by Martina Cole
‘You’re right, of course. If they really care for one another ...’
He swallowed deeply as Michael Ryan took his hand and shook it, the animal strength of the handshake reminding him acutely of exactly what he had done. His lovely Janine had brought him this low, had brought Michael Ryan into his home. He could have wept.
Three weeks later, on the first Saturday of July, James Grierson gave away his only daughter to Roy Ryan. It wasn’t until after the reception, once home in his bed, that he finally gave way to the tears that had been building up inside him since Michael’s visit. He felt he had taken his only child like a lamb to the slaughter.
It would be twenty years before he discovered how right he had been.
Chapter Four
1957
Michael was fuming, his blue eyes dark with anger. He rubbed one hand across his face and stared stonily at Joe.
‘Look, Michael, you had no right to borrow any money behind my back. This is my business.’ Joe the Fish pushed a pudgy finger into his chest.
Making a fist Michael smashed it down on the desk in front of him, causing their empty coffee cups to rattle in their saucers.
‘So it’s your business now, is it?’ Michael’s voice was bitter. ‘I suppose this is your office as well? Don’t let’s worry about the money I’ve brought in . . .’
Joe sighed loudly. He interrupted Michael as if he was talking to a little child.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, Michael. No one’s disputing that you’ve done well. What’s annoyed me is the fact that you borrowed out five grand without even bothering to mention it to me.’ Joe’s voice was cajoling. In his heart he was frightened of Michael, frightened of his phenomenal temper. ‘Come on, son . . . try and see it from my point of view.’
Michael picked up his pack of Strands from the desk and lit one. He sat at the desk, his head hanging forward on his chest, taking quick drags on his cigarette. Joe was conscious that Michael’s hands were shaking. He knew he was trying to calm himself down.
Joe sat in the chair opposite and placed his elbows on the desk. Michael was such a difficult boy. He gravitated from extreme happiness to a difficult and dangerous depression in the space of seconds.
Normally Joe would have let Michael have his head, he was a good businessman, but this latest flouting of the rules had angered him. He had loaned five thousand pounds to Phillip Wreck, one of the most notorious villains in Paddington, and in Joe’s mind Michael had more chance of getting the Pope’s inside leg measurement than he had of getting that money back.
Michael stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it into the ashtray with such force Joe thought it would surely break. Snapping his head up he looked at Joe, his mouth clamped closed. In the quiet room Joe could hear his laboured breathing.
‘I’m warning you, Joe . . . I’m warning you now . . . don’t fight me on this. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’ll get that money back. I’ll get it and the interest on it, you just wait and see.’
There were tears in Michael’s eyes. He’s just like a child, Joe thought, it’s as if I’ve taken his toys away from him. The difference being that when Michael was like this he was liable to explode into a raging temper at any moment.
Joe felt the familiar fingers of fear touching him. It was Michael’s very unpredictability that drew Joe to him. Twice Michael had lashed out at him and hurt him, only to be contrite and loving in the next breath. Although Joe had never tried to analyse their relationship, inside himself he knew that it was the boy’s vicious streak that attracted him.
‘All right, Michael, I’ll let it go this time. But in future, you come to me.’
Michael’s face broke into one of his winning smiles and Joe felt himself relax.
As Michael looked at the man sitting opposite, his fat ugly face grinning like a Cheshire cat’s, he felt an impulse to smash his fist into his teeth. Instead he carried on smiling. Joe didn’t know it but his days were numbered. Soon he would be out of the way and he, Michael, could get on with his life.
Joe got out of his chair and walked around the desk. Standing behind Michael he began rubbing his taut muscular shoulders. Feeling the solid flesh beneath his fingers he felt himself harden, completely unaware that Michael was planning his demise.
