There were other assorted bodies, on the chairs and floor in the living room, but Jimmy did not have time to check any of them for signs of life. He decided he would worry about it after the game.
Andy was the first one to stir after Jimmy’s departure. He had visited the bathroom in the early hours and only made it as far as an armchair in the living room on his return to the garage. John was asleep in an incredibly uncomfortable-looking position in the other armchair and Mike was passed out on the sofa with one of the girls. Andy wondered if his little brother had managed to break his duck the previous night.
But the answer to that could wait.
He needed a drink.
His mouth felt like a small, furry rodent had crawled in during the night, left enough fur and droppings to make the place homely, and then died. No doubt his breath was telling a not dissimilar story.
Andy made his way to the kitchen, nearly stepping on Robert, who had made himself a bed of cushions, on the floor.
The midnight delivery of beer stood largely untouched in the middle of the kitchen floor. The system Jimmy had put in place, to ensure cold bottles from the fridge were replaced with ones from the crates, had fallen down somewhere during the night.
Andy was not in a particularly fussy frame of mind and cracked open a bottle of Becks. Water from the tap would have been a better, and colder, option. But that would have involved the use of a glass, the location of which he did not know, and he would have needed to make at least two trips across the kitchen floor, navigating his way around the cases of beer. He was not sure his mind or body were ready for that. Besides, hair of the dog was the quickest route to recovery.
Mike was next to surface. He did not look or feel too bad, considering. But he had not drunk a huge amount, dedicating most of his evening to sweet talking Alison, with whom he had managed a little kiss and a cuddle, before they fell asleep together on the sofa. Nothing to interest his older brother, that’s for sure.
“Should I be congratulating you on finally becoming a man?” Andy asked, as Mike wandered into the kitchen.
“I don’t know,” Mike replied. “Should I be congratulating you on becoming a druggie again?”
“Oh, shut up, Mum, with your holier-than-thou attitude.”
“Seriously? You know you can get us all kicked out of school for messing with that stuff. And that’s if you’re lucky. What if Dad finds out?”
“How is Dad going to find out? I just had a little smoke at a party. That’s all. It’s not like I’m buying it again or anything.”
“Just don’t start getting involved with those guys. You’re in your last year. Wait until you get to uni.”
Despite being the younger of the two, Mike was the more sensible of the Gibson brothers. At their previous school, Andy had been caught in possession of cannabis and suspected of dealing. He was only fourteen at the time, and so no criminal charges were brought against him, but it was a very embarrassing and almost career-ending situation for their father.
Fortunately for Officer Stanley “Blade” Gibson, so named because of the connection to Stanley Knives, he knew someone on the board at Bankside who had also served in the Royal Marines. Strings were pulled to enable him to continue teaching geography, physical education and climbing and his boys were admitted via one of the many scholarship programmes made available to members of staff.
Without that safety net, his teaching days would have been at an end, with nothing but private security consultancy to look forward to. So, if either of his boys violated the rules at Bankside? Let’s just say they were of the opinion that being caught by the police was a preferable option.
“I’m cool, Baby Bro,” Andy hoped to rest Mike’s mind. “I’m not going to mess anything up for any of us. Trust me.”
“I really want to,” Mike said. “But that’s what you said when you told me you would never smoke that shit again.”
They were interrupted by Alison, who came and put her arm around Mike’s neck, pretending to strangle him.
“Hello, you!” She released her grip and put her hand on his shoulder. “Are you hungry? I’m starving.”
“What did you have in mind?” Mike asked.
“I was thinking all-day breakfast at The Tea Rooms.”
“Sounds good. How are you getting back, later?”
“My dad will pick me up from town. You?”
“I haven’t thought about it. Any idea how we’re getting back?” Mike wasn’t sure if Andy had made plans with their parents.
“I haven’t got a clue. But there’s plenty of beer here, Jimmy’s dad isn’t back tonight and I don’t have class until eleven twenty-five tomorrow. So, I guess I’ll just chill here for a while.” Andy’s answer did not fill his little brother with confidence.
“Just don’t... you know... don’t be an arsehole.” Mike pleaded.
