Jail Bird

by Jessie Keane

  The men left the room. She sat there, swallowing hard, trying not to succumb to total hysteria. She glanced over at the long closed curtains. Perhaps there were French doors there, an escape route?

  The inner door opened.

  ‘It’s locked,’ said a low, masculine voice. ‘All the windows are locked. In case you were wondering.’

  Lily turned her head.

  Nick O’Rourke stood there, leaning casually back against the door, a big and threatening presence with his dark hair gleaming in the subdued light of the room, watching her steadily with his nearly black eyes, his gaze very intense. He still wore the black morning coat he’d been wearing at the church, but he’d removed his tie and opened his shirt collar.

  Lily braced herself. She hadn’t known Nick was in tight with Freddy and Si. He’d been best man, best friend and business associate to Leo, but his relationship with Leo’s brothers had – she thought – never been anything other than cool. Obviously she thought wrong.

  ‘What the hell…?’ she said weakly.

  ‘What the hell is right, Lily.’ Nick O’Rourke walked forward and flopped down into an armchair. ‘Like, what the hell are you playing at?’

  He stretched out his long legs and his calf brushed against hers. She flinched back as if burnt.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ she said. She looked at the inner door, knowing that any minute now the heavies were going to come back in and start working her over. New alliances had been made, alliances she knew nothing about. Ignorance wasn’t bliss at all. It was going to be the death of her.

  Just get on with it then, she thought. Let’s have it done.

  ‘What I’m on about is this,’ he said, and his voice sounded strained, as if he was making an effort to control his temper. ‘Are you stark, staring mad?’

  Oh, so first he wanted an apology for something. ‘You mean, turning up at Saz’s wedding today?’ she asked, having to cough to get the words out, her throat was so parched from fear. ‘Okay. I admit it. It was a stupid thing to do. All right?’

  ‘Stupid?’ The dark, dark eyes widened as he stared at her. ‘Oh, no Lily.’ He gave a bark of laughter, but he didn’t sound at all amused. ‘You’ve gone way beyond that point on the road. You passed stupid right back at the last fucking roundabout. Now you’re driving through mad. What the hell were you thinking?’

  Lily swallowed hard, blinked back more panicky tears.

  ‘I wanted…’ she gulped. ‘…I just wanted to see them. Saz getting married, how could I miss that?’

  He was shaking his head, his eyes moving over her. Lily cringed, very aware of what she looked like: mud-spattered, crumpled, tear-stained; a complete and utter wreck.

  ‘And look at the fucking state of you,’ he said in irritation.

  As if that’s going to matter now, she thought.

  ‘I just…had to be there,’ she said lamely.

  ‘No, Lily, you didn’t. Si was there. Freddy was there. You didn’t have to be there at all, are you totally insane? Do you for one single minute think that your daughters wanted to see you there today? Do you think they behaved as if they were glad to see you? I suppose that silly cow Becks told you about it?’

  Lily shrugged. She wasn’t going to drop Becks in it; she couldn’t grass up a mate – even if Becks had made it clear to her that she wasn’t welcome any more. That wasn’t her fault, anyway. Becks was just frightened, and she was right to be frightened: her and Joe didn’t want trouble with the Kings.

  ‘Yeah, I bet it was,’ he went on. He looked exasperated. ‘Fuck it, Lily, how long you been out?’

  ‘Yesterday. I got out yesterday,’ said Lily.

  ‘And today you’ve upset the whole bloody applecart. Jesus, that must be some sort of record.’

  Lily swallowed hard. All right. She knew she’d messed up. But she’d been desperate, couldn’t he see that?

  ‘They’re my girls,’ she said, and her voice was a little fiercer, a bit stronger.

  ‘They. Don’t. Want. To. Know. You,’ he said with brutal emphasis.

  ‘No…’ Lily shook her head, denying it, blanking it out even though she knew he was right.

  ‘Yes, Lily. It’s the damned truth. How would you feel, if your father’s murderer pitched up at your wedding?’

