Faces

by Martina Cole

  She was to go down to theatre in the morning to have a D & C, make sure that the baby was all gone. Scrape out the last little bits of her child, the last remnants of her baby. Apparently. According to one of the nurses, lots of women lost the first baby, and she had then said that she shouldn’t worry too much about it. Easier said than done, unfortunately.

  She couldn’t help worrying, Danny hardly ever came near her any more and, now that this had happened, she wondered what his reaction would be when she finally went back to their home. Finally faced him.

  This poor little child had been her last hope, had been the thing she had pinned her dreams on. No matter what happened to her and Danny, she would always have had this child, would have had someone to lavish all her pent-up love and affection on. Now that was gone, and she was once more a failure. She had failed in even this, the most basic of female requirements. She knew of women who produced regularly without a day’s illness, dirty, rotten bitches with a brood of kids trailing behind them, the mothers unable to care for them properly, letting them play out till all hours of the night. Not realising how lucky they were to have them, what a privilege it was to be blessed with them. And here she was, unable to produce even one.

  The tears finally came then, hot and salty, and she didn’t even try to stem them in any way. She was sobbing, and the release felt good. She knew now that Danny Boy was not coming, so she could cry with impunity, really let rip. She cried for the baby she had lost, for her marriage, but mostly for the mother that she missed so desperately because, no matter what happened in life, there was always a bed for you at your mother’s home. All the time she was alive her children had somewhere to go. Somewhere to run to, and somewhere to call home.

  She now knew that all her mother had said to her over the years had been the truth, she should have married someone who would have taken care of her, someone who loved her, who could have given her a good life. She also realised, too late, that she should have loved her mother properly, while she had still had her, as bad as she was, as much as she had annoyed her with her drunken antics because, once your mother was gone, they were gone, and no one could ever replace them.

  Michael and Danny were in the yard: Louie had been given what Michael thought was a fair price, and they were now going through the books he had kept. There were two sets, one for his perusal, and one for the taxman. That was the beauty of a cash business, no one ever knew what you had really earned, and no one was ever liable to find out either. Not unless you were stupid enough to tell them, anyway.

  They were both interested in the scrap business, it was a good front as well as a good earner. Lorries and cars pulling up at all hours wouldn’t look out of place, so it was ideal for them, and they were determined to make it turn a decent profit, not that Louie had done too badly with it. But, like a lot of the older men, he had missed out on a lot of opportunities because he had been nervous of trying anything new. Danny wondered if they would be like that one day, and dismissed the thought immediately. He would always have his eye on the new, on the main chance. He couldn’t even imagine himself old, not as old as Louie anyway. That seemed so far away, so long into the future. He smiled at the thought of it.

  ‘You all right, Danny Boy?’

  Michael’s voice broke into his thoughts and he was perplexed at the question, then he almost laughed out loud as he remembered what had happened. What had prompted the question in the first place. Michael was sorry for Danny Boy and Mary: the loss of the baby had been a big blow to them both, he was sure of that.

  ‘I’m all right, mate.’

  It was a dismissal and Michael knew it. But he understood that Danny didn’t want to discuss it. He also knew that he had not been to the hospital either. In a strange way he understood that as well. Men didn’t cope as well as women with that kind of thing. He had explained that to Mary, tried to get her to understand that Danny was grieving in his own way. He didn’t really believe it any more than she did. But what could he do? He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and Mary was even getting on his nerves lately. She was like the prophet of doom, and he was pleased to leave her in the hands of the women for the time being.

  Ange had been a star, as had Annie. Annie was the last person he had imagined being such a staunch friend. It just showed you how wrong you could be about somebody. Carole Rourke, an old school friend, had also been a regular visitor and, for some reason, that pleased him. Mary had been in hospital for ten days now: she had not seemed able to get over what had happened to her. Michael knew she was not as ill as she made out, that she was delaying going home. He knew that she was devastated about the loss of the baby, and he also knew that she was dreading going back to that huge, empty house. But he believed that the sooner she went home the better it would be for them all. Danny had lost a child as well, but no one seemed to think about that.