“I told you.” Andy opened his second breakfast beer. “Trust me.”
§
By the time Jimmy got back from rugby, the whole house was on the move. Quite how awake some of the moving bodies were, Jimmy couldn’t tell, but they had all made it as far as the kitchen. Andy, John and Robert all had beers on the go and Gemma and Jodie were drinking cups of tea.
“What have you all got planned for today?” Jimmy asked. “There’s plenty here that needs drinking. Or
perhaps you want to go out somewhere?”
“I’m having this one and heading home.” Robert announced. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow and I’ve things to get done.”
“I can give you a lift,” Gemma said. “I need to get back, too.”
Jimmy didn’t say anything about the fact that Robert only lived a couple of streets away. Or that the two of them had looked quite friendly in the garage the night before. Because she was giving him free rein.
“Beer sounds good to me,” John was getting settled for the duration.
“I’ll drink to that,” added Andy.
“I’d better make sure we keep the fridge rotation going then,” Jimmy hoped they would take note and be sure to stay on top of things once they started the steady demolition of the beer mountain that awaited them, but he knew he was probably talking for his own benefit.
“I’ll make sure the fridge stays full,” Jodie started shifting things around to make room for more bottles. “Just three customers? I can do that in my sleep.”
“You know you can drink during your shift at Jimmy’s bar, don’t you?”
“That’s very generous of you, boss,” Jodie smiled and nodded at Jimmy. “But I think I’ll stick with tea, for now.”
Robert and Gemma soon departed. Gemma made a point of giving Jimmy a kiss, so that everyone else could see. Was she being sincere? Was she bluffing to cover her intentions with Robert? Did she suspect something? Was she trying to warn Jodie off? Jimmy had no idea. He decided to have another beer. He knew where he stood with beer.
“Have you got any of that black squidge left?” Andy asked John after another couple of bottles. “I fancy a smoke.”
“A little,” John said, gesturing with his thumb and forefinger that he really did mean a little. “But I’m going to pick some more up this evening if you want to come with me. I can introduce you.”
“No, I can’t get involved with any buying or selling,” Andy had, at least, paid a small amount of attention to his little brother. “Jimmy, perhaps you could go with him?”
“You want me to buy drugs for you?” Jimmy had never heard anything quite so absurd in his entire life. “Are you completely insane?”
“I’ll pay you a bit extra, if you get me some,” Andy said.
Jimmy did not like the idea of buying drugs for Andy, but if there was some easy money to be made, perhaps he was being a bit hasty in turning down the opportunity before finding out the facts.
“Why can’t you go yourself?” Jimmy wanted more details.
“I got caught with some at my old school. My dad had to quit his job and move to Bankside. I can’t risk getting caught again.”
“But if I buy you some, aren’t you still risking getting caught?”
“I thought maybe you could keep it for me? And when I want a smoke I can come down here.”
“Which planet do you live on? My dad’s in London this weekend, but most of the time he works from home.”
“I don’t mean I want to skin up in your house, every time I want a joint, I just thought you could hang on to it for me.”
“How much do you want, anyway? How much does it cost?”
“I don’t know. How much is an eighth, John?”
John was in the process of building a joint on the kitchen table. He had put together his papers and was carefully rolling out some of the remaining black, oily lump into a long, thin sausage, to avoid burning anything in the house and causing a smell.
“For some squidgy black like this it’s fifteen quid for an eighth,” John explained. “But it depends what people have got. Sometimes it’s this, sometimes it’s pollen press, sometimes there’s some skunk about, you never know.”
“Fifteen quid?” Jimmy’s bubble had been burst. “You want me to go running around buying drugs for a measly fifteen quid? And what’s the commission on that? A pint? A bag of crisps?”
“What do you mean?” Andy was taken back by the outburst.
“I thought there would be some money in it. If I’m going to take a risk for you, buy you drugs and risk going to jail, I thought...” Jimmy was interrupted by John’s laughter.
