by Martina Cole
She knew that most of the women had guessed the cause of Gerald Dooley’s sudden lunacy, and she knew it would not be long before everyone knew.
Imelda wondered if Jason’s mother had given him the message that she had left with her. Jason knew better than to call her at home, but he could still leave a message with her friend Belinda. In fact, she was actually wondering if Belinda was keeping his message from her. In her more paranoid moments, when she wasn’t envisaging Jason under a car, or a bus, she actually wondered if he was just ignoring her. But that couldn’t be. He had to know what deep shit she was in. Even though Imelda didn’t know what she expected him to do, she wanted him to at least acknowledge her in some way. Even if it was only with a message through Belinda. But she knew in her heart that Belinda had seen him, she knew that she had, and if he hadn’t anything to say by now, he wasn’t going to say anything at all.
Imelda finally had to admit that she was on her own, that there was no way out. She was trapped in this nightmare for the duration. Trapped with a child that it seemed no one wanted, least of all her. Her mother was more frightened of the priest than she was of her own husband, and after his carry-on that was a serious fear, because her father was terrifying everyone at the moment.
She glanced around her bedroom. A few months ago this had been like a haven to her, had been where she came sleep off her excesses. Where her mother brought her cups of tea and bacon rolls, and where her father came to kiss her goodnight, or bung her a few quid. It had been a friendly place, somewhere she had felt safe, had felt loved. Now though, it was a hostile environment, it was suddenly full of dark corners and drab furniture. It was the last place she wanted to be on this earth, but she had nowhere else to go. Had no other option open to her. Imelda had hoped in her heart that Jason might have been moved to offer her somewhere to go. Even though she knew that was ridiculous, it was amazing what the human mind latched on to in times of extreme crisis. That a baby, an innocent child, could have caused all this grief was unbelievable. But she knew it wasn’t the child that her father was focusing on, it was the way the child had got there.
She could hear her mother’s voice once more, still trying to calm her husband down, trying to quieten him so the neighbours didn’t get another earful of his ranting and raving. She could almost feel the spit that she knew he was spraying over anyone within a two-foot radius.
The fear was back again, like a big, black cancer eating away at her. She knew that Jason had abandoned her. All her usual bravado, her loud-mouthed persona that her family’s name had always allowed her to get away with, had deserted her.
Even her brothers had no real time for her any more, they just wanted some kind of closure, an end to it all. They saw her as the catalyst for their father’s destruction, and she was, she knew she was.
Until now Imelda had not understood just how much she had lost. School had been a breeze thanks to her mother, and her brothers. When she’d been chucked out, her mother had sorted things for her. In fact, until now her whole life had been pretty much as she wanted it. Her father’s reaction, his extreme reaction to her latest escapade had thrown her completely. She would have lain money that she could have got away with murder where her father was concerned, and she had a feeling that had she committed a murder it would not have had this much of an effect.
Her father would have moved heaven and earth to help her out then, that was something he could have understood. Anger, violence. In his world they were everyday emotions. But sex, sex or love, he had no real concept of, at least not where his baby was concerned anyway.
Her mother had kept him from her door for weeks, but she knew that was not going to last for ever, he wanted answers, and he wanted them sooner rather than later. A pregnancy did that, time was not on her side, and her mother couldn’t keep him from hammering her for much longer.
Imelda could picture the scene outside her bedroom door, knew from the sounds and the scuffling that her mother was holding her father back, was preventing him from bursting in on her. She also knew that her father, until now, had allowed her mother this one thing, to allow Imelda to remain strong about the father’s name. Because, like his wife, he didn’t want to know really. Because once he pushed it, once he knew, he would have to do something about it. She had relied on that for a good while, but unfortunately no one had come knocking with the offer of a wedding ring. And she had even allowed herself to imagine that happening, had prayed for such a happenstance. And then she had pondered why it was the female who was made to feel as if they were the main culprit when it was the father’s fault as much as theirs.
