He beamed at her when she thanked him. But he still had flat, empty eyes. Fear continued to shudder its silent way through every fibre of her being. Tom, her much-loved son-in-law, had killed, and he’d been hollow-eyed for months, but this was different. Some inner instinct told Paddy that Violet’s Ronnie had always been … well … odd and possibly dangerous. Yet there was something endearing about him. He was gentlemanlike in the presence of older women, so there was a level of respect rooted deeply beneath all the negative stuff.
Ah yes, the present. She rooted round in her bag for Violet’s gift. It was a framed print of Liverpool’s waterfront. Violet’s smile was a hundred per cent genuine. ‘I bet it looked nothing like this after the Germans had rearranged it. But it’s lovely now, eh?’
Paddy tried to tell her that the Liver Building and most of its stalwart companions had survived with very little damage, but her throat seemed paralysed when it came to delivering a speech of any length. In return, she was given a photograph of Violet’s boys. All beautifully dressed, Charlie in the middle, Ronnie with what looked like a huge boa constrictor draped across his shoulders. The snake looked settled; its eyes were reminiscent of those of its owner.
He was saying something about liking snakes, about a person knowing where he was with a python. ‘If he doesn’t like you, you’re dead,’ he said. ‘If he doesn’t like you, you’re dead. ‘If he doesn’t like you—’
‘Paddy!’
She woke with a start. ‘What?’
‘You’re dreaming and shouting.’
‘Am I? It’s a wonder I can sleep at all in this boneshaker.’ She was still tired, but she wasn’t afraid any more. And Mrs Kray’s blue-and-white front-room wallpaper was beautiful.
At last, the journey ended. Paddy’s Irishman, who had expected just one woman, was typically unfazed by the increased head count. Like most Irish folk, he liked plenty of company, and he took them for a good breakfast in a café not far away. After booking them into a small hotel, he left and promised to return that afternoon. ‘Then I’ll take you to see Mrs Kray,’ he told Paddy.
‘And we’ll follow you,’ Tom said. ‘Maureen can go in the house with her.’
Atypically, Paddy said nothing. She knew exactly what was going to happen, because God had sent her the dream. How did she know? She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew.
‘Mam?’
Paddy looked at her daughter in the crumpled pink suit. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, her voice unusually quiet. ‘I felt so ill and tired last night, but look at me now. Sometimes, I forget to remember how much I need all of you. The best moment in my whole life was when I saw our lovely Tom walking towards me. Now, we should all rest and get changed later.’ She paused. ‘This is a big day for all of us, especially for Finbar and Michael.’
Seamus stood at the window of the room he was sharing with Mam and Dad. So this was London? It was just like Liverpool: buses, houses, shops and people. ‘Where’s the soldiers in daft hats?’ he asked. ‘And the soldiers stood in boxes? They can’t talk to you, and if you pull faces they’re not allowed to laugh.’
Paddy opened the door. She was on her way to the next room, where Kevin was already asleep. ‘Seamus, this is a big, bad city with a lot of good people and beautiful places in it. I tell you this now for your own good. It killed two of your great-uncles and two of your uncles. It’s put your brothers in a difficult situation. Let the soldiers in daft hats stay where they are, horses and all. The royals are a long, long way from here.’ She left the room.
Kevin opened one eye. ‘You all right, queen?’
‘I am,’ she replied. Queen? Hadn’t she just told Seamus that royalty was miles away? Oh well, never mind – at least she was smiling. Her chest and mind were both clearer, and she felt better than she had in weeks. Taken all round, it was going to be a great day.
‘Why wouldn’t she let me go in with her?’ Maureen, reasonably well kitted out in her navy suit, felt like a bridesmaid who hadn’t been allowed to accompany the bride up the aisle. Not that the house looked up to much. It was yellow, for a start. Why the heck would anybody build rows of terraces that looked as if they had liver disease?
Tom worked hard at remaining patient; after many hours in a confined space with his wife for company, he needed the forbearance of Jesus Himself. ‘This is the bit she has to do on her own, love. She needs us here, within reach, but she doesn’t want to upset the family. Mrs Kray expected one visitor, so she’s got one visitor. Now, give it a rest, will you? I’m going on no more long journeys with you, Maureen. Can you not sit still?’ Tom glanced over his shoulder at Kevin and Seamus, who was clearly bored. He wanted to see soldiers and Buckingham Palace, but he was stuck somewhere with a daft name, Bethnal Green. There was nothing green about it.
