To Hell in a Handcart. Richard Littlejohn

toyed with it with his tongue, threw back his head and propelled it into the air.

      ‘Wayne. Please pay attention,’ said the plump, middle-aged lady sitting opposite him.

      Wayne shrugged and tugged his right earring. He had the body of a man and the mind of a moron. He wore his lack of education on the sleeve of his designer shell-suit, which he had stolen at knifepoint from another kid on the Parkgate Estate. Taxing, he called it.

      Ever since he was ten, he had terrorized the estate and its environs, leading a semi-feral existence. He was no stranger to the courts, but since the law granted him anonymity he was known to readers of the Tyburn Times only as Monkey Boy, owing to his ability to scale drainpipes and gain entry to premises through upper-storey windows.

      Wayne never knew his father, who could have been any one, or all, of a gang of bikers his mother had obliged in a caravanette in Clacton. Or a travelling salesman she had screwed on the end of Clacton pier in return for the price of a bottle of sherry.

      Wayne’s mum was a slag. There was no other word for it. She had stumbled through a succession of drunken, violent relationships, existing on benefits and a few extra quid selling her favours to old men in the derelict bowls club, which had been closed since Wayne’s first, bungled, arson attempt.

      She would meet her punters in the pub opposite the Post Office and, after a couple of milk stouts, would relieve them of their sexual tensions and a substantial part of their pension money. She even charged one old geezer an extra 50p for tossing himself off without permission while he was waiting in line.

      It had been obvious to all that Wayne was being neglected and was in desperate need of a stable home environment. But social services, in their wisdom, rejected fostering on the grounds that it was best to keep the family together.

      Family. That was a laugh. The only family Wayne had ever known apart from his mother was whichever feckless thug was currently punching his mum’s lights out in between bouts of heavy drinking, drug taking and thieving.

      ‘Mr Pearson, please continue,’ said the middle-aged magistrate.

      ‘Thank you, ma’am.’ Mr Pearson cleared his throat.

      ‘January 16. Abusive behaviour to staff and customers at Patel’s Minimart and Video Library.

      ‘January 22. Breaking a 14-year-old boy’s arm at Tyburn fairground.

      ‘January 23. Smashing a plate-glass window at Corkeez wine bar.

      ‘January 28. Throwing stones from the bridge above the underpass in Nelson Mandela Boulevard onto passing vehicles.

      ‘February 4. Shoplifting at Waterhouse’s department store.

      ‘February 7. Breaking the windows of a number of premises on the Parkgate Estate. The list is attached, ma’am.’

      ‘I am obliged to you, Mr. Pearson.’

      ‘February 11. Setting fire to a tramp behind the Odeon.

      ‘February 14. Abusive behaviour, criminal damage to St Valentine’s flower display at Buds the florist in the High Street.

      ‘February 21. Criminal damage to bus shelter.

      ‘February 22. Shining a laser beam into the eyes of a cab driver in Roman Road, causing him to swerve and career into a fruit and vegetable stall, hospitalizing the stallholder, a Mr Bunton.

      ‘March 2. Kicking over litter bins in High Street. Graffiti spraying on wall of Town Hall.

      ‘March 6. Shoplifting in Waterhouse’s again.

      ‘March 9. Attempted burglary at SupaTalc the chemist’s.

      ‘March 17. Thrown out of Toy Town for attempting to steal Buzz Lightyear dolls.

      ‘March 19. Threats made against cashier at Continental Stores in Market Road.

      ‘March 25. Burglary of homes on Parkgate Estate. You have the list, once again, ma’am.

      ‘March 31. Possession of controlled drugs, cannabis and Ecstasy tablets, with intent to supply.

      ‘April 1. Urinating from walkway on Parkgate Estate onto the head of PC 235 Watkins, home beat officer.’

      ‘I think we’ve probably heard enough, Mr Pearson. Thank you. I have read all the relevant papers and social reports.’

      ‘Then you will see that over a five-month period this year, Wayne Sutton has committed no fewer that seventy offences, ranging from assault and robbery to taking and driving away motor vehicles, culminating in a high-speed chase through the Parkgate Estate in May. He is also in breach of a curfew order, imposed by this panel last December.’

      ‘Indeed, Mr. Pearson. I am most grateful.’

      ‘In addition to the evidence in your file, we also have video footage of Wayne committing a large number of the offences, taken from the closed circuit security cameras in the High Street and within the Parkgate centre. In some of the footage, you will see Wayne actually waving to the camera, in the full knowledge that he was being filmed.’

      Wayne smiled.

      ‘Are you suggesting that Wayne knew the seriousness of his behaviour?’

      ‘Without question, ma’am. He has been before this panel on a number of occasions, been subject to a series of supervision orders.’

      ‘Yes, but does he realize what he is doing?’

      ‘The police service are of the opinion that he does and that for his own benefit and the protection of the community at large, a custodial remedy would be appropriate and desirable. I would remind you that he has already broken an Anti-Social Behaviour Order.’

      ‘And what do the probation service have to say on the matter, Mr. Toynbee?’

      Jez Toynbee looked up from the thick file in front of him. He had been christened Jeremy, but thought Jez sounded more democratic. At 5ft 8ins, he was no taller than his young charge, Wayne, sitting alongside him.

      ‘Wayne Sutton is an averagely intelligent young man, in need of guidance and encouragement. He comes from a dysfunctional background. He has never had a father figure. His mother is an alcoholic, part-time prostitute. She undoubtedly loves Wayne, but is deficient in the parenting skills department. Wayne’s only male role models have been itinerant men who formed temporary liaisons with his mother.

      ‘We in the probation service believe that although Wayne is clearly disturbed, his offences were not committed out of wickedness but as a cry for help.

      ‘While the panel has the power to send him to a young offenders’ institution, we do not believe that would be beneficial at this stage of his development. In fact, there is every reason to believe that it would actually be counter-productive.

      ‘In a secure institution, Wayne would come into contact with other young offenders, which could further disrupt his personal development. We sincerely believe that he can be rehabilitated and go on to take his rightful place in society and make a full contribution.’

      ‘Bollocks,’ muttered Pearson under his breath.

      ‘Did you say something, Mr. Pearson?’

      ‘No ma’am.’

      ‘Pray continue, Mr Toynbee.’

      ‘Thank you, ma’am. As I was saying, we believe that Wayne Sutton is not beyond redemption. The problem in his case has been his deprived childhood. He has not been showered with presents, like other children, which explains his thieving. He has never had the luxury of a family car, which contributed to his taking and driving away of vehicles. While his mother loves him, she has been incapable of showing him affection. He has been routinely assaulted by some of his mother’s, er, male associates. He has a repressed anger, which manifests itself in assault and criminal damage.

      ‘We believe that if Wayne can be shown the kind of affection missing in his life, can be exposed