‘Would you ever fuck off, woman, and let me sort this once and for all?’
Imelda heard the sound of her mother’s body as she was thrown down the stairs, heard her muffled cries as even in her pain she was still too embarrassed to let on to the neighbours what was actually happening.
As her bedroom door slammed against the wall Imelda flinched involuntarily and she automatically tried to protect her baby, a baby she didn’t even want. A baby she couldn’t even envisage.
Her father grabbed her by her hair, dragged her upright, and she could hear her brother shouting at her, ‘Who the fuck is it, Mel? Just give him a fucking name for Christ’s sake, before he really hurts you.’
She knew her brothers were more worried about her father than they were about her, didn’t want him to get nicked. That was their biggest fear; he was bankrolling the lot of them, and if he didn’t get over this latest drama, they would all be left out in the cold. There was a big part of her that understood that, and she wanted to stop it as much as they did, but unfortunately she was too frightened of him.
As her father pushed his huge fist into her face, as she felt the strength of him, she knew that he was capable of killing her. Never in her life had she felt so exposed, so vulnerable.
‘Please, Dad, please . . . don’t hurt me . . .’
Imelda looked into the face of the man she had loved all her life, and she saw nothing familiar. He was a stranger to her, and she knew then that she was a stranger to him. Since the news of her pregnancy he had taken the time to re-evaluate her status in his community and had decided that she amounted to nothing. His pride was worth much more than her well-being.
It was a real wake-up call and, as always, it had come far too late for her to benefit from it in any way.
‘Tell me who the cunt is or I’ll break your fucking neck.’
He meant every word, she could hear it in his voice and feel it in his anger. She knew then that he had finally reached the end of his patience, that tonight was her last chance to redeem herself in his eyes.
Her mother was still trying to pull him off her, was attempting to place herself, her own body, between her daughter and her husband.
But Gerald Dooley shrugged her off as if she was a fly, knocking her against the bedroom wall without a second thought. ‘I’ll fucking stab you, you loose whore you, before I see you make a fucking eejit out of me.’
Imelda saw her brothers standing in the doorway of her bedroom and knew that they were not going to intervene on her behalf. She saw her mother looking at her with fear and she knew that she was finally lost. She knew that Jason had abandoned her, knew that he had left her to her own devices, had so little regard for her and her family that he was confident of her silence. It was then that she knew what she was going to do. Knew then how she would pay him back for her humiliation.
Looking into her father’s eyes she said tragically, ‘He made me, Dad, he forced me. I didn’t want to . . . I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know how to. I was scared.’
She was crying now and they were real tears, tears of relief that she had finally found a way out of her dilemma. Relief that she had finally found the words to stop her father’s anger and sense of betrayal. Relief that she had finally found something permanent, had finally found something realistic enough to make her father believe in her once more. Relief that she had finally found
a way to make Jason Parks pay for his treatment of her. She was a woman scorned now and she wanted him to know just how fucking hard the last few weeks had been because she had tried to protect him. She had given him plenty of time to step up to the plate and take responsibility for her child, while putting up with her father’s wrath, with her father’s disappointment in her.
Let him see how far he got now the cat was well and truly out of the bag and she had put the onus on to him. She was almost laughing now at the thought of what Jason was going to have to go through. Let him have a taste of his own medicine. Let him deal with her father and his anger and his hate. She was finally done with it all, she wanted revenge now, nothing more and nothing less. Let that bastard have a taste of her old man and his outdated beliefs. The more she thought about it, the more she warmed to her theme. She was a reckless girl, and she was known for doing reckless things.
Without thinking it through, without understanding the long-term consequences, Imelda decided that this would get her out of this trouble looking like the innocent, would bring her back into her father’s good books. The plan was working, her father looked crushed, defeated by the turn of events.
‘Who forced you, child, who did this to you?’ Already Imelda could feel the difference in her father, she could feel the change in him as he understood what she was telling him. She could see the softening of his features, hear the plea in his voice as he asked her again, gentler this time, ‘Give me a name, child, you know his name?’
