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by Martina Cole

  ‘Lovely ain’t they, Mum. I hope this one’s a girl and all.’

  Lil put her hands under her large lump and lifted it carefully; this was the biggest she had ever been before and everyone assumed she was either carrying a boy or failing that, another set of twins.

  She wanted another girl though. She liked the girls and since Lance’s birth, she was frightened of another son, of having another boy that she would not be able to love.

  The twins were lying side by side once more and talking their own language. It was fascinating to watch them. They were like mirror images of one another and unless you knew them really well, it was difficult to tell them apart.

  Her mother’s obvious love for them had melted even her heart and their relationship had been easier because of that, easier than it had been for a long time. Annie was always trying to build bridges and helping her out and she appreciated that. As Lil looked around her cluttered front room, she felt the tiredness and the excitement of the new baby acutely.

  She only hoped that Patrick would be around for the birth. He was always interested in how she was feeling; he thought he could suss out the sex of the child by asking her questions and feeling her belly. He was like most men when it came down to it, he had no idea what it was like to have your body taken over for nine months yet he was convinced he was an expert. She gave birth and he took the kudos. As her mother said, men were about as much use as a chocolate teapot around a pregnant woman and she had to agree that, for once, she was right.

  Annie had been a godsend lately, what with the party and the twins and Patrick being on the missing list so much. Her body was rebelling against this child for some reason and she would be glad to get it out into the open and finally have a proper gander at it. Only a girl could be the cause of her uncomfortable nights, even more uncomfortable days, and the reason for her constant backache and penchant for tears. Never before had she felt so low, or so high, while carrying a child. This one, she was sure, would be special.

  As Lance lifted Eileen up and carried her to bed, she smiled slightly; he was good with his sisters, especially Eileen. The weirdness she felt when she was around him had to be her fault, had to be coming from her. Lance tried his hardest to make her love him but she knew that no matter what she did to assure him that was the truth, he knew in his heart that she was pretending.

  It was just on eight and the club was still almost empty except for a few of the City boys who liked a drink, a flash of stripper flesh and a quick feel before they lumbered home to their wives. When Dave was finally taken into Patrick’s office he was on the verge of tears, such was his nervousness.

  Patrick was sat at his desk drinking brandy: a good sign, and smoking one of his cigars: a very good sign. Patrick loved his Cuban smokes, everyone knew that, even though he only smoked them when he was in a club, never at home.

  Dave smiled tremulously and saw the pity in Pat’s eyes. He had fallen so far in the space of a few months and he felt it acutely, especially now that he had finally gained an appointment with the man who had not only taken out his brother, but had also been the cause of every good thing that had happened to them for many years.

  Pat smiled at him sadly. ‘Want a drink, Dave?’

  He nodded his assent with far too much enthusiasm and with far too much relief. It was embarrassing to watch, and Dave knew it would make his humiliation even harder to bear. This was the shape of things to come and he knew he would not be able to bear it.

  Patrick was heartsore at the predicament his friend had found himself in. He had always liked the kid; he didn’t have half the brain or half the gumption of his older brother but he had possessed enough heat to make Pat feel he was worth giving a chance to out of respect for his dead brother, Dicky.

  He had only given him an in because of his brother and he had made a bad judgement. Now he was paying for it; they were all paying for it.

  As he handed the boy a drink, Jimmy Brick was ushered into the small office and young Dave went white at the sight of him. Even his lips had gone white, so shocked was he to see him.

  This annoyed Patrick. Dave should have expected something like this; he was hardly going to leave the meet between these two for months or years, was he? The fact that Dave had not expected it was another reason why he should have realised that the guy was a skank, a fucking waster. Dave should already have had his speech prepared and his sincere apology; should have understood the economics of their world. Instead, he was standing there like a fucking nonce.

  Patrick looked at Dave and tried to convey this with a discreet shake of his head; praying that the boy finally took on board what was expected of him. He had to either fight like fuck and make a stand over his brother’s death or swallow and forever be a gofer, a cunt.

