The Life

by Martina Cole

  Chapter Eighty

  Jack Bailey was jonesing in the back of the car and he was jonesing badly. He was sweating, withdrawing and, compounded with his fear, it was worse than he could ever have imagined. He’d never been denied access to his preferred drug before. He needed something to calm him down, but he knew his brothers were not going to provide anything.

  ‘Will Dad be long do you think?’ In his mind he thought he would get a good hiding, but once that was over he hoped he might have time to go out and score. Or he could easily call a dealer who might come to him if he was incapacitated. All Jack wanted was all this over with.

  Jack was completely unaware of just how much trouble he was in – believing his place as the baby of the family would ensure his father’s lenience. He had gone to his nana because she was the only person his father really listened to. His big fear had been his Uncle Daniel – he wouldn’t put it past him to shoot him and then go and have his dinner as if nothing untoward had occurred. His Uncle Daniel had a reputation for his hard-nosed attitude to other people’s problems.

  His brothers were subdued, but that was to be expected; he had, after all, fucked up big time. Jack was convinced, though, that his mother’s love would provide protection – his dad would never hurt her, would never harm her baby boy. His dad loved him – they’d find a way to sort this out to everyone’s satisfaction.

  Petey and Liam pulled him from the car gently.

  Jack looked around in confusion. ‘Where are we?’

  Liam smiled. ‘We’re in Essex. Dad owns a lot of warehouses here, and he wants to talk to you in private.’

  Jack entered the building willingly, safe in the knowledge that his nana, his mum and everyone in the family who loved him knew about his fuck-up and wouldn’t let anything happen to him.

  Liam turned on the lights while Petey unloaded a carrier bag, pulling out a couple of bottles of whisky and a pack of children’s paper party cups. They looked far too festive in the dimness of the warehouse, far too colourful, and brimming with the promise of good times ahead.

  Petey poured a large drink and passed it to his little brother. Jack gulped at it gratefully, all the while thinking that what he could really do with was a joint, something to take the edge off.

  ‘Sit down, mate.’

  Liam pushed a chair towards him, and he sat down. The building had high ceilings, and it was chock full of electrical equipment. Jack guessed this lot came from lorry heists; it was a lucrative business, mainly because the lorry drivers were more than happy to be robbed for a price, especially coming up to Christmas. If he had known about this place he would have asked for an in by now; it was a scam for the future anyway, so the night would not be totally wasted.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  Tommy Barker was sorry about the whole situation, more so because it had hit Theresa harder than any of them, except maybe poor Ria. She had believed that her intervention would be enough to keep her grandson alive, but he had known that was never going to be an option.

  The boy had killed a young girl without a care, beaten her to death over a fucking few grams of heroin; nothing could ever wipe out something so fucking outrageous no matter who his father was. Junkies were scum, they were without any scruples, were devoid of even the most basic moral code. All they seemed capable of was treachery, betrayal and, worst of all, the inability to see what they had become. They were fit for nothing in the Life, and they were not to be tolerated.

  Jack’s death was a necessary evil – sad, tragic, but inevitable. He would have become the weakest link and, through him, the whole family would have been in jeopardy.

  ‘Come on, Theresa, let’s go to the Irish club, eh?’

  Theresa looked at the man she had found so late in her life and she nodded sadly. ‘OK. I know, Tommy, deep inside, that nothing is going to change my Peter’s mind, is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, mate. It’s going to be harder on him than anyone, don’t forget.’

  Theresa doubted that somehow, but she didn’t voice that opinion. ‘He was a beautiful baby was little Jack. A real little darling. Ria ruined him – she could never see him without, you know? He was always a bit of a lad, bless him, but she never chastised him like the others. Spare the rod, eh?’

  Theresa had swallowed the situation, she was a hard old bird, but she was also a realist. Nothing was going to stop the events of this night and the sooner everyone accepted it the better.

  This was the downside of the Life, one which everyone had to face eventually.

