by Martina Cole
Suddenly they were both quiet, realising what that meant. Then, grabbing her, Vincent started to kiss her, and it was unlike any kiss they had ever had before. Gabby was in her dressing gown and, as he slipped it off her shoulders, she knew that she wouldn’t stop him, this time she would let him. When he lay her down on her little single bed, and she felt the money beneath her body, she knew that this was meant to be, that they were meant to be together.
Two big events in one day, and Vincent felt like he was the king of the world.
Chapter Eighty-Three
‘I’m telling you, the kid’s good, Del. He didn’t even break a sweat, and I know more experienced men who still collapse under that kind of pressure.’
Derek Greene was pleased at Terry’s praise of his protégé. He had a good nose for talent, and he prided himself on nurturing that talent and finding a role which suited the person best.
‘No, Del, he’s a good one. I was well impressed.’
‘How was your hotel? All right?’
‘Perfect – small, out of the way, and run by an old couple who couldn’t describe their own arses without a picture of it in their hands. Nice grub and all. It was a good little overnighter.’
Derek was thrilled. Terry Marchant was a Face of Faces in Manchester, but he still liked to work. He was a natural-born blagger, it was in his blood. It wasn’t as if he even needed the money – what Terry needed was the rush. Just like his own father, Terry Marchant liked the thought of getting one over on the banking system and the Old Bill.
‘So you would use him again, then?’
‘In a heartbeat. He’s got a natural talent for it, and that’s rare in this day and age. Too many young lads can’t keep their fucking traps shut. Also, he’s a nice kid, easygoing, never saw him drink once, only orange juice. That tells me he has a bit of savvy about him. I’ll spread the word when I get back to Manchester, you’ll get more calls for him.’
Derek nodded, pleased with the result. He had his cut nicely stashed in the safe at the scrapyard – that was what he called his petty cash. His beer and entertainment money. He had a feeling he would be getting quite a bit more of that kind of money from hiring out young Vincent in the near future. He only hoped the kid didn’t go splashing out on motors and watches he should not have been able to afford, thereby bringing down on him the interest of Lily Law.
The Filth were always aware when a local boy had a new car, or too much money in their pockets; it was what alerted them to potential Faces. Derek’s dad had drummed that into his head – always have a legitimate business on the go. A real business could explain away houses, cars and holidays. It also let you live a legal life with mortgages, loans, etc. But he had explained that to young Vincent, and he was a sensible kid; Derek was sure he would have taken it onboard. But he knew better than anyone how money in the hand could burn a hole as big as the Ritz in certain people’s pockets, so all he could do now was wait and see. He wasn’t too bothered about it. He had a feeling that Vincent O’Casey had an agenda of his own, and that agenda was about that bird of his. Pretty little thing she was as well. Nice face, shame about her mother! He smiled at his own wit. Well, only time would tell with Vincent, and Derek Greene had all the time in the world.
Chapter Eighty-Four
Cynthia watched her daughter leave the house and get into Vincent O’Casey’s car which was parked outside her parents’ home. She was in her own car, a small BMW convertible, but she was wearing a scarf and it was dark, so she wasn’t worried about being noticed.
Vincent, however, had parked under a lamppost, so she had a good view of her daughter and her beau. She was surprised it was still Vincent O’Casey – surprised and annoyed. Didn’t Gabriella have any idea at all? Had she learned nothing from her mother? But then, this was her mother’s influence, she was sure. Get the first boy that gives you any attention and marry him before someone else does. Cynthia was actually gritting her teeth with annoyance and she made a conscious effort to relax herself.
It was odd, being back in the old neighbourhood; she hated it even more now than she had then. It was so scruffy and so depressing, no wonder the women who lived here looked defeated and so old. It was as if they had given up on themselves, which of course they had. Cynthia prided herself on her skin, on her trim figure and she dressed to impress – these women dressed to go up the shops!
