Rule of Night (25 page)

IT IS VERA, NOT JANICE AT THE DOOR AS HE HAD HOPED,
and Kenny barges past her and is halfway up the stairs before she can find her voice. The TV is blaring out to an empty living-room and Kenny stands in the middle of the floor breathing hard, his fists working. The fact that Janice isn't here disconcerts him. He had thought up a plan in his mind. Now he doesn't know what to do next – except maybe put his boot through the television screen and kick the furniture to pieces.

Vera says, ‘Outside. Come on, you bloody bastard. You can see she isn't here.'

‘Where is she?' Kenny says without turning round.

‘She's not here, I've told you. If you don't leave I'm calling the police. I mean it.'

‘I said where the fuck is she?' Kenny says, staring straight ahead at the wall above the television screen.

‘Don't threaten me,' Vera says. ‘Don't swear at me. If you're not out of this flat in one minute I'm calling the police. Don't think I won't do, because I will. We've had enough of you. Janice as well, your fighting and trouble-making and getting into bother. You're out now but they'll put you back in bloody fast if I tell them you've been round here pestering us.'

‘Look,' Kenny says, turning round to face her. She sees that his eyes are bulging and bloodshot, and the finger he points at her is shaking. ‘I don't want any more out of you, you old cow. It was you landed me in it. I want to see Janice, it's got nothing to do with you, so you'd better tell me where she is.'

‘Oh aye?' Vera says, stepping inside the room. ‘Or what will you do? You're a mug, Kenny, do you know that? Straight out of
borstal and straightaway you come round here making threats. One word from me, the police would be here in ten minutes and you wouldn't have a leg to stand on.' Her voice suddenly rises and she puts her hands on her hips. ‘Now are you going to clear out this minute or do I have to bloody call them?'

‘Do what you like,' Kenny says. ‘I want to see Janice first. You sent her away to keep her from seeing me, didn't you? Fucking interfering jealous old cow, that's all you are.'

‘Jealous of what?' Vera says. ‘Jealous of you? Jealous of
you?
My God, I'd be jealous of Quasimodo if I was jealous of you.'

‘You sent her away to Halifax.'

‘You heard about that, did you?' Vera says, her head nodding mechanically. ‘Well it had nowt to do with keeping her away from you. She wouldn't have been up to see you even if she hadn't gone away. It was to clear up your bloody handiwork, you big dozy lummox. Had your fun and left our Janice to cope on her own with what came after. That's bloody typical of you, a selfish ignorant pig like you.'

‘Where is she?'

‘If you think I'd tell you—'

‘Where is she?' Kenny says again. ‘I know she's not still in Halifax because she's been seen in Rochdale…' There is a thought niggling him but as yet he can't place it. He rushes on headlong: ‘You can't keep us away from each other. I know she wants to see me—'

‘That's where you're wrong,' Vera says tartly. She strides across the room to turn the television off. ‘She doesn't. That's where you're bloody wrong. Do you really think after what you did that she wants to see you again? You must want your bloody slates attending to. You!' She screws up her face as though at an unpleasant smell. ‘Somebody who's been in borstal! Who can't hold a job down! Who gets a girl into trouble and leaves her to fend for herself!'

‘Look, woman,' Kenny says quietly but getting really angry. ‘I didn't know anything about that till I was inside, did I? Did I? What did you expect me to do – break out of the place? And by that time she was in Halifax anyway…' The same thought continues to niggle him. He stares at Vera, his eyes protruding under the heavy lids, and says slowly, ‘You sent her away to get rid of it.' He is genuinely shocked by this. He wanders round the room looking at the furniture.

Standing by the television set Vera says, ‘What did you expect? Did you think I'd let her have it? Your bastard? You must be bloody thicker than I thought you were. Do you think I'd allow my daughter to be lumbered with a kid of yours?' The venom is spilling out now. ‘A girl that age having to bring up a child whose father isn't man enough to hold down a job for two minutes. You must be bloody joking. I wouldn't give a brat of yours house-room. What, lumbering my Janice with a kid and her still at school?
Your
kid? Jesus Christ!'

Kenny comes partly to his senses and stops looking at the furniture to gaze at Vera. She holds her ground but for the first time begins to realise the strength within him and the dangerous nature of the situation. She has to get rid of him, she can't keep him talking, not with Janice in the bedroom.

