by Martina Cole
He wiped a hand across his face as if to banish the thought of her. Then, getting up, he walked into the en suite bathroom as quietly as possible; the last thing he needed was Caroline awake at this hour of the morning, shouting the odds. But luck wasn’t on his side and he heard her voice as he started his early morning piss.
‘What time did you finally roll in?’
He rolled his eyes with annoyance. ‘Yeah, good morning to you too, Caroline. You know I was at a meet last night. You spoke to Johnny about it.’
He heard the grunt of disbelief that told him she still thought Johnny Mac was a part of some conspiracy against her. If only she knew that Johnny was about the only person who counselled him to think long and hard before he broke up his marriage. He was Caroline’s sole supporter.
‘You getting up today?’
He heard her sigh heavily.
‘Why? What is there to get up for? You tell me that.’
He gritted his teeth and said as evenly as he could, ‘Little Michael, how about him? Your auntie Dolly can’t stay here for ever, can she?’
Caroline sat up in the huge bed and yawned loudly. He looked at her as he walked back over. He was tired having been out late the night before but, instead of getting in to have a longer sleep, he bent down and picked up his jeans off the floor, slipping them on quickly. She was getting to be the size of a house. He saw the chocolate wrappers on the night table on her side and knew she must have had a midnight feast. Her face was fuller and, even though she was still a good-looking woman, her permanent expression of discontent was marring her features.
She had suffered a blow, he accepted that. But she had so much else in her life and she was just wasting it. Wallowing in self-pity, she had become a fucking nightmare − and she hadn’t been all that easy to start with, temperament-wise.
‘Actually, Cain, she can stay here. I’ve already asked her and she’s over the moon.’
He bit back the retort he wanted to make, because in some ways Dolly moving in would make things easier for him in the long run.
‘Shouldn’t you have discussed that with me, love?’
Caroline pulled herself from the bed and padded to the bathroom quickly.
‘Now why would I do that, Cain? Since when have I had to have your fucking permission to do anything pertaining to this house and our lives? It will make my life easier having her here. Little Mike is a handful and I need to grieve.’
He could hear her taking her Valium − he hated the sound of that pill jar opening. She was eating them like sweets and they zonked her out. She needed a swift kick up the jacksie, but no one was going to do that any time in the near future. Everyone around her allowed her to do what she wanted, even at the expense of living their own lives. She moaned constantly, but she had always been a complainer. Caroline dripped negativity; it seeped out of her pores and it infected everyone around her. When he thought back now at how she manipulated every situation, he was amazed that he had never comprehended it before.
He made his way downstairs where Dolly was already giving Michael his breakfast. He was a handsome boy, and he smiled widely at his dad as he walked into the kitchen.
‘I’ve got boiled eggs, Dad.’
Cain kissed him on the top of his head. It would be hard to leave his little lad; he loved him with all his heart.
‘Lucky boy.’
Dolly, in a flowery dressing gown, was making a pot of tea and, smiling kindly, she said, ‘Sit down, I’ll do you a bit of egg and bacon.’ She placed a mug of tea in front of him and he sipped it gratefully.
‘So, I hear you’re moving in then.’
Dolly turned to face him, the smile gone. ‘I think it’s for the best, don’t you?’
The air was loaded with tension suddenly and he realised that she knew about Jenny.
‘She will go fucking ballistic when she finds out and, if you value your life or that girl’s life, you had better make sure she don’t get her hands on either of you. Pregnant or not pregnant, Caroline will hammer the fuck out of her.’
Michael was looking over his father’s shoulder and, as he shouted, ‘Dad!’, Cain felt the full force of his wife’s fist hit the side of his head. She was strong and he felt himself lifted out of his seat. As he crashed heavily to the kitchen floor, she was on him. Little Michael was wailing, Dolly was screaming and Caroline was almost incoherent with rage. She was straddling him now, tearing the hair from his head, and he had to use every ounce of his considerable strength to buck her off him.
