by Martina Cole
‘I’ll hazard my fist in your fucking face in a minute!’
Alan had finally had enough.
‘You dare and I’ll beat your fucking brains out, you ponce! Now bring me a real filth with some real fucking power in this place and I might have something to talk about, mightn’t I?’
Teddington was incensed. He was small fry by police standards and it bothered him. He acted the hard man all the time, but with his balding red head and extremely white skin, he was constantly the butt of jokes. He was always looking for the worst in people and invariably found it.
‘You cunt! You fucking lairy cunt!’
As he started beating Alan three PCs came running into the room and pulled him off. As they dragged him out of the door he was still screaming obscenities.
‘Piss off, you prat, I ain’t scared of you! I ain’t scared of no one! You fucking white-skinned ghost, come back and fight like a man. You hear me? I ain’t fucking scared of you!’ Alan called after him.
But he was scared, and he knew it. More to the point, Teddington knew it. But it made Alan feel better to say it.
Alone he put his head into his hands and tried to stem the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. He was frightened that if he started crying he would never stop.
Marie was in a cab on her way to Spitalfields after a call from Maisie. As she had walked out of the hostel she had half expected to be arrested. Instead she’d left without anyone taking any real notice. But she felt inside that it was only a matter of time before the police sought her out.
She was going to plead guilty and get it all over with. That was the easiest way. As Sally had said, showing the police the video would be her best defence. No mother could be expected to see that and not react. But she knew that the men in the film would not be easily incriminated. No, they’d have their arses well covered. The video would disappear or something else would happen to discredit her story.
It was how their world worked.
Her only other option was to contact them personally and try and get a deal from them. But if she did that she would be letting them get away with it. Strangely she didn’t feel the urge to kill them any more, she had had her fill of killing since Patrick. She still couldn’t believe she had really done what she had.
But in one part of her, no matter how bad she felt now and would feel for the rest of her days, she was glad he was no more. She wouldn’t go so far as to say she was pleased she had done it, but she was pleased that he could never hurt her or her loved ones again.
Inside the restaurant she saw a beaming Maisie, who out of her working clothes and make-up looked just like any other young girl. As Marie sat down she poured her a large glass of ice cold Chardonnay.
‘Let’s have a toast, shall we?’
Marie didn’t answer her.
‘Well, come on, love, get that down your neck. Cheers! I can see you’ve already had a few, already been celebrating.’
‘I am not celebrating, Maisie. I can’t, not yet.’
She shrugged.
‘Fair enough. But Christ, Marie, you gave him a braying and a half, didn’t you? I was watching you. I saw it all.’
Marie was quiet, wondering where this was leading. Was Maisie going to try and use the knowledge against her in some way?
‘When you hit him, he didn’t know his arse from his elbow. It was perfect! And the way his head opened up with the first whack . . . Girl, I never, ever want to fall out with you. It was like something from a fucking film! Then you just laid into him. I couldn’t believe he was still alive when the others turned up. It was so fucking freaky! And then I had to go back inside the flat and act like I knew fuck all when inside I wanted to roar with fucking laughter!’
Marie said loudly, ‘What the fuck are you going on about? What others? Who else turned up?’
It was then that Maisie realised Marie had absolutely no idea what had happened after she’d left.
Jason was sitting with his father watching the news when they were both startled to see Patrick Connor’s picture appear on the screen and hear a brief resumé of his life of crime. The story went on to say he had been tortured to death by a well-known drug baron, Mikey Devlin, a man who had himself been shot by police marksmen at a scrapyard in East London after a surveillance operation that had lasted for months.
Jason was in shock but as Ossie tried to turn off the news he held out his arm to stop him.
‘Leave it, Dad, I want to hear it all.’
Ossie listened with his boy as his natural father’s murder was talked about calmly and dispassionately by the nice Welshman who read the news on BBC1.
‘Haven’t you seen the news today, Marie? Some bloke called Devlin was shot at a scrapyard in East London. Well, by all accounts it was him who lifted Patrick after you’d brained him. I didn’t know the blokes who turned up, assumed they were just another set of enemies. Christ himself knew Patrick had more than enough. But his body was found in one of this Devlin bloke’s lock ups. They had tortured him, used everything on him . . . cattle prods, a welding iron, you name it. Fuck, I wish I’d seen it!’
Marie stared around the crowded restaurant and watched all the people laughing and joking and drinking. In the corner was a middle-aged couple. They were gazing into each other’s eyes oblivious to everyone around them. They looked to be in love. Would she have fallen in love with Mikey eventually? She had wanted to use him, to make him hurt Patrick for her, and he had done that without her prompting. He had done it because he cared about her. She didn’t deserve such caring.
The relief of knowing she had not actually killed Patrick was overshadowed by the knowledge that Mikey Devlin had done the job for her. Because he cared.
She gulped at the wine and tried to work out what the hell she was supposed to do next. She still had the video in her possession. Could she use it in some way to bring the three men to justice?
Something had to be done. This could not be the end of it – too many people had been hurt. She had to make sense of it all or it would send her as mad as her father.
