Not quite eden, p.16
Not Quite Eden, page 16
Con shook his head slowly. “That’s what they’re saying. Seems they found him in a heap in the snow down a back alley behind The Old Brown Cow, having shot up. Plus he had a large amount of heroin made up into street sale sized packages in his inside pocket. Doesn’t seem any doubt about it.”
“The absolute idiot!” I condemned. I ran and called Jamie in. “You were there last night. How come Quinn didn’t come home with you?”
Jamie shrugged. “You know Quinn, he went off with some girls. We packed up and went home without him.”
“I’ve been asked to go down there and pick him up,” Con said, standing up.
I stared in a bewildered way at the door as it closed behind him then looked at Dad. Dad pulled a face. “Kathleen’s going love this one,” he said ironically. “Maybe I ought to stock the fridge with some more cans. I have a strong instinct we’re going to see a great deal more of Con for a bit.”
I went straight on the internet. Unfortunately I was beginning to know my way round the various government Crime and Punishment, and Youth Justice System websites rather too well. The stupid fucking idiot. And with a Reprimand on his record already. He was for it.
I sat in my bedroom and watched the front door of the house. Saw them return. Heard the rumpus start up. Saw Siân escape and put her phone to her ear as she disappeared off up the road. Finally saw Con and Kathleen, all bundled up in winter layers come out with the dog and the buggy. I waited till they rounded the corner.
I put my finger on the doorbell and left it there. Liam answered the door. His eyes widened. “McGinty!”
“Where is he?” I demanded wrathfully.
He tried to put an arm across the door to stop me coming in. He was round about Year 6 so I reckoned my old school would be having to gird the loincloth for another Quinn invasion soon. And he was an arsy insolent little sod. I didn’t know how old you had to be before you weren’t allowed to give a hard shove to a precocious impudent brat so I didn’t allow the ethical dilemma to tax my conscience any. As Liam picked himself sulkily up from where he’d splatted back against the wall, I pounded up the stairs and attempted to burst into Quinn’s room. He’d locked his door. I slammed my hands on it.
“Are you in there, Quinn you dumb fucker?” I yelled.
I was aware of Liam hovering around at the bottom of the stairs, interested in the outcome.
“Go away!” Came angrily from inside.
Right that was it. He was for it. I stood back and kicked at the door with my foot. Liam darted for safety then peered round the corner of the stair well again. I kicked with all my strength with the flat of my foot close to the door jamb, twice, three times, before the pathetic little bolt gave way and with a splintering noise, separated from the wood. I burst in and made for the huddled figure lying on the bed.
“Doesn’t anyone knock around here?” He complained, pulling a pillow over his head.
I fell upon him, grabbed the pillow off him, threw it down and started to rain blows down on him. “You stupid fucking idiot!” I was shouting. At first he reacted by raising his forearms to defend his face but when something must have hurt too much he got mad. He grabbed my wrists and slammed me over on the bed bashing me against the wall as he did so and he held me down, his face close to mine, his green eyes livid, and his dark hair spilling around his face. “Stop it!” He yelled, then threw down my wrists and slammed himself back down on the bed.
I sat up, shaken by how strong he’d become since I’d last had a physical fight with him, which was probably not since we were about eleven or twelve. You tend to forget how strong most men actually are because they are voluntarily choosing not to use it against you. Every now and again at work I’d had to discreetly sidle up to Steve Bolton to ask him to undo some nut for me that try as I might, even with all my strength on the spanner, I’d not been able to turn. And he’d come over and do it straight off with no sign of effort at all, and he was a right wimpy looking git.
We sat and lay in our respective positions for a minute or so in silence then Quinn rolled over on his back. “Bloody hell, I feel like shite,” he observed.
“Well it’s your own fault,” I snapped. “You’re doing smack?” I pushed my hair back out my eyes. “And supplying it?” I glared at him. “And got caught with it on you when you’ve already got a Reprimand and you know the police are keeping an eye on you. You’re beyond dumb Quinn. If I’d known your last functioning brain cell was about to top itself, I’d have asked you to invite me to the funeral.”
