by Martina Cole
‘So now you know the score there, how about telling me what’s been happening to you? You look so grown-up and if you don’t mind me saying, you look as if you’re doing all right.’
Cathy smiled and in a heavily edited account told Betty all about the lovely lady she was working for. Making out that Desrae was a real woman made her feel disloyal. Yet something inside her told her to be wary about exactly what she did say. As much as she loved Betty, brasses talked among themselves and if Cathy was still sought by the police, she didn’t want to get caught out by Betty’s chattering tongue.
Betty listened and smiled. She knew the score and admired the girl for keeping her business to herself.
Finally Cathy asked her what had happened to Eamonn, which was the question Betty had really been dreading. She had already explained about Eamonn Senior coming to the police station the night Cathy and Madge were arrested, and how helpful he had been, along with Gates. Now she had to lie once more to save the girl’s feelings.
‘Oh, he’s fine, love. Worried about you, of course. Looked all over the place for you he did.’ She saw the delight in Cathy’s eyes and sighed inwardly. It would break the girl’s heart to know what Eamonn had really been up to.
Then, as Betty looked at the beautiful young woman smiling joyfully at her, she felt she could not go on with the lie.
‘Look, love,’ she said, her own voice catching as she realised she must hurt Cathy, ‘he has someone else now. Remember Caroline Harvey? Her dad was away for years. Still inside as a matter of fact.’ She tried to make her voice light, tried to make it all sound quite normal. ‘Well, Eamonn’s been seeing her, or so I heard anyway.’
The devastation in Cathy’s face was like a knife-blade thrust into her own heart.
Betty tried again. ‘Listen to me, love, it’s been seven months. That’s a long time for a young feller like him.’
Cathy was quiet for a while. Finally she said: ‘Where is he living then?’
Betty closed her eyes and said gently, ‘He lives with Caroline. They’re round by Vallance Road. One of old Moggs’s places.’
Cathy nodded. Then, changing the subject, she said brightly: ‘So how can we keep in touch like? I’ll need to know how me mum is, won’t I?’
‘Aren’t you on the phone?’
Cathy laughed, a genuine sound. ‘Of course we are.’
Betty lit a cigarette. Taking a deep puff, she grinned at the girl before her. ‘Give me the number and I’ll keep in touch. You can always leave a message for me at the Two Puddings, I’m usually in there these days. They’ll give it to me, no fears.’
They chatted for a while after that, about Madge and Betty’s life without her friend and confidante. Eamonn was not mentioned again, but as Cathy left they both knew where her next stop would be.
Chapter Eighteen
Caroline’s face was a picture as she answered the door to Cathy Connor. They knew each other slightly and each was more than aware of the other’s involvement with Eamonn. Standing in the doorway, a cigarette between her lips and a smirk on her face, Caroline stared at the well-dressed young woman before her.
‘Whatever you’re selling, we ain’t interested.’
Cathy smiled thinly. She was amazed at the change in the girl before her. Caroline Harvey had always been a bit of an icon to her. Her big violet eyes, fashionable clothes and large chest had all seemed to a younger Cathy to be the marks of a sophisticated woman. Now, she looked exactly what she was: a trollop. Which pleased Cathy no end.
‘Out of me way, I’ve come to see Eamonn.’
Caroline stood where she was, all filter tip and cheap perfume. ‘This is my drum, and you ain’t coming in.’
Her voice said she was ready to fight and Cathy was slightly afraid, though not as terrified as she would have been a few months previously. Everyone knew that Caroline Harvey could handle herself but after all she’d been through, Cathy didn’t scare easily these days. She pushed past her adversary and walked into the flat.
In the hallway she turned and said in a low voice: ‘Don’t even think about it, lady, or I’ll wipe the fucking floor with you, see if I don’t.’
Caroline was shocked at the girl’s words. Cathy Connor was known to everyone as a nice girl, a bit mouthy but all right. Recently though the Old Bill had been all over the East End looking for her and now she had gained a reputation. You didn’t go on the trot without a bit of bottle and it seemed that young Cathy Connor had acquired a serious amount of it in the last few months.