Thinking of her father reminded her of what had happened to him and her mother. Whatever Louise was, she did not deserve to be burnt alive for it and yet that was exactly what had happened to her, and it was all Marie’s fault. Her father had avenged that and had been locked away. Her own daughter had been determined to show her that she didn’t need her, and now she was dead. Her grand-daughter was in care. Her son was the only bright spark in her life. Yet she was causing him problems by her association with him.
She had inadvertently caused chaos in so many lives by her release from prison. If only she had never been paroled, so much hurt and trouble could have been avoided.
Her mother was right after all. She was nothing but a Jonah.
Alan was getting tired and irritable. He had been left half the day in a cell without even a cup of tea or a cigarette. He was gasping for both and when the door was finally opened was ready to tell whoever it was exactly what he thought of them.
It was Teddington, as he knew it would be. He could see by the policeman’s stance that he was after another row. It was why he was in the cell and had not had Alan brought to an interview room.
‘What do you want, cunt! Another history lesson on the Colombians or a smack in the fucking teeth?’
Teddington had three other men with him and grinned at them as he said, ‘See what I fucking mean? He has to be on a fucking death wish.’
Alan held up his fists like an old-time prizefighter.
‘Come on then, one at a time. Or are you too scared to take me on? Come on then, I fucking dare you. You come in here like four mad fairies and think you can intimidate me. Well, fuck you!’
Teddington was half impressed with this man though he wouldn’t let him know that.
‘Come on then, you load of fucking filth poofters. Show me what you can do, or are you all after my arse?’
Alan started to laugh again.
‘That�
��s it, ain’t it? You’re all shirt lifters!’
That was when the kicking started.
Alan had made the mistake of forgetting he was actually no good to them now that Mikey was dead. Instead of trying to make things easier for himself, he had only succeeded in making everything worse. Fifteen minutes later he was bruised, bleeding, and back on the street. The sound of Teddington’s laughter was ringing in his ears as he came to the sickening realisation that out here his life was in mortal danger because he was a known grass.
Everyone he knew would be scared to help him. He was finished. He was the reason Mikey had been shot and his boys banged up. Alan Jarvis had gone from respected businessman and scrap metal tycoon to drug dealer, importer, and finally grass.
What a glittering career he had carved out for himself.
Now he was completely on his own. He would never see his girls again because he could be traced through them. His name would be spoken with hatred and everyone would wonder if he had opened his trap about them as well. He had no one to turn to and no one to rely on.
The sooner he disappeared the better.
Anastasia was laughing, her little face red from the exertion. As Lorraine and Peter Porter watched her they both felt extremely happy. She was everything they had ever dreamed of in a child: bright, pretty and with a lovely nature. She had settled in well and already hugged them as if they were her real parents. That in itself felt like a privilege.
Since the sad news of her mother’s death they hoped they might be considered for adoption. After all, they were mixed race like her. Lorraine’s father was from Bangladesh though Peter was pure Yorkshire. They had met at university and had fallen in love in seconds, but since Peter had found out he was sterile their cosy little world had been destroyed. Until they had started fostering, that is.
Although they’d loved all the kids they had looked after, this little one was special. As she grinned at them now they both felt a lifting of their heart like a physical sensation.
‘Annie’s!’
She spoke the name they had given her with pride as she grabbed her dolly from the table. They had thought ‘Anastasia’ a bit of a mouthful and so they had shortened it accordingly. Annie had liked it. She found it easier to say than her other name and so she used it at every opportunity. After a few short weeks she felt like their very own child and they were terrified of the day she might be taken from them.
Anastasia had never been so happy, and if every now and then she briefly remembered and asked for her mummy it soon passed, especially when she was hugged close by Lorraine.
She was getting used to the regular food, and a house where no one shouted. To getting up at the same time each day without having to lie in bed for ages waiting for her mummy. She was used to getting plenty of attention now and plenty of treats: swimming, the cinema and regular play school.
It was an idyllic life for the little girl with the curly hair and the effervescent personality. She had a look of her mother about her, but a darker, more honed version. Her character was actually more like her grandmother’s, had the same self-contained quality. Now her personality was developing properly she was also getting strong-minded. Her foster parents put this down to her feeling more secure. They were right, she was blossoming under their tutelage and it showed. Even the social worker was impressed with the way she had come on since they had placed her.
When the news came on the TV and her father’s photo was displayed, Annie opened her arms wide and said loudly: ‘Daddy gone!’
Both Lorraine and Peter noticed that she seemed happy as she said it and they laughed together, not understanding what the joke was.
Then, her face serious now, she said, ‘Mummy gone.’
And Lorraine hugged her and said gently, ‘Yes, Mummy’s gone, darling, but Mummy Lol is still here.’
‘Big hug!’
Annie’s voice was loud and Lorraine hugged her hard.
‘Yes, my little darling. Big hug.’
‘All right, Dad?’
Lucy was shocked at her father’s appearance but tried her hardest not to show it.
He smiled at her, his face lighting up with recognition.
‘Hello, love.’
