A short photographic session in the pretty adjoining gardens was followed by a slap-up meal at a restaurant in Hornchurch town centre.
Steve gave a short but moving speech in which he thanked Debbie for making him the happiest man alive. Peter got up next and said a few polite words on behalf of June and himself. Not surprisingly, it was Mickey’s acid tongue which completely stole the show, as usual. The whole restaurant was in hysterics as he delivered his hilarious best man’s speech.
‘As you know, Marbella is full of famous people. Many a villain has left these shores to live it up there. Ronnie Biggs once lived there … Mickey Green … Freddie Foreman … the list is endless. I happened to be over there recently, conducting a bit of business, and was very surprised to find that this man here,’ Mickey paused to pat Steve on the back, ‘is as well known as anyone. No matter what bar or restaurant I went in, the name on everyone’s lips was Stephanie Arthur Roberts.’
Steve felt himself go beetroot red as the whole place erupted into laughter. Mickey carried on: ‘Now let me tell ya a little story. I hadn’t known Steph that long when he decided to take me over West Ham. Anyway, we’re queuing up at the ground and we finally gets to the turnstile. So, I’ve gone through, looked round and I can’t see Steph anywhere. I couldn’t work it out. I knew he was right behind me. Anyway, I wanders back towards the entrance to see if I can spot him, and you’ll never guess where he was … ’
Steve put his head in his hands as all the guests urged Mickey to tell them. He was such a piss-taking bastard, Steve would kill him for this.
Mickey smiled as triumphantly he finished his story. ‘Poor old Steph was that fat, he’d got stuck in the fucking turnstile! The stewards were pulling on his oversized arms, but they couldn’t dislodge him. And the funniest part of it was, the crowd who were queuing up behind, clocked what was going on and broke into song. All I could hear was half of Upton Park singing, “Who ate all the pies, who ate all the pies? You fat bastard, you fat bastard, you ate all the pies!”’
‘I’ll fucking kill you for that, you cunt,’ Steve joked as Mickey sat back down.
The evening reception had been arranged and paid for by the best man and was held at a pub in Rainham village. Another hundred or so guests joined in the celebrations there and put the finishing touch to a completely successful day.
As Debbie sat at a table next to her mum, she noticed her son staring into space. ‘You all right, Charlie? Are you gonna come and have a dance with Mummy?’
He shook his head and stared down at the floor.
‘Shall I get you something to eat from the buffet? They’ve got chicken nuggets – your favourite. Mummy ordered them especially for you.’
‘Not hungry,’ he replied, still staring at the floor.
Debbie ruffled his hair and dragged June to the Ladies. ‘I’m really worried about him, Mum. He hardly touched his food in the restaurant and he’s barely said a word all day. You don’t think he’s ill, do you?’
‘Not on your nelly,’ replied June. ‘There’s sod all wrong with him. He’s just playing up, trying different tactics. I’ll keep me eye on him. You go and find your husband and have a bloody good time, love.’
Taking her mother’s advice, Debbie let her hair down and spent the rest of the evening singing, drinking and laughing. She sat with Steve’s friends and family, and was overjoyed, but not surprised, to find out just how popular and highly thought of he was.
‘Honestly, Debbie, you’ve got yourself a good ’un there. If it weren’t for Steve, I’d have been shoved in a home as a kid. He fed me, clothed me, put me on the right track in life. If he hadn’t guided me, I’d probably be inside now, like most of me old mates are,’ insisted Steve’s little brother Lee, who’d been granted special leave by the army for his brother’s big day.
The latter part of the evening passed in one big happy blur. The DJ called Debbie and Steve on to the dance floor and played Cliff Richard’s ‘Congratulations’. Everyone stood in a circle and surrounded the happy couple. Debbie and Steve then smooched to Elton John’s ‘Your Song’, which had been a favourite of Steve’s mum. Completely oblivious to anyone else, they gazed lovingly into one another’s eyes.
‘Do you think we’ll always be this happy, Steve?’ Debbie asked him.
