For the protection of their privacy, I shall refer to my Goddaughter, her father, and her mother, as Z, Y, and X, respectively. The reason why will soon be clear.
It was early 2007, midweek, early evening. I’d been to the Asda in Killingbeck, Leeds, with my daughter. Driving home down the A63 on a road known as Swillington Common, I saw blue lights in my rear mirror. Muscle-memory kicked in and I hit the brakes, pulled left, and checked my speedo in a micro-second. They blew past with their siren wailing and I thanked God that I wasn’t about to score another three points. We were headed for the local takeaway near our home, where I planned to grab a curry before going back to the office to pull an evening shift. As we arrived at the takeaway a police car was just leaving. I guessed it was the one that had passed us on Swillington Common. The shop window was smashed and there was a general air that something had gone down.
Leaving my daughter in the car, I went in and asked what had happened? One of the two young lads behind the counter told me, “A young girl came in being really racist, really racist, for no reason at all. Then she smashed our window!” I was appalled. Their attempted mortgage fraud apart, I liked those guys. It offended my sense of natural justice that anyone should have to endure that when earning a living. I worked long hours, and I knew that people in their job worked long hours too, likewise taxi drivers. To me that put us all in the same league. The taxi drivers at AAA Cars down from our office in Castleford used to joke that I was the only guy they knew who put in more hours than them. I respect people who work hard.
“Who is she?” I asked. “Do you know her?”
“She’s a young blonde girl,” he replied. “She’s 14 and her name’s Z.”
“She’s fourteen,” he said. Remember that. He knew how old she was. Fourteen.
Hearing this, my immediate thought was “Christ, that sounds like my Goddaughter!” She was fourteen and blonde, and her first name was not a common one. Her dad, Y, was my best friend; a biker like me. Z and her mother lived fifty yards from us. So, I said nothing, just got my curry and hastened home to call her mother and find out what the hell was going on. Why had she done it? It was totally out of character for Z. I called and X answered. Before I could get a word out, X jumped in:
“I know why you’re ringing Neil, but there’s a lot more to it than you know. Can you come up?”
“Sure,” I answered. “I’ll just eat my dinner. Gimme ten minutes.” I didn’t want my curry to go cold.
I went up to theirs. Z was in floods of tears, and X was visibly agitated. The story came out. Z had gone into the shop which was empty apart from her, the two young guys and their uncle. They’d propositioned her in crude terms for sex. She’d freaked out, had run outside, picked up a half brick from a wall semi-demolished by an incompetently reversed truck, and bricked their window. Then she had run home. Her mother asked what I thought they should do? Naïvely, I told her to take Z to the police herself and make a full statement. I was confident that once the police knew what had happened, they’d arrest the guys in the shop.
What a fool I was. The police charged Z with racially aggravated criminal damage. They didn’t want to know about their soliciting a child for sex. Her dad went nuts. He’d broken up with her mother, had a breakdown, and was very fragile. A year or two before he’d even been sectioned for a while. He was raving about delivering justice himself. That was the last thing I wanted. The takeaway lads would have deserved what they got, but I didn’t want my friend getting sent down. I asked him to give me a week, and I’d sort it. After the lousy advice I’d given his wife and daughter, I felt obliged. He said he’d wait. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew I had to think of something.
Early the following Sunday evening, I went into the shop shortly after they opened. As usual it was the two young guys and their uncle. Acting a conspiratorial look-around as if to check there was nobody else in earshot, and grinning, I asked, “I heard that young bird freaked out ‘cos you tried it on with her?” They laughed. “Yeah, silly bitch. We offered her a pizza for a blowjob. It’s not like we wanted a freebie!” I switched to a concerned look, but as though I was concerned for them. “You got to be careful though, she’s only fourteen.” “Don’t matter Neil,” one said. “She’s old enough!” More laughing by both, and the non-English speaking uncle was grinning too. Then I deadpanned, “But you’ve got a problem, haven’t you?” They stopped laughing and immediately looked nervous. “Why, what do you mean Neil, what’s up?” Me: “She’s my Goddaughter.”
Instant extreme agitation. One walked away from the counter over towards his uncle. The uncle meanwhile had stopped preparing food and wasn’t grinning anymore. The one who thought a pizza was fair payment for a blowjob from a fourteen-year-old girl was jabbering “I’m sorry Neil, we’d never have done it if we’d known, we have a lot of respect for you Neil, it was just a joke, we didn’t mean it.” And more in the same vein. He’d stepped back from the counter like he was expecting a smack in the mouth. I wasn’t that dumb. I didn’t even make any threats. I just mapped out for them what I knew and what I could guess to fill in the gaps.
“So, let’s see. You’re the third or fourth crew that’s been in this place. A crew comes in, trades for a couple of years max, then they go, and this place is empty for a while until a new crew comes in. I’m guessing one of your lot owns this place and collects the rent in cash. You trade with no Income Tax or VAT paid until the Revenue gets onto you, then you vanish, and meanwhile your landlord tells the Revenue that you never paid any rent either. But I’m just guessing all that. What I know for definite is your uncle’s name and address from the factfind I did last week, that he owns a couple of rental properties, and that he’s committing benefit fraud because you told me he’s on benefits, but he works here seven nights a week. So that’s tax evasion and benefit fraud on him for definite.”
As I was speaking, they were jabbering to each other in their own tongue, all three of them. I didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but they were all clearly panicked. The uncle came striding angrily over, he was about my size, I’m six-two, and about my weight as well, but maybe ten or fifteen years older than me. “Fuck off you cunt,” he yelled, holding up a large kitchen knife and pointing it my way in an obviously threatening manner. “Fuck off, cunt, fuck off, get out of my fucking shop!”
Now it was my turn to smile. A week earlier he couldn’t speak English but now he was as fluent as me, albeit he had a Bradford accent. I fucked off as requested.
The next night they didn’t open. Or the Tuesday. By the Wednesday night of that week, the shop was empty, all gone. Eighteen months or two years later a new crew moved in.
Neil F. Liversidge is an Independent Financial Adviser running his own firm in Castleford, West Riding Personal Financial Solutions Ltd, www.wrpfs.com. For 39 years until 2017 he was a member of the Labour Party. A Brexiteer, he voted Conservative in 2019 and is now a member of Reform UK, the New Culture Forum, and the Free Speech Union.
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Put the see you next tuesdays out of business … don’t buy from them, don’t use uber/deliveroo etc. Spread the word locally … or you could go see your local MP and inform them what is happening. OK I’m being sarcastic on that last point. Cooperwoman would do fuckall. How TF the good people of Cas Vegas and Ponty voted the useless twat back into office is a mystery. I lived just up the road from you at Garforth Cliff (God’s Waiting Room as it’s known) for 7 years so I know Cas well. My nephew lives in Cas and he wouldn’t have any qualms at all about ‘seeing to’ anyone who even breathed heavily on his daughter or missus.
Back in the 70s and 80s when out with my mates at weekends I was the only one who refused to buy Asian foods and take their taxis. They laughed and mocked me at my intransigence on this matter but I still practice the same.