The Know, Page 3

  Gaynor Coleman shook her head sadly and said, ‘That man is a ponce.’

  Joanie, as usual the joker, said, ‘That man is everyone’s ponce, ain’t he? He is a pimp after all!’

  All the older women laughed with her and she felt better. But it had hurt, the way he had spoken to her, had hurt her deeply considering all the years she had given him.

  She sat down with the girls. The smell of baby oil and cigarette smoke was overpowering, but at least it was better than exhaust fumes and the drunken ranting of Monika.

  She had her first punter ten minutes later.

  Joanie’s working night had begun.

  Kira, Bethany and a little girl called Catriona who was only seven were playing as the sun went down. They were having a great time. Various mums were already outside, sitting on kitchen chairs and nattering about each other’s lives. The atmosphere was good. The kids had been fed chips and Coke, and a few bottles of wine had been opened.

  Jon Jon watched his little sister from the balcony as he rolled himself another joint. His mobile was ringing and he knew who was on the phone but didn’t answer it. Instead he called over the balcony to his sister.

  ‘Come on, Kira, time to come in.’

  She heard her brother’s voice and looked crushed.

  ‘Oh, Jon Jon, five minutes, please.’

  Her voice was a studied whine.

  Her big eyes were open to their widest and Catriona’s mother, a twenty-five-year-old brunette, laughed as she shouted: ‘I’ll watch her, Jon Jon, she can sleep at mine tonight.’

  Catriona was having the time of her life and once Kira went inside would be moaning because none of the other kids gave her the time of day. She was too small for the majority of the girls but Kira loved the smaller kids.

  ‘That’s all right, thanks anyway. Get your arse up here, Kira.’

  ‘Please, just five minutes, Jon Jon!’

  His mobile was ringing once more and he called out, ‘Five minutes and that is it!’

  One of the neighbours whispered, ‘Say what you like about him, he is good to those girls.’

  The other women nodded their approval and Kira basked in the pleasure of someone being nice for once about her brother. Usually it was a case of raised eyebrows and knowing smirks, whispered conversations or outright abuse - though her brother’s growing reputation had put paid to the latter these last few months. He was getting a reputation as a hard nut, a face, and was determined to cultivate that to the best of his ability.

  Five minutes later she reluctantly said goodnight to her friends and thanked Catriona’s mother for offering her a bed for the night. Kira ran up the four flights of stairs to the flat and let herself inside. After making herself a Marmite sandwich she sat with her brother on the balcony, waiting patiently until he had finished shouting down the phone.

  ‘All right, Kira, get ready for bed now.’

  ‘Can I eat me sandwich?’

  He laughed.

  ‘’Course you can, but don’t fuck me about tonight and I’ll let you watch telly, OK?’

  ‘Thanks, Jon Jon. You are the best brother in the world.’

  ‘I must be to put up with you, eh?’

  She was happy, she loved it when he was like this and chatted to her. He was nice, her brother, whatever anyone else said. He was nice to her.

  ‘Can I have a story as well?’

  ‘Don’t push it, Kira!’

  But his voice was warm as he spoke and she knew she was in with a chance. Jon Jon told great stories. Then his mobile rang again and she sighed. He was shouting and swearing once more and she knew her story was out of the window. She went inside and put on her pyjamas.

  Settling herself in bed, she watched Queer As Folk USA on Sky until she fell asleep.

  Chapter Two

  Joanie had just got in from work and was making herself a cup of coffee when Jon Jon came into the kitchen.

  ‘All right, Mum? Good night?’

  She nodded. She was dog-tired and it showed. Her eyes had dark circles under them and her skin was grey. She looked like a woman who had spent the night with too many men, all strangers and all using her body. She had also had a screamer, a punter who had done the business and then tried to get out of paying. This was the last thing she’d needed as she wanted a regular place in the parlour. It was good money and much safer than the kerb.

  She kept this pearl of wisdom to herself, though, because she knew her son would have other things on his mind, but still it rankled. She gave good service and she knew she did. She had been worried it might stop her from being used again, especially as she knew that Patsy, the head girl in the East Ham parlour, didn’t really like her. That was due to the fact that Joanie had had a thing going with Paulie longer than any of the other girls when poor Patsy had once actually believed that she was going to be Mrs Paulie Martin. More fool her, though that was not what Patsy had wanted to believe. But who was Joanie to piss on her rival’s firework? The truth was, Paulie was already married. Overweight and a pillar of the church, his wife Sylvia was respectability incarnate, and more to the point she was stupid - the perfect foil for his nefarious businesses and strings of other women. Paulie kept her and his two daughters in the manner to which they had become accustomed, and enjoyed keeping the two sides of his life separate. If his wife knew what he really did it would kill her, he believed. Though once or twice over the years Joanie had seen her near the businesses she had never said so to anyone, least of all Paulie. She knew when to keep her trap shut; it was another prerequisite of her job.

