The Take

by Martina Cole

  The three girls just stared at her with expressionless faces, and she saw how good looking they were, how nice and tidy they were, and how they had no interest whatsoever in what she was saying.

  She felt like an outsider in her own home, and it hurt. ‘You fucking lairy little mares. I fucking do everything for you lot and you treat me like a fucking ear hole, like a no neck.’

  Kimberley picked up her handbag and the others followed suit. Leaving their sandwiches and their teas, they tried to troop past her to go to bed.

  She pushed them all back into the kitchen and stood in the doorway. ‘You will answer me, or I will fucking deck you one by one.’

  Kimberley sighed and said quietly, ‘You’re drunk, Mum. Go to bed and let us be, eh?’

  It was said in such a reasonable way that for a few seconds Jackie actually considered doing just that. But then her temper and her paranoia kicked in as usual.

  ‘Bollocks, I want to know what the fucking drama was in that salon. Was your father there? Does he ever go in there?’ She could hear herself and she knew she sounded like a fool, but she couldn’t stop.

  ‘Why would he go in there, Mum?’

  This from Roxanna, who was sick and tired of this woman and her histrionics.

  Jackie laughed then. ‘You don’t want to know, babe, but listen to me and listen good. She is getting what she fucking deserves. You think she is so fucking great—’

  ‘Oh, Mum, will you stop it!’ Dianna’s voice was so loud and so determined that Jackie was speechless. ‘Maggie loves you, she never says a bad thing about you, and all you can do is fucking try and slag her off.’

  Jackie looked at the three faces that were turned to her and saw the confusion, the hurt and the disgust in them. Then, with her voice full of self-pity and tears, she said, ‘She has turned you against me, ain’t she?’

  Kimberley shook her head in utter despair. ‘Oh, Mum, you’ve done that all on your own. Now go to bed, please. Will you stop this and leave us alone?’

  ‘You think Maggie is so great, and that I am such a bad person. Oh, I know what’s going on with you lot.’

  Once more they looked at her with pity and irritation, and it was this that made her scream at them, ‘She is a cunt, and she is trying to fucking ruin me and my life.’

  She knew she should shut up but her hurt was so bad that she wanted to make them hurt too, make them feel how she was feeling.

  ‘Stop it, Mum! Listen to yourself, you’re drunk. Go to bed and sleep it off, will you.’ Roxanna, her little girl, her baby daughter, was looking at her and she could see the contempt in her face, had just heard it in her words.

  ‘What about me, girls? Can’t you see what I am going through? Can’t you try and spare a bit of your sympathy for your own mother?’

  Jackie was nearly crying now with fury, shame and alcohol. She had been drinking all day and all night.

  Kimberley pushed her sisters behind her protectively, she knew her mother was capable of violence when she was like this, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying loudly, and with utter disregard for Jackie’s feelings, real and imagined, ‘Not everything is about you, Mum. If you could only see that then your life would be so much easier. Maggie is lovely, she has never said anything about you that we couldn’t repeat to your face. She sticks up for you, she won’t let us say a fucking dicky bird about you or your drinking or your bloody hatefulness. She is the only person who really cares about you and as usual, you can’t see it. You eat her food and you drink her drink and you use her like you do everyone. But she is the only person who has ever been there for us, and you had better start to understand that and accept it. So, for the last time, Mum, go to bed.’

  They left the kitchen then and she didn’t attempt to stop them. Instead, she opened the fridge and took out another bottle of wine.

  Her husband and her girls - Maggie had taken them all.

  June Brewster was in a state of shock, but she was still sensible enough to know that Jimmy Jackson was not the main culprit here, and that he was the one she needed to sort this out with. Freddie Jackson was a murdering ponce, but she had already heard that expression in connection with him, many times before. She knew the score, she knew the life they were involved in. She had lived it long enough and she was a realist like many a blagger’s wife before her.

  When she had walked into the conservatory, she had screamed once, then she had contained herself as best she could. She had not phoned the filth, which she knew had endeared her to Jimmy Jackson.