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  Danny, Davey, Noel and Jamsie were in a club in Manor Park; they were loud, out of control and, as they were all Baileys, no one said a word to them about their behaviour. What no one knew was that they were each determined that tonight would wipe out the horror of the last few days – even if only for a few hours.

  The club was packed with revellers and, as the boys looked around them, they were acutely aware of how different their lives were in comparison to everyone around them.

  Jack’s youth, along with his foolishness, was hitting them harder than they would admit. They were finally aware of how precarious the lives they were living actually were. For the first time, they were understanding just how dangerous the Life could be for people who didn’t take it as seriously as it warranted. The weight of their family name and reputation suddenly felt like a burden. It wasn’t a game any more.

  Peter and Daniel Bailey were men who had fought hard for their positions in the world and, as their blood, their sons were expected to work just as hard. They were expected to be just as cunning as their fathers, and just as capable of making difficult decisions – even if those decisions were about their own flesh and blood. This had brought home to them exactly what they were all involved in and, more to the point, what was required of them.

  Jack was their blood, their family, but that had not been enough to help him in his hour of need; in fact, it was because he was a Bailey that his actions were seen as so heinous. The girl’s death was terrible – no one was disputing that – but she was a junkie; it wasn’t like she was an innocent. But Jack had also become a junkie, and they knew now that there was no excuse for such a monumental fuck-up, no matter who you were.

  It seemed that they were not as safe as they had always assumed. They were not living the charmed lives they’d boasted about. The Life they took for granted came with its own set of rules, and those rules were harsher than any of them had ever realised.

  Noel motioned for his brothers to follow him into the offices of the club, and they went willingly. None of them were really in the mood to enjoy themselves.

  Inside the small office, Danny poured them each a large drink and then, holding his glass up, he said loudly, ‘To Jack! Cunt that he was.’

  They swallowed their drinks quickly, but they each knew that nothing could raise their spirits this night. All any of them wanted was to forget.

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Peter Bailey pulled up outside the warehouse in Basildon; he had a heavy heart as he turned off his car engine. He sat in the dark, pleased to see that the lights in the warehouse were muted – his sons had learned well how things were supposed to be done. Petey and Liam needed to be a part of this, he knew that much. They needed to understand that there was always a price to be paid for mistakes, for doing anything that could affect the family as a whole.

  He suspected that his eldest boy was at peace with what was going to happen, and that showed him that Petey was sensible enough to understand that sometimes in their world you had to do things that were a necessary evil. Liam was still learning about the Life and, unlike Imelda, Peter had a feeling he would take all this onboard and learn a valuable lesson. Imelda was a good girl, but she was too emotional for her own good. Well, she was Delroy’s fucking problem now – not his. She had to understand that there was no way the family could ever be compromised, it was as simple as that.

  Jack was beyond redemption, he had no
fucking chance of walking away from this. Peter intended this to be a lesson to the other boys – Daniel’s too – that they had to police each other. One of them had to have known what Jack was getting involved in, suspected that he was getting in over his head somehow. This would show them that, in future, it would be more sensible to bring that kind of knowledge to the powers-that-be, sooner rather than later. They would hopefully understand how their actions impacted on everyone around them and what could happen when these problems weren’t addressed.

  He got out of the car slowly. Walking into the warehouse, he heard Jack’s voice, and he felt a momentary pang of genuine sorrow. Jack had been such a lovely little lad, with all the potential to be a son he could be proud of, but his weakness had won out.

  As Jack looked at him with his big brown eyes and his crooked smile, Peter saw not only the deep-rooted belief that he would actually walk away from this but, worst of all, he saw the weakness in his son that had finally manifested itself in his addiction. It was hard for him to admit that his youngest son was capable of such skulduggery, but he was.

  ‘All right, Dad?’ Jack smiled nervously.

