Junk - Melvin Burgess [12]
Richard had the earring and the short hair. He had what you might call a slight Mohican – his crew cut was longer on the middle of his head than at the sides. But he was a lot older than the others, in his mid-twenties, maybe, whereas the rat yoofs were sixteen, seventeen. I was standing in the doorway of my shop watching the street go by when he emerged, smiling to himself. He locked the door behind him and walked off, still smiling a half gormless grin at the wind, at the buildings… I don’t know, just at being Richard, I expect.
I left the missis in charge of the shop and collared him.
I was concerned, you see. There was stock left in that shop. George Dole never had any relatives as far as I was aware, but someone must have owned it.
I was prepared to be angry. I poked him in the stomach and I said, ‘I don’t know why you bothered leaving home.’ But he just opened his mouth and smiled even wider.
‘I’m always happy to have relations with the neighbours,’ he said. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Maybe.’ I told him about the electrical stuff. He invited me in for a cup of tea. Well, I was taken aback. I thought squatters were so busy smoking pot and watching the dirt grow on top of the fridge, they never had anything to do with anyone.
‘You understand my concern,’ I told him as he opened the door.
‘Naturally. I have no respect for theft,’ he announced proudly, which made me bristle a bit. I’ve done a bit of thieving in my own time. Of course I never told him that.
I was impressed. All the electrical stuff had been packed in boxes, neatly labelled and carried out and stored in a little room behind the shop.
‘I must admit I did help myself to a house fuse when I was getting the electric on,’ he said. ‘But I’ve already replaced that.’ And he looked at the door and beamed in pleasure.
‘But you don’t mind nicking someone’s house, though,’ I told him.
‘Not if it’s standing empty and there’s people sleeping on the streets. Of course, property is a rather strange concept for me…’
I thought I was going to get a lecture but he shut up and went to put the kettle on.
Now if it had been me, I’d have had that gear out and sold it before you could count to three. But Richard was moral. He really thought that squatting a shop and not nicking the stock was going to change society. That was why he was so delighted to have me round for tea. He thought that if he got enough people like me on his side, Parliament would fall tomorrow.
It transpired he worked in a bicycle shop on the Ashley Road but he made it his business in his spare time opening up squats for the kids round about. He’d break in, set up the electrics, post the little notices, inform the police, stay there a few nights until it became clear whether or not they were going to get any trouble. Then he’d go home for a few nights until the next one came up.
I had extreme doubts about eating anything in any squat. This one was perfectly disgusting. The place had deteriorated beyond all credence since I’d had tea with Richard that time.
‘You don’t expect me to eat in here, do you?’ I said. I rubbed my toe into the grease on the floor. ‘I wouldn’t unwrap a bar of chocolate in here.’
Richard was tying on an enormous white apron; it was as clean as the rest of the place was dirty.
‘Don’t worry, Skolly. I’ve brought everything in, even the pan to cook on. I won’t feed you beetle-burgers.’
‘Do they all live like this?’
‘This one is particularly bad,’ he confessed. He looked terribly unhappy about it. I could see one or two of the locals glancing at each other uncomfortably. ‘It gives squatting a bad name,’ said Richard in a loud voice. The yoofs pulled faces and one of them walked out.
I settled myself down in an armchair at the side of the kitchen table and waited.
David was standing in a corner with his eyes popping out of his head, trying to take