Lil stood up then and, holding her back straight, she looked down at the man who had been the bane of her life for years.
'Mr Benton, my son will not trouble you again, you have my word on that. But let me just say this before I leave; if you had any kind of teaching ability you wouldn't be working in a shithole like this, and I ask you to think about that tonight when you are driving home to your family. Like the pupils in this school, the teachers here are on the bottom rung of their ladder as well. So remember that when you look down your nose at someone because, like I said, if you had anything going for you, this is the last place you'd want to be.'
As Lil walked from the office she felt the headache that had been troubling her all morning start to subside. Shamus was sitting on a scruffy old chair outside the headmaster's office and when he smiled at her with his usual crafty grin, she laughed weakly, 'Come on, mate, let's get you home.'
Shamus walked beside her; he was a good lad at heart and she knew that, but he was also a fighter and she knew that one day it would bring him real trouble.
'I am sorry, Mum.'
She knew he meant it, every word of it; he always did. Until the next time, of course.
Lil hoped the boys were home; she was worried about them and what they might be getting up to. Lance was bad enough but with Pat Junior now back on the streets and hungry to earn a few quid so he could give it to her with pride and feel he was taking care of his family once more, anything was possible.
She stopped at her local shop and got a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka on tick. She needed a rest from her kids but she knew she wouldn't be getting one.
'Can I have a fag, Mum?'
Lil smacked Shamus hard across his face and she knew she had hurt him by his pained expression.
'Don't push me today, boy, all right? I am on the cusp of a violent episode thanks to you and that fucking school. Why couldn't you just once, fucking once, walk away from trouble?'
She sighed in desperation. This boy would be the death of her. 'You ain't even worth arguing with, are you?'
Shamus shrugged then and she knew he was upset, but for once she didn't care.
All she wanted at this moment was a large drink and a few hours' kip, she was shattered.
Paulie Braden was pissed and, as always when he was pissed, he loved the world. Picking up his cigarettes he swept a low bow to his friends and, laughing loudly with them, he staggered out of the pub doorway. Taking a few deep breaths he pointed himself in the general direction of home and attempted the short long walk with all good intentions. As he strolled along the road he heard a car pull up beside him and, with his usual good-natured smile, he stopped and waited for the men to get out and threaten him. This was a weekly occurrence and he knew that it would be over quickly and he could get on his way. The money he owed was not that large an amount and once he got his wages he would pay a bit off the interest and keep this lot off his back for another few weeks.
But as Paulie looked at the young man who was coming towards him, he was nonplussed, this was not the usual bloke. This young fella had a cross face and a mean look in his eye.
The baseball bat hit Paulie with such force that he was knocked into the road and a car had to swerve to avoid him. The drink he had imbibed had made him unsteady on his feet and as he fell to the ground, the young man brought the bat down heavily on to his shoulders. The pain was excruciating and when the bat was brought down over and over again, he finally understood he had pushed his luck too far. When he was finally dragged to the kerb it was a few moments before he properly understood what was going to happen to him. Another young lad had now appeared and, grabbing his arm, he forced him to straighten it. Then he held it so Paulie's wrist was on the kerb and his shoulder on the Tarmac; it was when he realised what was going to happen that he finally tried to fight. The boy smiled, then rabbit-punched him quickly in the face, immediately mashing his nose, and straightened his arm out once more. The first young man brought his booted foot down on to it heavily, smashing the elbow completely. Paulie Braden was in such agony he was screaming like a trapped rat and people stood there watching the little tableau with resigned expressions on their faces. A police car cruised by, slowed down so the officers could have a decent gander and then speeded up and disappeared around the corner.
'Please, son, please. I can't take this… I ain't got the money, I swear…'
'You got the fucking money to get pissed though, ain't you, you old cunt. Well, I ain't a person who can be mugged off, see, I have what is known as a personality disorder. Straight up, it's a recognised illness. They explained that to me in clink after I bit a geezer's ear off because I thought he was taking the piss out of me. He had taken one of my bog rolls from my cell without my express permission so you can see my point of view, can't you? He was wiping his arse on what was essentially mine and what's mine is mine, and I want it.'
The man stamped on Paulie's gut then; he was aware that this was well over the top considering what the man owed but he had to start off as he meant to go on. This would guarantee a lot of debts being paid in the next few days; the word would soon spread and anyone who owed Mills would be pawning their wives' wedding rings and selling their first-born sons, anything, to make sure that nothing like this happened to them.
Paulie vomited loudly, the bile and beer spraying out of his mouth then running into the gutter with his blood.
'You owed Jackie Mills two hundred quid. Well, I have bought the debt off him for a oner so you now owe me three hundred quid and I want it. Don't you dare fuck me about. If I don't get my poke I will come looking for you again and next time I will not be so reasonable…' The sentence was left unfinished, the threat had been taken on board.
He lit a cigarette slowly and, dropping the match on to the man's hair, he smiled. 'You've got three days.' Whistling happily, the young men got into the car and drove away.
Annie Diamond was washing her underwear in the sink when she heard her daughter arrive back from the school.
'How'd it go?'
Lil walked into the kitchen and sighed. 'How do you think? He's been outed, expelled.'
Annie shrugged, her thin arms were plunged into a bowl of soapy water and a cigarette was dangling from her lips. Lil took the cigarette from her mother's mouth and puffed on it deeply.
'Look on the bright side, Lil. He can get a little job, bring in a few bob.'
'I suppose so, but I wish life wasn't always so fucking hard.'
Annie didn't answer her. In the last few years they had all learnt about hardship. In fact she didn't know how Lil had coped with it all. Especially with the boys; they had changed overnight.
'Did Lenny send any money round?'
Annie nodded. 'It's on the mantle, only a oner though. He is as tight as a duck's crack, him. Even the Queen comes to the opening of his wallet.'
Lil laughed then, a laugh she didn't think she had in her. She poured herself a large vodka and she knew her mother was silently chastising her for it. But she didn't give a toss, Annie Diamond was the least of her worries at the moment. Shamus had disappeared as usual and she swore under her breath. He was a little fucker and she hoped Patrick Junior would have a word with him and sort him out, now that he was finally home. Lance just seemed to make Shamus worse, but then he was good with the girls. For all his fuckery, he was good to his sisters. Especially Kathleen. She pushed Kathy from her mind, she had enough on her plate without thinking about her and all.