he had turned sour. I found him skulking in the shadows outside, sporting that spivvy black suit, canvas bag slung across his shoulder, nursing bloody knuckles.’
‘He beat somebody up?’
‘Oh yes. He was forever doing that.’
‘I thought he was the Big I Am? Doesn’t he have friends to do that stuff for him?’
‘He has hired thugs for sure, but you’re missing something important here, son; Bradbury
likes
that side of his job. He
enjoys
getting his fists dirty.’
‘So he beat some guy up that night?’
‘A couple of guys actually. Unpaid debts apparently. That’s what was in the holdall, a heap of cash. He wanted me to take him to his lock-up, then home. I should’ve taken him
straight home, right there and then. I could sense his blood was up and he reeked of booze. Last thing I wanted to do was tick him off, so I drove him to his lock-up.’
I tried to imagine Mr Hancock’s anxiety in Bradbury’s presence. Dougie and I had met the man, of course, the day we were chased through town by Vinnie Savage. Sunshine has a way of
softening those harsh and horrid edges in life, dialling down the potential terror of a situation. But Bradbury had scared us both. He had an assured, confident menace.
‘I must have waited for fifteen minutes outside the lock-up for him to come back out. I was having a leak in the bushes when he finally reappeared and by the time I got back to the Bentley
he was sitting in it. In the driver’s seat.’
Mr Hancock shivered in spite of the sunlight upon his back. Dougie’s face glistened, his brow slick with sweat as he followed his father’s confession. His nerve impressed me. Had the
roles been reversed, I doubted I could’ve stood there as my old man spilled his guts. I’d have left the room, unable to look at him, let alone listen. But my mate stayed put, feet fixed
to the carpet as if nailed there. Mr Hancock caught his breath, composing himself.
‘I should’ve said something; insisted he move across, allow me to drive. But who am I kidding? Nobody speaks to Bradbury that way. I took the passenger seat he’d vacated and he
pulled the Bentley away from the lock-up.’
Again, Mr Hancock paused. ‘That ride . . . if I close my eyes, I can see it, now. Bradbury cursing his enemies, barking out obscenities, swerving across the road. He was all over the shop.
I tried reaching, to straighten the steering wheel, keep him from driving into oncoming traffic.’
He stopped to clear his throat. ‘The bicycle . . . I saw its lights, I shouted at Bradbury, tried to warn him. All he heard was my yelling as I hit his hands away, grabbing the wheel. He
retaliated, elbowed me in the face, sent me back into my seat. Next moment, we’d hit him.’
‘Will, Dad. You hit Will.’ Dougie took a protective step closer to me. I swear, if he could’ve reached out and held my hand, he’d have done so.
‘The Bentley’s a big car. Powerful. Unforgiving. It took quite an impact for the bicycle and rider to stave a wing in. The crack on the windscreen where he rode off the bonnet tells
its own tale. And you probably couldn’t see, but the roof is also dinged where he bounced off it.’
My guts were in knots as he described the events of my death, oblivious to the fact I was stood before him. Perhaps it was the way he reeled off the details in matter-of-fact fashion, like a
match report on the evening news. Every impact rushed back, shuddering through my body, causing my very being to hum and vibrate. I could
feel
the accident all over again, my bones breaking,
body pulverised. For a moment I thought I might tear apart, right there and then, a smear of ectoplasm my parting shot on the living-room carpet. I swear, if it hadn’t been for Dougie’s
passionate words, I’d have blinked out of existence altogether. Not for the first time, he was my anchor to the world of the living.
‘
He
, Dad, you keep saying
he
. It was Will, remember? My best friend!’
Mr Hancock
‘He beat somebody up?’
‘Oh yes. He was forever doing that.’
‘I thought he was the Big I Am? Doesn’t he have friends to do that stuff for him?’
‘He has hired thugs for sure, but you’re missing something important here, son; Bradbury
likes
that side of his job. He
enjoys
getting his fists dirty.’
‘So he beat some guy up that night?’
‘A couple of guys actually. Unpaid debts apparently. That’s what was in the holdall, a heap of cash. He wanted me to take him to his lock-up, then home. I should’ve taken him
straight home, right there and then. I could sense his blood was up and he reeked of booze. Last thing I wanted to do was tick him off, so I drove him to his lock-up.’
I tried to imagine Mr Hancock’s anxiety in Bradbury’s presence. Dougie and I had met the man, of course, the day we were chased through town by Vinnie Savage. Sunshine has a way of
softening those harsh and horrid edges in life, dialling down the potential terror of a situation. But Bradbury had scared us both. He had an assured, confident menace.
‘I must have waited for fifteen minutes outside the lock-up for him to come back out. I was having a leak in the bushes when he finally reappeared and by the time I got back to the Bentley
he was sitting in it. In the driver’s seat.’
Mr Hancock shivered in spite of the sunlight upon his back. Dougie’s face glistened, his brow slick with sweat as he followed his father’s confession. His nerve impressed me. Had the
roles been reversed, I doubted I could’ve stood there as my old man spilled his guts. I’d have left the room, unable to look at him, let alone listen. But my mate stayed put, feet fixed
to the carpet as if nailed there. Mr Hancock caught his breath, composing himself.
‘I should’ve said something; insisted he move across, allow me to drive. But who am I kidding? Nobody speaks to Bradbury that way. I took the passenger seat he’d vacated and he
pulled the Bentley away from the lock-up.’
Again, Mr Hancock paused. ‘That ride . . . if I close my eyes, I can see it, now. Bradbury cursing his enemies, barking out obscenities, swerving across the road. He was all over the shop.
I tried reaching, to straighten the steering wheel, keep him from driving into oncoming traffic.’
He stopped to clear his throat. ‘The bicycle . . . I saw its lights, I shouted at Bradbury, tried to warn him. All he heard was my yelling as I hit his hands away, grabbing the wheel. He
retaliated, elbowed me in the face, sent me back into my seat. Next moment, we’d hit him.’
‘Will, Dad. You hit Will.’ Dougie took a protective step closer to me. I swear, if he could’ve reached out and held my hand, he’d have done so.
‘The Bentley’s a big car. Powerful. Unforgiving. It took quite an impact for the bicycle and rider to stave a wing in. The crack on the windscreen where he rode off the bonnet tells
its own tale. And you probably couldn’t see, but the roof is also dinged where he bounced off it.’
My guts were in knots as he described the events of my death, oblivious to the fact I was stood before him. Perhaps it was the way he reeled off the details in matter-of-fact fashion, like a
match report on the evening news. Every impact rushed back, shuddering through my body, causing my very being to hum and vibrate. I could
feel
the accident all over again, my bones breaking,
body pulverised. For a moment I thought I might tear apart, right there and then, a smear of ectoplasm my parting shot on the living-room carpet. I swear, if it hadn’t been for Dougie’s
passionate words, I’d have blinked out of existence altogether. Not for the first time, he was my anchor to the world of the living.
‘
He
, Dad, you keep saying
he
. It was Will, remember? My best friend!’
Mr Hancock
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