by Martina Cole
Briony stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Jonathan spread his arms.
‘Of course, anything you like.’
Briony took a deep breath. ‘Are you really the son of an impoverished vicar? Only, now and again you sound very South London to me.’
Jonathan looked at her for a second, his piercing blue eyes boring into her deep green ones, then he laughed.
‘How long ago did you suss me out?’ He’d dropped the affected accent slightly and Briony warmed to him then.
‘From about five minutes of meeting you, actually. Look, Rupert will keep his side of the bargain, I know he will. You have to learn how to handle him is all. Drop a word here and there about your other offer. Don’t tell him anything concrete, just hint. He is serious about going into the legitimate film business. As silly as he acts at times, he’s shrewd. It’s only with the young boys he loses his head. But I expect you’ve noticed that yourself?’
Jonathan rolled his eyes.
‘You’re telling me! Honestly, Briony, how he hasn’t been locked up, I don’t know. He sails really close to the wind at times. Now he’s gone on Lord Hockley’s boy, and I mean this kid wears full make-up! I’ve told Rupert to be careful, the boy’s father’s up in arms about it, but they’re seen together everywhere. That’s what bothers me, I don’t want to be tarred with the same brush. In fact, Briony, he’s never been near me. I wouldn’t want that. I am mercenary, I admit, I want to get on, but not that way. So far I’ve kept him at arm’s length, and young Peter Hockley’s keeping him occupied. But now I want out.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. But keep your eye on him and the boy in the meantime. That kind of thing could bring us all down. Lord Hockley’s got a lot of sway in this town. He’s rich and influential. If he decides to do something about his son, it could affect us all. Me as well as you. Does the boy know much about our business dealings?’
Jonathan nodded vigorously.
‘He knows it all, Briony. I warned Rupert to keep quiet but you know him after a drink, and the cocaine doesn’t help. The other morning I found them both lying on the floor naked with a couple of Arab boys. It made me realise just how low Rupert was sinking. I mean, he’s not even trying to hide his preferences these days. It’s as if he wants everyone to know. When it was just him, it was all right, but now that young Peter’s involved, it could all end in tears. The boy’s only nineteen. I don’t think he even shaves. But he’s hardly as sweet and innocent as he makes out. It’s him who arranges their little diversions. Frankly, Briony, it’s like a three ring circus in that house some nights. Even you would be shocked at the goings on.’
She frowned.
‘It’s really worrying you, isn’t it?’
‘It should be worrying you, too, because he knows enough about you and me and Tommy to get us all up before the beak. Hockley threatened Rupert only a week ago because of Peter. He’s not a man to cross, Briony, yet Rupert refuses even to countenance not seeing the boy. Peter seems to find it all exciting. I think he’s enjoying the stir he’s creating.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out, all right? But if I was you I’d take up that other offer, Jonathan. The way things are going, you might be glad you did.’
After he had left she pondered the situation. If Lord Hockley caused a ruckus then it would be a big one. He was a leading industrialist, owned a newspaper, was a member of parliament. All in all, a man to fear. If only Rupert could see that. Hockley’s son’s sexual preferences would be hidden, no matter what it cost. Hockley had the money and the influence to ensure that.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As Denice O‘Toole opened the front door of her semi-detached house in East Ham to Briony and Kerry, her face was beaming smiles. ‘Come in, my dears, I’ve just made a pot of tea.’
Briony and a white-faced Kerry were ushered through to a small overstuffed parlour that was far too warm and far too full of knick-knacks.
Kerry sat down on the edge of a chair, and Briony settled herself at a small table.
Denice bustled about pouring the tea, pouring milk and enquiring who took sugar and who didn’t. Kerry felt as if she was stuck in some kind of bad dream. This was the last thing she’d had expected. In her mind’s eye she had pictured a dim dirty room, with an old wizened hag holding a crocheting hook. Somehow that picture seemed more fitting for what she knew was going to happen.
Denice smiled at her in a friendly fashion.
