by Martina Cole
Especially from the very people who had helped him on his way.
Ange was worried about her daughter-in-law, the girl was a bundle of nerves. Mary had always been a confident girl, even as a kid. Now, as she sipped at her tea, Ange was amazed at the difference in her. Mary was, as always, immaculately turned out, and she was also on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Ange knew how hard her brother’s outburst had affected her, knew that her son had also felt the backlash from it. Normally she would have felt an affinity with Gordon, would have felt that what he had said would need addressing at some point, because she had believed then, like many a mother before her, that no one would ever be good enough for her son and she knew this girl’s reputation around the streets. But all that had changed now. She had watched the gradual destruction of her son’s wife, and that bothered her. Mary had been the victim of not only her own menfolk, but also the victim of the man she had married, the man who should have been the first one defending her, no matter what the truth was of the accusations. The girl was wasting away in front of her eyes, and her huge eyes had the hunted look of a cornered animal. She watched the clock constantly, her fear tangible to anyone unlucky enough to be in her company. She was white-faced and drawn-looking, like someone who had been handed down a death sentence even though they were innocent. And, knowing how her elder son had tortured his own father, and even herself, when he had deemed it suitable, she knew it wouldn’t be too hard for her to believe that he was once more enjoying someone else’s downfall.
That she was Michael’s sister would be part of the game as far as Danny Boy was concerned, her son needed to control everyone around him. He needed to be the one who orchestrated their every move, good or bad, even though the people involved might not realise that for a very long time. When they finally did understand, it was always too late to do anything about it. He was a demon when the fancy took him, and he was all the worse because he actually enjoyed the chaos he caused. He was unnatural like that, but that was also what made him so desirable to the men he courted for work, and also the women who threw themselves at him. She was aware that they all thought they could control him, but nobody could. Her Danny Boy would gradually wipe them out, take what was theirs and step into their shoes, all the time smiling and making the next person up in the chain of command believe he was only out for their best interests. He was clever, he was slippery, and he was one dangerous fuck. He was gradually taking over everything and everyone around him, and he was doing it with a smile, with his natural charm that blinded people to his real nature. He was successful because he dealt with people who were as greedy as he was, and he used that weakness to his own advantage. This little girl, however, was a shadow of her former self; her eyes were constantly on the go, watching the door, watching the clock. She was terrified of her husband not coming home, and yet she knew she would be even more terrified when he did turn up.
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mary?’ It was a gentle query, spoken with a softness that belied her real agenda.
‘I’m great, it’s just I worry about Danny, you know.’
Ange nodded sympathetically, as if this was perfectly normal behaviour from a new wife. The girl was trying hard to relax and it was painful to watch. She was gritting her teeth so hard her whole jawline was jutting out, making her look terribly vulnerable when, in reality, it should have made her look strong, made her look dependable. She had the same determination as her mother, and the same good looks that even years of chronic alcoholism hadn’t completely destroyed. Yet, in a few short months she had somehow gone from an independent woman to this travesty of a new wife, a nervous wreck who pretended that her life was wonderful when it was obvious to anyone with even half a brain that her life was untenable. That she dreaded her husband’s presence almost as much as she craved it. And Ange could understand that better than anyone.
‘Why do you worry about him, Mary? He can take care of himself. I’m more worried about you, girl. You seem preoccupied and distracted a lot of the time. You can talk to me, you know. Is everything all right between you? Are you happy?’
She was looking into the face of her daughter-in-law, all the time knowing that the girl would never utter a word against her husband, was worried that she had been sent by her husband to try and catch her out, to see if she was capable of being disloyal.
Mary smiled then, a beautiful smile that Ange knew had taken all of her considerable willpower to produce. She looked perfectly normal then, beautiful, like a real young wife; that is if you didn’t know the score. She even managed to look pleasantly surprised at the question asked of her, and if you weren’t aware of the underlying terror inside her breast, you might be conned into thinking that your probing questions were out of order. Were rude even.
‘Oh, Ange, you are a strange one. Most mother-in-laws try and find fault with their sons’ wives. Danny wouldn’t like you asking me all these things about him . . . He’s like me, close-mouthed and happier for it.’
It was a veiled threat and they both knew it. Ange knew then that this girl would never open up to her or anyone else. Her son had made sure that she was far too scared ever to openly disobey him or talk against him. He had what he wanted, a walking, talking, living doll, and she knew that there was nothing she could ever do to change that. She couldn’t change this poor girl’s life, make her feel easier inside herself, give her someone to confide in, trust. Because this girl was now a prisoner in the huge, expensive house that she had once bragged about to anyone who would listen to her. She was a prisoner of her own beauty and her own arrogance. Once this girl had looked down on her mother-in-law, treated her like the hired help, had seen her as nothing more than an old woman, a standing joke. Had never imagined that her own life could have ever emulated hers in any way, shape or form. Somehow though, this knowledge didn’t make her mother-in-law feel any better.
