Harry Oldham is writing a novel based on his criminal and sordid past. To do so, he has returned to live at Park Hill, where he grew up, and the place that he once left behind. That was then and this is now, in which the old world collides with the new. (Parts 1 to 11 are available to read in the menu)

Part 12

July 1982

Two days after we robbed the newsagent, the police arrested Andy and Jack. I saw them arrive while I was standing on the balcony. They came in numbers, and I waited for them to come to our door, but they didn’t. They found the stolen cigarettes under Andy’s bed and then they were bundling Andy and Jack into the back of police cars. 

“With reputation comes recognition,” said Frank Smith. “No sooner had you done the place over, there were people queuing up to tell us who’d done it.”

Frank had collared me outside the flats a couple of hours after the lads had been carted off to West Bar nick.

“That poor woman,” he said. “She had ten stitches in the back of her head. I hope you’re all proud of that. But I can see that she fucked your pretty face up.” He pointed to the scar on my face.

“That wasn’t meant to happen, but she wouldn’t do as she was told.”

“And now, your mates have been locked up.”

Frank lit a cigarette and leaned against the lamppost. He was in a shirt and tie, and for once he looked like a copper. I stood with my hands in my pockets and felt like shit.

“The question you must ask yourself,” he continued, “is why you’ve not been locked up as well?”

“Fuck you! Is that why you’re here? Have you come to arrest me too?”

“No Harry. I’m here to tell you that you owe me one.”

I didn’t grasp what he was saying.

“How come?”

“You’re not going to be any use to me behind bars, are you? Let’s say that I had a word in someone’s ear and you’re off the hook.”

“And how will I explain that to Andy and Jack?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something, but more importantly I want you to tell me what happened afterwards.” He looked serious. “I want every detail. I want names. I want to know what those perverts did to you.”

He flipped open a notebook and stood poised with his pen. I couldn’t tell him because I was too embarrassed to say.

“When you’re ready,” he said impatiently. “I’ve already seen your Italian friend and after putting on the waterworks he blabbed. Now unless you’re going to cry like a baby as well, I suggest you tell me. Oh, by the way, our little eyetie has a thing about you.”

I told Frank every terrible detail, each name that I remembered, every minute that had passed in that posh house, and I noticed that he didn’t flinch once.

“Keep up the good work,” he said after I’d spilled my guts. He winked. “Not nice, and it will get a lot worse.”

He got in his car and wound the window down. “Watch your back. I hear that Billy Mason’s pissed off that you hurt his girl. He’s not a nice man. He’ll chop your balls off, and let’s face it if anyone needs their balls, it’s you.”

“I hate you. Why are you making me do this?”

“I nearly forgot,” he said, and fumbled amongst the shit that was on the passenger seat. “Paolo wants you to ring him.” He passed me a slip of paper that had a telephone number scrawled on it.

Andy and Jack were released on bail that night. Pending further enquiries, the police had said, but they knew they had them bang to rights. 

I nicked a bottle of White Horse from the off-licence and shared it with them in the precinct. I wasn’t afraid of being caught because for the time being I might escape anything.

“How the fuck have you got away with it?” Andy asked. 

“I’ve no idea,” I said. “You didn’t grass me up, did you?”

“No mate,” confirmed Jack. “But we’re in big trouble.”

“They’ll know I was involved,” I lied. 

“It looks like someone’s looking out for you, Harry. They said that they weren’t looking for anyone else. The woman said there were only two of us involved. You’re a lucky bastard.”

“I feel bad lads. What will happen to you both?”

“Fuck knows. They didn’t say.”

I thought about telling Frank that I wouldn’t play his little game unless he got the charges dropped against them. I knew this was futile because Frank would have to answer to somebody above him.

“My sister reckons that you promised to take her to the pictures,” said Jack. “Is that right? I can’t believe that you want to go out with her.”

Andy looked at me with suspicion. “Fuck Harry! What did I say? Never mess with a mate’s sister.”

I saw that look in his eyes and realised that he was jealous.

“I’ll ring her tomorrow,” I replied, happy that I’d got one over him, but also annoyed that I was stepping into something I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

Then I remembered that screwed up piece of paper in my pocket. 

“I have to make a phone call.”

“Who are you ringing? Jack demanded. “You’d better not be two-timing Louise.”

“As if I would. I need to speak to a man about a dog.”

“We’re losing you Harry. You’re acting fucking weird.”

I went to the phone box on the corner and found that it had been trashed, so I walked down the hill to the next one. I dialled the number and dropped coins into it when it was answered at the other end.

“Can I speak to Paolo?”

“It is me.”

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to talk to you. I would like to see you… before…”

“Before what?”

“Before next time happens.”