by Martina Cole
Davie was helping out his sister, and so he should, but Mary knew he was also challenging Basil, and anyone else who might be fool enough to try and protect Mel. He was flexing his muscles, and Mary knew how dangerous that could turn out to be, for all of them.
Imelda was looking good, and she knew it. Her hair was freshly washed and set, her make-up was perfect, as always. And she was wearing a new suede outfit that had cost her a small fortune. She had picked up her children from her mother’s house, ignored the dire warnings of terrible retribution she forecast for her only daughter at every available opportunity, and she also ignored the sensible advice that her mum spewed out so copiously to all and sundry. Especially to her.
The days when she listened to that fucking old bag were long gone. She did not need her mother, or anyone else for that matter. She was not going to let her mother make her feel like she was nothing ever again. She had buried her old self, the girl who had been destroyed overnight by her family, and she was now the person she wanted to be. The person she had always been, who she had tried to suppress all her life. She was happy with herself. She was happy with her way of life and she liked her independence.
Imelda was now strolling down Barking High Road pushing the buggy, and perusing the shop windows like any other young mum. She liked it around here, she knew everyone for a start, and she felt confident among the people she was mixing with. She knew that her reputation preceded her and that she was guaranteed a friendly and warm reception.
She was also meeting up with a dealer she had been introduced to by one of the girls she employed. He was a large Welshman with a killer smile and deep-green eyes that were without any kind of feeling or emotions, but which had attracted her all the same. He was named Jed, he was built like the proverbial brick kharzi, and he was the first man in years to garner any kind of interest from her. She was playing the mother today, the victim, and that was why she had insisted on taking the kids out with her in the first place. Jed had agreed without a second’s hesitation.
She sensed that Jed was the type of man who would be bowled over by a woman with kids. He was that rare breed of man, a dealer who didn’t indulge personally in his own product. He saw his dealing as no more than a job.
He had given her the once-over, as all men did on first meeting her. She was a looker, and she knew it. After a while, the same men who had eaten her with their eyes avoided her like the plague within weeks of actually being in her company. But Jed, she knew, was already hooked. She had sensed his need of her, knew he was hers for the taking. So she had taken him without a backward glance.
The Driscoll situation and her mother’s fear of him had communicated itself to her, even though she pretended she wasn’t bothered about it at all. She wasn’t bloody stupid, even she had the brains to know that if her mother was wary of him, then he was obviously a man to be wary of. She had heeded the warnings and she had done what was expected of her. She had paid her debts in full. She wasn’t a fucking moron, regardless of public opinion to the contrary. She had paid off everyone she owed money to, not that she had told her mother about that. Let her sweat for a while longer.
She had deliberately sourced a new contact for her chemicals because of all the aggravation. That was where Jed came in.
As Imelda walked along the pavement with the kids, she relished the power that she always felt when on her home turf. Here she was well known, was respected in her own way. She was in control of her environment, and she used that to her advantage. Barking High Road was a strange place in many respects, everyone she saw was on a mission. They all had a reason to be there; even the old dears with their shopping trolleys and their headscarves. They were all watching what was going on around them, were aware of what was going on in the real world, their world. The world that was their bread and butter, the world that was never really talked about to outsiders, but had given them and their families a livelihood that Ford at Dagenham could never have afforded them. It was all about keeping yourself to yourself, and understanding how it worked. Once you understood it, which most people did from a very early age, you slipped into the habit of it. You knew instinctively how to survive inside of it and knew that it was not a world that was understood by the majority of the people around you. It was a secret world of nods, winks and a very determined ignorance, that kept you safe and, more to the point, kept those close to you safe as well.
It was the ultimate in the black economy and it was not for outsiders, not for the people who had no standing in the world of real villainy, who were destined to spend their lives on the periphery of it all, those who would always be small-time: thieves, gas meter bandits, shoplifters. It was sad, really, they were the fucking mugs who deliberately attracted police interest. Whereas a real Face would be mortified to have brought that on themselves and, having done so, would be mortified to know that they had brought the same interest on to their friends, families and associates. It was a world where the real Faces were not that well known to the outside world; they relied on the ice creams to take the flak for them, knew that there would always be someone who was willing to become the local bully boy, become so notorious that they would be the first person accused of anything that happened in their vicinity.
It was the way of their world, it was how they survived. For Imelda, it was also all that she really understood. It made sense to her, and not much else did if she was honest. Like the fact that she was not bothered about who knew she had been on the bash. Why would she care about that?
Unlike the people around her, Imelda had no real sense of allegiance; she was without anything even remotely resembling loyalty. She would sell anyone up the river, unless it was a Driscoll or another serious Face, and she knew that better than anyone.
Imelda Dooley was a user, and that was not just where the drugs were concerned. Everyone who came into her orbit was seen by her as a potential fall guy. Like all addicts, she was constantly looking for the easy option, the easy way out. She was also capable of selling out anyone around her to ensure that her habit and her way of life was not disrupted in any way.
