LITMIR.BIZ

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Ray called him a “Paki” and told him to go home. Nobody else heard that, so the magistrate dropped the racially aggravated bit, but he still got six weeks for assault.’

      Warren had only skimmed the file on Ray Meegan, since he was more interested in his son, but his gut told him that Mary Meegan had things to say worth listening to.

      ‘When he came out, he claimed he was done with the football and the violence, but it didn’t last. He used to be a taxi driver, but the council were tightening the rules and didn’t think he was suitable. He drove minicabs for a while, but there were too many foreigners prepared to work for peanuts and he couldn’t earn enough to put food on the table.’

      Warren could see where the story was going now.

      ‘I guess it colours your view of folks when you think they’re out there taking your job. It certainly did for my Ray.’

      She sniffed. ‘By the time the boys were at secondary school a load of immigrants had turned up to work on the building sites. My Ray kept on applying – he was a big bloke and not scared of a hard day’s work – but they turned him down. Reckoned he was too expensive. The Asians would do it cheaper.’

      She sniffed again. ‘At least that’s what he said. I reckon it was because he had a criminal record. Besides, these young lads were half his age and twice as fit. Still, he blamed it all on the Indians or the Pakistanis. He used to talk about it all the time at the dinner table. I told him not to use the P word in front of the boys, but he ignored me.

      ‘And then he started taking the boys to the football. I didn’t want him to, but he promised me he’d keep away from any trouble and said that he wouldn’t be a real dad if he didn’t take the boys to the footie. For some of his mates Saturday at the match followed by the chippie was the only time they spent with their kids. I was just glad that we weren’t like that.’

      She paused again, taking a mouthful of her tea, grimacing at the cold temperature.

      ‘Let me get you a top-up, Mrs Meegan,’ interjected Hastings.

      She smiled at him and handed him her teacup, which he carried back to the kitchen.

      ‘Do you think their father’s employment situation helped form the boys’ political views?’ Warren asked carefully.

      Mary Meegan laughed throatily. ‘By “forming their political views”, do you mean “is that why they are nasty racists?”’ She answered her own question. ‘’Course it is. I believed Ray when he said he was keeping the boys away from any trouble at the football, but you tell me where the hell a nine-year-old learns to throw a banana at the TV when a black player comes on the pitch? I threatened to tan Tommy’s backside if he ever used that language again, but Ray laughed and said it was just a bit of fun.’

      Mary Meegan slumped into her seat, as if the wind had been let out of her, and for the first time Warren saw the pain in her eyes.

      ‘Mrs Meegan, do you have any idea who might have attacked your son?’

      Warren wasn’t expecting any great insights, but Mary Meegan was a lot more clued-in than she might at first seem.

      ‘It’s like Jimmy said – take your pick. They think I’m a fool, that I don’t know what they get up to. Until today they’d never really made the news and I don’t think they had any idea how much I know about them.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I don’t exactly bring it up over Sunday lunch – not that I ever see them for Sunday lunch these days.’ The smile disappeared and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I just want my boys with me. The way it used to be.’

      She cleared her throat loudly and fished a handkerchief from out of her sleeve. Warren picked up his own teacup and joined Hastings and the Family Liaison Officer in the kitchenette. Mary Meegan was a proud woman and would want a few moments to compose herself. By the time they returned a minute later, it was as if nothing had happened. She took the fresh cup of tea from Hastings with a grateful smile.

      She pointed at the laptop on the dining table.

      ‘They think I just use that for online shopping. It was an old one that Tommy gave me. But there’s a silver surfer club at the library. One of the boys that helps out upgraded it. Now I can use it for looking at Facebook and surfing the web.’ Her face darkened. ‘I’m not an idiot. I know exactly what they’re involved in. I even follow them on Twitter. I see what people post on there. The language they use… the threats…’ Again, her bottom lip trembled. ‘They used to try and hide it from me – still scared of their old mum,’ she barked. ‘But by the time they’d both been to prison it was obvious. They started showing off their tattoos, horrible things.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s as if they want to be unemployed. They’re supposed to be painters and decorators, but who’d let someone looking like that into their house?’

      ‘So they aren’t working?’

      ‘Not really. Tommy moved down to Romford about five years ago, the last time he was released. He said it was to set up as a decorator – he completed a City and Guilds in prison – as a mate had some work on. But I’m not daft. That part of Essex is full of right-wingers. Jimmy joined him three years ago when he got out and they were supposed to set up a business together.’

      ‘But they didn’t?’

      ‘I think they tried, but they can’t get any work. Of course, they blame the immigrants. They reckon there are too many Poles down there.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe they’re right. But who would you rather invite into your house? A nice young Polish fellow who turns up on time with a smile, or some scruffy English bloke who turns up late covered in tattoos with a mouthful of foul language?’

      ‘And so they hooked up with the local far-right?’

      ‘Yeah, although they never use that term. They call themselves “patriots”.’

      ‘Before today, when was the last time you saw your sons?’

      Again, her bottom lip trembled. ‘It’s been a while. Months.’

      ‘So they don’t visit Middlesbury very often?’

      She shrugged. ‘I think they still have friends up here. Tommy used to see a girl over in Attlee Place, but they split up ages ago.’ The ghost of a smile passed across her face. ‘She’s seeing a black fella now – got a lovely little boy. I thought it best not to say anything.’

      Warren returned the smile. Despite everything, he was warming to Mary Meegan, and he felt more than a little sorry for her. It wasn’t hard to imagine the life she’d found herself trapped in. A man like Ray Meegan couldn’t have been easy to live with. Had she been the victim of domestic abuse? He doubted she’d admit it even now. And she’d had two boys with the man; boys that she loved and feared in equal measures. Boys that she’d tried in vain to steer away from the life their father had chosen.

      It was easy to blame the parents in such circumstances, but was that always fair? Not for the first time, Warren found himself wondering what he’d do in her place. He doubted Ray Meegan was the sort of man who’d let her run off with his kids, and he couldn’t imagine Mary Meegan leaving without them. Having children seemed the easiest decision in the world, but was it always the right choice?

      Suddenly, she grabbed Warren’s hand.

      ‘Please find the man who killed my boy. I know he wasn’t a nice man, but he didn’t deserve that. And now he’s gone I’m afraid of what will happen.’

      ‘Do you feel you’re in danger, Mrs Meegan?’ asked Warren.

      ‘Not me, Jimmy. Despite it all, Tommy was a good influence on him. Jimmy’s easily led and… he can get himself into trouble. Tommy used to hold him back.’

      Warren had read Jimmy Meegan’s file. If that was how he behaved when his older brother restrained him, he dreaded to think what the man would do now that he was gone.

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