Trilogy Collection. Julie Shaw

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      Jock slammed the door as he stumbled out of the house, and into the sooty late afternoon light. Little twat! He was a good foot and a half bigger than her, and one of these days he would knock her out, never mind the slap. What a fucking cow bag she was, stood there like that, all bleached hair and lippy. Oh, all his mates had thought he’d cracked it when he copped for June – five foot fuck all, and a waist you could get your hand around. Well, they didn’t know what he had to put up with, did they? Gobby little cow that she was.

      He meandered down the path and into the street, scowling as he dodged the dog shit on the pavement. He could do nothing right in her eyes. Not these days, at any rate. The three kids, on the other hand, could do no wrong. Fucking twat. He’d slap her proper, one of these days.

      Her feckless hulk of a husband out of the way, June resumed her position by the fire, shivering but happy now. She would be down at the Bull with Maureen in a couple of hours, and she couldn’t wait; the blokes down there wouldn’t dream of talking to her like that. Let the miserable bastard stew, she thought. She wouldn’t be dwelling on it, not after a couple of halves, anyway.

      Jock had only been gone five minutes when 13-year-old Vinnie burst through the door, a big smile on his face for his mum. ‘Warming the old man’s supper up, ma?’ he joked, pointing to her skirt. June laughed. He was a case, was her Vinnie, and no one understood him like she did. And all the neighbours were just jealous bastards, that was all – accusing him of every little thing that went down on the estate. Yes, he had gotten himself into bother now and again, but so what? All kids got into fights or went out robbing, didn’t they? Why always blame her son? It wasn’t fair.

      ‘Quite funny for you that were, son!’ she told him drily. Then she nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Go on,’ she told him. ‘There’s some sarnies in there for you and a biscuit on top of the cupboard. Don’t tell your dad where they are though,’ she added. ‘Greedy bastard’s fat enough as it is!’

      Vinnie grinned. Then his expression changed. ‘Mam,’ he said, not quite looking at her, ‘you know when the social worker gets here? Well, whatever she says is a load of shit. A few on the estate are saying the youthy got robbed last night, so no doubt she’ll try and fit me up for it, you know, to the bizzies. I swear I wasn’t there, Mam, honest I wasn’t. But you’re gonna have to say I was in all night cos they’re not gonna believe me when I say it, are they?’

      June looked sadly at her son. With his wild, shoulder-length ginger hair and his bright blue eyes he looked the picture of innocence. Okay, so ‘innocent’ was pushing it, but he wasn’t the evil twat that everyone made him out to be. He had a smile that could melt her heart and a sense of humour that could have an audience in stitches. She sighed. Now it seemed she was going to have to defend him again. He’d better not have done anything; she was off out tonight, come hell or high water.

      As if on cue, the letterbox rattled and the front door was pushed open. ‘Can I come in, June?’ they heard a voice say. ‘It’s only me!’

      Sally, the social worker, waddled into the front room, puffing and panting as usual, as familiar a presence in the McKellan household as most of the furniture. She flopped down onto the place on the settee Jock had only just vacated. ‘Hiya, Vinnie, love,’ she said, smiling up at him as she settled into the sagging seat cushion. ‘It’s brass monkeys out there, mate, isn’t it? Get the kettle on!’

      Vinnie gave an obligatory smile and went off to fill the kettle. June knew from the absence of banging and clattering that he’d be trying to listen in. He hated his social worker and not without reason; she was always trying to have him sent away. And June knew part of the reason was the same as the reason she did – because it always felt like Sally could see right through him. Not that he’d hear much of interest. June was too busy staring malevolently at the interfering witch. Not grassing up her son when he wasn’t there.

      But he was as quick as a whippet coming back with Sally’s tea, so there was no time to say anything anyway.

      ‘There you go, Sal,’ said Vinnie as he handed over a pint pot. And then, obviously deciding to really take the piss, he adopted his best posh voice. ‘Best mug in the house, that,’ he said. ‘Especially for you. Now then, to what do we owe this honour?’

      Sally turned to June, looking less than impressed, and June felt a prickle of anxiety. ‘Hark at him,’ Sally said. ‘Proper little host, isn’t he?’

      June scowled at her son. ‘Take no notice, Sally. He has got a point though; you’re not due for a fortnight. What d’you want with us? It all seems a bit suss to me.’

      Sally looked directly at Vinnie then. She knew how the estate operated and especially this family. She might be a lump but her brain was pretty sharp. ‘Well, are you going to tell her, or should I?’ she asked Vinnie.

      ‘What are you on about, you daft cow?’ he responded. ‘She’s off it, Mam, I swear to God. I told you I would get accused of summat, didn’t I?’

      June braced herself. ‘What’s he supposed to have done this time?’ she asked evenly. ‘Only, if it’s about the youth club, I’ve heard all about it. He can’t have been involved because he was in here all night with me and our little Josie.’ She glared at the social worker, daring her to contradict her, although half of her knew that Vinnie probably had been at the scene of the crime; had most likely orchestrated the whole thing in fact.

      ‘June, I’m really sorry, love,’ Sally said, frowning, ‘but he’s been fingered by at least three witnesses, all of whom will say it in court, as well. Vinnie was seen smashing in the skylight, lowering one of his mates in and then –’ she looked at Vinnie again, and June clocked his expression – ‘jumping in himself.’

      June digested this, and having done so, felt the bile rise inside her. The stupid little fucker. She sprang forward then, making Sally leap up from the couch in fright. She lunged towards Vinnie, grabbing him by the hair and punching him repeatedly in the head. ‘You lying little bastard, I’ll fucking kill you! When are you gonna fucking learn, you fucking simpleton?!’

      Vinnie squirmed under her grip, but she held firm onto his hair. ‘Mam, fuck off! I didn’t do it, I swear!’ he squealed. ‘They’re lying, Mam! Get off me, you div – you’re hurting, Mam, stop it!’

      Vinnie was almost hysterical by now, but it didn’t appease her. She might be small but she was as nasty as fuck when she started, and boy, did she feel like starting now.

      Sally was up on her feet again. ‘Calm down, June,’ she said, trying to get in between them and extricate June’s hands from Vinnie’s hair. ‘Let’s just sit down and talk about what to do next, shall we? This is getting us nowhere. Come on, June. Let him go.’

      She succeeded. June allowed herself to be led to the fireplace, where Sally handed her the cigarettes and matches from the shelf. She lit up with trembling fingers and watched her errant son as he tried in vain to straighten his messed up hair and re-adjust his jumper. He was snivelling now, too, and shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe that his own mother would doubt him. Look at him, she thought angrily, playing it out to the full. Thinks he can even fool me. Me, his own fucking mother!

      ‘Now then,’ Sally started to explain, once she was back sitting on the sofa, her boobs visibly quivering beneath her floral maxi dress as she checked her long ponytail was still securely in place. ‘It’s a given that Vinnie did do the youth club. I know for a fact that he was also involved in the bingo-hall robbery a fortnight ago.’

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