Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Butler Collection

by Kimberley Chambers

  Terry Smart grinned. His pal had just become a granddad for the very first time, and Terry couldn’t wait to brag about the soon-to-be newcomer to his family too. ‘You’ll be a great dad, Deano. Don’t be asking me to change any nappies though, will ya? I’ve got my street cred to consider.’

  ‘So, what did Sandra’s parents say, boy? I hope you asked her dad for permission to take her hand in marriage before you proposed?’ Freda asked. She had met Sandra a couple of times now, and even though Freda was a little disappointed she had given herself to her grandson so early in their relationship, she still liked the girl immensely.

  ‘It’s not Sandra that I’ve got pregnant. It’s Brenda Butler,’ Dean mumbled, staring at his shoes.

  Freda burst out laughing and nudged her son. ‘He’s a wind-up, ain’t he, Tel?’

  Terry Smart chuckled, but then clocking the shameful look in his son’s eyes, his laughter dried up. ‘You are kidding us, right?’

  When Dean shook his head regretfully, Terry leapt up and went absolutely berserk. ‘You stupid little cunt,’ he screamed, while punching his son numerous times in the side of his head.

  ‘Leave him! You’ll do him damage,’ Freda hollered, leaping on her son’s back.

  ‘Do him damage! I’ll fucking kill him,’ Terry yelled. How could his son do this to him when he knew how badly Vinny had beaten him? He had lost most of his teeth for fuck’s sake, and now had to rely on false ones to chew his food.

  Freda ran into the kitchen, grabbed her rolling pin and hit Terry over the head with it. ‘Go down the pub and calm yourself down. I will sort this mess out,’ she shouted.

  Terry grabbed his jacket. ‘You’d better fucking sort it, Muvver, because over my dead body is he gonna marry into that cunting family.’

  When the front door slammed, Freda sat down on the sofa next to her grandson. Unusually for Dean, he was crying, but Freda could not find it in her heart to comfort him. ‘You stupid, stupid boy. Whatever possessed you to poke your Hampton in Brenda Butler, eh? To say I’m disappointed in you is an understatement, Dean, but I’m gonna use the money I’ve got saved in me old biscuit tin to sort this mess out for you, OK? Now dry them bloody eyes. No point crying over spilt milk, is there?’

  Furious with himself for acting like a big girl’s blouse, Dean Smart wiped his eyes furiously with the cuff of his shirt. ‘I have no option other than to marry Brenda, Nan. Her brothers will annihilate me if I don’t. And what you going on about money for? That ain’t gonna change nothing, is it?’

  ‘Oh, yes it will! Nearly fifty pounds I’ve saved over the years. I shall take it round to Queenie’s house right now, and insist that little tart of a daughter of hers gets an abortion.’

  When his nan darted into the kitchen and ran back waving a tin, Dean leapt up and snatched it off her. ‘Don’t be so stupid. Don’t you think the Butlers could afford an abortion, if they wanted Brenda to have one? They don’t agree with all that, which is why I have to marry the girl.’

  ‘Marry her, my arse,’ Freda spat, grabbing back the tin. Seconds later, she stomped out of the front door.

  Unaware that her future son-in-law was currently chasing his gran down the road begging her not to cause any trouble, Queenie was busy discussing the day’s events with Vivian. After Dean had left, the subject had turned to Albie.

  ‘I still can’t believe we have to suffer that old bastard for dinner. Can’t we put some arsenic in his?’ Vivian suggested.

  Queenie chuckled. It had been her idea that Albie come round to hers for dinner tomorrow. There was no way that she would humiliate herself by being seen out in public with the womanizing old drunk. ‘I wonder what the boys will dress him up as? Be funny if they make him look like one of them orthodox Jews. That will give the neighbours something to talk about, won’t it?’

  Vivian burst out laughing. It had been Queenie’s plan to bring her husband to the house in disguise. She hadn’t wanted any of the neighbours to clock him.

  ‘I’m only doing this for the boys, you know. My Michael is especially upset that his dad is dying, but I couldn’t give a shit to be honest. Would have divorced him years ago and changed my name back to Wade, but I didn’t want the kids to feel like bastards,’ Queenie explained.

  ‘But they are bastards. The whole of the East End knows that,’ Vivian joked.

