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In Cold Blood: A Brother’s Sworn Vengeance
Julie Shaw


Previously published as Our Vinnie.The infamous Canterbury Estate in Bradford, a hotbed of crime, drink and drugs, was a law unto itself in the ’70s. So when one of their own was wronged in any way, the community always had its own way of dealing with it.The first title in a series of gritty family sagas, In Cold Blood accounts the dramatic true story of a brother’s determination to avenge his younger sister’s rape. Josie was just 11 when her Vinnie, then 14, was taken away to a detention centre. Distraught by his absence and left alone with indifferent parents, when she escapes from one of their rows she naively enters the house of a neighbour, Melvin, who – horrifically – leads her upstairs and overpowers her.Convinced by her friend Carol, Josie tells her sister Lyndsey about the rape but, with Vinnie out of the picture, Lyndsey uses the information for her own ends. When Vinnie returns, hardened by years inside the system, his outrage on discovering the truth is severe. And with new abuses continually coming to light, a cataclysmic series of violent events begins to spiral out of control…Dramatic and shocking, In Cold Blood is an unbelievable page-turner, documenting a community forsaken by society, and one brother’s unrelenting determination to take justice into his own hands.










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Copyright (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)


All names and identities have been changed in this memoir, to protect both the living and the children of those who have died. Some changes have been made to historical facts for the same reason.

HarperElement

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London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

First published by HarperElement 2014 as Our Vinnie This edition 2018

© Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee 2014

Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018 Cover photographs © plainpicture/mb photo (woman); Mark Owen/Trevillion Images (man with gun)

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Julie Shaw and Lynne Barrett-Lee assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

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Source ISBN: 9780007542246

Ebook Edition © February 2018 ISBN: 9780007542253

Version 2018-02-20




Contents


Cover (#ud0a1dd07-568f-536b-8cd3-db1d9aad25d7)

Title Page (#u39036fe0-ae0e-5066-9338-803628eab402)

Copyright (#ulink_8d269a2d-e847-5c8d-af88-844246746963)

The Canterbury Warriors (#ulink_c4e41b01-9178-5b24-b119-a5f2a1f5312f)

Note by the Author (#ulink_aaf1f967-4b29-5eda-b170-4ad6526cc465)

Hudson Family Tree (#ub03f427a-9e2c-567f-976a-1f2886d97005)

1970

Chapter 1 (#ulink_55c71a11-f522-56ef-899a-9beb44768916)

Chapter 2 (#ulink_7ae57ceb-cdf4-5039-89cc-ff587356a9de)

Chapter 3 (#ulink_d39428f4-ca86-51e6-a677-ae39a672cc8e)

Chapter 4 (#ulink_3fbab1a9-dbc9-5e6b-a86f-fa3cbbb2f756)

Chapter 5 (#ulink_247c5225-3747-51f9-b5ac-1c76f5f6dfa9)

Chapter 6 (#ulink_ab16cede-f4e6-5ac1-81c2-8653d00a2046)

Chapter 7 (#ulink_3e417df2-e604-5e0a-b896-0869dc10ea45)

Chapter 8 (#ulink_77c35d7f-38e0-5133-9537-e262eecd4f08)

1973

Chapter 9 (#ulink_f9cc03f4-19bd-583c-9ba0-4abecd04e68b)

Chapter 10 (#ulink_0dc426de-5626-57bd-9cd6-9ca906a05622)

Chapter 11 (#ulink_4b8546ce-fd7e-5762-b710-61384853b5d6)

Chapter 12 (#ulink_c34acb44-3881-5ae1-aa9c-e12af8e5e27e)

Chapter 13 (#ulink_67183999-2a66-5975-abfd-15d37f2f463d)

Chapter 14 (#ulink_aee8c412-28d1-55bd-94be-ec2f067e8d62)

Chapter 15 (#ulink_6ea5a9de-a1c7-5ea6-a301-2926def7f3f4)

Chapter 16 (#ulink_8064f6dc-6de1-5524-8ea6-1e7be818c5e9)

Chapter 17 (#ulink_474f3f9c-5cf9-5601-932f-caa158779e94)

Chapter 18 (#ulink_6731ff3a-660d-5bf2-a561-3e1c7d498342)

Chapter 19 (#ulink_cd10a499-80b5-59ea-9f39-28ca72c39862)

Chapter 20 (#ulink_548c12be-e81e-5b04-826d-d74bdcb3264a)

Chapter 21 (#ulink_7380f76e-c5a8-5cf4-85b6-e288f2a53ed8)

