He smiled at Kieran, who gave him a long stare before finally cheering up. ‘No need for that.’ He placed his arm around John’s shoulders. ‘I’ve got a tasty bottle of Macallan Reserve Vintage Scotch behind the counter. We never did celebrate our little earner together.’ He clicked his fingers and told the barman to fill them up.
They faced each other and clinked their glasses. ‘To friendship,’ John said.
‘To friendship.’
Neither man was fooled.
Dee was pleasantly surprised when she walked into The Lock, unbeknownst to her just ten minutes after her husband. She’d always figured it would be the kind of boys’ club where the only things on the menu were brawling, smoking and gambling. That’s why she’d never given it the time of day. But when she read in one of the glossies that it was one of the top ten places in London for the elite, she remembered John was a member and asked him about it. He seemed a bit cagey. ‘It’s a nobs’ club. You know, money from the City, that type of person. Total tossers.’
‘So why did you join up then?’
John became even cagier. ‘They’ve got a very good snooker room.’
She’d gazed at him pointedly. ‘It’s a long way to go for a game of pot black.’
‘It’s always a long way to go for anything decent.’
Then he changed the subject and he always changed the subject again when she suggested he take her up there. It was partly why she’d decided to book a table there for her meeting with Tiffany and Jen. Babs had asked her to sort out the dispute between her half-sisters and get them back in line and that’s what she was going to do. Although, if she were being honest, Dee also wanted to know if it was more than snooker that made her hubby renew his membership each year. And she liked a bit of class and The Lock sounded like class. When she rang to book a table, she got the brush-off.
‘I’m sorry madam but I can’t take a booking unless you’re a member.’
‘My husband’s the member.’
The receptionist cheered up. ‘Oh in that case, you can always ask your husband to book a table for you.’
‘I don’t ask my old man to do nish for me darlin, I’m not that kind of wife.’
The receptionist remained cool. ‘I’m afraid we can still only take a booking from the member.’
Dee decided to see if John’s name made a difference. It often did with people and it did this time too. ‘Oh, you’re Mister Black’s wife? In that case I think we can accommodate you. I know the owner likes to keep Mr Black happy.’
Dee was curious. ‘Does he? And who is the owner if I may ask?’
‘You can ask Mrs Black but I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to disclose that kind of information.’
Dee made a mental note to find out when she was up there. Back in the day she’d known who all the Faces were, but now John was out of the game she’d stopped sticking her snout into the life. In this instance it was plain, old-fashioned curiosity that had her wanting to find out. Better not be some Doris, or John was going to find himself well and truly in the crapper.
The place was class through and through; not your usual East End hangout at all. Dee fit right in with her Chanel LBD that showcased her glossy brown skin and snakeskin Laurent heels. The camel-coloured Chloé Paddington handbag and white-framed Jackie O shades topped off her look to perfection – well that’s what she told herself.
The staff were only too eager to get into John Black’s wife’s good graces and she was escorted into a restaurant that was as flash as the main area. On the walls were large, framed black-and-white photos of old movie stars. Dee recognised Bette Davis. Oh, she did love to watch Bette on screen playing the ultimate bitch who wasn’t ashamed of her claws.
She was escorted to her table by the maître d’ himself. There was no sign of Tiffany so Dee ordered the most expensive bottle of white vino on the menu and told the waiter to charge it to Mr Black’s account. While he was pouring, she enquired, ‘Is the owner in tonight?’
‘I’m not sure madam.’
‘Who is the owner as a matter of interest?’
Like all waiters, he was a good liar and answered, face expressionless, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know madam.’
Dee tasted the wine. Mmm, nice and fruity. ‘Very good thank you.’ She was even more curious to find out who owned The Lock and why he was so keen to keep her John happy. She drank her glass of white and looked at her watch. She’d told Tiffany to meet her at 7.30 sharp but the bint was already ten minutes late. How that girl ever managed to keep herself in the expensive lifestyle that she enjoyed flaunting was a mystery to Dee. She put the glass down and looked around at her fellow diners. John was right. The place was full of rich tossers. Her gaze drifted over to a connecting door into the neighbouring bar. She looked away and then back again with a start when she saw two men standing behind the stained glass. She slammed her drink down and crossed the floor to investigate.
