House of Lads Read online

  I’d made friends with another of the lads. Met him one day in the laundry room. Bungy. This chubby freckly lad from West Derby. He said they were flipping him to spy on some casino. He’d landed on his feet though, the fat sconehead. They wanted to plant him in a job in the kitchen there, so they were teaching him to cook.

  That morning I skipped class, I ran into him coming out of the canteen. He’d been baking gingerbread and nicked a jar of nutmeg. He reckoned you could get high on it if you ate enough. He said it was the best buzz going.

  I needed a laugh, didn’t I. My head was too rammed with spy shit. I went out with Bungy and his jar, down to the yard and behind the shed where they kept the sports gear.

  I karked down a mouthful of the spicy powder and waited for the buzz. Bungy snorted a big pinch of it straight up his nose and lay down on the gravel, oinking and turning red in the face. I pissed myself laughing. I couldn’t feel the buzz yet but my belly was glowing and turning numb. I turned round and went to lean against the shed. Didn’t make it.

  Paterson was blocking my way.

  “Lawrence is waiting for you,” he said. “Why aren’t you there?”

  I shrugged.

  “I asked you why you’re not in class.”

  I told him the truth, eh. Thought he’d like that.

  “I don’t trust that spod,” I said. “He’s trying to brainwash me.”

  Paterson raised his eyebrows.

  “He just wants us to hate foreigners,” I went on. “So I’ll go and twat them whenever you say.”

  “Perhaps you haven’t been listening right. You’ve got to go to his classes. It’s part of our deal.”

  “You’ve trained me up now. I could have anyone. I don’t have to go back to school.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  He grabbed my arm and started tugging me away, aiming for the door across the yard. Two screws in their white shirts came out of it and started crossing towards us.

  I shook my arm free. Paterson grabbed it again and shoved me against the wall of the shed, pinning me there by the shoulders.

  “You’re a tough lad, Azo,” he said. “But you don’t know whose side you’re on.”

  “I’m not the only one.”

  “What?”

  “I been watching the news.”

  It was true, God help me. They’d put a telly in my room but the only thing on it was the bloody BBC. All these kids dying from lurgy in Africa. Nurses and everyone catching it and spreading it around. Shit me up that. I’d never watched the news much. Now I remembered why. It put me well on edge.

  “I’ve seen all the shit that goes on,” I said to Paterson. “One day it’s one country, next it’s another. The same smartarses gobbing on about it. But no one’s really got a clue what they’re doing.”

  Wow. I really had been learning a thing or two. I was stringing whole lots of words together.

  “You don’t know where you come from, Azo,” Paterson said. “You don’t know who to fight for. Not yet. But we’ll show you.”

  “What about that mess in Africa? There’s thousands dead from that. Shouldn’t we be building hossies there instead?”

  He smiled. Smug bellend.

  “We will, Azo. Don’t worry. We’ll get there. Meanwhile we’ve got to take the fight to the bad guys elsewhere. That’s where you come in.”

  “I’d be more worried about catching a lurgy and shitting myself to death than some lad with a rifle five thousand miles away.”

  He looked at me like I was nuts. “No one’s going to give you a disease, Azo. You’re letting yourself get stressed. Keep your mind on the job. There’s always been diseases. But this other threat you’re helping us fight, it’s new.”

  I lost my rag. I knocked both his arms away and got one hand round his throat. This wicked neck grip that Ralph had shown us. It was Paterson’s back against the wall now. I dug my thumb and finger in his throat. Any harder and he’d start choking. He knew it. He didn’t wriggle. I kept my eyes fixed on his.

  The screws had reached us. One of them went over to Bungy, took his jar of nutmeg and peeled him off the floor.

  “Gerroff us,” he moaned. “It’s the best buzz goin’.”

  The other one came for me. Paterson raised a hand and held him off.

  I eased my thumb and let him speak. He cleared his throat. His voice stayed calm.

  “What’s this really about, Azo?”

  “It’s been weeks. I’ve done everything you’ve said. I’ve not whinged. And you’ve not let me see my boy once. I don’t have to put up with that.”