Roy was in the butcher’s shop in the Portobello Road. His father-in-law had given up trying to explain to him the different cuts of meat. Roy had been working for him since three weeks after his wedding, and he hated it. He felt like a kept man. He couldn’t do the job, he knew it and his father-in-law knew it, but it was all part of the grand master plan: How To Keep Your Daughter At Home. They lived with Mr and Mrs Grierson. They ate with Mr and Mrs Grierson. And they watched from the sidelines as Mr and Mrs Grierson between them brought up the baby, Carla. It had been a few months before Roy realised he had married what his mother would have called ‘a lazy bitch’. Janine was quite content to let her mother take over the baby, the cooking, everything. That left her free to play at being married which consisted of getting herself done up to the nines and visiting her friends all day, now and again taking the baby, all nice and clean, out in her pram. Playing at being mother of the year.
Roy winced as he thought of her. What had happened to the girl he had fallen in love with? The spirited young woman who had been as eager for life as he was? Admittedly they were only nineteen, but surely, he reasoned, there must be more to married life than this? If he mentioned moving out of her parents’ house, she dissolved into tears. Last night had been the last straw. He had told her there was a flat going in Westbourne Park and she had had hysterics.
‘How am I gonna cope with a baby on me own?’
That’s when he had lost his temper. ‘Well, we won’t find that out until you try, will we? God Almighty, Janine, you’ve never once looked after the bloody kid for a whole day since it was born!’
After that her mother, Eliza, had come into the bedroom and led Janine out, taking her into her own bedroom. Then this morning she had told him that Janine was ‘delicate’ and needed her mother to look after her. He was frankly bewildered by it all. He wanted them to have their own little place, where Janine looked after the baby all day and cooked his meal in the evening. What he had was a pampered, spoilt brat whose only interest in life was lipstick and what was on at the pictures. She never looked at the child unless she had to. Even his mother had noticed it. She had asked him a few Saturdays ago if everything was all right between them. He had felt like telling her everything but just couldn’t. He wouldn’t even know where to begin.
‘Hello, Bruv.’ Roy was brought out of his reverie by Michael’s voice.
‘Hello, Mickey!’ He hadn’t been so pleased to see someone in all his life.
‘Fancy skiving off for a few hours? I’ve got a bit of business I want to talk to you about.’
Roy wiped his bloody hands on his apron. ‘I’ll be with you in a tick.’ He walked through to the back of the shop and called out to his father-in-law. James Grierson came down the stairs that led to the flat above the shop.
‘What’s all this row about?’ His voice was loud and agitated. ‘Can’t you even look after the bloody shop? Want me to hold your hand now, I suppose.’ Roy was conscious that Michael could hear every word and groaned inside.
‘I’ve got to shoot off for a couple of hours.’
‘You what!’ Grierson’s voice was incredulous. ‘This is a bloody business here, not a bloody knocking shop where you pick your own hours . . .’
His voice faltered as he saw Michael slip through the doorway. Grierson paled.
‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ Michael’s voice was icy. He pointed at Grierson. ‘I’m talking to you. You had enough bunny just now . . . so answer me. Who d’you think you’re talking to?’
As Michael stepped towards him, Grierson stepped backwards, his hands coming up to defend himself if the visitor lashed out.
Michael snapped at Roy: ‘Get your coat.’ Then walking to where Grierso
n was cowering against the wall, he grabbed him around the throat. ‘Now, I don’t know what’s going down here, but I know this much - if you ever talk to my brother like that again, I’ll rip your nuts off and ram them down your throat. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
Grierson was nodding his head furiously when Roy came back with his coat. Pulling Mickey away gently, he led him through the front of the shop and out into the street. He was ashamed that Michael had heard his father-in-law speak to him like that. He was ashamed that he himself let him.
‘Come on, Roy, we’re going to the KPH. I think we’d better have a talk.’
They walked in silence. The bright October day belied the cold wind. Roy noticed that everywhere they walked people acknowledged Michael. It was as if he was their sovereign and they his subjects. Depending on how influential people were, Mickey either nodded at them or gave them a hearty greeting. Roy was impressed. Michael’s name was becoming synonymous with those of the Krays and the Richardsons, two of the most influential young gangs of that time. Roy knew that Michael kept up a friendship with them. An uneasy alliance. It seemed that once people met him they decided they were better off having him as a friend than an enemy.
