Two Women

by Martina Cole

  ‘What name you talking about then? The name of a family that’s looked on as the lowest of the low in this area, even lower than the Clancys, and they’re all interbred. Your son is a stupid ignorant wanker, but I did love him once for all that. If we had been left to our own devices we would have been all right. But, oh, no. I had to have the mother-in-law from hell poking her nose in, opening her big trap. Now as I told you earlier - keep fucking stumm or piss off. I ain’t in the mood for you, all right?’

  They were all amazed to see two fat tears fall from the old lady’s eyes.

  ‘What will I do without him, Junie? He’s me life.’

  June hugged her, afraid herself now she had seen real fear in her husband’s mother.

  ‘They can’t pin nothing on Joey, he ain’t done nothing.’

  ‘You better baste the turkey, Mum, or else it will dry out.’

  Susan’s voice was calm and June looked at her gratefully. Taking a dishcloth, she pulled the huge bird from the oven and began to spoon the fat over it. Everyone watched her as if it was the most fascinating thing they had ever seen.

  ‘Go and play with your presents, I need to think.’

  The two girls left the room then and June looked at her mother-in-law in distress.

  ‘He never topped Jimmy. He might have threatened it, but that’s as far as it would have gone. Joey would never have dared take on Jimmy, we both know that. Anyway, they have to prove he was there, don’t they?’

  Ivy laughed blackly.

  ‘The Old Bill have to prove nothing. You have to prove them wrong, and you know that. If they want my boy they’ll have him, June. Look what they did to the poor Krays, then talk to me about justice.’

  June didn’t bother to answer. She had all the facts but what could she do with them? She certainly couldn’t talk to her mother-in-law. If she did it would be all over the manor within hours.

  Joey was sitting in a holding cell. He was livid. As the door opened he stood up and his rage turned to fear as he saw who was walking in.

  Detective Inspector Harold Hitchin was small, just making the height requirement for the police. He had a thin wiry body and thin wiry hair. His eyes were an odd almost colourless grey. He looked slightly distant, not quite all there, his bearing and countenance giving the lie to the shrewd analytic brain and vindictive character beneath.

  He smiled slowly, displaying overlarge discoloured teeth. His nickname among colleagues and villains was UB.

  Ugly Bastard.

  His wife was a very attractive woman whom he adored. Word was she was one of the brasses from his stint on Vice and she was his only known companion.

  He had reached DI status with hard graft and even harder collars. If UB was after you, you grassed up everyone you could think of, even your own mother, because you knew he would not let anything go until he had what he wanted. Not that he was averse to taking a few outside payments now and again to leave certain people alone.

  He’d often drunk with Jimmy and seeing the man standing there, Joey knew he was up for a big lump of time, and hard time at that. UB would see to it personally.

  ‘Hello, Joey, long time no see. How’s the longshoring these days?’

  He licked his lips nervously.

  ‘I ain’t done nothing, Mr Hitchin, this is all wrong. I don’t know nothing about Jimmy being dead, I swear it.’

  ‘On your mother’s life, eh?’

  Hitchin’s voice was high-pitched, even womanish, but no one ever dared to laugh at it.

  ‘On me mother’s life, on my girls’ heads, I take oath.’

  Hitchin stared at him for over five minutes and it seemed to Joey that the man did not blink once. It was a frightening stare, a heavy-lidded look that reminded him of a snake about to strike.

  Then, moving quickly, Hitchin said in friendly fashion, ‘My wife is very upset with me. I had to leave a perfectly good dinner to come here and see you, so as you can imagine I’m rather annoyed. I like Christmas, don’t you? Goodwill to all men and all that old fanny. But, you see, my goodwill has aimed itself out the window now. Because of you I have no feeling towards anyone except animosity and aggravation. Do you get my drift?’

  Joey nodded.

  He watched in sick dread as the man before him took from his pocket a long piece of metal pipe. It was covered with masking tape and he stood there tapping it against his palm.

