Human Conditioning (10 page)

“Fuck me!” was Duggie’s
reaction when he found his brother on his door step a couple of weeks before Christmas.
“What did they feed you in there? Fucking spinach?”

Sid smiled widely. His blue
eyes were far paler than his older brother’s, but unlike Duggie, whose eyes,
though beautifully blue, were bloodshot and almost bulged out of his head from
too much booze, Sid’s eyes gleamed with zeal. “You gonna let your kid bruvver
in, or what?” he laughed playfully. Sid’s voice filled a room and vibrated the
walls when he spoke. He had that natural deep tone that could always be heard over
a crowd.   

Duggie welcomed him inside with
joyfulness so alien to the rest of his family and Sid took off his coat and
threw down his bag in the hallway. “What a merry fucking Christmas, eh?” Duggie
beamed at his brother and hugged him close, thumping a fist on his broad back. Pulling
away, he turned and yelled up the stairs, “
Vivien
!
We got a visitor!
Get the kettle on
!”

Vivien heard her husband’s orders
through the bathroom door. Stepping up to the mirror, she stared into her own
grey eyes and sighed. She could hear who had just arrived with no prior
arrangement. Duggie was never enthusiastic about anything other than his little
brother. They had all been expecting Sid at some point that week, as he’d been
released just two days ago, but still nothing could ever prepare her for his
spontaneous visits. 

Sid was a fucking nightmare –
another drain on the few resources they had, and another mess they would
inevitably have to clean up. He was a whirlwind in everyone’s lives. He came
out of prison, caused a whole lot of bother, then found himself back inside
quicker than a Protestant fleeing a Baptism. 

Sid was a magnet for trouble. Having
never earned an honest living in his life, he relied solely on skulduggery for
a livelihood, to the usual expense of his closest family. Their mother, old
Martha Foster, had croaked a few years back, and Duggie Snr hadn’t lasted long
after that. The two brothers had no one else – not anyone who wanted to
associate with them, anyway. Vivien was sure there was an aunt somewhere, but
wherever she was, it was a long way away from her crooked nephews.

However much of a nightmare Duggie
could be, Vivien had always believed Sid was the instigator in most of what her
husband had got wrapped up in over the years. At the very worst, Duggie was a
drunk and a free-loader, but Sid was a criminal through and through. He didn’t
believe in paying his way, and there had been several occasions when her own
money had bailed him out of a sticky situation following yet another arrest.

Vivien’s theory on Sid was that he purposefully got a tug
from the Old Bill, just so he could get another free ride in the nick and hide
away from the shitstorm he had caused on the outside. To Sid, jail was a far
better option than attempting to make something of himself in the real world. Sid’s
last little venture, which had resulted in his five-year stretch, had been a
drug deal with a dealer located in North London, named Billy Wyatt. Billy was
the worst kind of dealer. He preyed on young kids and was personally
responsible for half of the teenage population in Neasden being hooked on heroin. 

Vivien heard the stirrings of
Aiden in the bedroom next door. He had always got on well with his Uncle Sid,
whenever he sporadically reappeared in their lives. Hearing him descend the
stairs to greet his uncle, she quickly sprayed her bob to ensure not a hair
fell out of place, pinched her pre-bronzed cheeks then, taking a deep breath,
she headed downstairs.

“Hello, Siddy.” She greeted
her brother-in-law with a wide, forced smile and an awkward hug. She felt his
hands slide around her back and he pulled her tight to him. He was copping a
feel of her well-kept body, but, as ever, she didn’t complain. Whatever her
reservations were about her husband’s brother, she could never express them in
front of Duggie. The last time she’d done that, she had gone to bed with a black
eye and a broken finger. Duggie worshipped the ground his little brother walked
on. He loved the bones of Sid, and God help anyone who said a bad word about
him.

Respectfully pulling herself
out from his embrace, she immediately trotted off into the kitchen. She filled
the kettle, switched it on and hovered around it until it boiled, so that she
wouldn’t have to go back into the living room and make polite conversation.

Aiden plodded into the kitchen
and lit a cigarette. “Do a tea for me.”