But her Gabriella was a beauty, she would give her that. She was just like Cynthia at the same age – all tits, legs and slim waist, and she held herself and walked well. That was important to a woman, walking well. Her old nanny used to say ‘Walk into a room like you own it and the chances are one day you will.’ Pity Mary had never listened to her own mother – how different things might have turned out. Imagine still living in the first house the council gave you! That was her mum and dad all over; no fucking ambition, no desire for something better. Just grateful for being alive. How she would love to knock on that door, and give them the fright of their lives. She knew it would be her mother who put the kibosh on her daughter seeing her. Her mother would not want to lose the girl now she had her.
In truth, Cynthia was amazed at how much the refusal had hurt her. Why should she care about it so much? Her pride had definitely been hurt. And that social worker had irritated her with her fake sympathy and platitudes. Silly bitch – like she gave a flying fuck what she thought.
Still, she had made the woman promise to keep her up-to-date on her daughter’s life, and she had agreed to that. Fucking cheek! This was her child, she had given birth to her, not that fucking old bitch of a mother of hers, or that dried-up stick of a social worker. No, it had been her, Cynthia Tailor that was, who had endured nine months of hell and eighteen long, hard hours of labour. She bet her mother had had a field day, advising her granddaughter to keep away from her own flesh and blood.
Well, fuck them. This was all she had really wanted – a quick peek, just to see what the girl had turned out like. And wouldn’t you know, she was exactly as she had expected. A foolish girl who had no desire to make anything of herself. She would live the life of her nana, without anything of real value, and without any idea of the world that was going on outside the confines of this council estate.
Cynthia lit a cigarette and pulled on it deeply; she allowed herself three a day, otherwise all the hours she spent in the gym keeping in shape were pointless. She had a better body now than before she had had her kids. But that was the beauty of living alone, you could do those kind of things; go to the gym, eat well, take yourself off to a health spa for long weekends. Children stopped that, like they stopped anything good in your life.
Gabriella and Vincent were kissing now, and Cynthia shook her head in consternation. What a fool she had bred, what a complete and utter fool! Gabriella would settle for a life of petty dramas and no money, a life of cleaning and cooking for a man who, once the initial sexual thrill eased off, would use her like an animal while in drink. It was so predictable really, and fucking irritating. She had brought this girl into the world, surely there had to be at least a little bit of her in the child? She reasoned her mum and dad would have made sure whatever spark the girl might have would be repressed. The last thing they would want was another child under their roof with a bit more liveliness than they could cope with, a girl with the chance to make something of her life, instead of emulating them, just existing.
Cynthia drove away quietly, not even glancing into the car where her daughter was telling her boyfriend that she thought she was pregnant and that her nana was going to kill her.
Chapter Eighty-Five
‘Calm down, Gabby. It’s a shock, but it ain’t exactly unheard of in this day and age, is it?’
Gabby couldn’t believe how well Vincent was taking the news. She had thought he would be furious with her. ‘I’m only sixteen, Vince!’
He laughed. ‘We’ll get married, so stop worrying about it, OK? I’ll tell your nana and granddad with you. They won’t be too thrilled but they’ll co
me round eventually. So please, stop worrying.’
Vincent made it sound so easy and, in a way, she supposed it was. She’d tell them and be damned. But she still felt that she had let them down somehow, had broken their trust. She had a bad feeling on her, although that could just be her hormones.
Vincent felt a rush of love for this girl of his. She was having his baby and she was frightened, but surely she knew that he would always look out for her, always take care of her? She meant everything to him, and she always would.
‘Look, Gabby, once the balloon’s been dropped, you can start planning the wedding, OK? Once your nana knows about that she’ll see we’re serious about each other.’
Gabby nodded, feeling slightly happier but still apprehensive. It was as if a weight was bearing down on her, almost as if her mother was nearby, watching and judging her. Yet she knew that was stupid – what would her mother be doing here? She hated it here, always had. But for a while there she had felt her presence nearby. It had reminded her of when she was a kid and she had wet her bed, and she knew her mother would be coming into her room. Her mum had a way of letting you know she was near; it was hard to explain but she had almost felt her mother’s closeness. But that was gone now, and she shook herself back to reality.
