Grimsby pt. 3 (Patreon)

I felt tired all the way back. Going back felt much quicker, and not just because we didn’t have to ask for directions, but I was rudely made aware that I was no where near in as good shape as I thought I was. I didn’t really go anywhere in London, with all the buses and underground lines. The only exercise I did came in short bursts at Ross’ Repairs, whenever they needed me to lift something heavy.

But it wasn’t just my legs and feet that were getting sore, nor my chest that was pulsing in a dull ache after having been tatted to look like a pair of gym shorts. The lack of sleep, lack of food, lack of certainty, everything was beginning to take its toll. Sucking the fumes of a Richmond Blue helped, but I couldn’t wait to get home and wind down, even if it was with another round of lager with Declan.

It had been dead empty all around our house when we left, but now in the afternoon there were people doing people things all around us. An old lady in far too much makeup rolling a travel bag into the laundry place a few blocks away. A scruffy guy in his mid thirties, wearing hiviz, carrying a sack of something. Kids in Barcelona kits doing lame stunts with freestyle bikes. To all of them and more Declan gave his deadpan “oi” greeting that was somehow both cheerful and cool at the same time.

I was actually both relieved and happy to see my door as we turned into our street. As soon as we were inside, without removing shoes or anything, I went straight for the couch and let myself fall backwards into half sitting position, leg over armrest.

“Fuck me I’m tired.”
“Busy day innit.”

Declan went for the fridge, and came back with a Stella for me, before sitting down in the armchair and opening his own. I eagerly opened the cold can and took several big gulps. All I needed now was another smoke, perhaps a chicken tikka, and a good night’s sleep. That’s when someone knocked on the door. I looked at Declan who shrugged, showing he didn’t expect anyone, and nodded towards the door, signaling me to get it.

Pretending to not be home crossed my mind before I reluctantly got up, shuffled towards the door and opened it. Outside were two men, clearly of different age, but close enough that they probably weren’t father and son. Both dressed like Declan. The older one spoke.

“Hey, neighbor. I’m Daz, this is Big Jace. Me and the boy thought we should swing by and say hi. Is it a bad time?”

He motioned towards my can of Stella. I felt like an idiot having brought it with me to the door. Big Jace looked like he would rather be somewhere else.

“No. No, not all. Come in. Want a Stella?”
“Sure, but we’re the ones who should be welcoming you. We’re right back.”

Both of them turned around and walked away, leaving me unsure of what to do. I decided to go back with my beer instead of standing in an empty door. I almost walked into Declan, who was standing just outside of view, listening.

“Whatev they want, do it.”
“What?”
“Just play along, mate.”

No sooner were we back, me in the middle of the couch and Dec in the armchair, when the door opened, and Daz and Big Jace helped themselves through. Daz was carrying a Lidl bag full of cans and bottles, and Jace carried two big bags of Walkers crisps. Daz confidently walked up to the table in front of us and sat down the bag on top of an empty pizza box. I don’t know why, but somehow I wanted the place to be more tidy before letting in any guests. It’s not my house, I’m just pretending, and it’s not my mess, but I still felt like I was better than this. The kitchen bin was full, so I had only moved last nights curried styrofoam boxes to the pile on top of the sink, and left everything else where it was, before going to bed. Another thing to take care of as soon as there is time.

Daz was perhaps 35. Hard to tell, because he probably tried to look younger than he was. He wore a cap on his head, covering up what was happening there, matching Nike air sweatshirt and shorts, ankle socks and hideous sporty sneakers. Given his lean body, perhaps he didn’t even faked the sporty look. He took the seat right next to me in the couch. The smell of cheap after shave was almost overpowering.

“Sup mate, I’m Daz. This is Big Jace” he told Declan.
“Oi. Declan”
“I’m Chayse”

Big Jace followed suit, placed the bags on the table, and sat down on my other side. It was equally hard to pin down his age, as he probably tried to look older than he was. Probably younger than me, I would guess, but physically towering over me. His choice of clothes was even trashier than Daz’s, with grey Nike joggers, white socks, ugly sneakers, and an adidas polo shirt. His arms were filled with cheap tats. On his left wrist was an expensive looking watch. The right hand kept diving into his joggers as if it was a pocket. On top of it all he had a brutish hair cut with an oval of short hair on top of an otherwise shaved head.

Fuck it, I did it again. I completely forgot that I was essentially describing myself, except I wasn’t wearing any fancy watch. He set himself down heavy in the coach on my other side. If Daz used too much deo, Jace probably didn’t use any at all. While he wasn’t cut, he was definitively stacked with muscles. He radiated heat, and wafted smell of sweat and weed my way. The hand rolled cigarette in the corner of his mouth might not be filled with tobacco. He nodded upwards and greeted me with an “Alright bruv?” with a deep voice.

“So, what are we watching?” Daz asked.

Soccer again, it turned out. Declan was in charge of the remote. Daz split his time between handing out strong beer, following the game, and quizzing us about our background and why we moved here. I tried to be as truthful as possible while remaining vague. I came from London, but a deal didn’t go my way, so I decided on an extended leave in Grimsby for a while. I’ll be working mornings down at the dock. Declan said we had a mutual friend who set us up, and that he was just crashing here a few days. I noticed that several things in his story didn’t match what he had told me earlier, and wondered if he was lying now or then. Daz somehow accepted all of it, even the fact that one Chayse Brown replaced a completely different Chayse Brown, which I didn’t even think of until towards the end of my story. I have no idea how well he knew the “other” Chayse Brown to dare saying anything about him.

Jace was completely enthralled by the game, and ignored us completely. While talking I was following his hand going from the bag of crisps, to his mouth, and back down his joggers. Ultimately my hunger won out, and helped myself to some salt and vinegar crisps as well. It was only in the half time break he spoke again, when he discovered the Xbox, and the FIFA box next to it.

“Hey, mate. You any good with FIFA?”
“I’ve barely played it.”
“It’s proper banging. We must play. Yous free after lunch, right?”

So, he had been listening after all. Remembering what Declan had told me about playing along, I agreed to it after 3 tomorrow. Neither Daz nor Jace showed any indication of leaving when the game was over, nor did Declan show any sign of trying to get rid of them, so we just rolled into the next match. Daz resupplied us with beer and Jace handed me a blunt. I was about to say I didn’t smoke, but that boat sailed 24 hours ago and I had just finished a Richmond Blue sitting just next to him.

“First one’s free” he said with a wry smile, and held a lit lighter a bit too far away from my face, so I had to lean forward and towards him. As I lit my blunt I heard an amused, low chuckle. Dick.