Authors: Alexei Sayle
‘You’ll
get took,’ he said.
‘Hasn’t
happened yet,’ I said. ‘I’m going to do loads of landscaping here, water
features, artworks all over the place.’
‘Yeah,
but that’ll just jack up the value,’ he stated, at last seeing some greed in my
actions.
‘Maybe,
that’s not why I’m doing it. Immanuel Kant said the only truly moral act was
one that brought you no benefit.’
‘Well,
he’d have to be nice to people with a name like that,’ said
Sidney
.
Then we
walked round the site and I showed him where his loads of rubble and soil would
come from, telling him enthusiastically of my plans, the trenches that would be
dug for sewers and services, the houses that were going to be demolished, the
course of where the River Anfield would run, the areas that would need to be
levelled and the others where gentle hills were to be created.
Sidney
’s response to all this nascent
beauty was to try and jack up his price.
Those
involved in what’s called groundworks — demolishing, digging, levelling — have
always occupied the rougher end of the building trade. I suppose they lack the
romanticism of the rest of us since they destroy rather than build. Therefore
I wasn’t surprised when
Sidney
said, ‘We’ve got a problem here, Kelvin. I hadn’t realised there were so many
‘ouses around the edge of the site, the access is worse than I thought. I mean
if I lose a load in the street or one of my trucks clips an ‘ouse the insurance
will be ‘orrendous and where you’re demolishing there’s cellars that’ll be left
and a truck could fall in; there’s a definite danger of contiguous collapse of
‘oles. Then there’s the soil, this soil is terrible poisoned. There’s been dye
works round here since the Middle Ages so there’ll be mercury, cadmium, God
knows what.’
Smiling
and polite, I replied, ‘One, Sidney, I’ve looked at every drawing of this area
since the Normans and this was farmland then the park of a mansion until the
late nineteenth century when these houses were thrown up. Two, we’ll underpin
the cellars and I’ve never heard of contiguous collapse of ‘oles whatever the
bloody hell that is. Three, we both know you ain’t got no fucking insurance.
I’ll give you an extra two quid a truck and that’s it.’
‘You
can’t blame a fellow for trying,’ he said, his straight-ahead eye smiling and
twinkling with good-natured chagrin but the other one filming over with anger
and disappointment.
‘No,
Sidney,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.’
I’d
left my bicycle at the bike park outside the station; when I rode into my own
street it was twilight. Though I no longer drove I still noticed all
distinctive cars around me and there was an unfamiliar black Mercedes CL 500
coupe with darkened windows parked a couple of doors up from my house. As I
walked up the path to my own door, out of the corner of my eye I saw a man get
out of the passenger side of the Mercedes and come towards me. Opening my front
door slightly, giving me somewhere to escape to, I turned to face him. Suddenly
running around in my head was the tune of an old club hit, ‘Now That We’ve
Found Love What Are We Going To Do With It?’ by Heavy D and the Boyz. I waited
for the man to reach me.
What I
saw was someone of my own age, though racially what my old gran would have
called ‘half chat’. Small and lithe, dressed in a three-quarter-length black
leather coat, narrow black trousers and a black roll-neck top not quite
covering a chunky gold chain around his neck.
“Ello,
Kelvin,’ the man said.
“Ello,
Machsi,’ I replied.
“‘Now
That We’ve Found Love What Are We Going To Do With It?” by Heavy D and the
Boyz,’ said Machsi Gorci.
‘What?’
‘What
you’re humming.’
‘So it
is. I didn’t think I was doing it aloud. Those were the days, eh, back in the
clubs?’
‘Oh
yeah,’ said Machsi, middle son of the Gorci crime family. ‘Hey, I’m glad you
said “the days”, ‘cos I hate it when you see some fucking boyband cunts on MTV
and they says, “back in the day”. I mean what the fuck does that mean? “Back in
the day”?’
