Chapter Eight Razor
Chapter Eight
Razor
I shoved Darren into Keeley’s room with her and Maisie so I could bag the sofa.
No, I didn’t like it. She was only sixteen.
But the worst had already happened. What more damage could that little prick do now?
And honestly, better he was here than out there running the estates, looking for trouble, finding Ghost instead of a future.
At least under this roof, I could keep half an eye on him and get a few hours’ kip before the front door went.
Keys, then footsteps. Mum.
She peered into the living room, still in her work uniform, grease on her sleeves, dark circles under her eyes. “You still here?”
“Where d’you think I’d be?”
“I dunno, Rich. Never know if you’re gonna come home at all, do I?”
“Same as I don’t know what state you’ll be in when I do.”
“Oh, don’t start.” She slammed a plastic carrier onto the table. Groceries, technically. But nothing for the kids. A cheap bottle of wine and a pack of fags. Luckily, she had a box of food from the drive through she worked at or we’d all go hungry as there was fuck all in the way of breakfast.
Yeah. I hated that. Hated what she’d become.
She hadn’t always been this way. Once she’d been bright and steady.
She’d worked at my primary school as a midday assistant, laughing with the kids.
We used to watch telly together. She used to cook dinners.
They weren’t of any culinary standard, mind, mostly oven stuff, but I remember having peas with my fish fingers occasionally.
Healthy food’s expensive though, innit? But we used to laugh.
Then he came along. The saviour she thought would dig us out of debt.
Instead, he dug her under it. Took her pride, her job, her laugh.
And left her with cheap wine and bruised arms.
But don’t worry.
I got rid of him.
Didn’t mean much now, though.
The baby started crying from the bedroom, all lungs and no patience. Keeley shouted something about bottles while Darren swore under his breath. I rubbed a hand over my face, the night still stuck to my skin.
“The council should give her her own place.” Mum stepped over toys and piles of baby stuff to reach the kitchenette. She shoved the wine bottle into the fridge and lit a cigarette while she slapped the kettle onto boil.
“You know they won’t, not while she’s got this flat.” I stood, stretching, joints cracking.
Mum gave me a once-over, smoke curling from her lips.
“When you moving out, then? You could afford somewhere better than this shithole.” She gestured at the window, where the view was all tower blocks and broken fences.
The city’s arse-end on full display. “We wouldn’t be so cramped now Darren’s moved in. ”
It was a good point. I should leave. Could leave.
I made enough. Four, five grand a week easy.
But to rent, I needed payslips. Proof of income.
References. All I had was cash and a name I couldn’t put on forms. If I flashed money, people’d ask where it came from.
If I moved off the block, the police would think I’m washing it.
The Firm then thinks I’ve flipped. Tyler had his own gaff courtesy of his girl.
She worked at some nail bar, beauty spot.
Place that washed more than feet, if you catch my drift. But to keep safe, I stayed here.
Same tower. Same stink.
Safer to rot where you grew. And I saved what I could so I could pay for a place outright one day.
“And leave you lot?” I crossed the kitchen and kissed her cheek, then plucked the cigarette from her fingers and stubbed it out in the sink. “Don’t smoke around Maisie.”
She clicked her tongue. “I smoked with both of you. You turned out fine.”
Fine.
Son a drug dealer. Daughter pregnant at fifteen.
But she meant medically, I guessed. Lungs intact. Hearts still beating. And that was it, really. The reason I never went looking for my own place. Her. Keeley. The baby.
Mum peered up at me wide-eyed. “You got some cash?”
“I gave you a ton yesterday.”
“And that’s gone.”
“On what?”
“Think the lights stay on for free, do ya? Know how much that baby needs. Life ain’t cheap, y’know.”
I exhaled slow, studying her face for the lie.
It was there. Faint, familiar. The one she told herself as much as me.
Didn’t matter. I shifted gear years ago for this exact reason.
To keep her standing, and Keeley from falling the same way.
So I dug into my pocket, peeled off a few notes from last night’s take, and held them out.
“Thanks, love.” Her smile came soft and real. Same one on the faces of users right after a hit. That flash of relief before the crash. “I’ll go get some groceries later.”
“Buy a vegetable.” I tucked the rest of the roll back into my pocket. “Kee needs them if she’s breastfeeding.”
“She ain’t.”
I rolled my eyes.
Keeley appeared then, her hair a wild tangle, wearing one of my old hoodies, the baby clutched tight to her chest. “Mum, did you get the formula?”
“I been working all night, Kee. I’ll have to go later.”