‘Don’t you worry, my dear, everything will be all right, I promise you.’
Briony sipped her tea. The atmosphere in the room was one of gentle conviviality. Her girls had never seemed to mind coming here. Briony always asked them if they would like to keep their child, and was always amazed at the number who said no. A clear and categoric no. For them the child inside them was just a nuisance, a problem to be solved by Denice and her ministrations. It was their body and their life. Now she sat here with her sister who did not class her pregnancy as an occupational hazard, something to be sorted out like the laundry or a little domestic problem.
Denice stood up. Her attempts at conversation were falling on deaf ears.
‘If you would care to follow me, we’ll get down to business.’
Kerry looked at Briony wild-eyed. Taking her sister’s hand, she pulled her gently from the chair.
‘Come on, Kerry love. Soonest done, soonest mended.’
It was a saying from their childhood. Kerry stood up uncertainly, her hands icy cold. She felt sick with apprehension.
They walked slowly from the room, through the narrow hallway and up the stairs to the back bedroom.
Kerry hesitated at the doorway. The white room looked forbidding in the bright light. Briony pushed her gently through the door. Inside there was a large table, covered in newspaper, and a chest of drawers with all sorts of instruments and padding set out neatly along the top.
‘Hop on the table, my love, and let me have a quick feel.’
Briony helped Kerry off with her coat, and in a dream she pulled herself on to the table top, her legs feeling like jelly, her hands trembling so she found it difficult to use them. She lay back slowly, her head touching a soft pillow.
‘Relax yourself, dear, so I can have a good mooch around!’
Denice’s voice was loud. It echoed in the hollow confines of the room. Unlike the rest of the house, this room was bare. No knick-knacks of any description, it was like a doctor’s surgery. Even the blinds on the one window were plain black. They were pulled down and the artificial light cast shadows on the white walls. Kerry closed her eyes.
Denice pulled up her dress and began to feel around her stomach, digging her fingers into the softness of her belly.
‘She’s well on, Briony, over three months. It’ll be the hook, I’m afraid.’
Briony licked dry lips. Kerry’s face was as white as the walls around her. Her eyes strayed to the implements on top of the dresser, and one large imposing piece of metal with a hoop on the end made her feel faint.
‘Kerry ... Kerry love, are you all right?’
Kerry opened her eyes and shook her head. Then, sitting bolt upright, she was sick. Briony stood by shocked as Kerry threw up, over and over again.
Briony went to her sister. ‘All right, all right, Kerry. Relax, love, take deep breaths.’
Kerry looked at the instruments again and once more started heaving.
‘Get... Get me out of here, please, Bri ... I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!’
Denice ran through to her newly installed bathroom and began to fill the bath, shouting, ‘Bring her through, Briony, she’s in shock I think.’
All the time she was praying that Kerry Cavanagh would not be sick again on her new lino or all over her new bathroom suite.
Briony put Kerry’s arm over her shoulder and helped her to the bathroom. There she sank down on to her knees, her whole body shaking with fear.
Between them Briony and Denice str
ipped her of her clothes and placed her in the hot tub. She lay back in the hot water, breathing deeply, her breasts heaving with every breath she took.
‘Feeling better, Kel?’
She opened her eyes slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Bri, but I can’t go through with it. I can’t.’
Briony smiled half heartedly. ‘You can’t! I can’t go through with it and it’s not happening to me! You just relax. We’ll get you home soon and then we’ll talk. We’ll think of something, love, I promise.’
Kerry grasped her sister’s hand, all animosity forgotten in the closeness of that moment. Kerry and Briony had accepted the child. Between them it would be all right, no matter what else happened.
‘What about me mum? She’ll go mad,’ Kerry whispered after a minute.
Briony sighed heavily.
‘You leave her to me. Now come on, sort yourself out. This place is giving me the heebie jeebies!’
Kerry laughed, a choking, throaty sound that was heavily tinged with relief.
