by Martina Cole
The next cunt he was going to collar would be his old man. He was going to cut him, mark him for fucking life. That drunken Irish ponce had not even given him time to get sentenced before he had taken his stash and blown it. He intended to make them understand from day one that he was not a man to be mugged off, and that anyone who crossed him would pay the consequences. And they would pay dearly.
He had four long fucking years to plan it, and lying in the dark making those plans had kept him sane in this shithole. He was desperate to get out and make his mark in the world. He was a grown man now and, like the Bible said, he had put away childish things. He was determined to get a garage, a legit business, and he was going to become the best driver the Smoke had ever seen.
Derek Greene had already had a message delivered about how he would help him get on his feet, and he would see that the man followed through on his promises. Not many young lads would have been as tight-lipped as he had, leaving their little girlfriend alone and pregnant and prey to the world.
It had been hard watching poor Gabby try and get it together. He had understood her going off the rails a bit – she was a young girl and young girls needed someone to keep them on track. All that was forgiven and forgotten now. Her nana and granddad had been fucking diamond, and he would reward them for their kindness and their loyalty to his little family.
But he was itching to get out and start paying back the debts he knew were his and his alone. When he had finished with the people he felt had mugged him over, his name would be a byword for fucking retribution. And he would guarantee that no one, not one fucking person would ever think they could have him over ever again.
Prison was a strange place – it either broke you or it made you stronger. Well, he was stronger now both physically and mentally than he had ever been before in his life. He had read books until eventually he had understood them, he had trained daily to keep both his body and his mind from stagnating and he was ready for literally anything.
He thought of Gabby on her last visit; she was a fucking beautiful woman now, everything and more he would ever want. His feelings for her had never wavered. He would give her the earth on a plate, and he would enjoy giving it to her. Together they were capable of great things. Of that much at least he was sure.
Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
‘I think we should have warned her.’
Jack Callahan had no such qualms and he said as much to his wife. ‘Fuck her! He’s her son, she sent him on the turn, so let her, for once in her life, deal with her own mess.’
‘Supposing he hurts her . . .’
Jack shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Well, we can only hope, love. Now, make me a cup of tea, and stop worrying.’
Mary went to the kitchen and put the kettle on, but she was worried. There was no telling what James Junior was going to do and, whatever Cynthia might be, she herself would not want something like that on her conscience.
In her heart she had always known that James would one day turn up at their door. It was natural that he would eventually want to seek out his kin. She had just hoped that he wouldn’t, if she was honest.
Many years ago someone had asked her if she thought tragedy stalked some people, and if that person asked her the same question now she would say yes. Tragedy and evil had plagued her family, and they were helpless in the face of it.
She made the tea and carried it through to her husband; he took the proffered mug and sipped on it without a care in the world. She admired him in many ways, nothing really fazed him. He saw everything in black and white, did her Jack. No grey spots for him.
Chapter One Hundred and Fifteen
Bertie Warner decided to have the party for young Vincent at his pub on the Bow Road. He had arranged all the food and drink himself and it promised to be a great night. He couldn’t wait to bring that young lad back into the fold.
As he looked at young Gabriella, who had come over to discuss the music for the party, he saw what had attracted the boy to her. She was exquisite, and she had waited for him – that was always a good sign in a bird as far as he was concerned. She reminded him of his old woman, sensible and calm, which were good traits in a villain’s wife. If the Filth kicked the door in at three in the morning with a search warrant in one hand and a sniffer dog in the other, it was always handy to have a wife who took it in her stride, and kept the kids away from it. Occupational hazards and all that – every job had them.
‘You must be looking forward to seeing him back on the outside, love.’
Gabby nodded happily. ‘It will be great! And I’d like to thank you, Mr Warner, for your help, it’s really appreciated.’
He felt choked, and was surprised that he could still be touched like that after all these years. Most women in her position would be complaining they couldn’t manage on what they were getting; after all, they owed the girl’s old man a huge debt of gratitude. But this little lovely was actually grateful. Wonders would never cease.
‘You’re welcome, love. It doesn’t even begin to cover it. You got a good one there in Vince.’
She beamed at the praise and said honestly, ‘You don’t need to tell me that, Mr Warner. I’ve always known my Vince was special. But I have missed him. I was only sixteen when he got banged up, we’ve never even spent the night together! And now he’s finally coming home to live in our house! How mad is that?’
Bertie Warner felt the urge to actually break down and cry. This lovely little girl had shown him that no one was ever so hard they couldn’t appreciate a real sob story when they heard one. She wasn’t even after a bit of sympathy, she was just being honest.
‘He’s a lucky man to have you, darling – I wish you both a long life of happiness.’ She was smiling with excitement and he thought again how lovely she was. He envied young Vincent coming home to her. ‘You book a DJ or whatever it is you have these days, and just bill it to the pub, all right, love?’
She nodded; this was like a dream to her, one she had been having for four very long years. And it was finally coming true.
