I found this body but it aint nothing to do with
I climbed in and out the window but I aint done
I dont know
And still the van drives on, and the men in the front seats talk about what theyll be doing for New Year, and the policeman asks his radio for confirmation that the photographer will be in attendance, and Roberts bagged and rotten body lies between us, limp and heavy, like a roll of carpet being trundled out to the city dump. Shouldnt be like this. Should be different, should be like it would have been in the old days, like we should be carrying his body ourselves, like bearing him high on a what on a bier of broken branches, hurrying him out to the burying ground. Burning bundles of herbs and that to hide the smell, and people coming out of their houses and lowering their heads and going Sorry for your troubles la, if theres anything we can do. They should be closing the streets. There should be a piper or a fucking what a Sally Army band or something, TV cameras, helicopters. We should stop the van now we should climb out the van and fucking raise him up on our shoulders with our boots clattering in slow fury along the barricaded streets the traffic-jammed junctions and all the drivers getting out their cars and a big fucking crowd behind us as we turn off the main road and cut through that new business park with all them office workers coming out in their white shirtsleeves to watch us pass and all the drinkers outside the King George pouring their beer at our feet as a like sacrifice or a what a tribute to a life fully lived and then all the women stood along Forest Road like a guard of honour in their short uniforms and polished boots stepping out into the road to stuff folded twenty notes into his burial shroud as we keep walking carrying him high carrying him past the church and right through the gates of
Found a phonebox by the King George and tried calling his man again from there. Nearly out of shrapnel but there was no credit on his phone so it was all he could do. And still no cunt answering the phone. Just voicemail, like anyone was going to leave a message. Always hard to get them out of bed before dinner time, cunts always making the most of their own supply late into the night before, but this was something else, it was late in the day and someone would always be on it by now. Halfway out the box and he thought about phoning the police again. Got as far as some woman going What service do you require before he banged the phone down, didnt make sense what did he think he was going to say
I found this body but it aint nothing to do with
I climbed in and out the window but I aint done
I dont know
And still the van drives on, and the men in the front seats talk about what theyll be doing for New Year, and the policeman asks his radio for confirmation that the photographer will be in attendance, and Roberts bagged and rotten body lies between us, limp and heavy, like a roll of carpet being trundled out to the city dump. Shouldnt be like this. Should be different, should be like it would have been in the old days, like we should be carrying his body ourselves, like bearing him high on a what on a bier of broken branches, hurrying him out to the burying ground. Burning bundles of herbs and that to hide the smell, and people coming out of their houses and lowering their heads and going Sorry for your troubles la, if theres anything we can do. They should be closing the streets. There should be a piper or a fucking what a Sally Army band or something, TV cameras, helicopters. We should stop the van now we should climb out the van and fucking raise him up on our shoulders with our boots clattering in slow fury along the barricaded streets the traffic-jammed junctions and all the drivers getting out their cars and a big fucking crowd behind us as we turn off the main road and cut through that new business park with all them office workers coming out in their white shirtsleeves to watch us pass and all the drinkers outside the King George pouring their beer at our feet as a like sacrifice or a what a tribute to a life fully lived and then all the women stood along Forest Road like a guard of honour in their short uniforms and polished boots stepping out into the road to stuff folded twenty notes into his burial shroud as we keep walking carrying him high carrying him past the church and right through the gates of
The van turns into Forest Road, and the men in the front seats fall silent at the sight of the women stationed at intervals along it. We see someone talking to one of them, a red-haired woman in a black leather skirt and boots, and as we pass by we see that its Danny again, his head lowered, trying to roll a cigarette, his hands shaking and the scraps of tobacco spilling out as we
He couldnt remember her name but he knew she knew Laura. Thought she might know something. Thought she might have seen her, said You seen Laura lately and she looked back at him and said You what? with her eyes all narrowed and dark. Stepping back and still looking up and down the street in case she missed something, and her mates further down the road looking over. He said You know Laura dont you, I thought Id seen you with her, only Ive been looking for her, Ive been looking around and I cant find her. Somethings happened, I need to find her, I need to talk to her. Most hed said all day by a long way and he could really feel it happening now he could feel the rattle coming on and werent nothing much he could do. She said What? Whats happened? He said Her dad, somethings happened to her dad, I cant really, I mean I want to talk to her first, I need to. She said Oh fuck. She said No, love, I aint seen her. She said You need some help rolling that fag you look done in. He said You got any gear you know where I can get any gear, my mans not answering. He said Im fucking desperate and she smiled and backed away and said Aint we all. Ask him, she said. In that car. Bloke looked at him as he walked over, looked at Einstein, slid the window open a crack and nodded like he was giving him permission to speak. Im after some gear, Danny said quietly. Ten pound dark. He was getting the note out from his sock even while the bloke was shaking his head. Sorry, mate, he said, Im all out. Supply problems innit. Danny holding the money out in disbelief, Einstein lifting a foot to scratch at the car door, and the bloke going Is your dog stupid or what get him the fuck away from my car, you four-eyed
