Faces

by Martina Cole

  Danny wasn’t so sure about that. His old man had made a few enemies over the years and a debt was a debt when all was said and done. They might not relish the Murrays’ approach to collecting what they saw as owed monies, not when it involved a woman and children, but if they wanted to take it out on his old man then that would be a different ball game. In fact, if this was true, he would deliver him to the Murrays in person. At the end of the day, it would diffuse the situation and make his old man finally accept the consequences of his actions.

  ‘I’d better warn me mum, and then we’ll see what occurs. For all we know this is all a load of old fanny.’

  They left the yard together, Louie watching them with relief. It would be sorted out one way or another now.

  Danny and Michael walked into the flat slowly, both tense and both trying their hardest to be nonchalant. They were expecting Big Dan Cadogan, as he liked to be called, to be sitting in a chair, comfortable and at ease with himself and his surroundings, as always. Instead, they came face-to-face with the smaller, and the meaner of the Murray boys and Danny said loudly, ‘Is this a social visit, or do we need a weapon?’

  Wilfred Murray shrugged, seeing the extreme youth of the boys as if for the first time. Saw their bulky, muscular young bodies and knew that one day Danny, at least, would be someone of note, someone who would command respect. Unlike him and his brother, Danny Boy Cadogan had a presence even now and a few years down the line it would become more pronounced; he was going to leave a mark on everyone he came into contact with. The irony of that thought didn’t escape Wilfred, he felt the tightness of the scalded skin on his face and the memory of the pain inflicted on him was still recent enough to make him feel queasy.

  Wilfred wasn’t sure why he had been so determined to come here, it was a small flat overfilled with people and, like his own childhood, was overshadowed by a bully who would rather put his money over a bar than into his home. He had noticed the difference in the place since his last visit. It felt different, it was spotless, it even smelled different. In fact it reminded him of his own home when his father had been banged up and his brother and himself had finally felt able to relax.

  He smiled. ‘I came for your old man, I hear he’s been seen out and about.’

  Danny took his mother’s elbow and steered her none too gently from the kitchen. Wilfred and Michael could hear her protesting as her son roughly pushed her into the front room.

  ‘Stay there, Mum. Just for once do what I ask you, eh?’ The shutting of the door was loud in the quiet of the apartment.

  Once he was back inside the kitchen Danny grinned. ‘If I find out where the old cunt is hiding, will you go after him and leave us alone?’

  Wilfred nodded sagely. This was going even better than he hoped.

  ‘Mike will tell you where he is, but first I want you to promise me something, Wilfred.’

  Wilfred laughed. ‘What? Ask me anything, you’re a fucking little star.’

  Danny grinned. ‘When you see him, promise me you’ll hammer the fuck out of him, cripple him.’

  Wilfred laughed again, louder this time. ‘That is a promise, mate.’

  Danny stopped laughing. ‘I ain’t joking, I want you to hurt him, batter the fuck out of him, because if you don’t, I will.’

  Wilfred and Michael looked at each other then, both unsure of how to react to such blatant hatred.

  ‘And you tell him it was me who grassed him, won’t you? Make sure he knows it was me who served him up.’

  Wilfred nodded again, not sure what answer he was supposed to give.

  Danny Boy was in a good mood and, taking his little sister’s hand, he walked her to the local Wimpy bar. Jonjo followed sullenly. Like his brother he was big for his age, and he had the thick dark hair that was the Cadogan trademark. Inside at last, Danny settled his siblings into their chairs and, motioning for the waiters, he said loudly, ‘Are you all on fucking holiday or what? I’ve had boils lanced quicker than I’ve been served in here.’

  People laughed at his jovial tone. Danny was already known for his quick wit. A young Turkish boy went to the table immediately. ‘What can I get you?’

  Annuncia heard the respect in the waiter’s voice, saw the way her brother was being treated, and decided to use the advantage while she had it. ‘Get me a burger and a milkshake.’

  Danny looked at his little sister and marvelled at her knack for reading a situation in seconds and then using the knowledge to her advantage. Jonjo was, as always, quiet and Danny ordered for him, getting the same meal for them both.

  ‘You all right, Jonjo?’ His brother shrugged and Danny noticed that while his sister had a new uniform on, Jonjo was wearing hand-me-downs. Hand-me-downs that had been handed down to Danny many years before. He was suddenly sorry that his brother was having to dress like the other poor kids. Sorry that they were cursed with a father who didn’t give a toss about them one way or the other. Even more sorry that he hadn’t noticed his brother’s predicament. Danny was fourteen years old and already he understood that clothes did make the man, no matter what anyone else might think. If you dressed well, spread a few quid about, and looked the dog’s knob, people automatically treated you better. He had realised that, since working for Louie Stein and finally being in a position to buy himself decent clothes, ensuring that the bills were paid at home, and even managing to save a few quid, made all the difference to how you perceived yourself at the end of the day.

