Pav hadn’t been back to school since the incident. That day I took him home from school on the bus and helped him to his door. His mum looked like thunder the moment she saw him. And me.
‘Thank you, Charlie, for to bring him home,’ she said coolly, her eyes flashing blue as Pav’s.
She put her hand on his broken face and tenderly led him in, slamming the door in mine. To be fair, he looked like shit – even his baby blue blinders were red and bloodshot, and he might’ve cracked a rib or two – but I didn’t think there was any permanent damage. Through the door I heard his mum speaking in Old Country lingo. Even though I didn’t understand a word, her harsh throaty sounds made clear her feelings about Little Town people.
This badly needed sorting out.
Norman didn’t see the need to go to school any more. School is for major losers who just go on to work for the man when they’re finished, so what’s the point of that, eh, Charlie? I found this a bit rich coming from Norman, considering that he really did work for The Man. Just a slightly bigger man than your average one. A waste because he could be smart when he put his mind to it. In reality Norman had decided to become a worker for the Regime, a kind of Rascal resistance fighter. He got the message that I needed to see him, though. He turned up on the Saturday after Pav took his beating.
My arse was making buttons when Norman appeared at the shed. I was getting the place shipshape for Erin F’s visit the following week, my birthday, and I was worried because she hadn’t been in school the previous day (the invasion really seemed to be affecting people’s attendance). I was busy scrubbing the floor when the door rattled.
‘This place is the bollocks, Charlie.’ I was going to invite him to plonk his bum but Norman beat me to it, chucking his chunky frame into one of the chairs and resting his arms on each side like he was testing it out. I looked at his boots to see if he was muck-carrying. He was. Brilliant!
‘You like it?’ I said.
‘I do.’ Norman gave the shed the once-over.
‘Nice, isn’t it?’
‘It’d make a brilliant shagging pad.’
Now was not the time to tell him that I saw it as a cross between a study area, a chill-out space and a lads’ den. Oh, I almost forgot. It could also be a place to hide full metal jackets. Did Norman know? He was The Big Man’s top youngster after all; surely he’d have known.
Keep the trap shut, Charlie.
Norman’s eyes scoured the place.
HE KNOWS, DOESN’T HE? THAT’S WHAT HE’S CASING THE PLACE FOR. HE KNOWS.
Ssssshhhhh, he knows shit all.
‘Yeah, I’d say you and Pav have done all right with this place, Charlie.’
‘We like it,’ I said, which didn’t sound quite right.
‘We like it – is it like that?’ Norman said with a funny voice and even funnier look in his eye. ‘I bet you do like it.’
I decided not to be the fish to his bait.
‘Erin F’s coming round next Saturday.’
‘Erin F, eh?’ His eyes lit up. Whose didn’t when her name was mentioned? ‘Are you riding her or something?’
Erin F. Me. Riding. All in the same sentence. In my dreams.
‘Erm … no … she’s a mate, Norman … It’s my birthday. She’s just coming round to see the shed and chill and stuff.’
‘How’s her mum doing? Still knocking on death’s door?’
‘Erm, I think she’s still the same,’ I said. ‘Erin F doesn’t talk about her too much.’
‘Aw, well. We all have bad shit going on in our lives,’ Mr Insensitive said.
‘Yeah …’
‘Anyway, hippy happy birthday, mate. If I’d known I’d have brought a prezzie with me.’
God only knows what.
‘Aw, no worries, Norman. Even my mum and dad’ll barely remember this year.’
Norman shuffled on the chair. The chair that was on top of the floorboard. The floorboard that was on top of the hidden steel. The steel that was on top of my mind. One false move and he’d have no arse left to sit on. The thought of it made me smile.
‘Heard about little Pav, by the way.’
The smile flew away.
‘Who told you?’
Norman grimaced.
‘I mean, since you no longer go to school, Norman. How did you know?’
‘Don’t be stupid, Charlie. Do you think I’d never have heard?’
‘Suppose you would have,’ I said.
‘I’ll tell you what though …’
‘What?’
‘If you’d asked me I’d have said straight away that it was Max and Bones that done it. No doubt.’ Norman shook his head and whispered, ‘Couple of fannies,’ to himself. I couldn’t disagree.
‘Yeah, they left him in a pretty bad way.’
‘How is he now?’
‘He’s fine, but he was shaken up by it. I think he’s scared to go back to school. He doesn’t think it’s safe for him any more.’
‘Cos he’s Old Country?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But he’s decent Old Country, isn’t he? Refugee Old Country. He’s not like those pricks on patrol. He’s not part of any occupation.’
‘Try telling the eejits at school that,’ I said.
Norman’s head spun with thoughts. I knew that look from being in the same class as him for years. It was his I-shouldn’t-really-tell-you-this-but-I’m-going-to-anyway face.