After a while he managed to hold her down and, when she finally stopped struggling, he relaxed his hold a little. She spat into his face, a huge globule of spit. It smelled of minty toothpaste and he left it there, not willing to loosen his hold on her any further. Caroline could fight like a man and she was angry enough now to be capable of anything.
‘Who is it, Cain? Do I know her?’
He looked down into his wife’s wild eyes, and said gently, ‘I’m so sorry, mate.’ He meant every word he said and it pained her even more to know that.
‘And it’s pregnant, is it? How many months?’
‘Nearly seven. Honestly, Caroline, I never meant for any of this to happen.’
She snorted nastily. ‘You really want this bird so much?’
He nodded.
Suddenly it was as if the fight left her body and she slumped on to the floor. There were no tears in her eyes, no emotion in her voice, as she said wearily, ‘You better go to her then.’
The only time he smiled that day was when he went into the offices in Soho and Johnny Mac, taking in his black eye and split lip, said airily, ‘I take it Caroline’s found out?’
As they laughed together at the absurdity of it all, Cain felt the pressure leaving his body. The word was out, and now he could look to the future. His future with Jenny.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jenny Riley could not believe what had happened. She was standing in her mum’s front room staring at Cain Moran, wondering if she was imagining the whole scenario. She had dreamed of this moment, never believing for a second that it would actually come true.
Eileen grinned. ‘She didn’t take the news well then?’
Cain gingerly touched his swollen face. ‘I’ve had worse.’ He tried to make light of his condition, of the whole situation. Jenny was white-faced as it was − no need to go into the gory details.
Eileen surveyed him shrewdly. Against her will, she had a sudden respect for him; she had been convinced he was bullshitting her daughter about being with her one day. Fuck knows she had heard it all before, but it seemed her Jenny had the magic touch. She only hoped he was worth it in the long run − most men weren’t. Once the sex dwindled, it was like going to work; men were a job you had to do every day of your life. Still, that was for Jenny to find out for herself.
She went out into the hallway and shrugged on her coat, calling out, ‘I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone.’
Cain looked at Jenny, his lovely Jenny, and, as she slipped into his arms, he felt the happiest he had in years. He still couldn’t believe that Caroline had let him go – he would make sure he did right by her and his boy. He felt the baby kick and laughed delightedly. ‘Seems little Junior here is fed up of his cave already.’
Jenny laughed with him. ‘He takes after you, Cain, keeps nightclub hours.’
‘Come on, pack a bag, you’re moving into the flat with me.’
Jenny Riley didn’t need to be told twice.
Chapter Forty-Three
Peter Parkes was an ambitious man, and he understood the business instinctively. He knew who to trust, who to avoid and, most important of all when you ran a nightclub, he knew who had the real money to spend.
He always treated the high-rollers well, even putting in a VIP bar on the top floor. It was a good money-maker, but it was also perfect for private meetings, for separating people who held grudges against each other, and for impressing the constant array of little birds he was knocking off.
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Tonight, being a Sunday, it was being used for a very important meeting and Peter Parkes was thrilled to be the person arranging it. A big Face from Liverpool had requested a meeting with Cain through Peter, and he had brokered it, feeling like a million dollars to be approached by such a name as Lenny McAvoy. The man was a living legend whose name could inspire fear in the most valiant of hearts. He had the reputation as a torturer of his enemies, and he was also known as a man who dealt with friction personally − a lot like Cain Moran.
Peter Parkes assumed that was why they were in the position they were. He wanted to be a part of the upper echelons of villainy just like them. After tonight, he was already on his way, and that excited him.
Cain and Johnny Mac were the first to arrive. Peter stood behind the pristine bar and got ready to make them drinks; he already had a good bottle of Scotch on the counter, anticipating Cain’s choice of beverage. Peter Parkes now drank Scotch himself in homage to his idol. He knew he had to create a persona − it was the main requisite for a Face. He had taken up smoking too, for the same reason.
