Friday, December 03, 2004

Living with guilt

Denise........ahhh! Denise was lovely. She didn't live with us at all but used to spend time round our gaff. She was petite with short bobbed brown hair. Very, very cute. I liked her a lot. In the pub she'd do this disco dancing finger thing, making her fingers dance in tune to the music. A bit like hand jiving but this was finger jiving. I can't think of a single bad thing about her, except she had a brother. Steve. He was older than Denise and thought he was Gods gift. He was forever boasting about this and that. He had a CB radio and his handle was King Rat, I suppose that says it all. He also owned a Toyota Celica. He fancied himself as a driver, not just a good driver but one of the best. Except when he had anything to boast about he didn't consider any of us worthy to be in his presence. Which was quite lucky because we all thought he was a complete arsehole anyway.
After a while his boasting got him into trouble, the exact details we'll never know, but he got in with the wrong crowd. his boasting about being a brilliant driver got him noticed, and he was roped in to be the getaway driver for a post office raid. Oh Gosh! What laughs then eh? He really didn't think it through, he didn't consider the implications of his actions, he was sucked in by his own bravado and found he couldn't back out without looking stupid. He went along. The guys he got in with were not your usual drug ridden theives they were professional hard men, they carried guns. Sawn off shot guns.
Well the post office was hit, and shots were fired. The post master was killed with the twelve bore. They made their getaway, Steve was driving. He got them out of there OK.
He got home. The shooting began to sink in and he realised he was in deep, way over his head. Someone had died and he had been part of it. It began to eat into him. It was supposed to be a laugh, it was a bit of fun, but he'd been playing with the big boys. He couldn't live with it.

Denise came to the house. She was in tears. She was shaking and crying inconsolably. Steve was dead. He'd taken the 9mm hand gun he'd had for the job, put it to his head and pulled the trigger. There was nothing we could do. The house was already cordonned off by the police with yellow "Police line -Do not cross" tape. Blue lights flashing, and armed police standing guard.

Through the window, we could just about see her father sitting in his armchair. His head in his hands. Plain clothes police standing near him.
That's where her father stayed for the next few months, he never moved from that chair, he lost the will to live. He went into himself, never speaking. A few months down the line Denises mum couldn't stand it anymore and she left taking Denise with her to Leeds, where I believe she is to this day.

iPod now playing - Baby I love you by The Ramones


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