‘You fucking twat,' Kenny says. ‘You made her have an abortion. You forced her into it. What's up with you, are you mad or something?'

‘Oh,' Vera says. ‘Oh yes. You'd have kept it, would you? You'd have supported it, would you, on bloody nothing, on sweet F.A. I can just see it – aye – a dead-leg like you, settling down with a wife and kiddie. You can't support yourself without robbing folk. The way I treated you, as one of the family, eating here, sleeping here, and all you can do is steal money from me. That's all the thanks I get. I might have known it, a bloody deadbeat like you.'

‘Aye,' says Kenny cunningly, ‘one of the family all right. You weren't so bloody choosy when I slept here, were you? Couldn't keep your hands off me dicky—'

‘Shut
up,'
Vera says. ‘Shut your fucking dirty mouth. And get out. Get out, I'm calling the police. I mean it this time.'

‘Jealousy, that's all it is. I knew it.'

‘I will,' Vera says. ‘I will call them,' going for the telephone. Kenny moves forward, not standing in her way, but adopting an attitude which makes her think twice. She stands with her white strained face, arm reaching out, uncertain what to do.

‘Go on,' Kenny says. ‘Fucking call them. Go on.' He would really like her to do it because it is the excuse he needs. Their mutual hatred feeds on itself: the absolute repulsion of two people who have once liked each other. Strangers could not have loathed each other with half the intensity.

‘I will,' Vera says.

‘Go on then.'

‘Don't kid yourself I won't do it.'

‘I know you will,' Kenny says. ‘I wouldn't expect anything else of a slag like you. That's why I feel sorry for Jan, being brought up by somebody who trades it all over Rochdale. What do you charge, Vera, five quid a night and ten bob for a quick knee-trembler? Christ, it's a wonder they don't need climbing boots and a rope-ladder when they have a go at you. Course they can always get help from the blokes already in there. Stand on each others' shoulders and form a rescue party.'

‘Right,' Vera says. ‘Out of my way.' She swings at him and Kenny parries it easily. He raises his fist as if to strike her. ‘You just bloody do,' Vera says. ‘I can have you right now for breach of the peace. You lay a finger on me and it'll be assault as well.'

‘Yeh?' Kenny says. ‘You'd better make sure you're in a fit state to call the police.'

‘What?' Vera says. ‘What? You threatening me? Are you bloody stupid or something? You've only just been let out and you're asking to be shoved right back inside – only this time it won't be just borstal.'

‘That won't help you though, will it?' Kenny says.

‘Don't talk so bloody daft,' Vera says.

‘No…' Kenny says, and stops. He has noticed a cardigan on the arm of a chair. It is Janice's cardigan. He looks swiftly round the room, realising how stupid he has been, and sees two half-empty beakers of tea on the coffee table. ‘She's here,' he says, going out quickly before Vera can get in his way, along the passage to the door of Janice's bedroom and grasping the handle. It is locked. Vera comes up behind him. ‘Don't open the door,' she calls out in a voice thin with panic. ‘Come on, you bloody bastard,' getting hold of his arm and trying to drag him away.

‘Jan?' Kenny says.

‘Don't open the door,' Vera says, striking him on the shoulder.

‘Jan, it's me,' Kenny says. He hunches his body to protect himself from Vera's attack, then, losing his temper, suddenly snarls and lashes out backwards with his fist. Vera is thrown against the wall.

‘I'll get the police, Janice, I'll get the police. Don't open the door.'

‘Jan, open the door,' Kenny says, ‘it's me, Kenny.'

‘Janice!' Vera screams.

‘Fuck
off,'
Kenny yells, swinging at her again and missing. She tries to kick him but Kenny thumps her in the chest and she falls on the floor.

‘He's attacking me, he's insane,' Vera screams. ‘Don't open the door whatever you do.' She gets to her feet and runs into the living-room.

‘Are you coming with me, Jan?' Kenny says. ‘Don't be scared, she won't hurt you. Are you all right? I know about the kid, I know she made you get rid of it. It doesn't matter, honestly. We can still
go away, the two of us. Don't be frightened of your mother, she won't hurt you. Janice?
Janice
?' He bangs on the door with his fist. He can break the door down easily, he knows that, he can handle that without any trouble. What he can't understand is why she won't answer him. Why won't she talk to him? He feels strangely weak because of this. The least she can do is talk to him after all he's been through. He can hear Vera speaking in the living-room. He bangs on the door again, becoming desperate. This is the one thing he has; the rest doesn't matter if he has this. She can't let him down, she can't do, it isn't fair. He's done his share, he's waited two months, he's counted the days.