“Fuck’s sake!”
“Cupboard,” I cut in, tilting my head. “Top shelf.”
Keeley squeezed into the kitchen, reaching past me with Maisie balanced precariously on her arm. “When did you buy formula?”
I leant against the sink. “Picked it up the other day.”
She retrieved the carton, then rounded on me. “Can you get her a cot? She’ll grow out that Moses basket soon enough.”
“You know it’s cheaper to breastfeed, yeah?”
“Yeah? You ever had someone hanging off your tits, sucking the life out of you?”
No, but I’d had a few try.
“I also want one of those all-in-one buggy things.” Keeley managed to crack open the carton of baby milk one-handed, whilst delivering her wishlist. “With a car seat. Saw one used on Marketplace, but I ain’t got the money.”
I snorted. “You ain’t even old enough to drive, Kee.” I kissed Mum on the cheek and pushed off the counter. “I’m hitting the shower.”
“Ain’t working!” Mum yelled after me, the lighter clicking again behind me. “Pissing out dribble. And it’s cold. We all need to wash!”
I shut the door on the noise and leant back against it.
She was right. The shower was fucked. Lukewarm dribble, rust choking the head, pipes coughing as if they were on twenty a day habit like my mum.
I took one look, unscrewed the head, knocked the worst of the scale out against the sink.
Cleared the filter with the end of a key.
Twisted the valve a quarter-turn and waited.
The water stuttered. Then it came through properly. Not perfect. But hot. Stronger. Usable.
Growing up in a council gaff like this, you don’t ring anyone.
You don’t wait. Things break and stay broken unless you sort them yourself.
Loose doors. Dead plugs. Leaking taps. You learn early how to make shit work again, even if all you’ve got is guesswork and stubbornness.
I weren’t a plumber. Nothing official. But I could fix things. Most of the time.
Steam started to creep up the walls, fogging the cracked mirror. Damp darkened the grout, ran in thin lines down the tiles. The room changed. Warmed. Obeyed. And I stood there a second, watching it, feeling that quiet, stupid satisfaction settle in my chest.
Should’ve got the hotel. One night of something that didn’t need coaxing. Proper pressure. Proper heat. Water hitting my back instead of begging for it.
But then… I was used to broken things.
Couldn’t stop the thought, though. Especially with a pretty boy like the one in the alley on his knees for me while I got all hot and bothered.
Fuck.
I braced a hand against the wall and got myself off quick, water running cold by the end of it.
When I’d scrubbed enough grime and guilt to pass for human, I stepped out, towel slung low and headed for Keeley’s room to find my clothes.
Darren was on her bed, half-naked, scrolling through his phone and chewing his thumb raw.
Scrawny little scrote. All bone, bad skin, and attitude.
Hard to believe that body had managed to knock up my sister.
He flinched when I walked in. Good. He should’ve flinched before he ever got his dick wet in Keeley.
Some would call him brave for touching my blood.
Others would call him fucking stupid. But here was the real kicker, he was smarter than I gave him credit for.
Because now he had me. My name. My protection on the estate.
And that part?
That part I fucking hated.
I stared him down, then yanked open the wardrobe. Nothing but Keeley’s Primark leggings and baggy jumpers, a Sports Direct bag spilling with Darren’s trackies, and a pile of baby clothes.
“Where’s my gear?” I slammed the doors shut, the hinges whining.
Darren didn’t look up. “I don’t fucking know, do I?” His voice was small but shaking with attitude he didn’t own.
“What did you enrol on?”
He frowned. “What?” He kept scrolling.
“College. What course did you enrol on?”
“Construction.” He didn’t look up from his phone. “Was the only one left. Gotta do Maths and English with it too.”
“Good. Maybe I can get Lennon to see if there’s any labouring jobs with his crew.” I waited to see if he’d look at me. He didn’t.
So I snatched the phone from his hands, towel slipping as I held it tight with one hand. Kid didn’t need to be seeing what a real man looked like, that was for sure.
“Oi!” he snapped, sitting up.
I glanced at the screen. A dirty site, all tits and filters. My blood boiled. So I slapped him across the head. Hard. He jerked back, hands and knees flying up to protect his stupid mug.
“You’re in my house.” I grabbed his ear, dragging him close. “Sleeping in my sister’s bed. Put your skanky DNA in my blood and made a baby, and you’ve got the fucking balls to sit here scrolling porn? Using my Wi-Fi? While she’s in the kitchen feeding your princess?”
“I was just looking.”