Maggie, unlike the rest of her family, was a person who thought of a goal and then moved heaven and earth to achieve it, and with Jimmy behind her she knew what she wanted was getting closer and closer by the day. He was already earning fortunes, and he was only twenty-one, it seemed that life was determined to give them both a break. Unlike her sister, she had no problem with her man working at the houses because she knew she could trust him. Unlike Freddie, her Jimmy didn’t need strange at every opportunity and she could tell by the way he talked about the brasses that he had no interest in them. He saw them purely as a means to an end - at least she hoped he did.
She pushed the thoughts from her head.
Thanks to Ozzy they were set, and she knew that Jimmy and Freddie were going to be in work for many years to come. Already she and Jimmy had substantial savings, and even though most of it could not be put in the bank, they were now in a position to buy a small house.
Maggie was so happy she felt like she could sing from the rooftops. All she prayed for now was that her sister’s baby was the boy she so desperately craved, then everything would be fine. She was already blow-drying and doing basic cutting. Before she knew it she would be the ‘free’ hairdresser to her family, but even that couldn’t dampen her happy spirits today. Nothing could.
Life was getting better and better and soon she and Jimmy would be married and she would be able to relax. They were getting engaged in a few months and the wedding would be six months later. Even though she would only just be hitting seventeen, she knew there would be no opposition from the families. In fact, they were all looking forward to it. Everyone agreed that Maggie and Jimmy were a match made in heaven.
It was early evening and Freddie and Jimmy were in the office of the main house. It had become their hang-out, and it was all because of Freddie and his pursuit of strange. The house was situated in Ilford and was a large, spacious Victorian house that held a variety of women and a variety of drugs.
Freddie, unlike his younger counterpart, had embraced the emerging drug culture with both hands. Where Jimmy was content to maybe have a few joints when the night was over, Freddie was unable to let the night end. Never knew when enough was enough, never wanted to go home unless he had to.
He was snorting as much amphetamine as he could lay his hands on and as he was now dealing in large quantities that was a lot of speed. He also dropped blue ones, Dexies and Tenuate Dospan, slimming pills that added to his paranoia and often to his unpredictable temper.
As they sipped at cheap vodka and chatted about Ozzy’s plans, Jimmy could see the tell-tale signs of a mounting rage coming from Freddie. His hands were shaking and his eyes were unfocused, he also had the sweats that heralded an amphetamine rush.
In short he was wired.
‘You all right, Freddie?’ This was said nonchalantly but carefully so as not to upset the large, overbearing man who was so obviously looking for trouble.
Freddie stared at him for long seconds. Jimmy could see him practically talking himself out of the fury he wanted so badly to unleash. It was like watching a boxer who had a hammer instead of a boxing glove. He knew he shouldn’t use it but the temptation was too strong.
‘You and Ozzy seem tight these days.’
Jimmy sighed inwardly. This was becoming a recurring theme and in a way he could understand the logic behind it. Freddie was the number one, and he had trouble sitting around waiting for Jimmy to relay everything.
His visits to Ozzy had become a bone of contention between them. But as Jimmy had never had even a parking ticket or a caution, he was the only person who could visit the unit in relative peace.
To visit A cat or double A cat prisoners you had to go through a rigorous and unnecessary police check. This entailed having passport photos taken, filling in a form to make sure you were who you said you were and resided where you said you resided, and finally having a bored PC come to your home to verify you looked like the person on the photograph.
This was fine on paper but, as Jimmy was proving with every visit, all the police checks in the world could not stop messages or even orders being exchanged between the prisoner and their visitor. Freddie knew this and it had been his idea that Jimmy be the go-between, but Jimmy had become aware that his cousin was not too happy about the situation now.
However, that was something he could do nothing about. Ozzy called the shots and that was that. He understood his cousin’s feelings, he was after all the man who had set this up. Freddie had been put in Parkhurst after he had been deemed unable to rehabilitate. This was due to the fact that he had maimed and fought guards and prisoners alike. He had not taken kindly to being locked up, and his natural anger had been unleashed at the littlest provocation. It was only on the unit that he had felt at ease, and in a way it had done him the world of good. He had tasted serious skulduggery and he had loved every second of it.
His six weeks in Shepton Mallet acclimatising for his release had been fantastic since Ozzy’s arm was long and it was respected everywhere. Freddie had been given a hero’s welcome and he had also had a single cell, a few quid and as much drink and fags as he could manage.
Now, though, he was starting to resent Jimmy being the only means of communication with Ozzy. Freddie being Freddie couldn’t help thinking that he wasn’t being told the whole story, which in fairness was often the case. It was hard for Freddie to accept that Jimmy was a doer, he was a thinker and worst of all he was liked.
It had suited Freddie when people pretended to like him. When he was younger he had seen it as a form of respect, but now he was seeing another side to life, which was being shown to him by a young man who was beneath him, not only in age but also in stature.
A young man who owed him not only his daily bread but his whole life. He had made Jimmy into the man he was, and the fact that he was doing so well should have made Freddie happy. He was ashamed of his jealousy, but nonetheless it was still there.
