by Martina Cole
Downstairs, Sharon looked around her beautiful home – the house she had furnished and decorated with such love and care. It was as if the place was mocking her, making her see that material objects meant fuck-all in the grand scheme. Oh, hindsight was a fucking wonderful thing. She’d had only two men in her life: one had been murdered and the other . . . Well, that remained to be seen. As her old mum used to say, where women were concerned, they never got mad if they were clever – they went one better and they got even.
When the call finally came she felt such relief that she could have wept. After all these years, she was finally in control of her own life. She only hoped it wasn’t too late. One thing she did know for sure was that she was going to see this through to the bitter end. It was all she could do for herself and her children. She wanted payback for what had been done to her and hers.
She felt a calmness wash over her. This was what she had been waiting for. She would do what needed to be done – no matter the consequences.
Book One
Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells,
Lonely and lost to light for evermore,
Save when to thine my heart responsive swells,
Then trembles into silence as before.
‘The Corsair’, Lord Byron (1788–1824)
Chapter One
1984
‘You stupid little mare! I knew it!’
Sharon Conway rolled her eyes with the irritation typical of her youth, which did not calm her mother’s fury in the least. In fact, it was like a red rag to a bull.
‘Roll your eyes at me, would you? You idiot – tied to that fucking thug for the rest of your days. Honestly, Sharon, I wonder if you have even one iota of fucking intelligence in that made-up, backcombed head of yours. If you had actual brains you would be up that clinic getting the thing out of you faster than Billy Whizz. But not you! Oh no, Clever Bollocks, you think you can change him, you think he will become Mr Perfect. Well, I will let you in on a little secret: he won’t fucking change. You will, you daft fucking mare! You will be tied down for the rest of your life with that ponce, and you will never get shot of him once you produce his offspring.’
Sharon had already tuned her mother out. She knew exactly what she was going to hear, and experience told her that the best way to deal with her mum was just to pretend to listen and let the silly old cow get it all out of her system. It was pointless to argue; her mum was the queen of arguing – everyone in the street knew that. If it was an Olympic sport, Ivy Conway would be world fucking champion by now.
Sharon’s father, Derek Conway, known as Del, continued to read his paper as if the house was as quiet as a monastery. He had learned to ignore his Ivy early in their marriage. It had either been that or throttle the fucker to death and, in fairness, when she wasn’t arguing, she was a great girl. But light the blue touchpaper and she was like a banshee – she could howl all fucking night.
He drank his tea. He had seen this coming and so had Ivy, though she had done everything in her power to prevent it. But their Sharon had been mad on Lenny Scott since they had started going out together when she was thirteen and he was fifteen. Now, four years later, he was the father of her child and they were going to get married. At least Lenny wanted to marry her – that in itself was a turn-up in this day and age.
Derek winked surreptitiously at his daughter in support but, unfortunately, her mother caught him in the act.
‘Oh, I see! You think this is fucking funny, do the pair of you? Well, you will be laughing on the other side of your face, lady, once reality sets in. You mark my words . . .’
Sharon made a suitably contrite face and tuned her mother out once more. At the end of the day, she knew that Ivy was not going to let up, and she accepted it. What her mother didn’t allow for was the fact that she was adamant she was going to marry Lenny Scott – no matter what she, or anyone else, might have to say about it. Sharon Conway was determined. Her mum wasn’t the only stubborn fuck in this family, as she would soon find out.
Sharon held her hand up with a finality that actually stopped Ivy Conway in her tracks. ‘He will be here soon with his mum and dad, who are not pleased about the situation either, but unlike you, Mum, they see me and my Lenny as making the best of it. You would have more to say if he didn’t want to marry me. But he does. We both want this wedding and, yes, it’s a bit sooner than we planned, but there you are. It’s happened. So get over it.’
Derek Conway was gobsmacked when his Ivy actually did shut that big galloping trap of hers. He had never believed that he would see the day.
Chapter Two
‘Oh, son, are you sure about this? You don’t have to marry them these days, you know. It’s a different world.’
Lenny Scott was embarrassed and it showed. ‘Honestly, Mr Johnson, I wanted to marry her anyway. It’s just a bit sooner than we anticipated, that’s all. We’ve been together four years now. She’s a good girl, my Sharon, and I love her.’
He was blushing to the roots of his hair, and Jack Johnson couldn’t help but smile. He liked Lenny Scott a lot; he was a good kid with plenty of nous, and he knew how to do a day’s collar. He was a heavy, but Jack felt he had a bit more going for him, young as he was. He could add up like a fucking calculator – he knew exactly how much a person owed on a loan, could work out the take in seconds if necessary. And he never tried to have anyone over. Jack Johnson had seen too many in Lenny’s position rip off the customers, swearing they hadn’t paid, when Jack knew they had, and expecting the poor fuckers to pay again. Jack might be a loan shark, but he prided himself on being a reasonably honest one. And this was a very lucrative business – some of the council estates were into him for hundreds of thousands of pounds.
Jack had plans for this lad. And now, with a baby in the mix, he wondered if it might make Lenny more amenable to learning the seamier side of the business. Always look for an angle – that was Jack Johnson’s mantra.
