Geraldine

‘There’s ya lager Knocker and the whisky’s on the house...for Billy’s birthday like’

‘Good of you mate. Cheers.’

‘Well you and him were good pals weren’t you. Mainstays of this bar and that you two.’

Aye, me and Billy boy went way back. Went to the same juniors, both played up front in the school team and went to the match together. Remember that big pagga with West Ham in the Eighties? We were in amongst that. We both went out with the same lass at school an all, he married her like. We even started off by shoplifting together and then moving on to robbing warehouses.

Aye, best pals me and owld Billy.

I remember one time at the match, I think it was Liverpool at home - George Reilly got the winner, fucking hell it’s not like you’d forget a rare event like that is it? Aye, the bindippers at St James, we’d come out all full of ourselves after beating them when a little posse of the scally fuckers had come at our squad outside of Wilders. Billy was straight in, leathered the little twats up and down Carliol Square pretty much on his own. He moved up in the pecking order after that like, I was definitely number two. Miss the fucker these days mind - match isn’t the same now he’s gone.

‘Knocker, do you want to be on this football card?’

‘Who’s left?’

‘Man Utd and the Mackems.’

‘Fuck off.’

Aye, their lass seemed to take it hard an all which was surprising. I mean don’t get us wrong I think she loved him in her own way but he was a fucker to her, always shagging about and that and using me as his alibi.

‘Knocker, I’m off back to this lasses hoose for a little private party - if wor lass asks the morra you took us back to yours cos I was mortal reet?’

‘Aye Billy, I kna the score.’

‘Good lad, suppose you’ll be off home yourself in a minute what with it being gone ten o clock eh you big hom...ha ha’

All the lads used to give us it hard about that like. Never really been a clubbing type pf bloke me - always preferred a lock in at the local and that, know what I mean - so’s I’d make me excuses and leave early most nights, they didn’t need to know where I was. More often than not on a Sunday morning I’d get the call.

‘RIGHT...ASK FUCKING KNOCKER THEN YOU STUPID COW...knocker tell this dozy mare where I was last neet...’

‘Hello Knocker, it’s Suzy, was he with you last night?’

‘Aye, Suze, we got hoyed out of the club ‘cos he was mortal and then we had to walk ‘cos he puked in the taxi so I just took him to mine. Didn’t want him waking you and the bairn up like - I kna how little Gez needs her sleep. Thought it was the best thing to do.’

‘Oh Billy I’m sorry...’

Then the phone would gan down and that was my job done. Easy really, I was a handy alibi ‘cos I never went clubbing and Suzy, even though she knew different, always made out that she believed us, he was happy then.

‘What time you ganning to the match Knock lad?’

‘Half two-ish Gaz.’

‘You not coming earlier - rumour gannin roond that Chelsea’ll be at Central at twelve?’

‘Too old for that noo mate - not the same anymore, not today anyway.’

‘Aye fair enough mate - tell you what we’ll leather some cockney fuckers in honour of Billy’s birthday the day then eh.’

‘Good lad.’

It was alright when he was just on the drink, shagging the odd lass and slapping away fans but once he discovered drugs he really started going downhill like. Start of his downfall really. He’d never hit Suzy before - aye, he’d shouted at her to shut her up but he’d never clouted her. That time she opened the door with two black eyes I knew that me and him had to have a chat. It should have been obvious he was on the slippery slope like. He’d started robbing the pockets of the hooligans he was flooring and doing riskier jobs just to put cash into little packets of brown shite. I’d even stopped doing the jobs with him when he started carrying a blade and that - they reckon that security guard was in hospital for two months.