‘I’m
fucked if I know, Machsi,’ I replied. ‘I particularly hate it when one of them
bands refer to “their crew”: I always think, What crew? Are you a fucking
fishing smack or something?’
‘Or how
about “taking it back to the old skool”. I always think Where? Like
Eton
or somewhere?’
‘Das
right.’
‘Fucking
right.’
After
that there was an awkward pause so I said, ‘Machsi, would you care to come in
for an aperitif?’
‘Naw
thanks,’ said Machsi. ‘You know, I’ve got places to be, people to kill, that
sort of thing.’
‘Really?
The last time I saw you, about eight years ago in Cream, you was loved up on E
and you just wanted to stroke and hug everyone and be their friend for ever and
not hurt them. What happened?’
‘I read
the government reports, man; that E’s a dangerous fucking drug, it can do your
head in.’
‘Right.
So now you’re back in the family firm?’
‘Das
right.’
‘Some
aspect of which I imagine you wish to talk to me about.’
‘Das
right also. It’s about that kid of your friend’s.’
‘Adam?’
‘Correct.’
‘What’s
the problem?’
‘He’s
been dealing, coke and weed, buying from one of our local franchises. But been
falling short on his payments — I assume he’s been getting high on his own
supply. Now in the normal run of best business practice I should have him
severely beaten, but capricious acts of kindness being one of the perks of the
job and as I’m aware of the trauma the lad’s suffered with his dad getting
killed and all that, I’m going to allow you to pay his debt instead, seeing as
I know you care for the boy and you can afford it.’
‘How
much?’
‘Nine
hundred quid.’
‘That’s
not particularly kind, after all you’re getting paid.’, ‘But I’m diverging from
what’s expected, I’m still taking a risk. See, consistency is everything when
you are dealing with people of low intelligence; they don’t cope very well with
nuance, and inevitably non-payment leads to a beating: that’s clarity. Now
however I introduce a variable, I let somebody else pay off this kid’s debts,
others will assume they can do the same so I’ll need to be extra savage with
them. Do you see, at the very least it means extra work for me and a small
degree of danger, so don’t tell me I’m not being kind.’
‘You’ll
want cash I assume? I’ll have somebody drop it off at your office tomorrow.’
‘Cheers.’
Machsi paused and said, ‘Why aren’t you frightened of me, Kelvin?’
‘I
dunno, it’s odd isn’t it?’
‘Makes
a pleasant change for me,’ said Machsi Gorci as he turned and strutted back to
his car.
A
gaggle of teenage girls watched my every step with cold eyes as I walked up to
the front door and rang the bell of the 1930s house in the leafy cul-de-sac
where Paula and Adam lived.
Once
inside I asked her, ‘What is it with those girls?’
‘They’re
hanging around hoping to catch a glimpse of Adam; if you’d been another girl
they’d probably have attacked you.’ She peered through the front window at the
girls. ‘That lot are the ones attracted to his doom-laden self-destruction;
there’s another gang that want to save him for Jesus: they sometimes have
fights with each other.’ Coming away from the window she reluctantly enquired,
‘Do you want a coffee or something?’
‘Yeah,
that’d be great.’
I sat
on the couch in her front room while she made it. I’d always been particularly
fond of Paula, back in the day. Of all the girls in the group I’d got on with
her the best; it had really upset me that I couldn’t see her after the split
with Colin. I suspected that she had had quite strong feelings for me too;
there’d always been a little something extra between us. Before the accident
I’d occasionally considered going round to her house one night, casually
dropping in; in those days a lonely woman that knew me well was right up my
street.
As she
came back in carrying two coffee mugs I thought that she was still a very
pretty woman, short and dark with olive skin, long auburn hair right down her
back. She looked more like Adam’s sister than his mum; in fact she didn’t look
like she had anything to do with him at all, which would have been a good thing
since I suspected that boy was going to bring her a load of trouble.
‘I
wanted to talk to you about Adam,’ I said.
