by Martina Cole
Donna nodded as if she knew what he was talking about. The perfectly cooked salmon was beginning to curdle in her stomach.
‘Sometimes I wonder if there are any pies left for Georgio to push his greedy little fingers into.’ Her words came out calmer than she expected.
Jamesie carried on eating, unaware of Donna’s pallor. Alan hastily took over the conversation.
‘So what do you think we’re looking at then, Jamesie? I’m rounding up the men - all handpicked, of course. But I need a good armoury. I was wondering if I could rent the guns, like - on a sale or return basis. I won’t have much need of Armalites, you know that, and I don’t much fancy selling them on. Can you imagine a blagger with an Armalite or a hand-grenade? It just don’t bear thinking about!’
Jamesie chuckled. ‘I’d already thought of that,’ he said. ‘I have a cachement coming in on the fifteenth of October. That’s four weeks away. I could sort you a few little bits from there.’
‘That’s a result anyway.’ Alan looked pleased. ‘How’s the dog-breeding going these days?’
Donna was more than aware that Alan was changing the subject.
‘Oh, the dogs are doing fine,’ Jamesie said, satisfaction in his voice. ‘I had another one of my boys won Crufts last year. I can’t lose with them. I must show you around the kennels, Donna, I know you’ll be impressed. My dogs get the works - central heating, the best food - nothing is too good for them.’
She smiled, glad to be back on a subject she understood. ‘I’d love to see the kennels, thank you.’
She sipped her wine, wondering what the hell she was doing chatting about dogs, Crufts and Armalite rifles!
The prison was in darkness. Georgio rolled over on his bunk, unable to sleep. He could hear Chopper whistling through his teeth, a sound that drove him to distraction.
‘You awake, Georgio?’
‘What do you think?’
Chopper laughed softly in the darkness.
‘I had a feeling you might be having a bit of trouble with your zeds. Listen to me. I think Lewis has had it, don’t you?’
Georgio shook his head wearily. ‘Oh Chopper, just how well do you know old Donald? Only, I remember when he got shot in the early seventies. He took six bullets, was left for dead, and three weeks later the man who tried to finish him was found tied up, gagged and tortured to death. Until you see Lewis go in the ground, mate, with your own eyes, don’t bank on nothing.’
Chopper absorbed Georgio’s words. Then ‘I know he’s a hard old bugger, but every dog has its day.’
Georgio sat up. Swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, he scratched his stomach aimlessly.
‘Well, I have a feeling that Lewis’s days are still here, know what I mean? You forget he still owns a good portion of this nick. Now his nancy boys might have taken the coon’s side today, but once Lewis hobbles back on this wing, he’ll take over the reins again. Believe me, because I know him. I know him bloody well. He would buy all he needed. He’s mega rich, and mega bad. He is, in fact, your worst nightmare, because once he finds out what’s been going down, he’ll pay everyone back. And pay them back as viciously as possible.’
‘You seem to know a lot about him?’
Georgio answered with a toughness in his voice he didn’t really feel: ‘Listen, Chopper, I knew Lewis from a kid. My old man knew him. Unlike most hard men, the stories you hear about him are true. You wouldn’t need to exaggerate them. I know for a fact that he’s been responsible for the murders of a good many blokes, and a few women too. He is bad, exceptionally bad. Go careful.’
Chopper got off his bunk and lit himself a roll-up, his face eerie in the light of the match.
‘You seem to be doing all right. I hear you owe him a lot of money - money he wants back. And you’re not telling him anything, I notice.’
‘That’s for the simple reason that once I tell him, I’m finished. There ain’t a lot of people that can frighten me, but Lewis is one of them. I mean it: go careful, Chopper. I’m telling you that not because I like you, but because I have a feeling you could end up causing us all trouble. Let it all lie. Once we know what’s going down, we can all make our plans.’
Chopper took a deep drag on his cigarette.
‘And what are your plans? I get the impression you’re waiting to go somewhere. You don’t get involved in anything, you’re distant to most of the men. You seem to me like you’re only here on loan.’