  ‘I have decided, Joey, after long and careful deliberation, to break open your head. This is not a personal thing. Though I have never liked you, I am not a vindictive man. You could be anyone today. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  Joey felt the tears welling up in his eyes. This was all he needed, Hitchin on his case. He had taken it upon himself to play the avenging angel. He kicked and punched confessions from people. But every now and then he beat them with a weapon, normally because someone else wanted the job done.

  In the East End it was called backing.

  Joey would lay money that either the Davidsons or the Bannermans had backed Hitchin with a few grand to make sure Joey was rendered senseless and disabled. It was in effect two warnings in one.

  The police were doing their job and in the meantime they were telling him he was a marked man.

  The tears flowed now. Joey was really terrified.

  ‘Have you anything to say before I start? Because after I’ve finished with you I’ll have worked up an appetite, see, and I will want to get home and have me dinner like normal people.’

  Joey looked into the reptilian face before him and bowed his head. As big a nutter as he was, he knew when he was defeated.

  He looked Hitchin in the eye for a split second.

  ‘Who’s this for, the Bannermans or the Davidsons?’

  Hitchin laughed then. A low heartfelt sound.

  ‘It’s all for you, Joey, all for you.’

  Maureen Carter was worried. Her son was watching television and as she placed the sliced turkey on a platter she was jolted back to earth by the ringing of her doorbell. Instinctively she looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was nearly five-thirty. Going to the door, she undid her apron and tidied her hair. She was more than surprised to see June standing there.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  June smiled sadly.

  ‘It’s more a case of what I can do for you.’

  June followed her through to her kitchen, smiling a hello at Maureen’s son on the way.

  ‘Good-looking boy. Like his father?’

  Maureen stared at her for a few seconds before saying sternly, ‘Cut the crap, June, and say your piece. You and your old man have caused a lot of people headaches today, and believe me the people you’ve crossed aren’t going to forget it easily.’

  June took a deep breath and began to speak.

  ‘They’ve arrested my Joey.’

  Maureen laughed gently.

  ‘Joey? What, for the murder of your Jimmy, I suppose?’

  She ran a well-manicured hand through her hair.

  ‘God, but you’re a dog, June. Even more amoral than I am. My Joey? You’re having a tin bath, ain’t you?’

  June was annoyed.

  ‘This is nothing to laugh at, Maureen. He is the father of my children . . .’

  Maureen interrupted her. ‘Let’s face it, June, we only have your word for that. Now say your piece and piss off. If you’re round here for a bleeding hearts session you might as well go now. I ain’t interested. Neither is Davey Davidson, who incidentally knew all about your Joey’s nicking before the police did. Now do you get my drift?’

  June swallowed down the urge to begin battering the woman before her. However amoral she was, it was nothing compared to Maureen’s behaviour. June consoled herself with the fact that whatever she had done, she had not set Jimmy up to be murdered as this woman had. He had thrown his oar in with Maureen and had paid a high price for it. As bad as June might be in the eyes of the world, she would never stoop that low.

  ‘Suppose I coul
d help you in your quest for Jimmy’s books and everything . . .’

  Maureen stared at her now, bright eyes hooded.

  ‘This ain’t the Holy Grail, love, we just want what’s ours.’

  June laughed, a deep rollicking sound.

  ‘You mean, you want what’s Jimmy’s? Let’s not beat about the fucking bush, eh? Now do you want his stuff or not, and if so what’s the price?’

  ‘I think the price is down to you and I’ll see if we all think it’s fair. Now sit yourself down and I’ll make us both a drink and we can chat. I warn you, though, don’t go getting too ambitious for what’s mine, June. I can be a very tough adversary.’