‘Of course we will, babe. Nothing and no one can spoil what we’ve got,’ he insisted.
*
At the very moment that Debbie and Steve were enjoying their last dance, Billy McDaid lay wide awake in his cell, unable to sleep. He had no idea that Debbie was even with Steve, let alone that they’d got married that day. He’d been sentenced the previous week and had received five years for his crime. He no longer loved Debbie; in fact, he hated her and blamed her for everything bad that had ever happened to him. Closing his eyes, he pictured his son, his precious little Charlie boy.
‘I love you, son,’ he said softly as he kissed a photo of the child. Talking to Charlie kept him sane in this place. ‘One day me and you will be together, boy.’
‘Shut up, bloodclot,’ came the dulcet tones of his cell-mate Clinton.
Billy was frightened of the big, black six-footer he was sharing with, so quickly shut up. Smiling to himself, he pictured the day he and his son were finally together again.
Billy had heard that he’d also fathered a couple of kids up in Scotland. Obviously, he’d never met them. He had no wish to. In his mind, Charlie was the only child who truly belonged to him. One day, when he got out of this shit-hole, he’d make things right with his son. Billy had always regarded himself as a bit of a face. Surely his wean would turn out to be a chip off the old block. The child bore his surname, after all.
Once a McDaid, always a McDaid.
Like Billy himself, the kid was destined to become a legend.
TWENTY-FIVE
December 2005 – Ten Years Later
REALISING THAT THE girls were due to be picked up in less than half an hour, Debbie gobbled the last of her sandwich, picked up the keys to her latest birthday present, a BMW X5, and headed off for the drama school to collect her daughters.
As she sat in heavy traffic, she thought briefly back over her past. The Billy saga was virtually forgotten now, little more than a distant memory to her. She had a wonderful life and, truth be told, it was all thanks to Steve. Marrying him was the best decision Debbie had ever made, and she loved him more as each day passed.
Over the past ten years her life had turned around completely. When she looked into the mirror these days she could barely make out the shy, wonky-nosed individual she had once been. She was now the mother of two beautiful little girls, Gracie aged eight and Rosie who had just turned six.
Steve was a wonderful father, strict but fair, and the girls were a credit to their parents. Polite and intelligent, they excelled at dance and drama and were loved by anyone and everyone who came into contact with them. On the birth of his first daughter, Gracie, Steve had made the life-changing decision to give up crime and go legit.
‘I ain’t missing out on seeing my daughter grow up so I’m going straight,’ he’d announced. True to his word, he’d managed to badger Mickey into going halves with him to buy a pub. Debbie’s brother had been dubious at first but had stuck up half the cash, opting to be a silent partner. He was more surprised than anyone when the venture turned out to be a huge success. A bit put out that Steve had cracked it without his help, Mickey soon got involved in the running of it himself.
Mickey and Steve were still very well known and respected in certain criminal circles and it wasn’t long before the pub was packed out with their own kind. The customers who drank there felt safe. They knew Mickey and Steve were two of their own and consequently all kinds of business could be discussed freely and openly, without their having to worry. Within a year of its opening, the pub had made enough money for the boys to expand their thriving business. They were now the proud owners of four boozers in total and had just added a gentlemen’s club to their rapidly gr
owing empire.
Neither Mickey nor Steve was involved in running the premises now. They’d hired managers for each establishment to do the actual work. Their own job was to keep an eye on the overall running of the businesses and flit from one to the other of them, turning up at unannounced times on a daily basis to make spot checks. Mickey had taken Steve’s lead and four years ago decided to go straight himself. There were two reasons for his change of heart. First, he’d had a tip off from a bent copper he knew, telling him the old bill were on to him, and the second reason was Karen.
As fate would have it, he’d met her in one of this own pubs. Even though he hated to admit it, she’d been the absolute making of him and had brought him more personal happiness than he could ever have believed possible.
Enchanted by her long dark hair, delicate features, hearty laugh and wicked sense of humour, he’d fallen head over heels for her within weeks. A feisty, fiercely independent single mum of one, Karen had been a hard nut to crack. Mickey was used to women falling at his feet, and the challenge she’d presented only made him love her more.
