The Make

would have noticed too, big style. And would probably kick his arse from here to New Year, but he also hoped that being Lorcan’s brother-in-law would extend him some small privileges, allow him just a little wiggle room.

All dressed up for work, he left the utilitarian bleakness of the staff section and took Alfie with him out on to the plush, carpeted and brightly gleaming casino floor. They went through into the back where the manager’s office was situated, beside the count room. Maybe he wouldn’t bother Lorcan with this. Maybe he’d just chat it over with the manager, Thomas, who was a slightly easier touch. But he didn’t get the chance to go for the soft option. Lorcan was passing by outside the count room, and he snagged George then and there.

‘Oh! Lorcan. Hi, mate,’ said George chattily.

‘Fuck me! It’s not George is it?’ quipped Lorcan.

‘Sorry. Been down with a virus, it was really nasty.’

‘Next time you go down with something, a doctor’s note would be good.’

‘Will do,’ George assured him earnestly, pulling Alfie forward. ‘Can I just introduce Alfie, a friend of mine? He’s looking for work.’

‘Does he catch many viruses?’

‘That’s funny,’ said George with a hectic laugh.

‘It’s not that funny.’ Lorcan looked Alfie up and down. ‘Go see Thomas, I think there’s a couple of trainee floor-walkers needed.’

‘Great!’ George hurried away.

Lorcan stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘George.’

‘Yeah, Lorcan?’

‘You take the piss with me any more, you’re out. First and last warning, okay?’

George’s smile vanished. He gulped. ‘Sure, pal.’

‘And I ain’t your pal, I’m your employer. Don’t take fucking liberties.’

George nodded. Lorcan went off into the count room.

‘Jesus. He’s a bit heavy,’ said Alfie.

‘Yeah,’ said George, and went and knocked on Thomas’s door. He was going to have to jack this in and concentrate on the escort work. Lorcan was right, he was taking the piss, and Lorcan had been fair to him in the past. He deserved better. But first, George was going to get Alfie fixed up with a job.

‘So, what’d he say?’ asked George when Alfie emerged from the manager’s officer and came over to the table where George was busy dealing out cards to a punter.

‘Looks good. I filled out an application form. Put your address on it, that okay?’

‘No problem.’

‘I really appreciate this, George.’

‘Look, hang around, go and have a go on the slots or something, get yourself a drink. I’ll be off in a couple of hours, okay?’

They went home to the flat together. Harry was out on an escort job. It was a cold, crisp night, so they heated up some pizza, drank some coffee, and then George made up the sofa bed for Alfie. They said goodnight, and George pushed off to bed, thinking that once New Year was out of the way, he was resigning from Lorcan’s pay roll and expanding the escort biz. Not too much though; he didn’t want the taxman getting wind of it. That would never do.

He fell asleep dreaming of the piles of money he already had in his bedside table. The women, he could take or leave. Shameful to say, maybe, but the truth. He never had been pussy-mad like Harry. And once or twice – oh, and this was even more shameful, wasn’t it? – he had felt a hot tug of attraction to a boy he’d met in passing. Not often . . . not often enough to worry him, maybe, but it had happened, it was there. So the women? Not too bothered. But after years of being flat stony broke, he just loved the money.

When George awoke in the dead of night, he just knew it was Alfie again with the dreams. Like a mother who could detect a feverish infant through a brick wall, George could now sense Alfie in distress even when he was in the next room. He was so close to Alfie now that he thought he would know about it even if Alf was in the next county.

Groaning, he crawled from the bed, wrapped his robe around him, and padded off down the hall. He slipped inside the lounge, closed the door behind him. It was a regular routine now. Don’t wake Harry. Wake up Alfie, reassure him everything was fine.

‘Alfie! Alfie my son, wake up!’ he hissed, crossing the room in the dark, flicking on the table lamp so that a cosy glow lit up the room, chasing back the shadows.

George sat down on the sofa bed and looked at Alfie, his angelic blond curls plastered around his thrashing head.

‘No, no . . .’ Alfie was moaning.

‘Come on Alf.’ George shook his shoulder gently. Alfie’s skin was damp, hot and smooth to the touch.

Suddenly Alfie’s eyes were open. He stared at the ceiling, then his head turned and he was looking straight at George.

‘All right, Alf? The dreams again, yeah?’

Alfie drew a shuddering breath. A tear snaked down from one eye and fell on to the pillow.

‘It’s all okay, Alfie. No problems. No worries.’

‘I know. It’s stupid.’ Alfie put an arm over his eyes. ‘Oh shit,’ he said softly.

‘Get you a drink or something?’ offered George.

Alfie dropped his arm. ‘No. Just . . . stay with me a bit, will you, George?’

‘Can do.’ George dragged a spare pillow across, put his legs up on the sofa, made himself comfortable. ‘Bet you’ll get that job at the casino,’ he said, to distract Alfie from his woes.

‘You really think so?’ Alfie’s expression was unsure.

He looked young in the soft light, and very vulnerable. George thought that he would like to get hold of that twisted git Deano Drax and beat seven kinds of shit out of him. Now he was beginning to understand Alfie better, and to appreciate why he’d said no police. It was for the same reason that so few female rapes were reported. The victims felt too humiliated, too soiled and embarrassed to have to relive it all over again under questioning. He could see now that Alfie felt exactly like that. And at the same time . . . it was horrible but it was true . . . he could see how Alfie, so stunning, so beautiful, could appeal to a sick perv like Drax. Or to anyone, come to that.

‘Sure I think so. You’d be great in the job.’

‘Your brother-in-law didn’t seem very happy with you.’

‘Lorcan’s like a bear with a sore head most of the time,’ sniffed George. ‘You don’t want to take any notice of that.’

‘You don’t talk about your sister much?’

‘No. I don’t.’ George thought about it. It was a sadness for him, not seeing Gracie. He’d loved his big sis, back in the day. But she hadn’t contacted them, Dad hadn’t contacted them, and Suze had bad-mouthed the pair of them until George thought that if he did try to get in touch it would cause all sorts of shit to start flying. Then Mum would be upset, and what if she was right and they really didn’t want to know him after all this time . . .? And so the years had gone by, and there had been this void. But it didn’t seem now that there was a damned thing he or anyone else could do about it.

‘It’d be good to have a sister,’ said Alfie, an only child.

‘Good? What, all those hormones and giggles and knickers hanging up in the bathroom, all that stuff?’

‘Someone to boss around,’ Alfie said, and raised a smile.

‘Jesus, you never met Gracie!’ George had to laugh at that. ‘Boss her around and she’d kick you straight up the bollocks.’

‘Did she kick Lorcan up the bollocks?’

‘I think she came damn close.’

‘So they couldn’t live with each other?’

‘Have a day off will you? She’s in Manchester, he’s in London,’ said George. ‘Read the signs, Alfie. Read the signs.’

‘That’s a shame.’