  Peter Bailey nodded. ‘Yeah, I’m all right, son.’ He turned to Petey and Liam, who were watching him intently. ‘You done what I asked?’

  Petey gestured to the side of the warehouse. ‘Yeah, it’s through here.’

  Peter Bailey pulled his youngest son up from the chair by the scruff of his neck and, dragging the protesting boy behind him, he forced him bodily towards a large vat of water.

  He drowned his son as easily as he would have drowned a litter of kittens.

  When it was done, he wiped his hands and addressed the other boys. ‘You made sure this water was from the Thames, didn’t you?’

  Petey nodded.

  ‘He has to have the correct water in his lungs apparently, when he’s found floating in the Thames. It has to be seen as a tragic accident.’

  Petey was quick to reassure his father that everything had been done properly. ‘Don’t worry, Dad, it’s all taken care of.’

  Peter Bailey sighed. ‘At least this way your mother gets a fucking funeral for him and no one is any the wiser.’

  Liam Bailey was staring at his little brother’s body, unable to believe what he had just witnessed. It seemed surreal somehow, as if it was a dream and at any minute he would wake up. Liam was shocked at his father’s complete indifference to his actions. He seemed to have no real emotion about what he had just done – Liam could see that. It was wrong, all wrong.

  Motioning to his two remaining sons to follow him, Peter poured them each large Scotches. ‘Get that down you, Liam, and remember, son, he brought this on himself.’

  Liam drank the whisky but he didn’t say a word. He was unable to answer the man, but Peter Bailey understood his son’s feelings far more than he would ever let on.

  ‘Right, well, you both know what to do.’

  Chapter Eighty-Four

  Ria was lying in her bed, and all she could think about was her youngest son. Her baby Jack. He had always had a cheeky smile, always known how to get around her, and she had loved that about him.

  She could hear Imelda pottering about in the kitchen, and she pulled herself upright in her bed. Lighting a cigarette, she pulled the smoke deeply into her lungs. She had been sick over and over again – Imelda had even had to pull over in a bus stop so she could once more empty her belly of alcohol. Now she was more or less sober, but the pain had not lessened at all.

  She glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was past three o’clock, and she wondered if she would ever again sleep through the night; she very much doubted it. She looked around her bedroom; it was huge, decorated red and gold. Her Jack used to say it was a poor man’s Buckingham Palace, and she had known then that he had no respect for how lucky he was.

  He had killed that young girl, beaten her to death. It was so hard to believe; he had been her baby – how had he become someone like that? How had he become a man capable of harming a female?

  She felt the sting of tears once more, felt the deep sorrow that she would never see her son again.

  Imelda came into the bedroom with a mug of hot, sweet tea. Ria sipped at it gratefully, the tears still streaming down her face, the pain of her loss as acute as a knife in her heart.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, everything will be OK.’

  Ria nodded at her daughter, unwilling to talk about it to anyone. Imelda was obviously as upset as she was, and Ria understood that. This was a traumatic time for them.

  Imelda sat on the bed and, taking her mother’s hand in hers, she held on to it gently, trying her hardest to give her mother some kind of comfort.

  Ria pulled her hand away, and held on to her mug of tea as tightly as she could. ‘Get yourself home, Mel. You have your own family, love. I’m OK, darling. Your dad will be in soon.’

  Imelda looked at her mother in abject disbelief. ‘Can you hear yourself, Mum? Do you realise what he’s fucking done? My dad!’

  Ria sighed heavily. ‘Stop this now, Mel, I mean it, you stop it.’

  Imelda was so shocked by her mother’s words, and what they actually meant, she was unable to answer her. Unable to believe what she was hearing. ‘For fuck’s sake, Mum, whatever Jack’s done he’s still your son! My little brother . . .’

  Ria sipped at her tea again, unable to look her daughter in the eye; she was not prepared to listen to anything detrimental about her husband, it would only add to her pain. ‘Go home, Mel, and I mean it. This is about a lot more than you realise, love. One day you will understand all this, believe me. Until then, let me grieve for my son in peace.’