  Now, with his brother and sister beside him, feeding and watering them, all the while knowing their father was getting the shit kicked out of him, life was suddenly about opportunities and bettering himself. It was the first time in years he had felt this good about anything. His father had brought him into the real world and, for that, he would always be grateful. But his father had also ruined his life and his brother and sister’s lives without a second’s thought. Now though, if everything went to plan, he would see his father crippled and damaged; what a wonderful outcome from such a terrible situation. He hated his father with a vengeance, hated his selfishness and his disregard for his children. Hated the way he treated their mother, who still loved him, even though he didn’t want her, even though a slag from Hoxton with badly dyed hair and a definite squint was his preferred company these days. The hate was building up inside Danny, and he welcomed it, relished it, because all the time he was hating he was feeling something at least. His little brother was watching him and, winking jauntily, he said loudly, ‘Hey, Jonjo, no school tomorrow, we’re going shopping. You look like a fucking tramp, mate.’

  Jonjo grinned, displaying the even white teeth that were the only decent thing their father had passed on to them. ‘Thanks, Danny. I really appreciate that. Father Patrick rides me all the time—’

  Danny’s face darkened. ‘Does he? Why, who the fuck does he think he is?’

  Jonjo felt the first stirring of fear then. ‘Oh, Dan, he doesn’t mean the half of it.’

  Annie watched her brothers in wonderment, knowing before Jonjo that Father Patrick would rue the day he picked on a Cadogan.

  Chapter Four

  Louie Stein was waiting for Danny Boy when he arrived at work. Danny had been half expecting something like that; he knew that Louie would want to mark the day for him. Louie understood where he was coming from, understood the absolute disgust he felt for his father and his father’s antics. As Danny walked into the office he grinned. ‘What you heard then?’

  Louie smiled in return, a bitter twisted smile that said more about him than he realised. ‘You slippery little fucker, you served your old man up, didn’t you?’

  Danny didn’t answer him, he knew he wasn’t expected to anyway. This was the way of the world, people told you things and you let them tell you. As long as you didn’t answer either way, everyone was happy.

  ‘What a stroke you pulled there, my son, a masterpiece of public relations and justifiable retribution. Everyone’s a winner.’

  Danny still didn’t say a wor
d.

  ‘He was taken into the Old London late last night, in case you’re wondering. The Murrays paid him out severely but I am sure he expected something along those lines. Now he’s back in the fold, so to speak, older, wiser and definitely in mortal agony.’ He laughed once more. ‘Fucking fourteen, and you sorted that lot out. I’m glad I ain’t on your bad side. Now, get your arse in gear and shift that scrap. I’ll make you a cup of tea and a cheese roll and, if you’re very good, I’ll give you an early shoot.’

  Danny smiled his thanks and, walking away from his mentor, he smiled to himself. The Murrays had better have dealt out a serious punishment; he was depending on it. If his mother wanted that skank back so much, then he would make sure he had been neutered first. Like an errant tom cat he would have to stay close to home in future.

  Big Dan was breathing with difficulty, and his wife was praying over his prostrate form with vigour. He was desperately ill, of that there was no doubt, but that he would recover, she knew was a certainty. He was battered and bruised, broken in body and, please God, in his mind too. She wanted him back for appearances’ sake, and to thwart the whores he had seen fit to mix with throughout their married life. He was her husband by rights, and if this hammering gave him a renewed outlook on his life then she was all for it. She wasn’t a fool, she knew her son was behind it and she also knew that her son had done it as much for her peace of mind as for his own. A man incapable of movement was a man who would stay at home. If not by choice, then by circumstance.

  Danny would never forgive his father for the trouble he had brought to their door and, in fairness, she didn’t blame him for that. He had looked out for them, as he should; after all, he was the oldest child. It was his job to make sure that they were all taken care of and, God love him, he had done that all right.

  And now her husband was lying here, dying, especially if you listened to his version of events, and unable to move without screeching like a banshee. Well, God was good and he had a strange way of sorting things out. As she took yet another cup of tea from the young nurse, Ange smiled happily to herself.

  Jonjo was cringing once more. As usual Father Patrick was making fun of him because it was easy. Father Patrick had a deep voice that belied his small stature, on the odd occasion he said a mass it was a very uplifting experience for the listener; his voice detailed the Last Supper with a deep and resonant belief that was as honest as it was unbelievable, for anyone looking at this priest would never have credited him with such depth of emotion.

  ‘Ah, I see that, as usual, we are expected to let this criminal skulk in a corner to hide the shame of his family. Would you look me in the eye, boy? Is that too much to ask of a Cadogan? A fine Irish name that’s wasted on the likes of you, I might add.’

  As Jonjo prayed for deliverance from the man who rode his back at every available opportunity, the door to the classroom opened and the boys who had been giggling, most of them against their better judgement, suddenly went deathly quiet. Father Patrick was dumbstruck for a few seconds.

  Then he said loudly, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘Well, well, well, if it’s not another Cadogan. Like we haven’t got enough to contend with already. Have you maybe forgotten where you live? Or do you think you might come back and actually learn something this time? Only, if I remember rightly, you made this one here look like fecking Einstein in comparison.’

