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CHAPTERONE
The argument had begun at breakfast, with Dad insisting George should go with him to work, and Mum nodding encouragingly, trying to keep the peace between them. Her beseeching eyes seemed to say, please Georgie, please don’t fall out with your father, not today.
Since his return from university for the summer holiday, it had been fight after fight. She must be tired of it. George knew he certainly was. So, he’d gone with his dad, even though he’d known he would regret it.
They’d not been long in the grimy office before talk turned to a new job his dad was planning, and a suggestion that George might like to join in on this one.
‘It’s time,’ his dad said. ‘You’re not a kid anymore. Time you got your hands dirty.’
George, still standing by the door, said no. ‘Definitely, no.’
Not to be put off, the old man suggested George went out with the team. George knew what that meant. Hanging out with thugs–terrorising small traders, bullying local businesspeople who couldn’t stand up for themselves, and taking a cut from their meagre earnings for the privilege of Halcyon protection. Predictably, the dispute spiralled when George refused.
‘I was already my dad’s right-hand man before I was your age,’ Chas boasted. ‘Only fifteen when I went out on my first job, and I’ll tell you, there was nothing too dodgy I wouldn’t do formyold man. That’s how it was. Family loyalty meant something.’
‘So you’ve said–many times,’ George replied.
His father droned on, ‘I was proud my dad wanted me in the business. I was loyal. You should be too.’
‘Things are different nowadays, dad. I’ve got my own plans. And I’ve got studying to do.’
‘Ha! What studying? I haven’t seen you pick up a book since you got home.’
‘That’s because I read in my room,’ George lied, adding: ‘It’s easier to concentrate away from the television.’
The chair creaked as Chas shifted his weight, fixing his son with soulless eyes that could instil terror in the bravest of men.
‘You must think I was born bleeding yesterday,’ he said. ‘You’re not studying. More like wanking off, hidden away in your room day after day. Worrying your mother–’
‘Don’t bring Mum into this.’
The old man backed down a fraction, adding: ‘What’s it all for. That’s what I wanna know. Why do you need this studying? It’s not as if there’s any need for it. You’ve got a job waiting for you here.’
George grunted.
The old man shifted again and shuffled the litter of papers on his desk, dust flying up to join the motes floating in the light from the window.
‘Look son.’ He tried an unconvincing smile, more sinister than friendly. ‘You don’t have to go back to that college. Stay home, join the business … come with us on the next job. You can take over from me after that. I’ll take a back seat. Perhaps take your mother to Spain. You’ll be set up for life, get your own flat, car, bit of skirt on the side. Live the life!’
‘No, dad.’ George moved to the desk and leant over to his father. ‘We went through all this at Easter. I thought you understood. I am not going on your next job. I’m never going on any of your jobs, because I don’t want to join the family business. Is that clear? I want something different.’
‘Different?’ Chas echoed. ‘Do you even know what you want? What good is a history degree? Tell me! You’ve got one year left at that bleeding university. Then what? What’ll you do after that, eh? Don’t expect me to support you then, if you ain’t going to earn your keep.’
‘Here we go again.’ George stepped away from the desk, his temper rising beyond control. He paced the threadbare carpet, ready to spill his frustrations. ‘You never give up, do you? Same old tune … over and over. Put another record on Dad. I don’t want to hear this one anymore. I’ve said it before and now I am saying it again. I AM NOT GOING TO WORK FOR YOU AND THAT IS FINAL.’
‘And I won’t bankroll you once you get out of that bleeding college.’ Chas rose from his seat. ‘So tell me, smart arse, what are you going to do for money then?’
‘I’ll get a job.’
‘What job?’
George groaned inwardly and grabbed the first occupation that came to mind. ‘I’ll teach. I’ll be a history teacher.’
‘A teacher!’ Chas Halcyon puffed himself up, eyes bulging, skin reddening, looking for all the world like a scarlet toad as he heaved himself around his desk.
Watching his father, George stood his ground. There had been a time when he would have been terrified. Not any longer.
‘A poncy, fucking teacher!’ Chas shouted. ‘You’d rather do a wet job like that than do something proper, working alongside your own dad?’ He choked and spat, then added: ‘You’re no bleeding son of mine.’