‘Well, son, I wish you all the best, then. As long as you are sure you’re doing the right thing, that’s all that matters, mate.’
Lenny grinned. ‘I’m sure. But the thing is, Mr Johnson, I need a few quid extra, like. I’ve got to get a place, with a baby on the way. You know the score.’
Jack Johnson was happy to help. ‘You’re preaching to the converted, son. I will be happy to sort something out for you.’
Lenny Scott was thrilled. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mr Johnson. I will knock me pound out for you, I swear.’
Jack already knew that, and he smiled. ‘Once the kid arrives you will be knocking your pound out on a regular basis, mark my words. I wish you all the best and, I tell you what, I’ll give you a grand now to get the wedding underway. You’re a good kid, Lenny, and I think you will go far.’
Lenny watched in utter amazement as Jack opened his small safe and took out a thousand pounds in cash. As Jack handed it over, Lenny felt the urge to cry. The man was such a big-hearted character. Lenny swore his undying allegiance to him there and then – as Jack Johnson knew he would. It was about keeping your eye on the main chance, but also, as Jack admitted to himself, he genuinely liked this kid. Lenny Scott had a bright future, there was no doubt about that in his mind. And Jack Johnson had always prided himself on finding talent and putting said talent to work. It was why he was a rich man.
He had big plans for young Lenny Scott; the lad was that rare mixture of brawn and brains and, in Jack’s game, that was a fucking gift. Lenny had his head screwed on – he knew the score, he had a nice nature – and he was grateful. The latter was an important attribute. Jack Johnson knew only too well how many nasty little fuckers were out there, with no integrity whatsoever and a God-given belief that life owed them a living. He blamed the welfare state – it had made people weak. The dole was supposed to tide you over till you got a fucking job. It was never meant to be your fucking main earn.
That was why Jack admired this lad so much – he didn’t sign on for a poxy few quid on top o
f his wages. Lenny was kosher. He understood, as young as he was, the need to keep as far away from the government as possible. He kept himself well under the radar and earned his coin with his own graft. He was a man after Jack’s heart.
Chapter Three
‘How much?’
Lenny could hear the incredulity in everyone’s voices and he laughed delightedly as he took the wad of money out of his pocket and threw it on to the kitchen table.
Ivy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head at the sight of it. His own parents were quiet; his father, Big Lenny Scott, was chuffed for his boy, but his mother, Lesley, a tall, thin woman with a face like a broken watch, remained tight-lipped. As his dad would say, she felt too close to God to make her comfortable with Lenny’s association with the likes of Jack Johnson.
Lesley liked Sharon, and felt she was good for her son. What she didn’t like was her son’s occupation. She believed he was bright enough to go to university, and she saw his intelligence as a wasted asset. She would work on Sharon to get him out of the life he had chosen and on to a path that was much more fitting. He had the makings of a businessman and Lesley intended to move heaven and earth to see that he reached his full potential. In fact, that was her main aim in life where this boy of hers was concerned. He needed something to work for – work towards – and she hoped at least that this girl and the child she was carrying would be just what Lenny needed to put him on track. Lesley Scott had great plans for her only son, and she would make sure Sharon understood the importance of them.
‘That was generous of him, son. Jack was always good for a few quid if you worked hard for him.’
Lenny beamed at his father; he was made up and it showed.
Lesley kept her peace as they were not in their own home, but her opinion was obvious from the look on her face.
Ivy Conway watched the other woman warily; she wasn’t sure about Lesley Scott. She had a reputation as being a hard woman to cross. She didn’t go out drinking often, and she didn’t play bingo either. She was also a God-botherer by all accounts, never off the church doorstep. Ivy was a good Catholic, but she didn’t feel the need to traipse a path to the local church on a daily basis.
Del Conway was smiling as he poured the men another glass of whisky. Lenny sipped at his, but his father knocked his own back quickly.
‘To the young couple.’ Del raised his tumbler and toasted his daughter and his soon-to-be son-in-law happily. The women smiled and raised their cups of tea.
Ivy was secretly annoyed because she would have enjoyed a drink herself but because Lesley Scott had declined the offer – as if she’d been offered a glass of poison from Lucrezia Borgia herself – she thought it best to do the same. Big Lenny didn’t seem to take any notice of his wife’s behaviour and Ivy secretly admired him for that. Big Lenny Scott liked a drink, that was common knowledge.
Sharon Conway was looking at her intended with such love in her eyes even Ivy was impressed and grudgingly admitted to herself that the boy appeared to genuinely care for her pregnant daughter. Still, she maintained her opinion that they were young and fucking stupid. But the die was cast, and all they could do now was make the best of a bad situation.
Chapter Four
‘I know you didn’t want a council flat, Lenny, but it’s in a nice block and my mum thinks we would be mad not to take it.’
Lenny sighed heavily. He could see the logic but he just didn’t want to start his married life in a place like this.