Georgio laughed. ‘I’m waiting for my appeal, Chopper. I thought that was common knowledge.’
‘Yeah, and the Queen Mother is coming in tomorrow for soliciting! What do you take me for? I’ve spent the best part of my adult life in places like this. I can read people. I see more than you’d think.’
‘Then this is one time you’re wrong. I want to do me time with as little fuss as possible, that’s it. End of story.’
Chopper sat on the bunk next to him.
‘You intrigue me, Brunos. What are you bothering with Sadie and Timmy for, eh? Why don’t you use your reputation to make life easier for yourself in here? I know all about you, what kind of stuff you’re involved in. You’re doing eighteen years, boy. That’s not a nonce’s sentence. Why are you toeing the line with Lewis?’
Georgio sighed. ‘As I already told you, I know him better than anyone. Lewis isn’t dead until he’s buried, take my word for it. Even then I wouldn’t put it past him to carry on from the grave. You know so much about me? Well, my advice is to find out about Lewis - really find out about him. You might just get a shock. Ask around about Jimmy Lansdown. I take it you’ve heard of Jimmy?’
Chopper nodded.
‘Then you know how he died. Lewis was behind that or I’m a fucking Dutchman. Don’t let his homosexuality make you think he’s no threat, because one thing I’ve learnt over the years is this: the queers are always underestimated, especially by the macho men like you. Lewis is a dangerous man, remember that at all times. He’d slip a knife into you while he was smiling.’
Chopper listened carefully. ‘Do you think he’ll come through this, really?’
Georgio laughed again, harder this time.
‘If he can come through six bullet wounds, having his kidney removed ain’t gonna trash him. In fact it wouldn’t surprise me if he has it grilled with a bit of liver and eats it with a nice Chianti. He’s capable of it.’
Chopper got up and climbed back on to his bunk.
‘We’ll see.’
‘See what?’
Chopper settled his bulk and answered nonchalantly, ‘We’ll see how it goes. But I warn you now, if he’s out of the ballgame I am in, and I’m expecting you to back me up, Brunos. It’s about time you pulled your weight in this nick. It’s getting boring watching you sit on the fence. Before you know it you’ll fall off, and then where will you be?’
Georgio didn’t bother answering.
He lay awake wondering how Alan and Donna were getting on in Scotland. If Lewis came back he could handle it; he hadn’t done anything detrimental. All he wanted was to keep his head down and sit it out until such time as he could make his move. And the sooner that was the better.
The Wing was deathly quiet, the usual night sounds muted. Georgio knew that all minds were on Lewis, and what was happening to him.
Please God let him die, he prayed.
He wondered for the umpteenth time why he had not let Timmy finish what he’d started. He should have left Timmy to cut the bastard’s throat. It was the chat with Sadie that had done it. They were friends now, and in a place like this, friends were your all.
He had just found that out.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The day dawned wet and Donna shivered in the car as they drove towards Glasgow. Yawning widely, she settled back in her seat.
‘I know this is an early shoot, Donna, especially after last night, but we have so much to do this weekend. Important things.’
She watched the scenery gradually change from green fields to grey conc
rete and nodded.
‘Jamesie seemed such a nice person, not the type to be involved in arms deals or robberies . . . Oh, you know what I mean.’
Alan slowed the car to allow some children to cross the road. ‘I understand what you’re saying but you must remember, hardly anyone is what you think they are. Even the average housewife has something she wants to hide.’
Donna laughed nastily. ‘The average housewife? Now I’ve heard everything. God, you’re a bloody chauvinist! What, may I ask, is an average housewife? You sound as though you’re an expert on the subject.’
Alan felt his temper rising. Donna was getting more and more touchy by the hour. Swinging the car round a bend, he answered her in a loud voice.
