Always Read the Label Chapter 10 Dee and Stanley

After a few changes and cut backs we ended up in Camden. It was after midday now and full of people heading up the high street and towards the market. We joined the shuffle up and over the canal. The market itself was smaller than I imagined and about 50 percent tat. You had to dig deep to find anything worthwhile, or have enough money to pay for the stuff that was already prominently displayed. All I could justify buying was a set of army waterproofs which would allow me to re-enact my times in 'Nam. Cheltenham. Or just keep me dry. Anyway, it was more the people watching and seeing Goths and what must be the last surviving Teddy Boys close up that made the day interesting. It started to get sunny which made me pissed off about buying the waterproofs, so we sat down in the new wamth to eat something called a falafel bought from a small caravan. It was ace, despite it not containing any trace of meat or pastry. Then we killed a few hours in the record shops, which was a bad move as like a kid in a candy shop I saw everything I wanted but couldn't afford. Or even play on Simon's ghetto blaster. I'd just have to start making a list and get it bit by bit, plus work out a way to bring my stereo from home on the coach.

There's only so much window shopping you can do before it becomes depressing and shifts the focus from 'I want that' to 'I can't afford that', which is when it's time to head off. We start to walk back down to Camden Road station as the pavements were becoming dangerously crowded, forcing people onto the road. Near the bottom of the High Road, there's a banging on the window from inside a pub we're passing, which after this mornings shenanigans makes us jump, until I recognise the unmistakable smile of Scottish Paul, madly beckoning us to come in. I tell Simon who it is and nod towards the door.

Inside it's a big pub and not too packed which lets Paul get a round in before we've said all our hellos to the lads at the table. Both Mini and Dee are there plus a ginger haired skinhead called Angus and an almost albino coloured lad with his hair tied up, who introduces himself as 'another Paul' and his dog as Harvey. The glasses on the table say they've been there a fair few hours, maybe since opening time. The ones I already know look different without the dusty uniform of work and seem in the mood for squeezing every last drop of fun from the weekend. All had been out the night before to some club in the centre that they were still raving about several hours after they'd stopped raving. With Dee I just have to guess he enjoyed it as he remained as silent as usual. Simon's a bit mute as well, just sipping at his pint and probably looking for a way to slip away without having to buy a round. I get the inevitable stick about not liking house music from all but Angus, who turns out to be both Scottish, in a less prominent way than Paul, and a bit more of a Northern Soul fan - the first I've met in London. He tells me there's a few all nighters, but they're getting drowned by the endless wave of House music. I mention where I'm from and he asks if I know a Mark, who he goes onto describe. The description sounds uncannily like Johnnie, whose first, and rarely used except by his mum, name is Mark. It can only be him.
'Where have you met him?'
'He was at the 100 Club a few weeks ago. I'm sure he's living down here now'.
I can't quite believe this and run through the description again with Angus. The clincher is when he says yes to my question about him being a bit partial to speed. The past is chasing me. I ask Angus if he can tell him he's met up with me and get a phone number if he can. I can't give him mine to make sure he gets in touch as we haven't got one in the penthouse yet. I'm so spooked by the thought Johnnie is somewhere in the same city that I can't be bothered to nag Simon to stay when he gets up to leave.

'Tight fucker left when it was his round' is Paul's not unreasonable comment as the door closes on Simon, sending me to the bar before I get called the same. Its a big enough round to dig into next weeks money, but it has to be spent. And I need a drink after the chat with Angus. I bring the drinks back in two batches and see Paul chatting away to a new arrivee. He seems to know everyone and has been having chats all over the pub. The booze must be getting to him as well as he's always nipping off to the toilet. I sit down and pat the dog Harvey on the head saying to Dee, who I find myself next to, how he looks like he fancies a walk. Expecting the usual silence I'm quite shocked when he replies:
'It's quite cruel innit? He's sitting about in here when he should be out on the heath or something. Big dogs like that take a lot more effort that Paul puts in. He gets left in the house usually'.
'What you two on about?' barked by the returning Scottish version of Paul immediately shuts Dee up again.