Chapter One Hundred and Sixteen
‘Mum, listen to me. Vincent wants his daughter at home and, no matter what you tell the social workers, they are already putting in place a residential order for her to come back home full time. Now, if you push me on this, I will leave it to Vincent to sort you out.’
Cynthia knew that she was on the losing side. She had to take this well because if she kicked off now she would lose all contact with little Cherie and that must never happen. She just had to bide her time. This pair of fucking muppets would ruin it all by themselves and when that happened she would make sure she was there to pick up the pieces. So she plastered a fake smile on her face and said, ‘I know, love, and I was going to say that now you are back together, you should be a proper family. The social worker has already explained that you are on track, and that they are confident that you will be able to cope with motherhood in an adult and confident way.’
She had mimicked Miss Byrne so well that even Gabby had to laugh at her.
‘That is exactly what she said to me as well! In that exact voice!’ She was so happy that Vincent was coming home she could even be nice to her mother.
‘Look, Gabriella, it wasn’t anything personal, you know, me having Cherie here. It was for your own good. You were sixteen and alone, and I know I wasn’t the best mother in the world to you or your brother, but it was different with Cherie. I felt older and wiser. I was ready for the responsibility of a child and, truth be told, was trying to make up to you for everything that had happened in the past. If I had left her with you, you would have fucked up big time. You were just too young, love.’
Gabby smiled at her mother even though she didn’t believe a word the woman was saying. She was backing off gracefully, and that meant she was more dangerous than ever, because she would be scheming. Well, let her scheme. Vincent would be there this time to protect her.
‘Thanks, Mum. By the way, have you seen anything
of James?’
For a second, Cynthia was nonplussed. Then Gabby watched as it dawned on her who she was talking about.
‘No. Why, have you?’
Gabby enjoyed her mother’s discomfort and that saddened her, because this was, after all, her mother. ‘Yeah, he turned up at Nana’s last week. He was asking after you. I didn’t know if he’d been in touch.’
Cynthia shook her head violently, and Gabby could see she was rattled, far more than she had expected her to be.
‘How did he look?’
‘Scruffy, still strange. I think he was on something to be honest. His teeth were rotten. I was shocked at the sight of him – he looked really manic, but Granddad aimed him straight out the door. I felt a bit sorry for him.’
Cynthia didn’t answer her.
‘I tell you something, Mum, I’m glad my Vincent will be home soon. I wouldn’t want James hanging around. Though I always wrote to him, a few times a year, like. He never answered a letter, but I still felt he should have some kind of contact with us, you know?’
Cynthia’s mind was working overtime; on a couple of occasions lately she had felt as if she was being watched. Especially late at night when she parked her car, and now it seemed she might have been right to feel that way. Her son was back out on the streets, someting she had not envisaged ever happening. After all, he was as mad as a fucking March hare. But so-called care in the community meant all sorts were let out these days. Cynthia, being Cynthia, did not see his condition as anything to do with her; as far as she was concerned, he was just born like it. And that, as she was wont to say, was that. But she knew that he had a particular dislike of her after his father’s death. The doctors had warned her of that, and the feeling was mutual. She would keep her eyes open, and take the appropriate precautions. If he came on too strong she would report him without a moment’s guilt. She had a baseball bat she kept for emergencies, and she would happily wrap it round his head if the need arose. She had known he was on the out, but it had not occurred to her he would want to see her or, more to the point, confront her. But at least she had a heads up now, thanks to this daughter of hers. The same daughter who was happily taking away from her the only person she had ever truly cared about.
She forced another smile on to her face. ‘Well, he knows where I am, I suppose.’
‘Oh yeah, he knows where you are all right, Granddad told him.’ Gabby smiled at her mother, and the fear in her eyes was like a balm to her tortured soul. ‘So, I will take the last bits of Cherie’s stuff tomorrow, if that’s OK?’
‘’Course it is. I hope you’ll still let her stay here sometimes. I mean, once Vincent is home, he’s going to want you to himself I should imagine.’
‘Oh, he’ll have me and his daughter. That’s all he wants, Mum.’
‘Of course.’
Gabby wondered why, after everything her mother had done to her over the years, she still felt bad when she scored a point over her. And no one was more shocked than her as she heard herself say, ‘You’re coming to his party, Mum, aren’t you? It’s going to be great.’
All the way home she could have kicked herself, because she knew that her mother, being her mother, would come to the party all right and it would be the fucking party’s death knell. She sighed in frustration. It was always the same – her mother had a knack of making her feel in the wrong and, consequently, she felt she had to make it up to her. Well, Gabby decided, if she turned up, she would act like she didn’t know anything about it. That was pretty much all she could do.
