by Martina Cole
Terry was nodding; he had known Billy would not break. He had been a man of few brain cells, but an overabundance of front. He had been worried for nothing. He was only sorry the news of his brother’s death had not really affected him more. Terrence knew that his brother had always been loyal to him; unfortunately, he had never returned that particular favour.
‘Where’s his body?’
Petey smiled. ‘He was crushed. They slung him in the boot of an old Ford Sierra. A fitting end really – he was never a car man, was he? Drive any heap of old shit, him. No class. He looked what he was – cheap and nasty.’
Terry knew that Petey was baiting him; that was Petey’s biggest failing – he never knew when to shut his big trap. But Terry needed Petey more than ever now that everything had fallen so spectacularly out of bed. He took a deep breath to control his anger, before saying. ‘So, what’s the next step then, Pete? Have you sorted me out a refuge until such time as we can put plan B into action? I don’t think we should look towards Spain or the Algarve. I think there’s too many people we know there. But how about Southern Ireland?’
Petey smiled easily. ‘It’s sorted, Terrence. I’ve got you somewhere no one will ever get to you.’
Terry grinned; this was more like it. ‘I knew I could fucking count on you, Petey. Once your dad and his brother are out of the way, we can fucking clean up.’
Petey laughed with him. ‘True, but that’s also the bugbear, ain’t it? I mean, how am I going to explain you away to the boys? Liam, my brother, maybe might swallow, but I doubt it very much. He’s never liked you – thinks you’re a cunt actually. But my cousins won’t be so easily persuaded of your innocence. Their old mum died, remember? My Auntie Lena, the East End’s original Pat Butcher. If nothing else, at least no one will have to witness her fucking appalling dress sense any more. Every cloud, eh? But, back to my cousins. They will not be willing to forgive and forget, will they? Dessie from the pub put you two right in it, I’m afraid, so, basically, you have no fucking chance of redeeming yourself – not as far as I can see anyway.’
‘But they don’t know that as gospel, do they? Surely they would listen to you?’
Petey sighed theatrically. ‘I’m not sure they would, Terrence. That’s the melon scratcher really, don’t you agree?’
Terrence Allen was tired, wired and half pissed, but the general gist of Petey’s conversation was not lost on him. He felt the sick dread wash over him; this was the only ending that Petey Bailey had ever envisaged. Now that he was without a use and knew far too much for comfort, Terry was no more than another job to be done. He had left his weapon in his coat, and his coat was in the kitchen. He looked at Petey Bailey and said honestly, ‘Just do me one favour, Petey – let my body be found. At least my mum will be able to bury one of her sons.’
Petey nodded; that seemed more than fair to him. ‘Consider it done, mate.’
Petey took out a sawn-off shotgun from a long pocket his tailor had sewn especially into the lining of his overcoat. It was almost undetectable to the naked eye – unless you knew what you were looking for, of course.
Terry knew it had been all over for him a long time ago.
‘Look on the bright side, Tel – at least this will be quick. Not like your poor brother who died in fucking agony. Small mercies, eh? You should be found on Monday morning. I understand that’s when the council crew is coming in to rip out the fireplaces and the boilers.’
Terry nodded. He felt strangely calm; he had no choice but to accept the inevitable.
Petey shot him twice – once in the belly and then, standing above him, he watched him squirm for a few seconds before he pumped the second round into his head.
The spray went everywhere; Petey had brains and bone all over his overcoat. He was annoyed because he had liked this coat – it had cost a fucking arm and a leg. He had made this look like a gangland hit, so everyone would assume that Terrence Allen had mugged someone else off; his death would, hopefully, put a line under the last few days. The Baileys would be pleased that the Allens were gone for good. They would speculate, of course, about who the Allens had been working for or with, but they could speculate all they fucking liked. They couldn’t prove a fucking thing, and that was the main objective as far as Petey was concerned.
If the plan had come off, he would have taken the Allens out anyway; all he had wanted was his father and his uncle out of the frame. He was sick and tired of them both – fucking dinosaurs, the pair of them.
He placed the gun back inside his coat and, walking from the room, he shut the front door quietly behind him. He placed his coat and the gun in the boot of his car. Then he took out a pack of wet wipes and cleaned himself up as best he could.
He was whistling light-heartedly as he pulled away from the kerb. It was a shame that Lena had got in the car that night; if she hadn’t his father would have been dead and, within days, his brother would have followed suit. Then Petey would have been able to take the reins and, finally, he could have come into his own. But best laid plans as his old dad would say. There would be other opportunities, he would make sure of that.
Until then, he would just bide his time and keep a beady eye out for the next big opportunity to come his way. He wasn’t too bothered; there was always another Terrence Allen around the corner – it was what made the Life so interesting.
As his dad had once said to him, getting to the top was the easy bit, it was staying there that took the hard work. He was in his thirties, and he was no Prince Charles – he had no intention of waiting around for fucking years to get what was rightfully his. He wanted it now, while he was still young enough to enjoy it.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One
Danny Bailey and Delroy were eating breakfast in a café in Manor Park. They were both tired out.