Sharon smiled coaxingly. ‘Private accommodation costs the national debt – this is much cheaper, Len, and we can save and eventually buy our own place. Plus it’s near me mum and, after the baby, I’m going to need her help. Especially if I’m going to get a job.’
Lenny shook his head. ‘No wife of mine is going to work!’
Sharon laughed, but there was a steely edge to her voice as she said, ‘Oh, get back in your TARDIS, the Dark Ages are missing you! ’Course I’m going to work. Not immediately, but after a few months. The sooner we get saving, the sooner we can buy our own home.’
Lenny knew she was right but he wasn’t happy about it at all. He walked into the ground-floor flat and looked around sheepishly. He had to admit, it was a lot nicer than he had expected. The council had been in and revamped the whole place as the previous tenant had been lying in his bed dying for a year. The place had been so filthy even the kitchen had had to be replaced. But it looked bright and welcoming in the morning light and Lenny Scott was pleasantly surprised.
‘It’s got a bit of a garden and all, Len – overgrown now but we can soon sort that out.’
Sharon opened the Crittall doors that led outside and saw Lenny frown as a posse of young lads screeched past on their bikes.
‘I won’t swallow a lot of that, I can tell you, Shaz. Fucking noisy little bleeders.’
Sharon laughed. She knew she’d won him round. It was done. She felt that all her Christmases and birthdays had come at once; she loved this little flat and she was thrilled to be near her old home, because deep down, happy as she was, she was also terrified. She was only seventeen and the thought of having her first child was a scary prospect. Not that she would tell this lump beside her that. He seemed more frightened than she did at times. But her mum said that was just men, and that was why women had the kids – a bloke couldn’t cope with any of it, especially not the pain. It was really the pain that was terrifying Sharon; the way her mum talked, it sounded like shitting a rugby ball.
She shuddered and Lenny hugged her to him tightly.
‘This will do us till we get on our feet, I suppose.’
He was resigned to the flat and that was enough for Sharon Conway for now.
Chapter Five
The pub was packed out, and the smell of beer and cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. Lenny’s stag night was going well, and he was now drinking a yard of ale. His friends were clapping and egging him on and he was loving the attention, enjoying this night out.
Lenny wasn’t a drinker really – he didn’t like the taste, if he was being honest, and didn’t understand how people could drink the shit night after night. But, for once, he was getting pleasantly pissed and actually the taste wasn’t that bad after a while. It was his wedding the next day and he was secretly worried he might fuck up somehow – not least by being in no fit state to attend. But the more he drank the more those fears receded. Lenny Scott usually thought everything through; he was careful in that respect. But the buzz that the alcohol was giving him felt good tonight. After all, it was his last night of freedom, as everyone kept reminding him.
Their little flat was furnished and ready for them to move into and, as of tomorrow, it would be their home. He was excited at the thought. ‘Playing at grown-ups’, according to Ivy Conway, which had annoyed him when she’d said it. He pushed the thought from his head and carried on drinking, the atmosphere making him feel relaxed and excited at the same time. After tomorrow he and Sharon could do what they liked, when they liked. It was a heady feeling. Being able to take her ripe body at any moment of the day or night, with no worry about anyone interrupting them – that was going to be the best bit of marriage. They were adults at last, soon to be parents. He hoped Sharon was carrying a boy. God, but he wanted a son.
He downed the last of his yard of ale to the sound of clapping and cheers from the boys. One of them – Keith Smith, a tall, bony-looking lad in possession of a large hooked nose and known for his jokes which were funny as well as nasty – shouted out clearly and loudly, ‘Strippers are here, lads.’
The men looked around, waiting expectantly for the females to come into plain sight. There was a lot more cheering and shouting from the young ones, while the older men were laughing nervously, knowing that when their wives found out there would be murders.
Suddenly, a huge older woman with a heavily made-up face came into view from a doorway behind the bar, as the music boomed out of the speakers. She was laughing delightedly as she wobbled out on to the bar ro
om floor wearing a red and black basque and high-heeled stilettos. Her stockings had rolls of fat hanging over the tops and she began gyrating alarmingly as she shouted out good-naturedly, ‘All right, boys, which one of you is the groom?’
Lenny Scott couldn’t believe his eyes; the woman was grotesque. In his drunkenness all he could hear was the laughter around him. He found himself being pushed towards her and, as she raised her arms up to put the feather boa around her neck, the sweet smell of sweat and deodorant made him feel sick. He looked around and saw everyone laughing, even his dad. But the loudest laughter was coming from Keith Smith, and Lenny sensed instinctively that this was down to him. Keith Smith had arranged this. It was just the kind of nasty stunt he would pull – he was always trying to make everyone around him look a cunt.
Pushing the woman away from him roughly, making her overbalance on her high heels, he lunged himself at Keith Smith. Never in his life had Lenny felt such a powerful anger, and never before in his life had he had so much to drink. He wasn’t aware of picking up a pint glass from the crowded bar. The only thing he remembered was smashing it with all his might into Keith Smith’s face.
The real strippers, a blonde and a brunette who had just walked in, watched in morbid fascination with the rest of the pub, before putting their coats back on and exiting to their waiting car quick-sharp.