  June looked into the cold eyes before her and didn’t attempt to argue. Instead she smiled and sat at the kitchen table, eyes drawn to the platter of succulent turkey and the well-baked ham. She knew in her heart that she was going to get the tucking up of a lifetime, but it was what she had to do. For all Joey’s faults, and they were legion, she could not let him take the kick for everyone else. Because Joey would, he wouldn’t grass. Joey would take the big lump dished out, probably fifteen years, and do his time with as much aggravation as possible. It was in his make up. The Davidsons would see her all right and then forget about them. June knew it all so well, knew what could easily happen.

  She had to do a good deal here today, the deal of a lifetime.

  Her husband’s lifetime.

  Ivy had a face that could curdle milk at the best of times. Today both her granddaughters felt sorry for her because for once she had good reason to be worried.

  Susan was folding up the wrapping paper from her presents and putting it away neatly in her bedroom drawer. It was so pretty she wanted to keep it all just to look at it sometimes. She loved nice things, loved owning them.

  Debbie worried about her father for about an hour and then got fed up. Nothing was happening so she decided to go round and see a friend.

  Left with Ivy Susan tidied up, made her granny a hot toddy of milk and Bushmill’s, and then went to her room and dreamed.

  As she cleared up the mess left by Debbie she hoped and prayed that her father was given twenty years. At one point she imagined him being hung, but as she knew hanging was over now she couldn’t get into it somehow and instead went back to picturing him in a cell for years and years.

  It made her feel so much better inside.

  She would never have to have that man’s hands on her again, and by the time they let him out she would be grown up and able to tell him where to go.

  Susan sighed with happiness.

  Please God the police had enough on him. Please God they made the charges stick. A knock on the door broke into her reverie and she opened it expecting to see a neighbour. Instead she was confronted with Barry Dalston.

  Her heart was beating so hard she was sure he could hear it. She felt as if her head was filling up with warm air and that her arms and legs had become leaden, so aware of herself did she become.

  She was glad now she had put on her new clothes and had made herself up. She knew she looked as nice as she was ever going to look.

  Barry for his part was dressed as usual, scruffily, and wearing his wicked lop-sided grin.

  ‘Merry Christmas, darlin’. Do you think maybe I could come in or you could come out - whatever?’

  She opened the door wide and he walked into the flat. He placed a small package in her hands and Susan smiled with delight.

  ‘For me?’

  Barry grinned.

  ‘No, it’s for your sister.’

  Seeing her face drop, he hugged her to him.

  ‘Of course it’s for you, who else?’

  She took him through to the lounge, glad now that she had cleaned up. Her granny was asleep in the chair by the gas fire, a Capstan cigarette dangling from her lip.

  ‘You better come through to the kitchen, me granny can’t half snore.’

  Smiling he followed her into the kitchen. Going to the gas cooker Susan put the kettle on. She could feel her hands shaking. Then, turning to him, she looked into his face.

  To her Barry was beautiful in every way. She loved everything about him.

  The sneering look she perceived as a man-of-the-world expression. The cruel mouth was an object of intense desire to her. She wanted to kiss him until he was unconscious. The hard eyes she saw as playful and dreamy.

  Susan saw what she wanted to see, and like most women in love she saw the man of her dreams.

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth. She responded to him, knowing that she needed his arms about her to make her feel safe. Barry Dalston made her safe. Safe from her father. From everything.

  As his tongue explored her mouth she pulled away from him. The kiss frightened even as it thrilled her.

  ‘Got anything real to drink?’

  Susan was still half dazed.

  ‘What, beer, you mean?’

  Barry grinned.

  ‘No, whisky. I’m a Scot and we drink whisky on special occasions though New Year is our real celebration, not Christmas. Christmas is for the kiddies.’

  She opened the kitchen cupboard and took out the Bushmill’s. She knew if her granny caught her she would be skinned alive but didn’t care any more. She didn’t care about anything except the vision before her. Barry Dalston was in her house on Christmas Day and he had brought her a present, her father was locked up for attempted murder and her mother was coming home. She was happier than she had ever been in her life before. What more could a girl want?