Imelda nodded, her face a mask of tragedy and pain, throwing herself into the role of the victim as she instinctively saved her own life and her own reputation. ‘It was Jason Parks, Dad. He raped me.’
Then he was hugging her to him, his huge arms enveloping her, making her feel safe once more, as he had always made her feel since childhood.
He was weeping now, telling her how sorry he was for the way he had treated her, begging her to forgive him for not realising that she was the innocent party. And, as he hugged her, Imelda saw the way her mother was looking at her, saw the accusation in her eyes and she knew then that this had gone too far. As did her brothers, who were silently watching the little tableau from the landing, both their faces devoid of anything even remotely like an emotion. That she couldn’t stop this now, even if she wanted to. It was one lie too many, and she could never take it back.
So, closing her eyes tight, Imelda Dooley cried like a baby, burying her face in her father’s shoulder, wondering what her latest outburst was going to cause.
Chapter Three
Mary looked at her daughter for long moments; she was still crying and she was still acting the innocent.
But she was still able to look her mother in the eye, even though she was aware of her mother’s scepticism. She was not about to stop the act.
Imelda had always been the one who had caused the most aggravation in this house. The boys had either known better, or had understood that they would not have been given the same back-up as the baby of the family, the only girl. This daughter who looked for all the world like butter wouldn’t melt. Mary had given this child a major swerve all her life. She’d lied for her, pretended that she was doing really well to all and sundry, especially her father, when in fact she was not even bothering with her school work. And her husband had believed her because he wanted to believe her, had not wanted to get too involved in the everyday running of this child’s life. Of any of his children’s lives, for that matter. Though, in fairness, he had done his best with the boys.
But he had left the rearing of this last one to her, exclusively to her, he had just admired the girl from afar and, if she was really honest, she had loved it. Had loved the power that had given her. Because as much as she loved her husband, she had also resented him at times, resented his utter freedom from them all. And she hated that she had colluded in her own downfall by taking on the mantle of the home and children because she had not known any better.
He had been given the opportunity, like most men, of opting out of his children’s lives while still being seen as playing a huge part in it. He had stood back and enjoyed their successes while she had ensured he had never known about their failures, and the failures with this one had been legion. Deep down, his second-hand parenting had annoyed her, had made her feel that the children might, just might, have turned out better with more of his time as opposed to his money. Money he had given her with a flourish, money that had somehow bought him his complete and utter neutrality where his offspring were concerned. If they fucked up then she was the culprit because he had trusted her with them. Over the years she had smothered these feelings, had convinced herself that her life was the life she was meant to live. But deep inside, she had known that was wrong. She had always known that he was in reality a waster who had left the brunt of their children’s upbringing to his wife, not because he thought she would do a better job, but because he didn’t give a flying fuck. But she had never voiced these thoughts out loud until now. She’d pushed them out of her mind because, like most things in her life, if she didn’t think about them then they never happened. Until tonight that is.
Now she had to admit that she was partially to blame for what had happened to her daughter if for no other reason than she had let her have a far looser rein than the others. She had let this last child of hers have the freedom she had never had for herself. She had let Imelda live a life that, in comparison to the others, was outrageously easy, lax even, especially where her father had been concerned. He had been told nothing about his baby or her natural animosity towards the world in general. Mary had made sure of that much herself, personally; she had only ever told him what he wanted to hear, because this last child was his baby girl and he didn’t want to hear anything detrimental, anything that would give him cause for concern.
Even when Imelda had been expelled from her school Mary had made sure that Gerald had not heard anything about it. Imelda had been a truant, a smoker, a troublemaker. Like her father and brothers she was a fighter. Always fighting, arguing, and mouthing off to teachers and other pupils alike.
But it was never her fault, it was always someone else’s fault. She was her father’s daughter all right, he was exactly the same when anything happened that he couldn’t cope with, that he knew he had caused.
