The Know

by Martina Cole

  He nodded but she knew it would be hard for him to give away money he saw as rightfully his. Money he had worked for.

  ‘Be cheaper to get her fucking wiped out!’

  Joanie wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. She hoped he was.

  She went outside and remembered the women had probably all been listening to the exchange as soon as the door was shut once more. They had always liked her but now, after the way she had spoken to Paulie Martin and got away with it, they also admired her.

  Lorna Bright was sitting with her little schoolgirl friends and regaling them with stories of her exploits. Her daughter Laeticia was off school as usual and the School Board had been round. She was telling all the little teenagers what she had said. This consisted mainly of expletives.

  They were both scandalised and excited, and wished they could all live at Lorna’s instead of their own houses where they couldn’t smoke, swear or take drugs.

  In Lorna’s you did what you liked.

  The house was filthy. Piled-up dishes and cat urine and unwashed clothes and bodies made for a sour smell that hit you as you walked through the front door. The curtains were never opened and the living room was in perpetual darkness, lit only by the flickering of the TV which was never turned off even when the music was blaring out, which it was for nearly fifteen hours a day.

  Lorna was in her element when the banging started on the front door. She opened it wide, expecting more young friends. Her heavily pregnant belly was escaping from a crop top and hipster jeans. Her dirty feet were encased in plastic flip-flops and her makeup was applied in a haphazard fashion that left her looking permanently startled.

  It was the track marks all up her arm that people noticed the most; that and her belly hanging out like the fashion accessory it was.

  The wide smile was wiped off her face when she saw Jon Jon Brewer.

  ‘All right, Lorna.’

  He walked into the maisonette as if he owned the place. His wrinkled nose told her what he thought of his surroundings and Lorna felt embarrassed for the first time in her life. She would love to bag someone like Jon Jon. He would guarantee her an easy life in every way.

  In the kitchen the young girls looked frightened and excited in turn. Bethany, who was sitting on the work surface, looked absolutely terrified. That fifty pounds and the ring still loomed large in her mind.

  ‘Get out.’

  His voice was quiet and brooked no arguments. None of them needed to be told twice. The scramble to escape was noisy and overlong.

  ‘I said, get the fuck out!’

  Lorna watched the exodus with wide eyes. Alone, he looked at her little girl and smiled at her.

  ‘Go and watch TV and shut the door, OK?’

  She nodded, unaware and uncaring about what was going on around her. Jon Jon saw her skinny little stick-like arms and felt the anger welling up inside him. She had blue bruises, obviously fingermarks, and her eyes looked dead in her head. She was filthy, her pyjamas had obviously been on her for days.

  When she went into the other room Lorna tried to smile as she said, ‘What’s the matter, Jon Jon?’

  The bravado of earlier was long gone. He stared at her, knowing it made her uncomfortable. Eventually, after what seemed like hours to Lorna, he said gently, ‘Did you give Temazepam to my sister Jeanette?’

  She didn’t answer but at least she now knew what the call was about. He could see her mind turning over as she tried to think of a way out of her predicament. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, ‘This is your last chance before I shove that baby up into your ribcage with my fist. Now, one last time. Did you give my sister Jeanette Temazepam or not?’

  He had no intention of carrying out his threat but she wasn’t to know that.

  Lorna nodded.

  ‘Did you know what it was for? Now answer me carefully because I know the truth.’

  She nodded once more, her fear almost tangible now. He could smell it coming off her in waves. She jumped as he walked towards her and he laughed.

  ‘It wouldn’t hurt her, Jon Jon. Honest! I do it all the time.’

  He spat on to the floor, a sign of disrespect and also because the smell in here was so overpowering he could taste it. He raised his hand to push his dreads from his eyes and she stumbled backwards in fright, thinking he was going to attack her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I ain’t going to do anything now, Lorna. But if I find out that you have had any more kids in here, spinning them your shit, then I will be back. Do you understand me?’

  She was nodding again, her face devoid of any natural colour now.

  ‘If you see any of my family you fucking run, and I mean run. You cause me hag big-time and me and you will have a score to settle after this little one is shit into the world, right?’

  She nodded again.

  He left her then but he had achieved his objective. She would think twice before she handed out any more jellies to kids.

  It annoyed him, though. If anyone’s kids should be removed from them it was Lorna. But she would get all the help in the world, heroin addicts always did.

  It was all wrong.

  His poor mother had moved heaven and earth to keep them clothed and fed, and none of the social workers could give a shit about that. They’d had everything they’d needed as kids: love, warmth and food in abundance. Yet because Joanie was in the know she was classed as the lowest of the low. It was very wrong, he knew that at first hand.

