by Martina Cole
Lena would never forget the shock on his face as his sister slid into the world. It was a mixture of wonderment and disgust. He was only fifteen and the mystery of birth was as alien to him as knitting himself a crash helmet. But, in fairness, he had been good, he had done everything he was asked to do and with the minimum of fuss.
Holding his new little sister in his arms Lena had seen the look of pure love in his eyes, and she had also seen the natural way he had held the child to him. He had grown up in that moment. Her Daniel, after four children, had never once held any of them with such confidence. Davey had looked at her with tears in his eyes and said huskily, ‘It’s a miracle, Mum.’ He seemed utterly overwhelmed.
Lena was glad to know that one of her boys had a heart in there. She worried that her sons might only have inherited their father’s worst characteristics: the tendency towards the dramatic, the anger that was never far from the surface, the aggression that emanated from him at times. But she knew now, and she blessed herself unconsciously as she said thanks be to God and his Holy Mother, that Davey, at least, had the same capacity for loving as his father did.
It was a revelation to her, and she felt a calmness come over her because of it. She knew that the boys were Daniel’s, were his from the day they could follow him around. She had only had her sons to herself until that point. Oh, they loved her, she knew that, but they all idolised their father. Danny Junior was a good lad but, like his father, capable of great violence, and already strong as an ox to boot. Her Davey had proved today that he was capable of great emotion but she was well aware that that could translate into hatred and anger as well as love. Noel and Jamsie were still only boys, and they would follow where the elder ones led. They already had the makings of hard men – it was in their genes. Oh, yes, all four of her sons would be men of substance – her husband would make sure of that. And there was nothing she could do about it.
But now Lena had a daughter, and she would be all hers. She would see to it that she didn’t become a part of that world, and Daniel would not have any sway over her little girl’s life at all.
Ria watched as her sister-in-law gazed down at her daughter, and she knew exactly what she was thinking, because she had been there herself. True, daughters belonged wholly to their mothers in their world, but she had found out, as the years went on that, unlike the boys, girls grew up faster. They were harder to rein in and, one day, they fell in love and, if this little one was anything like her Imelda, she would want a man who was her father and brothers personified. That was when the real worry started. But Ria kept her own counsel; after all, Lena had plenty of time to find that out for herself.
‘You thought of a name yet, Lena?’
Lena nodded. ‘Tania. I think this little one looks like a Tania.’
Ria grinned. ‘With that hair and those Irish eyes, she’ll be a beauty, our Tania. She looks like her nana, don’t you think?’
They smiled as Theresa Bailey bowled into the room; she was excited and worried all at the same time. ‘I can’t believe it, Lena! I was in the pub when they came and got me. Let me have a look at her then.’
Lena passed the child to her mother-in-law, and watched happily as the woman expertly snuggled the little child into the crook of her arm.
Theresa stared down at the child for long moments then, nodding as if answering a question, she said softly, ‘She’s a Bailey all right, from the eyes to the hands. She has my mother’s hands – long fingers. She’ll play the piano, and she’ll know love.’
Lena and Ria didn’t say a word. Theresa, they knew, missed her mother and her sister so badly it was a constant pain inside of her. But they had turned their backs on not only her, but on her two children, and that, she could not – would not – ever forgive.
‘She’ll be a comfort to you in your old age! That’s what the old shawlies used to say in Ireland about a late child, especially a daughter. Oh, God love her, she’s gorgeous.’
Lena sank back into her pillows, and sighed happily. She would be just that, a comfort to her in the years ahead. She was thirty-three years old, and she finally had the daughter she had always wanted. She wondered when Daniel would arrive to greet his only daughter, but she knew he would come as soon as he could. Until then, she would do what she had always done and wait patiently for him to come to her.
But, as time wore on, Lena began to feel uneasy. Where was her husband? He knew she had given birth, knew he had a daughter, he should have been here by now, should have been beside her. He should have come straightaway, and she knew that Ria and her mother-in-law both thought the same, even though neither of them had said it – not in front of her anyway.
She looked at her daughter’s tiny hands, curled up into little fists, at her heart-shaped face, and she saw the long eyelashes that would one day attract a man, and she felt the panic rising inside her.
She breathed as deeply as she could, knowing that she had to stop this feeling before it got out of control. She had to swallow it down, as she had swallowed it down in the past. She had to be strong, had to put her brave face on for the world. She had to gather her strength, because this little child would need her to be strong. But, as she fought against the terror rising in her breast, she felt the first stirrings of discontent inside her. Daniel had let her down, and badly. As ever, he had more important things on his mind. There was always something more important than his wife or his family. And until now, until this second, she had never before admitted that to herself.
She hugged her daughter to her so tightly she made the child cry, and as she soothed her daughter she wondered at how she was ever going to make peace with herself again.
Chapter Fifteen
Alfie Clarke was an ugly man, but he had a funny personality; he could, as his own mother said, make a cat laugh. This was his secret with not only the ladies – who he was sensible enough to spend money on as well as giving them his undivided attention – but also with the men around him. He was always smiling, always in a good mood.