‘Well, my mother was an average housewife - not that you’d know one if she fell out of a tree and hit you on the head. The average housewife lives in a council place, with three or four kids, no holidays, very rarely enough money, and an old man who spends his time between the dole and the pub. She reaches thirty and looks forty-five, her figure goes after the second child, she becomes loud-mouthed to compete with the neighbours who are all streetwise, and she fights to give her kids that little bit more. She dresses them from catalogues, does a bit of ducking and diving for extra cash, and finally expires at about sixty-odd after living for years in damp accommodation and taking the back of the old man’s hand.
‘She gets the doctor for her kids but never for herself. She dotes on her grandchildren, visits sons in nick or boasts because they’ve got a job. She makes sure her daughters try for better and is deeply saddened when they plump for what she had. Her telly and her drop of sherry are her lifeline. And of course Bingo where she can meet her cronies, have a laugh and slag off the neighbours. That, Donna Brunos, is the average housewife.’
She listened to him in silence.
‘All right then, Alan, so what would her big secret be then?’
He grinned. ‘Her big secret would be the bloke who got away, the one she was young with, the one she should have married instead of the ponce she ended up with. She daydreams over shitty nappies and greasy dinners about the fella who fancied her when she was young, the fella who was well-spoken, quiet, classed by her peers as a bit of a snob. Then she remembers her old man in his Teddy boy suit, his slicked-back hair, and his devil-may-care attitude. She took second-best and she knows it. That, Donna, is her secret.’
She tossed her hair in consternation.
‘Well, forgive me, Alan, but that’s not exactly on a par with Jamesie, is it? We were talking about living a lie, not living with regrets.’
Alan flicked a glance at her.
‘You know something, Donna? That’s your problem. You don’t really know the difference. The lie she’s living is that she is there. All her married years she’s looking for that extra few quid to come in so she can dump the old man, get the kids out of their environment, help them better themselves. She daydreams of that, of the man coming back for her and finding her and taking her away from it all. Yet she sleeps in the same bed as the man she has come to despise. She allows him access to her body, but never to her mind. He isn’t even aware she’s got one. She puts up with all sorts of trouble and humiliations for him, and through him. Yet the lie, Donna, is always there.
‘She has his children, she’s the mother of his children, and that is all she is and she knows it. There’s no real respect, no real love, and she knows that as well. Her old man watches Benny Hill, reads the Sun and the Sport, and treats her once a year to a birthday present, usually something for the home - an iron or a kitchen set. She is a non-person, and the more time goes by, the more obvious it is to her. So she retreats more and more into what could have been, and what she should have been.
‘She is living more of a lie in fact than Jamesie, because he’s a man and can do what the fuck he likes. That privilege is rarely afforded to women, especially working-class women. You think you’ve got problems? Your old man’s banged up, big deal. You should try looking after three kids on the fucking Social. That would soon put paid to your smart mouth, I can tell you.’
There was silence in the car. Both were aware that Alan had gone too far and neither really knew what had brought on this tirade. All he knew for sure was that her long face was getting him down. He didn’t want her there, didn’t want her meeting people like Jamesie and others of his ilk. He wanted to protect her from it all, yet at the same time her complete disdain for his way of life, Jamesie’s way of life, and the mess they were all in, annoyed him. He was doing her old man a bloody big favour, and consequently he had to put up with her. It was all a mess.
Donna’s voice was quiet as she answered him.
‘For your information, Alan Cox, I would gladly have lived in a council flat if I could have had even one child.’
Alan heard the yearning in her voice, and realised what he had said. He should have remembered all Georgio had told him over the years about their quest for a child. Even adoption was out because of his nefarious activities. He could have taken his foot and slammed it painfully into his own mouth. Stopping the car, he turned to face her.
‘I’m sorry, Donna. That was uncalled-for. I just wasn’t thinking. Forgive me.’
She stared out at the blurred landscape and forced back the tears. If Alan Cox knew how she still yearned to hold a baby, to snuggle it into her arms and know it was hers! She would gladly give up everything she possessed for that.
He placed his hand on her arm and she shrugged it off.