  Jeanette heard about Lorna and broke into a sweat. Jasper seemed to think that Jon Jon had a point, which didn’t help. She wanted Jasper to hate her brother as much as she did.

  After all, he had aimed her out of her own home!

  In consequence she was lumbered with Jasper’s mother whose idea of an evening meal meant opening a tin or going to the chippy. Who had recently sold the washing machine for cash and who couldn’t find the iron under the piles of unwashed clothes. Joanie’s cleanliness and cooking had all gone unappreciated until now. Her mother’s scruffy but welcoming home seemed like Blenheim Palace in comparison with the way the Copeses lived.

  Now Lorna would have the hard word out on her and that would cause repercussions all over the place. No one was going to give Jeanette anything, were they? Not if they thought Jon Jon would jump on them over it. So he had curtailed nearly all her activities, and knowing him, he knew that. He had been round and threatened anyone and everyone she had ever dealt with in any way.

  Jasper was not half as exciting now she saw him morning, noon and night and her guilt over what her brother had done was wearing thin. She was too young to be lumbered like this, it just wasn’t fair! She loathed Jon Jon for it even as she loved him as a brother.

  And to cap it all, she was missing her family big-time. Her mum’s silly carry on; Jon Jon’s hard-nosed rules and regulations. She even missed Kira, the instrument of her downfall.

  And the worst thing of all was she had brought it on herself.

  Bethany saw Kira walking to the shop and hurried to catch up with her. As they stood together at the kerb waiting for a break in the traffic on the A13 they chatted. It was a still day. The exhaust fumes hung heavy and the dirt in the air was visible as the cars rushed past on this busy Saturday afternoon.

  Kira was well aware Bethany was not supposed to be talking to her, but her own mother had not imposed any such ban. Joanie would never involve her daughter in her own squabbles. Kira had merely been told not to get into any more scrapes with Bethany; those were her mother’s exact words. Meaning, be nice and friendly but don’t dare to join in Bethany’s hare-brained schemes.

  But on this sunny Saturday she was so pleased to see her friend that her mother’s words were forgotten. They linked arms and walked to the shops, oblivious to the traffic noise and the dirt. As they walked they talked and laughed.

  Bethany was on her best behaviour; she knew she had to be. They shared secrets, and Bethany was especially interested to hear that Tommy was going to meet his father’s
girlfriend that afternoon.

  Bethany was older in years than her friend and some of her caustic comments went over Kira’s head. Bethany was of course parroting her mother but Kira didn’t know that.

  ‘He’s nice, though, Tommy.’

  Bethany was jealous of this and replied, ‘My mum says he’s a nonce and she wouldn’t leave me with him for all the money in the world.’

  Both girls knew this was not true. Her mother did not even bother with a babysitter. It had caused arguments between Joanie and Monika on many occasions.

  ‘Well, I like him and so does my mum.’

  Bethany knew how loyal Kira was; she had stood by her friend enough times. But today her jealousy was getting the better of her.

  ‘He’s a nonce. My mum says he’s been done for it before.’

  Her mother had said that but they had both known it was just anger talking. No truth in it as far as they knew.

  Kira snatched her arm from Bethany’s and shouted, ‘He is not a nonce!’

  ‘He is!’

  Bethany was adamant.

  ‘Look at him, Kira, he looks so weird.’

  ‘He does not. He’s just fat, that’s all.’

  ‘A fat git!’

  Bethany wanted to cry. She had been determined to get back friends with Kira and now look what had happened.

  Kira was angry herself, something that was rarely seen, and shouted loud enough for the passers-by to hear: ‘Your mum leaves you on your own because she don’t give a monkey’s about you! My mum has always said that. She says it’s a disgrace the way she treats you, and you know that’s true.’

  Bethany knew very well that Joanie had argued with her mother on many occasions about the way she treated her daughters, but misplaced loyalty and the urge for a row made her flare up.

  ‘Well, at least she don’t leave me with a fucking child molester like yours does.’

  A neighbour of Joanie’s, passing by, raised her eyebrows at these words.

  ‘He is not a child . . . whatever.’ Kira couldn’t pronounce the word so she shouted, ‘He’s just fat! Like your mum is!’

  Bethany had taken all she could; she slapped Kira hard across the face. Then they were both crying but the damage had been done.

  ‘I’m sorry, Kira, I’m so sorry . . .’

  Kira ran off and Bethany, crying her eyes out, ran after her.

  ‘What do you think then, Joanie?’

  Verna Obadiah, a West Indian girl married to a Nigerian, was breathless with anticipation over what Joanie was going to say.

  She turned over another card.

  ‘The hanged man! Will he die, Joanie?’

  Joanie grinned.

  ‘No, you silly cow. This denotes all sorts of things. But I can tell you now, he ain’t going to leave his wife for you.’

