Blood Relatives. Stevan Alcock

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ went to pick up t’ final carcass.

      ‘Leave that one,’ said Mitch, a little sharply.

      ‘But I thought …’

      ‘Well, you thought wrong.’

      We lowered the pallet onto a trolley. The woman smacked each carcass like a newborn’s backside, then took a clipboard from under her armpit.

      A group of miners passed by, freshly back up top, hard hats in their hands, white circles where their goggles had been. I watched ’em as they headed for t’ outdoor showers. Some wor already stripping off. The woman wi’ t’ meaty arms passed Mitch a docket to sign. Over her shoulder I glimpsed the pale arse of a miner as he nipped between t’ shower blocks.

      Mitch jabbed me in t’ ribs. ‘Stop gawping. There’s a pile of boxes under that tarpaulin in t’ back of t’ van. Bring me five of ’em.’

      I lifted the blue tarpaulin. Underneath wor about fifty boxes of hair rollers. What wor we doing wi’ hair rollers in a refrigerated lorry? At a coalmine?

      I handed the boxes to Mitch, who passed ’em down to t’ woman wi’ t’ docket. She handed us a pink copy wi’ a number 4 signed for, and kept a white one wi’ a 3 signed for. The last pig rode home wi’ us.

      We’d just driven by two ravens that wor pecking at a road kill, when Mitch said, ‘You keep shtumm about this, you hear?’

      ‘What are you going to do wi’ t’ pig?’

      ‘Let’s just say it fell off t’ back of a lorry.’

      ‘Or didn’t!’

      We both burst out laughing.

      ‘I’ll sell it on tomorrow to this bloke I know over Shipley way. When we get home I want you to keep your mother occupied while I stash the rest of them there hair rollers in t’ garage. You hear me?’

      ‘I hear you.’

      Mitch curled his bottom lip approvingly. I sat wi’ both feet up on t’ dashboard, feeling that all wor right wi’ t’ world, listening to Mitch singing Elvis songs tunelessly ’til he’d had enough of it. We wor stop-starting through inner-city traffic lights.

      Mitch said, ‘How you getting on at Corona?’

      ‘Better than that last job you got me.’

      ‘Aye, well that’s as may be. And Craner? How’s our Mr Craner?’

      ‘Craner’s all right, I suppose.’

      Mitch grunted, seemingly satisfied. He turned on t’ radio, which wor good cos it meant we didn’t have to sing or talk and there worn’t silence neither.

      That last ‘proper job’ Mitch got me wor in a loony bin. Work experience he called it. I lasted all of three days. They didn’t know what to do wi’ me, so I just mooched about like one of t’ inmates.

      I wor hanging about t’ corridor when suddenly there wor a friggin’ commotion and this woman screaming her lungs blue cos she wor being dragged along by t’ hair by two men in white coats. One of ’em eyeballed me and shouted, ‘Who the fuck are you?’

      The next day it wor suggested I could look after some men out in t’ gardens. Get out in t’ fresh air. I wor happy about this, cos inside it smelt of piss and bleach. So I wor sent out into t’ grounds wi’ five grown men to play cowboys and injuns.

      ‘But,’ I wor told, ‘make sure you watch ’em, don’t let any of ’em run off.’

      I looked on uneasily as these middle-aged blokes ran about and hid in t’ undergrowth. It wor more hide and seek than cowboys and injuns. No one went ‘Bang bang’ or hollered or whooped or lay on t’ grass pretending to be dead ’til they got bored and got up again.

      For a brief while this wor brill. I just had to keep an eye out. When I wor a nipper I’d always played cowboys and injuns wi’ my best friend, Mickey. Mickey always played the cowboy and I wor t’ injun. Except one time Mickey undressed me down to my undies (injuns always wore very little) and tied me to a tree (injuns always got tied up). Then he went home and forgot about me. Not long after, these two older boys came along on their bikes. They cycled round and round the tree, laughing, but they refused to untie me. Then they chucked their bikes aside, took out their willies and pissed all over me.

      I looked about for my grown-up cowboys and injuns.

      I formed my fingers into a pistol and sighted one of ’em. Pow! Pow! (Silencer on.) The man’s face crumpled and he started to blubber.

      I counted the men. One, two, three. Four. Only four. Where wor t’other one?

      I spied him nipping into a greenhouse. I followed him in, creeping around t’ ragged tomato plants and whatnot. He wor ducked behind t’ seed tables, sniggering. He wouldn’t come out, but just kept running about t’ friggin’ greenhouse and giggling. For a baldy wi’ a paunch he wor fair nimble.

      I’d soon had enough. I strode out of t’ greenhouse, turned the rusting key, locking the blighter in, and looked about for t’ others.

      I shouted out, ‘Hey, cowboys! Injuns!’ cos I worn’t told their names.

      Silence. No one popped up from behind a tree or stone wall or any of t’ bushes.

      Behind me, the bugger in t’ greenhouse wor freaking out, tugging at the door and bawling. I quickened my step, heading out, telling the man on t’ gate I wor just nipping out for a paper.

      A month later I wor standing in Craner’s office, wishing I wor still in t’ loony bin.

      On t’ Wednesday following Tina Atkinson’s murder, Gran toddled over, as she often did, for a meal. She arrived early evening and sat at the kitchen table, fingers interlocked, pride dented, like she wor in a doctor’s waiting room.

      Sis flounced into t’ kitchen and greeted Gran breezily. She wor chewing chuddy gum. She only chewed chuddy when she’d been smoking, so God friggin’ knows why she bothered trying to mask it. Mother frowned. Gran rooted out a bag of mints from her handbag. She handed Mandy the bag and said, ‘Now these are to share,’ like it wor a reward for being brave cos your pet hamster just pegged it.

      ‘Oooh, thank you Gran,’ sis had simpered. She spat out her chuddy into her hand and stuck it to t’ underside of t’ table. I puckered my face in disgust, so she stuck her tongue out at me, popped a mint onto t’ end, closed her mouth and began sucking noisily.

      ‘Don’t I get one?’

      She pushed the bag toward me.

      ‘No ta. I just wanted to see if you would.’

      Gran rose from t’ table, supporting hersen by t’ edge, sloughed over to t’ sink and began rinsing a plate under t’ cold tap. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I wor once stuck in a lift.’

      Mother wor stirring some cheese sauce to pour over macaroni. I saw her neck vein bloop. ‘Yes,’ she sighed heavily. ‘I know.’

      We all СКАЧАТЬ