Faces

by Martina Cole

  But Danny Boy had not been worried at all about the consequences of his actions where Cotton was concerned. Michael had felt a niggling doubt at the time, had even tried to talk Danny out of it. But it was already a done deal. He had forced the treacherous thoughts from his mind, telling himself that he was out of order to think those thoughts about his friend. But the real suspicion had been when Danny Boy had managed to get his hands on his own father’s signed statements to the police. Not copies, the originals. And, for all his talk of their having an in with the Filth, he knew deep inside that Big Danny Cadogan would have gone to the top with his information. That it had to have been intercepted in some way. The statement had been given, it had been witnessed and signed. No one could retrieve something like that, not once it had gone that far. It would have been taped, it would have been photocopied, no one could have retrieved it without offering something in return.

  Either that or Danny Boy Cadogan had been set up somehow. Not a chance in hell. Big Danny Cadogan had gone to the Filth all right, only he had not realised at the time that his son was already a supergrass in the making.

  Grey had been given a hammering, but that had only guaranteed his place as Danny Boy’s gofer. Now it seemed to him that Grey could have inadvertently become part of the set-up, and that, like himself, he had not realised it until it was too late. Danny Boy would have offered Grey up on a plate. A bent Filth was not something the Met would really concern themselves with; if they nicked every copper who was on the rob there would be hardly any police presence on the streets at all.

  Michael felt sick with apprehension. If what he was thinking was actually true, then where the fuck did that leave him? If this was feasible then Danny Boy had to have served him up as well. He was his fucking partner, the so-called brains of the outfit. Was he next on the list? When Danny Boy felt he had served his purpose, would he be the victim of a capture? Was he living on borrowed time?

  He knew Arnold thought it was true, but he was not about to commit himself to anyone, no matter how much he liked them. He had to box clever with this information. He had to get to the bottom of it, then extricate himself as best he could. But he still could not believe that Danny Boy was capable of grassing. He couldn’t get his head round it, couldn’t admit that it was a possibility. Michael closed his eyes tightly and felt the familiar pounding in the back of his head heralding the beginning of one of the migraines that had plagued him over the years.

  ‘Thanks, Carole, I appreciate this.’ Carole hugged the old woman affectionately. Unlike most of the others, she didn’t have a problem with Ange, she really liked her.

  ‘Come on, mate, I’ll walk you to your door.’ She held onto Ange’s arm lightly and walked her up the pathway to her front door. The house was lit up, and she breathed a sigh of relief, normally she had trouble getting the key in the lock because of the darkness.

  As they got to the front step the door was opened by Danny Boy. ‘Hello, Mum. I was getting worried about you, thought you might be out on the pull.’

  Ange smiled happily at her son’s friendly words.

  He helped her inside and said gaily, ‘Stick the kettle on, Muvver.’

  Then, smiling at Carole, he said, ‘Staying for a cup?’

  She shook her head quickly, waving her hands in a gesture of annoyance. ‘I better get back, Michael has another migraine. Poor sod, they really knock him for six.’

  Danny Boy nodded with mock sympathy. ‘The poor little soldier.’

  Carole laughed as she walked down the drive towards her car. He waved theatrically at her before shutting the door loudly. Then, going to the kitchen, he sat at the table and lit himself a cigarette. Ange knew he was agitated and, as she made the tea, she watched him surreptitiously. He was smoking in short, sharp puffs, his angry face screwed up in concentration. His obvious annoyance was threatening to spill over and he barked at her, ‘What’s all this about you looking after the girls while my wife went out? And don’t fucking deny it, Mother, Lainey told me. I was in Spain, knocking me fucking pound out to earn a few quid, and my old woman was on the out. And, to add insult to injury, me own mother was babysitting for her.’

