Hidden Sin: When the past comes back to haunt you. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ upset, but let’s not go off on one about this. I think we should just see how all this pans out before worrying about things that might not even happen.’

      Christine tried hard to pull the brake on her galloping thoughts. Brian was right. She was running away with herself. Panicking. Being paranoid. But how could she not, when she had so much to be paranoid about?

      She stood up straight again, and reached for her cigarettes on the kitchen counter. The silky smooth wooden counter top Brian had made for her so lovingly. That got to her sometimes, the way he loved her. The way he cared for her. The way he loved her Joey as if he was his own. Christ, he was his own. And now this.

      There was a noise then, of something banging heavily against furniture. No. Someone. Her brother staggered into the kitchen. ‘Wassup?’ he asked, looking from one to the other as he headed towards the sink. ‘Where’s our Joey? Don’t we need to get the drums in?’

      He turned the tap on, too hard, and water fountained off a plate in the washing-up bowl.

      ‘For fuck’s sake, Nick!’ Christine hissed. ‘And will you fucking pipe down?’

      ‘What?’ Nicky whined. ‘Keep your hair on. You making tea?’

      ‘Make a brew, love,’ Brian suggested. ‘I think we could all use another one.’ Then he turned to Nick. ‘So did you see him?’

      ‘See who?’

      ‘Fucking Mo!’ Christine snapped. ‘Rasta Mo – hello? In The Sun?’

      ‘That was Rasta Mo?’ Christine could almost hear the cogs whirring in her brother’s head. ‘That’s who it was, was it? That our Joey was banging on about? Fuck me.’

      ‘So you didn’t?’ Brian asked.

      Nicky shook his head. ‘Nah, by the time I got back it was just the last stragglers. The band and that. And just a couple of the usual alkies. So it was him spoke to Joey?’ He looked from one to the other. ‘So, what – you going to tell him, or what?’

      Booze or no booze, Christine couldn’t believe her brother had even asked the question, let alone that Brian was now looking at her as if it was an entirely reasonable one to ask.

      ‘No, I’m fucking not!’ she said. ‘And you make sure you don’t say anything either. Not to Joey. Not to anyone.’ She pushed a finger into Nicky’s chest. ‘But I need you to help me. I want you to try and find out what he’s doing back here –’

      ‘Assuming it even is him,’ Brian pointed out.

      ‘Round the pubs and that,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘What he’s up to. Why he’s here. I need to know what he’s come back for. And do it discreetly. He mustn’t know –’

      ‘As if he wouldn’t know,’ Nicky countered. ‘If it is him, that is. But if it is, then what about Joey? Shouldn’t he know who he is?’

      Brian raised his hands. ‘Hold up,’ he said. ‘Stop running away with all this. He’s just turned up in a pub and bought the lad a pint, that’s all. That’s all,’ he said, grabbing Christine’s hand and squeezing it. ‘That’s all that’s happened. For all we know, Joey’s never going to see him again. We could be getting stirred up over nothing here. Seriously, love, this could all just be a coincidence. He’s in the pub, Joey’s playing … End of.’

      ‘And even if he does,’ Nicky said, accepting a mug of tea. ‘He might have seemed like Mister Smooth, but our Joey’s not daft. If he does show up again, Joey’ll soon find out who he is. He’ll hear the talk, about who he is, who he was – and what he was, more to the point – and even if he doesn’t, it won’t be two minutes before he makes his own mind up, will it? You’ve brought him up better than that, sis. He’s not daft, that kid. He’ll drop him like a bag of shit once he realises what a cunt he is.’ He slurped the tea. ‘Trust me. You’ll see.’

      Karma. The word came into Christine’s head unbidden. Hung above her as she stared up, sleepless, at the bedroom ceiling. Karma. The spiritual righter of all wrongs. Leave it to karma. Wasn’t that what people said when you were bent on revenge for something someone had done to you? And her mam. Almost on her death bed. So young. So ridiculously young. Hadn’t she banged on about karma then too?

      A patient bastard, that’s what she’d called it. Biding its time before coming to claim her. With cancer. To pay her back for being a shit mum, a loser, a waste of space of a person. And Christine had tried so hard to soothe and reassure her. ‘It’s just life, being life, Mam.’ She’d repeated that so often. Doling out death whenever it felt like it. No concern for any notions about the unfairness of things. And Christine believed it, too, because the good died young all the time, didn’t they?

      Mally, for instance. The man – the man-child – she had killed. Not wittingly – God, never – but time hadn’t helped her learn to live with it. Hadn’t lessened her guilt, and would never absolve her, because she’d still done it – her hand, hers alone, had been the one on the knife. One life gone, by her hand, and another one ruined. She could try to atone all she liked, but she knew it would never be enough; the one thing she could never give her brother were the years of his life back. Years that she’d had. With Joey. Yes, it might have been Nicky’s choice – as he’d pointed out, endlessly – but time hadn’t buffered her guilt about that either. It was done, and it could never be undone.

      So perhaps her mam had been right. Karma was indeed a patient bastard. Lying in wait till she’d finally found happiness before pouncing, its claws ripping at her conscience, piercing her heart, stealing her soul.

      Which she knew she had long since sold to the devil.

       Chapter 4

      Joey’s window-cleaning cart had been a labour of love. And proof positive that, though seemingly pointless at the time (who really needed a spinning MDF spice dispenser anyway?), his years toiling at GCSE woodwork had not, in the end, been in vain.

      It had also been forged in friendship, him and his best mate, Dicky Turner, having built it between them, with a bit of help from his dad and a lot of scavenging round Canterbury Estate. The wheels, in their past life, had graced an abandoned (no doubt stolen) racing bike, and the base was a reclaimed front door.

      Trundling it along Dawnay Road, shirtless, because of the warm summer sunshine, Joey felt a sudden pang of guilt. He often felt bad when he thought about his dad these days, particularly when he was out doing his round. It was while working at the job his dad had virtually handed on a plate to him that he felt the distance that was opening up between them most keenly.

      It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy doing his window-cleaning round, because he was. On days like these, as jobs went, it was pretty hard to beat. He was answerable to no one – and how many lads of his age could say that? He worked in the fresh air, out of doors, too, doing hours to suit himself. Wasn’t a slave to a time-clock, cooped up in some factory, clocking in and out, like his mam and dad did. It was also sociable – a little too sociable sometimes, admittedly – and, best of all, he had only himself to fall back on. The harder he worked, the more he could earn. And he’d never been afraid of hard work.

      But it wasn’t everything. He knew he should СКАЧАТЬ