He poured Cain and Johnny their whiskies and watched as they settled themselves at a table by the doorway. Peter noticed that both the men were packing guns, which surprised him. This was supposed to be a friendly meet. He had liked the sound of Lenny McAvoy in their phone conversations; he had come across as all right. But, as he had to remind himself, this was nothing to do with him and, until Cain or Johnny asked his opinion, he would be wise to keep his thoughts to himself.
When Lenny McAvoy arrived, Peter was taken aback by the man’s size − he was enormous. Cain was tall even for a man, but this bloke towered over him. He was also very pale, with light blond hair, white skin that would burn in the summer sun and, most noticeable of all, he was loud. His voice was booming and, as he shook hands with Cain and Johnny, his two goons, who were nearly as big as Lenny, went and sat at a separate table.
‘So, Cain, great to be down South for a few days. Fucking crazy place, this London! How the fuck do you manage to get around with all the traffic?’
The men chitchatted for a while, and Peter Parkes served them drinks, leaving the bottle of Scotch on the table for the men to help themselves. Peter watched everything going on. He noticed that the two goons were not drinking, but were surveying the scene with shrewd hooded eyes. He knew things were not as hunky-dory as was being made out.
Cain was laughing at a joke that Lenny had told about an Irishman and a German shepherd, when he said suddenly, ‘I hear you were down here a few months ago, Lenny.’ There was a steeliness in Cain’s voice that didn’t go unnoticed by anyone in the room.
Peter saw the two goons sit up that bit straighter at the change of tone. Johnny Mac turned in his chair and eyed them quickly. ‘Sit there and don’t fucking move unless you want me to get annoyed.’ The men took the warning and relaxed back into their seats.
Johnny had a way that made even the biggest of men take heed of him. A lot of it was due to the fact he could fight like a fucking drunken navvy and that he always won. Peter had heard a story that the secret of Johnny Mac’s success was that no one could put him down and keep him down − he just kept getting up and going back at the fight again. Cain joked that Johnny just tired his opponents out; they let him win so they could go home and have their dinner. Johnny Mac had always laughed the loudest at that. Now Peter was seeing that Johnny Mac was a real force to be reckoned with.
Cain carried on, ‘Don’t walk in here giving me a load of old fucking fanny, OK? I know who you saw and what was said. Now I want to hear it from you.’
That Lenny McAvoy was taken aback was an understatement; he was genuinely stunned at the other man’s knowledge of his movements. He knew he needed to acquit himself well or he was in big trouble.
The atmosphere was charged now, and there was a sense of fear creeping up Peter Parkes’s backbone. He was impressed with Cain Moran and Johnny Mac; they were the fucking nuts there was no doubt about it.
Lenny McAvoy picked up his whisky and drained it in one swallow before pouring himself another good shot. ‘Well, I’ve had a right capture here, ain’t I?’
He sounded contrite, and Peter saw Cain start to relax. His hand remained inside his suit jacket though, so he was still handling his gun.
‘You have at that, my old mucker. Now stop fucking about and start talking.’
‘I had a meeting with Jackie Cliff − I provide his pharmaceuticals, as I am sure you know. It seems though that you have your own supplier and that is not Jackie. I earned a lot of money from him, and we had it sewn up tighter than a nun’s cunt, Cain. Now I am getting fuck-all. Hence this meeting.’
Cain laughed then, a real loud belly laugh. ‘Let me tell you about Jackie Cliff, educate you for a moment here. I wouldn’t use that treacherous cunt if my life depended on it. He was cutting your stuff to nothing and doubling his money while screwing you out of yours. He also gets stuff from the continent − not just drugs but hard-core porn. The lorry drivers bring it for him. He promises payment to people and then reneges. There are more than a few people out there who would like a private word with him and a baseball bat. I don’t use him, or the people he associates with, because he’s a fucking grass. No one can do what he does so blatantly unless they are protecting themselves. Any rivals seem to get nicked pretty quickly, if you get my drift. So now you know why you were rowed out in favour of a more profitable, but less dangerous, supplier. Me and Johnny here control everything this side of the Watford Gap, and you, my friend, would do well to remember that. You come visiting in future and you make sure we know about it long beforehand.’