‘There’s another fidget here in the back,’ Kevin said. ‘Like a cat on hot bricks. If he doesn’t slow down, we’ll need to get him checked for St Vitus’s dance. Or he may just have ants in his pants. Again.’
Seamus puffed out his cheeks and blew hard. He wanted to see Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus, Westminster Cathedral, the palace. There were big shops, bigger than anything in Liverpool, but here he sat outside a boring yellow house in a boring yellow street—
‘Seamus!’ Maureen snapped.
‘What?’
‘Stop breathing.’
‘I can’t. If I stop breathing, I’ll die. Beetroot says oxygen is a requirement if we’re going to sustain life.’
‘Sister Beatrice, you mean. I’m not talking about ordinary breathing, but the huffing and puffing is getting on my nerves.’
Well, she was getting on Dad’s nerves, but at least Seamus was fast learning the benefits of near-silence.
They all stared at the door through which Paddy had disappeared some forty minutes earlier. A huge black car sat outside the house. Inside, Paddy would be thanking the Krays for helping Finbar and Michael to get out of London. ‘What will it cost?’ Maureen mused aloud. She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. Would Mam find out the names of the three dead? Would the men killed on Reen’s wedding day become real people with widows and children?
‘It won’t cost anything,’ Kevin replied.
‘I wasn’t meaning money.’ Maureen found her rosary. At times like this, the only help available came from a different dimension.
Tom watched his wife while she closed her eyes and began to move her lips through a Pater, ten Aves and a Gloria. His own prayer was, as usual, less conventional; he simply begged the Lord to bring home his boys and make his family whole again.
The door opened. Paddy emerged with a man and a woman in her wake. The Krays waved at the people in the car; Seamus waved back. Violet crossed the road, and Tom opened his window. She told them it had been lovely to meet Paddy, and invited them all to come in next time.
Then it was Ronnie’s turn. ‘Any time you want a holiday in London, let us know and we’ll fix it for you.’
As they drove away, Paddy began to cry. Wedged in the back seat between Seamus and Kevin, she didn’t really have enough space when it came to sobbing. After a couple of minutes, when the Kray street was behind them, Tom parked again. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
Paddy shook her head. ‘Back to the hotel,’ she achieved finally. ‘Book another night and we’ll travel home Sunday, after Mass. There’s a Catholic church nearby. If ever God wanted a visit from us, this is the occasion.’
Seamus kept quiet. Now was not the time to start going on about soldiers who appeared to live in standing-up coffins outside the palace.
When they reached their hotel, they all piled into the room occupied by Maureen, Tom and Seamus. The extra bed meant extra seating. A maid brought up tea and sandwiches, and everyone waited for Paddy to speak. Still clearly distraught, she described the dream she’d had in the van. ‘Everything was right except for the wallpaper and the photograph of Violet’s sons. But even so, Ronnie was talking about getting a snake. And until three weeks ago, the
wallpaper had been blue and white, so—’
‘Great,’ cried Seamus. ‘Can I have a snake?’
‘No, you can’t,’ came the answer from four adult throats.
Seamus sighed. The Shadow might have had a python to play with between chapters. He could imagine himself sitting at a typewriter with a cold-blooded friend keeping watch.
‘But after breakfast in the morning, Seamus, you’ll get your precious tour of London. I’ll book a car to take you and your dad to see the sights. It will have to be quick, because daylight hours are short and we need to get back to Liverpool the next day after Mass.’
The lad wanted to kiss Gran, but he restrained himself. There was no point in complaining about kisses if he started to dole them out. ‘Thank you,’ he said. He would see London after all.
‘What upset you, love?’ Kevin asked his wife.
Paddy scarcely knew where to find the words. ‘Seeing a good, kind man with something wrong in his eyes,’ she answered eventually. ‘Reggie wasn’t there. They said he was away, and I think they meant prison. Ronnie’s generous, kind and helpful. I know in my bones he would never hurt a woman, a child or an elderly man. He’d be the first one there if I needed to cross a busy road. He’d never see a child without food or something to play with, and he worships Violet.’
