A Kind of Hush (12 page)

It'd been almost two months and we still hadn't seen Wiwa. Most of that time had been taken up with sorting ourselves out.

Beryl had been making all of the arrangements for the new family home. Ali was much better, Cheri was in play school and coming on in leaps and bounds. Me and the lads met up a few times, not for business or anything, just to hang around and have a bit of fun.

We were all worried about Wiwa and hoped that he'd got the message about Alan's funeral. It had taken so long to get permission to bury him because the police had kept him on ice while they finished their investigations. But at last it was time to put him to rest.

Eight thousand, four hundred pounds buys the most amazing funeral.

The coffin shone, real gold handles, pure silk inside. Alan was dressed in a new suit, Georgio Armani. Gucci shoes and a Dior shirt completed the look. His Raybans were placed over his eyes, he loved his shades. He looked the best we'd ever seen him. The undertaker must have worked miracles with his face, not a mark, not a scratch was to be seen.

With the six of us were Beryl with Jen, Ali and Cheri and Chris and his family. About twenty of our own friends, past and present had also turned up. Not one of the slags from Alan's family was to be seen. Not even his Nan, the one who couldn't cope without him. They never even sent a card.

We had nine limos with the hearse and a stunning amount of flowers. The first five motors were full of them. We had a special done by the florist which was in the shape of a star with Alan's name across the middle. It stood four and a half feet high and was mounted on top of the hearse at the front. The police superintendent sent some flowers too, that was nice, considering he didn't even know Alan.

We were just about to move off when we heard a shout from the top of the road.

'Oi!' it screamed, 'wait for me!' It was Wivva and he was in a fucking army uniform. He ran, clumping down the road in his heavy boots. We couldn't believe it.

'What the bloody hell have you done now?' said Mick.

'Joined up, ain't I?' said Wivva. 'I said I would.'

'So that's where you've been all this time then,' said Si.

'Yep, basic training in Colchester.'

'Why didn't you tell us?' asked Mick.

'Are you kidding, you would only have talked me out of it.'

'You're enjoying it then?' I said.

'Fucking right,' said Wivva. 'Best thing I've ever done.'

'Look out, Iraq, here comes Wivva,' we all said together.

'Too right,' said Wivva pumping out his chest. 'Too fucking right.'

We cruised slowly from the funeral parlour in Holloway out to the cemetery in Barnet. All of the motors including the hearse were blasting out Alan's favourite sounds.

You know we all used to take the piss something rotten out of Alan for the stuff he used to listen to, but I don't think anyone could have chosen better for the occasion. For the trip to the cemetery, the Smiths belted out their best. During and after the service, it was Ian Dury and Steve Harley. Alan was well into the Smiths because he was convinced that Morrissey was deaf and he admired Ian Dury because he was handicapped. He thought it was fucking brilliant how they had overcome their problems and made it big.

As for Steve Harley? Well it was just the name of his band, Cockney Rebel. Alan lived that name to the full.

We all carried his coffin into the chapel. The service was a bit heavy, we all cried, but Alan would have agreed that we did him proud. The headstone had his name and the dates of his birth and death, and in big gold letters, on the black marble were the words:

THE

MAGNIFICENT

ONE

We all went back to Max's, he amazed us with a five-course meal and all the booze that we could handle. We had to pay him mind you, in advance.

We were about to tuck into the meal when Max stood on a chair and called for all of us to be quiet. He looked at us and said, 'I would like you all to raise your glasses 
please, to toast the memory of a boy who tragically had his life taken from him, when he had so much left to live for. A toast please to Alan, a very nice young man, a young man who knew the true meaning of friendship.'

Max looked at us all when he spoke those last words. We knew exactly what he meant. We all toasted Alan.

I started to fill up again. With all that was going on, none of us had remembered to toast Alan's memory. I was full of admiration for Max for doing that for us.

Alan, if you're listening, mate, we miss you.

Alan's funeral seemed to change us all. It's hard to explain but it was like we all no longer had a need to be together. The job was done and we were free at last to get on with our lives. We'd had enough of all of the violence and hurt. Enough of the sleaze and corruption and disgusting old men with their disgusting needs. It was time for us all to change, time to find another way of living. All of us that is except Mick.

Mick was obsessed with getting the MP. Long after we had all gone our different ways Mick would still haunt the addresses in the book, in the hope that he could catch the MP at it. It took him six months or so before he had any success.