Determined to win her over, Mickey upped the charm stakes. It must have worked as a year later they were married and had since produced a son, Alfie, now eighteen months old. Mickey had also legally adopted Karen’s fifteen-year-old daughter Lois. As the proud father of two children, he was the happiest he’d ever been. He idolised Karen and vice versa. They were soul-mates and very, very happy together.
Debbie’s thoughts were jolted back to the present by the sound of her mobile ringing. Seeing her son’s name flashing on the screen, she mounted a kerb to take the call.
‘Hello, love, you all right?’
Charlie did not bother to answer his mother’s question but came straight to the point. ‘Where are you, Mum? I need some money. How long you gonna be?’
Debbie sighed, exasperated. The only time her son ever rang her was when he wanted something. ‘I gave you twenty quid last night, love. You have more pocket money than any other kid I know. I’m not a bank, Charlie.’
Hearing an ominous silence at the other end of the phone, Debbie did what she always did when it came to her son – she gave in. ‘There’s fifty quid in an envelope in the top right-hand drawer, take twenty out of that.’
‘Can’t I take thirty?’
‘No, you can’t.’ Debbie was annoyed as she ended the call. Her son was such an ungrateful little sod.
She arrived ten minutes early at the school and sat in the car thinking. Overall her life was pretty good. She was even content with her looks and figure now since Steve had treated her to a nose job and she’d joined the local gym. Charlie was the only downside to her otherwise happy existence, and she was beyond knowing what to do about him. Steve didn’t have a clue how much money her son wheedled out of her every week; he’d have gone apeshit if he knew the exact amount the boy demanded. What Charlie did with that money was anyone’s guess. Debbie knew that because she felt guilty for spending most of her time with her two adorable daughters, she tried to compensate her son with constant hand-outs. Charlie was bright at school, disruptive but clever, the teachers said. The main concern Debbie had was that he had no real friends and the vibes she always got on open evenings told her he was extremely unpopular.
Her son went out sometimes of an evening, but she didn’t know where, and when she inquired, he told her precisely nothing. During the time he was at home, he was always holed up in his bedroom. He was obsessed with computer games and spent most of his time playing them. His only other interest was surfing chat rooms on the internet. He never joined in with anything they did as a family. Debbie always tried to include him, but Charlie flatly refused to comply.
His relationship with his sisters was awful. The only time he spoke to them was to torment them. The girls had loved him when they were little and had looked up to him, but he’d rejected them from day one. As they’d got older, they’d learned that keeping out of his way was the best option.
Steve hated the sight of Charlie and suffered him only for his wife’s sake. Debbie knew the score, and to be honest couldn’t blame him. If the boot had been on the other foot, she’d have struggled herself. Her son was still wary of Steve and oozed politeness on the odd occasions he was forced to spend in his company. When Steve wasn’t around, he’d talk to her and his sisters like they were pieces of shit. Debbie never told Steve about this. Keeping her trap shut equalled a quiet life, and that was the way she liked it.
Seeing her daughters running happily towards her, Debbie forgot her worries. She hugged them tight and asked them about their class.
‘We did tap dancing and sang songs,’ they answered excitedly.
Debbie smiled to herself as she drove home. The girls were in the back, gabbling away ten to the dozen, and some of the things they came out with were just hilarious.
Considering neither she nor Steve was an oil painting, it was a mystery how they’d been blessed with two such pretty girls. With their long dark hair and dark eyes, they were both stunning kids. Charlie wasn’t so fortunate. Now a plain, tall boy, he was slightly overweight, with beady eyes and an untrustworthy look. In fact, he looked like a younger, fatter version of his father.
‘How many days to Christmas now, Mummy? What time does Santa bring the presents?’ Rosie asked excitedly.
‘There is no Santa,’ Gracie replied, giggling.
‘Yes, there is. Don’t spoil things for her, Gracie. This time next week is Christmas Day, and Santa waits until you’re asleep and delivers his presents the night before,’ Debbie told her youngest.