‘I went everywhere, Danny. I tell you, Terry Allen was nowhere to be found. Now his body turns up in a fucking squat in Barking? It stinks.’
Danny was inclined to agree with his friend, but he didn’t say that. Instead he said nonchalantly, ‘How so?’
Delroy grinned, he knew this fucker so well. Danny Bailey wouldn’t commit if the Pope himself requested it.
‘You know exactly what I mean. Whoever shot Terrence would be crowing about it. Whoever it was would know that there was a price on his head. A fucking hefty price at that.’
Danny agreed; this did stink. Anyone with half a brain would happily put their hand up to Terrence Allen’s murder. ‘Maybe, though, whoever ironed him out was behind the bombing? And, be fair, it would be in their interests to keep that quiet, wouldn’t it?’
Delroy nodded; that made sense. ‘But think about it this way: how would we know about that? We have nothing, so surely it would make more sense to own up, and concoct a fucking feasible story about how the Allens had them over? I’m telling you, this feels wrong. No one seems to know anything about the bombing and, let’s face it, Danny, we have exhausted every fucking avenue open to us. Even the Filth can’t come up with anyone who the Allens might have been in bed with. Half the Faces in the Smoke were in the club the night it blew – they wouldn’t fucking put themselves in the firing line, would they? Suppose the gas main went with the bomb – that would have taken out everyone in the fucking club. It’s all wrong. We are missing something or, more to the point, someone.’
Danny was aware that his uncle and his dad were both thinking along the same lines. It had to be someone they knew and knew well. He shrugged. ‘I want them. I want them for what they did to my mum – she was an innocent, like most of the people in that club. They were after my Uncle Peter, and that means this had to be the work of someone who has enough clout to follow it through.’
Delroy nodded his agreement. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying all along, for fuck’s sake!’
Their breakfast arrived, and they both tucked in with relish. Danny was surprised at how hungry he was – since the bombing he had been almost on autopilot. Like everyone in the fam
ily he had been so shocked he had not really been able to think properly. He missed his mum; she had been a good woman, and she had cared for them deeply. It was still too raw to take in.
He sipped at his tea and, as he chatted idly with Delroy he had an idea. He hoped that it might give them a clue as to who they were to look out for.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two
Davey and Jamsie were both watching over their sister, and Tania knew they were under orders from their dad. She wished they would both go away and leave her in peace; she loved them dearly, but neither of them could ever be accused of being scintillating company. She did appreciate that they were trying to look after her. It hadn’t occurred to them until their mother had died, just how little contact they had with her on a regular basis. She’d been closer to Davey than any of them growing up but, as he’d become more a part of the business with Danny, they’d spent less time together. There was a large age difference, after all. Their clumsy attempts at comforting her were sweet, but after the last week all she really wanted was to get the funeral over and attempt to pick up the strands of her life.
None of her college friends had been near; she understood why. Her mum’s death had been plastered all over the papers and, in those same papers, her family name had been linked with violence and crime – alleged, of course. It had still hurt – it was hard being a Bailey sometimes.
She wished her nana and her auntie would hurry up; then her brothers could go out with clear consciences, and she could go through the funeral arrangements and make sure they had not forgotten anything.
She went to the kitchen and, putting the kettle on, she looked around her and made sure everything was shining and clean; it was the least she could do for her mother. Lena had always prided herself on her home, and she knew it was up to her to carry that on. Tania was the lady of the house now whether she wanted to be or not. At least while she was scrubbing and washing, she wasn’t thinking too much – that was something, she supposed. But she had to face her cousin Petey at some point, and she was dreading it. The shame she felt was still eating away at her.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three
‘She looks awful. She shouldn’t be on her own so much.’ Imelda was worried about her young cousin; she felt so helpless that there was nothing any of them could do to make her feel better.
‘She’s stronger than anyone gives her credit for.’ Theresa sounded sure of that, and Imelda hoped she was right.
Ria shrugged. She agreed with her daughter, but it was a difficult situation. Lena’s death had been so horrendous – it wasn’t as if she had died of an illness or a tragic accident, she had been murdered, and that was something no one would ever really get over.
Poor Tania would have to live with it for the rest of her life, as she would have to live with the guilt that she was still relieved that it was not her husband who had died; Ria hated herself for that. But Peter was her life; she would lose her own children first – had lost one – that is how much she loved him. The knowledge pained her, but she was more than capable of this kind of selfishness, that was the truth.
Tania walked into the kitchen, and she could tell that her aunt, cousin and grandmother had been talking about her. She wished she had the words to tell them that she appreciated their concern; she was lucky to have so many people looking out for her.
‘The police are still reluctant to release your mum’s remains, but they have assured me it won’t be long now.’ Ria’s voice was choked with emotion.
‘We’ll give her a real good send off, Tania. She would want that. I remember when you were born, she was so happy. She really wanted a girl, and you were everything she had wished for in a daughter. She loved you dearly.’ Theresa’s voice was strong, and Tania was glad she had her nearby. Her nana was a character, there was no doubting that, but she was very loving in her own rough way. She had a knack of putting things into perspective, and that was exactly what Tania needed now.
