Dan’s gone and tried blackmailing me in a way that I could easily make backfire on him, but I’ve decided not to. Although I had a bit of fun at first when he said that if I didn’t tell you the truth about my ma he’d wash his hands of me and I told him there was a lot of shit to get off so he ought to start scrubbing.
He didn’t laugh and I don’t blame him because it wasn’t all that funny; I just wanted him to look a bit less bleak than he did when he came in. I get the feeling something’s eating him. Well, I suppose I know what it is; coming here to see me has got to remind him of what he’s really dealing with, and that can’t be a good place for him to be. Not much of a good place for me either, but hey, I’m the psycho bastard who did this, so no sympathy for me.
Anyways, to keep him happy, and because he’s right about owing you the truth, I’ll tell you the real deal about my ma. Her name’s Maria and she’s all the stuff I said before, a bit of a junkie, a hooker (because sometimes it’s the only way she can pay the rent), an ex-con for stiffing the council tax and a spot of dealing, and a nutjob. She also happens to be the person I love most in the world.
Did that surprise you? I guess not, given the way I’ve gone on about protecting her, but it’s something I’ve always tried to keep hidden. Dan didn’t seem surprised the first time I told him, but then he always thinks people like me are hiding their best sides, and that’s where he’s wrong, because some just don’t have one.
So yep, I care about my ma and I’ll do anything to keep her safe, and believe me that’s not always easy. See, she’s vulnerable, weak, not all that clever, she gets hit around a lot by men, especially BJ, and she’s not strong enough to fight back. I never used to be able to do anything to stop them, I was too small and half the time if I got in the way they’d deck me too, or worse. But then I got bigger and learned how to take care of myself, and her, a bit better, so the f***wits started to be more careful around me, especially when they got to know I was working for the London gangs.
I was earning by then as well, although not as much as I should have been, because BJ is a robbing b******. Still, I usually had something to give my ma when I got home, I just had to try and make sure she spent it the right way. She’s a basket case, sad and mouthy, bewildered and opinionated, but afraid of her own shadow most of the time. She shouts at someone in the street, then runs inside to hide and sends me out to deal with it. Generally I tell whoever it is to fuck off, and because everyone knows I carry (that means I always have a weapon on me), they usually do.
I was fourteen the first time I pulled a blade on someone, and guess who it was. That’s right, BJ. I came in from school one day to find him smacking around my ma and my granny (this was before she was carted off to the care home) and I made sure he never did it again. See, the big difference between me and him is that he’s a coward, and I’m not. He saw the blade, backed off, and from then on he treated me with a bit more respect. He even told people what I’d done, like he was boasting about it, and that was fine by me.
Anyways, I’ve kind of got into the habit of acting like my ma don’t mean much to me, because it’s part of what helps keep her safe. If certain people knew I cared they’d use her as leverage to make me do stuff that would end me up in the nick, or dead. It’s how they work, and the ones who run me and BJ are some of the worst. If they went after my old lady they’d really have me, so I had to make out like she meant f***all. They put it to the test a couple of times, which got her a few beatings, but she understood why it had to happen. I kept a note of those who harmed her and promised that one day they’d pay.
Twisted, yeah? Well, you didn’t think anything in my world was going to be straight, did you?
I reckon you might be asking where she is now, today, so I’ll tell you. She’s still in the same house, on that shitty estate, struggling to hold down a job and pay the rent and feed herself. She knows where I am and she comes as often as she can, which probably isn’t a good idea, but it’s hard to stop her. So, Dan, when you read this, back off her, please. Leave her alone and let her get on with her life, miserable as it is. You can’t fix her, it’s beyond even you, but nice of you to want to try.
Actually, that’s about all I have to say about her. She means as much to me as yours does—or did—to you (don’t know if she’s still with us). It’s just we’re different sorts of people and there are a lot out there who think that those like me and my ma don’t have the same sort of feelings. Or consciences, or morals, or understanding of anything outside the warped and dangerous world we live in. We are the dregs and you are the cream and what’s happening to you now is proof of what we already know, that society cares about your sort a lot more than it does about mine. That’s not me getting defensive, or feeling sorry for myself, that’s just me telling it as it is.