Kevin was unshaven and it made him look like a tramp. He had lost weight and his body movements were jerky. Though she had been warned what to expect, actually seeing him with her own eyes was still a big shock. He had always been such a dapper man. Smart and well-groomed. In control of himself.
‘Hello, Sue. I didn’t know you two knew each other!’
He was delighted by his daughter’s visit and it made them both feel good to see him so happy.
‘Me two best girls! I’ve been wanting to see you. I have something to tell you, see. I should have told you before but I couldn’t. Kept it locked away in here for years.’ He tapped his head with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘And I have to tell you now otherwise I won’t be allowed to go home. Will I, Sue?’
He looked at her as he said her name and she smiled her agreement. He spoke in riddles a lot of the time these days.
‘Do you want a cup of tea? They’ll make you a cup if you want one, they’re very good like that here. It’s because we’re all as mad as hatters!’
He laughed again and Lucy wanted to cry for the man she’d loved as a father and who seemed to her now more like an overgrown child.
He was gone, completely tipped over the edge. Like Marie, he had killed. Unlike her, it had sent him off his head. Although Sue had told her what to expect Lucy still could not equate this scarecrow of a man with the strong father she had lived with for so many years.
But then, he wasn’t that strong. Not really. He had been ruled by her mother as they all had.
‘Have you seen your mother?’
Kevin shook his head at his own question and carried on talking without waiting for an answer.
‘Of course you haven’t! No time for her girls her, only had time for Marshall. God rest his soul, she drove him fucking mad with her stupid ways and her pseudo-middle-class shit. He wasn’t all bad, God love him. She made him like it. Made him weak because she always took care of him, didn’t she? At the expense of the rest of us.’
No one answered him. They just listened, both guessing that he needed to get it all off his chest.
‘She protected him and I protected her. Why did I do it, eh? And who protected you, Marie?’
Susan saw Lucy’s eyes widen as she realised what her father had said and her heart went out to her. She held on to Lucy’s arm as she made to leave.
‘Stay. This is the most he has spoken since he arrived. Let him say his piece.’
Lucy stayed in the chair but the hurt lay heavy on her heart. It was always Marie for him, and her mother had had her Marshall, so where the fuck had that left her all these years?
‘Them poor kids dumped. I wanted them, I did! I told her we should have them, but then Marshall killed himself and she had the breakdown and that was when I knew I had to keep me trap shut. I let you go away because I was terrified that if the truth came out it would destroy Lou. Now I wish it had destroyed her.’
Kevin started to cry.
‘I’m sorry, Marie, please forgive me. She used it against me in the end, see. Because I let you go away, she knew she had me. I did it for her, for her son, and so people wouldn’t know what had happened . . .’
‘What are you talking about, Dad?’
Lucy’s voice was small. She wasn’t sure she actually wanted to hear what he was going to say.
‘All those years it ate away at me like a cancer. She knew . . . your mother knew, deep inside. But because I couldn’t tell her she used it against me, do you understand that?’
Lucy shook her head.
‘Explain what happened, Dad. Please.’
‘I heard her at him – Marshall. She knew he’d been at the squat that day. She knew he’d been to see you, Marie, and had searched his room. He was a dealer and she had known that for some time.
She blamed Patrick Connor, of course, but it wasn’t just him. It was always in Marshall’s nature to go after easy money. But Marshall, you see, was in deeper with Connor than she’d realised. When he told her it was Connor who had beaten those girls to death, had actually seen him do it, Lou went berserk. He told her he’d kept quiet because he was terrified of her finding out what he was really doing. That’s how deeply she affected him. And she decided she would rather Marie went away and those two children were left motherless than have people know that her wonderful Marshall had gone off the rails. She was terrified of the neighbours finding out what he really was.
‘He was her golden boy, see, the one she held up as a beacon of goodness to everyone. The truth getting out would have killed her. As it was, it destroyed their relationship. He still hadn’t told the whole truth, see? That’s why he shot himself. I think he knew he was cornered by her. She had said she would kill herself if he went to the police and that would always be on his conscience. By this time Marie had been charged, and even she thought she had done it. Everyone thought she had. It had gone too far.’
He lit an Embassy cigarette with shaking hands and puffed on it deeply.
‘But you didn’t know the extent of his dealings with Connor, he made sure of that. He knew you’d cause trouble over it. Always looked out for her brother and sister, did Marie.’
He looked into Lucy’s face.
‘Didn’t you, darling? Tell her what I’m saying is true.’
Lucy looked at Susan and nodded her head.
‘See, she knows the truth of it. Over the years after his death Lou convinced herself that Marshall just lied to help his sister out of trouble. Do you see what I’m saying, mate? Yet another good thing he had done in her eyes. She had it all worked out to her own satisfaction.’
He was shaking his head once more and the sadness in his eyes and voice was so terrible that Lucy closed her eyes.
‘Even I believed it. Until I found his note after he topped himself. I still had it. I hid it in a safe place. I don’t know why I kept it but it’s all burnt up now, I suppose.’
He laughed. ‘Like Lou, burnt to a fucking crisp!