The Survival Game (43 page)

John wiped his eyes on the back of his hand and let out a juddering sigh. ‘I told him there and then—smoke it. Don’t shoot it ’cos then it’ll kill you. It’ll fucking eat you alive.

‘At first he did as I said. The problem was he smoked it like it was going out of fashion. Round my place all the time looking for more. By then I’d already met Alisha through
him
and started to get to know her. She didn’t know it was me who gave Yousif his first hit of skag and she didn’t know I was his dealer either. He’d managed to keep it all a secret from her. And he told me to do the same. Anyway, me and Alisha started seeing each other more often. Nothing too serious at first. But it was during that time that Yousif went and done what I told him not to do. I found out he was shooting up with a bunch of other skag heads from round the way. And he started using more and more. Proper addicted,
re
. Me, I was still smoking my piece as usual, but it was always something I thought I could keep under control, know what I mean? It was more of a nagging habit than a full on addiction.
It’s all in the head,
re
, you know…?

‘But Yousif… he got proper into it. God knows what was going on in
his
head.

‘But getting him into it ain’t the thing that kills me,
re
. What kills me, what destroys me along with all the other shit, is that a few months later he comes round to my flat all fucked up. He was desperate for skag. Desperate. He looked horrible,
re
. Like a zombie—big bug eyes, drawn face. He was a mess, I’m telling you. By then I’d stopped dealing ’cos of Alisha, and just being with her was helping me out of my habit, you know? A real help. I’d be even more fucked up if it wasn’t for her,
re
…’ John smiled faintly as he spoke.

‘Anyway, I told Yousif that night I was out of all that, but he wouldn’t let it lie. He just wouldn’t,
gamota
. He was begging me to get him some. I should’ve thrown him out or beat the crap outa him or summink, but I didn’t. Instead, like a fucking
malaka
, I phoned round some boys I knew to get him what he wanted, so he’d shut up and leave me alone. There was a bit of a drought on at the time and I kept coming up dry, so I had to really scrape the bottom of the barrel. I ended up calling this very,
very
unreliable bloke. Last ditch kinda thing. All that bastard was interested in was making money, proper gangster type. Someone you just don’t mess with. He told me he could get some. So, I went and got the
skata
for Yousif, gave it to him, and told him he had to go home and not to bother me with this shit again.

‘So, he went.’

John looked up at his cousin with wet, bleary eyes, and he now noticed how Phillipo’s own eyes were becoming teary.

‘And I never saw him again,
re
,’ John said matter of factly. ‘They found him dead in his house. The stuff I got for him was so bad,
so fucking shit,
the second it got in his system, it poisoned him and killed him.’ John stopped talking and stared at his hands again. They were trembling. He sniffed runny snot back up his nose and then wiped it with the back of his hand afterwards. He’d never opened up like this about Yousif ever before to anyone. But bizarrely, it felt good. Somehow it felt fucking good, as if he were Atlas and he’d just chucked the world off his shoulders into a waiting black hole. He suddenly saw himself as a kid at the funfair, throwing balls at the coconut shies. Except, they weren’t coconuts but demon heads, the word GUILT stamped on every one of their foreheads. He envisaged himself knocking ’em down one by one and loving every minute, jumping around with excitement.

He took in a deep breath to try and regain control of himself.

‘The problem is,’ he continued, once he calmed down a bit, ‘Alisha made it very clear that if she ever found out who gave him that first hit of heroin, she’d kill ’em.’ He smiled wryly and looked up at Phillipo. ‘She’d kill
me
was what she was saying, but she didn’t know that. And I kept it secret, for all this fucking time,
re
, I’ve kept it in my fucking heart and I’ve carried it everywhere I go. Every time I go to sleep, I wake up and it’s still there. That’s why I do so many bad things now. Booze, drugs, gambling; it neuters the fucking guilt. And this is all without even mentioning
Yiayia
.

‘
I killed her too…
’ He cut off, just as a fresh stream of tears fell out of his eyes. As he wiped them, Phillipo stared at him with sympathetic, sorrowful eyes. John now considered how it must’ve cut Phillipo up to see his cousin like this, the boy he used to play cops and robbers with, who he used to make homemade catapults with to fire at the apples in the tree in Yiayia’s garden. John stared into his eyes. He could see the sympathy, could sense that he was truly listening
and
understanding what he was saying. He appreciated it. Appreciated someone actually
listening
to him. He had no one to talk to. No one,
gamota
. Most of his friends had deserted him when the going got tough, so they couldn’t be relied upon for anything.