  He stood up then and Ange shrank back from him, her fear of him overriding her naturally argumentative nature. He had not only bowed his poor wife down, but he had bowed her down as well. She was terrified of him and that knowledge saddened her. She loved him, but she also resented the hold he had on their lives. He moved away from her, and she guessed her fear had made him ashamed. So, pouring the tea, she said, without looking at him, ‘She only went to Carole’s, they had a chinwag. I was happy enough to watch the girls. What is wrong with that, may I ask?’ She sounded like her old self, had the question in her voice, coupled with her complete disregard for whatever answer she might be given. As she stirred his tea, she felt the force of his silence. So, taking her courage in both hands, she looked in his direction and, smiling at her eldest child she said jovially, ‘Carole was lonely without your man, and I encouraged Mary to go round there for a few hours. Get out of that house for a while.’

  Danny Boy was wrong-footed now and he knew it. That his mother would take Mary’s side over his was a revelation to him.

  ‘Ask young Carole if you don’t believe me.’

  Danny still didn’t say a word to her, just stared at her as if wondering what to do to her.

  Ange was fed up with all this and, swallowing her fear, she said quietly, ‘You are your father’s son, all right. He had the jealousy in him as well.’

  Danny Boy sat back in the chair then and said sarcastically, ‘Oh, did he? Was that before or after he spunked up all his money on drink and gambling? After, I bet. When he was drunk. Let’s face it, sober, he fucking hated you, didn’t he? I mean, this was the man who threw all our lives away on a game of cards. Who caused me to go out grafting before I had even left school. But, if I am like him, how come my kids ain’t fucking starving like we always were? How come you live in this nice house with the bills paid and a fridge full of grub? How come I ain’t pissed up all the time, so as I can conveniently forget I have a family? Answer me that, Mother.’

  She didn’t say a word, and he knew she wouldn’t. She couldn’t: the truth hurt, as he knew it would. As he had wanted it to.

  ‘And, while we’re on the subject, Mum, if he was so jealous, why did you have him back all those times? Even after he had fucking dumped us again and left me with the Murrays and the threat of his fucking gambling debt hanging over my head? My head, not his. Mine. He was shacked up with some old sort, it was me who had to fucking grow up overnight and scrump you a fucking wage. So, come on, I really want to know the answer to that one, Mum. It’s a real melon scratcher as far as I am concerned. So, enlighten me, and then you can answer my original question. Who said you could look after my girls while my wife went out on the piss? Because that is what she would have been doing, and we both know that, don’t we?’ He was on his dignity now, and his mother wondered at how she had ever thought this man, standing so arrogantly before her, could have been the apple of her eye.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Annie knew that something was wrong, she just wasn’t sure what it was. Arnold was like a cat on hot bricks and Michael seemed too quiet somehow. Danny Boy was full of his usual conceitedness, and just seemed to her even more strange than he usually did. For example, he kept asking her if she had ever babysat his girls while poor Mary went out, and if she knew whether their mother had stayed out, had left them overnight. It was like a mission with him, as if the only thing that would stop him asking was when he was told that his questions or, more to the point, his accusations, were true.

  She had even sworn on the kids’ lives, and he had raised one eyebrow slowly and said quietly, ‘Never swear your kids lives away, Annie. Only a fucking whore would do something like that.’ He had no interest in the truth, and they both knew that.

  She had laughed loudly, in desperation, and said to him angrily, ‘But I’m telling y
ou the truth, Danny Boy, why would I lie to you, what the fuck would that gain me?’

  He had looked at her for long moments, as if she was a lunatic, and then walked off. She wondered, at times, just how anyone allowed him out on his own. He was so obviously a fucking nutter. He was a sadistic, vicious bastard. And she knew that better than anyone; but she actually loved him. For all he was, she loved him, because she knew he would do anything for his family. For her. If it ever came down to that.