  He was also much calmer now, though when she had entered the conservatory she had seen the utter contempt he had for Freddie Jackson on his face.

  Freddie had fucked up, and it was only her rep as a close-talking wife that had kept her on their good side. Married to Lenny, she had more secrets than the Dalai Lama, but they knew she had always kept them close to her chest.

  Lenny had said once that it was young Jimmy Jackson who was the real brains of the outfit, and after tonight’s debacle she was inclined to agree with him. Jimmy was already on the blower trying to salvage something for all of them. She knew she would get her comp, which had better be huge, but she wanted the life-insurance money on top, so now they had to make poor Lenny look like he had died in far less suspicious circumstances.

  Jimmy was talking sixteen to the dozen, and in between his talking and scheming he was pouring her brandies, trying in his own way to lighten her burden.

  But how could he?

  Lenny was a ponce, she knew that better than anyone, but he was her old man and they had been together for the duration, over twenty years. Even though the last child was suspiciously dark in comparison to the other five, he had swallowed, he had given her the benefit of the doubt. So she had never gone on holiday to Tunisia again with her sisters, big deal. Lenny had neglected her shamefully and he knew it. In fact, it seemed that her ducking and diving with a young waiter with a six-pack stomach, a large cock and hardly any English had made Lenny realise what he had in her. So they had got over it somehow. In fact, the child, a daughter, had been the apple of Lenny’s eye. They already had the five boys, and she was a very beautiful little girl who worshipped her dad.

  Now she was on her Jack Jones with six kids and a house that they had only been doing up because she had insisted on it. Lenny, being a thieving toerag, had skanked off these two fucking Faces, and now he was dead, and all she could think about was Tunisia and the young fellow who had given her back her confidence and her sex drive.

  She was seeing him in her mind’s eye, with his tight little arse and his muscle-bound arms, a smile that was whiter than a Colgate advert, and his soft dark hair that was long, thick and tied back in a ponytail. She had thought about him every time she had slept with Lenny, because Lenny had stopped ringing her bells many years before. He had slept around and he had left her to basically bring the kids up alone, and it had hurt her. It had made her resent him, and she had often had a flier with a bloke on the quiet.

  All the time she had been cooking the bacon sandwiches she had been thinking about Freddie Jackson, and pondering his prowess in the kip, and now he had killed her husband, the father of nearly all her kids. The man who, even though she was getting battered around the edges, and so her chances for romance were getting less and less, had pledged his undying love for her, had taken in a child that was not his, and who had ripped these two fucking lunatics off to give her the house of her dreams.

  How many times had she imagined him popping off over the years, and her being her own boss, being in a position to go away on holiday and shag herself stupid with men she would never see again? How many times had she wished for Lenny’s demise? Now she had got it, and what she really wanted at this moment in time was for her Tunisian waiter to take her in his arms and give her the rogering of a lifetime.

  She had actually been contemplating shagging Freddie Jackson, and now she was contemplating shagging someone else. Her head was going mad, she was thinking of all the
wrong things, but with six kids hanging around her neck, she needed money, and she needed the insurance. She needed the house paid off and the loans off her back, not only for the cars, but also for the building work and the new furniture. She needed to focus on that now, and then when it was all over, she could fall apart in peace. Maybe in Tunisia, where the sun shone every day and where her mother phoned her and told her that the kids were fine, and where she could pretend to be footloose and fancy free, and where maybe she might forget about this night and what it entailed.

  Every time she thought of Lenny on the floor in all that blood, she felt ill with the worry and the fear of what was going to be the upshot.

  Freddie Jackson was eating the bacon sandwiches she had made earlier, and it freaked her out. He was drinking his tea and acting as if this was a normal evening. He had even winked at her. She had four kids in bed, and her eldest two were due round the next day and her husband, the stupid thieving fucker, was dead as a doornail in her new conservatory.

