The Graft (36 page)

Willy looked shocked and said immediately, ‘Really?’

Tyrell wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing but he couldn’t leave the boy here and needed to know a lot more than he had already heard. But he wanted to do it gradually, give himself time to digest the information. He sensed that the boy would be easier to talk to in a neutral environment. Every time the door went he stared at it and Tyrell supposed he watched for Social Services as well as the police.

‘Only for one night, though. I have some of Sonny’s bits there that I got him in Jamaica. He won’t need them so you can have them. But I want you to think of anyone you can who might know more about my Sonny and how he got into that house in the first place, OK?’

‘Sure. Can I have a bath?’

‘Have what you fucking like, son, but don’t think anything funny, right, or me and you will fall out big-time. And don’t even think of skanking off me because if you do I will be annoyed, OK?’

Willy Lomax laughed aloud.

‘Makes no odds to me really, the sex bit. It’s just me job, ain’t it? And as for stealing, I ain’t that stupid.’

He sounded offended and Tyrell didn’t know what to say after that but when they left the café together somehow they were easy. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing bringing the boy to his flat but reasoned that at least there he could talk to him properly and, as Willy had said, he could have a bath and a decent night’s kip.

Tyrell found that in a funny way he liked this odd little boy with the faded grey eyes and lust for living.

In the car he put the heater on because the boy was shivering.

‘You going down with a cold, son, do you want me to get you something from the chemist’s?’

Willy shook his head and said loudly, ‘I better warn you, I’m HIV.’

Tyrell didn’t answer for a few moments then, taking off the handbrake, he drove them both towards his flat.

 
Tammy was unconscious in bed and Nick was on his way into East London once more. As he parked he knew that what he was doing was wrong but couldn’t stop himself. All the time he kept away it made his life easier, but once he dipped his toe into the water again he was hooked once more. It was something about the squalor and the risk of being found out. It was so dangerous he couldn’t resist the thrill.

He walked into the block of flats and made his way as usual up to the tenth floor in the lift. The grinding sound was like a love song to him, even the smell of it got him hard. This was all part of it.

The door to the flat was opened by a tall man in tight leather trousers and no shirt. His beer belly hung over the waistband and he had tattoos all over his arms and chest.

‘Where’s Frankie?’

The man coughed as he said belligerently, ‘Who wants to know?’

Nick looked at him warningly then, grabbing him by the throat, dragged him down the long narrow hallway and into the lounge where he threw the man on to the broken-down sofa.

‘Get your stuff and fuck off.’

The punter did not need to be told twice. He scrambled around for his clothes and Frankie sat there giggling in an overstuffed armchair as the man ran from the flat in terror.

Nick smiled back tightly as he pulled out a pack of Durex and a bottle of red wine from inside his Aquascutum raincoat.

Frankie said throatily, ‘You think of everything, don’t you?’

Throwing a wrap of cocaine on to the table, Nick said happily, ‘Let’s have a party, eh?’

Chapter Eighteen

Willy was lying in the bath, wondering if he had died and gone to heaven. Tyrell’s flat was warm, well decorated and smelled of skunk. There were good sounds coming from the CD player and the remains of a large joint had been left in the ashtray. He had also seen a Sky Plus remote control. If this was heaven, then the sooner he died the better.

He checked his body over, completely confident now that Tyrell was not going to come on to him. Even though he looked straighter than a ruler, Willy knew that men who looked harmless could be more dangerous than the ones who, unfortunately for them, looked like the stereotypical nonce.

He had lain there in the warm water and waited for the excuses to start: such as he needed to use the toilet, or wanted to talk to Willy, maybe bring him a beer. It was all just a ploy so as to see him naked then start on him.

But not a thing. Tyrell had not been near or by. If he had approached Willy, he would have obliged of course. What other choice did he have? He had had a feeling this man was OK, though you never really knew. If he was an abuser maybe that was why Sonny ended up at the cottage. Willy had learned at a young age never to judge a book by its cover. People could look so squeaky clean they should be on television adverts for breakfast cereals when in reality they deserved to be on Wanted posters.

For all he knew it was Sonny’s own dad who had started him off on the rocky road. Maybe Tyrell Hatcher was in fact a nonce, but Willy’s shit detector was telling him he was safe. This man did not have an ulterior motive like so many others did, as he knew to his cost.

In Willy’s case it had been his mum’s boyfriends. All she had ever done was get drunk, and he had had more uncles than a lottery winner on a council estate. He had learned young what to do to stop them hurting him, learned how to keep them sweet and get a few quid from them so at least he would come out of it with something more than a sore arse and a sense of smouldering anger that even he had sense enough to know would one day explode on to an unsuspecting public.

The thing was a lot of them looked normal. They didn’t look like nonces and they didn’t sound like nonces, which of course was their armour. If he accused them no one believed him, least of all his mother. They would tell her he was just after attention, or else lying because the uncle was about to accuse him of stealing from him, tell his mother how Willy had been found out so now he was saying all these bad things to get them in trouble, make them
go away
from her even, and his terrified mum would then decide to believe them because it suited her.

His uncles could give her money aplenty, and drink, and laughter. He couldn’t give her that.

And then the uncles would wait a while and start it all again, because they knew they were safe, she didn’t believe her little boy, she
didn’t want to
. She preferred her safe little life with the man and his money so she turned a blind eye to it all. Or rather, a drunken eye.

He had never felt safe in his life till he had hit the streets. Oh, he knew all the ruses nonces used by then, had had to learn them the hard way. It was how he’d survived. He would rather be in a cold shop doorway than anywhere near his mother’s house. At least anything that happened to him now was because he allowed it to happen, he was in control to a certain extent.

