Both Tommy and Freddie had a good relationship with the screws. They treated them with a certain amount of respect and received a cushy life and plenty of blind eyes in return. The screws liked a quiet life and Tommy and Freddie helped them keep the other lads in order. The situation suited everybody, especially Finchy, who developed a soft spot for the two tough east London boys. On many occasions he spoke up for them to the guv’nor and got them out of sticky situations. He was a good bloke, old Finchy, and Tommy would always hold fond memories of him.
At the time, leaving Feltham had seemed awful. As soon as Tommy turned seventeen, he’d been moved to a proper prison. Saying goodbye to Finchy and the lads had been extremely emotional. He’d made many friends there and they even had a little leaving party for him. Saying goodbye to Freddie was probably the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. He’d been desperate not to make a tit of himself by crying, but he hadn’t been able to stop the tears rolling down his cheeks. As luck would have it, Freddie had got all emotional as well.
Tommy had begged the guv’nor at the borstal to have a word with the authorities for him. He was desperate to go to a London prison, so he could see more of his family and friends.
He’d been told at one point that he was going to Kent somewhere and he’d been well poxed off about that. His family were still piss poor and, unless he was in London, he’d rarely get a visit.
Freddie had been on Finchy’s case to have a word with the guv’nors about getting him into Pentonville. Freddie had an uncle in there, who was aware of Tommy, and would look out for him. Whether it was strings being pulled or just pure bloody luck, that was where he ended up. The journey there was horrendous. It was a really hot day and the van he was shoved into was like a Swedish sauna. The traffic was awful and by the time he reached his destination, Tommy was sweating like a pig.
He was filled with apprehension as he entered his new home. The screws were horrible to him and spoke to him like a piece of shit. He was strip-searched, given his orders and taken to his cell. Walking through the prison, Tommy kept his head down. He’d already come face to face with a couple of the inmates and they were fucking frightening. Great big skinhead types with faces full of hatred and scars. Feltham was full of little boys, the Ville was a different ball game.
Tommy was given a single cell and spent his first night wide awake. By morning he’d made his decision. If anyone gave him any grief, he was gonna clump ’em. Freddie had always told him that this was the best way to deal with matters and he would take his friend’s advice. Big, small, black or white – anyone got in his way, he’d give ’em a dig.
Within two days of his arrival, Tommy had grief. He’d seen some fat, tattooed prick giving him daggers at breakfast. Ignoring him, he finished his grub and walked away. At dinner the fat prick went one better. As Tommy walked past him with his food, the geezer stuck out a leg. With a tray in his hand, Tommy had no way of keeping his balance, and went flying. As laughter rang around the hall, Tommy was determined not to look a mug. He stood up, straightened his shoulders, and brushed himself down. Grabbing the fat prick’s tray, he smashed it over his head with such force that it took his breath away. Tommy smiled when he noticed his tormentor was not only bleeding, but also had shepherd’s pie dripping off his big fat head.
‘Leave me alone, you fat cunt,’ he said, as he walked away to cheers.
The tattooed one was about to respond, but was stopped in his tracks by the screws’ intervention.
‘You’re dead, kid,’ he screamed, as he was escorted from the room.
‘Yeah, right,’ Tommy replied.
Tommy was punished for his part in the fracas and spent a week in solitary. He didn’t care – he was just glad that he’d stood his ground. In a one-to-one fight the geezer would have slaughtered him. The fat cunt was probably treble his weight and could have knocked him out with one punch. Being on his own gave Tommy plenty of time to think. He was a tall lad and, while in Feltham, had shot up to six foot. What he needed now was to fill out a bit, as he was far too skinny to be taken seriously. In Feltham they’d had plenty of exercise, but there were no facilities to lift weights and build up muscle. He knew there was a gym in the Ville and his plan was to use it as much as possible to change his physique.