  Holding her crotch to prevent herself from piddling her knickers, Queenie was about to top up Vivian’s glass when the doorbell rang. ‘Who the bleedin’ hell’s this? Look out the window, Viv. I need a wee.’

  ‘Oh, my giddy aunt! It’s only Mad Freda,’ Vivian exclaimed.

  Forgetting about her desire to use the toilet, Queenie ran to the door like a thoroughbred racehorse. ‘Come to offer your congratulations, have you?’

  ‘Yep, I bet she has, Queenie. Must be thrilled our families are about to be joined in matrimony,’ Vivian added, putting a supportive arm around her sister’s shoulder.

  Freda opened her tin, took the notes out and handed them to Queenie. ‘There’s enough there for the abortion. Take it, it’s all yours.’

  Queenie chuckled. ‘But, we don’t believe in killing babies, do we, Vivvy?’

  ‘Nope,’ Vivian replied. The look on Mad Freda’s screwed up face was absolutely priceless.

  ‘Well, best you start believing, because there is no way my grandson is getting involved with your shitbag family. May God be my judge, I would kill for that boy, if I was forced to.’

  Queenie grinned at Vivian, then ripped the notes that Freda had given her into little pieces and threw them into the air. ‘Well, best you go get your gun, you mad old bat. Your Dean is a Butler now, whether you like it or not.’

  Laughing when Freda crawled along the garden path trying to retrieve the money while showing her bloomers, Queenie then slammed the front door.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Johnny Preston grinned when he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He hardly recognized himself with short, dark hair, so he doubted anybody else would.

  ‘Right, stick this on now,’ Graeme Bradley urged, handing his pal the false moustache.

  ‘I don’t like this thing. I’d much rather have grown a bit of a beard,’ Johnny complained.

  Graeme chuckled. He and Johnny went back years, and people used to refer to them and Dave Phillips as the three musketeers. An eight-year prison sentence for attempted murder had then narrowed it down to the two musketeers, and Graeme had been gutted when he had learned of Dave’s death while serving time in Pentonville.

  ‘You do look a bit like Hitler, but you’re just gonna have to like it or lump it, I’m afraid. I’ve already told you, you can’t have dark hair and a blond beard. You’ll look a freak, and bring unwanted attention to yourself.’

  Graeme had dyed Johnny’s eyebrows as well, and thinking how he looked like one of the Marx brothers, Johnny ordered his pal to trim them for him. The plan they had hatched was for Johnny to park up on a motorbike near Vinny’s club, shoot Vinny at point-blank range, then meet Graeme who would be waiting nearby with a van. The bike would then be loaded in the back of the van, and disposed of as quickly as possible.

  Johnny did not need his disguise for the actual hit because he would be wearing a crash-helmet. His new appearance was just so he wasn’t a prisoner in Graeme’s home, and could pop to the shops, café, or wherever he wanted. Graeme said, as far as he was aware, there wasn’t anybody in Dagenham that knew who Johnny was, but you could never be too careful. He had also told Johnny to avoid the local pubs at all costs in case the regulars started asking awkward questions.

  ‘Does that look better?’ Graeme asked, handing his pal a mirror.

  ‘Yep, much better. Right, we ready to go and pick this bike up, then?’

  Graeme reached for his keys. ‘Come on, Hitler, let’s go.’

  Queenie and Vivian hadn’t long been back from visiting their mother’s grave when Vinny let himself in. ‘Just checking you’re both OK? That mad old cow, Freda, hasn
’t given you any more grief, has she? I shall have a fucking word with Dean later. He needs to man up and learn how to keep his nutty nan under control.

  ‘Don’t you be having a go at that boy. Look at the flowers he bought me as a way of an apology. Our Bren’s got herself a good ’un there. Gone out engagement-ring shopping, they have. You’ve only just missed them.’

  Vinny grinned. Young Dean was certainly making an effort and that’s what he liked to see. If Dean carried on excelling himself in the same way then Vinny might even employ him as part of the firm. Paying him a decent wage would also ensure Brenda and the baby were well looked after. ‘Where’s me little terror?’ Vinny asked.

  ‘Gone round the shops with Lenny to get me some pearl barley. I’m cooking lamb stew, your father’s favourite,’ Queenie said.

  Vinny chuckled. ‘I’ve got some rat poison at the club. I should have bought it round so you can add an extra bit of spice to Dad’s.’