  He tilted his head, holding my gaze. He almost looked sorry.

  “Yes, you do,” he said.

  “If you’ll not let me see him, sod you. I’ve got no reason to stick around.”

  His gaze turned harder. “Then I’ll give you one,” he says. “I can pluck Ali off the street any time I want.”

  My voice trembled. “He’s done nothing wrong,” I said.

  “True. He’s a good lad, right?”

  Tears pricked up under my lids.

  “I’ve taken you off the radar,” Paterson said. “I can do it to him too.”

  “He’s four years old.”

  “They grow up so fast, don’t they?”

  Ten minutes later I was sitting in front of the white board, rubbing my eyes. Lawrence was teaching me all about the holy book. The nutmeg was kicking in.

  The classes went on for days. Lawro told me tales and showed me snaps. Sick shit. Wars. Bombings. Stacks of corpses. They were messing with my head alright. I looked and nodded, but I didn’t let them get inside me. I kept my mind on Ali.

  I wasn’t sure where we were, but the screws all seemed to be wools. Always the way, eh. They’re in it together with all the rest. They’d keep all us Scousers locked up if they could. They took the piss out of me. Maybe it was part of the training. Called me a scally. They found out I was Evertonian and rubbed it in. Glory-hunting Red wool mafia.

  Sometimes Paterson sat in while they trained me, tapping away on his laptop. I sat tight and waited for the right time to ask him where I was heading. It was like Frank said. The bizzies knew everything. Even about my dad, maybe. But they’d not tell me for free.

  6

  I looked out through the bars on my bedroom window. A car park and a patch of grass. I slurped the tea down. Got up and paced around my room. Nice big one with a thick carpet.

  I felt boss. Fit. Strong. Alive. Hadn’t had a drink my whole time there and I didn’t want one. I felt like getting out on the mats with Ralph to see if I could take him down. Not that morning, though. I’d been called for. They led me down the hall with my trainies squeaking on the lino, over to the far wing where Paterson had his office.

  He was sat at his desk looking at his laptop. Cardboard coffee cup. Waste paper bin. Grey steel filing boxes and a sofa. I sat on it and waited for him to speak.

  He took a chewy out of his mouth, wrapped it in paper and dropped it in the bin. He gave me a smile.

  “How are you feeling then?” he said.

  “Shite.”

  He grinned. “You don’t look it,” he said.

  He had this way of charming you. There was an edge to him though. I’d still no clue what made him tick.

  “I told you we’d make you feel better,” he said.

  “You never warned me about Ralph. We were on the mats yesterday. He thought he’d make up some new rules. Almost bit my nose off.”

  “He’s very pleased with you.”

  “That’s a first.”

  Paterson’s face went all blank. He did that a lot. Had a laugh, then dropped it fast and talked about something else.

  “What did you think of all that stuff the spods taught you?” he said. He’d learnt that word off me. He had this way of using my words, even though it didn’t suit him. “Those countries we’re worried about. What do you make of them?”

  “Sick,” I said. “Evil.” I’d learned that word off him.


  “Yes,” he said, softly. “It is.” He nodded and stared down at his desk. Then he perked up and looked me in the eye. “Azo. You told me when we first met that your father was from somewhere foreign.”

  I wriggled in my seat. That sicky feeling in my chest.

  “That’s what my mum said. I just remember him on Southport pier.”

  Paterson looked at his screen and nodded to himself.

  “Do you think he was a good man, Azo?”

  “No. He left, didn’t he?”

  “Did your mum tell you why?”

  I pointed at Paterson’s laptop. “Doesn’t it say in there?” I asked him. “It’s got everything else about me.”

  He smiled and tapped the top of the screen. “Not everything. But I’ll let you know if I work it out.”

  “Why are you so bothered about my dad anyway?”

  “I want to know you better. Tell me, did the spods teach you what’s going on in Syria?”

  “Yeah. There’s a bunch of scums and nonces who we’re trying to batter.”