  Dave did nothing and Patrick was devastated, even though he had not expected anything different. The room was filled with tension and also disappointment and Jimmy’s easy shrug called for the whole episode to be brought to an end.

  Dave watched as Jimmy Brick was embraced by Brodie as if he was a long-lost brother. He knew then that he should have made the first move and embraced Jimmy Brick as if it was all just a silly mistake. He should have realised that Jimmy would now be the person who controlled what he earned and how much responsibility he would be allowed to take on in the future. He had fucked up once more and no one was sorrier than Patrick Brodie; he had tried to build a bridge between them but he had been too stupid to take that on board. Dave observed the solidarity these two men displayed so openly with a sad face and a slumped demeanour. He was already beaten and they didn’t need to rub it in; that much was obvious to them all.

  Jimmy’s dead eyes were finally alive and Patrick realised that they were alive with malice. He was enjoying this little meeting and he understood that Dave was being taught a very valuable lesson and it was Jimmy’s job to ram it home, hard and fast, so it would not easily be forgotten.

  Once more, the Williams brothers had missed a golden opportunity.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘I mean it, don’t fucking wind me up. I ain’t giving you nix.’

  Dave and Tommy Williams were both at a point where murder was definitely an option. The man they were fighting with knew this but was not worried; at least, he was not as worried as he should have been. Both the Williams brothers were more than aware that he seemed almost uninterested. Colin Parker was an arsehole and they knew it. Till now, though, he had always been a nervous arsehole.

  ‘Where the fuck is the money, Col? Just give it to us, eh.’ The uncertainty was in Dave’s voice and Parker knew it. He snorted with contempt, his red face and unshaven cheeks making him look worse than ever. He was an ugly man anyway, his sneer just made him look even uglier.

  ‘Can I ask you two something?’ His voice was calm, as if interested in their answer.

  Dave nodded, out of curiosity. ‘Course, what?’

  Colin grinned and it was a sarcastic and brave action. Holding out his arms, he said slowly, ‘Do I look even remotely bothered? You don’t scare me. You’re fucking ice-creams, no more and no less.’

  He lit a joint with steady hands and when it was sparked up properly, he said with heavy sarcasm, ‘If your brother Dennis ain’t with you then you can both fuck off. Let’s face it, he was the scary one.’

  Colin Parker smiled then, a confident smile, one that was guaranteed to annoy. He was a small-time gambler who had a serious habit and, ergo, an even more serious debt. He was paying fuck all if he didn’t have to.

  Colin was a short, shaven-headed individual, stocky and strong. A founding member of the ICF, he was a bully boy who saw himself as above the common herd and as someone who could also look after himself if the fancy took him. He fought on the terraces every Saturday although that was often en masse. Alone, he could hold his own but he preferred to have a gang behind him. Safety in numbers was his usual credo, but these two didn’t seem to be too much of a worry. Not after what he had heard on the streets; they
were on their last legs. The Williams brothers had once been a force to be reckoned with, but not any more. These two were like Mutt and Jeff. About as hard as a nun with a water pistol.

  He knew the Williams brothers were not the Faces they had once been and therefore he saw no reason to give them any money he could be using to his own advantage. A bet was a bet after all, and if he could delay payment, all the better. He wasn’t averse to a little break in his payments to give him time to recoup his money or win back what he owed.

  He grinned once more as he said, with conviction, ‘Up yours, cunts.’

  There was no respect in his voice and no fear. His attitude was becoming a regular occurrence lately and it hurt. Dave knew they were not going to get anything from this bloke without some serious threats and some serious violence. But Colin was a football fighter, he spent his Saturdays looking for aggro on the terraces. As a Boleyn boy, born and bred, he saw the North Bank as his stomping ground. Upton Park was his excuse to hurt people and gambling was his excuse to relax and take stock between games.

