‘What we gonna do?’ Eugene asked. It was clear that with his father, Ronnie and Griff out of the picture, publicans viewed himself, Danny and Tommy as nothing more than three silly teenagers. Ronnie had upset his pal Griff when he’d blurted out on a hospital visit he’d shagged Griff’s wife before they’d met, and Griff had quit working for Jack the very next day.
Danny started the engine of his BMW. The Barron Knights’ ‘A Taste of Aggro’ belted out of the stereo, which seemed rather apt. Danny sighed and turned the music down. Both his father and Ronnie seemed changed men since that night. His dad was only forty-six, had been told to take it easy, change his lifestyle and diet. As for Ronnie, all he’d done since coming out of hospital three weeks ago, was doss in his old bedroom and knock back the booze while being waited on hand and foot by his mother. Danny felt sorry for his mum. She tried to put on a brave face, but caring for two disgruntled patients wasn’t easy. He’d caught her crying in the kitchen the other day, poor cow.
‘What exactly do we know about these Archers?’ Tommy asked.
‘Not much. Only that Dad had some beef with Alfie Archer once upon a time. They were in the nick together, I think. Ronnie knows more about the family than me,’ Danny replied. ‘We need to tell Ronnie what’s happened. Perhaps this is the news he needs to stop wallowing in self-pity and get his arse back into gear. We can’t tell me dad. He’s gonna think we’ve failed him.’
*
Ronnie Darling was at home, sulking in his old bedroom. He’d put on a bit of timber, didn’t bathe regularly any more and hadn’t had a shave in weeks. Boxing had been the most important thing in his life and now it was gone, finito.
Ronnie knew it was his fault his father had keeled over. It must have been the shock of realizing his eldest son was nothing more than a fucking loser. His dad had been as fit as a fiddle until he’d hit the canvas. Nobody had been able to explain why he’d had a fit. He’d also suffered a slight bleed on the brain. It made him feel like a dickhead. He wasn’t even allowed to drive.
‘You all right, boys? Hungry?’ asked Suzie Darling. ‘I was about to sit down and watch Pebble Mill, but I can make you some lunch, if you like?’
‘We’re fine, thanks, Mum. We ate at the cafe earlier. Where’s Dad?’ Danny asked.
‘Gone for a walk, so he says. Personally, I’d put money on it he’s in the bloody pub. I smelt whisky and cigar smoke on his breath after he returned from his walk yesterday. I wish he’d do like the doctors told him.’
‘Dad’s his own person, Mum. You ain’t gonna change him. He’ll be fine. He’s not silly. He won’t go overboard,’ said Danny. He’d hated the sight of his father shuffling about like an old man when he’d first come out of hospital, was relieved he felt well enough to go to the pub again.
‘Ronnie in his room?’ Eugene asked. Silly question really, seeing as his brother only came out of it to use the toilet these days.
‘Yes. Not been downstairs all day. I’m worried sick about him. He looks like a bleedin’ tramp – and smells like one an’ all.’
‘He’ll be fine, Mum. Ron needs time to adjust, that’s all,’ Danny insisted. ‘Right, we’re popping upstairs. Got a bit of business to discuss.’
‘OK. Give me a shout if you need any refreshments. And try and get your brother to have a bleedin’ shower.’
Ronnie leapt off his bed like a raving lunatic and punched the wall. ‘Bill Edwards said what?’
‘That the Archers have taken over our patch. Well, some of it,’ Eugene replied bluntly.
For the first time since the night of his fight, Ronnie had fire in his eyes and belly. His father hated that old tosspot Alfie Archer, and Glenn, the nephew he was in partnership with was no better.
Tommy leapt back in shock as a plate was thrown across the room, narrowly missing his head. It smashed against the wall behind him. He was used to seeing Ronnie strutting about like cock-of-the-walk, not re-enacting a Greek wedding in a pair of Y-fronts and a filthy rotten T-shirt.
‘I can’t believe yous three useless fuckers did nothing,’ Ronnie bellowed. ‘You should have smashed up Edwards’ boozer, and the other two. It’ll be the gaming machines next, ya know, if we don’t nip this in the bud,’ Ronnie snarled.
‘We didn’t know what to do for the best,’ Eugene argued.
Ronnie wanted to smash his youngest brother in the face and tell him that’s what he should have done, but he somehow restrained himself.
Eugene was sixteen, still a kid. He didn’t really understand how their world worked. Neither, in fairness, did Danny and Tommy. All three were good to throw a punch or smash a kneecap, but now the Archers had taken a liberty, a big statement had to be made.
‘Where you going, Ron?’ Danny asked worriedly.
‘To a phone box. Drive me, will ya. I need to call in a couple of favours.’
‘But you ain’t got no clothes on,’ Eugene reminded his brother.
‘Yes, I fucking know that. I’m gonna have a shower and get dressed first. That Alfie Archer will rue the day he decided to cross the Darlings. Trust me on that one.’