1974

Chapter 22 (#ulink_a484740d-0180-570e-ab21-e19ce1534f32)

Chapter 23 (#ulink_5f4fb97b-e19a-5ae0-8c92-375df2930c76)

Chapter 24 (#ulink_7569a633-9a4d-5ddc-89a7-82698fd7ec9e)

1979

Chapter 25 (#ulink_20d47a00-e335-5ea4-8d98-9d352c2502e9)

Chapter 26 (#ulink_ed110591-0f18-5f84-b704-82c83883b34e)

Chapter 27 (#ulink_6cb84195-c169-569a-83fb-4b4f6cb5a145)

Chapter 28 (#ulink_7c0bfddb-e5d9-5a35-b78f-c2c277d22fdb)

Chapter 29 (#ulink_e7ccaf8f-3f2b-51fe-afbd-895a21830247)

Epilogue (#ulink_16c0e6dd-3469-5867-a8bf-231211d11ffa)

Acknowledgements (#ulink_ada85810-ca7c-5847-bfc4-32867cfc6210)

Exclusive sample chapter (#u8c2277f0-9fbc-50a5-b2d7-cc1ccb66e187)

Further titles in this series (#u5e7991eb-2002-505b-8107-a9118085b338)

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter (#u80107f8e-0d09-551d-b88e-6ce9a5097040)

Write for Us (#uebb58352-e11a-53c2-bf3c-51e4f0f3c6eb)

About the Publisher (#uc27503d1-6d62-5057-98de-c3efa446f2b6)




The Canterbury Warriors (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)


We are the Canterbury Warriors

We stay out late at night

If anybody dare come near us

There’s sure to be a fight

Last night we were in trouble

Tonight we are in jail

We’re doing six months’ hard labour

For pulling a donkey’s tail

Way back whoa back

Come and get yer money back

Pea and pies for supper

Our old lass has plenty of brass

And we don’t give a bugger!

(Anon.)




Note by the Author (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)


My name is Julie Shaw, and my father, Keith, is the only surviving member of the 13 Hudson siblings, born to Annie and Reggie Hudson on the infamous Canterbury Estate in Bradford. We were and are a very close family, even though there were so many of us, and those of us who are left always will be.

I wanted to write these stories as a tribute to my parents and family. The stories are all based on the truth but, as I’m sure you’ll understand, I’ve had to disguise some identities and facts to protect the innocent. Those of you who still live on the Canterbury Estate will appreciate the folklore that we all grew up with: the stories of our predecessors, good and bad, and the names that can still strike fear or respect into our hearts – the stories of the Canterbury Warriors.









1970 (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)




Chapter 1 (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)


Bradford, October

June McKellan was standing in front of her chipped-tile fireplace, skirt hitched up slightly at the back. She was warming her backside from the last of the embers that were sizzling out on the coal fire. Her husband, Jock, was slouched across the brown moquette settee in his favourite position – bottle of cider in one hand, cigarette in the other. His eyes were glued to the television as he squinted through a cloud of fag smoke to watch the last race of the day. June stared at the sight she had married. ‘Are you gonna fucking move today, or what?’ she asked him. ‘And if you’ve won fuck all on the horses again, you better get yourself out on the tap. We’ve no coal, and I’m off out tonight!’

Jock dragged his gaze from the TV and looked up at her. ‘Shut your cake-hole, June,’ he said. ‘You’re going no-fucking-where till you’ve got me another bottle of Joe Rider and some twifters.’ Jock turned his attention to his wife then, his gaze full of animosity as he looked her up and down, and she could tell exactly what he was thinking. And knowing none of the thoughts were nice – the contents of his head rarely were – she jabbed him in the shoulder to reinforce her orders.

‘I’ve got your cider and your fags, gob shite,’ she snapped. ‘Now move your arse off that couch before our Vinnie gets in for his tea. Fucking social worker’s coming at half five.’

‘What?’ Jock said, alert now. ‘What the fuck for?’

‘Been to see Moira,’ June told him irritably. ‘Needs to talk about something apparently. And, no, I don’t know what, because I haven’t spoken to her yet, have I?’

‘Moira?’ he said again. ‘Why Moira?’

‘Because I was fucking asleep, okay?’ And hungover, same as you were, she thought but didn’t add. ‘Anyway, get up and get out, will you? I don’t want you sitting here pissed as a fart when she gets here. Go on – go round your Maureen’s and borrow some coal and a few quid till we get your dole.’

Jock dragged himself up and pulled his woollen cardigan closer round his bloated stomach. ‘I’m getting a bit sick of this, June,’ he said, crushing out his cigarette. ‘Our Maureen thinks I should give you a fucking slap and make you stay in.’

