Fat Tuesday Read online

  “Ah, Spence! I can’t believe you even attempted it!”

  “It’s not over yet.”

  “You’re not big enough!”

  “Get your hand round my neck, here we go, lift!” I stumbled into her room and we fell forward onto the bed, laughing.

  After we recovered, Amber edged away and I felt uncomfortable lying so close to her.

  I went back in the room to wait for the others.

  I was sitting up, chain-smoking, when the lads arrived back. Cam looked scared, hands shaking, eyes flashing round the room. I don’t think the acid agreed with him at all. Gregg’s face was covered in cuts, his lips swollen, butterfly stitches on his arm. He told me about the hospital trauma, then glanced over at Amber’s door. “Honest to God, I don’t even think I made lip contact before she went off it. And I mean off it. I thought you lot had joined in. I’m not fucking joking, she kicked me all over.”

  I walked over, lightly knocked on her door and went in. “Fancy another cuppa?”

  She nodded. “My stomach’s in agony.”

  “Tell me about it.” I walked to the door. “Come on, the lynch mob are waiting.”

  Amber came out and trudged over to the sofa.

  Gregg winked at her. “I take it that’s a definite no, then?”

  4

  Cam and Gregg were standing toe-to-toe arguing like fuck about the robbery of Vasey supermarket, when I got a flashback of Cam holding my face and trying to kiss me. I was stunned. I contemplated it not being real, but it was too vivid.

  Watching him now, I’m wondering how I didn’t suss him out before. When he’s talking he’s all hands, when he’s listening it’s hands on hips, and when he sits down after Gregg has browbeaten him into submission, he theatrically crosses his legs and hooks his hair behind his ears. I swear he couldn’t look more bent if he tried.

  Last night, when we were stoned, I let it slip about the robbery. I’d also forgotten that I had, so Gregg and I had been put on the spot without a chance to make up a defence. The bottom line was, we didn’t know if it was possible to rob Vaseys. All we were asking for was a chance to look into it. A little research to see how difficult it would be.

  “If we don’t all agree,” Cam was saying, “then we don’t do it. I don’t want to be railroaded into this.”

  “We know, we know. Make yourself useful and draw the curtains.” Gregg replaced the mirror over the fireplace with the layout of the supermarket.

  Cam leapt up, pointing at the drawing. “I thought you said we were just talking about it! You can get sent down for conspiracy just for that! Look, Gregg, I don’t think you’ve considered the consequences of this. If a rozza walked through that door, we’d all go to prison right now! That’s before we even do anything. And for what? A few dollars. Do we really need to do this?”

  The secure area was located to the right of the checkouts as you walked through the main entrance doors. Cashiers occasionally carried their own tills beyond the mirror-panelled doors when helping out a supervisor or a key colleague (a key colleague overlooked a smaller area of the shopfloor, but still had a certain amount of authority). Both had access to the secure area, and if one of us could get on till duty, we might get a look inside. We also needed to take care of the security cameras and, according to Gregg, the CCTV room would be next to the safe office.

  “It might not be,” Amber said. “It could be in those rooms at the back of the warehouse.”

  Gregg pointed to the rooms Amber was referring to on the drawing. “That one there’s Jeff’s office. That’s where I got this plan.”

  “How did you manage that?” Cam asked.

  “Stuck my head in to offer him some microwave meals but he was at the bog, so I rolled it up and shoved it down the inside leg of my pants.”

  “Must have been a tight squeeze,” I said.

  “Very funny, puny boy,” he said, patting his gut. “Anyway, I’m on a diet.”

  We needed to know for sure the layout inside the secure area and how the doors were opened, and who had access. One person who might have keys to the surveillance room was Jeff.

  “If there’s a serious fault, they get an outside company in on standby to fix it,” Gregg said. “Jeff hates them, thinks it undermines his position, but the little stuff he sorts himself, so he must have access to the back rooms.”

  “Not unless a supervisor takes him in,” I said.