“Jail? Hah! I think you’re getting yourself a bit confused.” John had a bit of experience where buying cannabis was concerned. “The police don’t care about a little bit of personal. There’s no risk involved in getting Andy an eighth. If you did get caught and questioned, which you won’t, you just say it’s yours. They’ll confiscate it and you’ll be out of pocket but that’s it, unless you’ve managed to really piss them off somehow.”
“I thought drugs were really expensive,” Jimmy’s knowledge of drugs covered only his drug of choice: alcohol.
“You’re probably thinking of cocaine.” John guessed some of Jimmy’s mates at Bankside had given him his information. “It’s not something in my price range and I wouldn’t touch it even if I could afford it. Oh, and it’s the class ‘A’s that will get you into jail.”
“So, if I go with you this evening...” Jimmy’s curiosity was getting the better of him, “will you show me where to buy cannabis?”
“If there are people at The Lion I know, I will introduce you, but don’t start asking any stupid questions. Just let me do the talking.”
John had finished putting the final touches to his masterpiece and got up to go to the garage, closely followed by Andy.
“So, does that mean you’re going to get some for me?” Andy was checking he had read Jimmy’s intentions correctly.
“Yeah, it looks like it.” Jimmy nodded. “Maybe I’m the one who’s completely insane.”
Jimmy had been told to “Just say no!” on kids’ TV, in school, by his parents, on billboards and even on cereal boxes. Anywhere the message could be relayed to children that drugs were bad, he had seen it. But, at his house last night, six of his ten guests had disappeared to the garage, which was both cold and uncomfortable, to get stoned.
“Have you ever smoked cannabis?” Jimmy felt happier to display his ignorance while he only had Jodie for company.
“Yeah, of course.” She shrugged her shoulders, raised her palms, smiled and shook her head as though it was a rather silly question. “If I hadn’t been dying for a proper drink last night, I would have probably been in the garage with those guys.”
“I’m glad you weren’t.”
“So am I. But you’re meant to be with Gemma.”
“What happened last night then?”
“I don’t know. We were both drunk. Maybe it happened because you’re meant to be with Gemma.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a girl thing. We always want what we can’t have. But Gemma’s my friend. It can’t happen again.”
“Oh, right. I’ll just forget about it then. Some friend you are.”
“You’re her boyfriend. I didn’t hear you complaining.”
“I’d hardly call myself her boyfriend. I’ve only known her for a week.”
“She’s told everyone that you are an item.”
“She seemed more interested in that Robert guy, last night.”
“So I was just a jealousy shag?”
“No, not at all. I never know how to speak to you when you’re working. I’ve wanted to for ages. I didn’t know you liked me.”
“Well, now you know. But it still doesn’t change anything.”
“But...” Jimmy’s head was trying to make sense of the Gemma and Jodie situation and becoming more confused each time.
“I could use a smoke now, actually.” Jodie said, changing the subject, just as Jimmy wanted to discuss the matter more. “How about you?”
“Uh... yeah,” Jimmy was too mentally dazed to process a more coherent response to the invitation. Had she used him? Had he used her? Did he want her now? Was he in a relationship? Should he be worried about the friendship between Gemma and Robert? Did he care? Did she care? Perhaps an introduction to drugs was the best option.
“Hello, Jodie! Hello, lightweight!” Andy greeted them in the only way that could be expected after Jimmy’s performance the night before. “Do you want to try some of this?”
“I’ll give it another go.” Jimmy went about it very tentatively, inhaling only small amounts at a time, before passing it on to Jodie.
Jimmy felt no nausea, no dizziness or sense of being out of control, just a rather relaxed, happy sensation. He had stopped worrying about any situation or situations he needed to talk to Gemma about, because he had found a new interest in his beer bottle’s appearance and contents.
§
John and Jimmy got to The Red Lion just after seven o’clock. Pubs were allowed to open all day on weekdays, but on Sundays they had to close. The Sunday hours had given Jimmy, John and Andy time for more beers and bacon sarnies at Knight Towers, while Jodie had stuck with tea and toast. John’s hash supply had been exhausted after only a couple of joints but it had still been enough to give everyone the munchies.