Jordanna was wary of her mother, she knew how quickly she could change from happy and gay to angry and destructive. She sensed her mother was in some kind of trouble, she felt the change in the atmosphere when her mum came into the house. She also knew that poor Kenny was her mother’s blue-eyed boy and, instead of being jealous of his place in her mother’s affections, she was devastated for him, because she knew just what the woman who bought them sweets, who joked with them and hugged them when the fancy took her, was really capable of. She saw the lifeless body of the man her mother had shot every day of her life. If Jordanna was playing happily with her dolls, or with her brother, she would suddenly be overwhelmed with the vision of her brother’s father lying back on her mother’s filthy sofa, his face a mask of surprised bewilderment and half his head splattered all over the place, his life’s blood pumping out of his body as he tried to understand what had happened to him.
As her mother shoved a couple of expensive shirts behind Kenny’s back, pushing him down forcefully so the buggy hid them from view, Kenny tried to grasp what was going on, knowing it was something secret, some kind of skulduggery that was not to be mentioned until his mother saw fit. Jordanna knew Kenny was being used to hide the stolen items from the people who owned the shop, who were thrilled to see Imelda as always. Were all smiles and kind words. Who would never have believed that she was capable of stealing from them, from her own. Imelda chatted to them, asked after their families, their lives, and she left the shop with a smile and a wave, knowing she had stolen the stock that kept the people concerned’s heads above water. She didn’t care that she had just put a huge dent in their profits, in their livelihood. She had no thought about the people she had just stolen from.
Later, Jordanna watched her brother laughing at Imelda as she showed him her booty; he was already becoming a thief, a taker like her. He was not sensible enough as yet to understand just how dang
erous and underhand what their mother did was. He did not understand that she was just using them, and that if they were caught, arrested, she would blame them without a second’s thought. Kenneth did not yet understand that he was setting himself up for heartbreak, because Jordanna knew better than anybody that her mother was incapable of anything even resembling love or affection. She used them, as she used everyone. She was not trustworthy and, one day, poor Kenny would have to accept that. She hoped for his sake that it would come sooner rather than later.
As they were wheeled into the pub Jordanna saw a large man with green eyes and a suspect smile walk towards them all. She understood then her mother’s sudden interest in her children. But she played the game expected of her, and she played it with a perfection born of desperation and necessity.
She saw her mother hand over the shirts she had hoisted to her latest paramour and she knew that, once more, she and her little brother had already been relegated to the back recesses of her mind. They had ceased to exist and, because of that, her brother was already heartbroken. She hated the woman who had birthed them both with a vengeance that would one day erupt and, literally, cause murders.
But until that day arrived, until she was old enough and strong enough to push her mother away from her once and for all, she did as she had been taught. She smiled and made herself amenable. She had sussed out what her mother wanted from her, what she expected from her. She had learnt that at a very early age, and she delivered. But as she made herself smile at Jed, as she allowed herself to be manhandled by him, placed on his lap and petted by him, as he attempted to use her to get into her mother’s good books, she felt what it was to really hate. She felt how overpowering that emotion could be.
She also felt the overwhelming sense of desolation that her mother’s haphazard affection always caused inside her frail little body. She knew she was incapable of fighting back, knew she was far too small and far too young to say what was really in her heart. So, like many a child before her, she took whatever was thrown her way, and she buried the feelings of anger and hatred at her plight.
At least Jed bought them both crisps and a cold drink, and at least he had the sense to realise that, where her daughter was concerned, Imelda had a problem. He had studiously ignored Jordanna once he had sussed that out, and she had breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Jed was shrewd and, where her mother was concerned, that was not a bad thing.
Jed was drunk, but not drunk enough to be a problem to anyone. In fact, he was one of the lucky few who could drink all day and night and still know what was going on around him. Not that he drank all the time. But since he had taken up with Imelda, he knew he was drinking more than usual. In the last six months he had come to the conclusion that if you couldn’t beat her, your best bet was to join her. So he had done just that.
Now they were both the worse for wear, and Imelda was in fighting mode. She was the most awkward, miserable, vicious bitch that God had ever put on the earth when the fancy took her, and even though he knew all that, she still had the power to make him want her.
Jed knew that Basil was fed up with her, that most of the people in her world were fed up with her. Had been for a long time if truth were known.
He also knew that she was not impressed with Davie Driscoll’s continued interest in her child, which was something she could not do anything about. Driscoll made the occasional visit and to add insult to injury, for some reason that Imelda could not fathom personally, he had also developed a deep regard for little Kenny Boy. Jed understood why Driscoll had taken to Jordanna like he had, she was a beauty, there was no mistaking that. But, more to the point, she was a real little brain-box. Bright as a button, and with a great sense of humour. She loved her younger brother, and she did the lion’s share of caring for him when they were at their mum’s. Kenny loved the bones of her, and he guessed, rightly, that it was mainly for that reason Imelda was once more on the poor child’s case.