He didn’t open his eyes. “I didn’t do it,” he said wearily, like he was tired of repeating himself.
I grabbed his left arm and pushed up the sleeve. There was a clear needle mark in his elbow. “You’re such a liar, Quinn,” I said.
He turned on his side away from me. “Well don’t believe me then,” he said tonelessly, “No one else has.”
I sat frowning for a moment. “Well what happened then?” I asked finally in more reasonable tones. “Explain to me.”
His eyes flickered open and he twisted the top half of his body back round again. “Some men, who I’ve never seen in my life before, jumped me in a back alley, held me down and forcibly injected me. And they must have planted the stuff in my jacket at the same time.”
I stared at him. “That’s a rather unlikely story, Quinn,” I said cynically, “Why the hell would they do that?” No wonder no one was believing him. Surely he could have come up with something better than that?
“I don’t know, do I?” Quinn snarled and hurled himself back down away from me.
I sat with my brow fiercely twisted up, mulling it over. No one had believed when I said that I didn’t know why I’d been beaten up by Beck and co, but I truly hadn’t the foggiest at the time. I bit my lip. Perhaps I should give him the benefit of the doubt?
“Details, Quinn,” I said suddenly. “Give me every single small detail you can remember.”
He sensed the change in tone in my voice and opened his eyes again. He piled the remaining pillows up behind him and hauled himself up to semi-sitting position against them. “At the end of the gig there were some seriously cute chicks-”
“Yeah, you can cut the boasting-”
“No, Eve, listen, it’s important. I went out with these girls down the back alley-”
“And why was that then?” I jibed.
“Oh shut up, Eve,” he threw, “We were going for a smoke, ok? Well that and-”
“Yes?” I queried dangerously.
His emerald eyes glinted suggestively under their lashes at me. “Plus they had some blow-” he diverted.
I stared at him. “This gets worse by the minute. Cannabis as well?”
“It’s just wacky backy, Eve,” he defended.
“Wacky backy with a long prison sentence attached.” I snapped. I was a right little party-pooper these days. Hark at me! “And while we’re on the subject. Tell me, did all those dolphins really go down the dog?”
He eyed me from the corner of his eye behind his mane of hair. “Well, one or two might not of,” he admitted.
I fixed him with a basilisk gaze.
“The guys and I thought we might as well try out what we were being asked to sell,” he revealed. “We only did it a couple of times, not Jamie,” he added hastily. “I told you we didn’t get him involved.”
Too shit scared of me most like, I surmised.
“It was great though,” he said regretfully, “It was a real buzz. I felt like I loved everybody, I couldn’t stop talking and I felt like I could carry on all night…”
So not much different to his usual self, I thought sardonically.
“…But I kept forgetting the words of the songs. Music sounded great though.”
“So back to the smack,” I said severely. “You went outside with these girls and then what?”
He frowned and pushed himself more upright. He looked a mess, pale, hollow-eyed and unshaven. “We hung around by the door for a bit, then two of the girls and I wandered a bit further up the alley and then these two blokes turned up.”
“Description,” I said tersely.
He chewed his upper lip. “It was pretty dark, Eve. Thirties I s’pose, trendy dress. I mean not grungie, biker, emo, goth or such like, just regular clubbers sort of thing. They told the girls to piss off, and then without saying a word to me, one of them grabbed me and held me from behind and the other grabbed my arm and put a belt round it – I didn’t have a jacket on – I was still in my stage gear and I had my leather in my hand. And then he tightened the belt real hard. I struggled but couldn’t do anything about it. Then he shoved this needle in my arm, injected me with something, then released the belt and they buggered off. I didn’t feel anything at first, I was just shocked. And I was shit scared. I mean, they could have been sticking anything into me. Then I got this sudden rush of a high and then this really warm cocoon kind of came over me and nothing seemed to matter anymore. I don’t know how long I was there but eventually I kind of made myself realise that I shouldn’t be lying out there in the snow with hardly anything on and tried to get up, but my legs all tangled up and I went all dizzy and started throwing up. I must have crawled about a bit trying to get up but I couldn’t and I felt overwhelmingly sleepy. I don’t know how much they gave me but I don’t clearly remember much after that.”