The Red Lion, two miles from Jimmy’s, in Kington, was already busy when they arrived. Some of the customers were probably waiting outside when the landlord unlocked the doors at seven. It was split into three separate and very distinct areas, each catering for different clientèle.
The regulars’ bar had an almost all male contingent of married, forty-plus, real-ale drinkers. They were all busy putting the world to rights, reading newspapers or doing crosswords.
In the middle was the snug bar, which was home to those regulars who neither felt old enough for the regulars’ bar, nor able to handle the pace of the conservatory any more. Your mid-twenties to mid-thirties singles could be found in the snug.
The conservatory was where you could find the underage drinkers, hiding in the corners, and drinking pints of snakebite. It had a number of arcade games, a jukebox and a table football machine, making it look more like a student common room than part of a licensed establishment.
And then you had the beer garden.
The beer garden at The Red Lion was always busy, even in the middle of winter. The landlord’s interpretation of on the premises only extended to the regulars’ bar and snug bar areas. He’d found a loophole in the licensing laws that enabled him to have kids as young as fourteen in the conservatory, because it did not have an alcohol-serving counter. He could also turn a blind eye to whatever happened in the beer garden.
Children, under the age of fourteen, were not allowed on licensed premises at all. There was no actual bar in the conservatory, so it was not considered to be on licensed premises. However, the drinkers in the conservatory still had to walk through the snug bar to reach the toilets, which were on licensed premises, or I am sure the landlord would have had toddlers running around in the conservatory, too.
At fourteen, a child was allowed on the premises if accompanied by an adult of eighteen years. An adult could purchase off sales for consumption off the premises, such as the conservatory or beer garden. This meant that the landlord could only ever be prosecuted if the police caught him, or one of his staff, selling alcohol to a minor in one of the licensed areas. This was unlikely as the youngsters knew the rules and would ask one of the eighteen-year old members of staff, who were employed to work in the conservatory as accompanying adults, to buy their beer for them. And the staff behind the counter knew not to sell directly to the minors.
Jimmy was of the opinion that the loophole probably only existed in the landlord’s head and the real reason he was allowed to indirectly sell alcohol to minors was because there was never any trouble, most of the kids’ parents knew where to find them, and all the local policemen in the town drank in the regulars’ bar.
But it wasn’t alcohol that was being sold in the beer garden.
“I’ll go and see if Roly’s here,” said John, as they got out of Jodie’s car. “Get me a pint and I’ll see you in the conservatory.”
Jodie had agreed to drop them off and pick them up again at eight. She wanted to go back to her house quickly, to let her mum know she was okay, and get showered and changed. She was still in her work clothes from The Crown.
Jimmy ordered two pints through one of the accompanying adults. He was sure he could have just bought them himself in the snug bar, but why take the chance when there was a working system in place.
“He’s not here yet.” John joined Jimmy in the conservatory. “But I’ve left a message that I want to see him. He should be here soon.”
“Jodie’s coming back for us at eight.”
“Give him a few minutes, the pub’s only just opened.”
“Do you always get it from him? Here?”
“Yeah, as long as he’s got some.”
“What if he hasn’t got any?”
“He’ll have some when he gets here. That’s why I’ve left a message.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Okay... Roly comes down here every night, at about seven o’clock, with a couple of ounces, cut into eighths. It’s fifteen quid for an eighth. He doesn’t deal in anything bigger or anything smaller. Once he’s sold out, he’s sold out. He doesn’t go shopping for anyone, he doesn’t refer anyone to anyone else. He sells his eighths, that’s it.”
“But if he’s selling out every night, surely he’s missing out?”
“He doesn’t care. That’s the way it is. The message I left for him was ‘John the Baptist, two’. The first time I met him I was wearing a cross, so I’m John the Baptist. And tonight I want two eighths. I have already given the money to his mate in the beer garden and told him we’re in the conservatory. When Roly gets here, he’ll put the orders left with his mate to one side, then it’s first come first served.”
“So everyone in the beer garden must know he sells drugs?”
“Everyone in the beer garden is either buying or selling drugs. Why else do you suppose they are sat out there in this weather?”
“Why don’t the police do anything?”