June threw her head back and laughed at him. ‘Your Maureen’s coming out with me, idiot! And I’d like to see the day you give me a fucking slap!’

Jock slammed the door as he stumbled out of the house, and into the sooty late afternoon light. Little twat! He was a good foot and a half bigger than her, and one of these days he would knock her out, never mind the slap. What a fucking cow bag she was, stood there like that, all bleached hair and lippy. Oh, all his mates had thought he’d cracked it when he copped for June – five foot fuck all, and a waist you could get your hand around. Well, they didn’t know what he had to put up with, did they? Gobby little cow that she was.

He meandered down the path and into the street, scowling as he dodged the dog shit on the pavement. He could do nothing right in her eyes. Not these days, at any rate. The three kids, on the other hand, could do no wrong. Fucking twat. He’d slap her proper, one of these days.

Her feckless hulk of a husband out of the way, June resumed her position by the fire, shivering but happy now. She would be down at the Bull with Maureen in a couple of hours, and she couldn’t wait; the blokes down there wouldn’t dream of talking to her like that. Let the miserable bastard stew, she thought. She wouldn’t be dwelling on it, not after a couple of halves, anyway.

Jock had only been gone five minutes when 13-year-old Vinnie burst through the door, a big smile on his face for his mum. ‘Warming the old man’s supper up, ma?’ he joked, pointing to her skirt. June laughed. He was a case, was her Vinnie, and no one understood him like she did. And all the neighbours were just jealous bastards, that was all – accusing him of every little thing that went down on the estate. Yes, he had gotten himself into bother now and again, but so what? All kids got into fights or went out robbing, didn’t they? Why always blame her son? It wasn’t fair.

‘Quite funny for you that were, son!’ she told him drily. Then she nodded towards the kitchen. ‘Go on,’ she told him. ‘There’s some sarnies in there for you and a biscuit on top of the cupboard. Don’t tell your dad where they are though,’ she added. ‘Greedy bastard’s fat enough as it is!’

Vinnie grinned. Then his expression changed. ‘Mam,’ he said, not quite looking at her, ‘you know when the social worker gets here? Well, whatever she says is a load of shit. A few on the estate are saying the youthy got robbed last night, so no doubt she’ll try and fit me up for it, you know, to the bizzies. I swear I wasn’t there, Mam, honest I wasn’t. But you’re gonna have to say I was in all night cos they’re not gonna believe me when I say it, are they?’

June looked sadly at her son. With his wild, shoulder-length ginger hair and his bright blue eyes he looked the picture of innocence. Okay, so ‘innocent’ was pushing it, but he wasn’t the evil twat that everyone made him out to be. He had a smile that could melt her heart and a sense of humour that could have an audience in stitches. She sighed. Now it seemed she was going to have to defend him again. He’d better not have done anything; she was off out tonight, come hell or high water.

As if on cue, the letterbox rattled and the front door was pushed open. ‘Can I come in, June?’ they heard a voice say. ‘It’s only me!’

Sally, the social worker, waddled into the front room, puffing and panting as usual, as familiar a presence in the McKellan household as most of the furniture. She flopped down onto the place on the settee Jock had only just vacated. ‘Hiya, Vinnie, love,’ she said, smiling up at him as she settled into the sagging seat cushion. ‘It’s brass monkeys out there, mate, isn’t it? Get the kettle on!’

Vinnie gave an obligatory smile and went off to fill the kettle. June knew from the absence of banging and clattering that he’d be trying to listen in. He hated his social worker and not without reason; she was always trying to have him sent away. And June knew part of the reason was the same as the reason she did – because it always felt like Sally could see right through him. Not that he’d hear much of interest. June was too busy staring malevolently at the interfering witch. Not grassing up her son when he wasn’t there.

But he was as quick as a whippet coming back with Sally’s tea, so there was no time to say anything anyway.

‘There you go, Sal,’ said Vinnie as he handed over a pint pot. And then, obviously deciding to really take the piss, he adopted his best posh voice. ‘Best mug in the house, that,’ he said. ‘Especially for you. Now then, to what do we owe this honour?’

Sally turned to June, looking less than impressed, and June felt a prickle of anxiety. ‘Hark at him,’ Sally said. ‘Proper little host, isn’t he?’

June scowled at her son. ‘Take no notice, Sally. He has got a point though; you’re not due for a fortnight. What d’you want with us? It all seems a bit suss to me.’

Sally looked directly at Vinnie then. She knew how the estate operated and especially this family. She might be a lump but her brain was pretty sharp. ‘Well, are you going to tell her, or should I?’ she asked Vinnie.

