Nick's Blues by John Harvey

Nick clenched his fists and kept on going, damned if he was going to give them the satisfaction of watching him wipe it away.

sixteen
    Steve Rawlings had been watching the encounter between Blevitt and Nick from the eighth floor balcony. Waiting for the moment when Blevitt would take him apart. But instead, Blevitt had simply stood there and let him walk away.
    Rawlings spat at the ground.
    First Harman had dissed him in front of his mates and then, more than likely, grassed him up to the police.
    Next time he wouldn’t get off so easy.
    Next time it’d be more than just a beating.
    â€œWhat d’you reckon, Steve?” asked one of the boys alongside him.
    Rawlings spat again. “I reckon someone’s gonna teach Harman a real lesson.”
    â€œRoss didn’t do nothin’ ’cept mouth off at him.”
    â€œRoss’s a pussy,” Rawlings said, lowering his voice to ensure Blevitt, still standing below, didn’t hear him.
    â€œYou gonna take him?”
    â€œYeah, when I’m ready.”
    For reassurance, Rawlings touched the Stanley knife, hard and cool in the pocket of his Diesel jeans.
    ***
    â€œOh, man,” Scott said with a shake of his head, “that’s so not cool.”
    They were in Nick’s room, Scott and Nick on the bed, Christopher sitting on the floor, head resting back against the wall. One of Scott’s old Aphex Twin CDs was on the stereo.
    â€œYou were the one, telling me I should do something,” Nick said. “Make a move.”
    â€œYeah, but not like that.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œIt’s too obvious, right? There’s Ellen on her way home and you just happen to be there, standing round with a hard-on and your tongue hanging out. Pathetic.”
    â€œMy tongue wasn’t hanging out.”
    â€œYou just had a hard-on.”
    Nick aimed a punch at Scott’s shoulder and, laughing, he sprawled out of reach.
    â€œYou do fancy her, though?” Christopher said. “Can we establish that as a matter of record?”
    â€œShe’s okay, yeah.”
    â€œYou fancy her?”
    â€œYeah, if you like.”
    â€œIf I like?”
    â€œAll Chris fancies,” Scott said, “is the baby-sitter.”
    â€œShe’s not the baby-sitter.”
    â€œOkay, then. Stepmother.”
    â€œAnd she’s not my bloody stepmother.”
    â€œWhat is she then?”
    â€œNothing,” Christopher said, just this side of flustered. “What are we talking about her for anyway?
    It’s Ellen we’re meant to be discussing, Nick and Ellen.”
    â€œLaura reckons she’s hot,” Scott said.
    â€œHow does she know?”
    â€œShe was going out with this bloke, last term. Black guy. Twenty-three, twenty-four.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œStraight up.”
    â€œWho was he?”
    â€œDJ.”
    â€œWhere from?”
    â€œBrixton. Notting Hill. All over.”
    â€œShe’s not seeing him any more?”
    â€œLaura says no.”
    â€œThere you go, Nick, she’s yours.”
    â€œAlready popped her cork.”
    â€œShut it,” Nick said.
    â€œBloke like that, only way he’s gonna…”
    â€œI said shut it, right?”
    â€œOkay, okay, she’s still a virgin, that’s what you want to believe. Virgo intacta.”
    Nick hit him on the arm, just below the elbow, and the impact jarred back along his own arm and into his chest, making him wince with pain.
    â€œYou okay?” Christopher asked, concerned.
    â€œNever mind him,” Scott said, “what about me?”
    â€œWhat about you?”
    â€œI’m the one got hit.”
    â€œNo more’n you deserved.”
    â€œThanks a lot.”
    Aphex Twin had come to an end and Christopher was rummaging through Nick’s meagre collection of CDs.
    Scott tapped out a cigarette. “Anyone got a light?”
    â€œNot in here,” Nick said.
    â€œOh, come