  Verna’s boyfriend was a bus driver called Roger with startling blue eyes and sandy-red hair. Her husband had no idea she was seeing him and even the advent of a light-skinned child had not alerted him to anything going on. But Verna lived in hope, and hope, as Joanie had always maintained, was all people like them had most of the time.

  ‘Your old man finds out what you’ve been up to and you’ll be hanged, girl!’

  Verna laughed.

  ‘He wouldn’t notice if I was missing until he went to the fridge and the beer had run out!’

  Joanie laughed with her.

  ‘What do you want to do, Verna?’

  It was a fair question and Verna was honest in return. Joanie gave great advice. Everyone knew that.

  ‘I want to get away from the old man and I hoped me bloke would help me to do that.’

  Joanie shook her head and then got up to put the kettle on.

  ‘Your husband’ll kill you, Verna, and then he’ll kill Roger.’

  The woman smiled sadly.

  ‘I know. Roger’s trying to get rid of me an’ all. I think his wife has got a whiff of something going on.’

  She stretched and yawned loudly.

  ‘Just tell me that things will pan out, eh?’

  Joanie spooned sugar into cups as she said wearily, ‘Things always do pan out - that’s the trouble. You don’t need the cards to tell you that, Verna. No matter what happens, you get over it eventually.’

  It was advice she’d given over the years to countless women, from her mates on the street to visiting royalty like Kathy McClellan, the wife of Big John, who’d visited her regularly all the time her old man did his lump. He was out now and chasing everything in a skirt apparently, but Kathy still thought Joanie was marvellous for telling her things would pan out.

  Other people saw Joanie as a tower of strength. She only wished she felt like one too.

  Della was surprised by Joseph’s son. He was huge, yes, but he was also very well-mannered and so helpful. She was amazed to find she liked him. He had complimented her on her home, her décor and her cooking. He had admired her family photographs and had eaten only small amounts of food while obviously enjoying what he had had.

  Now he was telling her about his little job child-minding a neighbour’s daughter. Della knew Joanie and liked her as much as she could like anyone. She had a good reputation roundabouts did Joanie Brewer, that her children had not wrecked no matter what they did. If Joanie saw fit to let him take care of her child, and she was an exemplary mother there was no doubt about that, then Della would see him in the same light.

  She could feel Joseph’s nervousness. It was coming off him in waves. He had hardly spoken and yet his son had ignored that fact, filling the silence with his easy chatter and even making Della laugh. When he got up to leave she was disappointed.

  ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like another cup of tea?’

  He smiled at her.

  ‘No, really. I have to get back. My job. You know what it’s like.’

  She smiled back and nodded.

  ‘Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, I can see why my father wanted to come here. It really is a lovely home and you were a most gracious hostess.’

  Della was beaming at him as he walked down the path. She nudged Joseph and he waved half-heartedly as his only child waddled off up the road.

  ‘What a nice boy, Joseph.’

  He nodded but she was aware that he didn’t answer her verbally. Men were so strange at times.

  Tommy walked home in the darkening evening. He actually had enjoyed the visit, but he admitted to himself that he had enjoyed his father’s discomfiture more.

  His face when Tommy had gone into raptures about how pretty Della’s grand-daughters were! It had been worth going for that alone.

  God paid back debts without money, all right.

  Tommy was in his element.

  As he walked home he thought about the evening ahead. They were going to frame the posters tonight, and Kira wanted to put glitter on the wood to make them look more glamorous. He had bought the glitter glue that day and knew she would go into raptures over it.

  Then, later, they would walk over to her own home where he would put her to bed and give her a cuddle as he told her a story. That was the best part of the night as far as he was concerned: her little body pressed close to his as he whispered stories into her ear.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jon Jon picked up the money from the parlours as usual. He was in a good mood; life was getting better by the day. All he had to do was sort out Jeanette and everything would fall into place.

  He walked into the new parlour in Barking. It was quiet inside, restful. He smiled at the girls and walked through to the office.

  Ginger Carvey, a fifty-year-old prostitute whose hair gave her the nickname, grinned at him. Her good looks were marred by the black teeth that were displayed every time she opened her mouth. Jon Jon shuddered at the sight of them.

  ‘You get better looking every time I see you, boy!’

  He laughed.

  ‘Pity I can’t say the same for you, Ginge!’

  She grinned again.

  ‘Cheeky
little fucker.’

  She poured him a drink and he swallowed the whisky quickly, picked up the money and left. The girls all smiled at him. Since the news had gone round he was seeing a brass they were all hoping the next one would be them. Anything to make life easier.

  Plus he was good-looking, Jon Jon Brewer, and looked older than his years. He gave them all a collective wink as he walked from the building. That was when he heard the shouting start.