The Drop

cracking pair of top bollocks,’ he said, ‘I couldn’t resist. You should have seen them man.’
    ‘What makes you think I haven’t seen ‘em?’
    His smile went broader then, ‘aye, you probably have an’ all you dirty bastard. Bet you get to shag all of Bobby’s birds. Does Posh Spice know?’ and he laughed, as he always did when using his nickname for Laura. I don’t think he’d ever used her real name. It was always Posh Spice or Posh Knickers and occasionally Tara Palmer Topbollockson, which was his favourite name for her but he was far too drunk to attempt that just now.
    The door opened then. It was Michelle, back in her bra and pants, giving me an apologetic smile. ‘Sorry,’ she told me, ‘I was just checking to see if you were alright like,’ and she went a bit red in the face, which was strange for someone who could take all her clothes off in a room full of strangers without blushing.
    ‘We’re good thanks,’ I told her.
    ‘Smashing,’ she said, ‘sure you don’t want a cup of tea or anything?’
    ‘He’s got a brew, thanks. I’m fine.’
    ‘Right,’ she said, ‘okay.’ And she hung on for a second. ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ and she gently closed the door behind her.
    ‘Fuckin’ hell young’un, you could have been in there man. Don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell Poshy.’
    ‘Come on,’ I told him firmly, ‘let’s get you home before that other lass sues you for groping her.’
    ‘She wouldn’t get much,’ he said calmly, ‘I’ve got nowt.’
    ‘I know Danny,’ I said, ‘I know.’
    I decided Our-young-’un was sober enough to bundle into a cab. I’d always called him Our-young-’un even though he was years older than me. I couldn’t remember why. I got him back to his flat; a rented shit hole in a high rise, which he wouldn’t let me buy him out of. He hadn’t got an income except his giro and the few bob he got each month from some sort of invalidity payment from the army. I helped him out when I could, slipped him a few quid every time I saw him and I really didn’t mind because he’d had a bad time of it. He wouldn’t let me do more than that though, and I reckoned he spent virtually every penny of it on booze and the horses he backed that won nowt for themselves, except a short trip to the glue factory.
    His crack-head neighbours left him alone because I made sure they knew whose brother he was but if I tried to do more, he just laughed and said, ‘you’re my younger brother, you’re not supposed to look after me. It’s s’posed to be the other way round!’
    I helped him in through the doorway and got him to lie down on the couch then I made more coffee but not before giving the two mugs on his draining board a proper wash. He was out of milk again, so I made the coffee black.
    ‘You should get yourself a bird,’ I told him, ‘you need a woman to clean up this shit tip. She can put some milk in the fridge while she’s at it.’
    He laughed again, ‘Nae bugger’d have us,’ and I’m afraid he had a point there, ‘I don’t have a fancy job working for Bobby Mahoney, yer knaa.’
    I brought the coffees into the tiny lounge and set them down on his rickety, little coffee table. He had an old TV in there with a battered PlayStation rigged up to it. He was always playing those war games where you have to shoot robots that look a bit like the Terminator, which I found strange, considering that the war he’d been in had clearly messed with his mind. Last time I was round, I gave him a few cartons of fags, some games for his play station and an iPod.
    ‘How are you getting on with that iPod?’ I asked him.
    ‘It’s great man,’ he told me, ‘thanks.’
    ‘So have you actually downloaded some tracks then?’
    ‘Downloaded?’ he asked me doubtfully. He clearly didn’t realise you had to do that.
    I laughed, ‘You’ve not taken it out of the box have you?’
    He looked hurt. ‘Aye, I have and like I said it looks great. I just haven’t had the chance to do the downloading thing yet. Jimmy will help us like. He knaas everything there is to knaa about computers.’
    ‘Jimmy? I’m sure he does. He probably has a Dragon 32.’ He didn’t have a clue what I meant and I knew he’d never get round to using that iPod.
    He didn’t have much of anything if the truth be told, except a couple of photos from his days in the Paras; one with him in uniform, with a blacked up face from the camouflage paint, holding an SLR, standing