Trilogy Collection. Julie Shaw

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СКАЧАТЬ bang, bang! Finally it hit her. It was the front door.

      ‘All fucking right!’ she screamed down, at the top of her lungs. ‘Shut the fuck up! I’m coming, okay?’

      She threw the covers back, shivering as the cold air hit her bare legs, and rose unsteadily to her feet, feeling groggy. Unable to locate anything warmer, she reached for the negligee that matched her new baby-doll black nightie, then padded downstairs, popping her head round the living-room door when she reached the bottom, to check the time on the guitar clock on the wall. Eleven thirty in the morning – Christ! She’d slept that late? How had that happened? And where was Jock?

      ‘Okay, okay, leave the fucking knocker on!’ she yelled as she approached the front door, only stopping in bewilderment as she pulled it open to reveal two uniformed policemen on the step.

      ‘Morning, June,’ said the tallest of the two – who appeared to be a sergeant. He grinned at his colleague before taking his time looking her appreciatively up and down. ‘Good,’ he said brightly. ‘I see you were expecting us.’

      June scowled at him, in no mood for grinning cops on any morning, let alone one after the night she decided she must have had last night. Eleven thirty? What fucking time did she make it to bed?

      ‘In yer bleedin’ dreams, plod,’ she snapped. ‘What do you want anyway? Only I’m freezing me tits off stood here.’

      ‘Mind if we come in, June?’ the other copper said, equally brightly. What the fuck did these two have to be so cheerful about?

      ‘I do mind, as it goes,’ she said. ‘Our Vinnie’s still locked up, so we’ve got – let me see – about three more months before you start harassing us again. Now, what do you want?’

      The tallest copper cleared his throat. ‘Well, June,’ he said, ‘it’s about these stolen club cheques – the ones that were taken from the site your Jock was working at a while back. We’ve been following a bit of a chain and it all seems to lead back to you, June. So again, shall we come in or do you want to conduct this on the doorstep?’

      June managed to curl her lip into what she hoped was an innocent-looking smile. ‘Club cheques?’ she asked. ‘Club cheques? Are you right in the fucking head? I’ve no idea what you’re on about, mate. Now, is that it? Because from where I’m standing, you couldn’t conduct a fucking church choir, let alone an investigation.’

      June glanced at the shorter of the two, who seemed to be staring at something on the floor. She followed his eyes to see her morning post scattered on the lino in the hallway. Just as her mind registered what it was he was staring at, the copper bent down and picked up a postcard. A postcard that might have meant nothing whatsoever, were it not for the ‘Greetings from Blackpool’ written in swirly writing diagonally across the front.

      He was way too quick for her. Before she could reach out and snatch it up, he’d already done so and was now holding it out of arm’s reach to read. Typical Maureen, she thought, staring at the back of it, or rather the front of it: a cartoon couple, fat and sunburned, eating ice-creams on the beach. Brilliant. Fucking brilliant. He started reading aloud now.

      ‘Dear Jock and June,’ he read, addressing his words mostly to his sniggering colleague, and adopting a high-pitched posh lady’s voice, ‘cash the rest of our paper money in – wink, wink, nudge, nudge – because me and Steven might come back here with you and Jock. Wish you were here, love Mo.’

      June made a second attempt to grab the postcard, but once again the copper was too quick for her. ‘Give it here, you lousy bastard. I’m sure that’s a fucking offence, that is – tampering with the Royal Mail!’

      He held it above his head now, seeming amused to see her jumping up to try and get it. How dare he fucking laugh at her, he and his dumb fucking mate.

      ‘Sorry, June,’ he said pleasantly, ‘not when it’s evidence, it isn’t. Shouldn’t have been so greedy, love, should you?’

      He slipped it into a pocket then, and patted it for good measure. ‘And just so you know, there’s no point in you putting on that “butter wouldn’t melt” face, either. This –’ he patted the pocket again ‘– just sort of seals it. We already knew most of the picture already. Them fuckers up Buttershaw are not as scared of you as you and your little gang like to think. Anyway, Jock around?’

      ‘No,’ said June, her mood growing as black as her expensive nightie. ‘He’s gone to Torre-fucking-molinos. What do you think?’

      And how she wished that they really could. Ideally now.

      Two months later, June was carefully cutting an article out of the Telegraph & Argus newspaper. ‘Oh What a Tangled Web We Weave’ read the headline, and beneath it was a black-and-white picture of June, Jock and eight others, all in their Sunday best, outside Bradford Courts, smiling for the camera.

      Our Vinnie’s gonna love this, thought June as she folded the cutting and placed it on the fireplace. She grinned as she remembered the day in court. The judge had shaken his head in disbelief as they all, one after the other, had been called up. They had all pleaded guilty of course. No getting out of it, but the fine and the warning had been worth it. All that money they’d spent and enjoyed, and then the look on that judge’s face. Priceless.

       Chapter 15

      September

      June couldn’t remember that last time she’d felt so happy and yet so anxious all at once. So much as if everything was slightly shifted off kilter. In some ways it had felt as if the time had passed so quickly, yet in others it felt like a lifetime had passed. Vinnie was almost 17. It didn’t seem possible.

      She squealed when she saw him – her boy! Home at last! And then again as, when she ran to him to try and give him a squeeze, he lifted her up – right off her feet, too; she couldn’t believe he was tall enough to do that – and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

      ‘Alright, Mother?’ he said. ‘Well, I’m back.’

      ‘Oh, put me down, you daft bleeder,’ she said, hoping he wouldn’t. Not just yet – he was home and she wished the whole world could see.

      He did put her down then, and grinned at her, cupping a hand to his ear – God, his hair was so long now! – and saying, ‘What’s that? Nope – I can’t hear that kettle whistling!’

      She followed him inside then, marvelling at him. He looked so different. She’d clocked that the minute she’d clapped eyes on him, studying him minutely from the first second she’d seen him, strolling up the road carrying his case with such a swagger. She hadn’t seen him since last Christmas, so it had been a while now. And that had been a rare treat in itself. He saved his visiting orders for Brendan so he could keep in touch with his mates. Which wasn’t surprising, she supposed. Why would he want to waste them on his mum? She’d reminded herself of that so many times over the last couple of years, so that Christmas visit had been a real shock. He’d grown so much. Become so manly.

      And now he’d changed again. There was something. Something tangible.

      He was taller still. That was a definite. He’d grown a good couple of inches. And СКАЧАТЬ