Doctor Who_ Bad Therapy - Matthew Jones [77]
Billy Spot started to whistle jauntily.
Mikey was making Dennis’s breakfast when the window to their lodgings opened from the outside and his roommate tumbled in from the fire escape.
For some reason, Jack was wearing a pair of filthy pyjamas.
‘Hello, Mikey,’ Jack said, cheerfully, and swiped the slice of toast that Mikey had just buttered for little Dennis.
‘Hey!’ Mikey tried to grab the toast back, but Jack was too quick for him.
‘Where have you been? The police have been here and everything.’
‘The police?’
‘Inspector Harris. Wanted to know if I ’ad seen you or your new friend. That little man.’
‘Oh right,’ Jack said, and handed Dennis the remains of the piece of toast, before rooting through his wardrobe for some clothes.
‘Thanks Uncle Jack,’ Dennis grinned.
‘He’s not your uncle,’ Mikey snapped, ritually. ‘Don’t call him that.’
Mikey was confused. This casual confidence wasn’t like Jack at all. They’d shared the room for almost a year now and he felt that he knew Jack pretty well. Just mentioning the police usually made him nervous. Something about Jack’s cheerfulness bothered Mikey. Jack’s bare feet were filthy and covered in tiny cuts. He looked like someone who had just walked away from an accident and was trying to convince everyone that they were fine. ‘Jack, what’s going on?’
Jack pulled a sweater over his pyjamas. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, not in a month of Sundays. I don’t believe it and I was there.’
‘Where? What are you talking about?’
‘I’m really not sure. I haven’t slept, not properly, not since the day before yesterday. Look, Mikey, you need to pack, just some clothes for you and Dennis. I’ll explain everything later.’
‘Are we going on our holidays?’ Dennis asked, excitedly, his mouth full of buttery toast.
Mikey glanced at his little brother and shook his head. ‘No, we are not. Eat your breakfast,’ he scolded and turned back to Jack. ‘You don’t make no sense.
I’ve got to get to work. It’s the first chance I’ve had to do some overtime this month.’
Jack slipped a pair of his paint-streaked work trousers over his pyjama bottoms. ‘Forget overtime. It’s not important.’
Mikey raised his eyebrows at this. Now he knew that there was something wrong. Jack was always trying to get more overtime at the building site, 129
although Mikey never knew why as he never seemed to spend any money.
‘Jack, you know I need the extra work so’s I can feed me boy. Hey, ain’t you gonna wash, you filthy git?’
‘No time. Look, Dennis is in danger. We’re all in danger. The Doctor’s given me the address of a house in Kent we can stay at. How much money have you got?’
‘I ’aint got no money, that’s why I need the work. Why are you saying that Dennis is in trouble? Is this some kind of sick joke?’
Jack sat down on his bed, suddenly. ‘It’s no joke, Mikey,’ he said, his voice solemn. ‘Eddy’s dead. Killed. The Doctor found him near the paper stand.
The Scratons killed Eddy and now they’re after Dennis.’
The Scratons! What the hell had Jack got himself involved in?
For a moment there was a shocked silence and then Mikey and Jack both jumped at the sound of a chair being knocked over backwards. Dennis leapt up and ran around the table, wrapping himself tightly around Mikey’s waist.
The houses in Notting Hill were grey, battered and dusty. There were few cars on the roads – those that there were moved quickly, as if their drivers were eager to hurry through the area and get to the comparative safety of Bayswater.
A canal ran parallel to the road, the Grand Union. Carl whispered the name to himself. He hated to be away from his brother and the familiar streets of Soho. Carl found it reassuring to be able to name some of the sights outside the car in this strange and desolate part of the city, as if he were marking a trail home. There weren’t any boats in sight on the Grand Union Canal – Carl would have liked to have seen some boats – but he knew that nothing floated on the Grand Union, nothing except for dead cats and used contraceptives.
Carl sneered at the people who weaved