Zodiac's toy by John Jones (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

I'll be a pensioner".

"Drop a few hints. Or just ask him".

"Nah, gotta keep tradition. Although in saying that not as many people are getting married these days. Certainly not a white wedding like they used to have".

"Wayne just wanted a registry office. Isn't into all the tradition and ceremonies. So I said tough, we're having one and that's it". Caroline was 38, tall with straight light brown hair. Liked to wear ordinary conventional clothes. Brown or black. Practical. Usually only wore dresses for going out or special occasions.

Sandie 39, straight blonde hair, slightly concerned with her weight, said men liked women with 'meat on their bones', wore make-up most of the time, and like Caroline's other friends, grew up together in the area and went to the same schools.

She bunched up her hair.

"How do you think I should have it? Wavy or braided? Think I might have it braided. Wavy with braids. Curly and tied up. No, wavy. I'll go with wavy. Wavy and tied. No definitely braided. Wavy and braided. Or curly".

 

They were in the house Caroline, Ray and Shelley had been left by their parents who had down-sized and moved to Penare on the Devonshire coast. It was a semi-detached, too big for one person. Only Caroline lived there, although Ray had a key, in a nice, humble area of Secreston Heath, eight miles north of London’s Big Ben. It was neither a poor area, nor posh, simply ‘normal’.

Ray lived in a ten-storey high-rise block of flats two miles away with his friends Victor Smith, Shane Montague, and ‘A8498AF - Category C’ Lee Sherwin. They had all acquired flats on the first floor when they had been built. Ray could have stayed with Caroline in the house but opted for his friends as the flats were basically shared by them.

 

"Your Declan's too set in his ways," Caroline said. Sandie was still staring at herself in the mirror, smoothing the dress down.

"You know how boring he is. I don't really know why I'd get married to him. Maybe it's because it's better than being single. He spends more time with his gadgets than me. Always wants to upgrade his computer, upgrade his phone, upgrade his bloody watch. He's a decent enough guy though.

"A bit like Wayne. He breaks into song at inopportune moments, and it's really embarrassing. He did it on a packed train once and I nearly punched him..hey, guess who's getting out of jail tomorrow?" Sandie stared at Caroline.

"No way," she said, "Lee".

"Yes, you fancied him at one point".

"Once, yes. One of those guys that, okay, I'll admit, looked good. So I went over and started talking to him. Then he opened his gob and then it's like, oh my God, he's as thick as... I don't know what. One of those guys that when they start talking, every other word is eff this and eff that. You know the type, can't string a sentence together without swearing. Talks loudly wherever they are, in front of kids and everything. Five minutes of that and I remember itching to leave. Then I was rescued by Vanessa who said we were leaving. Thankfully. I heard he's a bit mental".

"You could say that. I don't know why Ray hangs around with him".

"He's probably scared of him". Caroline nodded, and said:

"Him, Victor and Shane. Another pair of losers. I actually feel sorry for them. They're gonna be living with a psychopath, but Ray does whatever Ray does, and won't listen to me...anyway, have you made up with your Mum and Dad yet?"

Sandie sighed, nodded at herself in the mirror and went across to the edge of the bed and sat down.

"Their heart's in the right place, but it's just so frustrating. To be left by Grandad nearly £75000. Grandad who always moaned about money, about how expensive everything is, got loads in the bank. I thought I wonder how much I'll get, and you know when you spend the money in your head. Like what you would do if you won the lottery. I'd spend it on this. I'd spend it on that. Thinking how much I'd give Declan and Toby. Maybe we could put some towards a bigger house, and what do they go and do? have a holiday in the Maldives and give the rest to charity. Give me nothing. Not a penny. Said it's for my own good, earning money for myself. Making my own way in the world and learning lessons the hard way without relying on free money. They said I would appreciate it in the long run. I told them straight I said I bloody well won't. So I've not spoken to them since they came back a week ago". She fell back onto the bed, arms splayed.

"So no, they're not forgiven".

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 4

 

Although they would not admit to it, they were nervous. Ray, Victor and Shane were in Ray's sparse flat, not really watching the morning breakfast show. He was stood at the window, a fist clenched.

Ray was 47, with short hair that was slowly vanishing from his scalp, tall but always walked with a stoop as though carrying weights on his shoulders and his hands often jammed in his pockets. He mostly wore the same clothes every day, jumpers and jeans, and would like to think of himself as optimistic, but in the way he saw the world that was fairly difficult. The way he saw it was that you had to get everything for yourself by fair means or foul. A similar view to his friends who sat in anticipation on the sofa.