  It was surreal, and yet she knew it was really happening because her brain had acknowledged it and was now helping her to try to make some kind of sense out of it. She knew to an outsider she would seem mercenary, cold-blooded, and even hard and uncaring. But she had no intention of falling out with the Jacksons or with Ozzy himself. She had already seen what they were capable of if provoked.

  She had six kids aged three to nineteen, and she had to keep her head above water. Get your priorities right had been Lenny’s mantra, and that was exactly what she was attempting to do.

  Maggie lay in the big bed alone, and wondered what time Jimmy would finally get home. It was three in the morning, and he had left a message saying that he had a bit of business to attend to, that she was not to worry and he would be home as soon as he could.

  He was so thoughtful, and she knew he was worried about her and the way she was acting, but she couldn’t do anything to allay his fears.

  She was wide awake as was usual these days, but she had listened to his message without picking up the phone and talking to him since he would have guessed she hadn’t slept yet. She didn’t want him home yet, not really. He wanted to hug her, and kiss her, and try to make her happy. He wanted to love her, and she wasn’t ready for that. Didn’t want any of that, because with Jimmy a cuddle always had to end in sex. Now she just allowed him to take her, and she knew he was aware she was just letting him, that she was not joining in any more.

  From the first time they had made love, she had enjoyed it. She had not climaxed then, but she had loved the feeling of him inside her, even though it had hurt. She mirrored his own excitement, and had felt a natural reaction as he had reached his orgasm. He had known that, and she knew he had loved her for it.

  At fourteen she had been made aware of what sex was really all about, that it was not just for procreation, not just a quick release, but was the joining of two people who could not get close enough to each other, but who tried to with each encounter they had together. For every deep thrust that Jimmy had penetrated her with, she had arched her back up to meet him with the same fervour and excitement as he felt for her.

  Now he kissed her and it felt wrong. His hands on her body no longer felt gentle, his tongue between her legs made her want to gag, because it felt thick and harsh, and coated with white scum like Freddie’s had been that night. And even though she knew it wasn’t Freddie, that it was her husband, who she loved, the feeling would not go away.

  She could still smell him, and she could still feel him, and because of that night she had to live with the knowledge that Jimmy was no longer the only person to have had access to her. She had been proud of that, and she knew he was still proud of it. Only it wasn’t true any more.

  In the bathroom, where they had lain in the bath and laughed and joked and loved together, she saw only herself on her knees, with Freddie’s hands in her hair as he painfully forced her to take him into her mouth. The floor was clean and tidy, but she still saw the long blond hairs that he had ripped from her scalp as she attempted to stop him.

  It was ruined, and she could not make it better, not now, nor at any time in the future. Everything that they had worked for together was destroyed and Freddie had deliberately set out to cause that heartbreak. Jimmy’s lovemaking was nothing to her any more. She loathed it, and she knew he had realised that, but he was also trying to make it all better somehow, and she knew it could never be fixed.

  The deceit was killing her, and Freddie used every opportunity to bait her, to taunt her, like the bed. Taking the bed. Jackie was not thrilled about it, she could tell that much, and she had a feeling that her sister was going to work it all out.

  She felt the burn of tears once more and fought to keep them at bay. If Jimmy came in and saw her crying it would start him off again with the questions and the kindness. It was the kindness she couldn’t bear.

  Maggie didn’t sleep any more. She was tired out physically and mentally, but as soon as she got into bed she was wide awake. This new bed was not as comfortable as the old one. Jimmy hated it, but she had insisted that she wanted this one, and as usual he had relented.

  When Freddie had asked for the old bed, and Jimmy had given it to him without thinking, she had nearly gone mad with grief. She knew he was lying there night after night remembering what had taken place on it. He had told her over and over that he had never had such a good night’s rest, and she had sat at the dining-room table and nodded at him, all the while wanting to vomit up her dinner, and scream with frustration and anger.