Bill Edwards looked up in horror as a deranged-looking Ronnie Darling stormed behind the bar with Danny, Tommy and Eugene in tow. Ronnie had a baseball bat in his hand and Bill’s life flashed before his very eyes.
Ronnie lifted the bat and began smashing it against the optics one by one. The sound of splintering glass sent a few punters running out of the door. The others, frozen with shock, stayed put.
‘Please, Ronnie. Stop. Look, I’m sorry,’ Bill pleaded.
‘This is what you do, lads, when somebody refuses to pay you what they owe,’ Ronnie shrieked, continuing his rampage.
‘Leave Bill alone or I’ll call the police,’ demanded one brave elderly man.
Ronnie marched over to the bloke and stared him in the eyes. ‘No, you fucking won’t. Cos if you do, I’ll not only kill you, I’ll burn your whole family alive. Now get out,’ Ronnie bellowed. ‘Same goes for the rest of ya. Pub’s closed.’
As his regulars scuttled off, Bill tried to reason with Ronnie. ‘I will pay you, every penny. Just give me a week or so. But I can’t be paying the Archers too. Their prices are dearer than yours,’ Bill said, near to tears.
Ronnie clumped Bill around the side of the face with the bat.
Tommy winced. Bill didn’t deserve this. He’d always paid up on time in the past.
Ronnie kneeled on the floor next to his prey. He picked up a shard of glass and pressed it against Bill’s right cheek. ‘Right, I wanna know exactly who paid you a visit and every single word they fucking said. Got me?’
When Bill started blabbing, Tommy, Danny and Eugene glanced at each other. All were thinking the same thing. They should have left Ronnie in his bedroom.
Rather than going home, Tommy decided to take a drive around Barking, the area he’d been raised in. He’d passed his driving test earlier that year and loved driving about in his new Mercedes Benz. He’d come a long way in life since leaving Maylands and had Jack to thank for that.
Tommy had a lump inside his throat as he sat opposite the house he’d grown up in. It looked exactly the same as when he’d lived there, apart from the porch that had been added. The curtains were closed, but when Tommy shut his eyes, he could picture himself, his mum and sisters laughing and singing in the lounge while watching Top of the Pops. He looked up to where his old bedroom used to be. He could remember that clearly too. All his football posters, proudly plastered across the wall next to his bed. He’d been a Celtic and Spurs supporter back then.
When a vision of Rex, his beloved Alsatian, popped into Tommy’s head, tears ran down his cheeks. It had been a bad idea coming back here; stupid, in fact.
Taking one last look at the house he knew he would never visit again, Tommy put his foot on the accelerator. He needed a brandy. In fact he needed a bottle.
Blurry-eyed, Tommy drove for about five minutes before stopping at a random back-street pub. He wasn’t in t
he mood for socializing around his own neck of the woods. Too many people knew him there and he wanted to be alone to think. Company was the last thing he needed today of all bloody days.
The boozer was tiny, but had a homely feel to it. There was an open fire, a Christmas tree, lots of decorations and tinsel draped around the bar.
Tommy ordered a large brandy and a pint off the pretty Irish barmaid, then sat at a table near the jukebox. Today had been a crap day all round. Ronnie had trashed three boozers and walloped each landlord who’d refused to pay up – unjustly, in Tommy’s opinion. What had happened was the Archers’ fault, nobody else’s. Giving a piss-taker such as Bruce a dig was one thing, but Tommy’s heart had gone out to poor Bill earlier. Ronnie had sliced the poor bastard’s right cheek in half. Deep down he knew Ronnie had a screw loose and would never be the same. Ronnie had seemed untouchable, maybe that’s why he was feeling so bloody maudlin.
Hearing Slade’s ‘Merry Christmas Everybody’ play on the jukebox, Tommy sighed. He’d once loved Christmas, but ever since his mum had died he’d loathed this time of year. He could remember that last Christmas they’d spent together as a family as though it were yesterday. That bastard Alexander had come late on Christmas Eve and clumped his mum, giving her a real shiner.
Picturing his sisters, Tommy managed a smile. ‘Long-Haired Lover from Liverpool’ had been number one in the charts and Linda had been obsessed with Little Jimmy Osmond. He thought of Hazel and wondered how she was and what she was doing now. He doubted she was still locked up after all this time, but neither he nor Linda had had any contact with her in years. Perhaps one day their paths would cross again. All he could do was hope Hazel was happy and hadn’t forgotten him.
Linda was doing well. She was living in Clacton with the Piper family, had a typing job and her first boyfriend. Nanny Noreen had been furious when Linda had walked out on her. The old witch had died a few months later. Tommy hadn’t attended her funeral and had been surprised to learn shortly afterwards she’d left him a thousand pounds in her will. She’d left the same to Linda. Tommy hadn’t wanted what he saw as guilt money, so had insisted Linda have his inheritance too. He wasn’t a forgiver or forgetter.