  ‘I am going to put Jonjo in here, let him run it for a while, see how he goes.’

  Michael nodded. He had expected as much. Plus Jonjo was a good worker, and reliable, even if he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

  ‘We can concentrate on the outside business then, and use this place as a base. The casinos are getting too well known now, and the people who frequent them are also bringing down a lot of heat with them. But that is what earns us the dough, so this place is ideal really. It’s tucked away, yet on a busy road, and it’s difficult to nose about in here without giving us a fair warning. Old Bill would be hard-pushed to raid this place with the dogs running loose.’

  They both laughed. They had acquired a young lad from their estate who had three large Dobermans. He was paid to sit on his arse all day and watch his animals as they roamed free. If anyone wanted to come in, they were rounded up and locked in the night hut until the business was completed. They were lovely dogs, but they were not the most social animals on the planet. They were worth their weight in gold though, the half-inching of car parts had literally stopped overnight. In fact, they had not realised just how much could be nicked in broad daylight until now. Though Michael wondered privately if the fact that now Danny owned the yard might also be a contributing factor. Louie had always assumed that the people he dealt with on a daily basis were kosher: now it seemed that they were not as trustworthy as he had thought. Danny was not impressed with this knowledge as he had run this place for Louie as a kid and even his eagle eyes had missed a lot of the scrumping that had taken place.

  So, on the bright side, they knew that they were already quids in where the parts were concerned, and already quids in on their drops. The drops could be done here on a more regular basis and without them having to weigh out to Louie for the privilege. As they made their plans, they were both aware that the money they were now making was really serious. It was the kind of money people dreamed about, and they were also aware that serious money had to be made to work for you, otherwise it was pointless having it in the first place. Money, as they both knew, came back to money.

  Mary and Carole Rourke were in her kitchen, Carole was looking around her in awe. She had never seen anything like this place except on television. The fitted kitchen was real wood, the worktops were granite and the appliances were state of the art. She was gawking in open wonderment at what Mary now saw as her usual surroundings. She was used to it here, and she didn’t have the heart to tell Carole that she was frightened to make a mess in her own home, frightened to use most of the appliances that were still in pristine condition. That she felt more of a guest in her own home than Carole did, that, other than the cleaning and washing and, of course, cooking, most of the house was alien to her. Danny acted like she was the lodger, and treated her as though she was nothing more than the hired help. But she still carried on the charade that everything was all right, that her marriage was perfect. She had too much pride to do otherwise. As she sat there now, and looked at the kitchen through Carole’s eyes, she saw just how other people really saw her and saw her perfect life. If only they knew.

 
Carole smiled, she was thrilled at her old friend’s good fortune. Even though she had lost her baby, she was pleased that she had such a beautiful home to recover in. To her, this was the equivalent to winning the pools, and she was happy that her friend had been blessed with such a wonderful husband, someone who could provide for her and the children she was sure would arrive in the future.

  She was so glad she had decided to make the trip to the hospital when she had heard about Mary’s miscarriage. She had only wanted to let her know she was thinking of her, and cared about her. She’d only intended to pop in for a few minutes, see if she needed anything, or if she wanted her to do a few errands. But Mary had been so pleased to see her, had been so touched that she had thought of her, that they had bonded all over again, as they had years before, when they had been little kids.

