said. “How are you holding together in here?"
"It was rough at first, but you get used to it. Half the estate is in here. Remember One Eyed Jim?"
I laughed. "I think everyone in Manchester that ever took a drink underage remembers One Eyed Jim. Half his shop's trade was selling booze to kids. Jesus, we must have spent a fortune in there. He's in here?"
"Yep, for selling counterfeit goods. He was knocking out tracksuits and trainers like there was no tomorrow. He’s kept an eye out for me…” He grinned at his own joke. "But how about you, mate, how are you adjusting to life back home?"
"It's been…" I ran a hand through my hair. This wasn't something I liked talking about, but Adam was my oldest friend. Me, him and Mason had been inseparable as kids. It was only once I joined the Army that the distance kicked in. We weren't really the letter-writing type.
"It's been tough," I admitted. "Everything's changed. People have moved on." I couldn’t tell him any more, not here in this grim visiting room. About how I woke up every night screaming, as my unit was torn apart around me. About how I didn’t fit into my own life anymore.
"Yeah, I hear you," he said. "How about work? You found something?"
"Not so far. Two GCSEs and eight years getting shot at don't really qualify you to do much of anything, it seems. I've got an interview next week, for a security guard job at the shopping centre."
"Security guard? Following shoplifters around all day? Fuck that!" he scoffed.
"I know, I know," I said. "But it pays. Not well, but it pays. I need some money coming in while I figure out what the hell to do next."
His eyes lit up. "If you just want some short-term cash, I've a better idea. Before I got banged up, Heath was badgering me to come and see him at work."
"Boxing? That's not the kind of fighting they teach you in the Army," I said, laughing.
"Yeah mate, I don't think Mike Tyson would be shitting his pants at the sight of you. No, Heath's got into the bare knuckle circuit."
"How the hell has he managed that?" I said. Everyone knew about the illegal boxing matches, of course, but the attraction for the general public was in the betting. Not just anybody was allowed to fight.
"He's got in with Terry English. That fella arranges every fight between Liverpool and the Pennines. And according to Heath, Terry English is always on the lookout for good lads that can handle themselves. Not to fight, at least not in the ring. Just… you know. Security and that. Heath will vouch for you with Terry."
It wasn't ideal – Terry English was notorious. He had a finger in every pie in Manchester, especially the illegal ones. But Adam was right – trailing round behind shoplifters in a polyester uniform would be soul-destroying. As horrific as Iraq had been, I missed the danger, the adrenaline. The only time I ever felt alive lately was when I was half a second from death. Whatever Terry was offering, it would certainly be interesting.
“I’m in,” I said.
Nicole
The front desk of the station was in chaos. A woman was on her mobile, shouting at someone, her eye rapidly closing. Two uniformed officers were wrestling a second woman down the corridor. From her screaming and swearing, I guessed she was the one responsible for the first woman's black eye. Two drunken tramps were cheering as they swigged on their cans of Special Brew.
"Pipe down!" the desk sergeant yelled at them. "Or I'll toss both your arses out into the cold." The men piped down.
"Fat bastard," I heard one of them mutter quietly. The sergeant had targeted their weak spot – a night in the warm, secure cells was preferable to being turfed out of the station for these men. He hadn't noticed me yet. I braced myself and stepped forward.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked me up and down, eyebrows raised. It was excruciating. I was fully dressed, but under the gaze of his small, piggy eyes I felt naked. He took it all in – the tight jeans, the high heeled
"It was rough at first, but you get used to it. Half the estate is in here. Remember One Eyed Jim?"
I laughed. "I think everyone in Manchester that ever took a drink underage remembers One Eyed Jim. Half his shop's trade was selling booze to kids. Jesus, we must have spent a fortune in there. He's in here?"
"Yep, for selling counterfeit goods. He was knocking out tracksuits and trainers like there was no tomorrow. He’s kept an eye out for me…” He grinned at his own joke. "But how about you, mate, how are you adjusting to life back home?"
"It's been…" I ran a hand through my hair. This wasn't something I liked talking about, but Adam was my oldest friend. Me, him and Mason had been inseparable as kids. It was only once I joined the Army that the distance kicked in. We weren't really the letter-writing type.
"It's been tough," I admitted. "Everything's changed. People have moved on." I couldn’t tell him any more, not here in this grim visiting room. About how I woke up every night screaming, as my unit was torn apart around me. About how I didn’t fit into my own life anymore.
"Yeah, I hear you," he said. "How about work? You found something?"
"Not so far. Two GCSEs and eight years getting shot at don't really qualify you to do much of anything, it seems. I've got an interview next week, for a security guard job at the shopping centre."
"Security guard? Following shoplifters around all day? Fuck that!" he scoffed.
"I know, I know," I said. "But it pays. Not well, but it pays. I need some money coming in while I figure out what the hell to do next."
His eyes lit up. "If you just want some short-term cash, I've a better idea. Before I got banged up, Heath was badgering me to come and see him at work."
"Boxing? That's not the kind of fighting they teach you in the Army," I said, laughing.
"Yeah mate, I don't think Mike Tyson would be shitting his pants at the sight of you. No, Heath's got into the bare knuckle circuit."
"How the hell has he managed that?" I said. Everyone knew about the illegal boxing matches, of course, but the attraction for the general public was in the betting. Not just anybody was allowed to fight.
"He's got in with Terry English. That fella arranges every fight between Liverpool and the Pennines. And according to Heath, Terry English is always on the lookout for good lads that can handle themselves. Not to fight, at least not in the ring. Just… you know. Security and that. Heath will vouch for you with Terry."
It wasn't ideal – Terry English was notorious. He had a finger in every pie in Manchester, especially the illegal ones. But Adam was right – trailing round behind shoplifters in a polyester uniform would be soul-destroying. As horrific as Iraq had been, I missed the danger, the adrenaline. The only time I ever felt alive lately was when I was half a second from death. Whatever Terry was offering, it would certainly be interesting.
“I’m in,” I said.
Nicole
The front desk of the station was in chaos. A woman was on her mobile, shouting at someone, her eye rapidly closing. Two uniformed officers were wrestling a second woman down the corridor. From her screaming and swearing, I guessed she was the one responsible for the first woman's black eye. Two drunken tramps were cheering as they swigged on their cans of Special Brew.
"Pipe down!" the desk sergeant yelled at them. "Or I'll toss both your arses out into the cold." The men piped down.
"Fat bastard," I heard one of them mutter quietly. The sergeant had targeted their weak spot – a night in the warm, secure cells was preferable to being turfed out of the station for these men. He hadn't noticed me yet. I braced myself and stepped forward.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he looked me up and down, eyebrows raised. It was excruciating. I was fully dressed, but under the gaze of his small, piggy eyes I felt naked. He took it all in – the tight jeans, the high heeled
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