‘Janice,' Kenny yells. ‘Open this fucking door!'

There is a sound he can't identify – yet something human – behind the door. He grasps the handle but doesn't attempt to force it.

‘Jan,' Kenny says in a quiet, reasonable voice, ‘please open the door. I only want to talk to you. Look, if you don't want to come away with me it's all right. I'm not going to force you or anything. Let me just talk to you at least. Your mother won't touch you, honestly, I promise.' He waits for a moment. There is another sound behind the door, as though somebody is standing very close to it, leaning on it, yet almost not daring to breathe. Kenny puts his mouth to the door; there can be no more than an inch or so separating them.

‘Jan?' he says softly. He can hear breathing.

‘Go away,' Janice says.

In the living-room Vera has put the phone down and is lighting a cigarette to steady her nerves. She takes a long deep drag and looks at her watch.

‘Jan,' Kenny says. ‘For fuck's sake.'

‘They'll be here any minute,' Vera calls out. ‘Then we'll see how tough you are. Striking a woman, that's just about your bloody mark.'

Kenny slams the door once with his fist and runs out of the flat and down the stairs. It is now completely dark and the yellow street-lights are shining palely as the cold northern night comes on; it isn't raining but there is the threat of it in the air. He looks towards town and then walks along Bury Road in the opposite direction.

Rochdale Observer, 2 February 1974

BOROUGH MAGISTRATES

WEDNESDAY

PROBATION OFFENCE
 – K______ H______, aged nineteen, of no fixed address, was, sent to Manchester Crown Court to be dealt with for a breach of probation. The order had been made by the court in March 1973 when H______was convicted of burglary and theft. He was ordered to report to Rochdale probation officer, Mrs Jean Greenhalgh. But Mrs Greenhalgh told magistrates H______ had failed to report to her from last May. He had given himself up to the police at Kidder-minster, she added.

USUALLY I HAVE ONLY THE HAZIEST NOTION OF HOW A
particular novel came to be written – the spark that ignited the idea in the first place. This one is the exception; I know exactly when and where and even why
Rule of Night
came into being.

It was one Saturday afternoon in the early Seventies. I was standing on the terraces at Spotland, a keen Rochdale supporter (someone has to be; we each have our cross to bear), though from a distance of 30 years I can't remember who we were playing that day. In the novel I reprinted an item from the
Rochdale Observer
, ‘Soccer Mob Runs Wild', about a match against Blackburn Rovers (imagine – the Dale playing Blackburn Rovers!) when ‘a mob of about 100 Rovers supporters', according to the report, ran amok through the town centre, breaking windows and creating other kinds of mayhem. Although I'm pretty sure this wasn't the afternoon or the match in question, no doubt I drew on it as useful fodder and background for my book. This was the era of the ‘bovver' boy, usually a skinhead: a new breed of identifiable hooligan with his cropped hair/shaven skull, braces on display as a fashion accessory, jeans cut off below the knee and bulging, menacing Doc Marten bovver-boots. You could spot his type coming a mile off – thank goodness – which gave you time to cross the road out of harm's way.

They were starting to be a nuisance at football matches, even at Rochdale with crowds of less than 2,000. Now and then you'd see a flurry of activity on the terraces, some pushing and shoving, and a fight would break out. (I'm almost certain this was before the fans were segregated but wouldn't swear to it.) Anyway, on this particular afternoon the police waded in behind the goals, grabbed this
Dale yobbo and frog-marched him past the Main Stand and up the players' tunnel to the jeers, obscene catcalls and flying spittle of the home fans. I can see the lad now, arm locked up his back, bent over nearly double by the copper, glaring at the crowd with a kind of sullen bravado. Not a pretty sight. And the thought went through my mind: the crowd have worked themselves up into such a blind fury that they don't see a human being any more; what they see is an animal, one that deserves all it gets; yet this lad has a mum and dad, and mates, maybe a job, possibly a girlfriend – in other words he was no different in all essentials from the folk jeering and spitting at him.