‘Tell your Mum and Dad I’m happy,’ he said. ‘Tell them everything’s all right. I’m very happy and that I’m sorry for the problems I caused you. I never wanted that. Tell everyone I love them…’
And then he was gone.
Danielle rushed to wake us all. Hearing her story, we were gobsmacked. We believed everything she told us. Mum in particular believed in such phenomena, and my dad’s experiences with the old ghost down the Marshalsea Road premises had made him a convert. Although I had never experienced the supernatural, I hadn’t ruled out the possibility of its existence. Danielle’s experience had a profound effect on all of us. Knowing that Duke was all right made us feel good, and it was very reassuring to think that he was watching over us. A very emotional moment, it got me reflecting on the magnitude of the events that had led to our current situation.
Being reminded of Dukey’s tragic fate made me realise how very lucky we were to be together – it didn’t matter how frustrating being away had sometimes been. God rest Dukey’s soul, I thought. Little did I know it wasn’t the last time a strange reminder of Pasha would enter my life.
Our escape to Tenerife was only ever a temporary measure. Back home, the chaps had been working to arrange a longer-term solution for us. We’d been away six months when Dad got word it was time to move on again – the chaps had heard a whisper that the police believed they knew our location. We weren’t told where we would move to – not yet – but it was made clear that Dad needed to return to England briefly before slipping away again. We would follow. This was music to my ears after all those tedious months in Tenerife.
Dad travelled back on his fake passport, while the rest of us returned through a package deal, pretending we were tourists. The cops still wanted me, I was told, but after six months the situation wasn’t as hot. I didn’t need to retrace my steps through Spain and France. The authorities knew I’d disappeared and we reasoned they wouldn’t be expecting me to turn up. The package deal made us look like a family on holiday, and back then all the electronic systems Customs have nowadays didn’t exist – by the time any paper records of my arrival got to anyone who’d be interested, I would have already disappeared again.
Within a couple of days of Dad going, we bid goodbye to the island and said hello to home sweet home. We got back to drizzly autumnal Britain, all of us tanned up to the eyeballs after months of baking heat. There was no way we could return to South London, so we were kindly accommodated by a relative in Gidea Park, Romford.
It was a huge relief to be back, even if it was only a flying visit. But it was frustrating being stuck out in Essex and knowing my beloved London was tantalisingly close. I spent a couple days feeling so near to the wonderful life I’d known, yet at the same time so far. Of course I couldn’t bowl up and show my face all over town, but I wondered if I might get away with just one low-key visit. Out of everyone I’d missed, there was one friend I desperately wanted to say hello to.
Could I risk a couple of hours in town for a brief taste of the old days? I wondered. After a chat with Mum, we decided the risk was low enough. Dad had already slipped out of the country again and we didn’t know where he’d gone. If the worst happened, and I got nicked, I’d be a useless sprat for catching that mackerel.
Pandy was the man I wanted to see. We are like brothers, and I’d never said goodbye before Tenerife. Back then we’d always gone to Pizza Express in Dean Street – the flagship restaurant that’s still there today – for a catch-up and a meal whenever I was in town. If I was going to see him again, there was no better place for our brief reunion. I picked up the phone.
‘Hello, mate,’ I said brightly. ‘Fancy a pizza?’ It had always been my line with Pandy.
‘Mate!’ he exclaimed, knowing better than to use my name. ‘Fucking hell. Of course!’
I didn’t need to tell him where, just when – 1pm the next day. That call was a fantastic moment. For a second it was as if I’d never been away.
Travelling into London the next day, I felt the inevitable nerves and at odd moments wondered if re-entering the lion’s den was a little audacious, a touch foolish. Perhaps I was dicing with my liberty, but looking back I think I needed to do it for my own sanity. I’d hardly been in the company of anyone outside of my own family for six months. I knew I’d be leaving the country again soon – God knows how long for this time – and it would have broken my heart not to have a glimpse of home before I moved on to unknown territory.