It was John and Kieran.
They shook hands and gave each other a hug. Fizzing with fury at the sight of her husband meeting Kieran despite warning him not to do so, she stepped forward to enter but the waiter reappeared. ‘Your guest has arrived madam.’
Dee peered with squinty eyes through the window but decided there would be time to sort him out later. As she went back to her table she asked the waiter more forcefully, ‘Is the owner of this joint Kieran Scott?’
The hesitation was all Dee needed to know.
Her little bastard of an old man. No wonder he wouldn’t bring her up here. And why was he willing to defy her when it came to meeting that little rat Kieran? She wasn’t in the best of moods when she sat back down.
Tiffany was already at the table. Her sister hadn’t made much of an effort, decked out in a white T-shirt with the strapline, ‘I like my ladeez hot, horny n willing’ across it, although Dee suspected it was designer. And that bloody nose ring of hers always got on Dee’s nerves, big time. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to yank it out.
‘Alright babe? What did you bring us down nob city for? We should have met down the local. This place is a wanker’s club.’
Dee drew breath. She knew this meeting was important so she wanted to keep it civil. ‘Meeting down the boozer is what your grandparents do, not people like us. Anyway,’ she eyed the Hermès bumbag Tiff had plonked on the table, ‘I thought you liked nice things.’
‘I do. I just don’t like these snobs. And why have we have got a third place set for here? No one else is coming are they? I want to talk in private. Here, pour us a drink will ya?’
Dee studied the menu and kept her mouth zipped. Keeping her blood pressure down with Tiffany wasn’t easy.
Her half-sister poured herself a large one and went on, ‘Look babe, I ain’t got time for dinner anyway, I gotta bounce, so let me cut to the chase. I need to borrow some wonga, quite a lot actually, and I need it in a hurry. I know you and John are good for it and I’ll pay you back when we get the houses sold, which is something else I wanna chat to you about. The thing is—’
Tiff sprayed wine over the table in shock.
Dee looked up with satisfaction to see that her third guest had arrived. Jen. But she did a double take; it was a Jen she hardly recognised. Her sister now sported a super short hairstyle that was dyed sherry red, an A-line dress and a black-and-white duster jacket. Her slap was perfect, bringing out a healthy glow in her sister’s skin she hadn’t seen before. Jen walked with an elegance that put Dee in mind of those Miss World contestants on the telly. In her mind she heard Jen softly coo out, ‘I’m Miss Devil’s Estate. I want to save the world and help children.’ Yeah right! She was happy that Jen looked a knockout, but that look didn’t come cheap. Where had she got her hands on cash to tart herself up?
Dee’s half-sisters greeted each other with glares. While Jen hung her jacket over the back of her chair, Tiff mouthed, ‘What’s she doing here?’
Dee raised her a warning finger to tell her to keep it well and truly shut. She raised
it again when Tiffany leaned over and whispered, ‘Are you sorting me out with a loan here or what?’
Dee stared at the other two in turn and then told them, ‘Alright ladies, choose something to eat and then we need to get down to business. And Jen, don’t choose the cheapest thing you can find. I’m paying, OK?’
While Jen looked both resentful and relieved, Tiff threw her menu on the table. ‘I’m not hungry, and anyway, I’ve got an appointment somewhere else.’
Dee chose the prawns before warning her, ‘Your backsides are gonna remain glued to those seats until we get things straightened out.’
‘Get what straightened out?’ Tiff countered brazenly.
Jen chose the house burger and trimmings, then Dee laid down the line. ‘I’ll tell you what needs straightening. It’s you two and this business with our mum’s properties. I can’t believe what’s happening. She calls us together and does us a massive favour out of the goodness of her heart and you pair of ungrateful gits can’t even say thanks. Now, I hear you’ve at each others’ throats like a couple of washer women over the share-out, while Babs is going spare in the slammer. Do you know what you two look like? Well, I’m putting the brakes on it now.’
