by Martina Cole
These two, for example, were worse than usual; they had not even had the sense to find out whether the people they had dealt to had the means to repay them, whatever might have happened. Serious dealers only dealt with people they knew could pay their debt, even in times of trouble. It was the same with bookies and gamblers. Unless they could cover their bets themselves, it was a mug’s game because, win or lose, you still owed the poke. And though a bookie might take your money, they rarely had a bet themselves. That was because they knew the odds were stacked against the punter. This pair of fucking drongos had handed their life savings over to people who had seen them as the equivalent of winning the pools. Who had never had any intention of paying them back. They had this coming to them, it was a foregone conclusion. But, that aside, whatever might have happened, right or wrong, they still owed a lot of money to the wrong people. Money that still had to be repaid, and repaid in full. This was a learning curve for them, and it would hopefully send out a message to others of their ilk. To pay up and shut up. As Jonjo went to work on them, he was thinking about his mother, and the promise of a roast dinner that night. He found that concentrating on the minutiae of life, the mundane, made his job so much easier. At that moment in time, the thought of his roast dinner had far more meaning to him personally than the fate of these two chancers.
As he arranged to remove their cars, along with anything else that could be sold off quickly, Jonjo was reminded once more that this would have been him had he not been tugged by his older brother, and shown the error of his ways. He was a lucky man all right, unlike this pair, who were already crying their eyes out. And he hadn’t even got to stage two yet.
Carole was tired out, but she was happy. The kids were in bed and she was happily awaiting the return of her husband at any moment. Michael had been away in Marbella for the last few days; she knew he was only there because Danny Boy didn’t like going anywhere alone any more. He was funny like that these days. He always wanted someone with him. If he went to the shops, or even the off-licence he hated to go by himself. It wasn’t that he was frightened in a physical sense; who would be fool enough to take him on? Carole smiled at the thought. No, it was for another reason entirely, but what that reason might be, she had no idea.
Ange was sitting at the kitchen table, and she walked up to her quickly and, squeezing her shoulder affectionately, she said quietly, ‘Do you want another cuppa, or a proper drink?’
Carole knew Ange would be more than ready for a tot of whisky, she had already put out the glass and the bottle for her. But this was a game they played on a regular basis. So she waited for her affirmation, and poured the drink she knew was expected of her. Ange grinned and sipped at the fiery liquid happily. It was funny, but Ange was like her own flesh and blood these days. She spent a lot of time here, and she was a great help. She knew that if Ange turned up at her door, it meant Danny Boy was up to his old tricks.
Carole knew that Ange was a godsend to poor Mary and she also knew that Ange couldn’t stomach too much of Danny Boy. Which was strange considering he loved her dearly. But she also knew that like anyone involved with him, she needed to get away on a regular basis. Michael was the same, though he would never admit that to anyone, of course. He was far too loyal for that.
As she replenished Ange’s glass Carole said lightly, ‘Is Danny Boy home yet?’
Ange nodded slightly, worried that because Michael hadn’t put in an appearance as yet, she might be putting her foot in it.
Carole knew what was going through the older woman’s mind and was annoyed, as if Michael would be doing the dirty on her; he might have his faults but infidelity wasn’t one of them, thank God. She knew that as well as she knew her own name. Unlike Mary, who had two daughters and a husband who came home intermittently, she had a charmed life by comparison. Michael was a good provider and a wonderful father. He spent as much time as possible with the kids, and with her. He enjoyed his family, enjoyed being with them. Danny Boy, on the other hand, enjoyed his two girls but still couldn’t find it in his heart to forgive Mary for the loss of his first daughter, and all the miscarriages. He gave the girls whatever they wanted when all they really wanted, needed, was a stable home life. At least, that is what she believed. Though Mary had never said anything to her, she knew that things were not right in that house. She also knew that Ange felt the same way, and probably knew a lot more about the situation than she did.
Carole poured another generous tot of whisky for Ange and, grinning, she said archly, ‘You are more like me mother than me own mother ever was.’
She meant what she said, but she also knew that hearing the words pleased Ange no end. Since falling out yet again with Annie, she had been very subdued. In fact, she was hard-pushed to speak to Annie herself as it had happened. But, as always, Carole kept her opinions to herself. But it was hard at times, especially as they were all such a big part of her life. She saw more of them than she did her own family. But she knew the value of a quiet tongue, she knew that better than anyone. Once things were said out loud, they could never be taken back. They were out there for ever. But she still felt a great anger and a great urge to, just once, give her honest opinion on the goings-on around her. Instead, she reminded herself that it was none of her business, as her husband had pointed out to her on more than one occasion.
Leona and Lainey were refusing to go to bed and, as usual, Mary was on the verge of giving up trying to make them. Then, as she was about to throw in the towel, Danny Boy walked out into the large marble entrance hall of their new home and shouted angrily, ‘Bed, the two of you, now.’
