Hidden Sin: When the past comes back to haunt you

But you know what’s going to happen, Bri? For God’s sake! Can’t you see it? You’re going to be the one that drives him to it! Christine’s words, spoken in anger after one of their interminable ‘differences of opinion’ about Joey – what he could and couldn’t do, where he could and couldn’t go – were never far from Brian’s mind. Because a part of him knew she was right. But if he didn’t look out for him, who fucking would?

He lowered the heavy green curtain and managed a conciliatory smile in the face of her tutting. ‘Stop fretting, love,’ she told him. ‘Joey knows where his bread’s buttered. He won’t give up the windows. He knows that would be mad. It’s doing that round that’s enabled him to buy the bloody crap he needs in the first place.’

Which wasn’t exactly why Brian had passed his window round on to Joey. It was supposed to be his living – a proper, stable, decent living. Not just a stopgap till he ‘made it’ as a bloody pop star! No, it wasn’t charity – Brian had been only too happy to accept a job at Beechwood Brushes, not least so he could drop Chris off at work, and bring her home again – but he’d done so with the intention of giving his son a future. One he was constantly anxious that Joey might at any moment throw away.

Brian glanced out again, sensing a light in the street. Finally. ‘Oh, thank fuck for that! They’re back,’ he said, feeling the tension drain from him. Sometimes he felt like he was going on eighty rather than forty. ‘And judging by the way your Nicky’s parking that bleeding van, he is pissed. For definite, the knobhead.’

‘Come away from that bloody window, Bri,’ Christine snapped. ‘The frigging neighbours’ll be wondering what’s going on. Honestly! Nowt like drawing attention to us, is there?’

Though there was little chance of avoiding it, given the way Nicky was sauntering up the path – not to mention the way he was singing at the top of his voice, despite Joey’s fruitless attempts to shut him up.

‘The kid did good!’ Nicky bellowed, once they’d both clattered in, slinging his keys on to the coffee table where they immediately overshot and skittered down to the rug. Joey rolled his eyes as he followed him into the front room.

‘Er, what about the stuff?’ he said, sounding plaintive, and looking hopefully at Brian. ‘No way am I leaving it all out there to get nicked.’

‘Patience, lad,’ Nicky said. ‘All in good time. At least give me a chance to have a fucking slash!’ Upon which he burped loudly and flung himself down on the sofa, giving Christine just enough time to save her book from being crushed.

Brian shook his head but decided not to say anything. He and Joey could deal with the kit between them once Nicky had gone to bed. He knew how anxious Joey would be at the prospect of Nicky dropping something precious like his snare drum or something. He also looked happy, and Brian didn’t want to spoil that.

‘So you had a good night, son?’ he asked, as Joey sloughed off his denim jacket. ‘You must be buzzing, mate. Did you get plenty of claps and all that?’

Joey’s caramel-coloured eyes shone with pride. ‘It was mint, Dad! I swear the punters loved us. Really loved us.’ He was pacing in front of the gas fire. ‘And I swear down, Paula’s brilliant. I mean, really, really brilliant. You’d never know it wasn’t Debbie Harry – just you wait till you see her yourselves. And, like, we all fit together’ – he meshed his hands – ‘so incredibly well. You know, if I could bottle this buzz, I’d make a fortune!’

Christine laughed. ‘Well, my boy, you never know, do you? If they can clone a sheep can’t be long till they can bottle buzz too, can it? How difficult can it be, after all?’ she smiled. ‘Trust me, I can feel it from here.’

Brian smiled too, caught up, as he always was, in pride for his stepson. ‘You and Paula still getting on alright then?’ he asked, just about managing not to wink. Paula’s name had been coming up such a lot lately that he and Christine had both picked up on it independently – and both agreed they knew why, as well.

‘Dad!’ Joey said, his cheeks darkening immediately. ‘Course we are. We have to. We’re working together, aren’t we?’

‘And she’s a lovely lass,’ Brian pointed out.

‘She’s fucking fit,’ Nicky added.

‘And you could do a lot worse,’ Christine said, standing up. ‘Me and your dad were only saying the other day, weren’t we, love? You and her would make a lovely-looking couple.’

‘Whoah, whoah, whoah,’ Joey said, looking suddenly aggrieved. ‘Have you heard yourself? Nowt’s happened yet, Mam, so you and Dad can just keep your nosy snouts out. Last thing I need is you two showing me up if she calls round.’

