But she never would, he’d see to that.
Yes, it was definitely a long game but one he was prepared to play. Mam had to have that house on New Barrington, and now the fucking drug theft had gone tits up, he had no money to bloody pay for it. As for Francis, he’d dope her up an’ all, get the pair of them off their nuts. Add extra ground-up tablets to their food, ones he’d already got off the black market.
He laughed, a bit loud, then tamped down the mental-ness of it in case Mam heard him from the kitchen below and cottoned on that he was on the verge of losing it. She’d want to help, and he couldn’t have her pecking at him until he gave in and revealed all.
He sniffed some of Richie’s cocaine, the rush sending him manic.
I’ve got to talk to someone.
He only had one person he trusted, and even that was stretching it—he didn’t fully trust anyone, even Mam. Didn’t even trust himself when someone called him a prick. God, if he couldn’t even rely on him, how could anyone else?
He’d go and see the woman now, get some advice. She’d kept her gob shut so far after he’d spoken to her before, and he reckoned she believed in him, that he’d take over the Barrington and rule everyone, and that was why she hadn’t informed on him to Cassie. She wanted him as her boss, of course she did.
He left his bedroom and went downstairs, rubbing his nose to make sure no white powder was on show. Christ, he hated this manky little house. It seemed like Dad was still everywhere, even though it’d been redecorated three times over and all the stolen furniture taken to the tip after he’d ‘walked out’ on them. Nan had loaned Mam the money to do it up: “…now that nasty bastard won’t get any benefit from it. I said before when you wanted money, Gina: not while you’re with that waste of space.” Then came the sour lips and knowing eye, Nan folding her arms.
His father wasn’t gone, Lenny hadn’t managed to make him disappear completely. His evilness resided in the walls, his vicious whispers still filtering out from the breeze blocks, through the plaster, the coats of paint: ‘You’re a prick, lad, a fucking prick.’
Even hearing those words in his head set him off, and he stormed into the living room where he’d left his coat in the early hours. He snatched it from the sofa and shrugged it on, the inside cold against his cotton shirt and seeping through to his skin. Mam had taken his glass away, which he’d left on the coffee table prior to stumbling up to bed, but the bottle of JD was still there, asking him to have a taste, goading him on. Come on, son, you know you want me.
He fought the battle for the count of three then gave in and unscrewed the lid, slinging the alcohol down his throat, the burn of it forcing fire into his already cocaine-heated veins. He put the top back on, contemplating taking his old bottled friend with him, but common sense prevailed, and he slid it inside the wall cabinet, murmuring, “We have a date later.”
“You off out, Jase?” Mam called from the kitchen.
He jumped, momentarily thinking the bottle had spoken to him, then went in there, a glut of emotion clogging his throat at the sight of her. She’d come into her own once Dad had gone, changing her clothing, her hairstyle, becoming this wonderful starlet with her lovely curls—and makeup instead of black eyes. She was beautiful and deserved the best, to get away from here and into a place where she’d fit better, where she belonged more. She was too good for the likes of the folks around here, always had been, especially this street. How she’d ended up with scum like his dad he’d never know.
She’d often said she wouldn’t leave this house when Jason had offered to pay higher rent elsewhere, that he’d been brought home from the hospital and had grown up there, the memories stitched into her mind so much she couldn’t bear to leave the gaff behind in case that meant leaving the memories behind, too, but if he presented her with a New Barrington pad, spacious rooms and fancy furniture, surely she’d see sense?
“Yeah, got to see a man about a dog.” He took a slice of bread out of the bag on the side and stuffed some in his mouth.
Mam’s eyes went wide. “I hope you don’t mean that literally.”
“Don’t be daft. We don’t want one pissing on the carpet, do we,” he mumbled around the bread.
He swallowed then crammed the rest in and walked out, the cold wind whipping his hair about, and got in his car, cursing the snow that had settled. Someone would see his vehicle outside his destination, but there wasn’t owt he could do about that. Maybe he ought to buy a clapped-out effort, storing it in a rented garage somewhere, using it for things like this.
He sped off, making a stop halfway, parking behind one of the three little shops on the Barrington. What a shit state, all those wheelie bins with their lids open, rubbish poking out. There’d be rats here if the owner wasn’t careful, and the council would be on her back. Maybe he’d tell Cassie about it, egg her on to pay a visit and threaten the woman into cleaning up her act.
He tugged his rucksack from the rear seat and took out one of his fake
