by Martina Cole
Her daughter Junie was doing the talking as usual. She had been primed by Jasper and knew exactly how to word it and in what context to put it.
The police left none the wiser and extremely frustrated because they knew that this was as far as it was all going to go. They didn’t give a toss about Jasper, he was just another young gun they wanted off the pavement. But they would have liked Jon Jon Brewer on a plate and this time it wasn’t going to happen.
He had more lives than the fucking X Men, and he was a slippery little sod. But they would wait. Wait and listen.
He would be theirs in the end.
Joseph Thompson was thrilled with his day. As he parked outside his girlfriend Della’s house he saw her wave to him from the front garden. He’d been hoping she would make it home for lunch. Inside she put the kettle on and chatted as she unpacked her shopping. He loved it here, it was bright and sunny and friendly.
Della was in her early fifties, heavy-breasted and plump. Her grey hair was cut short and she tended to dress in track-suit bottoms and T-shirts. But she was always smiling, and always happy to see him.
‘Have you considered what we talked about, Joe?’
She was staring at him quizzically, but he knew she wasn’t the type to push it. He smiled easily, hoping she would not go on when she heard what he had to say.
‘It’s hard, Della, you know the score with Tommy.’
She sighed.
‘I understand, of course I do. But from what I hear he will be OK on his own.’
Joseph frowned.
‘What have you heard then?’
She caught the undercurrent in his voice. She knew he was touchy about his boy and thought she understood why. Joseph didn’t know but she had already seen Tommy. Her friend from Bingo had pointed him out to her up the shops. She lived on the same estate and said to Della that everyone there liked Tommy, or Little Tommy as he was called. But when Della had seen him for herself she had understood Joseph’s feelings. His son was cruelly obese, and she felt that for a man of Joseph’s temperament it must be hard to live with someone who was so far from perfect.
He’d been so secretive about his boy, for a long time refusing even to discuss him. That alone proved how he felt about things. She had also heard vague rumours that Joseph was not kind to his son but wasn’t sure whether to believe those stories; he was so kind to her and her children, and he doted on her grand-daughters. He said it was so nice to be part of a real family, and she had understood what he meant.
‘I heard nothing specific,’ she said now. ‘You old silly! I mean, he seems to have got a little niche for himself where you live, that’s all.’
Joseph visibly relaxed.
‘I don’t know, Della. I can’t just leave him on his own like.’
She smiled gently.
‘Well, the offer’s there when you feel ready.’
She changed the subject then. She wasn’t getting deeper into a conversation where she was going to be asked to have his freak of a son living in her house, or more to the point where she had to explain outright that that was something that was never going to happen. Della wasn’t as sweet and nice as people thought. She could argue her end when she needed to. Her dead husband had found that out and changed his attitude accordingly. She was sure Joseph Thompson would do the same.
First things first, though. She had to get him through the door.
She smiled as she said, ‘How about a nice bit of egg and bacon for your lunch?’
Joseph grinned.
‘Sounds lovely.’
She opened the fridge and took out some bubble and squeak.
‘I cooked extra cabbage and mash yesterday. This will go down a treat with it, eh?’
She also took out tomatoes, mushrooms and sausages. She knew how to make a man feel wanted, did Della. And she was a fantastic cook, a great little housewife, and wasn’t after the old how’s your father morning, noon and night.
Joseph could do a lot worse, he knew that. He would work on giving Tommy the bad news.
Jasper was feeling better, but his heart wasn’t in the conversation he was having with his crony Dessie.
He looked at his mate as if for the first time; saw the looks from the nurses at his tattoos. His neck had Cut Here written across it and small blue lines to indicate exactly where. Someone would one day, and Jasper felt tired once more at the thought. A black nurse with a bright smile and an easy manner walked towards the bed, but one look at Dessie and his cold eyes and she retreated. Jasper felt embarrassed all over again. It was getting to be a habit these days. She had been a star while looking after him; sensing his fear she had gone about her business efficiently and kindly. He was in pain now and the injection she’d been going to administer would have been welcome. He wished Dessie would go away, but of course he wasn’t going to say that.
‘Need her, don’t you!’
‘She’s a fucking nurse and, yeah, I need one at the moment.’
Dessie nodded but he wasn’t happy and it showed. Something wasn’t right, he could feel it. He was waiting to be told the whole score and Jasper kept evading the issue.
Eventually Dessie lost any sympathy he might have had and said aggressively, ‘Look, Jasper, I ain’t fucking about all day. What happened? Your mother reckons it was fucking Jon Jon Brewer.’
He looked slyly at his mate as he spoke but not a flicker showed on Jasper’s face.
