Young Offender by Michael Maisey

Author:Michael Maisey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Macmillan UK

20

Now that I’d done two stints inside, my chances of leading anything like a normal life were even lower than before. I couldn’t persuade anyone to give me a job – not that I really wanted one. I was back home living with Mum and Pete. Pete was barely speaking to me. The tension between us was pushing Mum to drink more than ever. I was only happy when I was with my mates. At least it felt like they were willing to give me another chance.

It was about this time that I met a dealer called Greg. He was in his thirties. He started coming round to where I was hanging out with my friends on the old Ivybridge Estate, offering us drugs. Not to use, but to sell. He didn’t ask for anything upfront. He just gave us what he had and told us to pay him when we’d sold it. I had no money. Greg was offering free supplies that I could turn into cash. It seemed like a win-win situation.

Unfortunately, I turned out to be a terrible drug dealer. I took the stuff from Greg with every intention of selling it on and splitting the profits. In reality, when I had those drugs in my possession there was no chance that I would let them go. I’d get drunk and break into my supplies, with the intention of taking ‘just a little bit’. I was like a fat chef, sampling everything that went through the kitchen. Taking first just the smallest nibble, then a teaspoon, then stuffing my face.

It had been several years since Jake had introduced me to heroin in Mum and Pete’s garden shed. I’d somehow managed to stay away from the stuff since then. Likewise, I hadn’t been doing much crack. But now I had access to a ready supply. Crack and heroin. The evil twins. One to lift me up and one to bring me back down again.

I was quickly using more than I was selling. Just as Jake had warned me, heroin was not a drug to take lightly. It was just a matter of days before heroin utterly dominated my thoughts.

Greg didn’t care what happened to the drugs, so long as he got paid. Whether I was selling the goods or using them myself didn’t matter to him so long as his expenses were met. That meant I had to find the money to cover what he’d given me. By now I’d been kicked out of home. I wasn’t working. I was sleeping on friends’ sofas. My only option was to start with the burglaries in Richmond again. I stole stuff to sell to get the money to buy drugs. I was high every day. I’d graduated from small amounts of crack to whole ounces and I was managing my comedown with heroin. It felt horrible waking up and needing that fix to feel good, but at the same time it was so satisfying once I got it into my system.

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