As she dried her sister’s milky body, Briony felt as if someone had stepped on her grave. She fancied they were being watched by the ghosts of hundreds who had never had a chance of life. Denice O’Toole’s calm and collected manner now seemed chilling. Briony was amazed by the way she’d never really thought like this until it directly affected her or her family.
Kerry’s baby was going to cause trouble, she accepted that, but anything, no matter how bad, had to be better than the alternative offered by Denice O’Toole.
Molly’s eyes were bulging out of her head in temper.
‘You what? You’re telling me you brought her back home here with the child? Are you stark staring mad?’
Molly started to pace the room in a blinding rage, her heavy body tense and erect.
‘Sit down, Mum, and for once in your life think of someone else.’
Molly marched towards Briony and bellowed in her face: ‘All I can think of is that my daughter is going to give birth to a blackie! Jesus suffering Christ! I could brain the bitch, I could. I could rip the hair from her bastard head. How will I hold me own head up once this gets out?’
Briony pushed her mother none too gently in the chest, sending her flying back across the room.
‘All I ever hear in this family is me, me, me. How are you going to hold your head up? The same way you did when me dad died, and the same way you did when me and Eileen were whoring for you, and the same way you are now, with our Eileen in a nut house! Jesus Christ, this baby will be a godsend in some ways, give them something else to talk about at last.’
Molly’s face was twisted with temper.
‘Every time I think of her ... with a black man ... it makes me stomach turn. The whore! She’s nothing but a dirty stinking whore!’
Briony’s face went a dull white.
‘Then she’s in good company, isn’t she? Because, quite frankly, give me a good whore any day of the week to a hypocritical old woman who jumps into bed with the man next-door. He won’t even marry you, Abel. And why should he, eh? Talk about having your cake and eating it! He’s got his mother running round like a blue-arsed fly after him in one house and you on your fucking back in the other! I don’t think you’ve got much room to talk. You was at it with him before the old man was cold!’
Molly laughed nastily.
‘At least he’s white. I didn’t drop me drawers for the first eejity blackie I laid me eyes on.’
‘You know I have to laugh at you at times, Mother. As Irish Catholics we’re the lowest of the low round here, always have been. Old shawlies shouting in the street - your own mother was one. Men who drink hard and work as and when it suits them. Evander Dorsey was a talented man, an intelligent man. Kerry’s only mistake was falling for someone like herself, a kindred spirit. I can see that, so why can’t you? I got rid of him before I knew what the full score was. I knew she was going to come a cropper, Mum. I knew that because there are far too many small-minded people like you around. Christ, you make me laugh. You was up in arms last year because Jenny O’Leary was marrying a Protestant, a ranter. You hated him and he had blond hair and blue eyes! Your prejudice knows no bounds, woman. That little child is the innocent party in all this. It’s your grandchild!’
Molly grabbed at her daughter’s hair, tearing at it as she pulled her across the room, her great bulk giving her added strength. Briony elbowed her mother hard in the stomach, making her double over in pain as she gasped for breath.
‘You... you bitch.! That child is nothing to me! Do you hear me? Nothing. It should be dead, I hope it’s born dead. I hope she loses it now, while there’s still time. I never want to clap eyes on it! If that whore has it, me and her are finished for good. And I mean that. She’ll not drag this family’s name through the dirt. No way. I’ll disown the bastard first.’
Briony started laughing, a high vicious sound.
‘Drag this family’s name through the dirt! Well, that’s not hard, is it? We’re only accepted because I keep this family’s name spoken with respect. Through fear, Mother, plain and simple fear. People are scared of me, Briony Cavanagh. They tolerate you because I do. If you disown our Kerry, then I will disown you and I mean that, Mother. Let Abel poxy Jones keep you in the manner you’ve become accustomed to. Let him pay your bills and put the food on your table. We don’t need you, woman, we never did. You needed us more. You couldn’t keep a sheep in wool and you know it! You’ve never got up off your arse and done a real day’s work in your life! You swan around Brick Lane market like the fucking Queen of Sheba. Well, in future you’ll swan around on Abel’s money. Disown us, go on, disown the lot of us. See how far it gets you. You’ll need us before we’ll ever need you, I can guarantee you that.’