They walked into the red warmth of the Kensington Park Hotel. Michael ordered them both hot whiskies and they settled down in the lounge bar.
Michael took his cigarettes from his overcoat pocket, and then slipped the coat from his shoulders. Folding it up carefully, he laid it across a chair. All his movements were performed with a natural grace. Roy shrugged off his own coat while still sitting, letting it fall over the back of his chair. Adjusting his trouser crease fastidiously Michael sat down again, settling himself into the over-upholstered chair. Then, pulling a large white ashtray towards him so it would be within easy reach, he lit a cigarette. Throwing the packet across the table at Roy, he finally spoke.
‘How long has he been talking to you like that?’ His voice was quiet.
Roy hung his head. ‘I know it sounds bad, Mickey, but he is my father-in-law . . .’
‘I couldn’t give a fuck if he was the Immaculate Conception! There’s something wrong, ain’t there? The Roy I knew would never take that from anyone, not in a million years.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Come on, Bruv. What’s the SP?’
The barman brought over their hot toddies and Roy was glad of the few seconds’ reprieve. He could feel Michael’s eyes boring into him. When they were settled again, Roy spoke.
‘I don’t know, Mickey. Since Carla was born it’s as if I don’t exist any more. Janine and her mum and dad act like she never got married. I feel like a lodger in the house. I eat their food, I sleep in their bed, I shag their daughter now and again.’ All the bitterness of the last two years seemed to boil over and come tumbling out. ‘And I mean, now and again. Every three weeks when they go and visit her bloody granny in Bethnal Green. She says she can’t do it while Mummy’s in the house. Then old man Grierson treats me like the village idiot. I’m not a butcher, Mickey. I hate looking at the meat, I hate touching it . . .’ His voice trailed off.
‘So what are you gonna do?’
Roy shrugged and took a gulp of his drink. ‘I dunno.’
‘You don’t know? So that’s it then, is it?’ Michael was getting annoyed. ‘Why don’t you give her a right-hander? Show her who’s boss. Tell her old man to go and stuff his bloody butcher’s shop up his Jacksey. I knew she spelt trouble . . . I bloody knew it!’
‘All right . . . All right, Mickey. Keep your hair on.’
‘Why don’t you come and work for me? That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He saw a gleam of hope appear in Roy’s eyes.
‘I’d jump at the chance, you know that.’
Michael laughed. Roy was like a bloody kid at times. He looked at his brother’s open face, and made a mental note to tell his mother what was going down with him. He knew that she was worried.
‘That’s settled then.’ He looked at his watch. ‘From two-twenty-five today you are a working member of the Ryan dynasty.’ They both laughed. Anthony and Geoffrey worked for Michael already. Now he had Roy.
‘What’s the pay, Mickey?’ Roy sounded uncertain.
‘Bloody good, that’s what.’
‘I wouldn’t ask, but what with the baby and everything ...’
‘No worries, I’ll start you on thirty quid a week. That’s a bit more than the others, so keep stumm about it.’ Michael tapped his nose with his forefinger.
Roy was amazed. He was going to go and get Janine and the baby and if necessary drag her to the flat in Westbourne Park. This was gonna be a new start. Mickey was right. Maybe she needed a right-hander. And if his father-in-law stuck his oar in, he would get one and all!
He drank his whisky down and felt the warm glow through his body. It was partly the alcohol and partly the knowledge that he was finally going to do something about his life. The worry he had been feeling about Janine was replaced by elation. He would take a leaf out of Mickey’s book. Hit first, ask questions later.
Michael watched his brother’s face and guessed immediately what was going through his mind. He motioned to the barman to refill their glasses, a feeling of satisfaction running through him. He had a soft spot for Roy, the same as he did for Benny. They were both too nice for their own good. He was going to toughen Roy up. Make him into someone. Then, when Joe the Fish was out of the way, the businesses would be run exclusively by Ryans. He raised up his steaming glass to his brother.
‘To the Ryans!’
‘The Ryans!’