Then it occurred to her that her brother could turn up too, and suddenly the whole thing just seemed too complicated and troublesome. James was her brother and she loved him. At least she loved the boy he had once been. He had serious mental issues, and when he wasn’t taking his drugs he was violent. No one could have that kind of person too close to them. The thought of him near little Cherie made her blood run cold. He was so unpredictable. When he had suffered his violent bouts, the doctors had said there had been no warning, he had just snapped. And he had been like a steam train; whatever the person who’d supposedly wronged him had done, real or imagined, had made him almost murderous with his unsuppressed rage.
So why had they let him out? It made no sense. Her granddad said it was the arrogance of doctors – they believed they could tame people like James when in fact nothing could tame him. A chemical cosh only worked while the person involved was taking those chemicals. What happened if they decided to stop? Apparently James enjoyed hurting people, he liked it. So how on earth was he supposed to fit into normal society with normal people? He didn’t know how to act, or what was acceptable behaviour.
Vincent would go mad if he caused any trouble, and she had a feeling that her brother would have met his match in her Vincent. She had to stop these negative thoughts. She had her daughter back, and her Vincent was coming home too. She had to stop looking for problems where there weren’t any. The trouble was, when your whole existence had been a struggle, you started to think that was all it would ever be.
Well, her life was picking up, and she was finally getting everything she had ever wanted from it. And that was a cause for celebration.
Chapter One Hundred and Seventeen
James Tailor had been watching his mother and, even though he hated her, she still fascinated him. She was still a good-looking woman, and she still had that walk she had always had, as if she was the only person in the world of any note. Which, in her eyes, was God’s honest truth.
When he had been a little kid she had seemed almost omnipotent, but now, watching her, he realised she was nothing really, nothing to be scared of anyway. In fact, he thought she was quite sad these days. Ageing, which he knew would be killing her. Having seen how beautiful Gabby had become, he knew that would be like a knife in her ribs, and that pleased him. He hated her with a vengeance, even while he loved her.
He felt that disconnection with the world once more; it was the best feeling in the world to him. His trouble had always been that he cared too much. Things made him angry, really angry, and that anger all but consumed him. It was like a storm that raged in his blood, and the only way to settle it down was through a bout of violence.
But he knew his anger had been the cause of him being locked away, so he had to try and control it. The heroin helped him enormously, and he was glad he had found something to dampen down those angry feelings. It couldn’t quieten the voices completely, but it did calm them sometimes. He had stopped taking his medication, as it had interfered with his enjoyment of the drugs he injected into his body.
Watching his mother had become his hobby. The psychiatrist said he needed something to concentrate his mind on, and he was concentrating on her all right. He was watching her every move, and he found it enjoyable. He liked that he was spying on her and she didn’t know he was there.
His dad had killed himself over her, which was sad because she really wasn’t worth it. She was the shit on his shoes; his father had been worth fifty of her. She certainly wasn’t worth dying for, but then his dad had never really understood just what he had lumbered himself with. But James could have explained – he understood it all now.
The psychiatrist had once asked him to describe his feelings for his mother, and he had thought about the question for a while before answering honestly that she was ‘toxic’. She was like Agent Orange – it sounded quite nice but was full of hidden dangers, and it destroyed everything it touched. Just like Cynthia Tailor. Just like him. That was the one thing he had inherited from her; the urge to destroy things, destroy people.
Now it looked as if she was after Gabby’s little girl, and that was something he could not allow to happen. Gabby was the only person he even remotely cared about; unlike the rest of his so-called family, she had always kept in touch with him, dropping him a line to tell him about herself and her life. Telling him everything he needed to know.
Gabby was a nice person and, although he thought she was a mug, she was the o
nly person to have ever given him a thought. That was the worst of it, knowing they didn’t even think about him, none of them did. Especially not his mother. She had dumped him faster than a cow dumped its pile of shit. She had walked away from him without even a backward glance.
Well, she would pay for her negligence, and she would pay dearly, of that much he was determined.
Chapter One Hundred and Eighteen
Vincent was packed and ready to go. It was amazing that after four years everything he owned fitted neatly into two carrier bags. But he didn’t care about possessions; all he cared about was that he was on the out at last. In a few moments he would be outside, in the fresh air, in the real world. He felt almost sick with anticipation. Though underneath all the excitement ran a rich vein of apprehension; it was hard walking out of such a controlled environment. For four years he had not been on a bus or walked down a street, he had not even turned off a light switch. But he brushed away his nerves, and forced himself to relax. Not long now, and soon this would be a distant memory.
His Gabby was waiting out there for him and, for the first time ever, they could be together as adults, and that was heady stuff. He wanted to touch her, really touch her, feel her next to him, smell her hair . . . He felt almost dizzy with the thought.
He had been given a right royal send off, and for a moment he had almost been sorry he was leaving, but that had not lasted long. A couple of screws had arranged for a few bottles of Scotch and a bottle of brandy to arrive on the wing, courtesy of Derek Greene, and he had enjoyed the drink, appreciating the way his friends in there had been so glad that one of them was going on the outside.