Tiff looked all mock wide-eyed innocent. ‘There ain’t been no bust-up, has there sis?’ She turned to Jen for support but didn’t get any. Annoyed, she went on, ‘I’m entitled to my opinion. I think we should sell up pronto and cash in on our winnings.’
Dee drummed her fingers on the table, tempted to knock their heads together. ‘It’s not our money; it’s our mum’s, which she’s generously giving us.’
‘And it’s because I know it’s her money that I want things sorted quickly. It would be dissing Mum to drag this out. She wants to see us spend the loot so let’s do it as soon as.’
Jen finally snapped. ‘Spend the loot? You don’t seem to have any trouble spending loot as it is. I don’t know what the hurry is.’
Tiff was clearly on the edge. ‘I dunno what your problem is. You should want the dosh faster than me, save you walking round the gaff looking like a fucking homeless most of the time.’
Jen gave her a nasty smile. ‘At least I’ve got my self respect.’ Then she added pointedly, ‘Perhaps you haven’t? After all, it’s a bit of a mystery how you can afford to spend like a drunk sailor.’
‘Don’t worry about my money treacle, you worry about yours.’
Dee banged a spoon on the table to get Tiff and Jen’s attention before things got out of hand. Realising the noise had attracted the attention of the other diners, she lowered her voice. ‘You see the problem here? I call us together for a constructive discussion and it’s already turning into a Millwall match. What’s the matter Tiffany? Why do you need Mum’s money in a hurry?’
Tiff shrugged and sank the rest of the wine in her glass before topping herself up. ‘I don’t.’
‘Look, we’re adults and we’re sisters, we shouldn’t have any secrets. If you don’t need the money, why are you asking me for a loan?’
Tiffany sank the glass in one and turned her blazing eyes on Dee. ‘Oh that’s right, wash my dirty panties in public.’
Jen sat back in triumph. ‘I might have guessed. She’s living on tick; no wonder she wants to fleece the rest of us. It’s to pay her bills.’
Tiffany decided she’d done with her glass and reached for the bottle but it was empty. She shouted at a waiter. ‘Oi you – the one dressed like a penguin – another couple of these please. And no, I don’t want to taste it first.’
A ripple of disquiet went through the other diners but the sisters were too engrossed in their squabble to take a blind bit of notice.
Jen was jeering now. ‘Same ol’ little sis. No different now than when she was a kid. Won’t do any work, so she lifts money off others. What a ponce.’
‘Won’t work? I was a mechanic 24/7 when all your money was supplied by that Keystone car thief Nuts. Where is he these days . . .? Oh yeah, he upped and fucked off.’ She wriggled her head provocatively. ‘And left little Miss Iceberg.’
Seeing Jen was on the point of exploding Dee slammed her palm in the air to halt the mud slinging. ‘Tiff, enough of the bitch fest.’ She turned her gaze to Jen. ‘There’s obviously something giving you the nark so please enlighten me.’
Jen thumped her glass down. ‘I’ll tell you what the bovver is. Do you know what it’s like raising two kids on your own on a place like The Devil? It’s like wading through quick-setting diarrhoea up to your knees. All day. Every day. You’re alright for money. Tiffany would be alright if she wasn’t a greed hound. But I’m not alright. I don’t see why we should split the money three ways. Mum should have taken my situation into account and put something extra aside for my girls. It’s not about me, it’s about them. You wanna know what my problem is? It’s other kids calling my girls tramps in the playground. And Mum and you two could solve it in the blink of an eye but it never even crossed your minds.’
‘I see.’ Dee didn’t mean to sound like a headmistress with a couple of naughty school kids but she knew she did. ‘Well, all of our cards are on the table now. Got to say I’m very disappointed at your attitude . . .’
All the bitterness and resentment that Jen had stoppered up for years burst out like a cork in a bottle. ‘It’s alright for you, shacked up with your gangster of a husband. You’re not even part of our family really anyway, are you?’
Tiffany nodded in a rare moment of agreement. ‘That’s true actually. You’re not.’