  Ria was sorry for her daughter; she knew that she was hurting over her brother, but so was she – and far more than Imelda would ever know. But Jack had brought this on himself and, even though she loved him with all her heart, the family as a whole was what was really important.

  Imelda looked into her mother’s eyes, saw the hurt there, coupled with resignation, and she knew then that her lovely mum was far more aware of the pitfalls of the Life than she would ever be. Imelda understood now that her mother was willing to overlook anything – even the death of her youngest child – if her husband deemed it necessary. Imelda could not believe that she had never understood the true impact that the Life actually had on the people involved in it.

  The realisation that her mother was willing to overlook the murder of her own child was an outrage that Imelda was unable to comprehend. That her mother was so entrenched in the Life that she could accept her youngest child’s murder as no more than an occupational hazard was fucking outrageous! Imelda was absolutely horrified by the realisation that her own mother could not see how wrong this was, let alone how vicious and cold blooded it proved them all to be. And her own husband more than any of them.

  Imelda saw the Life in stunning clarity for the first time and wondered how she could have been a Bailey for so long without understanding it.

  Just then, her father returned and she watched as he came into the bedroom, and pulled his wife into his arms. He held her gently as she cried, assuring her all the while that everything would be all right now that he was home, and he would look after her.

  Smiling at his daughter, Peter Bailey motioned with a movement of his huge dark head for her to leave them alone together.

  Imelda left the room quietly, with a heavy heart, knowing that, after this night, nothing would be the same for any of them ever again.

  Book Three

  There is power in the blood, justice in the sword

  When that call it comes, I will be ready for war

  Alabama 3, ‘Power In The Blood’

  Album: Power in the Blood, 2002

  You prayed at the holy shrine

  Still the guru wouldn’t receive you

  You’ve seen so many signs

  Still they call you a non-believer

  Alabama 3, ‘Come On Home’

  Album: Power in the
Blood, 2002

  Lousy but loyal

  Anon, London East-End slogan at

  George V’s Jubilee, 1935

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  1997

  Lena yawned noisily and stretched her arms above her head. She was glad to see the sun beaming through her bedroom window. Daniel was already up and about, she could hear him pottering about in the kitchen and, pulling on a dressing gown, she went downstairs quickly.

  He looked up as she came into the kitchen. ‘You can smell a cup of tea from two miles, you!’

  Lena laughed. ‘One of my many gifts! I can’t believe I slept in! Tania gone off already?’

  Daniel nodded as he poured them both mugs of tea. ‘She was up and out before I got up. And what a fucking mess she left as usual!’

  Lena smiled tolerantly. ‘Well, that’s our Tania all right. Even the boys weren’t as messy as her.’

  They took their teas out to the back garden; it looked beautiful. Lena admired her surroundings and wondered for the thousandth time how she could have hated this place all those years ago. Now it was her haven, the place where she relaxed, where she found peace.

  ‘What do you think about tomorrow, Lena? Shall we go or not?’

  Lena sipped her tea. ‘I think we have to, Dan. Ria is expecting us, anyway.’

  Daniel had thought as much. ‘Who’d have imagined Petey would be getting shackled! I hope it works for him.’

  In all honesty, Daniel had no real interest in going to Petey’s engagement party. He knew that it was a sham. Petey was incapable of ever being faithful, as had been proved time and again over the years. He went through women like other men went through underpants. He had the perfect life for a lover of women; from the nightclubs right through to the strip clubs, he had his pick of the fillies, and he was good-looking too. Daniel didn’t care what he did but his strict ideas about fidelity in a marriage meant he thought Petey should give all that up once he tripped down the aisle. He knew Peter felt the same even though he had taken the occasional flyer in his day – not that anyone else had ever known that, of course. Saint Peter, as Daniel thought of him lately, had made sure of that much.