  Father Patrick felt safe enough in his robes, knew that there were few boys of the Catholic faith stupid enough to try and outdo a priest. So when the punch landed it was as unexpected as it was painful. He dropped quickly and cleanly, a white flash of pain was all he remembered. Without a word to anyone Danny Cadogan left the classroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. The boys were round-eyed and open-mouthed with astonishment at what had occurred and as Father Patrick pulled himself off the floor with the aid of his desk, Jonjo Cadogan knew that the baiting he received on a daily basis was finally over. In fact, Father Patrick never once spoke directly to him ever again.

  Svetlana Murray opened her front door and gasped in horror at the person she saw standing on her grubby doorstep.

  Wilfred, however, called the boy into the house with gusto, and she went back to the kitchen quietly, but with her ears pricked for the first hint of trouble. Walter watched the boy warily, he knew he was an unknown quantity and, even though they had taken his old man with impunity, he was still worried Danny Boy Cadogan might come down with a serious dose of guilt.

  ‘All right?’

  The two men nodded.

  ‘You?’ This was said quietly, with an emphasis that was not lost on the younger man.

  ‘Never better.’

  ‘Make a pot of tea, Mum, and close the door, eh?’

  The three men looked at each other and the tension went from the room. Danny took in his surroundings, marvelling at the luxury they seemed to live in though, in his opinion, the place was still a shambles. Nothing matched, nothing had been bought with any kind of plan in mind. It was like a jumble sale or a second-hand shop. Danny sat down respectfully, and the brothers followed suit, noting his demeanour. He had a mission in mind, had thought through what he wanted to achieve and how best to ask for it.

  ‘The old man will live, but he’ll be a raspberry, left with a permanent limp and a face like a boiled shite, as me mother would say. But that is over and done with now, ain’t it?’

  The two brothers nodded, still quiet, still waiting to hear what he had to say for himself.

  ‘I actually popped by because I heard you had a few pharmaceuticals coming in in the near future and I think I can offload some them for you.’

  ‘Oh do you? And where will you do that then, up the park?’

  Wilfred’s voice was heavy with sarcasm, and the redness of his face reminded Danny of what had occurred between them not so long ago. So, with that in mind, he bit back the retort that sprang to his lips and, smiling at them both in as friendly a manner as possible, he said quietly, ‘Nah, actually I was thinking more of dealing them out. I have a few mates who could shift them in pubs, discos, that kind of thing. I want a few thousand Dexedrine to knock out, sale or return. If I nause it up, I guarantee you will not be out of pocket. If I do, well, we’re all quids in.’

  ‘What ’bout if you get a tug? Would you be able to keep your trap shut and handle the situation?’

  Danny grinned then. ‘What do you think?’

  The deal was already done and they all knew it.

  Danny watched his father through the doorway that led into the ward. The glass was grimy and as he watched the interaction between his father and mother, he noticed his reflection and saw that his face was drawn, that he looked older than his years. This, he decided, was a good thing. Considering the last few months, it was a wonder he didn’t look like Methuselah.

  His mother was fussing around his old man as usual, straightening the bed and wiping his face for him. He could already see the annoyance in his father’s stiff demeanour. In his striped pyjamas, and with his unshaved face, he looked vulnerable. Danny could see the likeness to himself: the dark hair, the blue eyes. He could see the build he had inherited from a long line of ditch-diggers, or such like. It was odds on that no one in his family had ever made anything of themselves; if they had, his father would have rammed that fact down his throat. Danny hated him with a passion that surprised him, even seeing him battered and bruised didn’t affect him. What did touch a nerve though, was his mother’s reaction to it all. She was happy he was once more in the frame, the woman who his father had no more thought for than a rabid dog. His father knew that would change now, that he would depend on her to make sure he had a bed in his own house. The house that was now his in name only, the bills finally being paid on a regular basis and the cupboards stocked. Danny knew he would enjoy the hold he had over this man now, would enjoy being in charge of them all.

  He was going to relish taking away the one thing his father had always had to fall back on; being the big I am, the
fucking bully who beat them to vent his frustration at himself. Terrorising his wife and kids because that gave him a feeling of superiority, especially when he had been found out in some way by the people he broke his neck to mix with, drink with, gamble or whore with.

  This had been a long time coming, and he would make it his life’s work to pay the old bastard back for every punch, every kick, and every thrashing he had received from him. It had been easy to hurt people, a knack he assumed he had also inherited from his father, too easy really. People talked a good fight but very few could actually have one. Most people were cowards like Big Dan Cadogan, his so-called father.

  Well, this Cadogan was going to make that name mean something other than drunk, other than waster; he was going to make it a name that garnered respect. And he knew that letting the old man come home would give him a good standing. After all, family was everything, no matter what they did, you were supposed to forgive them. Well, he didn’t have that kind of forgiveness in him, he knew that much.

  His mother came out then and, holding his arm gently, said, ‘Come in and talk to him, Danny Boy. He’s always asking after you.’ The plea was in her eyes and her voice. Danny knew she was worried about what was going to happen to them all, how the dynamics of the household would change. He knew his new-found confidence and his total disregard for his father was something she wasn’t sure how to deal with. He understood that better than she did.

  So he smiled at her, his handsome young face making her heart hammer in her chest. ‘I’ve come to take you home, Mum. Don’t worry, he’ll see enough of me to last him a lifetime when he comes home.’