Geraldine

Andy Rivers

‘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 of 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.

I used to love the away games me but he was spoiling them an all. We used to go wherever, get a shiteload of bevvy down our necks and then stride through whichever backward little town we were in like we fucking owned the place. The match was incidental, didn’t matter if we won or not, it was all about the day out with the lads. But that cunt started attacking passers-by and that - robbing people up alleys for his gear - or he was just monged out all day and you couldn’t get a bit of sense out of him. I’d spend all day either calming him down or fucking babysitting him. So I started dropping out of the away trips - no point in spending money when I wasn’t enjoying them any more was there? ‘Course, he didn’t see it like that did he?

‘You’re not coming to Villa?’

‘Skint. Can’t be arsed anyway.’

‘You’ve been like this all season man Knocker, I reckon you’ve got a bird on the quiet me.’

‘Fuck off, If I can’t afford the match then I definitely can’t afford a bird can I?’

‘Aye you’re right, and who’d shag a plug ugly fucker like you anyway?’

I used to let it go ‘cos at the end of the day he was a lot harder than me and it was handy for us if he was on an awayday. He was a lot harder than anyone to be honest. That’s probably how come he died by being stabbed from behind - only way to do someone of his capabilities I reckon.

Anyways, I was gannin round for that chat with him the night he got nicked - in fairness to me I’d forgotten about it but when I saw Suzy coming out of the doctors with her arm in a sling I knew he had to be told. The fucker was going too far man and the kids might have been in danger. By the time I got to his though the street was full of blue lights and nosy neighbours, I’ve got a bit of form meself so I fucked off sharpish - didn’t really want the bizzies going through me pockets. I heard he’d battered his neighbour, put him in intensive care like and gotten himself eighteen months. Rumour had it the bloke he brayed was knobbing Suzy and was the father of Billy’s eldest daughter. Absolute load of shite but Billy wouldn’t let a little thing like common sense hold him back when he’d been on an all-day binge. He hadn’t calmed down about it when he came out either, I’d been to visit him inside a few times and it was all he went on about.

‘I tell you Knocker, it might not have been that daft shite from next door but someone’s been at her and when I get out they’re both getting it.’

It was all that kept him going in there, well, that and the drugs like. He was getting hold of more in there than he did outside but what he didn’t realise was that it was fucking his body up. He couldn’t be arsed to pump iron like the rest of them and just kept getting wasted so his muscles soon followed suit.

‘Another pint Knock?’

‘Aye, I’ll have one more then get off to the match.’

‘How old would he have been today?’

‘Would have been his fiftieth mate.’

‘He would have loved a big one against them fuckers today then.’

‘Aye mate, definitely would have.’

I never did have that chat with him about Suzy. He was out for about four hours when they found him face down in his own front garden. He’d been stabbed from behind with his own knife, coppers reckoned he’d been having a piss when it happened.

‘Here Knock, we’ll have another short to celebrate Billys’ birthday - keep you warm at the match eh.’

‘Aye. Gan on then.’

‘To Billy. Happy Birthday kidda.’

I’m glad he never found out that little Geraldine was mine and not his. I mean he was a bad bastard and that but at the end of the day he was me best mate.

You know...sometimes I even feel bad about killing the cunt.

© Andy Rivers 2025