Within hours of returning to his own wing, Tommy had received many pats on the back. A lot of the older lags had seen a younger version of themselves in him, and Tommy soon learned that the geezer whose head he’d smashed in was a very unpopular inmate called Mark Abrahams, who was nearing the end of a long-term sentence for supplying heroin.
At dinner that evening, Abrahams appeared with a scar across his bonce. Apparently, he’d had a dozen stitches, which had been removed earlier that day. He sat over the other side of the room and not once did he glance across. Tommy was surprised by this. He’d expected some sort of backlash, even if it was just a threat.
He found out later that evening why Abrahams would be giving him no more trouble. There were two magic words in the prison system. ‘Bobby Adams’ was an inside form of ‘abracadabra’ to warn off potential troublemakers, and nobody was brave enough to get on his wrong side.
Freddie had never told Tommy much about his uncle. He’d said he was heavy stuff, a proper chap, and was doing a stretch for robbing a bank, but little else. Tommy was surprised when he first came face to face with Bobby Adams. He’d built a picture in his mind of what Freddie’s uncle might look like, but the geezer that stood in front of him was the total opposite of what he’d imagined.
Tall, grey and distinguished, he stood out from every lag in the place. He had an air of authority about him and looked more like a bank manager than someone who robbed the bastard things.
‘Bobby Adams, son. Freddie’s written to me and told me all about you.’
Tommy shook his thickset hand and smiled. Apart from introducing himself properly, he was at a loss as to what to say.
Bobby noticed his hesitation and took over the conversation.
‘You’ll have no more trouble from Abrahams. The geezer’s a wrong ’un, he’s a smack dealer, scum of the earth. He’s been warned off you now and he’ll be dealt with in due course. Most of these cunts in here are wrong ’uns. About ten per cent are proper, the rest you wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire. I’ll show you the ropes, teach you who you can trust and who you can’t. I’ve put the word about that you’re a pal of my nephew’s. You’ll be treated with respect from now on, and you’ll have no more grief from the lags or screws.’
Feeling more at ease, Tommy opened up, and spoke fondly about Freddie and their time at Feltham. ‘We were the daddies in there, Bobby. I swear we ran the fucking joint.’
Bobby laughed at the kid’s stories. He was a young ’un but, like his nephew, the boy had a spark about him. Bobby could spot good potential a mile off. Streetwise kids like Freddie and Tommy could learn more by doing a bit of bird than these clever cunts who opted for university.
Bobby stood up. ‘I better go now, kid. Oh, and by the way, well done for cracking Abrahams one. You’ve earned yourself a lot of respect with some of these lads already.’
Bobby kept an eye on Tommy from that day onwards. At forty-eight, he was too old to spend a great deal of time in Tommy’s company, but they often had a good old chat, mainly about Freddie and life in East London. Tommy was hoping that when his pal reached prison age, he’d join him in the Ville. Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be, as Freddie got taken to the Scrubs.
Tommy was twenty-one when Bobby Adams was released. Ten years he’d originally got, and he’d served seven and a half.
‘Look after yourself, kid. Keep in touch with Freddie and as soon as you get out, we’ll meet up.’
Tommy thanked him and said his goodbyes. After years of effort in the gym, his body had now changed completely. Gone was the skinny boy; in his place was a young man full of muscle, and he had no worries about being able to handle himself without Bobby’s protection.
Freddie was re
leased a year after his uncle and was doing quite well. He’d visited Tommy on many occasions and was full of stories about the places he frequented and the birds he’d shagged. He’d been working for his cousin, who had a building firm. Freddie loved his freedom, but despised the job.
‘I’m just waiting for you to get out, ain’t I? As soon as you’ve done yer bird we’ll set ourselves up in business, like we always said we would.’
Tommy lived for Freddie’s visits. The thought of doing something with his life, alongside his best mate, was the thing that kept him going through the last part of his sentence.