‘Ooh, calling round, is she?’ Nicky said. ‘You’re well in there, son. Lucky bugger. Anyway, is anyone going to make a brew, or am I going to have to do it?’

Brian reached for his pouch of baccy. ‘What do you think?’ he said.

Nicky roused himself and Brian followed him out into the kitchen anyway, leaving Joey to tell Christine all about the evening, the words ‘I’ve got a permanent place in the band now’ following his progress down the hall. He was pleased to see Joey happy – how could he ever not be? – but he couldn’t shake the nagging anxiety that increasingly accompanied it. Things were changing and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Dreams were one thing but real life was a very different matter. And it seemed to him that Joey’s dreams, however talented he might be, were surely destined to end in disappointment. Maybe not now, not right away, but eventually they would. He wasn’t stupid – half the bleeding pubs in Bradford made it so obvious; how many of them had bands in, scratching out a meagre living, day to day, from one badly paid gig to the next? What were the chances of it ever really amounting to anything? Whereas with the windows, if he knuckled down and extended the round onto another estate, the world would be his oyster in no time. He’d be able to buy his own van, too. A van meant for ladders, buckets and chamois leathers, not frigging speakers, amps and drum kits. Why was Joey always so restless? Always looking for something more? Why wasn’t his life – which was a good life – enough for him?

Brian rolled his ciggie and lit it, then helped Nicky with the tea, tuning out from his pissed ramblings. He also made a mental note that next time Joey needed a lift, it would be him and not his uncle who took him, even if taking the drum kit meant two trips. He also made a mental note that he’d need to say something to Christine. He was happy enough putting Nicky up in the short term – least they could do, given the extent of the sacrifice Nicky had made for his sister – but not for too long. He was too bad an influence on Joey. But it seemed it wasn’t just Nicky in pole position for turning Joey’s head.

‘So I think he might have been some kind of record producer or something,’ Joey was saying to his mam when they returned. He glanced across at Nick. ‘Did you see him, Uncle Nicky?’

Nicky grunted as he put the mugs down. ‘See who?’

‘The man who came and spoke to me. I think you might have already left by then, actually. But he was there till the end. And you wouldn’t have missed him if you had seen him. Big black guy. Posh clobber.’

‘Didn’t he say who he was?’ Christine asked. ‘Give you a business card or anything?’

Joey shook his head. ‘No. I just told you, Mam – he just came up and said how good he thought we were. And bought me a pint.’

‘So what makes you think he was a record producer then?’

‘Just the way he was, Mam. We all thought so. Just the way he looked and the way he acted. I dunno.’ He spread his hands. ‘He just seemed sort of professional, you know? Not someone you’d expect to see in The Sun. He stuck out like a sore thumb. But in a good way,’ he added, leaning down to grab a mug of tea.

Brian was properly listening now. This was what he had been afraid of as well – of his son being taken advantage of by some fly-by-night agent. Of him being exploited in some way. Joey wasn’t exactly naïve but he was definitely still a bit wet behind the ears. And you heard about it all the time, didn’t you? ‘Well, did he have a name, this guy?’ he asked. ‘And did you see him, Nicky?’

‘See who?’ Nicky said again.

Joey shook his head. ‘He couldn’t have done. But his name was Macario.’

‘Macario?’ Brian said. ‘Odd name.’

But ringing a bell, strangely. And soon not at all strangely, with Joey’s next, damning, utterance. ‘Yeah, it is, isn’t it? But he said I should call him Mo.’

The name hit Brian like a physical whump in the chest. And he didn’t need to look to know the colour would be draining from Christine’s face. And when she spoke it was little more than a whisper. ‘Mo?’ she said. ‘You sure? A big man? A black man? Definitely called Mo?’

Joey nodded. ‘Massive dreadlocks.’ He fluffed up his own substantial head of hair to illustrate. ‘Like, huge.’

Brian felt cold, despite the tea, which was now scalding his hands. ‘Why?’ Joey asked, smiling happily. ‘Do you know him?’

Brian didn’t dare look at Christine, because he knew his mask might slip. Masks tended to do that when long-buried secrets threatened to come out.

‘Think I’m thinking of someone else,’ he finally plumped for.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.