A few more drinks and I'm lagging in the fading afternoon. A snooze would be ideal right now. Instead Scottish Paul's girlfriend, Lynn arrives and despite being about half his size is an even bigger bundle of energy than he is. Her non-stop nattering in a soft Geordie accent soon gets everyone laughing and joining in again. She seems to have a tale about everyone here and they're all eager for her to tell it. We get round to the time she met Boy George when he was Djing and she had taken some ketamine.
'Never again. It was the weirdest thing I've ever done. I just went up to Him and said Boy, you're looking thin. It must be all those carrots you're eating. He's a vegetarian you know. And he looked awful thin. Never again with that stuff. I was out of my body like. What? What did he say? He just looked at me an walked off with his record box. Maybe he really likes carrots. That's up to him like'.

It was like watching a clockwork toy that never wore down. A continuous stream of stories just kept popping out. Lynn went on describing one long party that Paul was obviously financing. She pays him back by being the life and soul of every night out. I'm working this out as Dee, 'another' Paul and Harvey say their goodbyes and head out the door into the still busy high street.

As Lynn finishes another story Paul leans over and says: 'Want to know about Dee and those scars?'

'Dee was born and still lives in Somers Town, just down the road behind Euston. I'm from a pretty big estate in Paisley, but that place is something else. It's more like a micro city that goes on for miles, a self contained community. A giant of an estate without many exits, if you know what I mean. Dee used to sell a bit of powder, you know bugle, charlie bought from a guy who ran that sort of stuff on the estate. He only used to buy bits - an eighth, three and a half grams, about £150 quid. Trim them down, sell three wraps and he got enough to sort himself out. Fine at first, then he went out, met a bird, and they sniffed their way through the whole lot as Dee tried to impress her. He came back with no money to pay.
Big as the estate was, everyone knew what was going on. So they knew he hadn't paid Mr Big. And Mr Big knew they all knew he hadn't been paid. So if Dee hadn't paid, why should they all pay? He had to show them what had to happen to anyone who didn't pay. He waited for Dee to come round and explain. When he did, him and a few of his cronies jumped Dee and tied him to a chair in the front room. He thought they were joking - £150 - he'd have it next week. He realised that they weren't when they pulled a stanley knife out and put it down next to him while they sniffed a line each. He was panicking by then, begging them to let him go and get the money. They started to cut his face across each cheek in a really exaggerated way, like they were dancing. Then after sniffing another line, they started cutting downwards, to make that squarish quilted pattern. All the time he was pleading, saying he'd get the money. They told him he was right, he would get the money, then started to ignore him, occasionally telling him to stop snivelling.
Anyone who came round to score that night saw him sat there. The idea was they'd spread the word.
He said the worst thing was no one said anything to them. They just bought what they came for and ignored the guy dripping blood in the corner. His face was swelled up by now with the neat cuts of the stanley. He was dripping blood, he could feel it running down his neck. That's what he reckons made them let him go. They didn't want the hassle of cleaning up. Just took him to the door and pushed him out. He didn't know where to go, so went home.
When he opened the door his mum started screaming, thinking he'd been in a fight. She tried to call the police but he wouldn't let her, asking for a taxi to take him to hospital. When it arrived he wrapped a tea towel over as much of the mess as he could. The taxi driver said he needed an ambulance, but must have realised there was some reason he hadn't called one. He dropped him at the hospital where they started to fix him up, but had to call the police as they were obviously treating knife wounds. When the police arrived he wouldn't talk to them. They found out where he was from and offered to move him and his family away if he'd say who'd done it. He said it was just like a film or an episode of The Bill. But there was no way he could grass. He'd lived there all his life. He had relatives there. Friends. Eventually the police gave up and left the nurses to stitch him up. He said he was lucky a doctor who'd done these sort of wounds was there and used glue wherever possible or it would have been an even bigger mess. It took 2 hours he reckons for them to finish. It wasn't that painful, it was more that his mother cried all the time they were fixing him.
All that for a £150 quid debt – which he still had to pay. And he still sees the guys who did it everyday. Along with what they did in the mirror.'

I feel sick. That's easily the most awful story I've heard and has left not just me, but everyone else around the table, stunned. Lynn eventually breaks the silence:
'Paul, have you got any charlie?'