  “He’s got all sorts in that office and he never works after twelve, so if we get his keys we could have a spy on our break.”

  We agreed to try Jeff’s office on Monday and Amber was going to apply for till duty.

  5

  I own over seventy per cent of my father’s company, Hargreaves Financial. The company today is run like it was when my father was alive, with the entire senior staff still in place. Howard Buckley, the head company accountant, and Peter Simms, the family solicitor, both close friends of my father’s, offered me their services on a personal level when my father died.

  I never thought I would need to call them, but the bloke taking photos of me in the supermarket had bothered me. I couldn’t get the fucker out my mind and I was sure it had something to do with home. I’d thought about going over to Palmer Street and confronting him, but that could draw even more attention to me, so I was going to find out what he was up to, then decide what to do.

  Peter Simms is always very official with me, so I went for Howard Buckley.

  Buckley is an old fashioned number cruncher, who is always hunched over his desk tapping away on his calculator or squinting at his computer monitor. I’ve never seen him walk, but I imagine he can only walk in the seated position – a human chair, a red beanbag on stumpy legs with a rashy face that only gets shaved once a month. Buckley’s not a drinker, I don’t think, just a junk food addict. He’s in his late-forties, but looks sixty and for someone who generally doesn’t give a fuck what he dresses or smells like, he takes a lot of pride in combing a few black strands over his rashy nut.

  I lay back on my bed and dialled his direct number.

  “Howard Buckley.”

  “Hi Howard, it’s Spencer. You okay?”

  “Spencer, my boy! How are you! The Scarlet Pimpernel! How come you never return any calls?”

  “Probably because you never leave any messages.”

  “I hate technology. You know that. If I had my way it would all still be done on paper. Every week there’s new software on the market, and the powers that be insist we use them. As if life in this sector isn’t difficult enough.”

  This would go on forever if I didn’t step in. “Look, Howard, I’m after a favour.”

  He went quiet.

  “You still there?”

  “Of course. Go on. A favour, yes. What can I do for you?”

  “I think I’m being followed. I know I am.”

  “Followed? In Australia?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “By whom?”

  “I’ve no idea. That’s what I want you to find out.”

  “You think it’s someone from home?”

  “Got to be.”

  “That’s absurd! You’re on the other side of the world!”

  I waited for the Father Christmas laugh he was putting on to die down.

  “I can always ask someone else, Howard, if it’s too much hassle. What about the MD, Mike Jones? He’ll know if anyone’s got grievances with my father, because that’s all it can be.”

  “No, no. Leave it with me. Jones is hopeless. He’s only in it for himself. God knows why your father left him in the driving seat.

  “Everything is going fine here, Spencer, as I’m sure Peter Simms has told you. I’ll make a few calls, see if anyone’s been pushing hard recently and get back to you. Chances are, it’s nothing. What does this man look like?”

  I told him.

  “Can’t see anyone going to these lengths, Spencer, I really can’t. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Cheers, Howard.”


  The line went dead. Outside my bedroom door I heard footsteps scurrying away and down the stairs. The front door crashed shut.

  I paced the living room trying to conjure up an excuse, but the only explanation I could think of was the truth. I flopped onto the armchair, resting one foot up on the windowsill. Fuck’s sakes, I wish I had just come out with it, but then what? Back to Newcastle? I know this is a fine line I’m treading and no one trusts a liar, but what else can I do? What other options do I have?

  They’re probably sitting in the park right now, figuring out how to deal with someone that might be being followed. The ball gets rolling and they see me as someone they can’t trust. A stranger that no longer fits in.

  When I was young, my father did everything he could to ensure I didn’t fit in. The fucker knew I only had one mate and he even tried to fuck that up for me by keeping me away from him to further my education. I swear, I could be sick now thinking about that summer and it could be happening all over again.

