首发偶发空缺 (临时空缺)-第51章

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nd　fiddling　with　things　in　there；　while　Terri’s　tiny　head　was　frightened　and　grim。　Krystal　had　woken　up　feeling　sick　and　angry　and　disgusted。

‘’E’s　a　fucker；’　said　Krystal。

‘Is　he　a　tall　bloke　with　a　shaved　head　and　tattoos　all　up　the　back　of　his　neck？’　asked　Fats；　who　had　truanted　for　a　second　time　that　week；　and　sat　on　a　wall　for　an　hour　in　the　Fields；　watching。　The　bald　man　had　interested　him；　fiddling　around　in　the　back　of　an　old　white　van。

‘Nah；　tha’s　Pikey　Pritchard；’　said　Krystal；　‘if　yeh　saw　him　down　Tarpen　Road。’

‘What　does　he　do？’

‘I　dunno；’　said　Krystal。　‘Ask　Dane；　’e’s　mates　with　Pikey’s　brother。’

But　she　liked　his　genuine　interest；　he　had　never　shown　this　much　inclination　to　talk　to　her　before。

‘Pikey’s　on　probation。’

‘What　for？’

‘He　glassed　a　bloke　down　the　Cross　Keys。’

‘Why？’

‘’Ow　the　fuck　do　I　know？　I　weren’t　there；’　said　Krystal。

She　was　happy；　which　always　made　her　cocky。　Setting　aside　her　worry　about　Nana　Cath　（who　was；　after　all；　still　alive；　so　might　yet　recover）；　it　had　been　a　good　couple　of　weeks。　Terri　was　adhering　to　the　Bellchapel　regime　again；　and　Krystal　was　making　sure　that　Robbie　went　to　nursery。　His　bottom　had　mostly　healed　over。　The　social　worker　seemed　as　pleased　as　her　sort　ever　did。　Krystal　had　been　to　school　every　day　too；　though　she　had　not　attended　either　her　Monday　or　her　Wednesday　morning　guidance　sessions　with　Tessa。　She　did　not　know　why。　Sometimes　you　got　out　of　the　habit。

She　glanced　sideways　at　Fats　again。　She　had　never　once　thought　of　fancying　him；　not　until　he　had　targeted　her　at　the　disco　in　the　drama　hall。　Everyone　knew　Fats；　some　of　his　jokes　were　passed　around　like　funny　stuff　that　happened　on　the　telly。　（Krystal　pretended　to　everyone　that　they　had　a　television　at　home。　She　watched　enough　at　friends’　houses；　and　at　Nana　Cath’s；　to　be　able　to　bluff　her　way　through。　‘Yeah；　it　were　shit；　weren’t　it？’　‘I　know；　I　nearly　pissed　meself；’　she　would　say；　when　the　others　talked　about　programmes　they　had　seen。）

Fats　was　imagining　how　it　would　feel　to　be　glassed；　how　the　jagged　shard　would　slice　through　the　tender　flesh　on　his　face；　he　could　feel　the　searing　nerves　and　the　sting　of　the　air　against　his　ripped　skin；　the　warm　wetness　as　blood　gushed。　He　felt　a　tickly　over…sensitivity　in　the　skin　around　his　mouth；　as　if　it　was　already　scarred。

‘Is　he　still　carrying　a　blade；　Dane？’　he　asked。

‘’Ow　d’you　know　’e’s　gotta　blade？’　demanded　Krystal。

‘He　threatened　Kevin　Cooper　with　it。’

‘Oh；　yeah；’　Krystal　conceded。　‘Cooper’s　a　twat；　innee？’

‘Yeah；　he　is；’　said　Fats。

‘Dane’s　on’y　carryin’　’cos　o’　the　Riordon　brothers；’　said　Krystal。

Fats　liked　the　matter…of…factness　of　Krystal’s　tone；　her　acceptance　of　the　need　for　a　knife；　because　there　was　a　grudge　and　a　likelihood　of　violence。　This　was　the　raw　reality　of　life；　these　were　things　that　actually　mattered　…　before　Arf　had　arrived　at　the　house　that　day；　Cubby　had　been　importuning　Tessa　to　give　him　an　opinion　on　whether　his　campaign　leaflet　should　be　printed　on　yellow　or　white　paper　…

