Howard Linskey - The Dead

‘You could say that,’ I said, ‘I reckon most of them are trying to buy their way into heaven.’ I didn’t want him to know that the real, sole benefactor of the Second Chances centre was me.

I turned down his offer of a cup of tea because I didn’t want to die of botulism, then I ushered him out of the door and drove him into town. I took him to a Marks and Sparks and bought him some shirts, trousers, socks and underwear.

‘Are you sure this is alright like?’ he asked me.

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘you’re one of Bobby’s old boys. We do this these days. We’re all minted and there’s plenty for everyone,’ he shook his head in disbelief.

‘There’ll be money too, later.’ I said. I meant I wasn’t going to trust the guy with cash yet, because I figured he’d be straight down the pub, then the bookies. ‘Haircut first though.’

I made sure I gave a generous tip to the poor lass who had to wash Jinky’s hair before the hairdresser got to work. I watched as she snipped away at Jinky’s locks, removing several inches from the long straggly strands and using all of her skills to make the man look respectable. She was nearly done when Malcolm arrived. I introduced him.

‘Malcolm’s from Second Chances and he’s going to get you ready for your appointment later.’

I meant that he was going to take him away and make sure he took a bath before he put the clean clothes on. I’d given instructions for the old clothes to be binned. The hairdresser was already sweeping up the strands of hair with a brush and pan. Jinky didn’t notice when she took a clump of his hair and put it into a little plastic packet with a zip top.

I took out my wallet and paid the girl. The money I gave her was way more than the cost of the haircut. I took the remainder of the cash from my wallet and counted it. I was going to give some of it to Jinky. I looked up to see his expectant face staring at the money in my hand. In the end I handed the whole lot to Malcolm. ‘That’s for you Jinky,’ I told him, ‘ after your meeting, not before.’ He nodded gratefully like he understood my reasons. ‘Just relax and answer the man’s questions, tell him the truth about your…,’ I struggled to find the right word and finally settled on ‘… background. Don’t bullshit him and try not to fuck this up, eh?’

‘I won’t Davey,’ he assured me, ‘I’m real grateful to you like, honest I am.’

‘That’s okay man,’ I told him. I wanted him to think the interview with our Second Chances manager mattered. It didn’t. The flat was already sorted but I wanted Jinky to believe that he had to earn it. That way he might not go too far off the rails if he thought it could ever be taken away from him.

‘There’ll be more money on a regular basis, provided you keep your nose clean. Someone will tidy the flat and there’ll be groceries delivered every week.’

He opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly stopped and seemed to be pursing his lips, like he was making an effort to say the words, then I realised that what he was really doing was trying to keep something in. I could see the tears forming in his eyes.

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘Just forget about it Jinky,’ I said, ‘it’s no bother like. It’s your share. You earned it man.’ Then I walked out of there as quickly as I could.

I got the DNA test back in record time. The sample they got from Jinky’s hair was clear enough and proved it beyond all doubt. He was definitely my father.

Be careful what you wish for. That’s what they say, isn’t it? My life is a fucking Greek tragedy. I wanted to find out all about my father, so I could tell my little girl something about him, but what was I going to tell her now? The man I thought was my dad didn’t really walk out on me when I was small. He died two years before I was born, killed by the man I later called boss, until I in turn killed him. If Alan Blake had been my true father there would at least have been some fucked-up sense of justice at play when I shot Bobby Mahoney but no, my real father was a washed-up gangster; a con man and hustler, a part-time armed robber who couldn’t even do that right, a jail bird who spent years inside and came out with a torn heart and lungs as black as tar. Now he’s old and broke and sitting in God’s waiting room but he’s all I’ve got left, apart from a half-brother who’s stuck in a wheelchair. At least I can take care of him.

Thank God for my little Emma. If it wasn’t for her I don’t know what I’d do. The whole fucked-up, shitty mess I’ve managed to get myself in wouldn’t be worth jack-all if it wasn’t for her. That night, I looked down on her while she was sleeping in her little bed and she looked so beautiful, sweet and peaceful that I wondered how anything so precious could ever have come from me.

Obviously I confronted Our young’un.

‘You knew, didn’t you?’ We’d been arguing about it for a while now and he didn’t want to go over the details again but I wanted him to admit it. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ I asked him for what felt like the umpteenth time and he finally gave in.

He gave an exasperated sigh, ‘Because she didn’t want you to know, man. At the end, she made me swear not to tell you. What was I supposed to do? Break a promise I’d made to my dying ma?’ Then he turned from exasperation to anger, ‘I told you not to. I said that nowt good would come of it! Didn’t I?’

We were alone in Cachet so nobody could hear us. ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘you did!’ In some dark recess of my brain that was still logical, I could understand why he hadn’t told me but I was hurting and too angry for that. ‘You still could have told me. You owed me that. I always took care of you Danny, always!’

‘And a lot of good it did me!’ he roared at me. ‘You taking care of me put me in this chair!’ and he gripped the sides of his wheelchair in frustration and shook it.

Somehow I managed to retain the sense not to push it any further because there was still a lot of unspoken shit between us about that and neither of us would profit from any of it coming out now. Danny had been a fuck-up for most of his adult life and I made it my job to save him. I was well intentioned but now he was paralysed because of his involvement with the firm and he thought that was my fault. If we said all that out loud there’d be no going back for either of us. Instead, I stormed out of that room.

I drove around for so long I lost track of time. When I finally got home Sarah was cooking a late dinner in the kitchen. Emma was asleep upstairs. I walked up behind Sarah and wrapped my arms around her.

‘I’ve always solved our problems haven’t I?’ I asked her, ‘whatever’s been thrown at us, I’ve always tried to protect you?’

‘Of course,’ she answered, ‘but I don’t need as much taking care of as you think. I’m a bit tougher than that Davey,’ and she turned to look at me and gave me a humourless smile, ‘it must be genetic.’

‘I know and I’m sorry if you’ve felt trapped with me sometimes, it’s just that I promised your dad and…’

‘What is it?’ she looked concerned then and I realised that, for once, I had failed to mask my feelings. They must have been written all over my face. I knew the stress of dealing with so many problems all at the same time was beginning to get to me. Sarah put her arms around me then, ‘What is it, Davey?’ she repeated.

I was reluctant to tell her, but knew I had to. ‘I think I have a problem that I can’t solve. I think there is something that’s beyond my control.’

‘Tell me,’ she urged, and there was a fire in her eyes that I found strangely comforting, ‘there’s nothing we can’t solve together. You always keep me on the outside, you don’t tell me things… I know why you do it, to protect me, but this time I want you to tell me. Do you think I don’t know when something is wrong? I can see it in your face every time you step out the door. I’m not stupid Davey. I love you. Let me help.’