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Chapter 23

Gurdy knew something wasn’t right the very second Paddy put his foot to the floor. Why the hell had he agreed to get in his car? Why the hell hadn’t he just said he’d follow him to wherever they were going on his own?

It had been a strange Tuesday morning all told. It had started normally enough – he’d gone to work in the garage, just as Paddy had asked him to the previous evening – but no Paddy himself – he’d simply not showed – even though there was a car they were supposed to be working on and he knew there were things Gurdy couldn’t deal with on his own. He wasn’t a fucking mechanic after all, was he?

And still no sign of Paddy, as the morning wore on, even though he’d said he’d be there around nine, after dropping Vicky off at work. So Gurdy had cracked on – daydreaming about DJ Steve, formulating his grand plans in Leeds – the latter ever more urgent now that brown had been brought into the equation. That was one line he was never going to cross. No way was he getting involved in dealing heroin.

But there was only so much he could do to the car. Paddy knew that. So when, by half eleven, Paddy still hadn’t showed, Gurdy began to get anxious.

Either he’d had to do something unexpected for Mo and couldn’t call, or – worse – the fucking cops had pulled him in again. Which wouldn’t have surprised Gurdy, even though he fervently wished it otherwise – Paddy had been dealing coke so fucking blatantly on Sunday and Monday that it was almost like he was asking to be arrested again. Like they’d have to do it as a public bloody service.

Then the call from him, finally, just after twelve. ‘Meet me at the lock-up at one.’ No ‘Hello’, no ‘How are you?’ No explanation for his absence. Just the order barked at him. To which Gurdy’d obviously said okay. Then locked the garage, got in his Mini and drove there.

He grabbed the door handle, for stability. And now this. Paddy weird. Paddy antsy. Paddy scowling. And straight out of one car and into another. Into Paddy’s Capri, at his insistence, which smelt of some sickly air freshener. One of several swinging from the rear-view mirror. Fruity.

Gurdy felt trapped now. Sweaty. And the smell made him nauseous. And, as the Capri began screaming down the road in what looked like the wrong direction, very frightened as well.

In truth he had always been frightened of Paddy. It had never been one of those relationships where he felt he could be himself. They were thin on the ground anyway – Vic and Luce, his brother Vikram. But he’d always accepted that – after all, he was an odd-ball, everyone knew that. And he’d never had what it took to build a circle of friends. And, besides, he’d always thought that was the way it worked with business. Yes, he was nervous of Paddy and his volatile behaviour, but the same went for Paddy, with Mo. He’d not witnessed it often but the couple of times he’d seen Paddy around the scary Rasta, he saw his own anxiety and fear mirrored in Paddy’s eyes. That was obviously how it worked. That was why it was called a pecking order – with the lowliest in the chain, him, getting pecked the most.

Now, though, he was a million per cent more frightened of Paddy. This new version – knocked into shape during those nine months in prison – was one he no longer felt he knew. He’d been difficult to deal with from the minute he’d been released, as if he had to roll around town like some sort of gangster to prove a point that he was harder than everyone else. No longer just the local baker’s wayward son, but a drug-fuelled not-to-be-messed-with ex-convict.

Convict. A hard word. Gurdy really hated ‘hard’. Hated the whole notion of what men thought they had to be. Hated all those horrible masculine trappings – even more since he’d accepted the person he was. He was counting the days now till he could get out and reinvent himself too.

Away from here. Away from this. He thought of Steve. Just a shag, but a watershed moment. Get away so he could finally become himself.

He really had absolutely no idea where they were going. Obviously not to anywhere he’d been to before. So where? They seemed to be headed out of town. On some dodgy secret job for Mo perhaps? Hadn’t Paddy already mentioned the word ‘mission’? He hoped not. Lucy’s concerns kept coming back to him and he feared for his liberty. Couldn’t get the tone of her voice out of his head – her implication that some sort of ‘net’ was closing in.

They screamed towards another junction, and Paddy glanced left and right, looking for crossing traffic, and, as he did so, Gurdy noticed just how manic he really looked. His eyes seemed glazed and unfocussed, like he was looking but not seeing, and Gurdy wondered how much – and what – he might have taken. Always the bloody drugs, these days. Paddy seemed always high on something, and no longer just in the nights, but in the days. Tenfold, since he’d come out of prison. When Gurdy felt braver, he’d say something. Someone had to say something. Didn’t he realise what he was doing to himself?

He brushed clammy hands along the legs of his jeans. ‘Pads, mate, what’s going on? Where are we off to?’

Paddy swung the car onto the main road, a grin plastered on his face now, and, instead of answering, simply clicked on the radio. It blared a dance song, mid-track – ‘I’m gonna run away from you’ – which was so entirely at odds with the mood in the car that, had he not been so dry-mouthed with fear, Gurdy might have laughed.

And the fear was only growing as they got further out of town. Paddy Allen was a lunatic of the highest fucking order, and this little trip they were taking was all wrong. All so wrong.

And as the car sped past bits of town that Gurdy knew to be dodgy, he felt his insides begin to churn. Why wasn’t Paddy speaking? Why wasn’t he telling him where they were going? ‘Paddy!’ he said again, adding a little volume to his voice now that it was having to compete with the radio. ‘Stop messing around, man. Where are we off to, and why are you driving so fucking fast? There’ll be coppers all over up here.’

Paddy glanced at him, that same crazed look in his eyes. ‘No coppers where we’re going, my little Paki mate,’ he said. ‘In fact I doubt we’ll be disturbed by anyone at all.’

Gurdy’s insides churned some more. What the fuck did that mean? ‘Please stop, Paddy,’ he tried. ‘I really need a piss, and I feel sick.’

‘You fucking pussy,’ Paddy taunted, laughing so much that he was actually rocking in the driver seat, making the car buck and lurch. ‘You think I’m fucking stupid, eh? Eh?’

Then, out of nowhere, he landed a punch on Gurdy’s ear.

A hard one. ‘Fuck, that hurt!’ Gurdy gasped, astonished.

Paddy glared. ‘It was supposed to! You think I’m as fucking stupid as that fucking Jimmy? Eh? Or his ugly fucking bird, eh?’

Gurdy’s terror now ramped up to a whole new level. ‘Bloody hell, Pad – what the fuck are you on about, mate?’

‘I’m fucking on to you, “mate”,’ he hissed. ‘Got it? I fucking know what you’ve been up to. I know everything.’

Gurdy couldn’t help it. He suddenly lost control of his bladder and could only look down in horror as a hot urine stain began to bloom across the crotch of his jeans. Fuck, and the smell. It made his eyes smart.

Though Paddy didn’t seem to notice. He was banging his fists on the steering wheel as he drove – down some country lane, hedgerows zipping by in a green blur. Fuck! What the hell was all this about?

‘I swear, Pad, I don’t know what you’re on about,’ he pleaded. ‘I’d never do or say anything against you. You know that. I’m loyal, man. I swear on my mother’s life.’

Another stinging punch connected with the side of his head. He saw stars – tiny diamonds that danced around in front of him, and all he could think was how hard it must be to drive a car and punch him all at the same time. Perhaps they’d crash now, as well, and he welcomed it.

‘Shut the fuck up, you Paki cunt! It’s all down to you! You and that fucking Daley have been plotting against me all along. Shagging my bird, too? Eh? Eh? It’s all making fucking sense now. That it? You forget, “mate”, that I’m NOT A FUCKING IDIOT! I’ve seen stuff. I’ve got fucking eyes in my head!’