he do about anything in any case? Even Caz – Caz had loads of her own shit going on, didn’t she? Why was life so complicated? So bloody miserable? She turned over to face the wall, feeling suddenly tearful. Why couldn’t her brother just come home and make things better?
She was still tossing and turning an hour later, when she heard the door go. Which was odd – it was still too early for her mum and dad to be home, surely? So who could it be? She never locked the door as June never took a key and besides they only had one. She sat up and listened, scared.
She always kept her door shut – she could never get to sleep with it open – and watching it creak open now, spilling light from the landing into a block across the floorboards, she clutched her bedspread to her chest, hardly daring to breathe. Was she going to die now? Was she about to be murdered in her bed, just like the old lady in one of the books Vinnie had told her about?
‘Alright, Titch?’ It was Robbo. She’d know that voice anywhere. And that silhouette, all scraggy limbs, in the doorway. She exhaled, relieved. Much as she couldn’t stand the sight of him, he was a much more welcome sight than the one her imagination had suggested might be standing there.
He looked pissed, of course, and she already knew he was stoned. ‘God!’ she said. ‘Thanks for that! You really scared me, Robbo!’
‘Sorr’ bout that,’ he said, stumbling into the room unsteadily, blocking the light out. ‘You haven’ got any more money, have you? There’s fuck all in and our Rob said you’d been round an’ that, and I’m starving. I’d kill for a bag of chips.’
‘So would I,’ she said angrily. ‘Only I had to put it in your sodding meter. Because it looked like you’d spent your gas money on beer and dope! You’re starving. What about poor Robbie?’
Robbo blinked at her, then shuffled a little further towards the bed. Then over-balanced, and landed heavily, half sitting, half lying across her legs. He smelt rancid. Of stale beer and old fag smoke. He disgusted her.
‘You cheeky little fucker,’ he said mildly. ‘We get money tomorrow, okay? It’s just tonight, that’s all. Go on, Titch. Please?’
Josie recoiled, pulling her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest. ‘I told you. I don’t have any. Now get off my bed, Robbo, and go back home. I want to get to sleep. And me mam and dad’ll be back in a minute.’ She clutched the blanket to her chin again, all too easily imagining a scenario where he passed out again – out cold, on her bed.
But it seemed she had misread his mental state.
‘Oooh!’ he said, trying to rise again, unsteadily. ‘Look at you, all prim –’ he mimed her hands clutching at the bedspread. ‘You gone all shy with me tonight, Titch? Gone all scaredy?’
He laughed then, and made a lunge for the bedspread, grabbing a handful of material. ‘What you hiding under there, eh?’ he said, yanking on it. ‘What you got in there, you little fucker? Something for the lads? Go on, Titch. Don’t be a spoilsport. Show us your tits!’
This couldn’t be happening, not again. This simply couldn’t be happening. ‘Fuck off! Fuck off, you dirty bastard!’ she screamed. ‘I swear I’ll tell, I will! I’ll tell right now, soon as me mam’s home! Get OUT!’
Robbo jumped back as if she’d slapped her, then as soon as he was out of kicking range, put his hands on his skinny hips and stared at her. ‘Fucking hell, Titch,’ he said. ‘Calm down! I was only messing about! I’m not going to touch you.’ He threw his hands up, the palms gleaming palely at her. ‘No way was I going to touch you! No fucking way. You should be so lucky, kid,’ he finished, stumbling back out the same unsteady way he’d come in, then clattering noisily back down the stairs.
Josie ran across and shut the door again, wishing he’d fallen down them and died at the bottom, then pulled her chest of drawers across to block it as best she could. Then she got back into bed and curled into a tight trembling ball.
Lucky? Luck could leave her well alone, then.
‘Stop shivering!’ Downey screamed, ‘you soft little bastards! Get yourselves in fucking line, quick sharp!’
Having been dragged from their beds at 6 a.m., the lads from C Block had woken to two barked-out bits of news from Mr Downey, and neither of them were good. One was that they were to form three orderly lines out in the yard – while still clad only in their underpants – and the other was that they were going to be punished.
Vinnie groaned wearily as they made their way outside. What now? Frank again? He hoped so. Hoped the fucker got shit raining down on him on a daily basis. Though the balance had now shifted, which brought him great pleasure. He had a loyal fan in Kevin, now he knew Vinnie had his back, and Frank knew to keep his distance. Job done.
Lining up, Vinnie turned to the boy next to him, Blond Barry, a lad from further down his wing. He was standing there shivering so much that his teeth were actually chattering. ‘Wonder what’s gone off?’ Vinnie whispered, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down his upper arms. ‘What do you think? Bet that spaz Pemberton’s done something again. Pound to a penny, isn’t it? God, I’m fucking freezing. Whatever it is, this cunt had better hurry up – I’m not missing my scoff for no fucker.’
Barry pulled a face. ‘Dream on, Vinnie,’ he said. ‘If they say we miss brekkie we miss brekkie and that’s that.’
That was Barry all over, that was. Defeatist. One of those lads that always said they just wanted to do their time and keep their heads down – which meant they would take any