Vincent was right – it had happened now, and they had to make the best of it. She wondered if it would be a girl or a boy? She didn’t care, she just wanted something to love of her own.
‘Come on, we’ll go up and tell your auntie Celly. She’ll be our buffer until your nana and granddad come round.’
‘Do you think they will come round, Vince?’
He grinned. ‘Take my word for it, once this baby arrives they’ll be over the moon.’
She hoped he was right. She wanted this baby badly, and she wanted it to be wanted, not just by her, but by everyone. She knew what it was like to feel unloved, and she was determined no child of hers would feel like that, not ever. It was the worst feeling in the world.
Chapter Eighty-Six
Mary was disappointed, as was Jack, but they both knew there was nothing they could do about any of it. At least Vincent was standing by her, and that was something they supposed. But Gabby was so young, and they both knew how hard it was rearing a child, especially in this day and age. And that social worker, Miss Byrne, had not even looked shocked – it was as if she had been expecting it. In fairness to her, maybe she saw something they hadn’t. She had more experience than they did with children of all kinds, at least that was Mary’s reasoning.
At the moment, though, her main worry was Celeste. The weight was dropping off her, and that would have pleased Mary if she didn’t look so unwell on it. What was strange was that the girl was eating as much as she ever did. She was like some kind of human waste disposal unit, her mouth constantly in motion. Crisps, chocolate, take-aways – she ate anything at any time. And, to crown it all, she would not even go to the hospital, assuring them she was fine. She certainly didn’t look fine – she looked awful but, as the doctor said, there was little anyone could do.
Mary felt plagued with anxiety nowadays, and that was not good for her heart, not good for it at all. Still, she had her tablets, and she didn’t overdo it if she could help it.
‘That girl’s not well, Mary, but she won’t admit it.’
Mary just stopped herself from berating her husband for his uncanny ability to state the bleeding obvious. Instead she said gently, ‘I know, Jack, but what can we do? Like Doctor Morgan says, if she doesn’t want to see him there’s nothing he can do about it, and neither can we.’
Jack nodded, and Mary saw that, like herself, he was getting old. They were only in their late sixties but they were both in poor health. It was their dirt over the years; smoking, drinking, but also the worry. Oh, they had had their fair share of worry all right. She wondered for the thousandth time if Celeste should be forced from the house; after all, the reason she wouldn’t go to a hospital for tests was because she wouldn’t leave the house. Even the thought of the outside world sent her into a panic. How had this happened to her family? It was a familiar refrain these days, and Mary lay all the blame with Jonny Parker and her elder daughter.
She remembered Celeste as a young girl. She had been full of life, a nice girl without big ambitions – not like her sister in that way. No, Celeste had been a decent kind of person – she still was. But she had never had the toughness needed to survive in a world peopled with the likes of Jonny Parker and Cynthia Tailor.
When she heard that Cynthia had gone back to her maiden name, Mary had wondered briefly if there was any way they could stop her from doing that. Callahan was a good, decent Irish name, and it was meant for better than the likes of Cynthia. At times she loathed her daughter so intensely she felt sure the girl must sense it, no matter how far away she was. She believed that hate could be felt, even if the person wasn’t in the room with you. She hoped her daughter felt her contempt as if it was a living thing; that was what she prayed for.
Since she had tried to get back into Gabby’s life, she had stirred them up in different ways. Gabby had wondered if her mother had changed and was now capable of loving her at least a little. Mary thought she had more chance of getting a wank off the Pope than that ever happening. Still, she knew the girl had wanted it badly – needed it, in fact. She wanted to feel that her mother loved her at least a little. Well, Cynthia wasn’t capable of love. Even her relationship with Jonny Parker had not been about love – it had been about taking what her sister had, and believing she had got one over on her in the process. Now, with Cynthia back in the picture, Celeste had been reminded of everything she had tried so hard to forget.