  Lily was still shaking her head, biting back more bitter tears. She’d dated Nick O’Rourke before she got involved with Leo but now she wondered why. He was such a bastard. Leo had been all flash, gold rings winking in the light, thick gold chains around his neck, everyone’s big brother, the one with the barrel chest and the big booming laugh; you could hear him in the next street, doling out cash and champagne and bonhomie to all and sundry. But Nick…Nick had been her very first love, her forever regret in life. She’d been seriously and hopelessly in love with him before Leo had come on the scene. Seeing him in the years that followed at parties, weddings, christenings, always with a new girl on his arm – Nick the playboy – had hurt badly at first, but the hurt had been dulled over time. And then he had married the exquisitely beautiful Julia, Leo’s cousin. That had hurt Lily, too, but only distantly; the pain wasn’t so fresh, she wasn’t a besotted young girl any more. Life had gone on; they had taken different paths. She had accepted that.

  Nick was so different to Leo. Quieter, darker – cleverer and more cunning, she had always thought. If Leo was sun and brightness, then Nick was the magnetic pull of the dark. Nick didn’t put all the goods out in the shop window for all to see; he kept something back. He was a thinker. It made him more dangerous than Leo could ever have hoped to be.

  And who better to get Leo out of the picture? thought Lily suddenly. His business partner. His oldest and best friend. Suspicion would never fall on Nick, but Leo could have screwed him on a deal. Nick was a brooder; he remembered every slight inflicted upon him back to the cradle. Nick could have decided he’d had a gutful.

  ‘You’re such a bastard,’ she said it out loud, felt better for it.

  ‘Yeah, but I’m the bastard who’s pulled your arse out of the crap today,’ said Nick, unmoved by her words. ‘Freddy went ballistic when you showed up, he was saying he was going to do all sorts.’

  Lily stared at him. ‘And you thought you’d come in on your white charger and whisk me away, did you?’ Her voice was trembling with emotion. Most of it was rage. He’d scared her witless, him and his bloody boys. And now – was she hearing this right? – he was saying that he’d had her snatched, brought here, just because Freddy King was mouthing off as usual?

  ‘Something like that.’ He gave a thin smile.

  ‘Freddy’s always threatened all sorts,’ she said.

  ‘Lily, he meant it. You’re staying with Becks and Joe, yes?’

  ‘Not any more. She’s told me to go.’

  ‘That’s a damned good idea, for them and for you. Where, though?’

  Lily shrugged and slumped further down into the sofa. She felt exhausted with the aftermath of all this shit, and bewildered by Nick’s motives. And bloody angry too: he’d really scared her.

  Nick stood up and went to the empty hearth. For such a big man he moved with a panther-like grace – silent and deadly. Which he was, she knew that. He was a hard man and a dangerous one. He’d grown up – like Leo – delving deep into the protection rackets and dabbling in large-scale bootlegging. Then he’d graduated to the criminal equivalent of the Premier League, working with an elite network of tough, trusted men at the highest level, and running rings around the cops and Customs & Excise.

  There was a set of keys on the mantelpiece. Nick picked them up and they jingled.

  That sound.

  One of the older cons had told her she would feel like this. ‘Just the sound of a set of keys jingling is gonna make you jump out of your skin for the rest of your life. You heard how men used to come back after World War One, shell-shocked from the Somme? Anyone so much as popped a cork near them, or a car backfired. They just dived for cover. And that’ll be
you, Lily girl. Every time you hear a set of keys.’

  Nick tossed the keys into her lap. Lily flinched.

  ‘There’s a safe flat across town. The boys’ll take you back to Becks’s place to get your things, then take you on over there. All right?’

  ‘What you doing this for? Guilty conscience?’ asked Lily.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did you…you didn’t have anything to do with Leo’s death, did you?’ she stumbled out.

  Nick looked surprised. Then he laughed. ‘That’s a good act, Lily. And that’s a really good line to take, particularly with Si and Freddy King after your blood. So let’s get this right – you were an innocent, banged up by mistake? It was a miscarriage of justice? Someone else did it? Me, maybe? Oh Lily. That’s a bloody good one.’

  Lily stood up. She’d been frightened, abused, accosted by her own kin and now the bastard was laughing at her.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ she snapped.

