Ben Cheetham - The Society of Dirty Hearts

Julian changed into jeans and a t-shirt, and grabbed some cheese, bread and a couple of cokes, before heading into the woods. Despite his tiredness, he walked quickly, almost running. There was no sign of Jake outside or inside the mill. “Jake, where are you?” he called. After a minute or two, the boy emerged from the trees and approached him. He seemed to have grown even leaner and hungrier looking, less human, more like the tattoo on his chest.

“Just making sure you’re alone,” he explained. “You brought the eats?”

Julian handed Jake the food. Almost savagely, he tore at the bread with his teeth, belching as he swilled it down with coke. “So have you found Ginger?” Julian asked eagerly.

“I saw her go into The H-Bomb a couple of hours back.”

Julian frowned. “In that case, why get me to meet you here?”

“I needed to fetch some of my things.”

“But she could’ve left The H-Bomb by now.”

“No she couldn’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“’Cos I do. You got a car?”

“No. Well, yes, but it’s my dad’s. Haven’t you got one?”

“Sure, I can get hold of one easily enough, if you want to risk driving around town in a stolen car.”

“Okay, we’ll use my dad’s, but you’ll have to meet me in the street out front of my house.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s not that,” said Julian, although it was partly that. “If my mum sees you, she’s going to start asking all sorts of questions.”

Julian explained where he lived, then hurried back there. His mum and Wanda were in the kitchen, making lunch. He skirted around the side of the house, careful not to be seen. As arranged, Jake was waiting outside the gates. “Nice fuckin’ place,” he said as he ducked into the car, displaying a sullen resentment that reminded Julian sharply of Mia.

“Where to?”

“Just drive, rich boy. I’ll tell you as we go.”

“Don’t call me that,” retorted Julian, accelerating harder than he meant to in his irritation.

“Why not? That’s what you are, isn’t it? That’s what I’m gonna be n’all one day. A big, fat rich fuck.”

Julian sighed, not for himself, but for Jake. He couldn’t imagine him ever being any of those things. Jake directed him to the north side of town to a street of dirty-grey houses and flats, many of which had metal-plates welded over their windows. “Stop here,” said Jake. Julian pulled over outside a block of maisonettes fenced off and ready for demolition. Opposite was a three-storey house whose windows were barred and blacked out. The front door, which looked heavy-duty enough to withstand a battering-ram, had a cartoon style H-bomb painted on it. There was a security camera above it. Several big, low-rider motorcycles were parked in the yard. Jake stuck his head out the window and whistled. A woman in a short denim skirt and high-heels emerged from the shadow of the maisonettes, slid through a gap in the fence and tottered over to the car. Julian recognised her as Weasel’s girlfriend.

“Still in there, is she?” asked Jake.

“Well I ain’t seen her come out.” The woman looked admiringly at the car, and said to Julian, “Hello again.”

“Do me a favour, Cookie, don’t tell Weasel about this,” said Jake.

Cookie curled her lip. “You don’t have to worry about that, babe, I won’t tell him nothin’. You just find out where Mia is. ’Cos I know as sure as I’m standing here in front of you that she’s not done anything crazy like what they’re saying.” With a wink at Julian, she turned and teetered away.

Jake thumbed at the maisonettes. “Better park around back. We’ll get noticed fast if we stay here.”

Julian did as Jake said. Uneasy about leaving the car, he followed him to a boarded-up doorway. Jake pulled back the already loose board and they squeezed inside. “Don’t touch anything if you can help it,” he said. “Junkies use this place. There’s used needles all over everything.”

They edged their way along an almost pitch-black hallway and up some stairs to a flat. A finger of sunlight pointed through a partially boarded window, glinting off the scraps of scorched foil strewn over the filthy carpet. In the centre of the floor was a dark, roughly circular stain that might’ve been blood. Somewhere flies buzzed. Julian pulled his t-shirt up over his nose. “It smells like something died in here.”

“Something probably did,” said Jake, approaching the window.

Julian squatted next to him and breathed deeply of the air draughting through the cracked glass. From the window they had a clear view of The H-Bomb’s entrance. A long-haired, bearded, tattooed biker, wearing a leather jacket with the words ‘OUTLAWS’ stitched across its back, rolled up on a Harley and knocked at the bar’s door. The door opened, but they couldn’t see who let him in. Jake took out some cigarettes. “Smoke?”

Julian accepted one, eager to drive the stink of the room from his consciousness. “You think Cookie’s right about Mia?”

Jake puffed thoughtfully on his cigarette, then shrugged. “When we were like ten or eleven, we got sent to live with this foster family. Nice people. I mean, they really tried to make us feel part of the family. And for a while things were good for us. Y’know, three proper meals a day, presents on our birthdays and at Christmas. We even went on holiday. It was only a week in a crappy caravan in Wales, but it was nice. We had ice-cream on the beach, swam in the sea, all that kind of thing. It was like we were a real family.” Jake’s eyes drifted briefly. “When I think about it now, it’s like I dreamed it or something.”

“So what happened?”

“Mia fucked everything up, that’s what.” Jake’s expression grew sour at the memory. “One day our foster parents took us for a picnic by The High Bridge. Mia started acting all weird, doing that staring off into space thing she does. Our foster parents thought she was ill, so we went home. And when we got there she just went nuts. Started smashing everything up. She smashed the TV and a load of ornaments. Then she locked herself in the bathroom, and when there was nothing but herself left to wreck in there, she slashed herself up with broken glass. She was out cold from loss of blood by the time the coppers got there and broke in the door. She was in hospital for ages and when she got better she refused to go back to live with our foster parents. I tried to tell her it wasn’t their fault, they hadn’t been told about what happened to our mum, but she wouldn’t listen. So we ended up back in the children’s home ’cos they wouldn’t split us up. And just look how that worked out for us.” Jake fell silent, shaking his head.

“What about Mia’s latest foster family. Did you live with them too?”

“Yeah, for about a month, until I got caught joyriding.”

“What did you think of her foster dad?”

“Mr Aldridge, he’s alright, bit of a toucher.”

“How do you mean?”

“Y’know, he likes to get in your space, put his hands on you.”

“What, like in a sexual way?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just friendly.”

“He didn’t seem very friendly to me,” muttered Julian, lapsing into a frowning silence. As he watched several more bikers roll up to The H-Bomb, shuddering at the thought of it, he said, “You don’t think Mr Aldridge ever did anything to Mia, do you?”

Jake snorted. “If you knew Mia like I do, you wouldn’t need to ask that. When you grow up in children’s homes, you have to learn how to look after yourself. If that fucker tried anything on with her, she’d have torn his dick off.”

They watched in silence for a while. Jake took out a penknife with a six-inch blade and dug at the rotten window-frame with it. “What’s that for?” Julian asked uneasily.