  Arnold came into the house and she smiled at him happily. He had, somehow or another, grown on her over the years. In fact, she could not imagine her life without him now. They had two handsome little boys, and she knew he worshipped them. Even though the elder one was a bit of a wild card. She could not say for definite who the father was, but he was black enough to satisfy Arnold, and so that was good enough for her. The younger boy, on the other hand, was his father’s double, right down to the thick dreadlocked hair that took so long to twist, and the steely blue eyes and thin lips that made him look like a young Damian Marley. He was a looker, and he knew it. But Arnold was not right lately, and that was bothering her. He was very quiet, he seemed distracted. In fact, he showed all the classic signs of someone having an affair. Except he was hardly ever out of her sight these days.

  As she poured them both a drink, she said brightly, ‘Danny Boy is still convinced poor old Mary is out on the cock. He is so paranoid lately. I just laughed at him and his fucking stupidness, and he got the right ache with me. Really got the arse.’ She was roaring again, finding her brother’s reactions hilarious. She expected Arnold to laugh as well, agreeing with her, as he usually did, but he didn’t this time, and she said seriously, ‘Is everything all right with you, Arnold?’

  Arnold looked at her, and realised that he did actually love her; as brash and loud as she was, he really cared for her. As he did the boys, but he was nervous now in case he had inadvertently marked his own card with Michael Miles, that there might be a minute chance Michael would report what he had said back to Danny Boy. In his heart, he knew that Michael wouldn’t do that to him, but the fear of it happening would always be there. With his accusations he had broken a friendship he had cherished. Accusations that he still believed had an element of truth to them. He now had the added aggravation of having to tell David Grey to take a running jump, and tell him that if he ever approached him again he would be honour-bound to tell Danny Boy what he was saying about him. That should be enough to keep him in line. At least, he hoped it would be anyway. If Danny Boy ever suspected that he had been accused of something that was so heinous in their world, he knew that he would kill him stone-dead. He also had the added fear of Inspector David Grey opening his big mouth to someone else, and putting his name in the frame. It was an abortion from start to finish. Why hadn’t he just kept his big trap shut, why had he believed that Michael had been his mate over Danny Boy’s? Those two had been mates since they were kids. He was nothing more than an outsider to them, a complete outsider at that. He might be married to Danny Boy Cadogan’s sister, but that was as far as it went. Well, he knew when to retreat, and he knew when to watch his back.

  Annie, watching her husband, saw the changing expressions on his handsome face, and wondered once more what the hell could be bothering him. Whatever it was, he was not letting her in on it, that much was for sure. Unlike Arnold, she knew the pitfalls of being involved with her brothers. She knew the danger they presented to the outside world. She also knew that Danny Boy was a dangerous fuck. And, even though he was her brother, she didn’t trust him, and she never would.

  Mary was lying on the sofa, her back was aching, and she knew she had drunk too much to hide that fact. She would have to plead an illness and, even in her drunken state, she knew she was ill much too often these days, that no one believed her any more. She felt her eyes fill with tears of self-pity; Danny had really hurt her again the night before. He had forced her onto the floor in the kitchen, telling her that she was nothing more than a drunken joke, that people were laughing at her. In the end, she had lain there glad of the respite. Enjoying the coolness of the tiles on her skin. It annoyed him that she didn’t look as drunk as he knew she was. In fact, she had cooked a dinner for them all and it had been perfection personified. The girls had enjoyed it so much they had asked for seconds. But her back was killing her, and she guessed, rightly, that it was her liver. The palms of her hands were bright-red and itchy, and she knew that was the result of too much alcohol. But it was the only way she could cope with her life, a few drinks took the edge off; she still looked after the girls and, bless their hearts, they were just beginning to understand how hard her life was. As they were getting older, and he couldn’t control them so much, they were now getting a taste of his unique outlook on life for themselves. And they were not impressed with it.

  She heard his footsteps as he entered the house, their home, and she felt the fear his presence always slammed into her chest. The terrified banging of her heart, the sound so loud in her ears that it drowned out everything else around it. She waited for him to enter the drawing room, waited for his sarcastic comments, his hateful remarks, and she was disappointed.