And he was in an especially fantastic mood since the birth of his only child eighteen months previously – a son, Alfie Junior. He loved that boy with a vengeance. No one would ever have believed he could feel as he did about his son, least of all Alfie. The boy’s mother, Annette, was a young girl he had picked up with two years ago – pretty, with a killer body and the personality of a lettuce. Just his type – no real conversation. But she had been a virgin, a fact that had shocked and thrilled him all at the same time. He liked her well enough; she was like a pet – he rang and she came round. He had never heard of her being with anyone else, and she didn’t frequent the clubs. He had met her on one of her first jaunts out on the town for a mate’s birthday, otherwise he would never have laid eyes on her, or she him. He had liked that she was greener than the proverbial grass, and he had quite liked that she was not a chatterbox. Annette expected him to do the talking and, after years of Essex girls and East-End birds who could talk the hind leg off a fucking camel, that was quite a novelty. So he had seen her again and again.
When she had told him she was up the duff he had been sceptical to say the least. But he had asked around and, in fairness, no one could say a word against her. So he had seen her all right, looked after her and, when the child was born, he had been amazed at the feelings that seeing the boy had awakened in him. He was his double, in every way. If you put his baby photos beside his boy’s, there was no difference. It was uncanny. He was an ugly baby, as he himself had been, but Alfie didn’t care.
For the first time in his life he understood what family meant. What blood meant. He had looked into that boy’s eyes and he had seen the future, his future, seen his name being carried on by another generation, and he had been compelled to give him his name. And give the boy’s mother a house. He had found that inside him somewhere was a nice bloke.
Alfie was aware that the boy made him vulnerable; he now had someone in his life who he cared for more than he did himself. He also found that he
cared for Annette – something he had not expected. She was nineteen years old and a born mother, a great little mum, in fact. She was only interested in his boy and him. Thick as shit she might be, but she knew where her priorities lay. He respected that, and there was no way his boy would ever be outside of his orbit. Annette was his now, and she would never be able to walk away from him. He would see her dead first.
He was a good businessman; he could turn a profit easily, and with the minimum of fuss. If he had been born into a different class he would have been a well-heeled legitimate businessman instead of a rich criminal one. He dreamed of the day he could school his son in the intricacies of ducking and diving. People came to him when they wanted to invest money and make a profit; Alfie knew every scam that was going at any given time. He also collected money for the people who had a good scam and needed investors. It was a win–win situation for all involved. But he had a bad habit of keeping a higher percentage for himself than originally negotiated. Especially when it concerned the Northerners. He hated them – it was a gut reaction. He had a cockney disregard for anyone north of the Watford Gap and he had made his feelings plain. Those choice remarks and his jokes at their expense were coming home to roost. He had seen them as cash cows; they got a good deal, but he squeezed them, and they knew it and, because he had the edge where investments were concerned, he let them know he was squeezing them. He was a broker and, like all good brokers, he knew his own worth.
He had a new deal coming up and he was going to give it to the Baileys, just them, and he knew they would fall on it like a junkie on a needle. It was easy money, with little or no risk; all they had to do was put up the finance. It was so sweet he knew it was a winner. Consequently, Alfie was feeling very confident as he waited for them to arrive.
He was in his pub, surrounded by his cronies, and telling jokes at a shotgun pace. He had good reason to be pleased with himself. He knew he held all the cards, and because of that he could do what he liked. The Baileys might be the new kings of East London, but kings needed princes, and they needed him far fucking more than he needed them. Villainy was like a river or a sea – it moved constantly, changed with the tides, and it eventually had the power to destroy everyone who sailed on its waters. He had seen so many Faces come and go, it was like a fucking merry-go-round; one day they were the dog’s gonads the next they were banged up for the duration. That is what taking control did to people. In his opinion, you were far better off as a well-respected soldier. Who needed the aggro of being in charge of the kind of people he dealt with on a daily basis? They were scum, thieves, liars. But such good money spinners. No, he was happy as he was, in the upper echelons, but never the top dog. It was too much like hard work, watching your back twenty-four seven, wondering who you could trust – dealing with people like himself! People out for their own ends, not yours – never yours.
Now he was expected to arse-lick the Baileys, and so he would. Let them take the flak – he couldn’t give a flying fuck. Peter was a sensible head, Daniel was a loose cannon. He gave them six months – a year at the outside – before they imploded. Then he would work with whoever came out on top. Alfie Clarke held enough cards to hold his own in any game the Baileys might decide to play.
He slipped into the back room of his pub and looked at his son sleeping in his mother’s arms.
‘You need anything, Annette?’
She smiled happily and shook her head. ‘I’m fine, Alfie, thanks.’
‘He’s a good boy, ain’t he?’
‘’Course he is, he’s a happy little soul.’
Alfie caressed his son’s head with a tenderness which would have shocked his enemies, looking forward to the day when it would be him and his boy taking care of business, together.