At the other tables, diners looked in horror as Dee rose to her feet and then slapped Tiffany very hard across the face. Stunned for a moment, Tiff rolled back before she stood up in turn. ‘Oh, you’ve done it now. You want some, do ya? If you want some, you’ve got it.’
She took a swing at Dee who raised one arm to protect herself and punched Tiff in the face with the other. Tiffany fell back in front of a shocked couple who ran for cover when they saw Dee moving in for the kill. Bottles, plates and glasses were scattered on the floor. But so focused was Dee on Tiffany that she didn’t notice that Jen wanted in as well. She only felt a wallop across the back of her head.
That was it! World War Three had been declared and Dee knew who the victor would be.
She staggered over to another table and asked the dumbstruck guy sitting there, ‘Excuse me mate, do you mind if I borrow this?’ Without waiting for his consent, she took the decanter of brandy from him and emptied the contents on the floor. She took it by the neck and turned menacingly back to her sisters. ‘You want to sort this out East End style do ya? Alright, let’s see what you two fake Mike Tysons have got.’
With relish she advanced on them.
As John and Kieran laughed together at the bar there was a noise in the restaurant that sounded like feeding time at the zoo. Kieran jumped off his stool and John followed. When they threw open the connecting doors they ran into chaos. Tables and chairs were overturned, terrified diners were fleeing for cover and waiters were unsure whether to break the fight up or join in. John was horrified when he saw who the three women slogging it out were. ‘What the fuck are they doing here?’
He pitched in and grabbed Dee round the waist, pulling her backwards out of the ruck. But as he did so, his grip seemed to loosen and he tumbled backwards before letting her go and steadying himself on a table. He shook his head as his legs folded under him and he sank to the floor as if he’d been punctured. For a moment it looked like he’d taken a hit. It was a few seconds before it became clear he’d collapsed.
Dee got down on her knees, crying, ‘John! John!’
He looked up at her and said. ‘Stop mithering, I’m alright.’
His eyelids flickered and he frowned. His head rolled to one side.
Dee looked at Kieran in terror and screamed, ‘Don’t just stand there, call an ambulance!’
Thirty-Eight
‘What happened?’ A scared out of her wits and angry Dee slammed the question at Kieran in the hospital corridor ne
ar John’s room.
She didn’t notice how she was trembling because her mind was back in The Lock watching her beloved husband falling. And falling. It was as if it was all happening in slo-mo. Then crash; he was on the floor. Thank God one of the other diners had been a doctor. She didn’t remember who called the ambulance but it was there in a flash, taking her and John down to The Royal London Hospital in Whitechapel. She’d grimly held his limp, cold hand, tears streaming down her face as he lay still. Once they reached The London everything had speeded up in a blur with the staff rushing him into emergency. She’d kicked up a real storm when they refused to let her in. Someone restrained her – she didn’t know who and didn’t care – until she slumped forward in exhaustion and heartache.
‘He’ll be alright,’ Tiff piped up as she sat in a seat, her hands curling and uncurling in her lap.
‘Back home in no time,’ Jen added, two seats down from Tiff.
Dee cut her eyes at them and then turned accusingly back to Kieran. ‘What was my old man doing at the club with you?’
He let out a tired breath and shrugged. ‘He gave me a tinkle to say he wanted a word—’
‘Oh yeah.’ She advanced, her face turning nasty. ‘And what would my husband wanna be speaking to you for?’
Kieran stood his ground. ‘That’s between me and John.’
She got in his face and jabbed her finger at him. ‘No, that’s where you’re wrong matey. It’s between me and you.’
‘Leave him alone,’ Jen chucked out as she got to her feet. She marched over and possessively linked her arm in Kieran’s. ‘I know you’re upset, but Kieran’s not to blame.’
Dee wasn’t listening. She took in their joined arms and sneered. ‘Well, well, if it ain’t Posh and Becks.’ She looked them up and down with disdain. ‘Don’t think Hello will be after this photo. When did this little hook-up take place?’
Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series) Page 23