‘That’s bollocks.’
‘Not according to your muvver.’
‘What is she then? Mrs Reliable all of a sudden? Don’t tell me she’s sober for a change - they even threw her out of here. She hates poor Jeanette and wants me to aim her out the door. Get a fucking grip!’
His voice was so dismissive that Dessie relaxed. For all his big talk he had not been looking forward to any real confrontation there if he could help it. Jon Jon was an anomaly. He was liked for a start, which was more than they were. But he was also unpredictable. Look what he had done to Carty.
‘Were they coons?’
Jasper shook his head.
‘Nah. Skinheads like you.’
Dessie frowned, his big open face puzzled.
‘Don’t you mean us?’
‘No, Dessie. I mean they were like you. Big, pig ignorant and mob-handed.’
Dessie was offended and it showed. It wasn’t the first time it had been pointed out to him that he was not the bravest soul in Christendom when he was on his own. He was purely a mob fighter.
‘That’s nice, ain’t it?’
Jasper smiled.
‘You are such an easy wind up.’
Dessie laughed, but he didn’t think it was funny. The truth never was. They both knew the damage had been done.
‘Where do you reckon they were from then?’
They often fought other skinheads, it was the nature of their particular beast.
Jasper shrugged.
‘Fuck knows. They didn’t exactly introduce themselves. ’
Jasper relaxed slightly. Dessie believed him and the others would follow suit. He had started off the lie, now he had to carry on with it. He hoped Jeanette was faring as well as he was.
He liked her, loved her in fact, but would never say that out loud, of course. He was too hard for that.
‘Please, Jon Jon.’
He drank his coffee and studied his sister’s face. She was pretty and she was shrewd - and she was mental over a fucking bullyboy who spent his Saturdays fighting at football matches with the ICF, and the rest of the time preaching about keeping Britain white.
How had that happened to Jeanette?
Whatever else they were, they were a multi-racial family. Her long dark hair came from a Turkish bloke their mother had taken up with for a while. He had left after five months with the telly, the video, and Joanie’s purse. His parting gift to her had been a belly full of arms and legs.
Jeanette was white-skinned enough, but the Turkish side was there if you looked. It gave her that unusual look sh
e had. Her striking eyes were hazel, a greeny-brown. But then his mum was naturally dark-haired too, she streaked hers to get the blonde look she craved. Jeanette did the same except she had low lights, browny-reds that made her strong features look softer.
Jon Jon wiped a hand across his face. He was tired out.
Jeanette tried again.
‘He told the filth nothing. To everyone else he is going to say it was a gang of skins, a rival gang. He ain’t grassed you.’
Still Jon Jon didn’t answer her.
‘Everyone else’ was Copes’s skinhead mates.
‘If I go along with this you’ll have to stop seeing him, you know that, don’t you?’
She nodded and he couldn’t look her in the eye. He saw it was what she had expected.
He spoke once more, gently and with emphasis.
‘I mean it, Jeanette. No talking for the sake of it. I mean stop, finished, once and for all. Or next time I will fucking kill him and go down for it with a smile on me face.’
She nodded once more, tears closer than ever now as he said gently, ‘Let me think about it, OK?’
She wiped her eyes. It was more than she had hoped for.
Chapter Seven
Joanie looked good and she felt good.
Her hair was perfect, streaked to within an inch of its life, and her makeup was tastefully subdued, having been carefully applied by a pretty girl in Debenhams Lakeside. She was wearing a tailored black trouser suit with a white shirt underneath. She looked sexy, but also businesslike and smart. Her nails were long and French manicured, her shoes high and open-toed.
She looked at herself in the mirror and was amazed at the transformation. She looked like a woman who was going to work, real work, and the thought of not having to flash her clout for a living any more made her happier than she could have believed possible.
Jon Jon’s look of admiration when he came in was balm to her soul.
‘You look great, Mum.’
Joanie hugged him. He was a handsome man, her son. Even dreads looked good on him. He had an aquiline face that made him look artistic and intelligent, which he was. Jon Jon was as bright as a button. His school, when he had deigned to go, had wanted him to make something of himself. And he could have. Still could - only not in any legal way.
Joanie pushed these thoughts from her mind. This was a good day and she was not going to let anything or anyone spoil it.
‘I feel like I’m starting a whole new life, and it’s because of you, Jon Jon.’
He grinned.
‘Nah, it ain’t because of me, Mum. You just needed the push to get a proper job. Paulie says you may even have to go on the cards.’
She smiled once more.
‘Me having a proper job, eh! I wish I knew where me mother was, that would tickle her no end.’
They both laughed.
‘Knowing me nan, she’d be so drunk she wouldn’t know what you were talking about anyway.’