The two girls stared each other out.
Caroline was amazed at the transformation in her rival. Eamonn had mentioned Cathy now and again but Caroline hadn’t really been too worried. Now she saw a young woman with style and aplomb, and that bothered her.
In the last six months with Eamonn she knew that she had gone downhill whereas Cathy Connor, God rot her, had turned into a regular pocket Venus.
Cathy marched into the bedsitting room and Caroline followed her silently. Eamonn lay asleep on the bed, his once handsome face barely recognisable. Cathy looked around the room in disbelief. Her eyes took in its squalor and she shook her head in disgust. The place stank. Caroline knew what she was thinking and it hurt. She didn’t want to be judged by this girl, couldn’t bear to be found lacking.
Opening his eyes painfully, Eamonn eased himself up in the crumpled bed and stared at Cathy as if he had never seen her before in his life.
‘Hello, Eamonn. I see you’re doing all right for yourself.’
Her voice was sarcastic and fraught with meaning. Eamonn had never felt so low in his life. To be caught like this when he’d always envisaged their eventual reunion as the full hearts and flowers number, a sixteen-year-old Cathy tremulous with pleasure just to see him again . . . Now it had all gone horribly wrong and he felt cheated.
‘Hello, Cathy. How’ve you been?’
It sounded lame in his own ears. He realised too that he was unwashed, horribly battered, and that the whole place smelled sour. It was more than his pride could bear and he instantly turned surly and defensive.
Caroline stood silently by, aware of the shabby appearance she presented next to their smartly groomed young visitor. Caroline’s hair needed washing, her make-up was last night’s and her dressing-gown was stained. She felt twenty years older than her real eighteen and resented both Cathy and Eamonn for making her feel that way.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen,’ she mumbled, and took herself off to avoid any further comparisons.
Cathy looked pointedly at Eamonn, making no move to come any closer to him.
‘Didn’t you wonder what had happened to me?’
Her voice sounded hurt yet resolute, as if she had already worked out how to deal with this situation. Eamonn was aware that for the first time he could remember, Cathy had the upper hand.
Never had she looked so good to him. Never had he seen her so well dressed, so sure of herself. At fourteen she was a woman. Desrae had seen to that.
Smoothing her skirt fastidiously, Cathy finally seated herself on the battered wicker chair next to the bed and looked closely at the boy she had loved all her life. His face was battered beyond recognition. His thick dark hair was plastered to his head with dried blood and sweat. His whole body looked limp as a beaten dog’s.
‘You look bleeding terrible!’ she said, then tried belatedly to make a joke of it. ‘Who upset you this time?’
In his hurt pride and frustration at not being able to play the big man, Eamonn exploded furiously: ‘What do you mean by that? You come round here, dressed like a high-class whore, and have the cheek to question me! Not a bloody word from you in fucking months and then you turn up for me like Lady bleeding Golightly and expect me to treat you like visiting royalty! Well, you had a wasted journey, love. I’m well settled here with Caroline.’
Cathy smiled but her eyes were sad as the unfairness of his words registered. ‘I never came to get you, you’re mistaken there, mate. I came to visit and s
ee how you are, that’s all. No more, no less. I’ve got someone else now, someone who cares about me deeply.’
She was thinking, of course, of her friend Desrae but Eamonn was not to know this. His face was a picture of hurt and surprise and Cathy felt an awful compulsion to laugh, even while the hateful things he’d said were tearing her up inside.
‘Who is this bloke then? Got a white stick and a dog, has he?’ said Eamonn nastily. He poured himself a whisky from the bottle on the bedside table and downed it in one.
‘Like father, like son, eh?’ Cathy swiped back. ‘How is your dad, by the way? Still living off his little wife - or has he had her money away and gone off on the trot?’
The implication wasn’t lost on Eamonn. She saw his face tighten.
‘You’re very mouthy all of a sudden.’