  Now she lightened her voice as she said: ‘I ended up in the parlour so that was a touch.’

  Jon Jon didn’t answer her, but she had expected that. He never spoke directly about her job; it was always roundabout allusions, non-committal comments.

  ‘How was me little Kira then?’

  He smiled.

  ‘Good as gold, Mum. She always is.’

  He watched the lines of strain leave his mother’s face for a second at the thought of her youngest daughter. Jon Jon was having trouble getting out the ironing board. In the cramped space of the kitchen it was a difficult job. Joanie knew he was going to iron Kira’s school clothes. He was good like that.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee, Mum.’

  She could smell the sleep on him still. He was handsome and he was kind; she shut her mind to everything else about him. She had to or she would never sleep another night - or day as the case invariably was with her job.

  As he plugged the iron in Joanie said nonchalantly, ‘Oh, by the way, Paulie told me to let you know that there’s work with him if you want it.’

  As his mother’s words penetrated, Jon Jon stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘He what?’

  The boy’s voice was high with incredulity.

  ‘He wants you to work for him.’

  Joanie knew what was coming next but she tried anyway. At least if he worked for Paulie she would know where he was and what he was doing.

  ‘Hear him out, he ain’t so bad . . .’

  ‘You can tell him bollocks from me!’

  Jon Jon’s handsome face was completely devoid of expression as he tried to comprehend what had possessed the woman who had borne him to ask such a stupid thing of him.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that! I was only telling you what he asked me to. Anyway, he ain’t such a bad bloke.’

  ‘No, ’course he ain’t, pimping me mother out for me! Fuck me, Mum, shall I go round and shake his hand then?’

  Joanie closed her eyes in distress.

  ‘Come on, son, I don’t deserve that and you know it.’

  Her voice was soft, eyes pained with the insult even if it was true.

  ‘Think of the wedge, and the perks.’

  Jon Jon slammed down the iron.

  ‘Do I look like a fucking pimp then? Come on, Muvver, answer me!’

  Joanie knew she had said the wrong thing and was regretting even mentioning it now.


  ‘’Course you don’t. I only passed on the message, that’s all.’ She was shouting back at him now.

  ‘Well, in future, don’t bother.’

  ‘You could go far with him. He needs someone with a bit of nous . . .’

  ‘Well, he don’t need me. Whatever you might think, I ain’t no fucking woman-seller.’

  ‘Piss off out of it, Jon Jon, you could earn a decent poke with—’

  He interrupted her, savagely.

  ‘I know I’m more black than white, Mum, but that doesn’t make me a pimp. Or was me dad one? Is that it? Only no one seems to know anything about him, do they? Especially you.’

  He knew he had gone too far and was immediately sorry.

  ‘Oh, Mum, why do you wind me up like this? You know how I feel about men like Martin.’

  Joanie left the kitchen quietly without answering.

  Jon Jon carried on ironing Kira’s school clothes but his heart wasn’t in it any more. He was still reeling from the shock of what his mother had said. The fact she’d thought he might even consider the offer burned at him even as he understood her motives.

  His mother’s coffee was still side by side with his on the worktop. He took it into her bedroom for her.

  ‘Here you are, Mum. Have a couple of hours’ kip.’

  She smiled at him sadly. She looked old, lost and haggard suddenly.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jon Jon.’

  He ruffled her hair as if she was the child and he was the adult.

  ‘I know, Mum, I know.’

  Both of them were aware he didn’t apologise back.

  ‘Move, you fat bastard!’

  Joseph Thompson watched as his son struggled to make a pot of tea, his enormous bulk making it almost impossible for him in the confines of their kitchen. Tommy was sweating; already it was far too hot for someone of his size. He glanced out of the kitchen window and watched the kids going to school. He felt his father come up behind him and winced.

  ‘Look at them, little girls dressed like fucking whores. That’s what you’re looking at, isn’t it?’

  Tommy was annoyed but kept his voice even as he said, ‘I ain’t looking at them like that and you know it. I just like to watch them chatting and having a nice time, that’s all.’

  Joseph sneered at him.

  ‘’Course you do! Now make the fucking tea, you fat nonce. I have to go to work in a minute. Have you done me sandwiches?’

  ‘They’re in the fridge.’

  No more was said between the two men after that. Ten minutes later his father left the flat without even saying goodbye. Tommy waddled into his bedroom and pulled a box from under his bed with difficulty. Opening it, he smiled.