‘Communication is the best form of pain relief,’ Phillipo told him as he put a caring hand on his shoulder.

John bit his bottom lip and looked up at the
Panayia
. ‘You know, I think you might be dead right there,
re
.’ He chuckled to himself as he spoke. ‘I-I do actually feel relieved to finally get it off my chest.
Honestly…
’ He looked back at Phillipo and shrugged. ‘But, it’s too late. She knows now and she’s gone and so is my
moro
.’

Phillipo leaned towards him and stared at him with wide, sincere eyes. ‘Listen,
re
. Are you out of this stuff now? I mean for good? The drugs, the gangsters, all that rubbish?’

John closed his eyes and nodded. ‘Yes.’

Phillipo pointed at the air ahead of him like an angry father. ‘Are you sure? Don’t lie to me!’

‘Absolutely, Phillipo,’ John replied in a stern voice. ‘It’s finished. I cannot do this
skata
any more. It’s killed me.
But, it’s too late…
’

‘No, it’s not!’ Phillipo said resolutely. ‘You have to talk to her. Let her know once and for all that it’s all over, and that you love her and your child, and they’re all you want in life.’

John shook his head. ‘She won’t listen…’

‘You have to make her listen! And you have to make her believe. What happened to her brother wasn’t your fault. Okay? And most importantly, you don’t mess up again. No more! Finished!’

John wiped his eyes and looked up at his cousin. His halo was glowing strongly now as if it were making a comeback.

‘But what am I gonna do for money,
re
? I can’t support ’em ’cos I can’t get a job…’

Phillipo leaned back in his seat and began nodding his head in a positive fashion. ‘Well, I might be able to help you there,’ he replied. ‘I know this
papa
who needs help. An assistant if you like.’

John felt his face screw up in confusion. ‘
Assistant to a priest?
You want
me
to be an assistant to a priest?’

Phillipo raised both eyebrows and began nodding again. ‘Yes I do.’

‘And what exactly does an assistant to a priest do?’ John enquired.

‘He helps him prepare for services, helps with paperwork, answering telephones, helps around the church, that kind of thing. This
papa
is getting on now and could do with the help.’

‘And who is this priest?’

Phillipo turned to face him. ‘Me,’ he replied, his face neutral.

John laughed to himself. ‘You? You serious?’

‘Of course,’ Phillipo replied adamantly.

‘But, can you…
do that?
’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Phillipo.

‘Well, do you really need help? You’re not
that
old. I mean will
they
let you just create a job like that?’

‘Well, you see, Yiannaki, I’ve got this funny feeling that when I wake up tomorrow morning my back will suddenly start hurting and my legs will feel tired… So, yes
they
will.’

John smiled and took a quick glance around. ‘You…
sly old dog, Phillipo…
’

Phillipo shrugged before glancing up at the Panayia and crossing himself.

John stared at the front of the church as he mulled it over. ‘I’m gonna… 
work in a church?
’ he said.

‘Yes. It’s a job, Yiannaki. The money’s decent too, I’ll make sure of that. So, if I were you, I’d take it.’

John reflected further. The last job he was offered was as a drug baron, now within a day, he was being offered a job in a church.

Bit of a contrast there,
re.

So what was the choice here now—go home to an empty caravan, skint and eventually be back on the streets, dealing or begging Aziz for the delivery job back. Or work. A proper job, getting a regular wage in an environment that couldn’t possibly get him into any more
skata
.
Could it?

For once in his life, he had a choice, and the alternative was actually a pretty good one.

He nodded his head positively. ‘Yeah, I’ll give it a shot,
re
. When do I start?’

‘You start from now, Yiannaki. So, you have to promise me and promise God that you’ll be working hard every day otherwise, we suffer. You, me, Alisha, your kid. We’re all finished.’

John knew exactly what Phillipo was getting at. He had to clean up his act. Now. And that started with asking for forgiveness for the
armaties
of the last week, for his soul to be cleansed.