‘What are you on about, you daft cow?’ he responded. ‘She’s off it, Mam, I swear to God. I told you I would get accused of summat, didn’t I?’

June braced herself. ‘What’s he supposed to have done this time?’ she asked evenly. ‘Only, if it’s about the youth club, I’ve heard all about it. He can’t have been involved because he was in here all night with me and our little Josie.’ She glared at the social worker, daring her to contradict her, although half of her knew that Vinnie probably had been at the scene of the crime; had most likely orchestrated the whole thing in fact.

‘June, I’m really sorry, love,’ Sally said, frowning, ‘but he’s been fingered by at least three witnesses, all of whom will say it in court, as well. Vinnie was seen smashing in the skylight, lowering one of his mates in and then –’ she looked at Vinnie again, and June clocked his expression – ‘jumping in himself.’

June digested this, and having done so, felt the bile rise inside her. The stupid little fucker. She sprang forward then, making Sally leap up from the couch in fright. She lunged towards Vinnie, grabbing him by the hair and punching him repeatedly in the head. ‘You lying little bastard, I’ll fucking kill you! When are you gonna fucking learn, you fucking simpleton?!’

Vinnie squirmed under her grip, but she held firm onto his hair. ‘Mam, fuck off! I didn’t do it, I swear!’ he squealed. ‘They’re lying, Mam! Get off me, you div – you’re hurting, Mam, stop it!’

Vinnie was almost hysterical by now, but it didn’t appease her. She might be small but she was as nasty as fuck when she started, and boy, did she feel like starting now.

Sally was up on her feet again. ‘Calm down, June,’ she said, trying to get in between them and extricate June’s hands from Vinnie’s hair. ‘Let’s just sit down and talk about what to do next, shall we? This is getting us nowhere. Come on, June. Let him go.’

She succeeded. June allowed herself to be led to the fireplace, where Sally handed her the cigarettes and matches from the shelf. She lit up with trembling fingers and watched her errant son as he tried in vain to straighten his messed up hair and re-adjust his jumper. He was snivelling now, too, and shaking his head as though he couldn’t believe that his own mother would doubt him. Look at him, she thought angrily, playing it out to the full. Thinks he can even fool me. Me, his own fucking mother!

‘Now then,’ Sally started to explain, once she was back sitting on the sofa, her boobs visibly quivering beneath her floral maxi dress as she checked her long ponytail was still securely in place. ‘It’s a given that Vinnie did do the youth club. I know for a fact that he was also involved in the bingo-hall robbery a fortnight ago.’

‘What?’ June started.

‘It’s also a fact,’ Sally continued, ignoring her, ‘that he hasn’t attended school for at least two months.’ She paused to let both of them digest this part too, and June could see the patronising look in her eyes. She knew what Sally thought of them: that they were lunatics of the highest order. Snotty bitch.

‘Just cut the shit, Sal,’ June said. ‘What’s the score then? My Vinnie getting blamed for the lot, is he? Just cos he’s a bit of a lad?’ She raised her finger threateningly, the cigarette trailing coils of smoke as she did so. ‘You wanna watch your mouth, Sally, because there’s a lot of us on this estate getting a bit sick of your fucking accusations!’

Sally looked pained. Looked like she could do with a slap herself. June wasn’t sure who she wanted to slap most right now. Her idiot son or this arrogant cow. ‘Look, June,’ Sally said, ‘blame me if it helps, but it’s not my fault. If Vinnie chooses a life like this, he needs to know there are consequences. If you had turned up at court – like you were meant to – you would have heard what was decided there, wouldn’t you?’

June glanced at Vinnie. Could see the fear in his face now. ‘Court?’ he spluttered. ‘What’s she on about, Mam?’

June spread her hands. ‘I didn’t know I had to attend, did I? I thought it was just all the usual crap about skiving school, an’ I’ve said it all before, haven’t I?’ She glared at Sally. ‘I can’t force him to stay in school, can I? He’s not a fucking toddler, is he? I can’t drag him by the fucking hand.’ She turned to Vinnie then. ‘And don’t you look at me like that, Vin. If you stayed out of bother we’d have no need for all this, would we? Would we?’

June clocked Sally’s frown and felt herself shaking. She could tell that she hadn’t heard the worst of it yet. There was something bad coming, for definite. She steadied herself with an arm on the nicotine-coloured shelf. ‘Go on then,’ she said, seeing the social worker’s pitying expression. ‘What?’

‘Unfortunately, love – and I did try to stop this, believe me – the courts have decided that he has to be sent away.’

