by Martina Cole
Chapter Seventy-Three
Tania was watching her mum and her Auntie Ria. They were both very quiet and, as usual, her nana was doing most of the talking. Tania sat with her dollies as quietly as possible – she knew that if they remembered she was in the room, she would be sent out. When they spoke angrily like this or if they spoke to each other very quietly, she was always sent out of the room. So she sat by the side of the sofa as still as a statue, her ears on red alert as she listened to what they were saying.
‘Dear God, are you sure this is true?’ Lena’s voice was hushed, little more than a whisper.
Theresa nodded, her face serious, showing every line she had accumulated over the years, making her look old suddenly. When she was smiling, laughing, you forgot her age – now even Tania could see how different she looked and it frightened her. Lena was watching Ria as the words sank into her brain.
‘My Jack? Are you sure that this is about my Jack?’
Theresa was heart-sorry for the burden she was planting on her daughter-in-law, but she knew that the only person who could deliver this kind of news to Peter was his wife. She would go with Ria of course, but only Ria’s presence could keep him from doing something he would regret for the rest of his days.
‘Jack is at my house and Tommy’s there with him. He came to me because he didn’t know where else to go, Ria. He knew he had fucked up, but he also had the nous to know that he couldn’t sort this out by himself, that this would have a terrible impact on the family if it got out. Now get your Peter on the blower, and make him come to my house, OK? And then we can sort it out from there.’
Ria was reeling. She felt sick, as if she was going to vomit everywhere – she had never felt so ill before in her life. She could happily drop down dead right now, right at this minute, and not care in the least. This was monumental, and she was not sure how best to deal with it. Peter would go ballistic, and she admitted that he would have every right. ‘He’ll kill him, Theresa, he will fucking kill him.’
Theresa sighed heavily. ‘That’s why we have to make sure he sees him at my house. Now, get your boys to come as well – they’ll have to help Jack if Peter goes for him. I don’t care what you tell them, just get them round mine. Daniel has sent Noel and Jamsie to sort out the body, before someone finds it, and it gets out of hand.’
Ria nodded; she understood what her mother-in-law was telling her. Time was of the essence.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Noel and Jamsie slipped the key into the lock and, opening the door slowly and quietly, they listened intently for any sounds that would tell them the flat was occupied. There was silence.
Shutting the door gently behind them, they screwed up their noses at the sour smell that seemed to pervade the whole place. There were bags of rubbish everywhere they looked – dirty nappies had been left on the floor, along with old clothes, and the odd pile of dirty washing. Toys were scattered along the hallway, and old newspapers, yellowed and brittle with age were strewn around.
It was a typical tower-block flat; it had a long dim hallway with doors that opened off it to the bedrooms and bathroom then, at the far end of the hallway, a door led them into the front room, and from there another door led into the kitchen. The whole place was filthy.
They walked quietly down the dark hallway and, opening each door as they went, they both checked the rooms thoroughly. The first room had nothing in it at all except for a battered, old-fashioned cot. Somebody had once painted it white, but now it was chipped and ingrained with years of dirt and neglect. The mattress was stained and ripped. A single blanket had been folded up and placed neatly at the bottom, and it looked incongruous compared to the rest of the room. The wallpaper was hanging off the walls, the floors were bare and there wasn’t even a curtain at the window to say that the child who had once graced that cot had ever had someone who cared about them.
The other rooms were in a similar condition; it was only when Noel opened the front-room door, that the two brothers stopped abruptly.
‘Fucking hell, Jamsie, this is mental.’
The girl was lying half on and half off a very dilapidated, dirty PVC sofa. It had once boasted orange nylon cushions but they were now a dull brown – years of neglect had seen to that. The rest of the room was as filthy as everywhere else in the flat. The coffee table and floor were covered with pieces of tin foil, used needles, and all the other paraphernalia and debris that junkies seemed to collect. Amongst it was a dog-eared photo of a smiling baby girl, her deep blue eyes huge in her little heart-shaped face. The dead girl was obviously the child’s mother.
Noel and Jamsie looked around them with complete and utter disgust, unable to comprehend how anyone could choose to live their life like this. The girl’s body was already going rigid but, even in death, you could still see the girl she had once been before the drugs had taken over her life. Her face was bruised – she had obviously taken a battering at some point in the last few days – her lips were blue, and slightly parted, and her eyes were glazed.
They checked the rest of the flat – there was no sign of the child.
Noel opened his coat and took out a whisky bottle full of petrol, and Jamsie followed suit. They poured it everywhere – especially around the sofa – and, as they worked, neither of them said a word.
At the doorway, they paused, taking a final look around to make sure they had not left anything that could be traced back to Jack Bailey. Satisfied, they lit a book of matches and threw them on to the coffee table. They waited for a few moments to see that the fire had a good hold and then they moved carefully along the corridor, starting a fire in each of the rooms, before finally leaving the flat as quietly and as unobtrusively as they had entered it.
Outside they got into an old banger which, contrary to its appearance, boasted a tuned-up engine that guaranteed them speed should the need arise. It blended into the surroundings so well that no one would give it a second glance.
