Julie Shaw - Hidden Sin - When the past comes back to haunt you

‘That black guy? Dunno,’ he said. ‘He said his name was Mac-something. Nice bloke. Bought me a pint.’

‘I noticed.’ She looked across to the bar again, where the man was half-hidden in the crush. Except he wasn’t crushed. It was like he had some sort of force field around him. He also stood a whole head above the men gathered around him, none of which Joey recognised either. He looked for his uncle Nicky, who’d brought him and his kit down here in his battered van earlier. He might only just be out of prison but he seemed to know everyone. But there was no sign of him and Joey realised he’d probably not returned yet from where he’d gone once they’d brought the stuff in, to ‘see a man about a dog’.

‘But I’ll be back before you’re finished,’ he’d promised. ‘Help you pack up and take you home and that.’ And though Joey didn’t doubt it, he couldn’t help wondering what exactly the man and the dog bit was actually all about. His mam had spent fifteen years visiting his uncle Nicky in prison – VOs as regular as clockwork, and she never missed one – but now he was home, Joey couldn’t fail to notice how tense she seemed about her brother. Did she worry he’d end up in the nick again? But she and his dad were as tight-lipped about that as about everything. Drugs. That he did know. Though he’d gone down for murder. But he’s not a wrong ’un, love, trust me – how many times had he heard his mam say that? And on the evidence of the few weeks he’d been stopping at theirs Joey was inclined to believe her.

‘So who d’you reckon he is?’ Paula was asking him now. ‘He looks like he owns the place, doesn’t he? Well, acts like it, anyway. D’you reckon he’s someone in the music business or something? Did you cop the designer threads he’s got on?’

Joey nodded. ‘That jacket. Must have cost a bit. A good bit.’ He reached for his drum sticks. ‘Macario,’ he said, remembering. ‘That’s his real name. Macario. But he said to call him Mo.’

‘Macario. Strange name,’ she mused. ‘No wonder he likes to shorten it. Hey –’ she nudged Joey. ‘D’you think he might be a producer or something? Or an A&R man? Oh my God, can you imagine? I mean, it’s not outside the bounds of possibility, is it? I mean, like, out scouting – that’s what they do. They go round all the pubs and clubs. What was that band … Oh, it’ll come to me … Used to play down the Devonshire Arms? That’s what happened to them. They got spotted by an A&R man and invited to send a demo in to some record company – don’t remember which, but, God, he could be. He looks the part, doesn’t he? That bloke with him as well. The one with the hair. Macario. We’ll have to ask around. I wonder if Matt knows him. Matt!’ she said, raising her voice and beckoning towards the approaching lead guitarist. ‘That black guy at the bar – the one who was talking to Joey.’

‘What about him?’ Matt, the lead guitarist, was also the unofficial leader of the band. He was in his mid-twenties and had the air of a guy who’d been everywhere and done everything. Though he seemed a decent guy (not least because he was gay and obviously had no designs on Paula) Joey felt very young and naïve in his presence.

‘Do you know who he is?’ Paula was saying. ‘He’s not a regular, is he? We were wondering if he might be in the business.’

Even Matt’s normally furrowed eyebrows lifted at this.

‘He’s called Macario,’ Joey supplied. ‘Mo. He seemed impressed with the band.’

Matt peered across at the bar, but the man had his back to them now. ‘Don’t think I recognise him,’ he said. ‘Or those other blokes he’s chatting to. Not seen them in here before.’ He spread his palms. ‘So you never know. He might be.’ He grabbed the neck of his guitar and ducked his head beneath the strap, settling the instrument against his stomach. ‘Actually I do know of a Mo, come to think of it,’ he said, pulling the plectrum from where he’d slipped it between the frets. ‘Wasn’t that the name of that drug dealer people used to talk about? You know, back yonks ago when we were kids? Wasn’t he called Mo or something?’

‘Not that I’ve ever heard of,’ Paula said. ‘Anyway, he looks more like an off-duty solicitor than a drug dealer. Well, maybe not a solicitor. Not with the dreadlocks. But someone in the business, definitely. You remember that bloke, don’t you? The one who –’

‘Wish away, Paulz.’ Matt said. ‘Anyway, who’s to say he isn’t both? It’s been known.’ He laughed. ‘Did he try and slip you anything, Joey? Anyway, here’s Dan,’ he added, as the bass player ambled over. ‘Christ, man, get a move on!’

‘And he’s staying for the second half by the looks of it,’ Joey said, looking back across to the bar. The man Mo – former drug dealer, record scout, solicitor, whatever – caught his eye, lifted a tumbler and smiled.

Joey raised a drumstick and smiled back. He couldn’t help it.

Brian peered out of the front-room window and cursed his brother-in-law. Yes, on the whole, Nicky was a sound bloke these days, and he’d be the first to leap to his aid in a fight, but he couldn’t seem to quash the constant hum of anxiety when he was in any way left in charge of Joey. He might be Joey’s kin – biologically, he was, where Brian wasn’t, which sort of rankled – but he wasn’t a dad and he didn’t understand. He just wasn’t reliable enough.

He turned back to where Christine, curled in an ‘S’ at the far end of the sofa, was apparently engrossed in her new Jackie Collins novel. How could she remain so unconcerned? ‘I swear, Chris,’ he said irritably, ‘if your Nick’s forgotten to pick our Joey up, I’ll fucking swing for him, I really will! I warned him not to go on the piss if he was driving, and now it’s –’

‘Not even that late ,’ Christine said, tenting her open book on the sofa. ‘Stop worrying. He said he would and he will. Have a little faith, love,’ she added. ‘They’ll get here.’

‘Since when was gone midnight “not that late”?’ Brian huffed.

‘Since for ever,’ Christine said. ‘Bri, he’s almost eighteen. You can’t keep him wrapped in cotton wool for ever. Think about it. They’ve been playing. They’ve got a lot of gear to sort out. If anything it’ll be our Joey holding Nicky up. All excited. All that adrenaline. And it’s not like they’re going to just unplug their amps and bugger off, is it? There’ll be the pub to empty out, the clearing up, the loading up … And they’ll probably have stopped to have a drink with the landlord and everything – you know how it goes. Love, they’ll be here.’ She picked up her book again, the conversation apparently over, and Brian continued his vigil at the front-room window.

That was the main problem. That he did know how it was. Not as someone in a band – he never was, never had it in him – but he certainly knew all about pubs. Not to mention lock-ins, and the sort of people who hung around for lock-ins. And how being in a band meant spending a lot of time in pubs, with exactly the sort of people that he used to be. And what about the lad’s window round in the morning?

‘Fucking poncing about in a band,’ he muttered. ‘I really don’t like the idea. He’s a grafter, that lad, not some pie-in-the-sky wannabe with ridiculous ideas. He should be home in bed.’ He waggled a finger in Christine’s general direction. ‘He’s going to be too tired to get up for the windows tomorrow, just you wait.’

Christine gave him a look that he’d come to know well. Because Christine, who he’d been with since Joey was still a toddler, knew him so well – so uncomfortably well. She knew exactly why he was so hard on poor Joey; it was simply because he was terrified. He’d completely wasted his own youth – in a booze- and heroin-filled oblivion, much of it alongside her brother – and couldn’t even begin to contemplate the prospect of that kind of life for his son. Worse than that, they’d even lost him for a bit – well, Christine had, anyway – to social services, when he was just a baby. And he’d been complicit. Involved. A central part of the problem. Had even stood, albeit off his face, and watched the social taking Joey away – he could recall his frightened screams like it was yesterday. And Christine howling like she was dying. Because it was almost like she had been. It had been a long wretched road to get him back again.