Vivien nodded reluctantly, and
took another mug from the cupboard. Aiden couldn’t prevent a quiver of a smile.
He understood well and good that his mother would have to be on her best
behaviour now that Sid was there.

Pouring hot water into each
mug, Vivien asked, in a low, clipped voice, “You gonna go down the job centre
today?”

She was on one and Aiden knew
it. He replied casually, “I don’t need a job... not from some job centre,
anyway...”

“Oh, yeah? So how are you
gonna start earning a proper keep? We can’t provide for you forever, Aiden.” 

Aiden smirked at her audacity.
“I didn’t think you’d ever started...” he muttered before taking a long draw on
his cigarette and opening the newspaper that had been left on the table.

Provide
for him? She
and Duggie didn’t know the meaning of the word. Consequently, his parents
hadn’t a clue how much money he actually earned through Reggie and the cars, so
they hadn’t seen a fraction of what he could really give them for his keep.

Aiden knew his mother was
taking Sid’s arrival out on him. She was worried that Sid would, once more,
persuade his brother to give him bunce that they couldn’t afford. Since Grant
had gone walkabout, which his mother held him solely accountable for, she felt
it was his responsibility to cover what he had lost them. What he did give was
barely enough, but he wasn’t giving them any more, not with Duggie spending his
social money left, right and centre.

Indignant now, Vivien spat, in
an even quieter voice, “So, you’re going to continue stealing cars and end up a
frequent visitor of the local nick, like
your uncle
? Where would that
land your family, eh?”

Aiden looked up from the
newspaper with narrow eyes. “Shall I go and tell Duggie what you think of his
brother? If I remember rightly, he didn’t appreciate it the last time you
voiced your opinion.”

Vivien gulped and glared at
her son, but her eyes fell before his did. Taking the mug she had got out for
him, she poured its contents down the sink and stormed into the living room
with the two other mugs for Sid and Duggie.

“Bitch...” Aiden muttered as
she passed him, but Vivien chose to ignore him.

“So, Vivien, how has the old
man been treating you whilst I’ve been away?” Sid sang loudly as Vivien entered
the living room and passed him his drink. “I always said you’d chosen the wrong
brother!” he jested.

Vivien looked at her husband
and thought it best to keep her mouth shut. Duggie spoke for her. “She couldn’t
be happier,” he said, then immediately changed the subject. “Where’s the whisky?
My little brother’s home. We should be celebrating!”

“You wanted tea!” Vivien
snapped reflexively.

Ignoring his wife, Duggie
turned back to his brother and announced, “Right, Sid, I reckon I need to get
you down the boozer!” 

Taking the mug from him, he
passed both back to Vivien and ignored her scowl. The men immediately got on
their coats and Vivien dutifully followed them out into the hallway. Sid landed
a hard peck on Vivien’s cheek and shouted over her shoulder towards the
kitchen. “See you later, Aiden!” He then stepped outside and sparked up a
cigarette, calling something out to Vivien about having dinner someday that
week. 

Before Duggie could follow him
out, Vivien took his arm and whispered, heatedly, “Where you getting the money
from to go out, Duggie? ’Cos we certainly haven’t got any and the gas needs
paying!”

Duggie frowned at her in
disgust and shrugged her off him. “My fucking brother has just been released
and you’re having a go?” He shook his head and headed for the door.

“It’s not exactly the first
time, is it?” Vivien retorted courageously, crossing her arms across her chest
and blushing with nervousness.

Duggie slowly pushed the front
door closed. He stepped back over to his wife and pointed a stiff finger in her
face. “Don’t...” He tailed off as Aiden came into the hallway. 

“What’s going on?” Aiden asked,
tearing a piece of toast in half and stuffing it into his mouth.

Duggie dropped his finger. “Your
mother’s got the arse again...”

“You going down the pub?” he enquired,
intentionally ignoring his father’s remark. He wasn’t getting himself involved.
“I’m coming...” he announced when Duggie didn’t reply.

“No, you ain’t! You don’t come
to the pub until you can buy a fucking round!”

Aiden immediately turned and
jogged up the stairs. When he came back down, Duggie was halfway out of the
front door again. Dipping his hand into his pocket, Aiden pulled out fifty
pounds in ten-pound notes. “Will this do?” he asked smugly.