  He raised his eyebrows and looked at the ceiling while he thought that through. “Erm... yes. That’s pretty much it,” he said. He laughed to himself. “And what do you think of them? Those... scums and nonces?”

  “Don’t know,” I said. “Guess if they’ve pissed the Yanks off they had it coming, eh?”

  “So you think we’re right to act there?”

  I thought for a sec. “Me, I wouldn’t go to all that bother just to kick some arse. But if you say they’re that bad, then whatever.”

  I didn’t know what I thought really. I’d say what I had to so I could get back to Ali and have a quiet life. But I didn’t like the way this chat was leading.

  “You think we’re just there to kick their backsides?” Paterson said.

  “That’s what them drones are for, isn’t it?”

  “What about the people there, though?” Paterson said. “Aren’t we helping them?"

  “Rude not to, eh?”

  He gave me that stern look. I was trying to be myself, but I wasn’t being sharp enough for Paterson. I never knew how to play it with him.

  “We’re building a new future for that part of the world.”

  He made it sound like a shopping centre. I wondered if there’d be a Sports Direct. And a Costa. They’ve got boss flapjacks.

  “Some people don’t want us to,” Paterson went on. “Even some people here in Britain. Even in Liverpool. They want things over there to stay the way they are so the scums can have their way. They say we are wicked. They brainwash young men like you to believe it. They use you to risk your lives for them.”

  Brainwashing, eh. Using me? That rang a bell. I didn’t say anything.

  “We’ve got to stop them, Azo,” he went on. “So people over there, young folk just like you, can enjoy the same freedoms that you enjoy.”

  I almost pissed my kecks and cried at the same time. Freedom? My hairy arse. Follow the money. I held it in though. I’d taught myself to shut up and swallow all this cack.

  “That’s why I took you on, Azo,” Paterson said. “You understand what’s at stake for folk in that part of the world. You’re one of the best chaps we can find to help them.”

  “I don’t speak the lingo.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ll be staying in Liverpool where you’re useful.”

  He winked and put his file on the table.

  “Do you know Toxteth?” he asked.

  “A bit.”

  “Know this newsagent’s on Lodge Lane?”

  He opened the file and took out a photo. Street view.

  “No.”

  He’d written the address on the back. He showed it to me, then put the pic away.

  “Well,” he said. “You’re going to get a job there.”

  That was a sick laugh an’ all. I’d had a job before.

  “They hiring?” I said.

  He chuckled. “You could put it that way. But they’re not the kind of folk to put an ad out. You’ll have to go down and make friends with them.”

  “It’s miles from mine,” I said.

  “You won’t be at yours anymore. I can’t have you living back in Bootle, with Frank popping round every five minutes. We’ve rented a flat in your name.”

  “And?”

  “That’s all for now. Here.”

  He reached in a drawer of his desk, took out a phone and handed it to me. My crappy old blue Nokia. With the buttons that hardly worked. I’d had it four years. Couldn’t afford a new one. Hello. Someone had polished it.

  “It looks pretty much like your old one,” he said. “Works the same, but this one’s in better nick. The phones are always a head-scratcher. It was too risky to give you a nice new one just for calling me. People would wonder how you got it. We can’t have you going to calling booths all the time because you’ll be seen coming and going and the lines are leaky. We can’t afford to give you a year’s stock of virgin SIM cards. In the end we’ve chosen this. You’ll have to learn my number by heart.”

  He laid down a scrap of paper.

  “That’s how you get hold of me. Each time, as soon as we’re done, you wipe the call memory. Remember that. Just this number. I’ll always answer.” He locked my gaze. “Any time of day or night, Azo. I’ll pick up. You start talking and tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “And what am I meant to be learning?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “So I’m spying on this shop? Who owns it?”

  “We don’t know.”

  “I’ll stick out like a sore arse just turning up there.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just be yourself.”

  “I’ll have to make up a story.”