  His laughter stopped suddenly. He moved forward and stood facing her. Suddenly she felt very small.

  ‘Oh, too right it ain’t. It’s far from that.’ He was staring at her face. ‘Twelve years in stir and you’re still fucking beautiful. How’d you manage that Lily King? So beautiful. And so bloody deadly, too.’

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ said Lily through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yeah, that’s a good one. I’d stick with that if I were you.’

  Now Lily was getting mad. She lashed out, wanting to wipe that smirk off his face. He caught her wrist, held her there.

  ‘Now don’t start that with me,’ he advised. ‘If you hit me, I swear to you, I’ll hit back, and you know what? I can hit a lot harder than you. So don’t do it.’

  Lily was silent, fuming, her eyes glinting with temper. He was hurting her wrist, but she wouldn’t say so. She’d die first.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ she said again. ‘And I’m going to prove it’s the truth.’

  ‘Ha! Lily, you did it. I knew you. You were a shy, quiet girl and all I can think is that Leo pushed you too far, pushed you beyond reason, and you finally snapped.’

  ‘You think I killed your best friend? Truly? Then you ought to hate me for that.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Nick was staring at her thoughtfully. ‘You’re right. I should.’

  He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

  Lily didn’t struggle: she was too stunned to do that. She kept very still and tried not to respond. She couldn’t afford to let him see even a tiny bit of softness or pliability in her; she had to stay tough, stay in control. But – hell – it was difficult. It had been a long, dry time in prison. And if Nick was helping her – God knew why, she’d try to figure it out, if she could – then maybe she’d be wise to exploit any weakness for her he might still have.

  He pulled back, and stood there looking at her from inches away. ‘You know what I’d like to do now?’ he said.

  Lily gulped. Her lips were throbbing, and other parts were too. She shook her head.

  ‘I’d like to take you upstairs,’ he said, then his mouth tilted up in a cynical smile. ‘And I would – if it wasn’t for fear that I might wake up with what’s left of my brains splattered all over the room.’

  ‘You bastard,’ said Lily. ‘I told you…’

  ‘Yeah, that you didn’t do it.’ There was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He let go of her wrist, pushed her firmly back, away from him.

  Lily told herself she was glad about that. Keep strong, she told herself. Keep focused. It was hard though. ‘I’ll show you,’ she said. ‘I’ll prove it.’

  ‘Look, Lily, don’t show me anything and don’t try to prove anything to me, I’m not biting, okay? Just keep out of trouble, or I promise I am going to give you such a seeing-to one of these days.’

  Promises, promises, thought Lily. Then she clamped down on the thought, clamped down on the feeling. Her blood was fizzing from that unexpected kiss, but she didn’t want that. She didn’t want to get mixed up with anyone. Getting involved with hot, dodgy men had got her into this mess. She wasn’t going to go there, not any more. Even if Nick wasn’t Leo, Leo of the dazzling charm and the secret stable of tarts, he was still a bad ’un and he was best avoided.

  ‘Now,’ he went on, crossing to the inner door. One of the bruisers, the one who had told her to shut up on the joyride over here, was standing there. Nick turned back to Lily. ‘Keep out of Si’s way. And if you see Freddy coming, for the love of God leg it fast in the opposite direction. Okay?’

  Lily nodded slowly, although she knew that she was planning to do only one of those things.

  ‘Nige’ll drive you,’ said Nick, looking expectantly at her. ‘A thank you would be nice,’ he said.

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Lily, and the last thing she heard as she and Nige headed out of the house was Nick bloody O’Rourke laughing his bollocks off at her. Again.

  14

  It was her first day in Holloway. She thought she would choke with terror at the sensation of being hemmed-in, shut away. A prison officer at reception checked and logged her belongings, then allowed her to buy two phone cards with her own private cash.

  ‘Should be just one,’ said the officer. ‘But as you’re new in, two, okay?’

  Then she was strip-searched for the first time, adding indignity to fear, and locked in a room with six other prisoners. Three of them were heroin users, one of which had turned on her violent boyfriend, nearly braining him with a candlestick, and she joked that his head was so hard it had broken the bloody thing, and she was sorry about that because the candlestick had been a gift from her mother.

