Read Winterton Blue for Free Online

just moved in yesterday.
    Manny followed him down the path, grumbling. He pointed out the different houses as they walked.
    That’s the Robsons’ place, Manny said, gesturing with his fob to a house across the road. The render was painted fresh white, and bordering a neat square of garden was the white wall, with
SHARKEY
scrawled across the brickwork. He bent close to Lewis’s ear.
    We calls them the Snobsons, he whispered, But not to their face, of course. And them opposite you is the Prices’. She’s all right but her lads are proper little villains. Take your eye and come back for your eyebrow.
    Manny wriggled his own eyebrows as he said it, which wrested a smile from the boy.
    So, how’re you settling in? All right? Manny asked, Just you and your mam, is it?
    And my twin brother, said Lewis. He’s called Wayne.
    And you are?
    Lewis, he said, dying of shame at having to say it out loud.
    Manny leaned into him, whispering.
    I’ll give you a tip, Lewis, as you’re new and you look like a good lad. There’s
lots
of little villains round here—I should know, my Carl’s one of them. Keep out of their way and you’ll keep out of trouble. That’s it, sermon over. Now, he said, holding out his hand, Are we going to be friends?

    Trick or treat, mister, the voice says.
    It takes Lewis a moment to bring himself back. Blinking in the sunlight, he opens his eyes on three children: two boys, and a girl, lagging behind. The boys wear sweat tops and jeans and sharp white trainers. The tallest boy sports a diamond stud in each ear, and has a half-empty Coke bottle in his hand. His thumb is pressed on top of the neck. The smaller boy is eating a bag of chips, with his Coke nestled in the crook of his arm. Looking at him, Lewis feels a stab of pity. He can’t be more than six years old.
    You’re way too early, son, says Lewis, rubbing a hand over his eyes, Come back in a couple of weeks.
    The girl breaks away from the others, sidling round the back of the bench, dancing her fingers along the wood, nearly—but not quite—brushing Lewis’s lapel.
    Penny for the guy, she says, and all three burst into fits of laughter.
    Lewis turns his head to look at her. She’s wearing a matching sweat top and jogging pants in pale pink. She too has small white diamond studs in her ears, and blonde hair tied up in a top-knot. She’s pretty but her eyes are dead.
    Where’s the guy? he asks, smiling, trying to share the joke he doesn’t understand, Aren’t you supposed to have a guy?
    Uh?
    I said, where’s the guy?
    The girl sits now at the other end of the bench, pulling at a piece of rotten wood and throwing it at the boys. She flicks a long black strip at Lewis. He senses more than understands the change in the air.
    You’re the guy, she says, smiling sweetly, But we don’t want to put you on the fire.
    What’s a guy? says the youngest boy.
    He’s
the guy, she says, Gimp!
    You’re the gimp, says the older boy, shaking the bottle and releasing his thumb. A shower of foam shoots across at her, but the girl is quick, ducking out of the way with a delighted scream and running behind Lewis for protection. He puts his hands up, catching the last of the spray, shouting at the boy.
    Hey, hey, c’mon! Cut it out!
    The boy launches the bottle into the grass.
    You’ve got to give us money, he says, nodding at his small friend in confirmation, Or we’ll report you.
    Penny for the guy, repeats the girl, laughing again. She dances back behind Lewis, whispering something as she passes.
    Dirty old . . . guy, she says.
    This time, her hand trips along his shoulder, making him fly up off the bench, whirling, clutching his kitbag and shouting.
    Clear off! he says, feeling his heart banging with fright, Go fuck with someone else.
    They openly laugh at him. Even the little one is brave now, jumping from one leg to the other and letting out a high,