Cathy grinned. ‘Oh, I can afford to be these days. I’ve got meself someone who takes very good care of me. He’s lovely, you’d like him - or at least you’d respect him.’ She looked pointedly at his recent injuries.
Eamonn stared dumbly back at her, humiliated beyond bearing and seeking only to hurt her with the worst insult he could find. Even in a rage, it would never have occurred to him to use violence against her. Not Cathy. Not ever.
‘It must be your personality he likes then,’ said Eamonn, slowly and deliberately. ‘You’re the worst shag I ever had.’
Cathy shut her eyes for a moment. Opening them, she picked up her bag and got to her feet, saying in a low voice: ‘And you were the first shag I ever had. Remember that, Eamonn? I certainly do.’
He could not meet her eyes as shameful recollection flooded back.
‘But I forgave you - God knows why,’ she continued. ‘All the time I was in that bloody awful school . . .’ She could not go on. Dashing tears from her eyes, she walked towards the door.
‘Cathy, don’t go!’ he called after her. ‘I’m sorry, Cathy . . .’
Caroline, listening to it all from the kitchen, closed her eyes in distress at the feeling revealed in Eamonn’s voice. She knew that if she waited a million years he would never, ever feel the same way about her.
Cathy looked back at him and shook her head.
‘I won’t stay, I’ve found out all I need to know, thanks. You haven’t even asked me what happened to me in the last seven months. How I got on, how I got out of that fucking prison-like school they sent me to. You’ve asked me nothing about myself because from us being little kids it was always you. You who mattered, you who were the important one. Do me a favour, Eamonn, get yourself a job and a life. Look after Caroline in there,’ she nodded towards the kitchen, ‘because she’s the only one who would put up with you. You’re a big-headed, selfish bastard and I only wish to Christ I’d found that out years ago. You looked down on your dad, but let me tell you - he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be, mate.’
She walked towards the front door. He was mystified by her reference to a school when he knew she’d had a cushy foster home. He didn’t stop to query her, though. His voice rang out harshly.
‘Go on, piss off then, you little prat! Get out of here. Who needs you? You were the one who needed me, mate. You all need me.’ He had pulled himself off the bed now and Caroline rushed into the room and tried to restrain him. He threw her from him roughly.
Cathy stared at them both and shook her head. ‘Look at you, Eamonn. Take a bleeding good butcher’s hook at yourself. You’re scum. Only I never fully realised that until today.’
And opening the door, she walked away from him. As she went down the stairway she heard him mouthing obscenities at her and hunched her shoulders as if they could physically hurt her.
In the brightness of the street she took a deep breath and walked away, her head high, eyes burning with humiliation and suppressed tears. Hailing a cab, she made her way back to Soho, Desrae, and a life of peace if not happiness. She had done what she set out to do and now she had to go on from here.
Even though leaving Eamonn behind had been like tearing out her own heart.
Eamonn had been ranting and raving for nearly half an hour and Caroline was just about fed up with the lot of it. Seeing young Cathy with her sleek hair and nice clothes had made her realise exactly what she had allowed to happen to herself.
Eamonn had moulded her into what he wanted: a watered-down version of the Madges and other dock dollies he had grown up with. Like his father he needed a woman to keep him, not financially, not yet, but keep him on top. Keep him the master. As she sat in the chair vacated by Cathy and listened to him curse the female race, Caroline shuddered.
She placed a hand over her belly. If she was right, there was a baby inside her and she knew that because of the child to come she was trapped.
Until today, seeing Cathy Connor and listening to the girl give Eamonn as good as she got, Caroline had felt as if she had it all. She had Eamonn, the hard man, the worker. She had a home with him, and a baby on the way. Now she knew all she had was a troubled boy with a vicious streak and an almost psychotic jealousy.
Slumped in the chair, she wondered how the hell it had happened to her. She looked into the mirror on the dressing table, saw her reflection and shook her head. She looked awful. Morning sickness had drained her face of any colour and her hair needed a good wash. Yes, Eamonn had brought her down with him, and down he was. At rock bottom. He had even fouled the nest at work. Dixon had savagely beaten him, and now she was waiting for him to go back to being an enforcer, waiting for the money to come in again.