He made his way back into the main room, and caught sight of Delroy Parkes, Peter Bailey’s son-in-law. He had a decent rep, and now, thanks to his marriage, a very good pedigree. He wondered what he was doing here.
Delroy nodded amiably, and Alfie sent him over a drink. He was feeling magnanimous today, and why wouldn’t he? He had the scam of scams.
When the Bailey brothers finally arrived he was full of good-humoured bonhomie, and Courvoisier brandy.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Promise me, Dan, you won’t do anything until we have heard him out.’
Daniel sighed in annoyance. Why was his brother so worried about a fucking nonsense like Alfie Clarke? ‘Let it go, Pete, OK? We’ve been through this, get a grip.’
Peter saw Delroy as soon as they entered the pub. He was alone, and clearly well out of his comfort zone. Despite himself he felt a twinge of respect for his son-in-law. He guessed rightly that Delroy had heard whispers that there could be aggravation at this meet and he had come to watch their backs. Peter walked over to him as if he was a long-lost child. Taking Delroy in his arms he hugged him, making a big production of it. Everyone was watching expectantly. Word on the street was that these two were not the best of friends, but they seemed to be happy enough in each other’s company now.
Daniel looked around the pub. He guessed there were twenty or so people in there, just the usual hangers-on, nobody to worry about. He allowed himself to relax. The fact that Alfie did not have anyone there who might be a handful went in his favour.
He joined Peter in greeting Delroy, understanding that the man must have heard something on the grapevine or he would not have been there. He appreciated the man’s loyalty, and he knew his brother did too.
The atmosphere was genial enough, and he smiled his best smile as he said loudly, ‘A large Scotch! My old woman gave me a daughter today. I’m celebrating.’
Alfie Clarke smiled. ‘A child, eh? Until my boy was born, Dan, I never understood the importance of family. He is the light of my life, bless him.’
Daniel grinned. ‘Well, wait until you get three or four of them! They grow up and go to school, and they are always in trouble, always costing you money. And, to top it all, they end up twice your fucking size!’
Alfie laughed at the thought; he couldn’t wait. He was picturing a life with a son by his side, imagining comforting his boy, making him into a good man, teaching him all the scams, every con available. He was eager to start the child’s education. For the first time in his life he was part of a unit, a family unit, and he was loving every second.
Peter watched as Daniel acted like the man’s new best friend; it was what he was good at. He could lie to a person’s face, and they would never suspect anything was amiss. Daniel was volatile, and he was at his most dangerous when he was like this, playing the fool, acting the goat. He could laugh and joke, and ten minutes later cut your throat.
‘So, Alfie.’ Daniel’s eyes glittered dangerously. ‘What’s this my brother and I hear about you upsetting our Northern friends?’
The time for pleasantries was clearly over.
Chapter Seventeen
Daniel looked down at his new daughter and felt a fierce protectiveness wash over him. As drunk as he was, he knew that this feeling was real. She was perfect, this new baby, so small, so delicate. Not like the lads; they had been huge lumps and noisy babies from the off – masculine from the day they were born. None of them had ever been this frail, this tiny. They had each been born with the Bailey scowl; by six months they were already their own men, and they had been a handful from the day they could walk.
He knew his mother was watching him, knew she was not impressed with him at this moment in time. She was clearly disappointed with him for not coming home sooner. Well, fuck her. Tonight, he’d had serious work to see to and the sooner she understood that the better. They were real Faces now, finally top of the fucking heap. He smiled at her anyway – she was his mum after all. The alcohol was making him maudlin. He’d been so hyped up after the meet with Alfie Clarke, Peter had taken him to their pub to calm down. But once the news of Tania’s birth got round, the drinks had been overflowing. He felt the tears stinging his eyes, and he tried to wipe them away before any
one saw, unaware that every movement he made was overdone, too forced.
Daniel was not a good drunk. Drink made his temper flare up faster than usual, it made him overly confident and, worse, it made him cry. He could break down at a record, a memory, or a thought, and the majority of the people he rolled with saw that as a weakness.
‘Give me that child before you drop her on her fecking head, and she ends up a fecking moron like her father.’ Theresa Bailey did not like this son of hers when he had been drinking; he irritated her and she hated that the drink made him foolish, made him forget that he was a family man. She took the child gently.
Lena watched the exchange and smiled despite herself; for all his big talk, Daniel was still scared of his mother, no matter how much he tried to pretend he wasn’t.
She actually thought she understood her husband in a way his mother never could. She got angry with him – anyone would, he could be such a prat at times. But she knew the real Daniel Bailey. His upbringing as a fatherless boy, with a brother who was black and who he adored, had made an indelible mark on him. He had spent his whole life proving he was better than everyone, that the Baileys were better than anyone. He worked hard for them all. Just as she had her mania for saving money, her husband had a mania for making himself successful.
Yes, she was terrified he would get his collar felt, and she was equally terrified that he would lead the boys into things that would result in them going away. But, when all was said and done, she loved him. And she knew that, no matter how misguided he might be, he would always do his best for them.
‘She’s a diamond, Lena. You’ve given me a treasure, girl.’