Forty-Seven
THEN
It’s the first time Sid’s left him in charge of the betting shop and he feels bloody marvellous. He whistles as he clears the desk, ready for another day of takings. Sid’s had to go to the doctor’s. He hopes the old boy’s okay. He’s been looking a bit drained recently.
Sid’s been like a proper father to him. He looks up to the betting shop owner, who played football for Birmingham City in the fifties and who regales him with tales about his time on the squad. Sid didn’t scoff at him when he divulged he too had wanted to play football and still wished he had made it.
He points the remote control at the large television screen against the far wall and turns it on. It’s Ascot week and there’ll be plenty of bets placed today. He spots a regular punter on the opposite side of the street. He’ll be in later. He comes in every day. He’s one of those addicted to their visits to the shop. Sid treats them all with respect whether they’re winners or losers. That’s the thing about Sid. He has time for everyone, including a messed-up kid who had ambition and just needed a lucky break. He owes Sid big time. He runs his thumb over the shop door keys, presented to him a week before.
‘You should get the key to the door when you’re twenty-one, but I’m happy to give you the key to my shop now,’ said Sid, slapping him on the back and then shaking his hand. ‘Congratulations, lad.’
He’d never felt such happiness. After eighteen months of training, watching how the business operated, swotting up on every possible sport, and sitting with Sid most evenings soaking up every ounce of the man’s knowledge, he was now officially the betting shop manager and had the door keys to prove it. There’s one condition – he’s not yet to accept bets. He’s not old enough to legally do so. He has to direct punters to another assistant if they wish to place a bet. That’s fine by him – he’s still the manager.
He flicks through the channels and leaves it set up on Channel 4. Sheila, one of the three assistants, arrives quietly through the back door and appears at his elbow.
‘Morning, boss,’ she says cheerfully, making him grin widely.
She bustles about, getting everything ready for the first customers of the day. Now she’s here, he’ll leave her to it and go out back to work on the figures for yesterday. He stops to pick up a paper and takes a quick look at the horses running in the afternoon races, and becomes lost in thought. He doesn’t hear the door buzzer and he only looks up when he hears a cough. The girl on the other side of the counter smiles at him and for a second he’s transfixed by her shimmering, pink, glossed lips. He feels himself redden.
‘Yes. Can I help you?’
The girl pushes a slip towards him. ‘Can you put that on for me?’ she asks.
She’s about twenty, dressed in a pale purple bandana and loose-fitting drawstring trousers bearing an ethnic print. Her ebony hair is gathered back from her face in a headband. He takes in the glittering, silver-grey eyes, and before he realises it, he’s spoken.
‘I have to work on some figures so I’ll get Sheila to take your bet. I don’t suppose you’d like to go for a drink afterwards to celebrate your win?’
She laughs. ‘How do you know this horse will win?’
He waves the slip at her with a knowing smile. She’s chosen well. She’s gone for the King George VI race and picked Swain, ridden by Frankie Dettori. It stands a really good chance and won the year before. ‘I’d have made this choice. Swain is going to win,’ he says confidently.
Her cheeks lift and she observes him, lips tugging into another smile. ‘Okay. If I win, we’ll go out.’
His sister blinks at him and wafts air over her freshly painted toenails.
‘It’s a miracle she’s still with you,’ she says. ‘You must bore her rigid. “Football, blah-blah, racing, odds, blah-blah, percentages, commission, blah-blah, profits,”’ she continues in a monotone voice before giggling. ‘Poor Kayley must have had six weeks of torture hanging out with Mr Mega Boring!’
‘Shut up,’ he says amiably. ‘Some of us have to hold down a proper job and happen to be interested in it. At least some of us can hold down a job.’
She sticks out her tongue at him. ‘Not my fault I got sacked in the first week.’
‘Course it wasn’t. It’s perfectly okay to tell some stuck-up bitch she’s a scabby cow, even if she’s your supervisor.’
Her mouth turns down. ‘Well, she is a cow.’
‘I agree,’ he says, grinning. ‘Might have been an idea not to have drawn a picture of a cow covered in spots, with her name under it, and then posted it on the office noticeboard though.’
‘She asked for it,’ she continues, tightening the top on the nail varnish bottle and easing back on the settee. ‘Didn’t she, Johnny? Anyway, I’m going back to Spain with Johnny when he leaves. I’m going to work in bar and get loads and loads of tips from customers, just for being beautiful.’
Johnny Hounslow has changed beyond recognition. He’s about six foot three, broad-shouldered, with muscular arms and well-defined pectorals. His dirty-blond hair is cut short and spiked, and he wears a permanent look of menace. The boy isn’t keen on his sister going out with Johnny, but she seems happy with the arrangement.
It’s been almost a month since Johnny turned up at the bookmakers. He’d not recognised Johnny but Johnny had recognised him.
‘Bloody hell! What are you doing here?’ he’d said. ‘I thought you’d be a gang leader, a notorious drug dealer or have ended up in the slammer like your old man. You were a right tough nut at school. Look at you now – a pen behind your ear like some accountant and dressed in a shirt and tie!’
Johnny, suntanned, in jeans and a T-shirt that stretched across his wide chest, now looked like he could handle himself in any dodgy situation. He no longer needed a minder.
They ran into each other again at the pub later that day. He couldn’t avoid Johnny, sitting beside the bar, slugging whisky. Johnny called him over.
‘Come and join me. I’m celebrating. Just back from Marbella. Been working there for over a year and made a bloody fortune on my last job.’
‘You been working in Spain?’
‘I’m a builder now. Piece of piss it is too. You just need some muscles. There’s loads of work over in Spain. Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of Brits who need work done on their villas and want new swimming pools or patios or new kitchens. And the birds love a bit of muscle too, if you know what I mean?’ he said with an empty laugh.
He never knew quite what it was Johnny was supposed to be celebrating, but after downing almost a bottle of whisky, they’d tumbled out of the pub and back to his mum’s house, where Johnny had crashed on the settee.
He looks across at Johnny now, slumped beside his sister, and wonders when he’s going to return to Spain. He feels uncomfortable knowing what they’re up to in his sister’s room. He hears their noisy lovemaking through the paper-thin walls. He feels responsible when their mum is out, and she’s been working extra shifts at the pub, so they’ve hardly seen her the last month. She’s still his little sister and not even sixteen yet, and he hopes Johnny isn’t using her. He’s voiced his concerns to her but she doesn’t get it, or she doesn’t want to get it. She’s crazy about the new, macho Johnny, and that saddens him. He ought to talk to Johnny and sort it out. Get him out of her life before she becomes even more serious about the jerk. He doesn’t want her to go to Spain. He can’t imagine life without her around.
He hears a car horn. Kayley’s arrived. She insisted on driving so he can enjoy a few drinks. He smiles at such thoughtfulness. It’s her birthday and yet he gets to drink.
‘You’d better go. Don’t want to be late for the all-important football match,’ says his sister. ‘Much nicer than taking her to a romantic restaurant for her birthday.’
He refuses to be put off by her snide remarks. He’s managed to get his hands on a pair of the much sought-after tickets for the cup final match between Millwall and Wigan at Wembley. Kayley is remarkable and he can’t believe his good fortune. She’s the only woman he knows who can name all the top teams in the league and their playing grounds. Although they’ve only been seeing each other for a few weeks, he’s thinking about asking her to move in with him, find a flat together, somewhere nearby so his sister can still come around to visit. He checks his pocket for the tickets.
‘Go on. Before she drives off without you,’ says his sister, chuckling. Johnny ignores him and begins to kiss his sister’s neck. He wrinkles his nose up at her and leaves them to it.