  “Just a bit,” he said. “The beauty of you, Azo, is you’re fresh and clean, ops-wise. We could dress one of our men like a scally but the scums would smell bizzie on him. You’re a blank page. You could be one of those nutcases, or you could turn into one any time. So you’re going to act like you’re turning.”

  “Fun.”

  “You can tell them who you are. Your real name. You can talk like you, walk like you. Keep on bashing the bishop in the shower. You won’t even have to mug up on Toxteth and make out you know it like you’re from there. The whole story is that you’re coming from a life spent in Bootle. The only bit you do have to think about is why you’re moving.”

  I thought for a sec. “Have to be for work, wouldn’t it?”

  “Good. I think we’re covered.”

  “Eh?”

  “We went and told your pizza men what happened in The Grace.”

  “Why?”

  “We said it was an assault, not a killing. Still enough for them to sack you on the spot.”

  “Thanks very much.”

  “You’re welcome. Because now you’ve got good cause to be job-hunting. You’re coming out of jail, and you’ve a big tatty-chip on your shoulder because you went down for a fight someone else started. And you’re looking on the far side of the city, so you can stay away from the folks of the lad you battered.”

  “People get around.”

  “True. You’ll want to watch out for them. But as far as a cover story goes, it’s not half bad, because it’s more than half-true. Rough bit of town, Tocky. You’ll fit right in.”

  I sat with him for the rest of the afternoon while we padded out my backstory. Dab of bullshit here and there, polish it and paint it white. There was little enough of it, even a no-marks like me could make it sound real.

  At five o’clock we had a break. Someone brought in tea and biscuits. When we’d finished, the door opened. Ralph came in with car keys in his hand.

  “We’ll drop you off just north of Smithdown Road,” Paterson said. “You can wander down to your new flat. Get a feel for the place on the way.”

  This was it? Now?

  “I need to get my head into this.”

  “Meh,” Paterson honked. “Worst thing we can do is have you brooding on it.�
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  He stood up and put his jacket on.

  “Remember, Azo,” Paterson said. “Don’t try and see your boy. Or Frank. If you get in touch with them, your cover gets leaky. Then there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  7

  I walked along past the terraces with the bricks all painted over glossy red. Found a green door a few houses down off Lodge Lane. I unlocked it with the key they gave me. Walked up the staircase and let myself in. Put my rucksack down in the hall.

  Bedroom. Living room. All clean. Carpet, telly. Little kitchen. Nescafe in the cupboard. Tins of soup. Bottle of lemon squash.

  Someone had put up a high bar, wedged in the kitchen doorway. I jumped, grabbed it and did thirty chin-ups.

  I went out again and walked up to the main road. A big greengrocer’s on the corner with crates all laid out. Piles of these lumpy brown veggies I’d never seen before. I bought a banana and strolled along munching it. Hairdressers and cafes with all foreigny names. Bright pink and orange shop signs over the crumbling red bricks.

  The newsagent was a hundred yards up on the left. I dropped the banana skin in a bin and looked in the window. Board with ads hanging there. I looked for a job going. Didn’t see one. Just babysitters and odd-job men. Someone selling a guitar and amp.

  A bell pinged on the door as I went inside.

  A feller was standing at the till. I glanced at him and nodded as I passed. Didn’t stare. Just a quick look at him. Glasses. Stubble.

  I walked up and down the two aisles past shelves of bog roll and tins of beans. Took a can of Red Bull from one of the fridges. Looked at the magazines laid out across from the till.

  I felt the feller watching me.

  “You alright there, mate?” he said. English. Not Scouse though. Preston? Wigan? Them wools all sounded the same.

  “Where’s the paper with the jobs?”

  “Out tomorrow,” he said.

  “I’d better come back then, then.”

  Clever, Az-lad. I knew this lot would be too dodgy to have an ad out. But I couldn’t think of any better way to let on I was looking.

  I was at the counter. He took my Red Bull and rang it through.

  I got a closer look at him. Thirty-five. Balding. Spoddy with these round glasses and a cord jacket like a teacher. Scar on one eyebrow. Little pale circle, like a flap of skin got ripped off there.