Duggie stared down in
amazement at the money in his son’s hand. His eyes went to his wife, who was
absorbing the money with the same expression. “Where’d you get that?” Vivien
asked indignantly.

Aiden knew that having such
money at his disposal would be a kick in the teeth for both of his parents.
They had always believed him to be a waste of space. That he would do anything
other than live off the council and become a drunk had never crossed either of
their minds. Only a very few who came out of the estates actually
made
any
money. Whether it was earned legitimately or not was never really a factor;
just making money was an achievement. That Aiden was ‘achieving’ galled and
shocked both Duggie and Vivien equally, and never one to give praise where
praise was due, Vivien pressed irately, “Have you had that all the time? And here
I am worrying when the gas bill will get paid!”

As for Duggie, he didn’t give
two shits about the gas bill. All he cared for was having a blast down the pub
with his brother and sticking two fingers up at his wife in the process. It was
not in his nature to show any kind of gratitude towards his son for providing
money. As far as he was concerned, this little shit should be paying his own
way by now anyway. 

A greedy smile crept onto Duggie’s
thin lips, and he eyed his wife with the same smugness as that of his son. He
and Aiden could be so alike in many ways, though neither of them would want to
accept that fact. “Yes, son,” he replied self-righteously. “That’ll do
nicely...” and within seconds the house fell silent and Vivien was alone.

Duggie, Sid and Aiden sat at a small round table in the
corner of The Stag. The room was now decorated with tacky Christmas tinsel and
a large tree that had seen better days. It was laden with multi-coloured
baubles and stood forlornly in the far corner of the room. Duggie and Sid were
already on their fourth pint, and Aiden on his second, when Reggie strolled in.

Clocking Aiden, Reggie went
over to see him. Sid eyed the large Rastafarian warily as he arrived at their
table. He didn’t know who he was but was reassured that he wasn’t after any
trouble when Aiden got to his feet and shook the man’s large, gold-ring-infested
hand.

“What you in here so early
for?” Aiden asked cheerfully.

“I could ask you the same
thing!” Reggie replied, his green eyes glancing over at the man he didn’t
recognise, but who looked oddly like the man next to him. 

“Oh, this is my Uncle Sid,
Duggie’s brother,” Aiden announced, and turning to his uncle, he added, “Sid,
this is Reggie Driscoll.”

Sid stood up halfway and shook
the Rasta’s hand. Reggie smiled politely. “Nice to meet you. I thought you
might be related to the old man.”

“Alright Reg? How’s it going?”
Duggie asked, smiling reluctantly.

Duggie had always been in two
minds about Reggie Driscoll. He knew the business he was in and that he had
given Aiden a job as his run-around. On the one hand, he was grateful that the
man showed some interest in his boy because he was pretty sure no one else would.
Aiden was a liability as far as he was concerned. On the other hand, he
despised how the man paraded around as if he owned the estate, lock, stock and
barrel, and equally resented how he always spouted on about how bloody diligent
Aiden was, as if he knew him better than anyone, better than his own father.

In reality, Duggie had never
really got to know his firstborn – or his second, for that matter. He didn’t
have a clue how much potential his boy had. Aiden had an extremely good work
ethic, if you got him doing something he enjoyed doing. Reggie had seen that in
him from the very start. 

In contrast to Duggie’s
reservations about Reggie, Reggie thought Duggie Foster was a full-on tosser. Aiden
spoke about his father often. He’d tell him how utterly useless Duggie was, how
he spent all his money on booze and gambling and, worst of all, how he beat his
family into submission. When Aiden had first arrived at his door, aged twelve,
with a whacking great lump at the side of his head and a bleeding nose, he’d
wanted to go round to the Fosters’ flat and beat the living crap out of Duggie
Foster.

“Reggie Driscoll?” Sid intervened,
contemplating his name. “Any connection with Billy Wyatt?”

Reggie’s face dropped into a
solemn state. “No,” he replied, then turning to Aiden, he said, “Can I have a
word at the bar?” Aiden obliged and, taking his pint with him, he followed
Reggie out. “I’ve got a job for you...” Reggie announced as they reached the
bar where, he acknowledged Damien with a nod then gestured to the bottle of tequila.