There was a definite threat there and Lenny McAvoy accepted it; in fact, as Cain remarked later on, he took it on the chin, and he respected that in any man.
‘I see. I can only assume you know what you’re talking about, Cain, and I bow down to your superior knowledge of the situation. But the fact remains I am still without a very lucrative earn.’
Peter felt a sneaking admiration for Lenny; it said a lot for a man when he was faced with this kind of opposition to still press his suit. And, in all fairness, he did have a good point.
Johnny Mac as always deferred to Cain and it would be his decision regarding the matter. Cain poured them another round of drinks, and flashing his disarming smile, he said seriously, ‘I reckon we can come to some kind of arrangement, Lenny. But on one condition.’
Lenny was obviously happier now he had the chance of an in. ‘And what would that be?’
‘We get a percentage of your earnings up North.’ It was a brazen move, and one that would either be accepted or would cause a war.
‘Why would I do that, Cain?’ There was definite sarcasm now.
‘Because, my old china, me and Johnny here are going to be your new suppliers. We can get better stuff, and not only is it cheaper, it is also safer for all concerned because we’re dealing with the Colombians and the Jamaicans direct. There’s no middle man, and with the quantities we are dealing in, it’s worth everyone’s while to take advantage.’
Lenny McAvoy was thrilled. He picked up his glass and raised it in a toast, before they swallowed their drinks. Lenny was mentally counting up his profit in his head, wondering why he’d not had the foresight to meet up with this fellow before. It was true what he had heard − the man was a walking fucking cash register and, what was more, Lenny decided he liked him. Moran had no side to him, and that was always a bonus in their game. And that was something he could take advantage of.
‘Oh, one more toast. I just remembered.’
Everyone looked at Cain and he refilled their glasses before ostentatiously checking his Rolex, and saying heartily, ‘To the recently departed Jackie Cliff. Who shrugged off his mortal coil about forty-five minutes ago.’
Everyone laughed.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jenny had a backache, and she was lying in a hot bath, drinking a cup of weak tea. She had never thought anyone could be this
happy. She had to pinch herself at times to make sure it was really happening. Cain was so good to her, he looked after her as if she was made of glass. She could feel his love in everything he did and said, and oh, how she loved him back. She adored the man.
She was carrying high with hardly any spare weight and, unlike for a lot of women, her pregnancy had been virtually trouble free. She still looked wonderful − blooming, as Cain was forever telling her. He treated her like a queen, insisting she had money, new clothes, whatever she wanted.
Now they were getting a room ready for the baby and she was having the time of her life planning the décor and the colour schemes. It seemed as though she had stepped into her own personal heaven.
She felt the baby moving and with that came a tiny stab of fear; she was terrified of the birth itself. As she was only seventeen, the midwife said that youth was on her side when it came to having a baby. Well, it was going to happen whether she wanted to do it or not, so she would just have to get on with it.
As she pulled herself out of the bath, she saw herself in the mirrored tiles on the wall, and couldn’t help smiling. She had a small bump, but other than that she looked more or less as she had before, though her breasts were much heavier and tender. She wrapped herself in the luxury of a huge white bath towel and, walking slowly, she went through to the kitchen where she would wash up her cup. She cleaned obsessively; the flat was so nice she couldn’t bear to see anything out of its place. She was forever plumping up cushions or dusting the surfaces so the whole place gleamed. She knew it pleased Cain − he liked her to be ‘housewifey’, as he called it.
It was in the kitchen that she sensed something was wrong, but she couldn’t place what that might be. As she turned to walk out, her head exploded into a thousand flashing lights. Her knees buckled and she dropped to the floor, her hands and arms instinctively cradling her belly to protect her unborn child.