have to wake him up after all.
As he turned back to the door, it flew open and there was his father, his striped pyjamas hanging off his skinny frame, brandishing a hefty truncheon, ready to strike.
‘Shit, Dad!’ Jimmy cried, leaping backwards and raising his arms to ward off the blow. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Sidney Randall stayed his swing but, still holding his truncheon at the ready, came into the room.
‘Protecting meself.’ He eyed Jimmy suspiciously. ‘What you doing here?’
‘Had a row with Mavis,’ Jimmy improvised quickly. ‘She’s thrown me out. Just came here to get me head down for the night.’
Sidney didn’t believe him for one moment. He knew Jimmy too well to believe that he’d left home because his mousy wife had told him to, but all he said was, ‘And thought you’d help yerself to me gas money.’
‘Didn’t want to wake you, Dad. Just need a few bob for a couple of days. Pay you back, ’course I will.’
‘Yeah, ’course you will.’ Sidney pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, but he kept the truncheon across his knees. He looked up at Jimmy, still standing over him, and said, ‘For Christ’s sake, son, sit down and tell me what’s going on.’
Reluctantly Jimmy sat down and looked across at him. Though he’d aged a good deal recently, Sidney had always been a force to be reckoned with and Jimmy knew he wouldn’t part with the money in his wallet easily.
‘Nothing much. Just the silly cow moaning on about them girls. Nothing new there, is there?’
‘’Spect she misses them.’
‘They’re nothing to do with her no more. We got young Ricky now. He’s the one we have to think about. Them girls is being properly looked after in that EVER-Care home. They’re better off there. They didn’t want to live with me and I didn’t want them neither.’ Jimmy rested his hands on the table and looked across at his father. ‘Simple as that.’
Sidney nodded, but his eyes were fixed on Jimmy’s hands. He could see blood on them. Jimmy, following his gaze, looked down at his hands and saw the blood on his palm, along his fingers and round his fingernails. Cursing inwardly, he snatched them away, shoving them under the table out of sight. He’d thought his hands were clean after he’d scrubbed himself down in the bath back in Ship Street, but he must have got the blood on his hands again when he’d retrieved his wallet from the bloodied trousers he’d left on the floor.
There was a long silence. Sidney was getting on, he’d lived through two world wars and little surprised him any more. He knew, well enough, that his son was a violent man, and he’d had reservations about his marriage to that war-widow, but who was he to tell Jimmy what to do? No point. Jimmy wouldn’t have listened to him. Probably, Sidney had thought, he’d do the opposite out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Now here Jimmy was, blood literally on his hands, stealing Sidney’s gas money. He had to be on the run. He must have injured Mavis quite badly to have lost his nerve and run away.
‘So?’ Sidney said at length, still shifting the truncheon around in his hands. He could be violent too. There’d been occasions when he’d had to slap his own wife around a bit and he recognised the pent-up aggression he could see in his son’s face. ‘What happened?’
‘Silly bitch grabbed a knife. She was trying to kill me. It was self-defence. I tried to take it from her but she wouldn’t let go. Stabbing at me she was. And then she fell, and the knife went into her. Blood everywhere.’
Sidney listened to Jimmy’s version of events and shaking his head, said, ‘Didn’t call an ambulance, then.’
‘No point. She’s dead.’
‘And you’re on the run.’ Sidney kept his voice matter-of-fact. He didn’t want to antagonise Jimmy any further; he’d be no match for him if it came to blows.
‘No one’ll believe me that it was all her fault, will they? Certainly not her cow of a
As he turned back to the door, it flew open and there was his father, his striped pyjamas hanging off his skinny frame, brandishing a hefty truncheon, ready to strike.
‘Shit, Dad!’ Jimmy cried, leaping backwards and raising his arms to ward off the blow. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Sidney Randall stayed his swing but, still holding his truncheon at the ready, came into the room.
‘Protecting meself.’ He eyed Jimmy suspiciously. ‘What you doing here?’
‘Had a row with Mavis,’ Jimmy improvised quickly. ‘She’s thrown me out. Just came here to get me head down for the night.’
Sidney didn’t believe him for one moment. He knew Jimmy too well to believe that he’d left home because his mousy wife had told him to, but all he said was, ‘And thought you’d help yerself to me gas money.’
‘Didn’t want to wake you, Dad. Just need a few bob for a couple of days. Pay you back, ’course I will.’
‘Yeah, ’course you will.’ Sidney pulled out a chair and sat down at the table, but he kept the truncheon across his knees. He looked up at Jimmy, still standing over him, and said, ‘For Christ’s sake, son, sit down and tell me what’s going on.’
Reluctantly Jimmy sat down and looked across at him. Though he’d aged a good deal recently, Sidney had always been a force to be reckoned with and Jimmy knew he wouldn’t part with the money in his wallet easily.
‘Nothing much. Just the silly cow moaning on about them girls. Nothing new there, is there?’
‘’Spect she misses them.’
‘They’re nothing to do with her no more. We got young Ricky now. He’s the one we have to think about. Them girls is being properly looked after in that EVER-Care home. They’re better off there. They didn’t want to live with me and I didn’t want them neither.’ Jimmy rested his hands on the table and looked across at his father. ‘Simple as that.’
Sidney nodded, but his eyes were fixed on Jimmy’s hands. He could see blood on them. Jimmy, following his gaze, looked down at his hands and saw the blood on his palm, along his fingers and round his fingernails. Cursing inwardly, he snatched them away, shoving them under the table out of sight. He’d thought his hands were clean after he’d scrubbed himself down in the bath back in Ship Street, but he must have got the blood on his hands again when he’d retrieved his wallet from the bloodied trousers he’d left on the floor.
There was a long silence. Sidney was getting on, he’d lived through two world wars and little surprised him any more. He knew, well enough, that his son was a violent man, and he’d had reservations about his marriage to that war-widow, but who was he to tell Jimmy what to do? No point. Jimmy wouldn’t have listened to him. Probably, Sidney had thought, he’d do the opposite out of sheer bloody-mindedness. Now here Jimmy was, blood literally on his hands, stealing Sidney’s gas money. He had to be on the run. He must have injured Mavis quite badly to have lost his nerve and run away.
‘So?’ Sidney said at length, still shifting the truncheon around in his hands. He could be violent too. There’d been occasions when he’d had to slap his own wife around a bit and he recognised the pent-up aggression he could see in his son’s face. ‘What happened?’
‘Silly bitch grabbed a knife. She was trying to kill me. It was self-defence. I tried to take it from her but she wouldn’t let go. Stabbing at me she was. And then she fell, and the knife went into her. Blood everywhere.’
Sidney listened to Jimmy’s version of events and shaking his head, said, ‘Didn’t call an ambulance, then.’
‘No point. She’s dead.’
‘And you’re on the run.’ Sidney kept his voice matter-of-fact. He didn’t want to antagonise Jimmy any further; he’d be no match for him if it came to blows.
‘No one’ll believe me that it was all her fault, will they? Certainly not her cow of a
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