Tibbsy, Dave Taylor and Benno had popped up to see him a couple of times. He’d been really looking forward to catching up with his old pals, but after two visits from them, he’d been filled with disappointment. None of them worked or had fuck all interesting to talk about. They all still lived with their parents and spent their lives dossing about, drinking and puffing. Six months ago, they’d last come to visit and Tommy hadn’t written or sent them a visiting order since. He’d moved up a notch from them now, and he weren’t gonna waste his time mixing with tadpoles when there were big fish to swim with.
The only other visitors he had were his family. His mum had aged a lot during his time. She’d had a hard life and the older she got, the more she seemed to be weighed down by it all. His nan was the same old Ethel and even her arthritis hadn’t stopped her going out on the thieve. Susan had never visited him once, but he wasn’t bothered, as they’d never liked one another. Out of politeness, he always asked after her, but the replies only confirmed that she was still a nasty piece of work. James was a different story. He was a good lad and very intelligent, which pleased Tommy immensely. He didn’t want his kid brother to end up with nothing, like the majority of his family. He wanted him to make something of himself and free himself from a life of poverty.
Apart from his uncle Kenny, none of his family had made anything of themselves. The worst culprit was his father, who was a drunken, useless arsehole. In all the years Tommy had been inside, he’d only received one letter from his old man. That had been about a year ago, when he’d asked if he could come up and see him. Tommy had written back, telling him to fuck off. He could just imagine his father staggering in for a visit – that would have done the reputation he’d built for himself a fucking lot of good.
As dawn broke, Tommy sat up. All night he’d lain awake going over his time, and now he couldn’t wait to forget it. Prison might be a learning curve, but it was also a bastard. He’d seen it sap the life out of the strongest of men, but luckily for him, he’d survived the system. He’d had help, made friends, while others hadn’t been so lucky.
Hearing the wake-up call, Tommy smiled. In the next couple of hours he’d be a free man. Some people might have thought he had wasted ten years of his life, but not him. He’d listened, learned and remembered. As his cell door opened, Tommy took his last trip to the shower room.
Bumping into Brainless Brian, one of the thicker but nicer screws, Tommy shook his hand.
‘Good luck on the outside, son.’
Tommy smiled at him. ‘I’ll let you into a little secret, shall I, Bri? It’s not luck that’s needed to survive the outside world. All yer need is knowledge.’
‘What do you mean? Education and stuff?’
Looking Brian in the eyes, Tommy winked at him. ‘You’ll have to work that one out for yourself.’
‘I dunno where you’re coming from. Explain what you mean, Tom.’
Roaring with laughter, Tommy walked away.
ELEVEN
Maureen put the finishing touches to the icing, stood back and proudly admired her cake. ‘Welcome Home Tommy’ stood out boldly in bright blue writing. She had spent weeks organising her son’s homecoming and couldn’t believe the day had finally arrived. Thanks to her friends and neighbours, who had all kindly chipped in, she had a fantastic selection of food. Turkey, roast ham, beef – for once they had the works.
Ethel had been her usual light-fingered self and had turned up every day that week with a bag full of goodies. The drink was plentiful, thanks to a fifty-pound gift from uncle Kenny. Knowing Maureen would refuse the gift, he’d sent the money via Ethel. He couldn’t make the party, because he and Wendy were on holiday, but he’d sent a lovely card saying that he’d be thinking of them and hoped they had a great night. At the bottom he’d put a PS telling Tommy to ring him and he’d sort him out with a job.
The money Maureen was grateful for, yet it was her son’s job offer that made her day. She’d often worried about how Tommy would survive after prison. Would anyone want to employ a lad of twenty-five who had spent over a third of his life in clink?
Over the years the ill feeling surrounding Terry Smith’s murder had died down. His mum, Mary, had left the area yonks ago. Unable to deal with her son’s death, she’d moved her family away to make a fresh start. A lot of stories about Terry had surfaced since Mary’s departure. He’d had an awful reputation and had made many people’s lives a misery. Maureen listened, but never commented on the tittle-tattle. Whatever the lad was, he didn’t deserve his bad end at the hands of her son. Nevertheless, she still took some comfort from being told over and over again that her Tommy wasn’t to blame.