‘What　about　in　there？’　suggested　Fats；　after　a　while。

To　their　right　was　a　long　stone　wall；　its　gates　open　to　reveal　a　glimpse　of　green　and　stone。

‘Yeah；　all　righ’；’　said　Krystal。　She　had　been　in　the　cemetery　once　before；　with　Nikki　and　Leanne；　they　had　sat　on　a　grave　and　split　a　couple　of　cans；　a　little　self…conscious　about　what　they　were　doing；　until　a　woman　had　shouted　at　them　and　called　them　names。　Leanne　had　lobbed　an　empty　can　back　at　the　woman　as　they　left。

But　it　was　too　exposed；　Fats　thought；　as　he　and　Krystal　walked　up　the　broad　concreted　walkway　between　the　graves：　green　and　flat；　the　headstones　offering　virtually　no　cover。　Then　he　saw　barberry　hedges　along　the　wall　on　the　far　side。　He　cut　a　path　right　across　the　cemetery；　and　Krystal　followed；　hands　in　her　pockets；　as　they　picked　their　way　between　rectangular　gravel　beds；　headstones　cracked　and　illegible。　It　was　a　large　cemetery；　wide　and　well　tended。　Gradually　they　reached　the　newer　graves　of　highly　polished　black　marble　with　gold　lettering；　places　where　fresh　flowers　had　been　laid　for　the　recently　dead。

To　Lyndsey　Kyle；　September　15　1960–March　26　2008；　
Sleep　Tight　Mum。

‘Yeah；　we’ll　be　all　right　in　there；’　said　Fats；　eyeing　the　dark　gap　between　the　prickly；　yellow…flowered　bushes　and　the　cemetery　wall。

They　crawled　into　the　damp　shadows；　onto　the　earth；　their　backs　against　the　cold　wall。　The　headstones　marched　away　from　them　between　the　bushes’　trunks；　but　there　were　no　human　forms　among　them。　Fats　skinned　up　expertly；　hoping　that　Krystal　was　watching；　and　was　impressed。

But　she　was　gazing　out　under　the　canopy　of　glossy　dark　leaves；　thinking　about　Anne…Marie；　who　（Aunt　Cheryl　had　told　her）　had　e　to　visit　Nana　Cath　on　Thursday。　If　only　she　had　skipped　school　and　gone　at　the　same　time；　they　could　have　met　at　last。　She　had　fantasized；　many　times；　about　how　she　would　meet　Anne…Marie；　and　say　to　her；　‘I’m　yer　sister。’　Anne…Marie；　in　these　fantasies；　was　always　delighted；　and　they　saw　each　other　all　the　time　after　that；　and　eventually　Anne…Marie　suggested　that　Krystal　move　in。　The　imaginary　Anne…Marie　had　a　house　like　Nana　Cath’s；　neat　and　clean；　except　that　it　was　much　more　modern。　Lately；　in　her　fantasies；　Krystal　had　added　a　sweet　little　pink　baby　in　a　frilly　crib。

‘There　you　go；’　said　Fats；　handing　Krystal　the　joint。　She　inhaled；　held　the　smoke　in　her　lungs　for　a　few　seconds；　and　her　expression　softened　into　dreaminess　as　the　cannabis　worked　its　magic。

‘You　ain’　got　brothers　an’　sisters；’　she　asked；　‘’ave　yeh？’

‘No；’　said　Fats；　checking　his　pocket　for　the　condoms　he　had　brought。

Krystal　handed　back　the　joint；　her　head　swimming　pleasantly。　Fats　took　an　enormous　drag　and　blew　smoke　rings。

‘I’m　adopted；’　he　said；　after　a　while。

Krystal　goggled　at　Fats。

‘Are　yeh　adopted；　are　yeh？’

With　the　senses　a　little　muffled　and　cushioned；　confidences　peeled　easily　away；　everything　became　easy。