Chapter Seventeen
Michael was eating his meal quietly. It was early evening and he liked this time of day; he had picked up the bulk of the money that they demanded regularly from the smaller businesses in their orbit and, unlike the majority of their peers who thought it was only pennies and half-pennies, he knew that it weighed out into a serious wedge over the course of a year. Look after the pennies and the pounds always looked after themselves. So many people in their game chased only the big dollars these days, but it had been proven over and over again that it was the little amounts that added up over time. They were also overlooked by Old Bill, in fact they were overlooked by everyone. A few quid was seen as a touch, a drink. A bank robbery, on the other hand, was seen as a piss-take, the forcible removal of a huge amount of money and therefore worthy of Filth’s notice. Unless they were forewarned, of course and, thanks to Danny Boy and Michael, they were warned well in advance. But the rents, as they referred to the smaller amounts, went unnoticed by the powers that be, so there was no need to give anyone a drink or ask for them to turn a blind eye to the transactions. Coupled with the rest of their London earnings, the rents were actually worth enough to keep them in the style they were now accustomed to, without any of their other business deals. They used youngsters as the fall guys, new Faces, and all they gave them was what amounted to pocket money, but the boys they employed would be happy to do it for nothing. As long as they could brag that they worked for Danny Boy Cadogan, were on his firm, they were happy. The perks from that kind of liaison were legion and these days the lower down the ladder, the more chance of loyalty if a capture was ever to occur. It was the so-called Faces with a few quid and a certain lifestyle who were more likely to grass. It stood to reason, they had so much more to lose. Consequently, the youngsters were courted and sounded out for the top jobs later on in life.
Michael admired that about Danny Boy, his acumen was spot on, he knew that no one else would bother with what they saw as a few quid here and there, they saw it as too much aggravation these days. That few quid though, when multiplied, was a lot of fucking dosh, and yet without Michael to
sort out the finer details of it all, nothing would ever have come of it, like a lot of their businesses. Danny had the ideas, he just didn’t have the dedication that was needed for the day-to-day running of it all. Danny Boy wasn’t capable of keeping his eye on any particular ball, because once he had set that ball in motion it was basically forgotten about. It was then left to him, Michael, to see that the little details, such as the collecting of the monies or the distribution of largesse, was sorted out with the minimum of fuss but with the maximum of profit. Michael could do it in his sleep. It came naturally to him, what didn’t come naturally, however, was the actual finding of these earners. Whereas Danny Boy could see them as plain as day. He would then pass them over to his friend and forget about them for the most part, until suddenly, out of the blue, he would question him closely about how well they were doing and whether he thought they could expand on them in any way now or in the future. Michael always had the answer to his questions the moment that he asked them. He could tell him down to the last penny what that particular business was worth or how much it had earned them overall. Michael knew that this was his strength, and that it was also Danny Boy’s weakness. He also knew that Danny Boy was quite capable of bringing in someone else to fill his shoes at any given time. He didn’t think he would, though, because he knew that he was the only person Danny Boy had ever really trusted. He had known the original Danny Boy Cadogan, known him before the Murrays had fucked with his head, and before their outrageous demands had sent him on to the road he was now on. He knew exactly how his father’s betrayal had affected him, and all his family come to that. He knew how important it was for him to be respected, to be revered, to be treated like royalty. Danny Boy Cadogan had made sure that he would never again hear his name said without respect, never again hear it shouted out with a demand for the payment of debts, or in any derogatory way at all. Danny Boy had made sure of that much, not just for himself, but for his family as well.
Yet Michael still sometimes resented the fact that he was expected to remember everything that they were involved in, while Danny Boy didn’t even bother to concern himself with the day-to-day running of it all. He knew he should be grateful that Danny left him to it and trusted him a hundred per cent. He knew that without it he would not be where he was today. It galled him sometimes though, that he was the real brains of the outfit, the money-man, the real money-gatherer, and he was still treated by some of the people they dealt with as the hired help. It was Danny Boy that people wanted to see these days, even though it was him who sorted out the nitty gritty, the day-to-day running of it all. Yet he knew that was a natural occurrence, Danny Boy had a presence; he possessed a powerful magnetism that people in their world were attracted to. He had that certain something that made him different from all the other up-and-coming Faces on the pavements. Danny Boy had the edge because he was, without shadow of a doubt, a fucking headcase and, the scariest thing of all was, he didn’t pretend he was a nutter, like a lot of the so-called headcases it was evident to anyone who came within fifteen feet of him that he was the real McCoy. A bona fide looney tunes who was capable of turning on a sixpence. Who had no idea just how fucking unpredictable he could be. No idea that his behaviour was seen by the people they dealt with as beyond the norm, he even frightened hardened criminals, but they used him even as they secretly despised him.
