Chapter 5
Leo
I turn down the alley, away from Brick.
‘One second lad,’ he says from behind me. Shit. ‘Not so fast. This is sixty. Where’s the rest?’
I turn back to him. Try to look not arsed. Not bothered. Shrug, like I’m a stupid twat. ‘It’s all there.’
Looking stupid is useful. Brick looks stupid, and is stupid. He sometimes can’t count. He doesn’t know that I know that, but I’ve been told he’s one you can get away from, if you move quickly.
‘Should be eighty. You trying to fleece me?’
But tonight he can count.
Which is not useful.
‘No way,’ I say. ‘I’m not.’ That’s not a lie.
I don’t like lies. They fuck things up. But when I took the money from the man after the deed, I used a twenty at the corner shop to buy a chocolate bar and a four pack of Stella and some chuddy to get rid of his taste.
I got some other bits too. Necessary things. And the change is in my sock.
But I need it.
When Brick looks up at me, I know it’s time to run.
I fucking hate running.
My life is running.
Cold sweats, stitch in my side, leg still busted from the abscess that messed me up.
I turn and pelt down away from him.
‘You robbing chav!’ he shouts before I hear the slam of a car door and his engine start.
I just need some quiet.
I run and run and run, away from his engine, feet smashing into the pavement.
When I get to Wood Green high street, I dodge through the late-night stragglers cramming the pavements, through crowds outside kebab shops, hurdling pools of sick, all the way down towards Ducketts Common.
It’s grim as hell, but should be quiet. No one goes in it at this time.
Well, the pigs come sometimes, but tonight I’ll be fine. I know how to hide. Always have.
The promise of silence is in the Poundland bag.
Of peace.
I know the shady spots to wait, until Brick gives up, until next time.
I find my favourite tree and kneel down beneath it. It’s shaped like a skeleton in the winter and a fully fleshed human in the summer, like tonight. I pull my cap down over my eyes, Adidas camouflage, open the bag and take out the kitchen foil I also bought from the corner shop.
And the pen.
I rip out the ink tube. Throw it. Snap the plastic. Always hurts, but getting better. My hands. My hands are swollen and grimy. Dirty nails. A kink apparently.
I fold the foil.
Take out my lighter.
Centre the crystals perfectly.
Strike. The crunch of the spark wheel, a gateway. The hairs on my arms prickle awake.
Empty plastic pen to my lips.
Inhale. Deep.
Stillness comes. Bliss.
I lie back and stare at the wet leaves.
It’s raining.
I hadn’t noticed.
It is so fucking beautiful, this park. I’ve always thought so.