crashing into a rotating postcard stand. Then I dragged him to the door, all eight stone of him. I was sorry about trashing the shop but there were more pressing matters just now. Before I could get him out he wriggled free of the Diesel and scuttled behind the counter.
The old dear was backed up to the wall, hand on heart.
I apologised to her and grabbed the ned by the ankle, intending to get him away and thereby give her heart a rest. She didn’t seem to appreciate my efforts there, looking at her, but that’s not what it’s about, is it? It’s about respecting boundaries. It’s about making sure your bad shit doesn’t hurt innocent people.
‘What’s this?’ I said to the ned. I was kneeling on his back. His hoodie was riding up and you could see part of a large koi carp tat on his ribs, outlined and long healed but never coloured in.
‘What?’
‘This!’ I was still trying to get the letter out of my pocket.
‘What?’
‘Shut up a minute!’
I finally got it out and shoved it in his face.
‘This!’
‘I dunno! I’m just—’
‘Don’t you swear in a lady’s presence, you little—’
‘You’re hurtin’ me!’
I probably was, to be fair. I’m no goliath but I do like a pie. And I can handle myself. I got off him. None of this was turning out like I’d hoped. Straight away he bolted for the door. I didn’t bother going after him. I was knackered, inside and out.
‘I’ll tell you what you are!’ the ned was shouting from the glass doorway, spit flying. ‘You’re a fuckin’ spanner!’
I shrugged at the old dear and started picking up the rotating postcard display.
2.
QUITS.
That’s what it said on a piece of paper inside that soil-stained envelope, in big block capitals. I’m no expert but I thought it might have been written by a female. There was a careful curve to the letters that you saw in Kelly’s handwriting, although Kelly wrote with a bit more confidence than seen here. That’s all you can give a kid, if you ask me. Confidence. And a surname.
And a big hug every day.
‘Quits?’ I said.
I was walking through town, keeping to back streets. I’d long since read the letter, such as it was, but it was still messing with my head and making no sense. How could we be quits? I’d been waiting for a blade in the guts, back there at the abbey - that’s how far in Graven’s debt I was. And we’re not talking loans here. I’m on about the currency of grievance, where eyes and teeth are exchanged in violent transactions.
See, I’d fucked up. About a week ago, this was, during which time I’d been hiding out in the sticks. I’d still be there now if I hadn’t got that text from Graven. Let’s get this sorted, he’d suggested. Life’s too short for grudges and contracts on the heads of former friends and loyal compadres, so let’s meet up, shout at each other a bit and then have a little hug.
If he thought I was hugging him he could kiss my black arse. And if I thought he wanted to make up, my black arse deserved the kicking it had coming.
So why had I come back? Homesickness? Had exile got me down... all that country air making me hanker for the polluted streets I knew? Bollocks had it.
I missed my daughter.
And that is the only reason.
What it was, just so you know, is that I’d gone overboard with my duties and someone had got hurt. Very hurt, if blood and exposed bone is anything to go by. Which wouldn’t be a problem on any normal day - people were always getting a bit hurt where my job was concerned, sometimes in life-changing ways. But they’re not normally Graven’s VIP guest.
Even if he did have it coming.
So you can see why I was expecting some sort of violent retribution, that being Graven’s preferred method of disciplinary procedure. And you can see why I was scratching my head over this “QUITS” business.
How had the score been evened? The inconvenience of having to go to the abbey at 4pm, standing Kelly up and missing one of our
The old dear was backed up to the wall, hand on heart.
I apologised to her and grabbed the ned by the ankle, intending to get him away and thereby give her heart a rest. She didn’t seem to appreciate my efforts there, looking at her, but that’s not what it’s about, is it? It’s about respecting boundaries. It’s about making sure your bad shit doesn’t hurt innocent people.
‘What’s this?’ I said to the ned. I was kneeling on his back. His hoodie was riding up and you could see part of a large koi carp tat on his ribs, outlined and long healed but never coloured in.
‘What?’
‘This!’ I was still trying to get the letter out of my pocket.
‘What?’
‘Shut up a minute!’
I finally got it out and shoved it in his face.
‘This!’
‘I dunno! I’m just—’
‘Don’t you swear in a lady’s presence, you little—’
‘You’re hurtin’ me!’
I probably was, to be fair. I’m no goliath but I do like a pie. And I can handle myself. I got off him. None of this was turning out like I’d hoped. Straight away he bolted for the door. I didn’t bother going after him. I was knackered, inside and out.
‘I’ll tell you what you are!’ the ned was shouting from the glass doorway, spit flying. ‘You’re a fuckin’ spanner!’
I shrugged at the old dear and started picking up the rotating postcard display.
2.
QUITS.
That’s what it said on a piece of paper inside that soil-stained envelope, in big block capitals. I’m no expert but I thought it might have been written by a female. There was a careful curve to the letters that you saw in Kelly’s handwriting, although Kelly wrote with a bit more confidence than seen here. That’s all you can give a kid, if you ask me. Confidence. And a surname.
And a big hug every day.
‘Quits?’ I said.
I was walking through town, keeping to back streets. I’d long since read the letter, such as it was, but it was still messing with my head and making no sense. How could we be quits? I’d been waiting for a blade in the guts, back there at the abbey - that’s how far in Graven’s debt I was. And we’re not talking loans here. I’m on about the currency of grievance, where eyes and teeth are exchanged in violent transactions.
See, I’d fucked up. About a week ago, this was, during which time I’d been hiding out in the sticks. I’d still be there now if I hadn’t got that text from Graven. Let’s get this sorted, he’d suggested. Life’s too short for grudges and contracts on the heads of former friends and loyal compadres, so let’s meet up, shout at each other a bit and then have a little hug.
If he thought I was hugging him he could kiss my black arse. And if I thought he wanted to make up, my black arse deserved the kicking it had coming.
So why had I come back? Homesickness? Had exile got me down... all that country air making me hanker for the polluted streets I knew? Bollocks had it.
I missed my daughter.
And that is the only reason.
What it was, just so you know, is that I’d gone overboard with my duties and someone had got hurt. Very hurt, if blood and exposed bone is anything to go by. Which wouldn’t be a problem on any normal day - people were always getting a bit hurt where my job was concerned, sometimes in life-changing ways. But they’re not normally Graven’s VIP guest.
Even if he did have it coming.
So you can see why I was expecting some sort of violent retribution, that being Graven’s preferred method of disciplinary procedure. And you can see why I was scratching my head over this “QUITS” business.
How had the score been evened? The inconvenience of having to go to the abbey at 4pm, standing Kelly up and missing one of our
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