Celeste was tied to this house, frightened of the world itself. And it was understandable; after all; it had never done her any favours, had it? Now she lived in these few rooms content, in her own way, with her TV programmes and her films about other people’s lives. Even the house in Spain which she had loved so much was now sold. It seemed she would travel only once more in her life, and that would be out of this house in a coffin.
Her daughter’s existence caused Mary no small amount of pain. Knowing her lovely vibrant daughter had been reduced to this wreck of a woman was hard to bear at times. But bore it she did. What else could a mother do? Oh, Cynthia had a lot of things to answer for.
Even that poor demented boy, James Junior, was still in care. Mary didn’t want to see him though, as she had explained to the social workers. She had more than enough on her plate to last her a lifetime. Plus, she had been a bit frightened of James Junior since the kitten incident. Gabby had been kind and written letters to him with all the news, he was her brother after all, despite everything. He had never replied though. But she hadn’t given up.
‘Can I make you a cuppa, girl?’
She nodded at Jack and smiled faintly. ‘That would be lovely.’
Since her heart attack he was like the tea boy, always offering to make her a cup, or get her a few biscuits. She knew it was love and guilt, both of which, unlike Cynthia, he seemed to have in abundance.
Chapter Eighty-Seven
Vincent had done two more jobs for Derek and he had another couple lined up. Piece of piss, as his father would say. And that was just it – it was so easy. He drove like other people ate or slept – it came naturally to him. From the moment he drove his first stolen car at thirteen it had been instinctive. Now his talent was making him a fortune, and he would need it as well, what with the baby coming and everything else. He was considering buying into a garage; it would be a legitimate business, and explain away any money he weighed out. He had listened earnestly to Derek and he knew that the man was giving him sound advice. He wanted to be kosher, at least outwardly anyway, and a garage would be ideal for him. He loved nothing more than tampering with cars so, all in all, it would be a win-win situation.
As he sat in the pub in Wapping waiting for Derek Greene to bring his new employers to meet him, he saw a girl watching him. Smiling a
t her, he realised she was familiar, only he wasn’t sure where he knew her from. She wasn’t local anyway. Pleased that such a nice-looking girl was eyeing him, he sipped at his orange juice, before turning his attention to the door.
The girl was already gone by the time he looked back, and he forgot about her immediately and got on with waiting. He was a patient lad in that respect, and in his job that was what you had to be – patient and calm. Luckily, he possessed both traits in spades.
It was ten minutes later when he saw Derek walk over that it came to him where he had seen the girl before. Getting up, he looked at Derek and said quietly, ‘Fuck off now, Del Boy. I think I was just eyeballed by one of the staff of the bank we blagged in Essex. I’m sure I recognised her from our recce.’
Derek didn’t need telling twice, and he left immediately. Phoning the other two people who should have been on the meet he told them it was off, grateful that Vincent had the nous not to drag everyone else into his business. He went back to the yard and telephoned Terry Marchant; he had to give him a heads-up, and assure him that young Vincent would not be swayed. He only hoped that what he was saying was the truth, and the lad didn’t succumb to the police offering him a deal. He didn’t think the boy was capable of that kind of treachery, but you never really knew anybody until the chips were down. Harder men than him had served up their mates at the thought of a big lump.
He was sorry for the kid really; he had a pregnant girlfriend and a promising career. It was the girlfriend that bothered him. Would Vincent keep it shut in the face of leaving her to fend for herself? They would soon know, of that much he was sure.
But it was a bastard of an inconvenience; Terry had a few good jobs lined up for him. On the bright side, maybe the girl didn’t recognise him; after all, he was a nice enough looking lad to attract some female attention. But if she had seen him on his recce of the bank, and she remembered him, it was all over. And he had remembered her, so it was definitely related, as the Filth would say. One thing was for sure though. If Vincent fingered any of them, he was a dead man, and that was a promise.