Jimmy understood that, he knew Freddie better than he understood himself though Freddie for his part didn’t know him at all. Freddie never really tried to know anyone. As long as they were useful and toed the line, he was happy. At least he had been until now.
Jimmy knew he had to tread warily, because as much as Freddie loved him he was too competitive for his own good. Even more so now he was making gigantic fuck-ups left, right and centre.
‘Come on, Freddie, you know the score. If you want to get someone else to schlep to the Isle of Wight and listen to Ozzy, you go, boy. You’re the one who made me go in the first place.’
Jimmy sounded contrite enough to stop a war, and he was looking worried enough to placate the man he loved more than any other on the earth. This was becoming a regular mantra, and it was starting to get on his nerves. He worked hard and if Freddie couldn’t see that, he was a fool. Jimmy carried him a lot of the time, though that was never mentioned. Jimmy was walking a fine line and as he was getting older and more involved in everything, he was starting to resent it all. He implemented a lot of Ozzy’s demands because it was easier than waiting for Freddie to get around to it. But he had to do it in such a way Freddie felt that he was doing the legwork. Freddie was lazy, always had been and always would be, although he was great at the threatening, at the bully-boy end of the business, because he enjoyed it. But the day-to-day matters got on his nerves, Freddie would let things slide, and all because he couldn’t keep off the gear and off the birds.
Jimmy was sensible enough to know that his own particular forte was the fact he could placate, he could talk people down, and he could avoid a lot of the confrontation that their job entailed. From the robbing to the collecting, the dealing, right through to the clubs, the pubs and all the other sundry businesses that they were supposed to oversee for Ozzy, it was Jimmy who kept it all running smoothly.
Freddie was aware of this, but his personality could not, and would not, allow for anyone else being in the frame. Jimmy was quicker than him at the mathematics of the jobs, at the sched
uling of the workforce and at liaising between the different people who worked for them. He was his blood and he was good at what he was doing, but it galled him, even though it was because of his cousin’s acumen that he could breeze through each day.
He stared at the younger man before him, and saw, as he always saw, himself if he had only been granted a small modicum of sense. In his heart of hearts he knew he should sort himself out before it was too late, cut down on the drinking and the drugs, take more of an interest in what was going on around him, but that was easier said than done.
And as he looked into Jimmy’s face he felt the familiar shame wash over his thoughts. The kid was good and he was the only person Freddie Jackson really loved, other than himself. He grinned then, the affable, raffish grin that had got him into more beds and more fights than he could count.
He leaned across the beer-stained desk and grabbed Jimmy’s chin. It was a painful grasp but Jimmy swallowed it, though deep inside he wanted to tell this man who he revered and adored the truth of his situation. But he didn’t, he couldn’t.
‘You clever little fucker, Ozzy must think all his birthdays and Christmases have come at once with you!’
Jimmy pulled his head from Freddie’s grasp. ‘I only tell him what he needs to know and I relay his messages on to you, Freddie. Why do you do this to me?’
It was a plea, and they both knew it.
Freddie knocked back his drink in one gulp and then shrugged. ‘Just don’t ever think you can overtake me, all right? Never try and mug me off.’
Jimmy smiled then, the most difficult smile of his life. ‘Why would I try and do that to you?’
The question and the answer hung in the air.
Chapter Five
‘Oh shut the fuck up, Jackie, and come here!’
Her pretence at cleaning was annoying Freddie. She had been walking in and out of the room, emptying ashtrays and tidying around in general, trying to attract his attention. Now he was ready to give it to her.
Freddie was smoking a joint and listening to Pink Floyd on the stereo; he had been singing ‘Wish You Were Here’ to himself for two hours. Unlike his friends Freddie liked his music low and interesting.
Freddie watched as Jackie waddled over to him. She was a lump this time, so big even he was getting worried. ‘You sure there ain’t about four kicking away in there, girl?’
Jackie was laughing now. She loved it when he took notice of her, but the backache she had been suffering from all day was starting to interfere with her pleasure.
Her long dark hair was cut to perfection and brushed to a sheen. Thanks to Maggie’s obsession with hairdressing the women of the family had never looked so well groomed.
As Jackie slumped down on to the brown Dralon corner unit, Freddie pulled her into his arms and said gently, ‘Your hair looks triffic.’
He knew the compliment would please her, and it was true, her hair did look nice. It was the rest of her he had a problem with. She was so scruffy looking, as was the house.
‘You always had a lovely barnet, Jack, and it looks nice like that.’
It had been cut into long layers and backcombed within an inch of its life. She was thrilled with it, more so now her husband had not only noticed it, but had admired it.
He had also once said she looked like the poor man’s Joan Collins on PCP, but no one had ever had the heart to pass that remark on to her.
‘A woman’s crowning glory, I remember that from school when I was a kid. It’s the first thing a bloke notices, apparently.’ He was a tit man personally but he knew better than to say that to her at the moment. Her sense of humour had been on the missing list for a while now.
‘I try and keep meself nice for you, Fred, you know that.’