Vinnie, who’d perched himself on the sofa arm by now, sprang up at this in dismay. ‘No, Mam, tell her! I’m not going anywhere! You can fuck off, you fat bitch! Tell her, Mam!’

June was every bit as shocked as he was by this turn of events. She saw his face begin to crumple – proper, genuine tears this time, and she couldn’t bear it – she could never bear to see her boy so upset. If he deserved a leathering, then, yes, she would give him one in an instant. But for someone else to be punishing him was unthinkable. Another thought smacked her in the face then – Jock. Jock was going to go fucking apeshit.

‘Come on, Sal,’ she tried. ‘That can’t be right, surely? It hasn’t even gone to court yet about the robberies! How can he be punished for something not proven? We haven’t even had the bizzies round or anything.’

‘The police will be round, June. They are currently collecting statements about that one, but this is because of all the other stuff as well.’ She raised her hands and started ticking off Vinnie’s transgressions on her fingers. ‘Fighting,’ she started, ‘robbing, mugging, smashing up cars, starting fires … I could go on. He’s lucky he’s lasted so long. No, June, this is the end of the line, love. It will be a week today.’ She picked up her handbag. ‘I’ll be collecting him and we’ll be taking him to an approved school down in Brighton.’

June gawped. ‘Fucking Brighton? How the fuck are we meant to get to Brighton for a visit?’ She could hear Vinnie really snivelling now. She could hardly bear to look at him. She concentrated on Sally. ‘How long is he off for?’

Sally explained how Vinnie would be staying at the school until his behaviour improved, and that the distance didn’t matter because they wouldn’t be allowed to visit. June was open-mouthed at this and Vinnie was really crying now, his head in his hands bent over towards his knees. This was killing him, June knew. And her, for that matter, watching him – sobbing as Sally patted his back as she told him that after a while, if he behaved himself, that was, he would be allowed some weekend visits home. Why’d she flown at him? she thought miserably. Why hadn’t she stood by him? Been a decent alibi? Fucking witnesses. What witnesses? Who knew if they weren’t just out to fit him up, after all?

Sally left not long after and June tried to pull herself together. She needed to be there for poor Vin, who was obviously distressed. But no sooner had she turned back to him than he was wiping his face and grinning. ‘Que sera sera, muvver! Alter your face, I’ll be okay!’

June shook her head, not sure whether to be relieved he’d been putting it on, or furious at the little git for all the play-acting. She chose the latter and went to clip him round the ear again, but he managed to dodge her. ‘We’ll see, son,’ she snapped. ‘We’ll see. I hope you’re right. You realise your dad’s gonna throw a right mental though when he hears this, don’t you?’

And he would, too. Which was no less than Vin deserved. And which she wasn’t hanging about for. ‘Anyway, I’m off out, mate,’ she added, ‘before he gets back. I’ve got a few quid stashed away that he don’t know about.’

Vinnie looked affronted. ‘Well I’m not staying here on my own!’ he said. ‘He’ll be pissed, won’t he? I’m not having him battering me as well as you.’

June softened then. ‘I’m sorry, love, you know what I’m like.’ She pulled her packet of fags out from where she’d just stowed them in her handbag and tried not to think about him not being around for a bit. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take a couple of ciggies and a few bob for some supper. I’m off to the Bull to meet Moira and Maureen. You can go round to our Lyndsey’s for the night; tell her what’s happened.’

Vinnie, who clearly couldn’t believe his good fortune, grinned widely. Then gave his mum a quick hug and a kiss before running out of the house.

June turned back to the mirror and quickly applied some more panstick onto the bags under her eyes, and a fresh slice of ruby red across her lips. She then changed her coal-burnt slippers for a pair of black stilettos and within minutes she was off up the road to her local, her evening back on track, at least for now. She wondered how many scratters with a few bob she was going to pull tonight. She pulled her old fur coat closer round her, to keep out the chill. And pushed all thoughts of her wayward son to the back of her mind.

Like you did. It was like Vinnie said, Que sera sera. What could you do?




Chapter 2 (#u2997a235-37d3-5595-b688-3d9d4cf4f6b7)


Vinnie peeped into the window, through the gap in the curtains of his sister’s house, taking care not to be seen. He had vaulted the six garden fences round the backs which separated his house from hers, and he could feel his breath rasping in his throat. Squatting down then, out of sight, he shivered against the freezing wind as he ate the last of his vinegar-soaked chips. He wished he’d had the bottle to nip into his own house for his coat. Fucking old man had put paid to that idea, though. Must have heard the latest news from his auntie or something, because when Vinnie had popped his head inside 10 minutes ago, the senile old bastard had started ranting and raging. Fuck that for a lark – he was off.