  ‘Would have probably killed him. He is a fucking rat,’ Vivian added, with a grin on her face.

  ‘Mum, has Michael said anything to you about this new bird of his? Don’t say I mentioned anything, but he’s been disappearing at odd times of the day and it all seems a bit secretive for my liking.’

  ‘No, he ain’t. He’s definitely loved up though, I know that much. Maybe our Alfie’s found the one,’ Queenie chuckled.

  He and Michael had been getting on quite well recently, but Vinny still had a hunch that his brother was lying to him about the identity of his bird. The only way to find out was to follow him one day. ‘Oh and Mum, while I think of it, I’ve organized a joint engagement party for our Roy and Brenda. Monday week at the club. I thought Lenny could do his first disco for us that night,’ Vinny said, grinning at his aunt.

  Vivian clapped her hands together with excitement. ‘Oh, wait till I tell him. He’ll be made up, Vinny.’

  ‘Lenny might be made up, but I doubt Roy and Colleen will, son. Not only is it bloody short notice, but I think they will want their own big moment. They did get engaged first.’

  Vinny did his best to look serious. He knew that Roy and Colleen would be pissed off sharing an engagement party with Dean and Brenda, which had been the idea in the first place. ‘Don’t be daft, Mum. It ain’t like they’re sharing it with strangers. Brenda and Dean are family, and sharing is what families like ours do.’

  Michael Butler laughed when Nancy told him the story about Roger’s visit to the Top of the Pops studio. ‘Honestly Michael, he really thought he was making me jealous when he said Marc Bolan kept looking at him when he was singing. He really is a such a twerp.’

  Michael put his arm around his girlfriend and, even though they were sitting on a park bench in broad daylight, kissed her passionately. When he had first met Nancy she had been quite shy with him, but she had now come out of her shell a lot. Her stories always made him laugh and his feelings for her were becoming stronger as every day passed. ‘I wish we could spend more time with each other, Nance. I know we always spend the whole of Wednesdays together, but an hour or two here and there the rest of the time just don’t seem enough, does it?’

  Nancy sighed and laid her head on Michael’s shoulder. ‘I know. I feel the same, but with me working days and you nights, it’s so bloody awkward.’

  Michael racked his brain for a minute then came up with a suggestion. ‘Look, please don’t take this the wrong way, but can’t you pretend that you are staying around a mate’s next Tuesday night? I can easily get that night off and I can book us into a nice hotel in London. No hanky panky, unless you want to, I promise. It will just be so nice to spend the whole night together even if we just kiss and cuddle, then we can spend all day Wednesday up the West End. I’ll take you shopping, then we can go for a nice meal. What do you reckon?’

  Nancy grinned broadly. Her parents were bound to give her a Spanish inquisition as she rarely stayed out all night, but she could handle them. Also, her brother had just spent two nights away camping and seeing as she would soon be seventeen, they had no right to dictate to her what she could and couldn’t do. ‘As long as you keep those wandering hands of yours to yourself, Michael Butler, I reckon we just might have a deal.’

  Queenie was delighted when Brenda burst through the door and excitedly showed her the ring on her finger. Her daughter had never been the cheeriest of girls, and Queenie couldn’t help but think how happy and radiant she looked for a change. ‘Vivvy, come and have a look at this. Oh Bren, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?’ Queenie asked Dean.

  ‘At a jeweller’s shop in Bethnal Green, Mrs Butler.’

  ‘You’re virtually family now, so we’ll have no more of that Mrs Butler, you call me Queenie, boy. What happened to your eye by the way? Walk into a door? Or your dad’s fist, did ya?’

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ Dean replied.

  ‘Oh, it’s stunning, Bren. What a lucky girl you are to have a handsome ring like that. My stone was no bigger than the head of a pin on the ring that Bill bought me. And it was a bastard fake,’ Vivian said bitterly.

  Lenny hated being left out of anything that the adults were talking about. ‘How much did that cost then?’ he asked.

  ‘You don’t ask people how much things cost, Lenny. It’s rude,’ Vivian scolded her son.

  ‘Are you gonna stay for a bit of dinner, Dean? Vinny, Roy and Michael will be here soon,’ Queenie said.

  ‘No, but thanks anyway. I need to sort things out with me dad and stuff.’