Mary had done what she had thought was best, had lied and schemed to make sure her husband had never known the whole of anything where his youngest child was concerned. She had made sure he had never known how this daughter of his actually lived, how she really existed in the household where he believed he ruled the fucking roost, where he was the top dog, the main man. It had never occurred to him that his daughter might be a liar, a treacherous whore with no allegiance to anyone unless it benefited her in some way. That she might not see him in the same light as his punters did, as their nemesis, the man who only arrived on their doorsteps when they didn’t have the means to pay their debts. Who was all smiles and friendliness until they owed money, then his sociability went straight out the window and they suddenly realised that he had actually been watching them, that his friendship came with strings. Even as all these thoughts were going through Mary’s head she felt disloyal, but more than anything, she felt angry, angry and bitter at the girl she had shielded and cared for since her birth all those years before.
Unlike her, Gerry thought his daughter was telling the truth now, was convinced that her silence was because she didn’t want to cause any trouble: he was feeling guilty at his treatment of her over the last few weeks. He was ashamed at the way he had assumed she had been fucked and left, the worst thing that could happen to anyone’s daughter, let alone his. He was in bits, was convinced that his assumption about his youngest child was a stigma that would now be attached to him, that his instincts had been wrong. Well, his instincts had been spot on, only no one was going to point that out to him in the near future.
Imelda had played him like a con artist would play a mark. Like her old man she had always had a na
tural instinct for self-preservation and it had always stood her in good stead. Tonight had been no exception.
Mary, however, knew her daughter much better. She knew that Imelda had never told the whole truth about anything in her life, it wasn’t in her nature. She was a natural-born liar, she always stretched the truth, forcing home a point, she was willing to look you in the eye even when she knew that you knew that she was lying through her teeth. And for years Mary had protected her, had secretly enjoyed knowing something that her husband did not. Namely that his baby, his little darling, was a real piece of work, and she had even loved the fact that they were partners together against him.
Until now that was, because this time her daughter was about to cause fucking murders. Literally.
Gerald Dooley was distraught, he had gravitated from his beloved youngest child being taken down, used and discarded, to her being raped.
A scenario that, in reality, he actually preferred. He had the excuse he needed, the reasoning that would allow him to destroy the person he felt had ruined his little girl. She now had a bellyful of arms and legs, was going to produce a grandchild that was without any kind of substance in his world, that would be born without the benefit of the marital bed. Without a marriage and, ergo, without its father’s name. Gerald was not going to swallow that, was not about to give anyone a fucking pass where his daughter, his family and their fucking reputation was concerned. Imelda being raped only convinced him that his initial reactions had been right.
That Jason Parks’s father was a local Face was neither here nor there, he knew that once the word was out no one in his locality would hold him in any way responsible for his actions. There were some things that money or prestige could not buy. This was one of them.
They were in the car, driving to Jackie Martin’s house. His sons were being unreasonably quiet and this bothered him. It made him feel that they didn’t share his enthusiasm for revenge for what had befallen Imelda. It made him feel, and not for the first time, that they were too fucking stupid to appreciate what was actually going down. He was smarting from what had just happened when he had brought them with him to the meet in Canning Town. They were supposed to be his look-outs, his protectors. As Gerald had strolled into the Bridge House pub, he had assumed they had been behind him, had been protecting him. Watching his back, which was what he fucking paid them to do. It was only when he had approached the punter in question that he had realised that he was on his own, that his sons had somehow forgotten to accompany him into the bar. Instead, they had stayed outside, chatting like a pair of fucking drongos. In spite of all his teachings they had not had the sense to cover his back. He had walked in there on his Jack Jones and it was only his rep that had saved him from a tragic end. But it had been a learning curve, not only for his boys but also for him. He had understood that he had raised a pair of fucking imbeciles who had no real conception of the world they now inhabited, the world he had ensured was safe for him and his family with just their name alone. A name that was now tarnished by Jason Parks; with one action Jason Parks had undermined everything that he had achieved over the years.