Both girls went straight up to their bedrooms without another word. Mary tucked them in, and kissed them goodnight, all the while wondering why Danny Boy was not out and about as usual. He was not even dressed; he had come home earlier and, instead of going back out as usual, he was lounging around in tracksuit bottoms and an old T-shirt. Watching Sky and giving her his orders. These ranged from making him tea, coffee and sandwiches, to pouring him a beer, a brandy, or fetching his cigars. It had been going on since he had come in, and she knew the only reason that he had shouted at the girls was because he was most probably staying in tonight himself and he wanted a bit of peace and quiet. Mary was grateful though, that the girls had gone to bed at last. They gave her so much grief at bedtime. She knew she was her own worst enemy where they were concerned. But, the one time she had shouted at them, really shouted at them to do as they were told, Danny Boy had caught her and beaten her to within an inch of her life in front of them. She’d no authority over them since. They sensed her fear, and they used it against her. But she didn’t really blame them, even though it hurt her deeply because, living in this house, you soon learned to use whatever you could to survive. His mother had passed on that little gem of wisdom.
Mary walked quietly back towards the kitchen, but he called out her name and she braced herself for a lecture before walking into the large drawing room where he was sprawled out on the Japanese silk sofa, watching Sky Sports.
She stood before him like an errant child, her nerves taut with the tension in the room. ‘What do you want, Dan?’ She was smiling gently, her eyes alert for any change in his demeanour. For a warning that he was going to attack her in some way, either physically or verbally.
He watched her for a few moments before saying quietly, ‘You shouldn’t let them talk to you the way they do.’
Mary shrugged nonchalantly, as if the question didn’t require any kind of answer from her.
The way they disregarded her annoyed him, even though he knew he was to blame for it. He felt his wife should assert herself more, though he knew she was incapable of asserting herself in any way, shape or form where he and his children were concerned. He wished at times that she still had a bit of fight in her, still had a bit of passion. But he had knocked that out of her years ago. At times like this he wondered why he was so hateful towards her, wished he could start again with her. Start anew. But that was impossibl
e, no one could go back to change the past. If they could, the world would be a much nicer place, he was sure.
Patting the seat beside him he motioned for her to sit down. She did, as he knew she would. She was like a puppet. A very lovely puppet though, admittedly. She was still stunningly beautiful, and that pleased him in some ways, even as it annoyed him in others. She was like a painted doll with her perfect hair and perfect make-up. Her clothes were, like his, impeccable. She knew how to dress and, more to the point, she also knew how to dress him. He let her choose his apparel because she had an eye for detail. He always looked the part, looked good. He knew she had all the attributes that most powerful men looked for in a partner, but he also knew that he didn’t give a flying fuck about that. She was his old woman, and that was all he would ever allow her to be in their relationship.
After the baby had died, he had not touched her physically for a long time. She had finally, with the intervention of the medical profession, produced two more daughters, and he knew she worried that he had wanted a son. He didn’t disabuse her of that notion, had hinted that he wanted one with each delivery. But, after his father, he was really quite happy to settle for girls in his life. A son, he felt, would only become a rival to him as the years went on, would favour his mother as boys tended to do. No, he liked his girls, they were less complicated and more easily controlled.
Danny then realised that Mary had not said a word, and he felt her discomfort as if it was a living thing. Suddenly, he saw her as others saw her. She had the most fascinating eyes, deep-set and framed by thick dark lashes, they were capable of mesmerising any man she might set out to get for herself. Not that any man in their right mind would even give her a good morning without his express say so.
‘I mean it, mare, you should put your foot down with them. Let them know who’s boss round here.’
He was attempting to lighten the mood and she knew that. Would have appreciated this effort many years ago, but loved him for trying to be nice to her. Like that was something she should have been grateful for. She smiled gently and said, without thought for the consequences, ‘Oh, they know who’s boss, Danny Boy, as well as you do, and we know that it ain’t me.’
The sadness of her words overwhelmed him for a few seconds and he pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. When she was like this he hated that she didn’t want him any more, that she was only with him because she was too frightened to leave him. He wanted her love now, needed her to want him still. He kissed her hair, breathing in the sweet smell of her perfume, loving the feel of her body against his. ‘Come on, Mary, you know I love you, darlin’.’
He was hugging her tighter now and, as always, it was nothing more than another proof of his ownership over her. She smiled then, and said sadly, ‘The worst of it all, Danny, is that I think you really do love me, and that’s the problem.’
Michael was listening to the man before him with an expression of such amazement that Arnold started to laugh. Michael looked at his friend and, sighing, he said tightly, ‘Listen, Arnie, you can’t even joke like this about Danny Boy. He has everyone on his payroll and they tell him everything. And if they tell him what you are insinuating . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.