I got the train to Liverpool Street Station, then the tube to Soho. I stole through the side streets, being careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, but making sure I had a peek down the streets that held an infinity of fond memories. Shaftesbury Avenue, Charing Cross Road and Tin Pan Alley were all there, of course, and all the same. I didn’t want to bump into anyone I knew, so kept my head down. How I would have loved to pop into the A & R for a drink, just like Dad and I used to.
Good old London had carried on unchanged. People rushed around lost in their own worlds, and I gazed on like an invisible man. I could look but I couldn’t touch. All the memories were there, but I wasn’t in a position to go out and make any more. I could allow myself one thing, though: a seat in the corner of my favourite pizza place. I shrugged off my ennui, made my way there and ordered a drink.
Seeing Pandy was magic. We beamed at each other as he walked over, and caught up on everything that had been going on. He wanted to know where I’d been, how I’d been and how come I looked so well with that golden suntan. I said as much as I could and told him all about Los Cristianos – I figured it didn’t matter any more. I added that I’d soon be on my travels again, but that I didn’t know where to.
Then it was my turn to ask the questions. How was everyone? How was Pandy’s family? How was Nick? And what about John Bunce’s sex life? Pandy filled me in on everything, and said that people had been asking after me. He had covered for me, though, simply telling people I was fine and working out of London. Good old Pandy. I felt like I’d been gone an age – when you’re living a normal life, six months is nothing, but six months on the lam is a different matter – and a simple pizza and a few beers with a true friend was just the tonic for a man who’d been so lonely while away. My family were always wonderful, but your flesh and blood can’t always be a substitute for your mates, and vice versa.
I knew I was going away again, but this time I got to tell my best mate and say goodbye. Pandy wouldn’t be left wondering what had become of me, nor did I have to act as if nothing was amiss. That brief lunch meant the world, and I knew we’d meet again someday.
As I headed back to Romford I knew that, no matter what was in store for me, I was ready to stand tall for my family, face the music and dance.
ACROSS THE POND
I had no idea where Dad was. None of us did. It was a case of everybody staying true to the old ‘need to know basis’ philosophy. We knew he was a long way away, and safe, and that was all that mattered. His whereabouts would be disclosed at an appropriate time. For the time being all we could do was sit tight and wait for the chaps to give us our instructions.
Not that we didn’t spend hours speculating about where we’d end up joining Dad. We didn’t have much else to do while sitting about in Romford – no disrespect, but it’s not the most exciting of places. Mum, Danielle and I would watch the holiday programmes and daydream about where we would end up. Australia, Hawaii, Haiti, and the Bahamas were right up there on the list.
Don’t ask me why, but we never considered the possibility that Dad wouldn’t be somewhere sunny – I suppose we assumed the next stop would resemble our Tenerife experience in some way. We couldn’t have been further from the truth. Forget the palm trees and cocktails on the beach. It turned out Dad was bedded down in a little place called Allentown, Pennsylvania, in the good old US of A. Allenwhere? I thought. I’d never heard of it, not even in the movies. It didn’t matter. The main thing was the Foremans were off to America, land of the free.
I was
as happy as can be. I loved America. But my affection was based purely on what I’d seen at the movies or read in books, as it was for so many Brits back then. I was an avid film-goer who’d been saturated by American culture for years, and the idea of finally seeing the greatness of the States set my soul on fire. I imagined it would be great, anyway. I couldn’t wait. Even though I was going on the run, part of me even fantasised there might be an opportunity to get my acting career going there. My mind buzzed with all the possibilities. As it turned out, I’d have plenty of other things to think about during my time away. But a bit of dreaming never does anyone any harm, does it?
It was decided I’d go first. Getting me out of the way was the most important thing, and Mum and Danielle would move over once I’d helped Dad establish a good place for us to live in. Meanwhile, Mum had the awful task of settling our affairs. Not knowing how long we were going to be away, my poor mother was left the very unhappy job of putting our beautiful house and contents up for sale. Dulwich had been our sanctuary when we left the pub, and it broke Mum’s heart having to sell off all the gorgeous antique furniture she had collected over the years. The funds from selling the house and contents would bankroll our new life in America. That must have been the hardest, most terrible thing for Mum.