He hated coming up to Lyndsey’s because she lived like a pig. But right now, she felt the lesser of two evils. But only just; peering back in through the window, he could see that she was off her head already. She was slumped in an armchair that was covered in puke and chocolate stains, eyes glazed over and with that stupid vacant smile on her face as she watched the three kids playing on the ratty carpet. Vinnie frowned. Fucking 10 o’clock at night and the kids still up. They were only three, four and seven as well. The ‘idiot’ – her bloke Robbo – was squatting on the floor, too, smoking his weed through a milk-bottle pipe, oblivious to fucking anything. Vinnie crumpled up his chip bag and knocked hard on the window. ‘Police, open up!’ he shouted.

Little Robbie, the eldest kid, looked up and smiled at him and Lyndsey, at once alert, jumped up from her chair. Seeing Vinnie grinning in at her, she relaxed and sat down again and was back slumped by the time he’d let himself in through the unlocked back door. ‘Fucking divvy!’ she said as the kids all ran to jump up at their uncle.

‘All right kids, calm down,’ he said, fending them off. ‘Fuckin’ hell, Lynds, you wanna tell him to give that pipe a rest – these three are high as kites!’

‘Cheeky fucker,’ she responded, clearly less out of it than she looked. ‘You’re not too old to get your arse smacked, you know.’ Then her tone changed. ‘Aw, put ’em to bed for us, will you, Vin?’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘I’ll do another mix if I can get the pipe off Marty-fucking-Feldman there. Just look at them fucking eyes. Oi! Numpty – pipe!’

It was always like this and Vinnie wasn’t about to say no to her. Someone needed to look after the poor little fuckers. Vinnie picked his nieces up, one giggling on each arm. ‘C’mon then, mate,’ he said to Robbie, then, choosing his route carefully over the shoes and clothes that had been left all over the floor, took them all up to bed.

Sammy and Lou shared bunk beds in the same bedroom as their brother, and Vinnie took his usual deep breath of the clear air on the tiny landing before going into the room. It never changed – it stank of piss and always made him retch.

‘Will you play with us, Uncle Vinnie? Just for a little bit?’ asked Robbie.

Vinnie shook his head. ‘Not tonight, matey. You three need some sleep. It’s late and your mam wants me downstairs. I’m sleeping on your couch though,’ he added, while casting around for some wearable nightwear. ‘So we can play in the morning, all right?’

Having settled the kids, Vinnie went down to join Lyndsey and Robbo. At least when they were stoned they shared the hash out. Not like if they’d been on the other stuff. He hated them then. That was the trouble with coming here, though; you either walked in and fucking floated out or you entered a war zone. You never knew what you might find.

‘Don’t suppose you’ve heard about me, then?’ Vinnie asked as he sat on the couch. Clearly not. His sister and Robbo just looked puzzled. ‘I’m getting sent down, aren’t I?’ he said. ‘Next week. Fuckin’ right piss-take.’

‘Fuck off!’ laughed Robbo. ‘You’re only 13. They can’t fucking send you down at your age!’

Vinnie glared at the idiot. He hated him, and couldn’t understand what his sister saw in him. ‘Well they are. Durr! They know I did the fucking bingo hall and the youthy. Fucking Saggy Tits came up today, said it was all decided in court yesterday. But, of course, me mother didn’t attend, did she?’

‘Aw, here love,’ Lyndsey said as she passed Vinnie a joint. He looked at it, smiling at her with something approaching pity. She was well gone now, her eyes just a pair of slits in her face. A far cry from the stunner she’d once been, way back. Now she just looked fucking tragic. ‘It don’t really surprise me about her though. They don’t serve bitter in court, do they?’ She tipped her head back and laughed at her own joke. Vinnie didn’t. ‘And you have to admit, Vin, you had it coming, mate.’

He lit the paper, watched the stray ends of tobacco flare and redden. Perhaps having a smoke would give him some more of the Dutch courage he needed. Was going to keep needing, in fact. ‘Cheers for the moral support and all that,’ he said. ‘I’m not bothered anyway. Piece of piss approved school’ll be.’

Robbo opened his mouth to speak but started to choke instead – either over Vinnie’s words or the smoke that wreathed his face. ‘Approved school?’ he spluttered finally. ‘That’s not going down, mate. The nick is going down. Armley or Thorp Arch is going down. Fucking approved school?’