  After she’d poured him a generous measure Barry picked up a glass from the draining board and poured another one. He put lemonade in it and gave it to her. Then, toasting her, he said playfully, ‘Drink it down in one gulp and that will be our Christmas toast, eh?’

  Susan poured the drink down her throat and nearly choked. Her eyes were streaming and her carefully applied mascara was stinging her. Barry was laughing and trying to pull her against his chest to stop her noise waking the old woman in the living room.

  ‘Quiet, Susan, you’ll have the old one in on top of us.’

  She stifled her giggling and leaned against him. The drink went straight to her head. A warm glow was coursing through her and she felt as if she had grown two inches taller and more attractive in a few minutes.

  She stared up at him.

  Barry looked down at her, his mind detached from what he was doing. He studied her face. She was plain but her eyes were nice, and flushed with the drink she seemed to have become almost pretty. He could see the look of utter adoration in her eyes and decided he liked that.

  Unlike the prettier girls who played games and made him chase them she was like a pliant doll, waiting for him to take her out of her box and play with her. Her enormous tits made him want to play with her even more than she knew. They were a pivotal part of her attraction. But not as much as her father and his rep were.

  ‘I heard about your dad, I’m sorry. It’s no more than any man would have done.’

  Susan felt the elation seep from her body. She pulled away from him. Picking up her present she opened it and, mood changing once more, turned back to him in delight.

  ‘Oh, they’re lovely. Beautiful.’

  The earrings were gold hoops, what the East Enders call gypsy earrings. The bottom of the hoop was heavier than the top and they shone in her hand, taking her breath away. Barry must be serious if he was buying her presents like this.

  He grinned at her obvious delight, and hoped against hope they were a good investment. He had stolen them on a burglary a few nights before, had unwrapped them and decided they would do for Susan. He had even used the same paper to wrap them back up. Barry had no qualms about taking other people’s things, even from under their Christmas trees. He had known they were worth a few quid and seen himself as a very generous individual for giving them to Susan and not pulling in money for them.

  He kissed her gently on the mouth again and Susan slid into his arms. As he push
ed her against the draining board she allowed him to pull up her jumper and grab at her breasts. He kneaded them with his rough hands, feeling the softness of her skin and the heaviness that would one day pull them down to her stomach.

  Pushing them together, he looked down at them. He was harder than he had ever been and knew then that this girl was going to play an important role in his life, if for no other reason than these huge breasts between his hands.

  ‘They’re gorgeous, Susan, fucking fantastic.’

  She wasn’t listening, she was on auto-pilot. She knew that to keep him she had to let him do this to her and like her father before him he was only after what he wanted. He wasn’t even trying to make it good for her. It would never have occurred to either of them that she herself might want to be a part of the sex act. She was to be taken, and allowed herself to be taken there and then in her mother’s kitchen with her granny asleep in the room beyond.

  As Barry entered her she was dry. He forced himself into her, making her cry out gently against his chest. He thought he was the first, he really did, and this made Susan strangely depressed. The knowledge that her father had done this to her many times before was like a vivid sore inside her mind.

  She concentrated on the earrings and what they meant. They were a beacon which told her Barry cared for her. He had bought her gold - in her world that meant a lot. Gold was symbolic of commitment, a forerunner of a wedding ring. The earrings told her that he was serious about her, that he wanted more than just friendship. So to her way of thinking it was quite acceptable she should allow him to take her body. After all, she was more or less his now.

  The fact that she was still a child didn’t enter Susan’s head and certainly didn’t enter Barry’s. So far as he was concerned, with tits like hers she was up for all he had to give her. He looked on the maturity of her body to be his guideline, not the maturity of her mind. As he slumped over her, his semen wet against the inside of her legs, she sighed heavily.

  At least with Barry she had some power over what he did, and that alone was a heady feeling. He kissed her on the forehead and smiled at her - and with that one kind action tied her to him for the rest of his life.