I felt a bit sick listening to him. He sounded genuine. Why the hell would anyone do that to him?
“Then at some point, I suppose someone must have come across me and I spent the night down the cells, and then I was told that I was going to get done for possession and supplying and then Dad came with some normal clothes for me and the police allowed me to have a shower and get changed down at the station before leaving, because I was covered in vomit and stuff.” He looked miserable now. “Honestly, Eve, I have no idea why they did it, and until today, when the police slammed this packet down on the table in front of me, which they claimed they’d found in my jacket, I’d couldn’t have told you what heroin actually looked like.”
I sat on the bed staring ahead of me. “Ok, Quinn,” I said, at last. “I believe you.”
He gave me a grateful look. “First person who has.”
“But what are we going to do about it?” I said.
I rang Oz. “Can I come round to see you?”
Oz sounded hesitant. “You’re not exactly flavour of the month with my mother right now.”
“Your mother doesn’t even know me,” I protested.
“Yeah, but she knows about you,” he said. “And when she gets to hear about Quinn’s latest, I reckon I’m gonna get barred from the band.” Jamie had obviously texted the news straight round the whole band.
“It’s that that I want to talk to you about,” I explained.
He sighed. “Ok then, let’s meet at the central McDonalds then. Half an hour?”
I rode down. On a winter Sunday afternoon it wasn’t exactly heaving. Oz swept in complete with greatcoat, heeled boots, and John Lennon glasses, looking every inch the ‘A’ level student and potential Uni graduate. I had a Big Mac and he had a double cheeseburger. I could have turned to Kes, but I respected Oz’s brain more.
“So honestly Oz, I believe him. He’s been set up and we need to prove it or he’ll be going down for it.”
Oz frowned and chewed thoughtfully on a mouthful of fries.
“I wondered if we went back down the Brown Cow and asked around, if we could find those girls who Quinn went off with and see if they witnessed anything. Or anyone else who was at the gig that night. There’s another gig on at the Cow this Thursday evening so I figure we might strike lucky if the girls are groupies of all the regular bands. Unfortunately Quinn didn’t bother to find out their names before trying to get off with them. Could you drive us down? Kes would probably help I’m sure.”
Oz had turned seventeen two weeks into September and had already passed his driving test and been insured for his parents’ car. We were all a bit jealous but it was proving occasionally useful.
“Ok,” he agreed reluctantly, “I’ll ask if I can borrow the car. But I sure as hell can’t tell them why.”
The Old Brown Cow was a repeat booker of B.S.E. Maybe it tickled the management to have them, given their own name. Tonight they had another regular on the circuit playing – a rock band by the name of ‘Midnight Fire’.
We worked the room. We’d debated whether I should talk to the boys and the other two the girls, but decided that it was easy enough to work out who was responding to you or not, and play it by ear. I flirted with the men and was serious with the females. Midnight Fire were pretty good actually. It was worth being down there just to see them. Kes kept getting distracted from his primary purpose by the innovative guitar riffs.
It was I that discovered the girls. Daisy and Sara. A couple of eighteen year olds dressed glam rock. I had to admit that they were definitely lookers. I wondered if they had any idea that Quinn was so much younger than them.
They glanced at each other when I asked about Saturday night with Quinn, then admitted to having been there when the men turned up. I asked them if they’d seen what had happened between Quinn and the men.
They glanced at each other again, then one of them pulled a face and said that the men had been so bloody scary they’d hung about round the corner for a minute or two to check out whether Quinn was ok. When they’d seen the guys injecting Quinn they’d assumed it was consensual, so they’d beat a tactical retreat. I explained the circumstances and begged them to agree to talk to the police about what they’d seen. After some hesitation they agreed to my giving the police their names and addresses.