Robbo bent over to suck again on the piece of plastic tube, laughing. The homemade pipe had another tube next to the plastic one; a length of copper pipe that was wedged into the model milk bottle with a lump of plasticine. Vinnie watched, fascinated, as the dirty liquid in the bottle started to bubble. He hoped the arsehole did choke on it. Like, lethally. Who did he think he was, trying to make a cunt out of him?

Lyndsey snatched the pipe back. ‘Shut it, you! Even if it’s not the nick, he’ll still be away, won’t he? It’s not like he’ll be allowed out fucking shopping, is it?’

That shut him up for a bit. Good. Robbo thought he was still a fucking hard man but Vinnie knew the truth. He might have been a fighter 10 years ago, back when he was dealing, but as soon as he started getting a taste for it himself he had gone downhill fast, just like they all did. Now he was just a run-of-the-mill junkie who had no respect. It made Vinnie sick when he saw him queuing outside the post office with the family allowance book on Monday mornings. Using the money meant for food to buy a bit of red or black, or if they really did have to buy food, he would resort to a couple of bottles of Actifed. Fucking joke, Robbo was. Fucking cough medicine!

No matter what happened the rest of the week, the kids always got took to school on Mondays. Mondays, and every other Thursday as well, because every second Thursdays were pan crack days. The days when the big money came – the dole, the big green drug token. Vinnie knew enough to know the score there. And the score was that Robbo had soon got his sister round to the junkie way of thinking. He also knew – though he wouldn’t dare mention it – that Lyndsey was on the game as well. He looked at his older sister with disgust now. The slag was all over the estate with Robbo’s two sisters, fucking giving it up all week for the price of an ounce.

Vinnie noticed Lyndsey and the idiot had fallen asleep now, so he turned up the portable TV. He settled back onto the couch, resting his head on the arm and his legs, for want of anywhere else to put them, spread out across his inert sister’s lap. The room felt fuggy: it had taken on the familiar sickly-sweet smell of dope and in the thick lingering smoke that had settled all around him, Vinnie could barely keep his eyes open. Though he could still make out the giant picture that took pride of place above the fireplace. It was a picture of a lad – around three was his guess – whose grizzling face stared mournfully down. It was called ‘The Crying Boy’, or so his mam had told him years back. And seeing what he was looking down on here, it wasn’t fucking surprising.

The late night news was on – more grizzling, as far as he could tell – but he wasn’t listening. His head was too full of thoughts about his impending incarceration, and what it might be like. His Uncle Charlie had once told him about the time he had gone to jail. How loads of the blokes were arse bandits and you couldn’t bend over to pick up the soap if you dropped it in the shower. Charlie was hard though, a big mean bastard with hands like coal shovels. No one messed with his uncle. He didn’t even live in a house. Throughout the day he was usually found outside the Boy and Barrel or the Old Crown, but at nights, unless it was proper freezing, at least, he slept on a bench in the town centre. If it was cold, though, he’d simply smash a window or start a fight so that he had a nice warm cell for the night. Trouble was though, Uncle Charlie and the rest of his uncles hated thieves. It was all right to rob a business or a bank or run some crooked gambling, but the youthy – Vinnie knew his Uncle Charlie would see that as shitting on your own doorstep. And shitting on your own doorstep was the lowest of the low. He wasn’t stupid; he knew that. Just like he knew Charlie and his lot slagged him off to his mam. Fuck that, then, he wouldn’t be going to Charlie for advice.

Vinnie had drifted off to sleep at last, dreaming about fighting off giant arse bandits and sharing a cell with his Uncle Charlie.

He woke up with a start some time later, unclear where he was, to feel Lou and Sammy jumping on him and laughing. ‘Come on, Uncle Vin,’ they trilled. ‘Come on, let’s play out!’

Vinnie yawned and rubbed his eyes. He got up to open the window to get rid of the smoke and the stench of weed. ‘Gimme a chance, kids. I’ve only just woke up. Go get dressed and get your brother up. We’ll go down to Nan’s and get some brekkie, okay?’

‘Yay, Nanny’s! Nanny, Nanny, Nanny’s!’ sang the girls as they ran back upstairs.

Vinnie glanced around him at the filthy, stinking living room. His sister and the idiot must have somehow got themselves to bed because there was no sign of them now. He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge and the grease-coated food cupboard, just to check if there was any food in. Not that he held out much hope. Lyndsey went shoplifting at the Co-op every other day, but yesterday she had been in too much of a state. Which was a shame. Least when she went lifting she brought back proper good stuff. ‘Only the best for my kids!’ she would say as she brought out packs of bacon and joints of meat from up her skirt. Vinnie knew she would fill up her knickers with stuff too, but he didn’t like to dwell on it – not if he was going to be sharing the spoils, anyway.

