Read Online London Noir by Cathi Unsworth - Free Book Online
Authors: Cathi Unsworth
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might learn something.”
I dip my head and keep moving. Someone bumps into me, he’s about seventeen and I can just make out his eyes beneath that hood. I think twice as I know he is armed. He recognizes me. His face widens as I get in first.
“How’s your mum?”
“Yeah. She’s good.”
I’ll have to deal with him later.
I cross the road by the bank, or at least try to. The lights are on red but the cars just keep coming, afraid that if they were to stop, someone would drag the driver out and beat him to death. I walk out anyway, knowing I’ve got the law on my side. Hit me and I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth, after I’ve dragged you from your vehicle and beaten the life out of you, of course!
Haven’t been in a gym for a while, but you never lose it. Right cross. Uppercut. Jab. Pow. Pip. Pow. Super-middleweight titleholder from ’74 to ’77. Mike said he’d never seen a lad like me. Said I had the “killer’s gaze.”
I get to the other side. Away from the din. I cross again and dip between east and west, keeping an eye on Woodfield Place in case the 4x4 has found his stomach and decided to come back and face me.
No one.
I’m on the home stretch thinking about later, now I’ve made my decision.
A drunk is relieving himself against the bins outside the futuristic Science Photo Library next door to mine. A trusta-farian , some spill from the Hill seeking a cheap thrill, opens the door from one of the flats upstairs, and seeing what the drunk’s up to, pretends, It’s all good in da hood, bro .
“Don’t mind me.”
The guy spits, “I fucking won’t, cunt.”
After dumping his rubbish, I’ll fucking dump him in a minute, he shuffles off back to where he came from, counting out his father’s money, no doubt, in his ironic “chav” Burberry pajamas and fluffy slippers.
He glances, the guy still peeing, and he gives me a limp smile before hopping back indoors.
Life on the edge of a very plush cushion.
Indeed.
Something in the air catches me and sends me spiralling back through time.
Bernadette: Diorella.
Eileen: Diorissimo.
Margaret: Chanel No5.
In the distance, a crackhead screams for all she’s worth, maybe for all we’re worth.
“THE WHORE OF BABYLON! THE WHORE OF BABYLON!”
Blood songs coagulate in the black currents of a cold cold night.
The need to believe.
Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem.
Ready?
Ready as I’ll ever be.
I approach the mews and should I go in and change or just get on with it? I decide to perform the latter and go to the office. I skip around the back of the building and turn the key, walk in, and head for my desk. Mary approaches me with a smile.
“Father Donaghue?”
“Yes, Mary?” I toss my keys onto my desk. “What is it?”
“Well, Father, I know you’re very busy, but I was wondering if you might be able to add a few prayers tomorrow for my sister. A remembrance, if you would.”
“How long has it been now?”
“It’s been five years, Father. Five years since he took her away from us.” She begins to cry.
I put an arm round her and remind her that the Lord is with us. And to call me by my first name, which is Johnny.
She begins to feel a little uncomfortable, questioning my grasp ever so slightly with her eyes, and so I let her go and then offer her a drop, which she accepts.
“Father. I didn’t know.”
I stare at my glass.
“Neither did I, Mary. Neither did I.”
Mary takes a sip as I put my glass down onto the desk and pick up my crucifix.
We both laugh now and chat about the bargains to be found at Iceland and Somerfield and how the new pound shop is really quite amazing. Mary lowers her now empty glass back onto the tray by the whiskey decanter.
“Thank you, Father, I feel so much better now. Yourself? Settling in? Getting used to our little neighborhood? I know it seems a bit on the rough side, but …”
“Oh, I’ve seen worse, Mary, believe me. Now. I’ve plenty to do, as you can
I dip my head and keep moving. Someone bumps into me, he’s about seventeen and I can just make out his eyes beneath that hood. I think twice as I know he is armed. He recognizes me. His face widens as I get in first.
“How’s your mum?”
“Yeah. She’s good.”
I’ll have to deal with him later.
I cross the road by the bank, or at least try to. The lights are on red but the cars just keep coming, afraid that if they were to stop, someone would drag the driver out and beat him to death. I walk out anyway, knowing I’ve got the law on my side. Hit me and I’ll sue you for everything you’re worth, after I’ve dragged you from your vehicle and beaten the life out of you, of course!
Haven’t been in a gym for a while, but you never lose it. Right cross. Uppercut. Jab. Pow. Pip. Pow. Super-middleweight titleholder from ’74 to ’77. Mike said he’d never seen a lad like me. Said I had the “killer’s gaze.”
I get to the other side. Away from the din. I cross again and dip between east and west, keeping an eye on Woodfield Place in case the 4x4 has found his stomach and decided to come back and face me.
No one.
I’m on the home stretch thinking about later, now I’ve made my decision.
A drunk is relieving himself against the bins outside the futuristic Science Photo Library next door to mine. A trusta-farian , some spill from the Hill seeking a cheap thrill, opens the door from one of the flats upstairs, and seeing what the drunk’s up to, pretends, It’s all good in da hood, bro .
“Don’t mind me.”
The guy spits, “I fucking won’t, cunt.”
After dumping his rubbish, I’ll fucking dump him in a minute, he shuffles off back to where he came from, counting out his father’s money, no doubt, in his ironic “chav” Burberry pajamas and fluffy slippers.
He glances, the guy still peeing, and he gives me a limp smile before hopping back indoors.
Life on the edge of a very plush cushion.
Indeed.
Something in the air catches me and sends me spiralling back through time.
Bernadette: Diorella.
Eileen: Diorissimo.
Margaret: Chanel No5.
In the distance, a crackhead screams for all she’s worth, maybe for all we’re worth.
“THE WHORE OF BABYLON! THE WHORE OF BABYLON!”
Blood songs coagulate in the black currents of a cold cold night.
The need to believe.
Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem.
Ready?
Ready as I’ll ever be.
I approach the mews and should I go in and change or just get on with it? I decide to perform the latter and go to the office. I skip around the back of the building and turn the key, walk in, and head for my desk. Mary approaches me with a smile.
“Father Donaghue?”
“Yes, Mary?” I toss my keys onto my desk. “What is it?”
“Well, Father, I know you’re very busy, but I was wondering if you might be able to add a few prayers tomorrow for my sister. A remembrance, if you would.”
“How long has it been now?”
“It’s been five years, Father. Five years since he took her away from us.” She begins to cry.
I put an arm round her and remind her that the Lord is with us. And to call me by my first name, which is Johnny.
She begins to feel a little uncomfortable, questioning my grasp ever so slightly with her eyes, and so I let her go and then offer her a drop, which she accepts.
“Father. I didn’t know.”
I stare at my glass.
“Neither did I, Mary. Neither did I.”
Mary takes a sip as I put my glass down onto the desk and pick up my crucifix.
We both laugh now and chat about the bargains to be found at Iceland and Somerfield and how the new pound shop is really quite amazing. Mary lowers her now empty glass back onto the tray by the whiskey decanter.
“Thank you, Father, I feel so much better now. Yourself? Settling in? Getting used to our little neighborhood? I know it seems a bit on the rough side, but …”
“Oh, I’ve seen worse, Mary, believe me. Now. I’ve plenty to do, as you can
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