Caroline was turning into her mother.
That thought terrified her more than anything. Her mother stood by Jack because she dare not do anything else. He had murdered his mistress and his employer. After that his wife had had no choice but to wait for him. If she had taken up with another man, Jack would have seen her scarred for life. He still had connections who would do the job for him.
Standing up, Caroline began to gather her things together. She would go home to her mother and try and sort out everything from there. It took Eamonn a while to realise what she was doing. He thought at first she was finally cleaning up. But as she packed her bag, he started to shriek at her.
‘You can fucking stop all that now! I ain’t in the mood for hysterics, girl. Get me a drink and something to eat, and hurry up.’
Caroline ignored him and carried on getting her things together.
Eamonn pulled himself to the side of the bed.
‘I mean it, Caroline. I’m telling you now, don’t fucking wind me up today or I’ll hammer you to within an inch of your bloody life. Now stop aggravating me, woman, and do what you’re told. I mean it.’
She slipped off her dressing gown and pulled a jumper over her head. As she smoothed it down over her swollen breasts, she said, ‘Bollocks, Eamonn. I’m out of here.’
Her voice was loud, firm. He looked at her in total amazement. ‘What did you just say?’ He narrowed his eyes as if this would enable him to hear her better.
‘You heard.’ Her voice was strong. It was as if she had turned into a different person. ‘I’ve had enough, I’m going home to me mum’s.’
Eamonn shook his head. ‘No, you’re not, lady. You’re staying right here.’
Smiling smugly, Caroline said, ‘You don’t own me, Docherty. Never did. Go and chase your little mate, ’cos it sounded to me like you was more interested in her than in me. So, instead of wasting my time, I’m off. There’s plenty of men out there, and I think I’ll take a leaf out of Cathy Connor’s book and go out and get meself one.’
She wanted to hurt him like he had hurt her. The blow as it connected with her face sent her reeling across the room. Lights exploded inside her head and she was nearly knocked out by the force of his punch.
Lying across the bed, she lifted her head. Still smiling, even through the blood that was pouring from her mouth, she said: ‘You’re not stopping me. I’m off, mate.’
Eamonn stared at the girl in total shock. Her lip was split and the inside l
ooked like a piece of raw liver. There was blood everywhere: all over the bed, her face, her clothes. Yet still she was insisting she would go, leave him.
He punched her in the head, connecting with her ear. His heavy signet ring split the flesh. More blood. A lot of it.
Then he began to beat her, really beat her, putting all his strength into the blows, enjoying the yielding of her body beneath his fists. It was all her fault he’d lost the girl he really loved. If she hadn’t been here, flaunting herself in front of Cathy, he could have talked her round, he knew he could. Cathy had to have guessed he’d get himself some female company while she was away, but guessing and seeing were very different. It was all Caroline’s fault that Cathy had flown off the handle and said those terrible things. And now he’d lost her, lost his Cathy, because of this worthless bitch . . .
He was still punching Caroline when the door was kicked open and the two men from above came in and pulled him off her.
‘Fucking hell, mate, you’ve killed her!’
His neighbour’s voice was high with fear and distress. Eamonn stared down at the bloody mess on the bed then looked around him, bewildered.
His fists were covered in blood and bits of bone. Caroline Harvey was unrecognisable. Her hands were still across her stomach. She had died trying to protect her baby instead of herself.
The two men took in the scene and one of them began to retch, the dry sound the only noise in the room.
It was this that snapped Eamonn back to reality. Putting his head in his hands he whispered, ‘What have I done? Oh God, what the fuck have I done?’
Jimmy Salter propelled Eamonn to the sink and washed his hands for him. Then, pulling him from the room, he made the other man lock the door. He put his own jacket around Eamonn’s shoulders and said to his friend, Barry Callard, ‘I’ll take him to Dixon. Don’t let on what’s happened. People will think it’s just one of their usual rows.’