It was only eight o’clock but the kids were chomping at the bit to get out of the shit-hole. But Vinnie knew his mam and dad wouldn’t be up yet and, given what had gone down with Saggy Tits Sally, he was reluctant to wake them this early. He decided to walk about with the kids for half an hour first, and then hopefully his little sister would be up for school, at least. Little Josie, or ‘Titch’, as she was known to almost everybody, was alright. She was only 10, but she adored her big brother and would try to kick the shit out of anybody who called him ginger nut, no matter how big they were.

The kids dressed and ready, they headed straight out. There was no point in saying goodbye to his sister and the idiot. They’d be comatose for hours yet, knowing he was there to see to the kids. Which would have to change, he thought, feeling a sudden pang of nerves. And fear – fear of being so far away from everyone and everything he knew. He had to stop that in its tracks. Snuff it out.

He vaulted the fence into the next door back garden, heading back the same way as he’d come the night before. It was the route he always used to get from Lyndsey’s house to home and back. Same as everyone. Everyone fit enough to jump fences and crawl through holes, anyway. It was their private route around the place and he didn’t know any different way to travel. Much less why. He thought seriously about this as he lifted the kids over Mrs Elliot’s fence. Probably to make it easier running from the pigs, he decided. But he wasn’t alone in Mrs Elliot’s garden. As he lifted over little Robbie, he was immediately attacked by a huge, angry black-and-white cat. Which clearly had no truck with what he’d been up to either. It wasted no time in scratching him, badly.

‘Fuck!’ he yelled, bringing a hand up to his stinging cheek. He was bleeding. Proper bleeding. The little shit. With the kids laughing hysterically, he leapt around the garden then, trying to catch the mangy moggy who’d taken him on.

At last he managed to grab it and held it in a headlock with one arm, clamping its body under his arm, safely out of scratching distance. It squirmed and spat, but he held on tight. It was going nowhere. It had to pay for what it did.

‘Robbie, quick,’ he said to his nephew, ‘find me some rope or string or summat!’

The kids stared at Vinnie, puzzled. ‘Why?’ Sammy and Lou wanted to know.

‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘If I let it go it will attack us all, won’t it!’

Robbie, Lou and Sammy dutifully scoured the back garden, ignoring the syringes and old car tyres and crap. Eventually, four-year-old Lou held up a length of aerial cable. ‘Uncle Vinnie, look!’ she said proudly.

‘Ssssh!’ he said, conscious that Mrs Elliot might hear them. ‘C’mon,’ he gestured, ‘Good girl, Lou … fetch it over!’

They all watched mesmerised as Vinnie fought the now writhing cat, to get the cable around its front legs. It was hissing and putting up a valiant fight, but was no match for its human tormentor. Grabbing Mrs Elliot’s washing line, he flipped the end of the cable over it a couple of times, letting the cat fall – the cable straining now – strung up by its front legs.

He turned to the little ones, who were looking up at him, wide-eyed with shock. ‘See, this cat’s not really a cat, kids,’ he explained, tying the cable off. ‘It’s a piece of wet washing.’ He pointed to the terrified animal. ‘And it can stay the fuck there all day now, till it dries.’

‘It’s just a big old kitty, Uncle Vinnie,’ said Sammy nervously, not at all convinced.

Vinnie smiled softly and bent down to tickle beneath his niece’s chin. He felt better now he could see the shock and awe in the children’s eyes. ‘No, Sam. It just looks like a kitty, but it’s not really. Now, we off to Nan’s for brekkie or are we not?’

‘Are you just going to leave it there?’ Lou wanted to know. ‘Like, till it dies?’

‘What do you think?’ Vinnie asked her. ‘C’mon – quick. We gotta go!’ He hauled the kids over the next fence and told them to head straight beneath the hedge opposite. ‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Quick. I think I can hear her!’

Then once he’d seen them all go through and knew he was safely out of sight, he quicky unlooped the cable and let the cat go, booting it up the backside as it skittered away. ‘Last time you’ll go for me, you big fat fucker,’ he hissed at it. ‘Next time you won’t be so fucking lucky!’

The job done, he vaulted the fence and plunged after the younger children, pleased with having seized upon an excellent opportunity for self-promotion, proud of a good job well executed. Some things needed seeing and some things definitely didn’t. Children talked. Children blabbed. Children told tales that made reputations. And he knew what it was that he wanted them blabbing. What they said about Vinnie mattered. Especially now.




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