  The Williams boys held no real threat as far as he was concerned, he knew they were yesterday’s news and even when they had been on top, he had not felt any real kind of fear where they were concerned. He paid out for Brodie, no one else, and that had always been just before a serious reminder of his debt had been called for. This time though, he owed the money to Cain and Spider. People he had less time for than even Dave and his brothers.

  When he was betting with Patrick he was a prompt payer, never more than a few days over his deadline, and even then, a smile and a cheery wave as he settled his debt. Not any more. Now, it seemed, he owed a grand to someone he saw as nothing more than a greedy black bastard; like he was going to put himself out to serve that ponce up with anything other than a fucking good hiding. Brodie should be ashamed of passing the betting monies over to the blacks.

  If he didn’t have such an important job on the terraces, sorting out the men from the boys, he would have been in the army. And now he had the added insult of being accosted by a couple of has-beens collecting his hard-earned poke for the blackies. What a fucking liberty.

  It was outrageous and he decided to be offended. ‘Tell the coons I ain’t giving them nothing, all right?’

  Dave saw the futility of his new role and his younger brother, Tommy, was looking at him with an expression that said he was getting towards the end of his tether; that he was looking for some kind of guidance from him. Dave wished that he had brought Ricky along. Although he was the baby, he was far more game and wouldn’t expect him to guide his every move.

  He had nothing left to give him. He knew that Colin Parker was a nut job and he also knew that if he didn’t bring the money back to Cain there would be ambulances arriving and that they wouldn’t be for Parker, they would be for them. His confidence was shot and he was a bundle of nerves; his life was like a fucking soap opera these days. All aggro and excess alcohol, it was all he could do these days to climb out of his pit in the morning. He knew that Colin Parker was just fronting, no more and no less, but he also knew that Colin Parker had already sussed out that his tactic had worked. He walked out of the flat in Leytonstone with his heart beating loud in his head and his stomach ready to vacate its contents at any moment.

  He took deep breaths to calm himself as he waited for his brother to follow behind him. ’Are you having a tin bath or what, Dave?’ Tommy spoke quietly, aware that they would be listened to by anyone within earshot.

  Dave shook his handsome head and said in a whisper, ‘It’s all shit ain’t it? It is all fucking, poxy shit. And me and you are the fucking fall guys, thanks to that cunt we called a brother ...’

  Tommy was fed up with Dave and his girly whining. His anger was phenomenal and his temper was at its height. He was not a man to be fucked with any more. Something had to be said and he was the person to say it. His disgust was evident, even to himself, and also to the brother he had always looked up to. But times were hard and they were changing by the minute, as Dave would soon find out.

  ‘Look at you. Call yourself a man, a Williams? Will you fucking give it a fucking rest? We have to collect this poke or we are fucked. I am just about fed up with it all. Right? So can you just for once, once, concentrate on the job in hand. I don’t want a fucking post-mortem on our lives and I don’t want a fucking post-mortem on our cunt of a brother and his mistakes. I just want the money, that’s all. And I want it now, Dave.’

  Dave nodded with complete understanding, but without any kind of belief or any kind of energy. He was finished and he knew it but, more to the point, Tommy knew it.

  ‘I know. Course I know that. But you saw Colin, he is a lairy little fucker. What are we supposed to do? I don’t want to take him on. I don’t want to do this any more.’

  And he didn’t. Dave had lost the nerve that was needed to iron out enemies. He’d lost the want and the enjoyment that a good fight could bring. Dave was like a fucking no-neck; he was like the people they collared off. Dave had made the ultimate mistake; he had become the person they depended on for their livelihood.

  Tommy closed his eyes and sighed, forcing himself to be calm enough to talk rationally.

  ‘What we going to do, mate? How are we going to sort this out, eh? Please, Dave. Pull yourself together and we’ll beat this fucker to a pulp and get on with our lives.’

  Tommy was irritated and Dave could see that.

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Tom. We need to get that money, iron him out as we would usually, but Colin is a mad cunt.’