The future started here and now.

‘I want Holy Communion,’ John then said.

Phillipo clapped his hands on his knees and stood. He held out his hand and helped John to his feet. ‘Then follow me,’ he said. Phillipo led him out of the church floor and into the back room where he had the blessed wine and bread ready and waiting. On the way, John felt the eyes all around him on him again, but suddenly they didn’t feel like they were judging him, scrutinising him. No. Suddenly, they’d mellowed. Like they’d been appeased. They were still watching him though, and they’d always keep their eye on him. He was in the bad books and had to work hard to get out of them.

He nodded. He’d prove to them that he was straight up from here on out.

He promised.

*****

After leaving St. Barnabas, John pulled off Wood Green High Street, turning down a side road. He parked up outside a 99 p shop, and then dived into the thin alleyway sandwiched between it and a café. He didn’t wanna be exposed on any main streets like some kind of game bird. Dread I’s crew knocked around the way; Marek’s the same. And
astinomia
were always around when you didn’t want ’em to be. So it was best to lay low.

Right then, he wanted to make a phone call. To Alisha. He had to speak to her, let her hear his side of the story. As Phillipo said, he had to make her listen, make her believe.

He threw his
cigarro
butt to the ground and took his mobile out from his pocket. He pulled up Alisha’s number and added the ‘withhold’ code to it. He didn’t want his name to appear on her phone ’cos she’ll most likely ignore his call. He just
had
to speak to her.

He took in a deep breath before he pushed dial. As the tone began ringing, a swarm of butterflies shot through his stomach. He was all nerves. He wanted so badly to speak to her, but at the same time didn’t want to fuck up. He nervously checked out the street from inside the alleyway while he waited. A few people were walking past on both sides of the road. He watched ’em all, paranoid of every one of ’em. They could be enemies. Friends of Dread I; Marek’s boys.

He turned his back on them, listening to the monotonous dial tone.
Come on, Alisha. Please…

He thought the inevitability of voicemail was bound to arrive, but to his relief, she answered. ‘
Hello?
’

‘Leesh? It’s me…’ he replied in a flat tone. ‘Listen—don’t hang up! Please. Just-just hear me out.
Please…
’ He waited a second, his eyes darting from side-to-side, expecting to hear the click as she ended the call and the monotone beep to play out. But it never came. He smiled wryly. It looked like she was prepared to give him a stay of execution.

He sighed. ‘Where do I start? I… Look, I just wanna explain what happened with Yousif. I… I… Christ I’ve been carrying it around inside me for so long,
it’s destroyed me
… I… I wish I could go back to that night I first sold him that shit and put him straight about it. Christ, punch some sense into him to not get involved. If I could do one thing in this world, it would be to go back to that night and flush that gear I had on me straight down the fucking toilets. I swear to God…’

He shook his head as he spoke. ‘But, you know, if I wasn’t dealing, I wouldn’t have met
him
and then I wouldn’t have met you…

‘That’s how fucked up life is, Leesh. Good comes from bad and bad comes from good. We’re just playthings for God. He sits up there testing our morals, our
souls…
’ He went quiet for a second and he wondered if she were still there ’cos she hadn’t said a word. The line was still live, which was a good sign. But he could also sense her, sense her on the other end of the line and he was almost sure he could smell the salt of her silent tears.

‘I told him you know, Leesh. I said ‘just chase it, don’t shoot it.’ I told him so many times, honestly. I swear… You remember when you were helping me off it? Remember I was telling you how it was a good thing I wasn’t shooting? How much worse we’d be if I was? Well, that’s why it got so bad with Yousif. He was bang on it. He was…
Christ,
he was beyond help, there was nothing anyone could’ve done, believe me. Nothing. He… he became lost. Yeah,
I
got him into it, but if I hadn’t, how long would it have been before some other piece of shit did the same? That’s the life God gave me—
a fucking peddler of false dreams…

‘And I hate being that. Hate it!’

He groaned, and took in a deep breath before he continued. ‘That night he… the night he
died
, I… I was well off it by then, you remember? I wanted nothing to do with it. Nothing. But he was desperate. He came round all…
messed up.
Begging me to get him a hit. Begging me, Leesh, you understand?
Begging!
’