‘So what’s the but?’ Maureen asked.
‘Gangs,’ came the reply. ‘Rivalry. There’s a great, gaping maw that swallowed my brothers and my sons. But Finbar and Michael will soon be safe, because Violet ordered it.’
‘And your dream?’ Kevin asked.
‘Very near to truth. I gave her the Liverpool waterfront, and she gave me this.’ From a brown paper bag she lifted a piece of framed embroidery. It was beautifully done with a border of flowers. Stitched onto the cloth were nine words. The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.
‘That’s beautiful,’ Maureen said. ‘Did she do it?’
Paddy shook her head. ‘It’s antique. Ronnie paid a sum for it. The money goes to the local children’s home. See what I mean? He looks after the poor and afflicted, then he turns and …’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Violet’s a fierce feminist, yet she’s blind where her boys are concerned. I like her. It’s a while since I met a more likeable woman. I invited her to Liverpool, and you’d have thought I’d offered her the crown jewels. She won’t come, because she won’t leave her boys, but she was pleased all the same.’
Tom was careful in the presence of his youngest son. ‘The three men in the car?’ he asked casually.
‘No idea, Tom. I didn’t ask. It was a happy conversation for the most part, and I wasn’t about to spoil it.’
‘Were you afraid at all?’
Paddy smiled at her son-in-law. ‘Not as frightened as he is.’
Tom thought for a moment. ‘What’s Ronnie Kray afraid of?’
‘Of himself. Of the demon behind the eyes. And I sensed that he can’t function properly without his brother. After all, they are two halves of one whole. Identical twins are from the one cluster of cells. He looked lost.’ She slapped her knees with both hands. ‘Let’s forget all this and eat. Tomorrow we rest, and Sunday we’re home.’
Seamus heard little. He was going to see the sights of London, and nothing else mattered.
‘Don’t tell anybody we went to the Krays’ house.’ This litany had been drummed so deeply into Seamus’s brain that he actually took notice of it. But he wrote four pages of foolscap and took them in to school. He handed them to Vera with a letter from Mam that pleaded urgent and unexpected family business in London as the reason for Seamus’s Friday off. Having donated his masterpiece to the form teacher, Seamus put his head down on the desk and fell asleep.
Sister Veronica set the rest of the class some work before sitting down to read what Seamus Walsh had written. At the top sat the legend, It is gone midnight and I am writing this by torchlight. I have to write it now before I forget bits. It was difficult to keep a straight face while reading this boy’s work. He had a way with words, and a dry humour that seemed very mature for a lad of his age, but she was determined to persevere.
BUCKINGHAM PALACE
It’s all right. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, and some of the railings are fancy, but it’s just a very big house. It wasn’t what you’d call clean, either, cos some of the stones were darker than others. She was in, because there was a flag up, and Dad says a flag up means she’s in residence. If you rang the doorbell, which you can’t, it might take her ages to get to the front door. Not that she’d answer it, anyway. Dad says a lackey would do it. Not sure what a lackey is, but I’ll find out in the dictionary. I bet they need maps to find their way round that palace. She’s got corgis. Corgis are snappy little dogs, Dad says. But Queen Elizabeth rules them with a rod of iron. Is the rod of iron that thing she keeps with the ball that has a cross on top? I hope she doesn’t hit them with the rod of iron, cos that would be cruel.
The men in daft hats are there, and Dad told me to leave well alone, but I tried to make one laugh. He didn’t laugh, and I thought he was a statue, so I asked was he a statue, and his mouth twitched. So they are actually alive. Boring, though. I’d hate to have to stand there doing nothing. What if they got an itchy nose or something? Would it be off with their heads?
Anyway, I saw the queen’s house, and I suppose it’s OK, but I wouldn’t like to light all the fires every day.
ST PAUL’S
St Paul’s has a big dome. It’s not Catholic, so we didn’t go in. During the war, Mr Churchill said St Paul’s was so important that it had to be saved at all costs. So it was saved at all costs, as Mr Churchill was boss of the war. Oh, it has a lot of steps up to the front door, so that’s the other reason why we didn’t go in, because the car was waiting. So that’s all it was, just steps and a dome with a bit of a point on top.
