John reached into his pocket, slowly pulling out a box of matches. He held them up so the watching officer could see what he was doing, struck one and his dad leant forward with the roll-up in his mouth.
‘Got everything for the new kitchen organized, have you?’ Clifford said through the side of his mouth and took a deep drag before blowing the smoke in the air.
‘Yeah, just a few more items needed but they’re expensive. I’ve rented a garage, cash payment under a false name, and we’re storing stuff there until we’re ready to begin,’ John said softly as he glanced round the room.
‘Is it secure?’ Clifford asked, and John nodded as he continued, ‘Good, yer don’t want anything nicked before you’re ready to go.’ His voice was gravelly from years of smoking and he had to cough frequently to clear his airways of phlegm. He handed John the roll-up and started to make another for himself.
‘You’ll have to work flat out when you start.’
‘Yes, Dad,’ the two sons said in unison.
‘Good, but make sure you always do it in the right hours. Don’t want locals complaining about the noise and calling the filth, do we,’ he said, referring to the police, and the boys shook their heads.
‘As soon as I’m released on parole I’ll help if you need me, but me joints ain’t what they used to be,’ Clifford said, putting the new roll-up in his mouth.
As he patted his pocket for a box of matches two young kids started fighting and screaming at each other. Clifford looked at the officer in the high chair and caught his eye.
‘Letting kids in this effing place does me eardrums in, officer, it shouldn’t be allowed… Can’t you sort ’em?’
The officer in the high chair nodded to his colleague on the floor to deal with the kids. Clifford used the opportunity to remove the palmed matches from his pocket and secretly place them on his lap under the table. John caught his father’s eye and nodding picked up the box of matches he had used to light their cigarettes. He held up his hand and rattled the box again towards the floor officer for permission to hand them to his father. The officer nodded and went over to speak to the mother of the screaming kids. Clifford took the matches from John, lit his roll-up and then switched them for the box on his lap.
‘So, who’ve you got to help decorate?’ Clifford asked and made a show of tapping the box on the table whilst puffing at the thin cigarette he had rolled so expertly.
‘Danny, the ex-Army bloke. He’s good with electrics and well up for it.’
Clifford realized Danny would be the ‘bell man’. He inhaled, slowly letting the smoke drift from his nose. ‘Boxer, weren’t he?’
John nodded. ‘Yeah, he fought middleweight in the Army. Tough son of a bitch.’
‘Well, if he’s up for it then you got to make sure he knows exactly what the job entails, but more important what I expect from him.’
‘He knows, Dad, he knows,’ John replied.
Clifford flicked the ash into a tin ashtray on the table, palmed John’s box of matches, and picking up his tobacco pouch folded it over, tucking the matches inside before putting it in his pocket. He looked at David.
‘You’ve not said a thing yet, son. You OK?’
‘I’m fine, Dad.’
‘Is he, John?’
‘For Chrissake, Dad, I can answer for meself!’
‘I’m sure you can, son, but your eyes look squiffy. You ain’t getting addicted to the painkillers, are yer, cos I warned you about them.’
‘No, Dad, I only take what I need.’
Clifford wagged his finger at David. ‘Are you on that wacky-backy shit? Loads of ’em use it in here and you can tell cos of their squiffy eyes.’
‘No, I was out with Ma in the rain the other night and got a bit of arthritis in me leg. It’s been real sore and keeping me awake so I’m just knackered, that’s all.’
‘How is she?’
John leaned forward. ‘She’s forgettin’ stuff all the time. If she gets any worse she’ll need to go in a nursing home. She’s not cleanin’ offices no more and I don’t like her goin’ out on her own.’
David glared at his brother. ‘She’s all right, I look out for her.’
‘Well, I’ll be out soon enough to check yer mother over and decide what’s best for her… but keep her indoors, and for Chrissake don’t let her have so much as a smell of the decorating job. There’s a pal of mine in here who’ll need a slice of bread. He’s got eight more years but he wants his missus and kids to have it while he finishes his stretch.’
‘What’s he got to do with it?’ David asked.
‘Let’s just say he put the decorating job our way and don’t question my decisions, son.’
‘Sorry, Dad,’ he said, looking dejected.
‘Are you going to be able to handle it, David?’ Clifford asked, having no worries about John.
David swallowed and nodded as he clasped his hands tightly together beneath the table. His leg was really throbbing and he started to rub his thigh.
‘We need him,’ John said, then leaned close to his brother and ruffled his hair.
‘He’s gonna be just fine, Dad. That’s right, isn’t it, Dave?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. We’ve not got all the gear yet but I’ll help John work on it.’