‘Oh
fuck, what is it now?’ she asked, her face going pale.
‘He’s
been dealing drugs.’
‘Shit!’
‘Did
you know?’ I asked her.
‘No. I
mean I know he was smoking dope and stuff, all those losers he hangs with do
that. Is it just dope he’s selling?’
‘No.’
‘Oh,
God. Are you certain about this — it isn’t gossip or anything?’
‘No and
there’s worse. Machsi Gorci came to see me. I had to give him nine hundred quid
that Adam owed and couldn’t pay.’
Now she
was really frightened; she clutched her chest. ‘Ah Christ, Machsi Gorci …’
‘It’s
okay,’ l said rapidly to calm her down. ‘I paid him off. I paid him off and
he’ll make sure nobody’ll give Adam credit no more, but he’s been fucking
stupid. Adam’s going to get killed if he fucks around with the likes of Machsi
Gorci.’
‘I
know. There was a kid in the next street that they dragged out of his gran’s
house and beat with baseball bats.’ I said, ‘Do you want me to have a word with
him?’
‘I
don’t know what good that’ll do,’ she replied, twisting her fingers with
agitation.
‘Well,
we get on, he might listen.’
‘I
guess,’ she said without conviction. Paula called to her son. A few minutes
later he came down the stairs and dropped on to the couch in the living room.
‘Awright,
Kelvin mate,’ he said. ‘Hi, Adam,’ I replied.
‘I’m
not Adam no more,’ he said. ‘I’m DJ Rock.’
‘Uh,
okay.’
Before
the trouble in the pub Adam’s accent had been half
Lancashire
and half
Liverpool
;
now he was talking in the intonations of an out-and-out Scouse scally. Also his
clothes had changed: now he was wearing a shell suit composed of every pastel
shade that there was. I was surprised to see that there was a pastel shade of
black.
I tried
to tell him in serious tones about my visit from Machsi Gorci. I might as well
have been talking to my dad’s dog — the boy didn’t seem surprised or upset.
‘Honest,
mate,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry you was bothered. I’ll pay you back; starting next
week. Me and me mate Simon are making a record next week that’s gonna be massive
in the clubs. Then I’m going to
Preston
to do a three-year course in aeronautical design. An’ you don’t
have to worry about the drugs — I’ve stopped doing that. I know I fucked up,
Kelvin, Mum, but I’m gonna be clean and serene from now on.’
‘Oh, Adam
… er … DJ Rock,’ his mum said, seeming really relieved, ‘that’s great, I’m
so pleased.’
Not so
easily placated, I enquired, ‘This college, don’t you need like science A
levels?’
‘You’d
think so,’ Adam said, ‘but not if you show exceptional promise. I’ve done all
these sketches of futuristic planes that they say are the best they’ve ever
seen.’
I could
see that might work for art school like it had done for me, but I was surprised
that you could get on to an aeronautical design course that way; however there
was no denying the kid’s absolute sincerity so I guessed it must be so.
‘Great,’
I said.
‘I
could pay you back by direct debit,’ the boy said. ‘I’ll set it up tomorrow.’
‘Great,’
I said again, though he never did.
When I
got home from Paula’s house it was
eleven o’clock
at night and
Florence
’s truck was parked outside, bringing a sinister whiff of Balkan
mountainside to this prosperous lane: That week cirKuss were in
St Helens
so it was only a
twenty-five-minute drive for her.
In the
month since we’d got together me and
Florence
had evolved a routine. Every week or every two weeks she would be
performing in a different town in the north-west; if she was nearby, a couple
of nights I would take taxis to where she was performing — sometimes I felt I’d
run away from home to be next to the circus. After the show we might go out in
the town or I would simply sleep over in her truck following a meal with the
rest of the cast. I was often woken in the middle of the night by trouble,
either between the cirKuss folk or the police being called or some irate father
yelling about his dishonoured daughter.