  He was full of good-natured bonhomie, as was sometimes his wont. He knelt beside her and kissed her gently on the mouth. He was heart-wrenchingly handsome and, even though she loathed him, she could see how other people, especially women, might perceive him. She knew that he was classed as a decent man by the majority of his contemporaries and she wondered at someone who could fool people so easily. God knew he had fooled her for long enough.

  ‘Bad head again, mare?’

  She nodded slightly, wondering if he was going to turn on her in the next twenty seconds.

  ‘Can I get you anything, mate? Aspirin, a cold flannel, how about a large vodka?’

  She closed her eyes tightly and waited for the harangue, but it didn’t come this time. Instead, he actually did bring her a large vodka, and he placed it carefully on the small glass table by the arm of her sofa. She stared at it in terror. Then, smiling that crooked, gut-churning smile he had, he said gently, ‘Go on, drink it. I promise you, I won’t say a word. I swear on Leona’s life.’ He looked so earnest, so caring and understanding.

  She shook her head slowly, the ice had caused droplets of water to form on the outside of the glass, and the aroma of the neat vodka was filling her nose. But she didn’t touch it. Danny sighed heavily. She was perfect, from her hair to her toenails she was still groomed to within an inch of her life.

  ‘Look, mare, I decided today, that if you want a fucking drink, you can have one. So make the most of it, girl.’ He picked the glass up and placed it in her hand. It was cold and slippery and she put her other hand up to steady it, frightened she would drop it. Then, smiling, Danny Boy helped raise it to her mouth. Encouraging her to drink it with soft words of affection. She took a mouthful and savoured the taste of it on her tongue.

  ‘Come on, mare, get that down your Gregory. Then I’ll pour you another one.’

  She drank it down slowly, without pause. The feel of its icy coldness like an old friend as she drained the glass. Then, looking at Danny Boy she smiled nervously. ‘Why are you doing this, Danny?’

  She was slurring her words, not so much that it would be noticeable to the average person, but enough for the people close to her to know that she was drunker than usual.

  He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I’ll go and get you another, shall I?’

  As he slipped from the room, she closed her eyes slowly. She was convinced that he was up to something; he was always up to something. She attempted to pull herself to a sitting position, but her arm couldn’t connect properly with the leather arm of the sofa so she crashed back down each time. She giggled silently at the knowledge that Danny Boy was not there to witness it. Eventually though, she managed to pull herself up slightly, accomplishing this by digging her heels into the other arm of the sofa, and pushing with all her might.

  When Dann
y finally returned with another glass of neat, iced vodka, she was half sitting up, and more than ready for him. He passed her the glass once more and, sitting beside her on the huge leather sofa, he put his arm around her slim shoulders and said gently, ‘Look at your mummy, girls, this is her at her drunken best.’

  It was only then that Mary noticed that her two daughters were sitting silently on the sofa opposite her. Then that she knew that they had witnessed her behaviour, her need of a drink.

  They were both wide-eyed with bewilderment and when her face finally crumpled and she started to cry, a long, draw-out animal crying, as if she was in physical pain, they were still watching her intently, their beautiful little faces a mixture of fright and deep sorrow at their mother’s plight.

  Danny was laughing his head off as if this was the best joke in the world. ‘Drink up, mare, go for it. I waited at the door to see if you would notice your daughters, or even me for that matter. I mean, let’s face it, I ain’t exactly little, am I? Most people notice me. But no, not you, true to form, all you could concentrate on was the next drink.’

  She was almost hysterical now, the humiliation was so strong that she felt as if she could actually die from the pain she felt inside her. She knew she had snot hanging from her nose and that her make-up was running down her face. But she couldn’t stop crying, the noise was getting louder and louder, yet she still couldn’t stop it. It was as if, now the flood gates had finally opened, she was crying for all the years she had held the tears back. Had stopped them from falling, had forced them away with sheer willpower.

  ‘Stop it, Mummy, stop, you’re scaring me.’ Leona’s voice was getting higher by the second; her mother’s hurt and upset was communicating itself to her two daughters and they were both now visibly upset.