  A new nanny was starting and I had everything planned: be good, show her how much I loved schoolwork, and then down to the park to meet Wayne. Wayne Clements was in my class at St George’s. He wasn’t bothered about the other kids, he was happy it just being me and him. That’s the way I liked it, and the other kids didn’t bother with us, except when we were in class or playing football. Wayne and me both played on the left and in two years’ time we’d be old enough to play for the under-tens.

  I’d been to Wayne’s house once, but kept it from my father. I knew he wouldn’t approve. All my father was interested in was schoolwork and more schoolwork.

  The morning the new nanny was due to start, Father sat me down at the kitchen table and told me that I was going to be getting extra tuition after school.

  “But why?”

  “Spencer, you know I didn’t want you to go to St George’s.”

  “But I’m doing well. Wayne and me.”

  “Never mind Wayne. I’m sure he’s a very nice lad but he’s not destined for the same career as you.” He took a bite out of his toast and crossed his long legs. “Your mother and I fought about which school you should go to and I regret not sticking to my guns. So extra tuition, young man, is the only way to get you up to speed, because they’ll not be at this level in your next school.”

  I nodded and continued eating my cereal.

  “In each and every subject.”

  I didn’t look up.

  “Starting tonight at four sharp. So no dawdling on the way home. Margaret knows to get you straight here, so no tricks with her either. You hear?”

  I jumped up and ran out the kitchen.

  “Spencer! Come back here!”

  I knew he wouldn’t come after me.

  So, for five nights a week I couldn’t play out. Couldn’t sit at the back of the tennis courts with Wayne. What would he say? He’d probably find a new friend. I sat in the window watching everyone heading into school. Wayne usually came to the corner and whistled, and I would head straight down. Without Wayne I’d have no one.

  It was a sunny day and we had games on the top field. Usually I’d be looking forward to it, but all I could think about was the extra schoolwork. Why did I have to do extra when I’d done okay at school? I nearly started to cry, but held it in. My chest hurt. What about the summer holidays? The scheme at the park opened at the start of the holidays and it was the place to be. First thing in the morning they’d open the community centre up, which also doubled as changing rooms for the local pub football teams. All our stuff was at the other end, away from the showers. Last year we were too young to join in all the games, it was mostly for the older lads, some nearly sixteen-years-old, but this year we’d be able to play in most of them. We’d get first choice on swing ball, tennis rackets, water pistols, skateboards, and we’d have our names up for five-a-side and the assault course. Maybe not the assault course, but we’d get a shot at just about everything else.

  The second nanny I had that year was really cool. She was younger than the others, someone from Father’s office. I don’t think she was really a nanny, and she stayed over a lot compared to the others. But she let me go down to the park straight after school and always got me back in time and in bed before he came in. If she was here I’d have no trouble getting down the park all day in the summer holidays.

  The next two weeks were hell. The tutors I got were horrible. Mr Blake was the worst. He was old with grey hair and a short beard, and smelt of pipe smoke and farts. I had to cup my hands over my nose when he leant in and wrote on the notepad.

  “This should be familiar ground for you, Spencer. The point here is for me to see what level you are at. You understand.”

  I nodded.

  “Take your hands from your mouth, please, so I can hear what you’re saying.”

  By the time the tutors had finished with me, it was hardly worth sitting in the window as everyone had already passed along Mill Lane.

  Every morning at school became more and more unbearable as Wayne told me what I had missed out on. He had also started to hang around with John Ellis, who was in the year above us. John Ellis was much taller than us and had a really long face, like a Great Dane dog, and his mouth eased open without him even knowing it. During school time, he had started to nod at me when I passed him, and eventually began to talk, even though he was only boasting about what Wayne and he had been doing.

  One break time, the three of us were standing at the bottom of the playground stairs. John Ellis was showing us a Kinger ball bearing he had won playing marbles. He probably had the biggest collection of marbles in the school and hardly ever brought them all in. He dropped a few out of his cloth moneybag onto the grass behind the wall and said we could choose one each. I hesitated.

  “Go on then,” he said. “What’s the matter? They not good enough for you?”

  “No, it’s not that. I was just letting Wayne have first bats.”