  Carole had been even more thrilled to see Michael Miles, her old neighbour and school friend and her girlhood idol. Carole was a big girl, heavy-hipped, with lush breasts that were the object of many a man’s desire. She was very pretty, but in a quiet way, not like Mary who knew how to make herself noticeable. Carole had wonderful bone structure, with high cheekbones and deep-set blue eyes that were framed by long, dark eyelashes. She had honey-blond hair that was as natural as the rest of her. It was long and it curled slightly at the edges giving her the look of an old-time movie star. She wore little in the way of make-up, but she didn’t really need any. Her kindness shone out of her like a beacon. In reality, the two women were like chalk and cheese, but they were already as close as they had been as children and Carole had guessed, though she would never say it out loud, that Mary wasn’t as happy as she should be. She put it down to the loss of the baby, but in her heart she knew it went much deeper than that. As they sipped at their tea, she saw Mary stiffen in fright at the sound of the front door opening, a few seconds later the huge frame of Danny Boy Cadogan filled the kitchen. He looked at Carole and his face split into a wide grin.

  ‘Fuck me! Look who it is! Hello, Carole, love.’

  He was genuinely pleased to see her, and Mary watched as Carole stood up and he hugged her close to him. His huge arms dwarfed the girl who was now chattering away to him in a way that she couldn’t even imagine any more.

  ‘What a lovely place you’ve got here, it’s out of this world, Danny Boy.’

  Mary saw him swell with pride at the words, knew that he, like her, didn’t really see it any more, didn’t value it like he should, but still appreciated the way Carole was so impressed by it. She reminded him of just how well he was doing, how far he had come.

  Danny Boy let Carole go reluctantly; she felt good, her voluptuous figure was pleasing to him, felt good in his embrace. He stared down at her, seeing the plump cheeks that were smooth and devoid of any foundation, her full lips always ready to smile. He saw the soulful eyes that had captivated him as a boy. A boy who had not felt good enough for a nice girl like her. A boy who had never had the opportunity to even play at courting like his contemporaries. He’d been too busy sorting out his father’s fuck-ups and his siblings’ lives. Looking at Carole now, he realised just what he had missed and also, thanks to her honesty and excitement at his home, how far he had actually come since those days. It was amazing really, Carole Rourke was the only person to make him feel happy inside himself for a long time. Her open face and her thick blond hair, untouched by any kind of dye, was refreshing. As he looked at his wife, at her carefully applied make-up and her thin frame, he was reminded of the travesty his marriage had turned into, the sham of a life that they lived through on a daily basis.

  Carole smelled of Vosene shampoo and Knights Castile soap. She was real, she felt real, and he suddenly wished that he was coming home to her, coming home to her with her truthfulness and her honesty. She smelled of the things a good woman should smell of; even her perfume, Topaz, was from an Avon catalogue, an aroma his wife would not be caught wearing if her life depended on it was, to him, perfection. She was bright, she was natural, and she was a virgin: he would stake his life on that much. Beside her, poor Mary was like an also-ran and he was aware that she knew that as well as he did.

  ‘You sit down, Danny, I’ll make the tea, mate.’

  And he did just that, happy to be in his own home for the first time since he had purchased it.

  ‘He is a bastard, Ange, and you know it.’

  As she laid the table for their tea, Ange was silently praying. Her husband was determined to make the loss of the child Danny Boy’s fault and she wasn’t about to join in. She knew that poor Mary had suffered an unfortunate event, as her own mother would have described it. And she also knew there was plenty of time for them to produce a child. Her husband though, wouldn’t let it rest, and this from a man who had beaten his own children from her body without a backward glance.

  ‘The vicious ponce. I wish I was in me full health because, I swear to you, I’d swing for that bastard . . .’

  Jonjo was listening to his parents’ conversation as he had many times over the years. The flat was so small that it was impossible not to hear what was being said. In fact, like his sister, he had made a point of not listening to it all over the years. Of turning up the radio, or the TV, putting on a record, so that whatever was being said was kept private. Now though, he was actively on the listen. Now he worked for his big bruv, earned a decent wedge at last, and had, at the same time, discovered the power that respect could bring to a body, he felt the loyalty for Danny Boy welling up inside him. Stepping into the kitchen he said maliciously, ‘Who the fuck are you to talk about our Danny Boy like that, eh?’