‘You tell Pav not to worry, Charlie.’
‘How?’
‘It’s been sorted.’
‘Sorted?’
‘Tell him no more shit will happen to him.’
‘What’s been sorted exactly?’
Norman hesitated.
‘Look, Charlie, just know that Max and Bones have been sorted.’
‘Who sorted them?’
‘Aw, come on, Charlie, I can’t be revealing my sources, now, can I?’
He would reveal them if pushed.
‘Did you do them in, Norman? Did you batter them?’
‘Me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why in God’s name would I batter them?’
He had a point. It wasn’t as if we were bosom buddies with Norman. And, after all, Pav was Old Country breed. Norman owed us nothing.
‘So who sorted it then?’
Norman heaved himself up in the chair. For a minute I thought he was trying to scratch his arse without touching it, attempting to rub his two cheeks together.
‘Let’s just say someone got wind that Pav took a leathering and did something about it.’
‘Someone got wind of it?’ I said.
Norman’s mouth channel was on mute.
You know who got wind of it, so why are you asking? Blurt it out yourself.
‘Come on, Norman, who?’
YOU say it.
‘Come on. Spit it out. I won’t say a word, not even to Pav. Promise I won’t.’
Norman’s gub was locked and the key swallowed. Time to throw down the winning hand: ‘Was it The Big Man?’
Norman almost vomited the key back up.
Bingo!
‘Might have been.’
‘Wise up, Norman. You know I know it was The Big Man.’
Norman clicked his feet together, making little nuggets of dirt fall on the floor. More cleaning.
‘OK, OK, it was The Big Man,’ Norman said, lowering his voice.
MENTAL MEMO: NEVER, EVER TELL NORMAN A SECRET. OR SOMETHING YOU DON’T WANT THE WHOLE OF LITTLE TOWN TO KNOW ABOUT.
‘How did The Big Man find out? That’s what I want to know,’ I said.
‘Charlie, he’s The Big Man. He knows everything that goes down here. Especially these days.’
‘What did he do to get it sorted?’
‘That I don’t know; all I know is that it’s sorted.’
‘Sorted how?’ I said, not that I was concerned for the welfare of Max or Bones. I was curious. Norman did his face contortion. ‘Sorted good or sorted bad?’ Very curious.
‘It’s The Big Man, Charlie. He doesn’t tell me these things. If he says it’s been sorted then it’s been sorted, end of.’
I looked at Norman’s boots. Big chunks of mud clung to his heels.
I was going to plonk myself in one of the comfy chairs, but I didn’t want him to feel that I was opening the door for a lad-on-lad chat. I remained standing.
‘Is that all you came to tell me, Norman?’
‘No.’
‘Well, what then?’
‘The Big Man wants to see you.’
My heart sank. Not again? Not so soon after the last time.
‘When?’ I asked.
‘The day after the day after tomorrow.’
‘But that’s Tuesday! I have school on Tuesday.’
My mind was awash with images of blankets, air, cars, blindfolds, orders and fear.
‘Where?’ I asked.
‘He’s going to come here when you get back.’
‘Here? Like, here, to my house?’
NO WAY CAN THAT HAPPEN. Mum would flip her lid if she thought that The Big Man and me were in cahoots. Although, perhaps she wouldn’t if she knew it was down to him that her inhaler medicine was still getting to her. She knew the chemist hadn’t reopened yet, but not once had she questioned where I was getting the stuff from. She might welcome my friendship with The Big Man under the current circumstances. Who was I kidding? If she found out, I’d be consigned to a life of everlasting skelpings.
‘Not at your house; he wants to come here.’
‘Here, where?’ I said.
Norman gestured his two index fingers around in little circles. ‘Here.’
‘The shed?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘He wants to speak to you, that’s why.’
‘No, I get that bit, but why here? Why not at one of his places?’
‘He’s The Big Man, Charlie. He makes the decisions. Not you. No questions asked.’
‘So I’ve just got to stay in here after school until he arrives?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does he want to see Pav?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘How do I know?’
‘It’s Pav’s shed as well, you know.’
‘The message is that he wants to see only you.’ Norman pointed at me.
‘Just me?’
‘Just you.’ Norman made for the door. ‘I wish I could stay and talk all day, Charlie, but I’ve got to see a man about a dog.’ He flicked his finger at my zip and laughed. ‘And next week you’ve got to see a dog about a man, know what I mean, eh?’ His attempt at being funny was only funny because it wasn’t funny.
When Norman left I wiped the muck off the floor and puffed up the chairs, then went up to the house to wash and spray my pits. I was half thinking of going to see how Pav was doing. I got as far as pausing outside his door. I didn’t knock. Not sure why. I suppose I didn’t want to tell him the good news about Max and Bones getting sorted.