  ‘Well, if he clumps you again, you tell my Vinny. He’ll sort any differences out for you,’ Queenie told her future son-in-law.

  Feeling totally out of his depth with such an overpowering family, Dean pecked Brenda on the cheek, told her he would pop around to see her the following day, then darted out the front door.

  Both Queenie and Vivian were glued to the window as Roy ushered Albie up the path. He had a great big brown hat on and a long tan-raincoat.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. He looks like Clint Eastwood in A Fist Full of Dollars,’ Queenie laughed.

  ‘He looks like a fucking flasher more like. I hope he ain’t got his meat and two veg hanging out under that mac,’ Vivian chuckled.

  ‘Yuck! That ain’t worth seeing, trust me on that one. Right, try and keep a straight face ’cause if you laugh, then so will I,’ Queenie ordered her sister.

  ‘Hello Uncle Albie. Auntie Queenie reckons you look like Clint Eastwood now,’ Lenny said, hugging his long-lost uncle.

  ‘You can’t say nothing in front of him. Ears like Dumbo he’s got,’ Vivian mumbled.

  ‘Hello, Lenny. Ain’t you got big, eh? And look at you, Brenda. My, my, you were only a little girl last time I saw you, and now you’re a proper young lady. How are you, darling?’ Albie asked his daughter fondly.

  ‘Up the spout! And how are you, dear Daddy?’ Brenda replied, glaring at her father.

  About to giggle at her daughter’s warped sense of humour, Albie turned to his wife, so somehow Queenie managed to contain herself.

  ‘Hello, Queenie. Thanks for inviting me round for dinner. It truly means the world to me to see you all again.’

  Queenie stared at her estranged husband and couldn’t help but be shocked. He had aged so much, and his face was wrinkled and gaunt-looking. ‘Take your coat and hat off, Albie. What do you want to drink? Tea? A beer? Or brandy?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say no to a brandy, Queenie, and is that your legendary lamb stew I can smell cooking?’

  ‘It sure is. I remembered how much you liked it. Right, come and help me pour the drinks, Vivvy,’ Queenie ordered her sister.

  ‘What you being so nice to him for?’ Vivian spat, as soon as they were out of earshot.

  ‘I’m not. I only asked if he wanted a fucking drink and answered his question about the stew. Oh, thank Christ for that, here’s Vinny and Michael. They can talk to the old bastard now,’ Queenie whispered.

  Albie stood up nervously. ‘Hello, lads. How are you? And w
ho is this? I needn’t ask that actually because you look so much like your daddy did at your age,’ Albie said, his voice full of emotion at seeing his grandson for the very first time.

  When Little Vinny hid behind his father’s legs and shouted, ‘Go away, creepy old man,’ Albie got a bit tearful. His daughter was up the duff by Christ knows who, his first grandchild hated him on sight, Vinny could barely look him in the eye, and it was obvious that Vivian still despised him as she hadn’t even said hello.

  Michael sat down next to his father and hugged him. ‘Don’t cry, Dad. You’ve got all your family around you again now, and we’re all here to support you, aren’t we?’ He glared at his siblings.

  When each of his children said an unenthusiastic ‘Yes’, Albie glanced up and happened to catch Queenie and Vivian smirking nastily at one another. In that split second, he knew he wasn’t to blame for anything he had done in the past. His drinking had only escalated when Queenie and Vivian had taken over the upbringing of his children, and made it clear he wasn’t wanted around the house any more. His affairs had only begun when he’d realized that Queenie had just used him as a breeding machine and once she’d had all the children she wanted, she’d made it obvious that he repelled her. Even now, he had been forced to tell such a dreadful lie and pretend he was dying as he knew his children would never have agreed to speak or meet up with him if they hadn’t first had approval from their mother. Everybody thought that Vinny ruled the roost, but he didn’t. Queenie would always be top dog.

  Aware of her ex-husband staring at her as though he had lost his marbles, Queenie smiled to break the awkward moment. ‘You OK, Albie? Do you want another brandy?’

  Albie looked at Vivian and then back to Queenie. Both were evil vicious women who had ruined his life and his children’s. Determined not to ruin the only chance he might ever get to be close to his kids again, Albie took a deep breath, smiled falsely, and held out his glass. ‘I’m fine thank you, Queenie. And yes, I would love another brandy, please.’