When Imelda was in her cups she would bully her daughter from morning to night, she would say things to the child that were hateful, vicious and demeaning. She would put her down, accuse her of all sorts, and she would enjoy every second of it.
‘Leave the child alone, why do you have to pick on her all the time?’ Jed would ask. He hated this side of her. As she sat opposite him with her wide-spaced blue eyes and glossy, well-styled hair, she was the antithesis of what most people perceived a drug addict as being. She had stages when she did look dog rough. Then, somehow, she would drag herself up and out of the mire, and she would once more embrace the wholesome, healthy look of a young girl in the first flush of sexual awakening. She was still a real looker, and even though he now knew everything about her, he still could not bring himself to walk away from her.
Jed’s sensible head told him that he should run a mile, that he was a fool for wasting his time and energy on a skaghead. He knew that she was using him; he had known for some time that her initial attraction to him had not lasted very long, but his ability to procure drugs had lasted much longer. His attraction to her, however, didn’t seem to be on the wane, nor would it, for the foreseeable future. Even her bruised and scabby legs, peppered with the vicious white, raised scars of her addiction, didn’t put him off. The only thing that made him hate her was the jealousy she harboured towards her daughter, who was a sweet little thing.
Imelda was now looking at him with the absolute venom that she somehow kept in reserve, only to vent on her daughter. No one else got the same level of hatred as her eldest child. No one else could make her so angry, so furious. It was as if the child made her into a different person, an even worse person than she already was. She loathed her daughter, she hated her with an all-consuming passion that was terrible to behold. And Imelda hated with a passion, she hated a lot of people, and she hated them with a viciousness that was as shocking as it was generally unwarranted.
But her feeling was plain spiteful. Why this shocked Jed so much, he didn’t know. He was more than aware of Imelda’s paranoia, her disregard for not only her own well-being and safety, but for others as well, and that included him he knew. He was also aware of her irrational belief that her daughter was somehow the catalyst for all the ills that had ever befallen her, that her jealousy of her daughter was so great it had almost taken over her life.
Jordanna was watching the pair of them from the corner of her eye. She knew that they mainly argued over her. They argued about Jed being too nice to her. They argued over her mother’s treatment of her, yet she also knew that her mother would not have been capable of looking after Kenny if she did not come along as well. Jordanna did the majority of the hard work, and she was due to start school in the next few weeks. She was terrified of leaving her little brother alone with their mother without her to watch over him. She had a feeling though that her granny was not about to let Imelda get her hands on him without her there to keep a beady eye on the proceedings. She knew that her granny was as worried as she was about Imelda being alone with her son.
That knowledge depressed her, she knew that even her granny, who loved her, used her to make sure that Kenny Boy was well looked after. No one seemed to care about how she might be treated while all that was going on around her. She was already the recipient of her mother’s warped lifestyle, and so everyone assumed she was immune to it all. They all assumed that even though she was nearly five years old, she was capable of looking after not only herself, but her little brother as well.
Jordanna sighed heavily. She felt as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
She wished her granny would hurry up and take them home, take them to their real home. She hated being in this place, hated the dirt, and the stench of her mother’s uselessness but, most of all, she hated her mother’s complete indifference where she was concerned.
She wished that she could make everyone understand that she was fed up with being the sensible one, that she was desperate to be treated like the child she was. She wanted someone to notice her as
a little girl, she wanted to play with her dolls in peace, go to the park, be taken to the zoo or play schools like other kids of her age. She wanted to stop feeling so angry inside, and so sad. She wanted to tell someone how awful her life was when they lived with Imelda because no one saw that she was only a child. She was never allowed to be a child, she was always expected to be the older sister.
Even though she loved Kenny Boy, she knew already that his birth had ensured her own childhood was lost, gone. She had been forgotten about so that Kenny could experience his childhood without too much trauma.
Jordanna watched her mother warily these days, she was never far from physical punishment, and she beat her daughter in a calm and calculated manner that was all the worse because there was no real anger in it. No real reason for it. She was only doing it because she could, and because she wanted to.
She knew that her mother only took them out to vex her granny, and because Jed asked her to. Jordanna wished she was back at her granny’s house, and she wished she was grown up enough to be able to have some say in her own life.
Basil was fuming, and he knew that he had every right to feel as he did.
Even though Mel was good at her job, he knew how important it was for the girls to be wary of the person who was controlling them all. He hated that she had already slipped back into her usual pattern of behaviour so soon. More to the point, she had also taken it on herself to recruit a lot of new girls.
Unfortunately, she had not bothered to talk to him about any of it, so she was skimming money off of girls he had no real knowledge of. She had not bothered to give him any of their details. Or, more to the point, she had not given him the details of their current client lists either. She had more or less been running a separate business, and the fact she had thought she could get away with it spoke fucking volumes.