Everyone pussyfooting around her was wearing her down; they meant well, but there were too many Baileys being far too solicitous for her liking. She just wanted to grieve in peace – and not just for her mum, but for herself as well. Petey had destroyed her confidence and her faith in herself. All her long-cherished hopes and dreams had been demolished in the most humiliating experience of her life to date. Her nana used to say, be careful what you ask for, you just might get it. Never was a truer word spoken.
The back door opened and Petey Bailey came bowling into the kitchen as if her thoughts had conjured him up. Tania was so taken aback she nearly choked on her cup of coffee. He kissed them each in turn, and Tania felt him squeeze her shoulder; his touch made her skin crawl.
He looked down at her, his face a picture of concern as he said gently, ‘How are you, darling? Looking after yourself, I hope?’
Unable to speak, she didn’t answer him, but she could feel herself blushing with embarrassment. She was willing the floor to crack open and swallow her up.
Petey was clearly nervous, terrified of her opening her mouth, but she couldn’t do that without putting herself in it as well. She could still see him, naked and sweating, hear his grunting as he lay on top of her, and she tried to block out the images. For the thousandth time she asked herself what she had been thinking. She could only tell herself that she had been grieving, and incapable of rational decisions.
‘Come on, Mum, I’ll drop you and Mel home. Dad’s taken your car – he’s got a bit of business.’
Ria was irritated. ‘Why couldn’t he go and pick his own car up? I wanted to go to the supermarket.’
Imelda said quietly, ‘He can’t use the same car all the time, Mum – think about it.’
Ria didn’t answer, but she understood her daughter’s meaning. Peter needed to keep well away from his usual routines; whoever had planted the bomb could be waiting for their next chance. Her husband was all over the place these days, and he chopped and changed cars two or three times a day. She sighed heavily; the Life could be very dangerous, but it was also the only life any of them knew. It was far too late to change now. ‘Come on, then, let’s get this show on the road.’
‘You go on. I’ll stay for a bit with Tania.’ Theresa was watching everything with her beady eyes – she missed nothing.
Tania sat there unable to do anything as they bustled about, putting on coats, and chatting about this and that. When they finally left she sighed with relief.
Theresa was aware there was something going on between this girl and Petey, and she was wise enough to know that it wasn’t anything good. Petey was her grandson, but she knew he was capable of taking this young girl down, relative or not. He was a womaniser and, like all womanisers, no female was safe around him. That Bernadette was never going to change him, no matter how hard she might try to convince herself she could. He was incapable of fidelity, and her granddaughter was ripe for the picking. She hated that she could think such thoughts about her own grandson, but she was nothing if not a realist – even where her family were concerned.
Tania was her own double in looks, from her full breasts and tiny waist, to her thick wavy hair. She was also as green as the proverbial grass, and that was something that needed to be remedied sooner rather than later. Theresa grasped her grand-daughter’s hand in hers and, smiling, she said, ‘Things will look better one day, Tania, it just takes time. Time is a great healer. I should know that. I looked at young Petey today and I saw his granddad – he is so like him! And he doesn’t just look like him – he has the same ways as well. He’s a fucking nightmare around women, as was his granddad.’
She grinned, and Tania could see the remnants of her former beauty in her smiling face.
‘I’d never seen a black man until I came to London, can you believe that? Let alone spoken to one! But when I met him that night, I thought all my birthdays and Christmases had arrived at once. He could charm the birds off the trees. Well, he charmed my drawers off anyway!’ She was laughing at the memory. �
�I was young – younger than you – in a strange city, and I was so lonely. He homed in on that, and I was happy just to have the attention. He left me with a belly full of arms and legs, and nothing more than a few good memories. If I hadn’t have met him, I would have married a good Irish boy, banged out a squad of children, and the Bailey boys wouldn’t have existed.’
Tania was pleased that her nana felt she was old enough to understand about life. ‘Did you love him, though, Nana?’
Theresa blew her lips out in derision. ‘What’s love? I was too young. I just mixed up sex and love, darling, and I won’t be the last young girl to make that mistake, I’m sure.’
Tania smiled tremulously. ‘Did you miss your family, Nana? I know they never acknowledged you again.’
Theresa thought about it for a few moments before she answered her granddaughter. ‘I did, at first. But my father once called your Uncle Peter a sunburned Irishman and, after that, if they had ever tried to get in contact – which they didn’t – I wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with them anyway. My baby boy was everything to me, you see – he was my blood.’
Tania felt an enormous sadness for her nana; she had been alone from such a young age, and that must have been so hard.
Theresa kissed the girl’s soft hand; she saw the nails bitten down to the quick, and the sadness that was in her lovely face. This was a young girl who had far too much to cope with, and who was far too young for what life had dished out. ‘Listen to me, Tania. You’re all over the place at the moment. You’ve had a terrible shock to your system, and you’re vulnerable. You keep that in mind, my little darling, and please don’t do anything you might regret. There’re a lot of men like your cousin Petey out there in the big wide world, and they are only out for themselves – don’t you ever forget that. They should have a government health warning stamped across their arses!’