Jimmy Choos an outing as well. She had been going to save them for a more formal occasion but she must look her best these days, the photographers were everywhere.
In her heart of hearts she knew that a boy was dying and her mood of elation was out of place. But Tammy was the kind of person who made the best of everything, took any opportunity that came her way and didn’t give a toss who she trampled on in the process. She wasn’t cruel or unkind, saw herself more as a realist, someone who looked out for her own.
And notoriety was fun, she would not deny that.
Tyrell was staring down into his son’s face. Sonny was a good-looking boy still but now, with all the tubes attached to him and the ventilator noisily breathing for him, he looked so very vulnerable.
He remembered when Sonny was a baby how he would fetch him for the weekend. As much as he had wanted his son with him, he knew the weekends gave Jude the time and space to get out of her nut and so those occasions had been spoiled for him, like so much else. Jude took every opportunity she could to obliterate the present and both the men in her life had suffered because of it. Yet his son had loved her, adored her. When Tyrell later broached the subject of Sonny’s living with him full-time the boy had smiled and said, ‘But what about me mum?’
It had been more of a statement than a question. It had been the reason for his whole existence. No one else had ever been able to cope with Jude like Sonny had, everyone else became worn out one way or another. Heroin addicts wore everyone out in the end. They lied, cheated, cried and fought to get what they wanted.
It was the nature of the beast.
Jude had tried, he would never take that away from her, she had tried so hard to be a better person, but somehow the world in general had never been kind to her and it showed: in her eyes, in her stance, in everything about her. She looked ten years older than she was, and that was on a good day. Smack did that to people. But what she had going for her, what people rarely saw, was the kindness of her, and the bigness of her when it came to her son.
She had tried for Sonny when she wouldn’t even try for herself, and Tyrell had stood beside her and tried to help her on her way.
But that was in the past now.
Sonny had always looked out for her after that, had tried to be the man who finally took care of her. Like Tyrell had tried all those years before until he had realised he was wasting his time. Jude was a junkie. They even called her Junkie Jude on the estate where she lived. It was as if her mother had picked her Christian name out in advance.
Junkie Jude. Jude the Junkie.
Sonny Boy had lived with that stigma all his life.
Be happy in thy own self.
Where did that come from? Tyrell’s mother probably. Well, Jude had never been happy, it was beyond her. It was as alien to her as voting or living in the real world. She had lived her whole life on the periphery of happiness, frightened to embrace it in case it kicked her in the teeth.
And now her son was dying after trying to pull off an armed robbery.
Sonny Boy was only seventeen years old and for all the trouble he had been, and he had been big trouble over the years, Tyrell still had difficulty believing his son was capable of that.
He had spoken to the police but there was no doubting the boy’s intentions, apparently. The gun had been loaded and was so far untraceable, though it had been used in an armed robbery before.
But for all Sonny’s faults, and they were legion, Tyrell still could not for the life of him see his son with a gun.
Someone else had to have been behind this robbery. Sonny couldn’t work out the day of the week for himself without a piece of paper and a pen. It was ludicrous for anyone to think he’d dreamed up and executed a crime like this on his own.
Jude crept into the side ward. She crept
In her heart of hearts she knew that a boy was dying and her mood of elation was out of place. But Tammy was the kind of person who made the best of everything, took any opportunity that came her way and didn’t give a toss who she trampled on in the process. She wasn’t cruel or unkind, saw herself more as a realist, someone who looked out for her own.
And notoriety was fun, she would not deny that.
Tyrell was staring down into his son’s face. Sonny was a good-looking boy still but now, with all the tubes attached to him and the ventilator noisily breathing for him, he looked so very vulnerable.
He remembered when Sonny was a baby how he would fetch him for the weekend. As much as he had wanted his son with him, he knew the weekends gave Jude the time and space to get out of her nut and so those occasions had been spoiled for him, like so much else. Jude took every opportunity she could to obliterate the present and both the men in her life had suffered because of it. Yet his son had loved her, adored her. When Tyrell later broached the subject of Sonny’s living with him full-time the boy had smiled and said, ‘But what about me mum?’
It had been more of a statement than a question. It had been the reason for his whole existence. No one else had ever been able to cope with Jude like Sonny had, everyone else became worn out one way or another. Heroin addicts wore everyone out in the end. They lied, cheated, cried and fought to get what they wanted.
It was the nature of the beast.
Jude had tried, he would never take that away from her, she had tried so hard to be a better person, but somehow the world in general had never been kind to her and it showed: in her eyes, in her stance, in everything about her. She looked ten years older than she was, and that was on a good day. Smack did that to people. But what she had going for her, what people rarely saw, was the kindness of her, and the bigness of her when it came to her son.
She had tried for Sonny when she wouldn’t even try for herself, and Tyrell had stood beside her and tried to help her on her way.
But that was in the past now.
Sonny had always looked out for her after that, had tried to be the man who finally took care of her. Like Tyrell had tried all those years before until he had realised he was wasting his time. Jude was a junkie. They even called her Junkie Jude on the estate where she lived. It was as if her mother had picked her Christian name out in advance.
Junkie Jude. Jude the Junkie.
Sonny Boy had lived with that stigma all his life.
Be happy in thy own self.
Where did that come from? Tyrell’s mother probably. Well, Jude had never been happy, it was beyond her. It was as alien to her as voting or living in the real world. She had lived her whole life on the periphery of happiness, frightened to embrace it in case it kicked her in the teeth.
And now her son was dying after trying to pull off an armed robbery.
Sonny Boy was only seventeen years old and for all the trouble he had been, and he had been big trouble over the years, Tyrell still had difficulty believing his son was capable of that.
He had spoken to the police but there was no doubting the boy’s intentions, apparently. The gun had been loaded and was so far untraceable, though it had been used in an armed robbery before.
But for all Sonny’s faults, and they were legion, Tyrell still could not for the life of him see his son with a gun.
Someone else had to have been behind this robbery. Sonny couldn’t work out the day of the week for himself without a piece of paper and a pen. It was ludicrous for anyone to think he’d dreamed up and executed a crime like this on his own.
Jude crept into the side ward. She crept
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