He had got the Murrays to cripple his own father, an act that had set him on to the road of villainy in the first place, and he had made his name by removing anyone foolish enough to stand in his way - permanently. He had more than a few scalps under his belt, and they were not the scalps of nobodies, ice creams. Danny Boy had taken on the best like Jamie Carlton, and won. And he had tagged behind him as he always had, and did what was required of him without question.
They were like a rock band in many respects. Danny Boy was the front man, the singer, whereas Michael was the backroom boy, the person no one really noticed but who made sure that everything went smoothly. If Danny had not married his sister then his allegiance to his friend would never have been called into question. But, no matter what she had done, what she was, she was still his sister, and Danny Boy should have remembered that fact and respected it. She was his wife and Danny Boy had chosen to keep it that way, and he wanted her to be happy again. Michael couldn’t bear the sadness in her eyes, all the while knowing that his best friend was the reason for it.
Michael was sitting back now, forcibly relaxing himself into the comfort of the leather chair, attempting to control his breathing. He was in a small Indian restaurant on the Mile End Road. He liked it here, they provided good food and a congenial atmosphere. Now, thanks to him, they were also willing to accept parcels on a regular basis. These parcels could contain anything from guns to drugs, and they were paid accordingly, pleased to be a part of the new breed, and confident that this would guarantee them the monopoly in their area for a few years at least. Any restaurants that might now open in their vicinity would be owned only by their relatives, so no harm would be done to them personally. It was how the world was now working, and they knew that to survive in it they had to take a more active role, and their children too, especially those who had been born in the locality and were streetwise enough to see the logic in these new business deals.
Michael was pleased with his negotiations, and he knew that one day they would be useful in other ways. The people involved would be loyal to them and, like Danny Boy always said, you never knew when someone might come in handy. This from a man who, when he deemed someone to be of no further use, was capable of cutting them off like a cancerous tumour without a second’s thought.
The secret with Danny Boy, Michael knew, was to always make sure you were useful to him in some way. Even his own father had sussed that much out. Michael closed his eyes once more, and tried to stop the hateful thoughts from overtaking his mind. If he wasn’t careful, the anger he felt inside him, that was simmering away on a daily basis, would boil and overflow, and he knew from experience that anger, without an outlet of some kind, could be a very destructive force.
Then he saw his brother Gordon walking into the restaurant, as large as life. He saw his brother’s open face, so like his own, and the confident stride that told him that Gordon now believed that enough time had passed, that what had happened at his sister’s wedding had been forgotten, and he was due not only his forgiveness but, knowing his little brother, everyone else’s as well. Michael watched warily as Gordon made his way towards his table. He was dressed like a reject from Spandau Ballet, his leather jacket and boot-leg jeans were accentuated by the blond streaks in his thick, dark hair. His roots were already well grown-out, and that made him look cheap, like a dole-queue boy. He was a scruffbag, as his mother would have called him, and Michael was ashamed of him. How anyone could walk about like him was beyond his understanding. Jonjo was of an age and he always looked tidy, smart, but then he had to deal with Danny Boy who, like him, abhorred the men who were slaves to fashion. Despised the nonces who wanted to look like a particular pop star. They were laughable, an embarrassment. You needed to look serious to be taken seriously by the people you dealt with.
‘What do you fucking want, Gordon?’ Michael was curt, embarrassed to be seen with him. Up close the boy was even scruffier than he had first thought.
‘I was sent to get you by Jonjo. Mary is in the hospital, she’s lost the baby.’
Mary was alone in the small room reserved for the women whose babies were no longer inside them. At least that is how she thought of this place in her own mind. It was quiet here, but she could hear the muffled cries of the women in labour not two minutes’ walk away from where she lay. Through the window in the door she could see the patients as they wandered past, some going for a crafty cigarette, others going to the day room to watch their favourite programmes. These were women with big lumps in front of them, women who were, without doubt, pregnant. She was jealous of them all, of their huge pendulous breasts, overblown hips, even their str
etch marks.
Her baby had slid out of her without a murmur, a three-month-old foetus that she had hastily rescued from the toilet bowl. Had wrapped gently in toilet paper and clutched in her hand tightly to show it to the doctor in the hope that he could do something to prevent this ever happening to her again. She couldn’t even cry now. She was devoid of tears. In fact, she felt numb, as if the baby had taken everything she had ever felt with it when it had decided to leave her. Even her own baby had not wanted to stay with her, even her own child had abandoned her, and who could blame it for that? She was a pariah, she was unfit to be a mother.
But she had wanted that baby so badly, had desperately believed that it would bring her and Danny Boy together, would have been the reason for them starting their life anew. He had not come to see her, had not bothered to even send her a message. He had left her alone, left her to grieve for their baby all by herself.