Molly stood and stared at Briony, the daughter she had found it increasingly difficult to like as a child yet the one who had grown into a woman of substance, a woman of renown. All Briony had said was true. Molly was respected only because of this daughter. Because she was a force to be reckoned with, a woman no one in their right mind would cross. Except, of course, her mother. Now Molly had crossed her, and had had her answer. Well, she had a trump card still and she played it.
‘Take your money, see if I care. Me and Rosalee don’t need it, we can get along by ourselves.’
She looked at Briony shrewdly, sure that she would not want to think of Rosie going without. But Briony had outthought her and answered equally craftily.
‘That’s all right then. You and Rosie fend for yourselves. You do what you have to. But that little child is here whether you like it or not. So if you disown us, do it now because I have a lot to do today.’
Walking past her mother she left the room. Upstairs Kerry was lying on the bed, the screaming and swearing from below barely reaching her. Bernadette sat beside her holding her hand. Briony breezed into the room and said, ‘How are you feeling in yourself?’
Kerry shrugged. ‘All right, Bri, I suppose.’
‘I’m very pleased to hear that, love, because you’re going back to work tonight. You’re not ill, you’re pregnant, and we’re all going to brazen this out. So get rested and bathed, and later on dress yourself up to the nines. My club is waiting for you, love!’
Bernadette laughed with glee. This was more like it, this was Briony at her best.
Waltzing from the room, she said nonchalantly over her shoulder, ‘Oh, by the way, I’ve some news for you. Mother has seen fit to disown us. Personally, I couldn’t give a toss!’
Bernadette was once more Kerry’s dresser. In the few weeks since the run-in with their mother, everything had calmed down. Molly had kept a very low profile, and Briony had made a point of sending a cab to the house to pick Rosalee up for her visits to her sisters. Molly had been all for stopping her going, but had thought better of it. Rosalee came back flushed, excited, and full to the brim with dainties. Eileen could only be visited by mutual consent. If Briony was going, Molly kept away and vice versa. Bernadette had not been near or by her door which
galled her, as it seemed three of her daughters had now formed some kind of unholy alliance, Briony and Bernadette both protecting Kerry.
In fact, it seemed to Bernadette that the three of them were getting on better than ever before. Briony was even talking about having Eileen home for a visit. Kerry didn’t look pregnant to outsiders, so the secret was still closed. It would come out eventually, but they had an unspoken agreement that until it did, they would put it out of their minds. Kerry had a glow to her skin that gave her looks an added lustre. In fact, she had never been healthier, had never enjoyed her singing so much. She lost herself in the words of the songs, and gave them an added meaning.
Pieter Delarge, a small dark-headed man with a beaked nose, had been in the club frequently of late, and now, on a cold October evening, he sat opposite Briony in her office, drinking coffee laced with vodka and chattering amicably.
‘Come on, Pieter, what are you really here for? I know it’s not to talk about the weather or your health.’
Briony smiled to take the edge off her words.
Pieter shrugged expansively.
‘I’ve come to ask you about your sister Kerry. I know through the grapevine that she’s had an offer from Templar Records.’
He blew out his lips dismissively as he said it. ‘I’m here because I can make you a better offer. A much better offer.’
‘And what might that be?’
‘I want to sign her for Campion Records. They’re new, but they’re going to be big. We want her to do four recordings over the next three months. We shall promote her well, her name will be everywhere. Even the music sheets would carry a picture of her, as well as her name in large letters. We want our own Billie, our own Ella. In short, we want a white singer for this new music. We want her to be the first big performer of this new age. We also want to pay her a great deal of money.’
Briony looked at the little man with shrewd eyes. ‘A percentage of the royalties as well? That’s what Templar have offered.’