Noel shook his head in annoyance. ‘What a cunt! Who in their right mind would take fucking heroin – it’s a fucking mug’s game. Sell the fucker to animals like her, but keep away from it yourself. Only Jack would be that fucking weak and that fucking stupid.’
The brothers drove away sedately, both relieved that because of Jack the onus had been taken off them. God certainly did move in mysterious ways, as their old mum was forever telling them both, and today it seemed that she was right.
Chapter Seventy-Five
Peter Bailey was still unable to comprehend what his mother and his wife were telling him. He could hear what they were saying, but he could not bring himself to actually believe any of it.
Not his Jack. Never his Jack. He had known there was something going on with him, but he had never dreamed that it could be anything even remotely like this. His baby, his youngest boy, had beaten a fucking defenceless young girl to death while out of his fucking tree on skag? On heroin? His baby was polluting his body with that shit and no one thought to tell him? None of the boys had thought it should have been brought to his attention? Had the world gone fucking mad?
‘Please, Peter, you have to understand that no one thought it would come to this . . .’
Peter snapped his head round and looked at his wife, his Ria, the woman he would have sworn was incapable of keeping something like this a secret.
‘Did you know, Ria? Did you know about this?’
Ria was shaking her head vehemently in denial, and he could see she was terrified. ‘Of course not! I wouldn’t fucking overlook something like that, would I?’
He was nodding, convinced that she was telling him the truth.
In her heart, Ria had had her suspicions – Jack’s sleeping patterns, his erratic moods – all had indicated there was something not right. But she had never thought it might be something like this.
Petey placed a hand gently on his father’s arm, and he was almost thrown into the wall by the strength of his father’s reaction; it was as if the human contact had s
omehow snapped Peter Bailey out of his trance.
‘Get your fucking hands off me! Now, where is he?’
Petey sighed. ‘Nana wanted him to be here but I sent him away from you. Liam’s with him. I don’t think you should see him yet.’
Peter Bailey laughed nastily. ‘I will ask you once more, son, and only once. Where the fuck is he?’
Theresa took a step towards her eldest son.
‘And you, Mother, keep away from me. One more step and I swear I will rip your fucking head off your shoulders. Now, for the last time, where is he?’
Chapter Seventy-Six
Jack Bailey was so frightened that he was unable to breathe properly. He could feel every thump of his heart crashing in his ears.
Daniel Bailey watched his nephew with disinterest; as far as he was concerned, the boy was already dead to him. Oh, he might clean his mess up for him, but that was for the family name more than for this fucking oik. Jack was less than a rabid dog to Daniel now. He had stepped over the line in more ways than one. From what he could gather, he had done the girl in while out of his box, and woke up to see his handiwork. He had then shit himself big time, and run to his nana for help – the weak, useless fucking piece of dirt.
Fucking coward! Well, Peter would not swallow this little lot, he knew that even if the others hadn’t quite grasped that fact yet. Liam had brought him to Daniel’s house while the others tried to talk Peter down. But it was pointless. Jack Bailey was what the Yanks called a Dead Man Walking.
‘Did you inject that shit, Jack?’ he asked conversationally.
Jack looked at his uncle fearfully; he sounded so calm, like he was chatting about the weather or asking after his health. Jack nodded.
‘Well, for what it’s worth you would have been much better off OD’ing, son, ’cos you’re a fucking dead Bailey either way.’
Jack didn’t answer – there was nothing he could say.
Chapter Seventy-Seven
Tania could hear her Auntie Ria crying – it was a terrible sound, as if she was struggling for breath. Sitting at the top of her nana’s stairs, Tania could hear everything that was being said.
‘He will kill him, Lena, I know he will. The boys won’t be able to stop him, no one will be able to stop him . . .’ Ria was in despair. Peter would out Jack, son or no son, of that she had no doubt at all. Ria, who’d always had her eyes wide open to the Life, suddenly wished for the blissful ignorance Lena had maintained. What had her boy been thinking? Jack must have known from the moment he took that drug how it would be received if his father found out about it all. This wasn’t something they would ever countenance, it was something that was seen as a weakness, as a sign of mental incapability. You sold drugs, you didn’t fucking take them – not that kind of shit anyway. ‘He’s my baby, Lena, he’s my little boy. Call your Daniel, tell him to hide him, tell him to take him away somewhere . . .’ Ria was distraught, desperate, but she knew it was useless.
Lena still didn’t answer her friend. She rubbed her back gently, unable to say anything to comfort her, and feeling guilty that she was grateful it wasn’t one of her boys. ‘Drink this brandy, Ria. Imelda will be here in a minute.’
Ria didn’t answer her and, after a few moments of grief-driven crying, she was suddenly quiet.
As Lena hugged her friend tightly, she wondered at how they were ever going to get past this. They had the money, the prestige and the cars – they had front-row seats in the Life. But this was the downside. The Life was good, no doubt about that but, as they all knew, it came at a price. At times like this, it was a terrible price, but one that had to be paid no matter what the consequences might be, or who it might hurt. This was the Life at its worst, and poor Ria would have to live with it. They all would.
Chapter Seventy-Eight
‘Thanks, Daniel, I appreciate what you’ve done.’