Could feel the note in his sock as he walked away, crumpled and damp with sweat and whatever else his feet were wet with. Werent used to having cash on him for that long. Werent normally a problem spending the stuff but more like getting hold of it in the first place. Begging off people on their way to work, selling the Issue, thieving razors and batteries and meat and anything else they could sell in the pub, begging again at lunchtime, keeping up with whoever was on giro day and getting something out of them. And counting the money all the time, taking care of the pennies until there was enough for a ten-pound bag to keep them going while they did it all over again. Three or four times a day, measuring out the hours, filling their pockets with shrapnel until they could change it for gear. Having a dig and a nod and then getting up and starting all over again. Full-time job just keeping the rattles off. Takes a lot of effort maintaining the thing, a lot of fucking what, resourcefulness. The girls on the road did the best, made the most money and bought the most gear, the best gear. The sight of them there and they werent dressed for the weather. Must be good business even today. Must be good business every single day of the year. Basic law of supply and desire and theres always a desire for that. Dont need no marketing and dont never see them going short of
Wouldnt mind a bit himself sometimes. Other priorities most of the time but just now and again. A bit of, fucking, come over here and get some, fucking, how you like that and give us your, oh, fucking
Other things to worry about now though, such as
Down by the canal and the sickness rising in him, the rattles taking hold. Cramps in his stomach, aching in his legs his back his bones. Pulling down his trousers behind a bush because he cant keep it from rushing out, black and steaming on the frozen ground and nothing to clean himself with, nothing to do but pull up his trousers and try to do something about it later. When he gets the chance, if he gets the chance, when hes scored and sorted and feeling able to face it. Sweating and cold and feeling it badly now and wheres Mike when you need him. Cant get rid of the cunt most days and now hes
Shouldnt have gone to his brothers house. Should have known it wouldnt make no difference it being Christmas. If hed wanted to play families he should have stayed at Roberts with the others. Or he should have gone and seen Laura again and made up for the time before. Probably it was too late now. Was always too late was how it felt sometimes. Already felt too late the first time he met her. Which was when, hanging around outside the Catholic church waiting for the lunch project to open and she asked him for a smoke and he actually had some tobacco so that felt like the first thing that had gone right for days, the way she looked impressed, the way she smiled when he said Dont tell no one and said I wont if you wont. Like it meant something else. Like it meant anything. Cracked red sores around her mouth which opened up when she smiled. Dark sagging skin beneath her eyes. Her face pinched and pale and her hair thin and lank but it werent hard to think shed been fucking gorgeous one time but not for a while. Rolled a fag for her and she said Oh cheers mate youre a diamond youre a star. Bobbing up and down on her toes like she was cold but it werent a cold day at all. Scratching her neck and scratching the back of her head and scratching her face and when she lit the fag she sucked so hard he thought she might smoke the whole lot in one go. Obvious it was more than tobacco she had a craving for. Obvious that tobacco werent hardly making her feel better at all. Soon as she turned away Mike was there in his ear giving it all You dont wanna
Left at the boarded-up petrol station with the weeds where the pumps used to be, weaving up through the estate between the railway and the ringroad, turn left turn right, turn left turn right, past all those white walled houses with cars parked in the gardens, and the low wooden fences mostly broken, and ugly-sounding dogs jumping up behind the thin front doors. Two lads waiting by a phonebox on the corner, pacing and fidgeting and looking around so he said You waiting to score? Two lads looking at each other. One of them said Yes, mate, why, you looking? If you wait up here you can buy a bag off our kid as long as you split it. Other one said You got the time, mate, and Danny took his phone out to have a look, and that was a mistake because one of them punched him in the face and took the phone and told him to fuck off. Nothing you can do when that happens and it was his own fault. Einstein started barking and jumping up at them but he pulled her away and legged it down the road, slipping on some ice on the corner and smacking his head on the cold hard ground but clambering up and grabbing his glasses and running again in case the blokes came along for more. What else can you do you cant do nothing always some cunt after the last little bit you