“I’ve told you already, the police don’t care about people smoking dope. They have got more important things to do.”
“But if I go and talk to him in the beer garden, everyone will know that I am buying drugs.”
“I’m sorry? Are you famous? Will the press be out there waiting for you? Watch my lips. Nobody cares!”
Jimmy was a little worried but, most of all, he was excited. He had an adrenaline buzz going through his body. Despite what John had told him about nobody caring and there being no danger of getting caught, he knew that what he was about to do was illegal. Not just underage drinking illegal, but kicked out of school and criminal record illegal.
And Jimmy liked the buzz.
“Hey, John!” A guy in his early twenties walked into the conservatory, patted John on the back and sat down next to him. “Who’s this?”
“This is Jimmy. He’s with me. He’s cool.”
“Okay. Didn’t want to say anything without checking. Roly’s out the back now if you want to pick up your gear.”
“I want to introduce Jimmy, too. If that’s alright?”
“New customer, eh?” The man Jimmy assumed to be Roly’s mate and taker of orders held out a gloved hand. “My name’s Tim. But most people know me as Mappa because there are too many Tims.”
“Hi, I’m Jimmy.” He shook Mappa’s hand and wished that he had something to add to the introduction. Something like: ‘Hi, I’m Jimmy... but most people call me The Terminator.’ But ‘Jimmy’ would have to do until he had made a name for himself as an invincible, time-travelling, cyborg, killing machine.
“Are you coming out now?” Mappa asked John. “I need to give Roly a heads up about your friend.”
“Yeah, we’ll hang back until you give us the nod.”
Jimmy and John went out the back to the beer garden but waited by the door. Mappa spoke to Roly and then beckoned them over.
“John the Baptist.” Roly nodded his greeting and gestured to the table.
“Roly.” John nodded back and sat down.
“You’ve been preaching, I see. Spreading the word.” Roly was talking to John, but looking at Jimmy.
“Pardon?” John took a while to catch on. Roly had nicknamed him John the Baptist. Preaching? Spreading the word? Of course. “Oh, yes, sorry, this is Jimmy.”
“Jimmy the Coat.” Roly christened him at first glance. “You don’t see many kids in wool trench coats down here. Make sure you wear it the next few times until I get to know you.”
“Sure, no problem.” Jimmy wanted a nickname, he’d got a nickname.
Roly wasn’t what Jimmy had expected. He looked about sixty-years old, with long, grey hair. He let his hair just hang down, naturally, but for some reason it looked as though it should have been in a ponytail. He was clean shaven, dressed in smart-casual, blue jeans and black sweater, but with an old, green, army-surplus-style coat over the top that made him look a bit like a hippie or a new age traveller.
“I guess I’ll see you when I see you then, Jimmy the Coat.” Roly had memorised Jimmy as grey, wool, trench coat and slipped the two eighths to John. “Talk to Mappa first and if you pay and don’t pick up, don’t expect any refunds because I’ll smoke it myself. Well, that’s what I plan to do if it ever happens. Nobody has ever paid and not collected their gear.”
“I don’t think I’ll be the first.” Jimmy said.
“Okay, kid.” Roly gave Jimmy a big smile. “Now get outta here.”
John and Jimmy went back into the conservatory. They had time for another beer before Jodie was due at eight and they had achieved everything they had set out to do.
“Well, that’s it. You don’t need me any more,” John told Jimmy. “You just need to get yourself down here any night for seven and speak to Mappa. He acts as a barrier between Roly and all the dickheads.”
“It’s not what I had expected,” Jimmy admitted.
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know.” Jimmy tried to think of the right words. “I guess I thought it would all feel more illegal.”
“This really isn’t gangster territory,” John laughed. “This is just a little, country pub where a few people sell a bit of pot.”
“But some people have gangster nicknames, John the Baptist.”
“That’s absolutely right, Jimmy the Coat. But I think that’s just the way Roly’s memory works.”
“Jimmy the Coat.” Jimmy repeated it out loud to himself, pretending that his hands were handguns, putting on his aggressive, gangster face and squinting his eyes. “Jimmy the Coat.”
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