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 12 are available to read in the menu)

Part 13

July 1982
The following day I met Paolo by the fishtank in the Hole-in-the-Road. He was dressed in jeans and white tee-shirt with a pair of dark sunglasses that made him look typically Italian.  He smiled, and I thought he was going to give me a peck on the cheek. I was ready to punch him, but he refrained, and my blushes spared.

“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly.

I grabbed him by the arm and led him away from the area.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” I told him. I was mindful that Billy Mason might be loitering in these underground walkways and needed to get out in the open, away from the crowds.

I took him to the Mulberry Tavern but the barmaid refused to serve Paolo because he looked underage. I didn’t know how old he was, but suspected that the barmaid was probably right. 

Instead, we chanced in the Brown Bear that was quieter and not the kind of place to find the Billy Mason’s of this world. I bought two pints of John Smiths and we sat in a quiet corner looking at black and white photographs of snooker players on the wall.

“What’s bugging you?”

“I’ve been thinking about everything that’s happened and needed to know something.”

“It’s a shit business we’re caught up in. It’s blackmail, that’s what it is.” 

“It’s not just that,” he said. “I can cope with everything as long as I know that you’ll be around to protect me.”

“I already said that I’d be there for you, didn’t I?”

Paolo bit his lip and shuffled in his seat. A group of middle aged men walked in and clocked us in the corner. One of them pointed and said something that made them all laugh.

“If they’re taking the piss out of us, I’m going to smash their faces in,” I told Paolo.

“No, don’t!” he said. “Please don’t spoil things.”

“Spoil what?”

“I’m enjoying it here, and don’t want anything to go wrong.”

I took a sip from my pint. I looked at him bathed in the sunlight that flooded through the window.

“We’re talking that’s all. What can go wrong?”

Paolo looked nervous.

“I know that you’ll look after me. But I wanted to ask you something.”

“What’s that?” 

“The night that Frank made us kiss felt right to me, and even though you hit me, you didn’t actually say that you didn’t like it.”

“What are you saying?”

“I hated those guys the other night. But I felt something good when I was with you, despite all those staring eyes.”

“Go fuck  yourself!”

“And I think that you’re kidding yourself, because I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t think that you felt the same way.”

This kid was annoying me. I might have punched him, but I’d done that once before and regretted it. I looked at the guys at the bar and couldn’t help thinking that they thought I was queer. 

“Do you like me?”

“I have a girlfriend,” I said, “and I’m going to the cinema tonight. Does that answer your question?”

“What do they call her?”

“Louise,” I told him. “She’s called Louise! And I shag her every night!”

Paolo looked hurt. “I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Don’t go around saying things like that. I’m not your boyfriend, and never will be. Get that in your head.”

I hadn’t meant to say it as loud as I did, and people were looking at us. “I need to go,”

“No Harry, please don’t go.” He held onto my arm begging me not to leave. “I’ve not known you long, but you’re my only friend.”

I felt sorry for him. There he sat, angelic looking, with his thick curly black hair and Mediterranean skin, looking helpless. I didn’t know it then, but he had a hold over me.

“Look Paolo. I DO have a girlfriend, and I AM taking her to the pictures tonight.” I’d telephoned Louise first thing that morning and agreed to take her to the cinema. I didn’t tell him that it was a first date, and neither did I say that I wasn’t looking forward to it either.

“She’s a lucky girl.”

“I might be made to act like a faggot, but I’m nothing like one. Why are you interested in me?”

“You’re different Harry. You’re a rough boy, exciting, violent, and handsome. And yet, there is something mysterious about you, almost tender, that tells me that you’re hiding the truth about yourself. That ticks all the boxes for me.”

Not for the first time, and not the last, I was lost for words. 

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life being the bad boy?”

“This is my life,” I explained, “I don’t know anything different.”

“You are much better than all this. Better than your friends. Better than the dead end life that you’ve created. I hope you realise it before it’s too late.”

“How do you expect me to change?”

“That’s down to you.”

Paolo had hit a nerve. For the first time in my life somebody was scratching at the surface, trying to reach down to the real me. I hadn’t realised it, but I did want something different to what had been dished up so far.

“For a young kid, you talk like someone much older.”

“I’m from an Italian family, and we speak too much,” he smiled. “But promise me something.”

“What’s that?” I asked, draining the rest of my pint.

“If you’re ever looking for a boyfriend, then please consider me.”

“I will,” I promised.