‘Terry Smith was bad rubbish, he was due his comeuppance and he got it,’ people said more than once. Even Mary’s old pals from the bingo hall were now Maureen’s friends again. In fact, most of the stories had come from them. Living in Bethnal Green, they’d known young Terry better than most.
Taking a break from her food preparation, Maureen made herself a well-earned brew. Tommy’s surprise party had been all her idea. While inside, he’d changed so much that, surprisingly, she’d become proud of him. He was no longer the obnoxious, skinny little runt he’d once been. He was now six foot tall, handsome, polite and built like a brick shithouse.
While he’d been in Feltham, she’d rarely had a chance to visit him. Kenny had taken her a few times, but the train journey was far too expensive for her to afford on a regular basis. She’d seen much more of him when he’d been moved to the Ville. For the first four years, she’d gone up there once a week. Sometimes she’d go alone, but most of the time either James or Ethel would accompany her.
Her trips to see him had dwindled to once a month after his mate Freddie had been released. Tommy was only allowed one visit a week and, although hurt at first, Maureen fully understood why he’d rather have his mate’s company than that of his boring old mum.
Sipping her tea, Maureen smiled. That Freddie Adams was such a nice lad, and he’d certainly had a positive effect on her Tommy.
‘You watch me, Mum. When I get out of here I’m gonna make something of meself. I might even go into business with Freddie. We’ve often spoken about it,’ Tommy told her.
Maureen savoured her last drop of tea. Her Tommy wouldn’t have to worry about work now his uncle Kenny had offered him a job. He’d be so pleased, she could hardly wait to tell him. Maybe Kenny would take Freddie on as well. Tommy would love that, he’d be chuffed to bits.
Maureen glanced at the clock. It was ten to twelve and Tommy would definitely be out by now. He wasn’t coming straight home. Freddie was picking him up and they were going for a beer first. She wasn’t disappointed, she totally understood. Boys would be boys, after all. He’d rung her only yesterday and promised faithfully he’d be home by seven.
‘I’ve got a surprise for yer, so don’tcha let me down, and make sure you bring Freddie with yer,’ she told him.
Maureen stood up. She had so much food to prepare that she needed to get her arse in gear. Ethel and the girls were coming this afternoon to give her a hand. Susan had agreed to help as well, although Maureen doubted this, as she was too busy chasing after that no-good bastard who had knocked seven bells out of her. Hours she’d sat up casualty with her. As luck would have it, nothing was broken, but her face was cut to pieces and she was bruised from head to toe.
‘Don’t you e
ver have anything to do with him again,’ she threatened Susan. ‘In fact, I’m takin’ you round to his mother’s. I’m gonna show her what he’s fuckin’ done to yer.’
‘Please, Mum, no,’ Susan screamed. ‘It wasn’t his fault, I’m the one to blame. Please, Mum, just leave it.’
Maureen shook her head in disbelief. ‘If I find out you’re still seeing him, I’ll domp yer me fuckin’ self. And if I ever come face to face with him, God help me.’
Maureen looked at the clock and tutted. The unreliable little mare said she’d be home over an hour ago. Still, she didn’t particularly need any help. She wanted it all done by the time anyone else arrived, so her family and friends could just sit, have a drink and enjoy themselves. They’d all done more than enough already, bless ’em. Maureen sang along happily to the radio as she put the sausage rolls in the oven. Tonight would be her best party ever.
‘Excuse me, son. That’s twice I’ve asked you now. Do you have this in my size or don’t you?’
The pomposity of the man’s voice snapped James out of his daydream. ‘I am so sorry, sir. I will look for you immediately.’
The Betrayer Page 8