“But for God’s sake don’t mention any blow,” I added.
They looked at me like I didn’t need to have said that.
Meanwhile, Oz and Kes were getting cosy with the lead singer of Midnight Fire. He looked at least nineteen. Apparently he’d popped in on a B.S.E gig one time, and been impressed. I walked over to join them and he eyed me appreciatively up and down. His name was Ziggy. What we gleaned off him was that Midnight Fire too had been offered a recording deal with Decibel Studios, with the same condition attached.
“And are you doing it?” I inquired.
He wasn’t saying though.
We compared notes back at the car.
“What now?”
After much discussion we decided that our best approach was to take the newly gleaned information to Holty in the hopes that he could intervene. And then somewhere along the line, that job got designated to me. I didn’t really want to face John Holt, but for Quinn’s sake, I had to.
It was too late to go round to the Holt’s on Thursday night, so I chafed my way through Friday morning and went around on Friday afternoon when I finished work. His wife said he wouldn’t be in till later. So I had to retreat and go straight on to the residential Further Education College for learning disabled young adults that I was doing my Community Sentence hours with. Once there I was forced to put Quinn out of my mind for a while. The students demanded my full attention. When you first walked in you always felt like a million dollars. Like a superstar. They’d all be waiting for me and would run towards me as soon as I got off the bike. “Eve! Eve!”
Bobby would usually be first. He was a huge autistic lad, a bit scary till you got used to him due to his habit of coming too close and shoving his face into yours. He always greeted me by pressing his fists together high under his chin and rattling off my number plate, and every other number plate associated with me, always letter and number perfect.
“What other number plates do you know E-e-eve?” He always dragged my name out.
It had turned out that I had a hitherto unsuspected talent for remembering number plates.
“More E-e-eve, more!”
He rocked with excitement, beaming.
Without much trouble I had found that I’d been able to reel off my own, my father’s, my Uncle Ted’s, Quinn’s bike, the Quinn’s family car, several ex-boyfriend’s bikes and Quinn’s previous bike. They had to have a connection with me or Bobby wasn’t interested. We’d get riffing away, alternating plates, first him, then me. Each week I’d go away and memorise some more.
“Goodness, I can see you are going to keep each other entertained for hours,” one of the care workers commented admiringly the first night.
“So which is your favourite number plate?” I always finished up to Bobby.
And he’d squeeze his eyes tight shut and wiggle his fingers together at chin height, beaming. “Yours, E-e-eve, yours.”
Tonight we were taking them out to a pub that had a mini club area upstairs. The management were laid back there and would sometimes be willing to put the space aside for our exclusive use and provide us with a DJ.
“These ones are under-eighteen,” Todd, the shift leader would point out one or two of the students to the barman, and then would finish up by pointing at me. Most humiliating! He always grinned. He knew that I wouldn’t be drinking anyway because none of the workers were allowed to drink on duty.
By ten pm, a girl who had only imbibed Coca-Cola would be staggering around claiming to be drunk, despite my explanations about why she couldn’t possibly be, and several of them would be crying in corners because they’d split up with their girlfriends and boyfriends. I’d have to patiently explain to them that it was just the effects of the alcohol, and by tomorrow they’d be back with them again, and I was right, they always were. The workers would always shove me out on the dance floor with the students, and frankly, I found it a lot more fun than being down at the Golden Disc, no one cared one hoot what you looked like and you could dance like crazy and encourage the shy or less able ones without any critical eyes upon you.
The care workers quickly seemed to forget why I was there and at the end of every night would sign me off like I was doing it for my Duke of Edinburgh award, rather than for the Youth Offending Team.
Tonight I got away on the dot, and speeded towards John’s, but it was already twenty past ten when I arrived there. I hesitated, but the lights were still on, and I figured that he’d not long be back from the youth club, so I knocked anyway. John looked taken aback when he saw me standing there, and I could see him toying with whether to tell me to come back at some more convenient hour. But his wife came up behind him in the hallway, and smiled at me.