  One of the others was an intimidatingly tall, twenty-stone Jamaican woman with dreadlocks and a bass-baritone voice, called Mercy. She’d been done for importing cocaine and spoke in a fast patois that Lily at first struggled to comprehend. After a while, she developed an ear for it, and could talk to Mercy and understand her fully. Mercy had three kids at home in Jamaica, and had taken the coke with her on her first-ever trip to England because she had been told that if she didn’t, her eleven-year-old son would be killed.

  ‘Do you know if he’s safe now?’ Lily had asked her later on.

  ‘He’s in hiding with his grandma,’ said Mercy, and Lily thought then that her own life had been a picnic compared to this poor woman’s. After that, they each had a rudimentary health check and then Lily was pronounced ‘processed’ and was put on D3, the intake wing, in a four-bed dormitory.

  Like boarding school, she thought.

  ‘It true you killed your old man?’ asked one of the heroin junkies in the dorm. The girl had told Lily she’d decided not to sign on to the methadone programme because she said they were all loony-tunes in the hospital wing: she’d tried it before and she wasn’t trying it again. She’d rather go cold turkey.

  Lily didn’t answer. She was blank-faced with shock at finding herself here, inside.

  The heroin girl took her silence as an admission of guilt. They’d all read about the case in the papers; many of them had been the victims of violent husbands, boyfriends, pimps, and Lily had turned the tables. Struck a blow for the sisterhood.

  ‘Hey girl – respect,’ said her cellmate with a grin.

  15

  Lily sprang awake next morning wondering: Where the hell am I? She’d dreamed again. Back inside. Fucking dreams. But now she was lying in a comfy double bed, and sunlight was filtering through the closed curtains, and her first thought was that this was a different dream, another illusion, and that at any moment she would really wake up, and she would be in stir, forever in stir, on a hard bunk bed with a stained mattress and scratchy blankets and snoring cellmates for company. Ready to face the indignity all over again. The degradation, the dire prison food eaten at trestle tables on cheap, uncomfortable chairs, the need to fill the day before lights out and the sweet release of sleep.

  But no. Here she was. She was out. Her mind ran back over the events of the past two days. Becks telling her to go – and the
relief on her face last night when Lily and the boys had pitched up and collected her things. Joe skulking in the background – keeping out of it; not wanting to get involved. And who could blame him? Jack Rackland, sitting on a bench with her in the park, watching kiddies play…oh, and her kids, her beautiful girls, and then – and this was so painful, so awful – Saz’s face twisted with hate as she’d launched herself at Lily, knocking her flying.

  Lily turned over in the bed, groaning, pulling the pillow over her head, trying to block out the image.

  Oh, and more of them. Nick O’Rourke laughing at her last night, Nick O’Rourke kissing her. She paused over that. Relived for a moment the old, delicious sensations. But no. She couldn’t trust him. She couldn’t trust anyone. So what if he’d ferried her off to this neat, unshowy safe flat? So what if the kitchenette cupboards were well stocked with food. So what if she found wearable women’s clothes in the wardrobe, and a man’s, too – what was this, a little love-nest for Nick and some tart? She thought his marriage to Julia had ended long since, she’d heard that somewhere. Probably from Becks.

  All right, he’d done all this for her, but she still couldn’t trust him.

  Furthermore, she was potless. She hadn’t a bean. Very soon, she was going to have to get her hands on some substantial cash, set herself back up on her feet, get Jack paid and pointed in the right direction. It was going to be a challenge, but she thought: I can do this.

  A buzzer went off, very loud. Lily stiffened and emerged from beneath the pillow. What the fuck? she thought, her heart freezing in panic.

  The buzzer sounded again, not muffled by the goose-down pillow this time. Very loud indeed. Lily sat bolt upright, pulling the long faded lavender-coloured t-shirt she’d grabbed out of the closet to wear in bed further down, hunching her knees up to her chest. She looked around her with wild, frightened eyes. Where was it coming from? It sounded again, and she pinpointed it. There was a telephone intercom on the wall. Someone was downstairs, leaning on the doorbell.

  Oh shit.