Arnold was a big lad, and he had his creds; he also had Danny Cadogan’s sister in his bed, and given her his children. As far as he was concerned, he had done his bit for humanity. He also had a network of people that he trusted and, when he had jumped on the Cadogan band wagon, they had all come along with him for the ride. Now they had given him some very interesting information and he wanted, in fact needed, to know the truth of it. He trusted Michael more than he had ever trusted any white man before. They were soulmates in many respects. They had built a good relationship up over the years and they had often ganged up on Danny Boy, without him knowing about it, to talk him out of some of his more foolish acts of violence. So he was not frightened to pass this bit of information on. He knew Michael would need to know the truth of it as much as he did, if not more. After all, he had far more to lose if it all came on top.
The fact that Michael had not said anything for a few moments told Arnold that Michael just might think there was a grain of truth in the accusation. He hoped he was wrong, but he had a bad feeling about it all. This was too outrageous to be a lie. The fact it was so unbelievable was what made it so believable to him.
‘Not Danny Boy. Come on, Arnold, who told you all this?’
Arnold sighed heavily. His dreadlocks were longer and thicker than ever and his deep brown eyes were full of intelligence and concern. His whole demeanour was screaming for some kind of affirmation or rejection. Either way, he needed to know the truth.
‘David Grey is still his contact, by all accounts and, even after his run in with Danny Boy before, he is still on his payroll, still his go-between, and now he wants shot. He can’t do it any more. According to him, Danny has wiped out all his competition by grassing them up, and he has done it so fucking cleverly no one is any the wiser. He makes sure they are well out of his jurisdiction before they even get a hint of capture. He sells them down the river in advance. So he is well out of the frame when it finally goes down. His information guarantees him a fucking blank sheet; he could fucking kill the lot of us, and the Filth would not even dream of accusing him of anything. I mean, think about it, Grey has nothing to gain by telling me, has he?’
Michael was listening intently, and the words were penetrating his skull like six-inch nails, but he couldn’t let himself believe them. Could not let himself even wonder about them. It was an outrageous accusation. An accusation that could get them killed, especially if the wrong people were to hear about it.
He shook his head with a finality that brooked no argument to the contrary. ‘No way, mate, that’s fucking bollocks. Grey is a fucking liar, and I don’t want to hear any more about this, OK. You know, as well as I do, the Filth are probably trying to get to you. The lying, filthy, slippery bastards that they are. If Danny Boy even suspected you had talked to that cunt, he would out you without a fucking second’s thought and he’d be within his rights. You are married to his fucking sister, you have a fucking good earn on his name, and you have the nerve to come in here and say things like that to me?’ Arnold felt the cold hand of fear at Michael’s words. He had not expected a knock back, that was for sure; he had assumed Michael would have been of the same frame of mind as he was. Now Michael sounded so angry that Arnold wondered at his belief in their so-called friendship. He remembered that Danny Boy and Michael had been friends since they were little kids, and understood then that he would always be an outsider. He had been had over by a Filth, and he couldn’t believe he had fallen for it. He had believed it all as verbatim, still believed it, if the truth be told. But that was neither here nor there now, he had to try and make amends. He had to convince Michael he was sorry for what he had said, that he saw the error of his ways. That was all he could do to try to limit the damage this outspoken gossiping had caused him. And he had to pray that Michael didn’t repeat his accusations to Danny Boy himself. If he did, Annie would find herself a widow and his kids would be fatherless. He had misjudged Michael Miles; he had really believed they were mates, had thought they were close enough for him to talk frankly about his concerns. How fucking wrong could he be? He could be a dead man within hours over this.
‘Look, Michael, forget it . . . I was just paranoid, talking fuck-talk.’
Michael waved a hand in front of his face in anger. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll not tell anyone anything about this, and if I was you, I wouldn’t either. But you ever accuse Danny Boy of anything like that again, and I will have to take you out meself. Do you get my fucking drift?’
Arnold nodded his huge head, and wished once more that he had kept his big trap shut. When Michael motioned for him to leave the room, to get out of his sight, he left as quickly as he could. He was terrified at what he might have inadvertently caused.
Michael sat in the chair quietly, dige
sting slowly and carefully what Arnold had just told him. He knew in his heart that it was probably true; he had half-wondered at something like this many times over the years, but he could never allow himself to express the thoughts out loud.
Michael had first suspected Danny Boy of skulduggery concerning Old Bill many years before, when he had accused old Louie Stein of grassing. He had hated himself for the thought, even though the rumour was that Danny Boy’s father had served people up on occasion. Nothing had ever been proved about anything though, so he had let it go. But it had returned with a vengeance when Danny had insisted on taking out Frankie Cotton. Frankie was someone who would be missed. Who should have been off-limits. Danny Boy’s hatred of him had been without any kind of foundation; it was completely devoid of any logic. Danny Boy saw him as a threat. In more ways than one. He had then removed him with his usual violence, amid rumours of his alleged grassing. Rumours that seemed to be true, seemed to have some foundations.