To Hell in a Handcart. Richard Littlejohn

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СКАЧАТЬ he meant it.

      Young Terry, just coming up thirteen, was built like Mickey. He was already 5ft 9ins, just four inches short of his dad, and weighed in at eleven stone. He adopted the same cropped haircut as his father, but unlike his dad not out of necessity.

      Mickey’s fighting weight was fifteen stone, but he’d gone to flab since he left the Job. Not so as you’d notice, mind. He came from a long line of dockers, brick-shithouses of men who could carry a few extra pounds. But Mickey knew.

      Terry pulled down the peak of his baseball cap to obscure the light shining on the screen on his Gameboy.

      They were driving from their home in the village of Heffer’s Bottom on the Essex borders to Goblin’s Holiday World on the south coast for a long weekend.

      Driving would perhaps be overdoing it. Inching forward in a southerly direction might be more accurate, that’s if you didn’t count the regular periods of complete standstill.

      Despite Katie’s initial protestations, she was looking forward to the holiday. She doted on her dad and vice versa. They didn’t see much of each other, never had really, what with Mickey’s work when she was growing up. He was always there, though, when it mattered, and she appreciated that.

      Her friends had parents who were always going on about spending ‘quality time’ with their children, but Katie could tell they only ever thought of themselves.

      Who needs quality time when you’ve got quality parents?

      Apart from the metallic leakage from Katie’s Walkman, the occasional ‘cool’ from Terry as his micro-electronic alter ego slayed some more aliens and the Rocktalk 99FM soundtrack on the radio, all was peaceful and cordial.

      ‘You still don’t believe me, do you?’ Mickey said.

      ‘If you say so.’

      ‘No, love, this is important to me. I don’t want you to think that I’m still pining for the police.’

      ‘Yeah, yeah.’

      ‘What’s with the yeah, yeah?’

      ‘Mickey, you were married to the Job for as long as you’ve been married to me. You were like a bear with a sore head for months after you put your papers in.’

      ‘Not any more. The game’s not worth the candle.’

      ‘I never thought I’d hear you say that.’

      ‘Me, neither. It’s just, well, you know.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘For instance, take that last news bulletin.’

      ‘I thought your mate read it very well. For once. He didn’t stumble. Or swear.’

      ‘Come on, Andi. Be fair. Ricky’s cleaned up his act.’

      ‘About time.’

      ‘Case of having to. Anyway, it’s not how he read it, it’s what he read.’

      ‘What about it?’

      ‘Two news items, right? Between them they just about sum it all up. On one hand, we’ve got waves of so-called asylum-seekers pouring into Britain, scrounging, thieving …’

      ‘You can’t lump them all together as crooks and scroungers,’ Andi interrupted. ‘My family are immigrants. We came here to make a better life, too, just like some of these people. You don’t think we’re all scroungers and crooks.’

      ‘I know that, love. But there’s a world of difference between your people and what we’ve got now. Your family came prepared to support themselves, brought skills, started businesses. Look at your dad. Asked for nothing, built a chain of restaurants from scratch.’

      ‘So what’s your point? How do you know we won’t have a Romanian or a Kosovan restaurant on every High Street in ten years’ time?’

      Mickey laughed. ‘Don’t hold your breath. OK, so some are genuine, I’m not denying that. But there’s a fair share who have just come to take, not give. Beggars, pickpockets, all sorts. We’re talking organized criminal gangs from Eastern Europe. Interpol know who they are. The Branch know who they are. And what does Old Bill do about it?’

      ‘What are they supposed to do, Mickey? It’s the government letting them in.’

      ‘Yeah, OK. But the chief constables bleat about lack of resources, yet they’re never short of money – or “ree-sorsis” as they always call it – when it comes to those poor sods on the M4, just trying to get to work, visit their gran in hospital, who knows? They crawl for ever at about 5 mph, then the moment they find themselves out of the woods they’re nicked for doing more than 15 mph, pulled over, random breath-tested, tyres checked. How much does all that cost?’

      ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you,’ Andi interrupted. ‘Mum got a ticket the other day. A foot over a zigzag line, outside the chemist’s, picking up her prescription.’

      ‘Bastards. There you go,’ said Mickey. ‘Yet at the same time, there’s gangs of bandits heading for the West End with rail tickets paid for by the good old British taxpayer. And even if they are caught, they get a slap on the wrist and a pound from the poor box.’

      ‘That’s not the police, Mickey. That’s the courts.’

      ‘Accepted. But there’s never any leniency when Muggins in his Mondeo gets another three points on his licence, a thousand-pound fine and another few hundred quid on his insurance. We’re letting off real villains and at the same time turning as many decent folk as possible into criminals. That wasn’t what I joined the police for. And you know what really pisses me off?’

      ‘Go on, you’re going to tell me anyway,’ Andi chuckled.

      ‘I know most of this is the fault of the politicians. But there are plenty of Old Bill who not only go along with it, they abso-bloody-lutely love it. From the Black Rats in the jam-sandwiches to the fast-track fanny merchants at the top. That’s why I’m well off out of it. Now do you believe me?’

      ‘Every time, lover.’ She squeezed his hand and smiled. It was a while since they’d been away as a family and nothing was going to spoil this holiday. ‘You all right?’

      ‘I’m fine. Sorry to bang on, love. It’s just, you know, every now and then.’

      ‘Sure, I know. And I’ll tell you something. I’m glad you’re out of it, too. I wasn’t certain how you’d be, at first. There were a few difficult days, you know.’

      ‘Yeah, I’m sorry. It took me a while, that’s all.’

      ‘It was bound to. I did understand. If I got a bit agitated sometimes, it was only because I was worried about you. After the, well, you know, after that, after you were shot, not knowing whether you were going to make it. Then not knowing if you’d walk again. Or work again. Not that that mattered. I’d have got a job, we’d have been all right, really we would.’

      Mickey squeezed her hand back. Funny, they didn’t talk about it much at home. Too painful, СКАЧАТЬ