But it had all left its mark on him and Willy was glad in one way that he had HIV. At least he knew he would be out of it all soon and then nothing would ever bother him again. He was fourteen years old and already he was finished with life and all the people he’d met. But tonight was like a holiday for him. He had a full belly and a few quid and he did not have to use his mouth for anything but talking.

What a touch!

He could hear Tyrell moving about in the lounge and carried on checking himself over. He was bad lately, breaking out in rashes and sores. He needed to get to a clinic and get to one soon, but Willy was always frightened that they would involve Social Services. That thought scared him. Knowing his luck they would send him home again. The Terrence Higgins Trust was supposed to be good so he would try them soon. Until then, he was going to get out of the bath and have a nice cold beer and hopefully watch a bit of telly.

It was strange to feel normal, which was exactly how he felt now.

Normal.

This was what Sonny had yearned for all his life, Willy knew that and had empathised with him. But he also knew that Tyrell’s wife was not the most accommodating person in the world. Still, she did not seem to be around tonight so he would do what he had always done, make the most of what he had.

Wrapping himself in a nice warm towel and sitting on the toilet, Willy started to cry. He was only crying because he was hurting, he was under the weather and sleeping out in the cold had made him ache. He was not crying because he was sad or anything. He told himself that over and over again.

 
Nick Leary had left Frankie’s place and driven back to Essex and then, because he was still buzzing, he’d decided to call in at the pub. There was a lock-in as usual and a few of the regulars were in such high spirits they were having piggy-back competitions in the bar.

His presence made everyone subdued at first. Gary Proctor’s death had caused a stir as he had known it would and no one had as yet had the guts to ask him about it outright. He knew that no one would either, not unless he brought it up first.

Everyone was scared of him. It had afforded Nick comfort in the past to know that merely raising his voice could send shock waves through his so-called friends; now all it did was depress him. He had finally learned that he actually had no real friends. With his lifestyle they were a luxury he could not afford.

He had already sent the grassing rumour round though if it had come from any mouth but his it would have been dismissed out of hand.

So all in all he was set like a jelly.

Albeit a lonely jelly. But that was the price you paid for his kind of life. He knew none of the people around him would understand about little Frankie, that was a secret he would have to keep. Would kill to keep, in fact. Image was everything in their world and once that image was tarnished it was time to leave the party and go home on your own.

Nick walked purposefully to the bar where drugs were openly lying around and the drinks were being poured over-generously. He enjoyed the obvious fear of not only his bar staff but the clientele as well.

Everyone had heard about Tammy’s tear up and he knew it would be a topic of conversation for years to come. Tammy, God love her, was a legend in her own lunchtime. And that was how it should be: she was so over the top she should have been a transvestite by rights.

But at least it had given everyone a new topic of conversation. Gary’s demise would only be talked about again once when it was time for his funeral. Nick wasn’t going to go, and he would let everyone know he wasn’t going. Grasses didn’t get buried like normal people. They got planted alone, with no fanfare and no interest.

He was scowling as he looked around the bar and saw all the usual suspects. Turning to his old friend Joey, he said loudly, ‘Have you been fucking repossessed, Joey, and not told no one? Because to my knowledge you ain’t been home for months.’

He smiled then and sniffed loudly and everyone sighed with relief. If Nick was snorting then it was OK for them to do it too. As if reading everyone’s mind he snorted a line quickly and that set the seal on the night.

Joey wiped a hand across his face. Even though he was still nervous, he said jokingly, ‘You put the fuck right up me then, Nick.’

But as he looked into his old friend’s eyes he saw that he was not just drunk and stoned, Nick was at danger level once more. He wanted a fight and he would make sure he got one.

Joey had not seen him like this for years. This was like the teenage Nick who had fought and scrapped to get to the top. Well, he was at the top now, why did he have to keep ruining it for himself ?

And what was this with the cocaine? Nick had never really been into all that, hated it in fact because he had never liked not being in control. But lately he was coked out more often than not by eleven in the morning.

He had always said, ‘If you sell it, leave it alone.’ They had seen too many mates go under through dealing while under the influence. It made you stupid, made you either paranoid or over-generous. It made you forget your priorities, they had seen that with other people over and over again.

Joey took a deep breath and said as casually as he could, ‘Sid Haulfryn is in here, Nick, popped in to see you like. Wanted your new mobile number but I wasn’t giving it to him.’

He thought he should tell Nick before anyone else did. Sid and Nick had fought a war on and off for years. One minute they were bosom buddies then a frost would set in over some imagined slight and it was the Cold War all over again. They had been mates as youngsters and still had a funny sort of one upmanship going on between them. When it didn’t get violent it was amusing to watch.

Both of them were big men and both were into exactly the same things.

Both of them were arrogant too and unable to admit it when they were wrong.

Nick grinned.

‘Where is he then?’

He looked around the bar and, catching Sid’s eye, shouted, ‘Who let that cunt in?’

It was said in a friendly but warning voice, and Sid took it in the manner it was intended. He walked over to Nick.

Sidney Haulfryn was a big man. He had long dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a deep pleasant voice that belied the fact he could fight like Muhammad Ali on speed.

‘Hello, mate.’ He held up his arms as if to say, What you going to do about me? His love of flashy jewellery was his undoing, his fingers were always heavy with gold and diamonds. It annoyed Nick who thought that any ostentatious show of wealth without good reason was like giving Lily Law a warrant in your own handwriting. Despite all that he was inordinately pleased to see the other man. He was a good joker was old Sid and so Nick conveniently forgot their usual antagonism.