I think it was a round building. A circle. I don’t know what all the fuss was about. They’d have been better saving people at all costs than saving that thing at all costs. It might not have been round. I might be mixing it up with something called the Albert Hall. That had a lot of steps, too, so it wasn’t worth the bother.
When playtime arrived, the nun ushered the class out to the yard. She put a finger to her lips. ‘Let him sleep,’ she whispered. ‘He’s been on a long journey.’ She referred not to London, but to the advances Seamus had made over the past eighteen months. The boy had matured, and he owned a special eye for detail. Also, his spelling had taken something of a turn for the better.
She sat at her desk once more.
THE EMBANKMENT
It’s just a river, but it’s wide with bridges everywhere. Tower Bridge is smart, but the others are ordinary. All kinds of boats on the water, lots of people talking and shouting. They talk funny, but I knew what they were saying, cos I’ve seen films with London people in them. There are beautiful buildings with really posh doorways and poles – Dad says they’re called columns. It was lively down there, but not as busy as our Liverpool docks.
Course, we’re not posh, so we don’t have an embankment. We have Liverpool, Birkenhead, Wallasey, the Pier Head, but no embankment. Trust them to need a fancy name for it.
Sister Veronica grinned. He was perceptive, and very decided for a mere child. And he’d been up half the night straining his eyes to write this in poor light.
And there he sat now, dead to the world, tousled head resting on an open maths book. His family should be proud, because a cheeky little urchin was fast becoming a personable young man. Still cheeky, though.
PALACE OF WESTMINSTER AND OTHER PLACES
Now they’re talking. This is really, really nice to look at, much prettier than the queen’s house. There’s Big Ben for a start. Dad said the name Big Ben is just one huge bell inside the workings, but everybody calls the whole clock Big Ben. There’s bits of gold up at the top. I wonder how many people died building it? A lot have died falling off Liverpool Proddy Cathedral, and it’s still not quite finished.
Dad said this was the people’s palace and I asked him what he meant. The House of Commons is in there, full of idiots, he told me. The daftest thing about it is that people like my dad voted for the idiots, so voters must be stupid too. Mr Macmillan is the boss in the Commons. But I never saw such a wonderful place, right next to the river, all towers and fancy windows. It’s ours. It’s the people’s palace. The queen isn’t allowed in the House of Commons because she isn’t one of us.
I wanted to go in, but there were no tours and our car was waiting again. Then we went to Downing Street and my dad took a photo of me with a cop on the steps of Number Ten. It’s not a mansion, it’s just a house stuck to other houses, but I bet it’s posh inside.
We had something to eat in a café on Piccadilly Circus. Hundreds of people rushed about outside, all busy and not looking at each other. The chips in London are not as good as the chips in Liverpool and the vinegar tasted funny. Dad said it was probably watered down, cos London folk will do anything for a quick quid. I think he doesn’t like London much.
I will go back one day, but just to visit. There’s a lot of trouble with gangs and fighting and people getting hurt and I don’t want that kind of thing. But there’s a street called Fleet Street where newspapers are made, and I might go there, I don’t know yet. Then there’s another place called Threadneedle Street and the Bank of England is there. Stupid name for a street.
And one of the places we went to had yellow houses. I never saw yellow houses before. They looked strange.
Regent Street and Oxford Street have loads of shops, some of them very big, and they’re not yellow. But while I watched all these people running about, I thought they looked lonely and they’d be better off up here where we talk to each other. Thousands of them dashing round, nobody stopping for a chat or anything. Dad said you could probably drop down dead in the West End and nobody would notice for a week.
Oh, I nearly forgot. Westminster Abbey’s very nice. Me and Dad stood outside and heard angels singing. Only they weren’t angels, they were boys. Our driver told us that. The singing made me tingle all down my back and I don’t know why. Dad had to use a hanky to dry his eyes, and said it was the cold air stinging them. But it wasn’t. It was the choir. The song made you want to cry. I don’t understand how that happens.
The Liverpool Trilogy Page 116