As he looked into her face the yearning was there, stifling him as always. But he swallowed down the urge to do a runner and instead he called for Roxanna, who came into the front room all red faced and cross.
‘I was playing with me dolls.’
Her voice was as usual autocratic when talking to her father and as ever this made him laugh. He was half stoned and Jackie could hear it in his voice. It was a regular occurrence now, and she hated it because she daren’t smoke dope in front of him, but the smell was driving her mad.
‘Bring me coat in, babe.’
‘Go and get it yourself!’
He was laughing at her once more, the stoned-over laugh that annoyed his kids because they knew what had caused it, and it wasn’t them.
‘Get me coat, you lazy little cow.’
Roxanna made a cross face and stormed from the room. Seconds later she dragged in his long leather coat, pulling it along the floor behind her, then letting it drop in a crumpled heap by his feet.
‘One coat!’
The sarcasm was evident and she sounded like a little old woman, not a child.
‘You lairy little mare.’
She grinned then. ‘Takes one to know one.’
He was still chuckling as Roxanna walked silently from the room, the animosity coming off her in waves. ‘She’s her mother’s daughter, her!’
It was said proudly, and Jackie was thrilled by his tone. This was the Freddie she loved, the Freddie she craved, the man she adored, not the obnoxious bully he became in drink or while speeding out of his box.
He rifled through the long pocket inside the lining of the coat and brought out bundles of cash. Dropping them into her lap he said gently, ‘Put that away for junior here. Anything you need, you just let me know, OK?’
‘How much is here?’
He loved the reverence in her tone as she grasped the bundles of cash to her greedily.
‘About seven grand, but don’t worry, there’s plenty more where that comes from.’
He said it in his big ‘I am’ voice, the voice he used so she would know just how good he was to her. How he risked life and limb for his family, without a thought for his own liberty.
She fell for it every time.
Kissing him softly on his lips she looked into her husband’s eyes. The complete and utter trust and love she held for him told him he had now gained himself a few nights out on the lam. He had iced twenty-five grand that morning from a wages snatch in East London, he was still feeling the rush from the job and he was enjoying his pregnant wife’s adulation. He needed it, because for all the strange there was floating about in his orbit, there was only one woman on his mind and she was beginning to take over his every waking moment.
Patricia had used him, and that had never happened to him before in his life. Usually he was the conqueror. He used women, they did not use him, consequently he was absolutely besotted with her, and to make matters worse he had a feeling she knew it and was enjoying his discomfort. The way she smiled at him, then ignored him, before finally speaking to him in that animated way she had, making him feel like he was back in with a chance. Then blanking him for days, as he spent his time trying to think of excuses to talk to her.
But their encounter had blown his mind. Never before had a woman taken him to bed, enjoyed him without even talking to him before or after, and then acted as if he didn’t exist. He thought about her constantly, her boyish body that she was so confident with, her small breasts that he had adored. Patricia had taken what she wanted from him and he had loved it.
As he thought about her his hand slid towards his wife’s swollen breasts and he caressed them gently. She was so unlike Patricia. Jackie resembled a cow, with huge udders and that milky smell women got when they were ready to drop. Patricia was long and sleek, and she could move like no woman he had ever bedded before.
Jackie felt his hands on her and as always was willing to give in to him. Like her mother before her she believed that if you never refused a man he would not want to stray. Her father had proved the lie to that statement and so had her husband.
She, like Lena, didn’t understand the logic of womanising men. It was all about power, and like a rapist, they used women as a means to an end. I
t wasn’t really anything to do with the sex act, as far as they were concerned that part was just a bonus for all concerned. It was about the chase, and once the women had succumbed they were history. They were another story to be told in the pub, another conquest that made the men concerned forget the futility of their lives. They never once cared, or really desired the woman in question, who were just a pawn in their game of life.
‘You be careful, Freddie. I’d rather scrimp than see you banged up again.’
He smiled at her, the smile that made every woman think she was the only woman in the world who mattered to him. ‘You’re my girls, ain’t you? I have to take care of my girls. That’s why I work all the hours God sends.’
The answer annoyed Jackie as he knew it would.
‘What? In the whore houses . . .’
He clamped his hand across her mouth roughly, all the time speaking in a low, determined whisper that brooked no argument. ‘Don’t start, Jackie, you know it’s me job. I have to keep an eye out, mate, see that the punters don’t rip anyone off and make sure the girls don’t try and pick anyone’s pocket. Especially Ozzy’s.’
She was struggling to sit up now, had moved away from his embrace. Then, pushing his hand from her mouth roughly, she lit a cigarette to control her breathing, before saying scornfully, ‘The girls? Is that us girls, as in me and your daughters, or the whore girls?’
He sighed, his long-suffering sigh, the sigh he used to make her feel stupid, make her feel that she was in the wrong, was always in the wrong. It was the sigh that told her if she kept on there would be trouble.
‘Shall I stay at home then?’ His voice had risen and she knew the kids would be able to hear him from their bedrooms, which was another of his psychological weapons. ‘Shall I sit here and watch the flock wallpaper with you, eh? Drop a trip, shall I? At least that way I would have a bit of entertainment and all.’
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