  It was full of Barbies. Some were dressed, nearly all were missing their heads. Underneath them was a dazzling array of costumes and miniature items, everything Barbie needed to be the perfect girl about town, from shocking pink mini-dresses to perfect little handbags and boots. But these were wet, he discovered, and from the sudden stench of urine knew exactly what had happened to them. It wasn’t the first time and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

  Stifling a sob, Tommy set about putting the dolls back together again, setting the clothes to one side to be washed. Sweat was already pouring from his brow. Tommy wiped it away with one meaty fist to mingle with his tears.

  As he replaced the heads he mumbled ‘Bastard!’ over and over again.

  Kira and Bethany sat in the lobby of the flats and giggled. They were playing the hop and enjoying every second of it.

  Unlike Bethany, this was Kira’s first time and for her it was an exciting novelty. Bethany just wanted to sit, chill and smoke.

  ‘I know, let’s go up the library!’ Kira suggested.

  Her friend shook her head in disbelief and said sarcastically, ‘Are you sure? Two school kids in the library on a school day?’

  Kira saw the logic of this statement and giggled again.

  ‘I never thought of that.’

  As they sat there they could hear a radio playing the top ten. They swayed together and joked, both safe in the knowledge that none of the adults roundabouts would dare to grass them up to their respective mothers. It would be too much aggravation for them.

  ‘Let’s go over the park.’

  Bethany shook her head and lit another Consulate, pulling the minty taste deep into her lungs and practising trying to make smoke rings.

  ‘Wanna puff?’

  Kira shook her head.

  ‘No, ta, I hate smoking.’

  Just then a door opened and Little Tommy’s head poked out.

  ‘What are you two doing?’

  Bethany as usual was the one to answer.

  ‘What’s it look like?’

  Tommy looked her over, it was not an attractive sight, but smiling brightly said, ‘Want a cup of tea?’

  The two girls looked at each other and grinned.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Giggling together over this grown-up invitation, they walked into his flat.

  Paulie saw Jon Jon’s distinctive dreads and bibbed him as he drove past. Jon Jon ignored him and carried on walking to his friend’s. He had a pocketful of Es and was looking forward to unloading them. Since the first craze for them in the nineties the price had been drastically reduced. Four or five years ago he could get good money knocking a few out at twenty-five quid apiece; now he was lucky to get five hundred quid for a thousand.

  Still, he was earning from it and that was the main thing.

  He also had another item on his agenda and was going to get that out of the way before he got down to business.

  He opened the door of his friend Carty’s squat and called out loudly, ‘Only me.’

  ‘Through here, mate.’

  Carty was in the kitchen cooking up batches of crack. The smell was awful but that was mainly due to the overflowing bin and the blocked sink.

  Carty was already off his face and this alone annoyed Jon Jon. He could understand people taking serotonin-based drugs like Es, but not crack with its dopamine-induced high followed by deep depression. It was such a selfish drug. At least Es or grass made you empathise with people, enjoy their company more. Want to be in the world of happiness, not the hell of loneliness which was how crack seemed to affect people.

  In the past Jon Jon and Carty would snort a bit of coke at weekends and have long meaningless conversations that made perfect sense at the time but were in fact just the ramblings of two mates out of their nuts. But since he had started freebasing the drug Carty had changed. When they had just snorted it he had been a laugh, a crack even. Now his whole life revolved around rocks and that was what Jon Jon wanted to talk to him about today.

  ‘Bit early even for you, ain’t it?’

  Carty sighed.

  ‘Fuck off, Jon Jon. Get off me case, will you?’

  He was annoyed.

  ‘You’re me mate, but have you had a fucking good look at yourself lately? You look like a cunt and you are acting like one.’

  Carty ignored him; instead he measured out the baking powder carefully, holding his breath in anticipation of what was to come. His crack pipe was lying idle on the worktop and Jon Jon felt it. It was still warm so he knew his friend was already on his way to nowhere for the day.

  ‘You got the Es?’

  ‘’Course I have. Who wants them anyway?’

  ‘Marky Morgan. He left five hundred in the freezer. Wants you to drop them round his place.’

  ‘He don’t fucking want much, does he? Get him on the blower and tell him to get here or I leave with the wedge and the drugs.’ Jon Jon pulled open a beer and drank deeply before saying, ‘Fucking cheek of him, eh?’

  But Carty was already away in his own world again and Jon Jon watched his friend sadly. He looked around the dirty kitchen. It was full of crack paraphernalia and this annoyed him more. He knew he might get a capture for his dealing, and if he did would take it on the chin, but he would be ashamed to be associated with crack. T
o him it wasn’t a recreational high, it was a death sentence. He wouldn’t sell that shit even to the crack heads who deserved all they fucking got. You had to have standards and he felt his were high considering that his main job was dealing.