He arrived at an address in South London late one night and saw the MP's Roller parked outside. Unable to do anything about the activities that he was sure were going on inside the house, he set fire to the car, nicked its Silver Lady emblem and legged it just before it blew up scattering burning debris all over the place. He took the emblem to Alan's grave and fixed it to the headstone. That was joined shortly after by a Jaguar emblem from the car of one of the television personalities whose name was in the book.

When Mick's not working he can almost always be found at Alan's graveside, where he just sits and talks. There's no happy ending for Mick, though he'd never admit that. I make sure that I see him whenever I can.

Wivva was the first to show us that there is a life other than the life that we had been living. By joining the army he'd made a whole new life for himself.

He made it to Iraq, they even gave him his own gun, silly bastards. His first letter to us from there told us in great detail what had happened to a rat that had been foolish enough to run across his gun sight when he was on the practice range.

'Five rounds rapid fire,' he wrote, 'and the rat was history. No arse, no head, no nothing.'

A short time later he was nicked by the Military Police for going AWOL with a French Foreign Legion soldier named Albert who comes, believe it or not, from Hebden Bridge up in Yorkshire or something. It seems that they had nicked a load of booze from the American camp and got caught trying to sell it to their mates. So they did a runner. Wivva reckoned that he was lucky to be in the British Army because his mate got two years hard from the French. He only got one month and a caution. He's due back in a couple of weeks, so we are all going to get together, go out and get totally rat-arsed.

Si's settled down really nicely with Uncle Chris and family. He's back in school and actually seems to like it. He's going for his GCSEs soon. The streets are something that Si used to do now, there's no need any more.

I think the best thing is that Si has at last stopped sniffing. Chris took him up to the hospital and they found that he had a simple sinus problem. A small operation 
later and he was totally cured. No more sniffing, no more runny nose. Chris is really pissed off that no one cared enough about the kid to go and get him checked out sooner, especially when you see the change in him since that operation. He's like a whole new kid. He's happier and more confident now than he's ever been.

Pete and Den got the idea into their heads that they could start a rock group. Trouble is that no one told them that they would actually have to be able to play their instruments, and strumming blow-up guitars at Quo concerts wasn't really the best way to learn. It was a disaster of course, but they had a lot of fun trying. They are now working for a bloke who touts tickets around the West End and can be seen most weekends working the queues outside the theatres. They seem happy enough.

Tony's back with his mum. Lovely story this. He went to visit her, he says, to get her out of his system. But when she opened the door, she flung her arms around him, hugged him tight and cried her bleeding eyes out. He started blubbing too. She dragged him inside and they sat and talked for hours. The result is that she wants him to live with her again and rebuild their lives together. You know, all Tony ever wanted was his mother's love and now he's got it, we're all really chuffed for him.

Beryl and the girls sold up and bought a big house out in the sticks. Ali's working and Jen is looking for work. Cheri is brilliant, she's in school and is getting on really well. If you didn't know better, you would swear that nothing had ever happened to her. Beryl's in her element caring for them all.

As for me, well, I got my job back at the hotel. The new chef didn't want me because I'd let him down by leaving 
without telling him, but for some reason George pulled some strings with his family and I was taken back. I really feel shitty now about the way I treated him before.

I went back to college, got my qualifications, and I'm soon going to be second chef. Beryl and the girls threw a big party for me when I qualified.

I've also got a steady girlfriend now, we've been going together for some time. So much so that Ali and Jen are on my back trying to get me to make an honest woman of her. No chance. I've seen what marriage can do to people. And as for having kids, well they can forget that, I'm not bringing any kids into this shitty world.

You know, all this time later and still no one's been done for all that shit we uncovered. Even the geezer we shut in the freezer truck was released. All that work for nothing, eh?

Mick'll continue doing his bit I'm sure, and if he ever needs us, we're there for him. But I often wonder why the Old Bill didn't do anything. Was it because they couldn't? Or wouldn't? Were they stopped from acting by the MP and his cronies? Or were some of the Old Bill themselves involved? Maybe I'll never know, but one thing's for sure, I'm never going back to the way that I was, doing the things that I did. Not because I'm ashamed of it or anything, though to be honest, we did do some very stupid things during that time. But because there is no room for that shit in my life any more. After all, I've now got responsibilities, I'm gonna be the best chef this town's ever seen and have a restaurant that's second to none. Maybe I'll even be a telly cook. Well, a man can dream, can't he . . .