I didn’t need to worry about the journey – once again the chaps had my route planned out down to the very last detail. I expected another ‘this is what you do’ speech was on its way, and I wasn’t disappointed. ‘Now this is what you do,’ began Hands, his eyes locked on mine. ‘You get a flight to New York. From JFK you get a cab to the Port Authority.’
New York! I thought, I like the sound of that.
Learning lines is an acquired skill, and I have a natural flair for it, but I’d never been in a play where my fate and liberty rested on not getting a word wrong. I could always read a script more than once, but this was real life and I had to commit every word to memory on first time of hearing. I listened intently to the rest of the plan to get me to Allentown, and repeated it back perfectly.
‘Well done,’ said Hands flatly. ‘And remember. Do not use the phone; not to home, not to anyone. Once you get there, sit tight and you’ll be picked up within a few days.’
‘There’ was the George Washington Motel in Allentown. My final destination. Hands gave me a plane ticket and $1,000 in cash and wished me luck.
Going on my toes to America was exciting, but saying goodbye to Mum and Danielle was a tearful moment. We’d been relatively safe in Romford, but moving around again meant showing my face at borders and Customs and having my name recorded on paper. We all knew anything might happen, and our farewells brought all that worry to the surface. Still, it did us good to let some emotion out – we’d all stayed so strong for so long in order to protect each other, but sometimes a tear or two can bring a family even closer. I gave my Danni a big hug and asked her to look after Mum.
‘Look after yourself, my love,’ said Mum. Like all good mothers, she always fretted over her son. I told her she didn’t have to worry. I’d done it before and I’d do it again. That said, if there’s one thing in life that doesn’t get any easier with practice, it’s travelling on your toes as a wanted man. No matter how tight your plan is, nor how many times you’ve succeeded in the past, your mind never rests until you’ve got where you need to be.
The old fears were back. Was I being followed? Would I get spotted? Might I get pulled aside by Customs at Heathrow? Would there be any awkward questions once I landed in America? I didn’t have the slightest clue. My deepest fear was that the authorities would be on to me but holding back until I led them to Dad, the man they really wanted. It didn’t bear thinking about. The idea of exposing my father sent shivers down my spine and strengthened my resolve to be extra vigilant. All I could do was accept my worries would plague me till the two of us were together in a room, and behind a door that wasn’t being broken down.
Everything went smoothly, to begin with at least. I had my story ready in case of any questions – I was a young actor heading for New York to look for a bit of work and meet some new people – but nobody batted an eyelid as I strolled through Customs at Heathrow. I was courteous as ever at passport control, where the bloke at the desk let me through with a smile. Perfect. Roll on, the Big Apple.
I had no trouble at JFK either, and within an hour of landing I was cruising along in my first-ever yellow cab, driven by an eccentric, chatty Polack who must have been one of the biggest blokes I’d ever encountered. How I wished I really was on a trip to act and meet people. I would have done anything to spend some time taking in the city that had always captured my imagination. But, alas, it was not to be. Another time, I thought, my eyes darting everywhere to glimpse the sights I’d seen a thousand times on the big screen. I recalled the way my hero Sinatra sung ‘New York, New York’, and, boy, did I want to be a part of it. And for a brief time, as the cab headed downtown and through Manhattan, I suppose I was. At the same time ‘Living for the City’ by Stevie Wonder came to mind. Stevie sings about a poor sap who arrives in the city that never sleeps and winds up getting nicked and sent to jail. That won’t be me, I thought.
The cabbie pulled up and turned his huge frame towards me. ‘I’m guessing you haven’t been to the Port Authority before,’ he said in a broad Bronx accent. He was right, of course.
I shook my head.
