Risk by Roger Granelli

Author:Roger Granelli
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Accent Press
Published: 2012-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

Wa’s he like then, this Colin guy, Jimbo? Nor a freak, is ’e?

Billy was standing in the doorway, a can of lager welded to his hand.

I only saw him for a few minutes. He didn’t say anything.

Aw no, a silent bugger. They’re the worst.

James shrugged.

’Ere, Jimbo, look what it says on this can. The taste of Britain. Tha’s good, innit. I’m all for a bit of tha’. Wanna swig?

No, you’re alright.

E’s in there, is ’e? Billy asked, pointing to Pete’s old bedroom.

Huh huh.

I’ll give ’im a knock. Say ’ello, like.

James caught Billy’s arm

No, leave it for a bit, Bill. Let him settle in.

Oh, ok. I’m gonna get a bus down to the White ’art. Nice li’l pub, tha’ is. No food, no bandit, no bloody kids. Wanna come?

For a moment James was tempted to put some distance between himself and Colin but he declined.

No, I might go up the ’Bush later.

See you then.

James heard a few noises in Colin’s room. The man was talking to himself, it sounded like a low chanting. James turned to go silently away but something stopped him. He stood on the landing, hesitating for a moment, then knocked on Colin’s door. Nothing like taking the bull by the horns, he thought, ignoring the advice he’d just given to Billy. The noises stopped and the door opened.

What?

Colin’s powerful figure filled his bedroom doorframe. It looked like he’d been working out all his life.

It’s James. We met downstairs just now.

Why are you telling me that? You think I can’t remember things that happened a few minutes ago.

No, of course not.

Colin came up close. He smelt of onions. His tattoo came with him. James was very near the snarling dragon and its trail of red fire that bled into the scar.

Like it? Colin said.

What?

My face painting. You’re staring at it.

Uh….

I wanted something to mark me out, see.

Right. It’s very striking.

I like a quiet life, Colin whispered.

So do I.

So there’s not a lot of noise here?

No.

Colin looked him up and down.

Boozer?

Sometimes.

If only sometimes why are you here?

I made a few bad moves, James said.

Haven’t we all, mate. Haven’t we fucking all.

Colin seemed to relax a little. Large fists changed back into hands again. They were gloveless now, and James saw Love and Hate , his old adversaries. Colin pushed his bedroom door open.

Poxy room, this is, he said.

It’s a roof over our heads.

Aye. You been living rough, then?

Now and then.

What’s the other guy like? The runt.

Billy. He’s okay. He’s out a lot.

Aye, and I know where. Drunks make me nervous. They make a lot of noise. Break things. You’re not like that, are you?

No. And Billy’s okay.

Right. Colin thrust out a hand.

James took it, expecting his fingers to be crushed, but Colin’s handshake was surprisingly soft. It felt like a bag of water, no firmer than the vicar’s in the crematorium.

I like a quiet life, see, Colin repeated.

He went back into the bedroom, shut the door and started talking to himself again. James knew Colin would be sailing on a raft of medication and hoped to God the man kept taking it.

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