  Ange was mortified, as was her husband, and she recovered the power of speech first. ‘You shut your trap, and sit down. I’ll not have you talking to your father like that . . .’

  Jonjo, a big lad now, and a lad who had a long memory of his father’s fists and feet, said abruptly, ‘Keep out of this, Mum, and remember who you’re talking about. We’d have been hard-pushed for a fucking bit of scram if it had been left to this cunt to provide for us. He dumped us with a regularity that even you must have noticed.’

  Big Dan Cadogan knew the boy wanted to fight him, knew it had been on the cards for many a long year, and he also knew that he didn’t want any part of it any more. Once he would have welcomed his younger son’s words, would have taken great pleasure in beating them out of him. Now though, he knew he wasn’t capable of doing that, wasn’t even inclined towards it. Instead he kept his own counsel and didn’t answer the young lad who was a menacing force, who was now dangerous to him.

  ‘I am on the earn thanks to Danny Boy, and I pay me fucking way. Don’t ever badmouth him in front of me, right. You don’t even whisper his name in my presence, you old bastard. You fucking useless old ponce.’

  Jonjo watched his mother and father as they exchanged glances, glances that told him they were working together against him. That they thought he was still a kid who could be silenced with a harsh word or a cross look. Whose own mother was willing to overlook his humiliation, would encourage it even. She would back her husband up, even though she knew he was in the wrong. Jonjo was not going to let that happen ever again, and he wanted this confrontation, needed it.

  ‘Sit down, son, and stop all this nonsense.’

  It was his father’s voice that did it, the way he tried to act as if they were bosom buddies, as if they had some kind of rapport. As his sister watched from the hallway he launched himself at his father and, as he felt his fists pummelling the ancient flesh, he felt, for the first time in his life, as if he was in control of his own destiny. Felt the pent-up anger and hatred spewing out of him even as his mother tried desperately to stop the beating. Knowing that she was still sticking up for the man who had terrorised them all at some time or another made his anger grow stronger and he pushed her away roughly. He knocked her into the table, saw her try to keep her balance, and knew he should care about what he had done to her. That he should try and make amends, somehow. But he couldn’t.

&
nbsp; He was aware of the kitchen, of the new cooker, the decorating that had been done at his brother’s expense. But he was seeing it as it had looked when he was a child, scratched and scuffed, nothing in the fridge, and the Christmases without even a bit of grub, let alone presents. The birthdays that were bleak reminders of this man’s selfishness and his determination to drink and gamble away any money that came his way. His determination to forget the family who had depended on him, had expected him to look after them, look out for them, like other men did for their families, for the children they had brought into the world. The children who he had conveniently forgotten about. It was as if all this hatred was overpowering him, making this moment, this event, so important he daren’t let it go.

  When his mother finally dragged him away from his father’s prostrate form, Jonjo stood in the middle of the kitchen, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, the sweat pouring off him and he saw Annie white-faced and crying, and he knew then that it had all gone too far. That, like Danny Boy, he had left it too late, that the man he hated wasn’t a man any more, not in the true sense of the word anyway. Seeing his father bloodied and bruised didn’t give him the peace he craved, it just exacerbated his own loneliness. The knowledge that the man who had sired him had no real time for him, and never would have, just amplified the hatred he felt for himself.

  He saw his mother helping her husband up from the floor, saw her seat him tenderly on a chair and knew that her actions were wrong: that it was him, her child, she should have been looking out for. But then, she had always put their father over them, over all of them. No matter what stroke he pulled, or what danger he placed them in. She had always sacrificed them for him, for the man who had treated her like shit. She only really wanted them when he had gone from her, was absent without leave, had abandoned them all, his mother included. Well, he was a man now, and he was not going to let anyone make him feel less than he was, ever again. Danny Boy had given him a role to play, had provided him with a niche, with a life that he was actually enjoying. Overnight, thanks to Danny Boy, he had the kudos and the respect he had always craved. His new job had given him the pride in himself he had always dreamed of.