Victor Smith was 49, but in absolute violation of 'normality', he smoked and drank, he liked to think, in moderation, but actually looked younger. At one point he gave serious thought to a conspiracy theory that it was do-gooders and hippies that told people smoking was bad. No premature wrinkles. No being out of breath walking up the stairs, although he hardly exercised anyway. He was the smallest of them with a shabby goatee-beard and was the main unofficial house-keeper. He cooked because he enjoyed it. He did the washing. No ironing though. He didn't see the point. Ray bought a cheap iron once and used it twice before it was discarded in a cupboard in Lee's flat. He came to the same conclusion. Ironing was pointless.

Occasionally he would take a brush around all of the flats because he was kind of picky about tidiness. He knew that if he was not around, then certainly Ray and Shane would fester in a pit of their own filth.

Shane was the same age, and like Ray's sister and her friends all grew up together around the same area, attending the same schools. Shane was rather more 'bulkier' than the others. A long time ago he had tried to get himself a decent body and trained for around two years straight. Eating healthily, exercising, keeping himself trim and groomed, but then one day he asked himself: 'What am I doing this for?' There was no end goal, so the appeal of alcohol, his friend's influences, one or two low-tar cigarettes, and fast-food surely wouldn't do any harm. He thought he was head-strong enough to give them all up whenever he liked. 'I could give drink and smokes up like that,' he’d said when he started, clicking his fingers.

Yet, twenty-four years later, he still said the same thing. 'If I wanted to I could just give it all up. Cold-turkey would be easy for me'. Most of the time he wore jogging pants and a vest one size too big, as though he was ready to go to the gym, even though twenty-four years was the last time he had ever set foot in there. He would sometimes wear shades in weather that did not warrant them. They were a modicum of his perceived style.

The sky was grey with no clouds. There were a few vehicles in the car-park in front of the high-rise.

"Are you sure his flats clean?" asked Ray.

"Spotless," said Victor. Ray watched as a taxi came into view and pulled up in the car-park. Lee Sherwin got out.

"He's here," said Ray. Victor stood up and paced around. Ray clenched both fists as he watched Lee walk towards the entrance.

Lee sported a buzz-cut most of the time, although that was thinning. He wasn't tall, but rather stocky. His face was rather weathered. A 'pugilist' look from skirmishes and fights with cauliflower ears, his nose never having returned to normal shape. He looked older than his 52 years.

They heard the entrance opening, and heavy footsteps slowly coming up the concrete steps.

Ray went to the door and stepped out into the corridor. Lee emerged with a ruck-sack over one shoulder and glared at Ray.

"You bunch of fucking muppets," he said, walking into the flat. Shane stood up, Victor went to shake his hand but all Lee did was throw his bag on a table.

"No-one was there when I got out. No-one. Stood there like a plonker expecting you lot to be there, but no..." They all smiled and looked at each other, thinking he was joking.

He wasn't.

"Had to get a fucking taxi with the money they give me. I've got to go and meet me probation officer later. So I just wanted to see the boys, give me some support, but fuck no. Lazy twats are still in here on my release day. Two fucking years I've been in that place. How many times did you come and visit? Eleven times. That’s it. Made some better mates than you lot".

He sat down on the sofa with an exaggerated sigh.

"Nothing like this inside. Vic, pass us a can ta".

"Er, there isn't any left".

"Not there to greet me, and not even got me a drink, bunch of useless fuckwits".

"How about a smoke?" asked Victor.

"No, gave up inside, but wouldn't mind a spliff though. Bet you haven't got any of that either". Victor shook his head, looking away.

"We're glad you're out Lee," said Shane, looking sheepish. "I like your new tattoo". On the left side of his neck was a handgun pointing up to his ear.

"Good isn't it? Micky in prison did it. Boss artist. Is my stuff still in my room?" he asked. "My shotgun?"

"Yes Lee," said Victor, "but you're not thinking of another job now are you?"

"Well, yes I am. I don't meet my probation officer till two this afternoon so I've got time to get down to a post-office and rob it. I only got fifty fucking quid when I left. Said it was to last until I got me benefits sorted. It's a fucking joke, so I just want a little nest-egg to do me over for a bit. Lay low. I'm not going back inside".

"What was it like?" asked Victor.

"Well it's fucking shit, but you know, not that bad once you get used to it. Some decent fellas in there, just fell off the wagon you know?". He stood up, stretched, picked up his bag and walked out into the corridor and disappeared into his own flat which was open, the door ajar. He lifted the mattress and saw all his weaponry there. Two shotguns, five handguns. Three knives. A meat-cleaver and two knuckle-dusters.

He had not used them all. Lee was the type of person for whom owning such things would give him a satisfactory feeling. Maybe they would never be used, but the knowledge that they were there, the feeling of having them making him feel like a collector who had found something rare, like a school-boy that took a knife to school 'for protection', or just to show-off to his friends. ‘Look what I’ve got’, their egos boosted.

Not that Lee had many enemies. Although he was the cause of skirmishes in the past and bloody fights, he never acquired the level of enemy where he