1980

On my knees: ‘What?’

‘All bloody water under the bridge now.’

‘When?’

‘When what?’

‘When did you -’

‘Sunday.

‘Where?’

‘Manchester. Why? Why do you want to know?’

I catch him, stop him murdering mothers, orphaning children, then you give us one, just one -

I look up at the ceiling, the tears in my eyes -

The tears in my eyes -

The tears -

Tears -

Tears, tears, tears, until -

Until I see her -

See the tears in her eyes -

The tears -

Tears -

Tears, tears, tears, until -

Until I say: ‘Where is he?’

‘Who?’

‘Craven.’

‘Why?’

‘This has got to end.’

‘You can’t -’

But I have her by her coat, my wings outstretched, shouting: ‘Where?’

And she’s shaking -

Shaking and looking up at the ceiling, sucking her lips, the tears in her eyes -

The tears in her eyes -

The tears -

Tears -

Tears, tears, tears, until -

Until she whispers: ‘The Strafford.’

And I’m gone -

Wings outstretched -

Wings outstretched and running, praying – One last deal:

I catch him, stop him murdering mothers, orphaning children, then you give us one, just one more -

My last deal -

Last prayer.

*

Down the stairs -

Into the rain -

Under the arches -

Into the car -

Hit the radio:

‘… asked him, “Are you Peter David Williams of 6 Park Lane, Heaton, Bradford?” to which Williams replied, “Yes, I am.”

‘The Court Clerk then told Williams, “You are accused that between 10 December and 11 December 1980 you did murder Laureen Bell against the peace of our Sovereign Lady the Queen. Further, you are charged that at Mirfield between 6 December and 27 December, you stole two motor vehicle registration-plates to the total value of 50p, the property of Cyril Miller.”

‘Williams was then asked if he had any objection to the remand in custody and whether he wanted reporting restrictions lifted. Williams replied, “No” on both counts…’

Punch the radio -

Out the city -

Onto the motorway -

To the end, thinking -

Know the way, know the time -

Know the place, know it well.

The End of the World:

Wednesday 31 December 1980 -

Dawn or dusk, the whole thing fucked:

River brown, sky grey -

Seven shades of shit -

Wings, my wings on fire -

Into Wakefield city centre -

Sky blood, city dead -

The Bullring -

The End of my World:

The Strafford.

Everyone gets everything they want -

The Strafford -

The first floor, boarded up:

Closed.

I drive past and turn left -

Drive slowly round the back of the buildings -

Round and into a car park, dark under a row of first floor rooms -

Empty upstairs rooms, back rooms -

Blind eyes out onto a rotten, uneven car park -

A car park deserted but for puddles of rain water and motor oil -

Deserted but for one dark green Rover.

I park, waiting -

Watching -

Watching the row of rooms up above -

Their boarded glass, their blind eyes -

Knowing he’s near, here.

I get out of the car and open the boot -

I take out a hammer -

Take out a hammer and put it in the pocket of my raincoat -

Then I take out a can of petrol -

A half empty can of petrol -

And I close the boot of the car -

I walk across the car park -

The rotten, uneven car park -

Puddles of rain water and motor oil underfoot, heading for the stairs and a door -