Geoffrey and Anthony were sitting at the end of Penzance Gardens, where it met Princedale Road. It was nearly two-fifteen in the morning. They sat in a black Humber Snipe. Both were freezing and both were nervous, especially Geoffrey. At twenty-one he was two years older than Anthony. They were identical to look at. Both had the Ryan dark hair and firm chin. Anthony had more of Michael’s ruggedness whereas Geoffrey had softer features, almost effeminate.
Anthony spoke. His voice in the darkness caused Geoffrey to jump. ‘How much longer have we got to wait?’
‘How the hell do I know? What do you think I am? The Oracle or something?’
‘Very funny. You get on my wick, do you know that?’ Anthony’s usual animosity was coming to the fore. Anthony Ryan was known in his family as able to pick a fight with his own fingernails. The only person he was even remotely respectful to was Mickey. ‘You think because you’ve read a few crappy books you know it all.’
Geoffrey rolled his eyes up towards the roof of the car. ‘Do me a favour, Ant . . . Save all your hag for what we’ve got to do tonight. I ain’t in the mood.’
They were silent again. Anthony was frustrated because he wasn’t as quick-brained as Geoffrey so always came off worse in an argument. It didn’t deter him though. He tried a different tack.
‘I saw that sort you’ve been knocking about with last night. I’d give her one meself.’ Knowing that it would annoy Geoffrey, Anthony braced himself for the ensuing argument. Instead, Geoffrey put his hand over his brother’s mouth. They listened. Footsteps were approaching the car. They sat tense and nervous. Anthony’s hard features looked as if they had been carved from stone. His fists were clenched tight on the steering wheel.
The man who was walking towards them stepped into the light of a streetlamp. It was Joe the Fish. He was walking unsteadily along the road, obviously the worse for drink. Geoffrey nodded and Anthony started the car. He did not put on the headlights. Reversing back a little, they waited until Joe began crossing the intersection between Penzance Gardens and Princedale Road. Pushing his foot down on the accelerator, Anthony thrust the car forward.
Hearing a loud noise through his drunken haze, Joe turned in time to see the car coming at him. He raised his arm as if to protect himself as the car hit him full on. His body flew into the air and landed on the bonnet. His head crashed against the windscreen. Anthony slammed his foot on the brake. As the car screeched to a halt, Joe’s body
slid from the bonnet on to the road. Anthony ran the car over him one more time before speeding off. The whole operation had taken less than three minutes. A woman who had been up getting herself a glass of water heard the commotion and ran out into the street. She took one look at Joe’s face and began to scream. Lights began to go on all over Princedale Road.
Anthony and Geoffrey drove the car from Holland Park to Moscow Road in Bayswater. The streets were deserted. Parking the car they left it there and walked around to Porchester Terrace, throwing the keys to the Humber Snipe down a drainhole. In Porchester Terrace they picked up a blue Mark 1 Zephyr and drove sedately home to Lancaster Road. It was just three o’clock.
Inside a private house in Beauchamp Place, Knightsbridge, Michael picked up his cards and studied them carefully. He was on a winning streak tonight. He had three aces and two kings. Joe had left an hour earlier. He had been given a lift to the Bayswater Road by a mutual friend, Derek O’Connor. If everything had gone according to plan then Joe was well and truly out of the picture, and he, Michael, had the perfect alibi. He smiled smugly to himself as he raised the bet by fifty pounds. If Geoffrey and Anthony had bungled the job tonight, he would personally batter their brains out.
Sarah heard a loud banging on her front door. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was five o’clock in the morning. Sleepily she dragged herself out of bed. Benjamin was snoring his head off as usual, so it wasn’t the police after him - that would make a change. She yawned, went down the stairs and opened the front door. Two men stood there and she recognised at once that they were CID.
‘Is Michael at home, love?’
Blinking her eyes rapidly to try and clear her head, Sarah said, ‘Come inside and I’ll go and look.’
The two men walked into the hallway.
She went upstairs and looked into Michael’s room. The bed hadn’t been slept in. As she walked back on to the landing, Geoffrey came out of his room.
‘Who’s that downstairs, Mum?’