  Tommy sighed heavily. He could hear and feel the fear in his older brother’s voice, could feel the indecision and the nervousness inside him. On one level he understood his brother’s careful consideration for the family, on another level his brother was getting on his tits. He’d had just about enough. He stared around him for a few moments, breathing in the evening air and calming himself down so he wouldn’t lose it completely.

  They were on the balcony that fronted the flats, the air stank of chip fat and stale cigarettes. All around them was the bustle of a council estate during the early evening. The young girls were dressed in their finery and hanging around waiting for the young men who would be their downfall. Dealers were out for their first foray of the night and old dears were on their way to bingo, knitted gloves and knitted hats the order of the day. Kids as young as three were still playing out the front, their clothes filthy and their faces already hardened by the act of bringing themselves up.

  It was a reminder of their own upbringing and Tommy was on the verge of tears, tears of anger and the humiliation they were on the receiving end of. Tommy was a lump as the local people would say. He was big and he could have a row and he was at the age when he was willing to make his mark, even though his older brothers were happy to sit back and become no-necks, nothings. He couldn’t believe they would let the work of a lifetime go, just because they were wary of Brodie. Well, fuck Brodie and fuck the rest of them. He was determined to make his mark, no matter what, and he was going to fight for his right to earn in the highest echelons of their chosen profession once more.

  ‘What the fuck are we going to do then?’

  It was a statement and Dave could hear the challenge as well as the anger in his brother’s voice. He knew he was finished in his brother’s eyes. He only wished he could explain properly just how much trouble they were now in.

  ’Are you going to answer me, Dave? For fuck’s sake, we were asked to collect and I am going to collect, with or without you.’

  Dave shook his head in distress. ‘No matter what we do, Tom, we won’t get any real thanks for it. All we will get is grief from Colin Parker and his cronies.’

  Tommy stared into his brother’s face and swallowed down the urge to lamp him one.

  ‘It’s a fucking grand, that’s all. It’s peanuts to this wanker and we are hardly asking for the national debt, are we? And if we don’t spank for this one we’re on the skids; who the fuck wil
l use us in the future? Why would they? We have to make some kind of fucking stand now, or we will be scratching in the dirt for ever.’

  Dave knew he was right but he didn’t ever want to have to face Jimmy Brick or Patrick Brodie again.

  ‘Give him a week and we’ll have a rethink. OK?’

  Tommy shook his head in disgust and, hawking in his throat, he spat on to the concrete floor. Then he walked back into the flat and, picking up a kitchen chair, he crashed it over Colin Parker’s head with all the strength that he could muster.

  Colin was as amazed as Dave. He tried to crawl across the floor on his hands and knees, his head pouring blood and his mouth trying to bring forth some kind of warning, but all he could manage was a low animal grunt. Tommy Williams repeated the blows over and over again. The force of his anger and disappointment made him vicious and determined. Parker tried to crawl under the table but Tommy just kicked him over and over again, until he was spent and Colin was still, lifeless. Tommy stripped him of his jewellery and his wallet and walked outside once more.

  He looked at his elder brother and said quietly, and with hatred, ‘Fuck you, Dave, and fuck Brodie.’

  He pocketed his spoils and walked away from his brother without a backward glance.

  Dave watched him go, his heart heavy with the knowledge that he had been beaten and cowed, but with good reason. He knew what could happen if you pushed it too far and he was sorry that he had not explained that sufficiently to his little brothers.

  Spider and Cain were in the club they frequented in Paddington. The usual customers gave them the salute they had come to expect and, walking through the main bar to the small offices behind, they greeted everyone with a smile and their usual cheesy grins.

  The club was owned by them, though no one would ever be able to prove that. Even paying legitimate taxes was beyond them. They were also not about to be placed anywhere for any length of time by the filth. This was just another hang-out as far as anyone was concerned. Nothing to write home about and nothing could pin them down here.