Daniel nodded at his brother. ‘You’d have done the same for me.’
It was strange talking like this, face to face, alone together after such a long time, and they both felt that.
‘How’s Ria?’
Peter shrugged. ‘How’d you think? Women never understand the real economics of this. They think it can all be fucking sorted out. But not this time.’
‘You’re definitely outing him then?’
Peter nodded. ‘What do you fucking think?’
Daniel poured them both a large Scotch. ‘Get that down you, Pete. You’re going to need it.’
Peter necked it in one swallow.
Daniel saw the pallor on his brother’s dark skin, and he felt genuinely sorry for him and his predicament. ‘Truth is, Pete, he was dead from the moment he started using that filth. Junkies are dying from the first hit.’
Peter laughed ironically. ‘He was dead from the minute I found out he was using. Drink is a dangerous enough game, as we know – makes people too fucking loquacious, as the old woman used to say when we were boys. Coke is bad enough, but at least you can wake up with a relatively sensible head. That brown is a different ball game. It eats at you like a cancer. It steals your soul, turns you into a fucking thief, a liar. It cancels out family, loyalty, everything that is important to most people, but seriously important to people like us, people in our game. He is no use to man or fucking beast. He’s weak, Daniel, he’s shown his true colours.’
Daniel Bailey knew the truth of his brother’s words. Junkies were anathema to people in the Life; they were completely untrustworthy and their habit guaranteed that they would betray anyone for a price.
‘Look, Peter, I’ve spoken to a couple of tame Filth. The girl’s death is being treated as a tragic accident – the lads did a good job, she was burned to fuck. So no comebacks from that quarter anyway.’
Peter wiped his nose with a huge hand. ‘Fucking real, ain’t it? Nineteen years old and dead as a fucking doornail. She nicked his stash by all accounts. Like that is supposed to be an excuse or something.’
‘If you want, Peter, I can take care of him for you . . .’
Peter held up his hand. ‘I will do it, but thanks anyway. This is my shit, and I will clear it up.’
Daniel didn’t answer, he would be the same way himself. Somehow his lads’ foray into the world of armed robbery was suddenly no more than a boyish prank. At least they were trying to earn for the family. As fucking idiotic as their antics might have been, there was the knowledge that they were only trying to spread their wings, prove themselves. They had more than redeemed their actions by the way they had sorted Jack’s problem out, quickly, quietly and without asking too many questions. There was hope for that pair of fucking muppets yet it would seem, they had proved that much. He knew one thing, though, he wouldn’t wish this kind of shit on his worst enemies.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Peter Bailey was actually pleased by his brother’s offer. After all that had gone down between them, it was good to know that Daniel was willing to stand by him in his darkest hour.
‘No, Dan, but I do appreciate the offer.’
‘How’s Mother taking it?’
Peter Bailey did laugh then, as Daniel had known he would. ‘She will survive. That Tommy Barker is good for her, I think.’
‘She is a lot of things, our mother but, at the end of the day, she is on our side. She will look out for Ria, we both know that, as will my Lena.’
Peter Bailey nodded. He was banking on that.
Chapter Seventy-Nine
‘For fuck’s sake, Imelda, shut up about it, will you?’
Imelda was going out of her mind with panic. ‘You can talk to my dad, Delroy, or take me to him. I know you know where he is.’
Delroy almost smiled at his wife’s naïve belief that either of them could change the outcome of her brother’s situation. ‘Listen, Mel. Nothing is going to change your father’s mind so get your head round it.’
‘But my mum! What about my mum? She is in bits . . .’
‘And that’s to be expected, but she ain’
t a fucking fool, Imelda – she knows your father better than anyone. You make me laugh! You insisted on being a part of all this, and now you are, and you do a good job. But this is a part of the Life too. No one likes it, but it has to be done. Jack has fucked himself, Mel, so get over it. I liked him – we all did, but he cannot be allowed to swerve this. He could have brought us all down – me, you, the whole fucking shebang. There are some things that can’t be sorted and, in our world, that is fucking rare, granted. But Jack decided to walk his own road, now he has to pay the price. I’m sorry, but if you want to be a part of this Life, you’d better accept it.’
Imelda could not believe what she was hearing. This was her brother, her little Jack, not some fucking romancer no one gave a toss about, and she said as much, but Delroy held up his hand.
‘That’s enough, Mel.’
He caught sight of his son in the kitchen doorway; he was obviously frightened. Delroy plastered a smile on his face, well aware that the child was picking up on the negativity between his parents; kids were good at that. ‘You all right, mate?’ He lifted his son into his arms and took him back to his bed. Ten minutes later he was back in their newly refurbished kitchen.
Imelda looked her husband in the eye and said quietly, ‘What if it was him, eh? What would you do, Delroy?’ She was genuinely interested in his answer. Delroy knew that she was asking him to tell her what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t; she had to grasp the seriousness of their life together. Imelda had to understand that this was not a life that you could dip in and out of, once you were in it, you were in it for the duration.
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘The same as your father, Mel. And a bit of friendly advice – don’t ask questions you don’t really want the answer to.’