‘My　sister　wuz　adopted；’　said　Krystal；　marvelling　at　the　coincidence；　delighted　to　talk　about　Anne…Marie。

‘Yeah；　I　probably　e　from　a　family　like　yours；’　said　Fats。

But　Krystal　was　not　listening；　she　wanted　to　talk。

‘I　gottan　older　sister　an’　an　older　brother；　Liam；　but　they　wuz　taken　away　before　I　wuz　born。’

‘Why？’　asked　Fats。

He　was　suddenly　paying　close　attention。

‘Me　mum　was　with　Ritchie　Adams　then；’　said　Krystal。　She　took　a　deep　drag　on　the　joint　and　blew　out　the　smoke　in　a　long　thin　jet。　‘He’s　a　proper　psycho。　He’s　doin’　life。　He　killed　a　bloke。　Proper　violent　to　Mum　an’　the　kids；　an’　then　John　an’　Sue　came　an’　took　’em；　and　the　social　got　involved　an’　it　ended　up　John　an’　Sue　kept　’em。’

She　drew　on　the　joint　again；　considering　this　period　of　her　pre…life；　which　was　doused　in　blood；　fury　and　darkness。　She　had　heard　things　about　Ritchie　Adams；　mainly　from　her　aunt　Cheryl。　He　had　stubbed　out　cigarettes　on　one…year…old　Anne…Marie’s　arms；　and　kicked　her　until　her　ribs　cracked。　He　had　broken　Terri’s　face；　her　left　cheekbone　was　still　receded；　pared　to　the　right。　Terri’s　addiction　had　spiralled　catastrophically。　Aunt　Cheryl　was　matter　of　fact　about　the　decision　to　remove　the　two　brutalized；　neglected　children　from　their　parents。

‘It　’ad　to　’appen；’　said　Cheryl。

John　and　Sue　were　distant；　childless　relatives。　Krystal　had　never　known　where　or　how　they　fitted　in　her　plex　family　tree；　or　how　they　had　effected　what；　to　hear　Terri　tell　it；　sounded　like　kidnap。　After　much　wrangling　with　the　authorities；　they　had　been　allowed　to　adopt　the　children。　Terri；　who　had　remained　with　Ritchie　until　his　arrest；　never　saw　Anne…Marie　or　Liam；　for　reasons　Krystal　did　not　entirely　understand；　the　whole　story　was　clotted　and　festering　with　hatred　and　unforgivable　things　said　and　threatened；　restraining　orders；　lots　more　social　workers。

‘Who’s　your　dad；　then？’　asked　Fats。

‘Banger；’　said　Krystal。　She　struggled　to　recall　his　real　name。　‘Barry；’　she　muttered；　though　she　had　a　suspicion　that　was　not　right。　‘Barry　Coates。　O’ny　I　uses　me　mum’s　name；　Weedon。’

The　memory　of　the　dead　young　man　who　had　overdosed　in　Terri’s　bathroom　floated　back　to　her　through　the　sweet；　heavy　smoke。　She　passed　the　joint　back　to　Fats　and　leaned　her　head　against　the　stone　wall；　looking　up　at　the　sliver　of　sky；　mottled　with　dark　leaves。

Fats　was　thinking　about　Ritchie　Adams；　who　had　killed　a　man；　and　considering　the　possibility　that　his　own　biological　father　was　in　prison　somewhere　too；　tattooed；　like　Pikey；　spare　and　muscled。　He　mentally　pared　Cubby　with　this　strong；　hard　authentic　man。　Fats　knew　that　he　had　been　parted　from　his　biological　mother　as　a　very　small　baby；　because　there　were　pictures　of　Tessa　holding　him；　frail　and　bird…like；　with　a　woolly　white　cap　on　his　head。　He　had　been　premature。　Tessa　had　told　him　a　few　things；　though　he　had　never　asked。　His　real　mother　had　been　very　young　when　she　had　him；　he　knew　that。　Perhaps　she　had　been　like　Krystal；　the　school　bike　…

He　was　properly　stoned　now。　He　put　his　hand　behind　Krystal’s　neck　and　pulled　her　towards　him；　kissing　her；　sticking　his　tongue　into　her