Joanie nodded her agreement.
‘Kira’s late.’
They both automatically looked at the clock on the wall; it was a market copy of the Taj Mahal, all gold plastic and glitter. A real Brick Lane special. Kira had bought it one Christmas. No one had had the heart to tell her what they really thought of it and it had been on the wall ever since.
Everyone’s eyes were automatically drawn to it as soon as they entered the room. Now they both stared at it, worry clouding their faces. It was nearly five o’clock and she should have been in an hour since.
‘Perhaps she’s gone over Tommy’s.’
‘I’ll go and see, Mum. You make a cuppa, eh?’
Jon Jon slipped from the flat, glad of the respite. He felt stoned, had been puffing all afternoon and he knew he had to clear his head as they had a bit of work on later that needed sensible behaviour.
He was paranoid over Jasper. Had heard that he had nearly split the skinhead’s liver and that Copes was still very ill in hospital. It was funny: Jon Jon could be vicious and he knew it, but wounding Jasper was a different kettle of fish. This was over family and that made it all the more emotive as far as he was concerned.
It wasn’t like clumping someone over work or money - that kind of upset he could put out of his mind. But with the worry over his sister his violence wasn’t calculated any more. He had lost control, that was what bothered Jon Jon.
Kira was drunk.
Thanks to Bethany and another girl called Alana, she was paralytic. It was terrible to see her. Bethany was frightened because what had started as a joke was now out of hand.
Slipping a bottle of her mother’s Bacardi under her jacket had been exciting at first, and making themselves a playhouse in the bushes of the park had been great as well. But the Bacardi and Cokes, which had tasted so sweet and nice, had rapidly made them sick. And Kira had carried on drinking. Now she was vomiting everywhere and her face was deathly white one minute and a blazing red the next. The sweet smell of the sick was making Bethany retch herself and Alana had already done a runner home.
Bethany was also aware of the rift between her mother and Kira’s. She knew her mother was not impressed with Joanie’s new job. Bethany wasn’t sure why, all she knew was that her mother’s oldest friend was no longer flavour of the month at home and she had been told to keep away from Kira.
Now she had all this on her plate.
Kira lay back on the grass. It was cool and she felt so hot and feverish. If only she could focus her eyes she would be OK. But every time she tried there were too many Bethanys and they made her want to laugh. Her hair was all over the place and she looked like a demented Dalek.
Bethany was near to tears. She’d been sick herself from what she had drunk, but watching Kira pumping out vile black vomit started her off again and they both retched until their throats hurt.
That was when the park keeper found them.
Twenty minutes later the police were there and Bethany was crying and Kira was once more laughing her head off.
The WPC shook her head at the park attendant, disgusted by what she was witnessing. Kira was still retching, and her clothes were stained with sick. It was in her hair and all over her hands.
The policewoman called an ambulance.
Jon Jon had never seen anyone Tommy’s size move so fast in his life. As soon as he heard that Kira was not home from school he was pulling on his jacket and getting ready to scour the streets for her. Jon Jon was impressed by the man’s obvious concern for his little sister. It had taken him a while really to trust Tommy but now he saw him as his mother did - as a nice man, a caring man.
When Tommy picked up the phone and asked his father if he had seen Kira, the urgency in his voice was contagious. Even Jon Jon was getting worried now. The big man kept saying, ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen her?’
When Jon Jon told him to calm down he finally replaced the receiver and said, ‘That’s the only number I have apart from yours. And she can’t be far, can she? Kira wouldn’t go missing, she knows how we all worry.’
He was near to tears.
‘I’d better get back to me mum, OK? We’ll keep you posted.’
Jon Jon was glad to get out of the flat. Tommy’s nervousness was rapidly communicating itself to him and he was getting really worried himself.
Joanie got to the hospital at just after eight-fifteen. Bethany had eventually given the game away about who they were and Joanie arrived at the same time as Monika. Neither woman spoke until the doctor had explained the situation to them.
Kira had had a minor epileptic fit and was suffering from alcoholic poisoning; Bethany was none the worse for her ordeal and could go home immediately.
‘That bloody Bethany!’
Joanie spoke her mind without a second thought. Monika, however, was not having her daughter blamed for this fiasco, as she described it to herself.
‘Look here, Joanie Brewer, your Kira was as much to blame. She drank the fucking stuff, no one forced her.’
Joanie sh
ook her head angrily.
‘Piss off! You know she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing anything like that by herself, Mon. Bethany is the one who thinks up these kind of pranks.’
Monika, still smarting from Joanie’s newfound promotion, was not in the mood for arguments. She was going to go straight in for the kill.