My Mam had made me go back to school on the Tuesday even though I still didn’t feel right. It was possibly more the thought of seeing Kev that was making me sick now. Every time I was anywhere near him I tensed up, expecting a punch or worse but it never came.
“I hate swimming,” I said to Elvis as we changed.
I could barely swim which left me in the shallow end with Gilbert and the rest of the strugglers. This was the only time Gilbert and me were in the same class as he was in the bottom stream but there was no discrimination in sports. I felt sorry for Gilbert. My life was hell but I got to see what he had to put up with. He was regularly pushed in to the deep end, struggling to get out only to be pushed straight back in.
“There is Miss Shipp though.”
Miss Shipp was one of the younger teachers in the school.
“You have a good point there, Elvis.”
“She’s got a couple.”
She always dressed in a blue tracksuit that hid her swimsuit. It did little to hide the shape of her giant breasts.
“Did you hear about her being caught having sex in the showers with Mr Armstrong?”
“Yeah, lucky bastard. Did you hear the one about Miss Mortimer and the nun in the lift on a school trip to Italy?”
Both were great stories but unconfirmed. Then again we wouldn’t let anything as insignificant as the truth get in the way of a good story. I liked Miss Shipp; she always gave us encouragement and stuck up for us when the competent swimmers tried to laugh at us. I have to admit I sometimes pictured Miss Shipp and me in the showers when I was masturbating.
Swimming was one of the lessons I couldn’t get out of, Miss Shipp would notice I was missing. Anyway I would quite miss her as well if I didn’t go. She had been looking particularly nice recently and whilst I was always wary of Kev throwing my towel and underwear into the foot pool I still quite enjoyed the lessons. Mr Armstrong had now started coming into the changing rooms after the lessons to make sure there was no misbehaving. I think there had been a complaint after Chris Miskell had left.
I was in the shallow end as usual and I had just swum a width without aid for the first time.
“Well done, Pete,” Miss Shipp was wearing her blue tracksuit again with a green swimsuit underneath. “What are you boys doing?” She shouted just before there was a huge splash in the deep end. It was Gilbert. They had dragged him up to the deep end and thrown him in.
“Miss, it’s Gilbert. He can’t swim,” shouted Tomma.
Miss Shipp stripped off her tracksuit and ran along the side of the pool. She dived in, barely breaking the water. She swam straight over to Gilbert and dragged him out. Although I was in the shallow end I could still make out the nipples protruding through her swimsuit. With her hair soaked back and the water dripping of her, Miss Shipp looked gorgeous. I fought to keep down a boner, Gilbert didn’t fight to keep down his. What I hadn’t noticed while all this was going on was Kevin Davison sneaking into the changing rooms.
Ingham sat at his desk surveying the photos in front of him. Gilbert had done a really good job with them.
“How could she? The little slag.” He threw them across his desk.
“Where did the photos come from?” Junior had seen Ingham like this before and he wasn’t sure which way it was going to go.
“I don’t fucking know, I don’t bleeding care. These two have been having a right laugh at my expense. You’re probably all in on it, aren’t you? I’m just one big joke. Think it’s funny do you? Seeing the boss’ wife being shafted behind his back,”
Ingham lunged out from behind the desk, pointing the gun hard into Junior’s cheek. “Dare you to laugh now. Go on. Think I’m funny now do you?”
He had his left hand gripping Junior’s neck as he forced him backwards over the desk.
“Take it easy, I’m on your side,” Junior had begun to panic. “Do you think if I knew I would have let it go on? It would have been nipped in the bud a long time ago.”
Ingham released his grip; Junior rubbed his throat.
“Point taken,” Ingham slumped back into his leather swivel armchair. “What now? I suppose I’m going to have to kill him, aren’t I?” He didn’t like killing people, it was his job, and it had become a chore.
“It would be rude not to,” Junior was excited.
“I don’t know what’s going on anymore. Let’s do it then. Got your shooter?”
“Do bears shit in the woods?”
Ingham picked up the handgun from the desk, cradling it like a child.
“Come on my little beauty. Let’s go to work.”
“Ready when you are Boss.”
Junior picked up the shotgun that was behind the chair. He looked out of the window of Ingham’s office. The nightclub was in the centre of town and overlooked High street.
“Fucking typical. It’s started to rain. Why do we never get a nice day for it?”
He watched as revellers ran for cover, their little dresses and short-sleeved shirts getting soaked in the rain.
“The sun shines on the righteousness my friend. We’re destined to be pissing wet for a long time yet.”
They went out of the back door and into the car park. They took a couple of the doormen from the front of the club. They wouldn’t be missed for a couple of hours, it was early and was likely to be a quiet night due to the weather. Junior put the shotgun in the boot alongside the Uzi that was already there. Ingham climbed into the driver’s seat and placed his automatic in his inside pocket. Junior climbed in the passenger seat. The two doormen were already in the back.
“You do realise the implications don’t you?” asked Ingham. “If we take out Davison, we’ve got a turf war on our hands. He supplies the whole of North Sunderland. We’ll have a lot of people to answer to.”
“It’s a matter of principle boss, it’s been coming for a long time. This is the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“Let’s go and get this over with,” Ingham pulled out and headed over the bridge. “We’re off to the seaside.”
Another installment of Leg It by Alan Parkinson to follow same time next week.
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