‘Take it from me,’ he growled. ‘It’s not a nice place in there. You don’t talk to anyone unless they are in a uniform, and you don’t let go of your case once. Hold on to it, and keep your head down, got it?’
I got it all right – a few minutes ago I’d been caught up in the romance of everything, and now I had the fear of God instilled in me. Still, I was grateful to the Polack for his no-bullshit advice. I soon realised he hadn’t exaggerated.
‘Not a nice place,’ he’d said. What an understatement. The bus terminal was a proper hell-hole. Filled with layabouts, junkies and hustlers, it reminded me of King’s Cross Station back home. From the moment I walked in I was fending off one chancer after another. Even though I’d always been able to handle myself, it was still very intimidating. At least I could tell I wasn’t being followed – an undercover cop would have stood out a mile in this crowd. I certainly did – I must have been the only white bloke in there. All eyes were on me as I jostled through the throng towards the ticket desk.
An Allentown bus was leaving in half an hour. Thank fuck for that, I thought. I didn’t want to spend a minute more than I had to in this piss-hole. I felt like a settler being surrounded by hostile Indians. To one side was a café area. Head for the pass, I thought. I found a pitch at the end of the counter and put my case behind me against the wall as if to say, ‘You want it, come and get it.’ Fending off the vultures, I felt like I was back in Madrid Airport again. Show no fear, I told myself.
I ordered a hot dog – my first taste of Americana. I’ve never ever eaten a meal with so many people glaring at me. One after another, the dodgiest-looking hustlers on the planet asked me if I needed any help. Help with what? Being robbed blind? My answers were short and sharp. There was no way I was taking any shit from these lowlifes. Naturally, the announcement of my bus came as a very welcome relief.
As I boarded the Greyhound for Allentown, I began to relax a little. I’d made it this far, and now I was on the last leg of my journey. It was the middle of the night so the bus wasn’t even half full. The engine started, the bus pulled away and the bright lights of New York City were soon behind us. I gazed out of the window at the flat, snow-covered landscapes of New Jersey and north-east Pennsylvania and marvelled at the infinity of bright stars hanging in the black sky. Eventually, we passed through our first small town, and every town after that felt like a déjà vu. They all looked identical: Same gas station. Same diner. Same shops. Same pizza parlour. Same fucking everything. Absolutely no individuality.
I was filled with nervous excitement as I headed further into the unknown. So far the chaps’
plan had gone like clockwork. After a couple of days in Allentown, I’d be picked up and taken to my father. I couldn’t wait to get there. The bus only stopped a few times. As it stole onwards in the darkness, a song kept playing over and over in my head: Paul Simon’s ‘Homeward Bound’. I think it was the line about standing at a railroad station with a ticket for a destination that got me humming it, and the tune stayed with me for the whole journey. Thinking about it, although I’d left Mum and Danielle back in England, I was nonetheless bound for the place that would become my new home, so a song about longing for home was pretty apt, whichever way you look at it. These days hearing the track always evokes such vivid memories of that journey.
It was around midnight when another town loomed out of the blackness. Again it looked no different from all the others. The only difference was this place had a motel on the outskirts called the George Washington – I saw it out of the corner of my eye as the bus headed downtown. Blimey, I thought, this is Allentown. Finally I’d arrived.
‘That’s it, folks,’ said the bus driver, switching off the engine. ‘Final stop.’
The few remaining passengers shuffled off the bus and disappeared into the night. I was the last to descend on to the deserted street. The first thing to hit me was the cold. It was well below freezing and all I had on was a thin shirt, chinos, loafers and a little suede jacket. I began to shiver instantly. Plumes of condensation enveloped me as I exhaled. Looking around, I noticed the snow piled up, shoulder high, at the edge of the pavement. The town was dead. Neon lights reflected on the wet streets, and it looked like an empty film set. Fucking hell, I thought. What the hell am I doing here? And, if this is where he is, what about Dad?
Gangsters, Guns & Me - Now I'm in Eastenders, but once I was on the run. This is my true story Page 17