  “It’s because you’re a snob, Hargreaves. Right up yourself. My dad reckons your dad looks down on us.”

  “It’s not true. Just because we’ve got extra.”

  “It’s true,” Wayne said, holding a marble up so the sun reflected through it. “I heard Mam and Dad talking about him, says he didn’t even wave when they let him through with his car. Stuck up.” The whistle sounded and I was pushed along towards the assembly hall doorway.

  The summer holidays were nearly here. I had seen my father at breakfast most days and kept my head down, hoping the tuition wasn’t going to continue. I couldn’t stand it. I tried to grasp what they were saying, hoping that he would see I’d done well, but he never said I had.

  He folded his newspaper and dropped it onto his briefcase. “Mr Blake tells me the effort is there. In a few years this will seem a normal level of work to you. It’s all about self-discipline.” He turned to Margaret, who’d just arrived in the kitchen, clutching her brown handbag tight to her side. Margaret looked like a grandma off TV. She had curly white hair and wore brown tights and drab clothes that were too hot for summer. No wonder oldies smelled so much.

  Father pointed at me. “Make sure he’s back straight after school. The scholar needs his practice.”

  My father had been so chirpy since I’d started the extra classes, but he wasn’t bothered that I was missing out on so many other things. I tried to tell him and promised to work harder at school, but he wouldn’t listen. It wasn’t fair, not being allowed out at night.

  Today was the last day of school. Tomorrow, the community scheme started. Mrs Snowdon, the headmistress, briefed the whole school at assembly about safety and good behaviour. She said the scheme was operated on a year-to-year basis and could easily be moved to another area if it wasn’t successful. No one was listening. All I could think about was the extra things we could do compared to last year. Five-a-side, tennis, you name it, we’d be in it. Extra work or not, he couldn’t keep me away from there all day.

  Wayne came up to me after assembly and he looked whit
e. Like he might puke.

  “What’s up?”

  He shook his head. “We’re going away for the summer.”

  “What? How long? When? Where to?”

  “Scotland to see Dad’s sister.”

  I had to stop myself crying. Then I had to stop my temper from getting up. What was I going to do?

  Wayne put an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry. John’ll still be here. You two are mates now. How do you think I feel, missing everything?”

  Wayne had to leave school at lunchtime. I tried to speak to John Ellis, to arrange a meet for tomorrow, but he was always too busy with older lads.

  I sat on a wall and watched some lads playing marbles. One had a huge clothbag full to the top, and he had the biggest ball bearing I’d ever seen. When I followed the game along the grass, he half-turned to warn me off. The others did the same. They were older than me so I guess it was okay. It wasn’t cool to be seen with younger lads.

  When the bell sounded for home time, I caught up with John Ellis at the gates.

  “See you down there tomorrow, John.”

  “Yeah, see you there. Wayne coming?”

  I didn’t get a chance to answer. He was off with a couple of mates.

  Margaret was standing on the other side of the road (a little deal we had going on), waiting to take me home.

  My father wasn’t at breakfast the following morning, but he had told Margaret to make sure I’d done the extra homework before letting me out to play. Tuition was continuing throughout the summer, although only every other night. This didn’t seem so bad with Wayne being away, and hopefully, I would have done enough extra work to stop all together by the time he got back.

  I finished the homework by ten and got changed into my shorts and t-shirt. Margaret made me a packed lunch, which I shoved into my bag with my strip and football boots. She insisted on walking me to the park and threatened to come right down and get me if I wasn’t at the gates to be picked up by three o’clock. I sat under a tree, in the shade.

  The park was packed with people playing football, tennis, netball, rounders, swing ball – you name it. And there were loads of groups hanging around, sitting in circles, waiting to get on things. To the left of the community centre was a half-blown-up bouncy castle, and the workers were putting the assault course out alongside it. The skateboarders were rocketing down the footpath and throwing themselves off at the bottom near the bouncy castle. If Wayne had been here, we would have ran straight over and put our names up for everything.