This would be the first Christmas in their new house and Debbie couldn’t wait. It was her turn to have all the family over. They’d only moved in six months ago. A five-bedroomed house in a rural part of Brentwood with a couple of acres attached, it had turned out to be the home of Debbie’s dreams. It had cost a little more than they’d intended paying but, on realising his wife had fallen in love with the property, Steve had stuck a bid in. After a bit of bargaining, the deal was done and Debbie was overjoyed.
They’d previously lived in a three-bedroomed semi in Upminster and Debbie had been keen to move while the girls were young. The schools were far better in Brentwood and she wanted the best for her daughters. Charlie only had a year and a half left at his school in Upminster and opted to stay there. This wasn’t a problem as it was only a bus ride away.
‘Mum, Dad’s on the phone!’ Gracie shouted.
Debbie was putting salt on the drive, which had begun to freeze over. Dropping the shovel, she ran indoors.
‘You took your fucking time. Where were you – Calcutta?’ Steve joked.
‘I was just chucking some salt down outside, you cheeky sod.’
‘I’ll be home in about half-hour, babe. I know you don’t like cooking, so I wondered if you wanted me to bring a Chinese in?’
Debbie laughed. The relationship between them had not changed since the day they’d first got together. They still loved nothing more than taking the piss out of one another.
‘Go on then, you’ve twisted me arm. Get a mixture of dishes, Steve. You know what the girls have, don’t ya?’
‘Don’t worry, Debs. The woman in the Chinese gets the order ready without even asking what the fuck I want. “Hello Mr Steve,” she says when I walk through the door. I bet she thinks I’m one of these poor single dads. I’m gonna tell her one day, I’ve got a lazy fucking old woman.’
Laughing, Debbie cut him off.
Charlie sat in his mate’s bedroom in a council house in Harold Hill. His heart was pumping with excitement as he took the DVD out of its case and handed it to his friend.
Kevin was the only mate he had. They had the same interests and the same things in common, which included smoking joints, watching porn, listening to heavy rock music and playing violent computer games. Kevin Newley was an oddball through and through. Unwanted by his mother, he’d been raised by his psychotic grandmother Doreen who had done him no favours
whatsoever. A fat boy with glasses, Kevin was unkempt and rarely came into contact with soap or water. He was an almost complete loner and totally in awe of his one and only friend. If Charlie said jump, Kevin would do it. That’s why their friendship worked.
Being unpopular too, Charlie was glad of his only pal. Kevin was fat and minging, but his house came in handy to doss round. His nan was senile so they could puff, watch films, drink beer … in fact, they could do whatever they bloody well wanted here. The situation suited Charlie. He was a bully, liked getting his own way, and Kevin was well and truly under his thumb.
Seeing the DVD flicker into life, Charlie’s excitement grew, along with his hard on. He had his own DVD dealer, a little Chinese bloke called Lee, who got hold of all the real hardcore stuff, and had managed to get Animal Farm for him. Charlie had built up quite a collection which was kept safely hidden under Kevin’s bed. Sometimes he’d sneak a couple home and watch them when the house was empty, but he was always careful not to leave them lying about. His mum would have a fit. As for Steve, he’d rip his stepson’s head off if he got wind of Charlie’s little hobby.
Charlie was clever and had learned how to play his mother and Steve over the years. He was never talkative, but always tried to be polite. Sometimes he’d give his mum a bit of stick if Steve wasn’t about. He knew she wouldn’t say anything, she was too soft. He hated his sisters, especially Rosie who was a trappy little cow, and on more than one occasion had fantasised about throttling her and watching her gasp for her last breath. That thought made him giggle. Gracie had been the same once upon a time, but he’d taught her who was boss and managed to shut her up. Shame he’d never done the same to Rosie.
Turning his attention back to the film, he cheered with delight at the sheer filth of it. He’d heard about this film on a porn chat room and had been told it was an all-time classic.
‘Er, that’s disgusting … look what’s she’s doing with that horse,’ Kevin chortled.
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