‘I’m fine, Alan. Let’s get going, shall we? Now I have been put well and truly in my place I will remember to act the subservient little woman in future.’
Alan felt an urge to turn her around and pull her into his arms but he knew it would be fatal.
‘Shall I tell you something, Donna?’
‘Would it stop you if I said no?’
‘I’m being serious, darlin’. You bring out the worst in me, I don’t know why but you do. There’s something about your whole demeanour that irritates me in the extreme. You’re so sure of yourself, you look down on everyone, yet you need these people to get your husband - who incidentally is doing eighteen years - out of nick. You are mixing with the scum of the earth for that one reason. You look down your pretty little nose at them, yet you are no better, not now. You were before you became embroiled in all this, but not any more. You’re as crooked as them now and the sooner you realise that and stop trying to fucking be Mother Theresa of Alcatraz, the sooner me and you will get on.
‘Like I was saying before, the average housewife has the housewife mentality: the man in her life is what brought her low. Remember that, love, because it applies to you as well. You don’t go to Bingo, you go to fancy restaurants and clubs. You don’t have a beano to Southend now and again, you go to the Caribbean. Same meat, Donna, different fucking gravy. Now you’re making me all annoyed again. Why the hell is that!’
Donna turned on him, her eyes blazing.
‘I don’t know why I irritate you, Mr Cox, but I can honestly say that the feeling is mutual. As for all this old rubbish about housewives, what are you, some kind of sociologist? I have a degree in Sociology, you may be interested to know, and I never read anything remotely like the crap I’ve heard today.’
Alan shook his head. ‘What I know you can’t learn from books, love, you learn it from experience. Remember that.’
He stared into her face, feeling the familiar pull of her, the pull he’d noticed the first time he’d clapped eyes on her. He sighed. Her blue eyes were glittering, emphasising her anger; her hair was like a thick mane. Her stubborn little chin was set; her mouth quivering with indignation. Alan groaned inwardly. What he’d really like to do was strip her off in the car and fuck the arse off her. That was what was wrong with him and he knew it. He was picking on her, and had homed in on the thing that would hurt her most, her inability to have children. He was a nasty, evil-minded man, and he was ashamed because he still didn’t feel sorry. Inside hims
elf he knew she needed knocking down a peg, and he wanted to do it before they got to Glasgow and she met the people he had been talking about. Her idea of a slum was living in Canning Town, like Ma and Pa Brunos did. She had never in her life been subjected to a real dump, with hard people. Glasgow would be an education, as would Liverpool or the seamier parts of London.
He stared into her face, willing himself to calm down. She couldn’t help being what she was; she was lucky she had never had to live as he had. Was lucky never to have had to scrimp or save or wonder where the next meal was coming from. She had been lucky all her life.
Mrs Good Woman soon lost all her fancy values when Mr Good Man got banged up though, even though Mr Good Man was as bent as a nine-bob clock. Yet still she looked down on Alan, and the people they were dealing with. It was a pity she didn’t look down her nose at that husband of hers. She didn’t know the half of it where Georgio was concerned . . .
His bad temper was over now.
‘I’m sorry, Donna.’
She licked her lips slowly, an unconsciously erotic act. ‘No you’re not, Alan. To you I’m a stuck-up cow and I know it. Well, let me tell you something - I’m glad I am. I’m over the moon, because I know deep inside that whatever I may be involved in now, it’s for one reason and one reason only. My Georgio. I didn’t choose any of this, it was thrust on to me. What’s your excuse for the way you’ve lived your life? A murderer, a self-confessed murderer. My God, you people are laughable. Don’t tell me about poverty, I know all about it! People like you shove it down my throat all the time. Well, here’s another little gem for you to put in your pipe, Mr Cox. People make slums, not houses. Remember that when next you step up a flight of stairs on one of your council estates and encounter filth, condoms and urine. You didn’t have to be a villain, you chose to be one. Not every poor boy becomes a gangster or a robber. It’s a choice you make. So keep all your bleeding heart stuff to yourself in future. It don’t wash with me.’