Underdawgs

Chapter 2

I end up in Studley's Reserve, a medium-sized recreational area about a stone's throw from the commission houses and flats where we live.

      Studley's is quiet at this time of day – gone are the usual crowds of yuppies, Lads and pregnant teenage mums. In fact, it's pretty much deserted, except for a couple of little kids who are mucking around on the playground while their father sits a little way off, bent over with his head in his hands.

      I slow my fast pace to a casual stroll. I'm still on edge after the car ride and I need to sit down for a smoke and chill. I walk over to a park bench and plonk myself down on it, lighting up a cig, drawing in large quantities of nicotine. It calms me down.

      I lean back on the bench taking in the surroundings, my eyes drawn, as they always are, to the middle-class houses on the eastern edge of the park.

      Studley's essentially acts as a dividing plot of land between the white-collar neighborhoods to the east and the commissions to the west. As such it's used by both parties and this yields some interesting results. I often see yuppy parents get into fights with commission kids over common etiquette, or junkies getting iced and passing out while young couples stroll past pushing expensive prams.

      Studley's isn't exactly the roughest hangout, but you do have to be careful. There have been a few major fights here, where kids have been seriously injured, and one time a guy got stabbed. But it's fine at this time of day and the likelihood of me running into trouble is slim.

       My tailor has burned down to the filter, so I toss it and spark another. I stretch out in the sun, my mood improving slightly thanks to the weather and the memory of how close I came to being locked up.

      I pull out my mobile and send a text to Blackjack, telling him where I am and that I'm okay. None of the guys have heard from me in over twelve hours and I don't want them to stress. Blackjack never has any credit so he probably won't respond, so I consider dropping by Spike's place in a bit to see if anyone's there.

      I put my phone away and lay back down on the bench, soaking up the sun, letting my mind wander.

      I start thinking about my mother. She used to take us here on Sundays, when I was little and Sarah was just a baby. I remember we'd pack a picnic basket and rug like we were going on an adventure and make a big deal about the whole thing.

      She used to be able to make even the most mundane things seem exciting and fun. My kind-hearted mother. I'll never forgive Robert for what happened to her, for what he did to her. All the years when I thought things were going to work themselves out. It's his fault, all his fault.

      My thoughts fall on Sarah as I take a long drag. I want to go and see her, explain to her why I got arrested again, but I know I can't face Robert right now. I worry for Sarah – she's the one who suffers most when Robert and I fight.

      A wave of tiredness hits me, just as I remember I barely slept the night before. I relax my body and let the feeling wash over me. I yawn, closing my eyes as I begin to drift slowly away. I'm slipping, falling into the sweet embrace of blissful sleep.

      BANG! A car backfires, snapping me back to reality. I sit up abruptly and stare wildly around. An old bomb, dented and scratched, has just pulled up on one of the streets that runs alongside the park. Four guys with hoods drawn up, covering there faces, pile out. One of them is wielding a cricket bat and the other three look tough and mean. Somehow they spot me from that distance away and make towards me, with no attempt to disguise their intentions. I'm about to get my head caved in.