  Maggie felt the familiar crashing of her heart, and she forced herself to breathe deeply. Panic attacks, the doctor called them, guilt attacks was what she called them. And the guilt weighed on her heavily, because she had brought this on herself and that was so hard to accept. If she had not confronted him, spat at him, maybe this would not have happened. She was OK for days at a time, then it came on top once more. A word, a sentence, a TV programme, or Freddie staring at her with that smirk he had, brought it all back. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep herself together.

  She had taken to swearing out loud when she was by herself. She broke things, smashed them against the wall, and for a few minutes her pain would subside.

  But it always came back.

  ‘You have got to be some kind of fucking twat. What on earth were you thinking of?’ They were sitting in the car. Jimmy was trying to get some sense out of Freddie, but it was a waste of time.

  Freddie was on one of his quiet times. He had them after he had fucked up big time and normally Jimmy left him to it, but this time it had been too close for comfort and he wanted an explanation.

  ‘Lenny was a fucking twonk, but he did not deserve that, and you know it. And if he had asked you for a ruffle, why didn’t you give it to him? I was under the impression he had been weighed out, given a rise for his services. I didn’t know he was still on the same earn. That means you were fucking having me over then, don’t it? Because if he was still on the same poke then you had to be fucking pocketing the difference, didn’t you? Pennies and fucking halfpennies to what we fucking rake in, and now you have killed him over your own petty greed.’

  Freddie was still quiet. He lit another cigarette and smoked it calmly while watching Jimmy. He had a wary look in his eye but apart from that, he didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

  Jimmy was bewildered with it all. ‘His wife and kids were in that house. Suppose his wife had fucking monged out, what would you have done, eh? Killed the whole family? Come on, Freddie, I am genuinely interested in what you have to say for yourself.’

  Freddie shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I lost me temper, that’s all.’

  Jimmy looked at him. The respect was finally gone, and they both knew it this time.

  ‘You lost it because he had you bang to fucking rights. We should never have been there. He was earning us a fucking good crust, and you were taking his fucking poke. He was a good earner, and he was a friend of Ozzy’s. What am
I supposed to tell him?’

  The mention of Ozzy brought Freddie’s full attention, as Jimmy knew it would. He hated using Ozzy like that, but it seemed it was the only way he was going to get this sorted out. Because Freddie had to understand that this could never happen again. It was so fucking dangerous. They could get a life sentence for something that was completely senseless.

  ‘You telling Ozzy, then?’

  It was a threat and a statement in one.

  Jimmy laughed then, a tired, annoyed laugh. ‘Well, he’ll have to fucking know. One of his oldest mates and biggest earners is dead, his wife is widowed with six fucking chavvies, and we will have to explain what happened. That is how it works, Freddie, you ain’t a law unto yourself, see. We have to explain away things, especially dead fucking blokes who we are getting a good living from, and who are mysteriously gutted like a fish in their fucking own house.’

  Freddie had heard enough. His anger was evident. ‘Are you having a fucking laugh, mate?’ He was stretching his eyes to their utmost. ‘Are you telling me that you are going to tell Ozzy the score? Is that what you are trying to say?’

  Jimmy was getting angry himself now, and Freddie was reminded of just how strong and fit he actually was.

  ‘I would never do that to you, but I should! You need a fucking lesson, Freddie, you are an accident waiting to happen. Do you want another fucking lump, because I certainly don’t want even a remand, let alone a ten or an eighteen.’

  Freddie snorted in derision. ‘You wouldn’t last five fucking minutes in nick, mate . . .’

  He had gone too far. He stopped talking and Jimmy stared at him for long moments before he started up the car.

  As he drove along a Sussex country lane, Jimmy could feel the anger welling up inside him again. He stopped the car once more, and he said quietly, ‘This has got to stop, Freddie, because I can’t be around you any more. You killed that girl and she had your baby. I weighed her mother out for the funeral and the kid and you should have done that, it was your mess, your fucking balls-up. You’re a fucking liability, mate. You seem to think you can do what you like, but I tell you now, one day, Freddie, your luck will run out and you will get sent down. And I for one won’t give a flying fuck.’