Alexander had remarried and moved back to Scotland, by all accounts. He had another baby now, a son. Tommy felt sorry for the boy and the woman he was married to. He wondered if he hit and raped her like he had his own mother. Chances were, if Hazel had been released, she had moved to Scotland too. Linda didn’t hear from Alexander any more. He’d called her an ‘ungrateful little mare’ the day she’d left Nanny Noreen’s and they hadn’t spoken since.
Debating whether he should contact his old pal, PC Kendall, to see if he could somehow trace Hazel, Tommy quickly decided against it. Jack had a couple of bent coppers on the payroll, but otherwise wasn’t keen on the boys in blue. PC Kendall would probably know what he was doing for a living now and, if he started asking questions, it might open up a can of worms. Tommy owed Jack big time. That man had been the nearest thing to a father figure he’d ever had and he would never betray him.
The music having stopped, Tommy was about to put another record on when a familiar voice made him freeze. The colour drained from his face and his hands began to tremble. It couldn’t be, could it? Surely it couldn’t be him?
‘Your usual, Tom?’ asked the barmaid.
‘Yes, please, pet. You know me, a creature of habit.’
All those terrible memories came flooding back in an instant. The kite, the bath, the night he’d come into Tommy’s room and … The things he’d spent years trying to forget.
Tommy knew he had to get out of this pub, but wasn’t sure his legs would be able to carry him.
Feeling as though his head was about to explode, Tommy took the plunge, but as he did so took a brief glance at the man being served. There was no doubt about it; it was him – the perverted bastard who had all but ruined his life. He looked fatter, balder, but the resemblance to Benny Hill was still there.
Tommy darted outside and round the side of the pub, then leaned against a wall to steady himself. He felt faint. Seconds later, he spewed his guts up.
‘Charming,’ an elderly lady said, voice laden with sarcasm.
Tommy didn’t bother replying. If only she fucking knew.
His mind completely blown, Tommy drove to an off-licence, bought a half-bottle of brandy and knocked it back to calm his frayed nerves. ‘Tom, my fucking arse! You lying, treacherous, perverted cunt,’ Tommy hissed, throwing the empty bottle into the footwell.
To say he was shaken to the core was putting it mildly. How dare that filthy bastard name himself after him and move to the area where he’d grown up. The area where his beautiful mum had lived, before she’d died. The pervert’s own sister!
Repeatedly clicking his knuckles, Tommy banged his head against the steering wheel. Did his animal of an uncle still have the hots for him? Was that why he’d called himself Tom and moved to the area he was raised in? That boozer was obviously his local. That Irish barmaid knew what he drank. No wonder Ronnie had no joy when trying to trace the arsehole a couple of years ago.
Wondering whether to go back to the pub and follow the disgusting shitbag home, Tommy knew he couldn’t, not tonight anyway. It had been a long day, a stressful one. He could barely see straight, let alone think straight.
‘Where the bloody hell you been?’ Donna Darling shrieked.
‘Out,’ Tommy spat.
‘Out where? I spoke to Danny. He said you finished work hours ago.’
‘No Spanish inquisition tonight, Don, please. I really don’t fucking need it.’
Donna stood up. ‘Oh my God! You’re drunk.’ She stared out of the window. ‘And you drove your new car home in that state! Do you not care at all about me and Robbie? You could have killed yourself.’
Tommy stared at his wife. She was a fine one to start acting virtuous. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. He could never open up to her, about anything, let alone his past. He briefly thought of Scratch. She might not have been as beautiful as Donna, but she’d been his best bloody friend. He could talk to her about anything and everything. She understood him, whereas Donna never would.
‘Well? What you got to say for yourself?’ Donna screamed, hands on hips.
Tommy sighed. ‘You know you said I could have killed myself tonight, Don? Well, if you want to know the truth, I wish I fucking had.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Life at Hendon was tough, but both Kim and Sam were thriving on it. They were the only two females left now. The older lady had only lasted a week and now the two slappers were history. Tina had been caught with a bloke in her bed, drinking wine. She’d been dismissed the next day. Lucy had then left of her own accord, much to Kim and Sam’s amusement.
Lots of lads had dropped out too. The training was anything but bloody easy. Recruits had to get up at 6.30 a.m. and by the time she got to bed in the evening, Kim was totally exhausted.
The academic side of the training Kim had found the hardest. The endless tutorials in the classroom learning about the law. So instead of frequenting the bar of an evening like the slappers had, Kim and Sam had swotted together, trying to absorb every piece of information they’d learned each day. They’d then quiz one another on the answers until they were imprinted in their brains.
Spotting a mark on her uniform, Kim wetted a flannel and frantically began rubbing it. Her uniform consisted of a jacket, knee-length skirt, white shirt, a soft hat, horrid thick tights and a pair of drab-looking flat black shoes. Even a speck of dust would warrant a telling off, let alone a crease. Kim and Sam had spent many hours in the ironing room of an evening, trying to perfect the art.
The physical side of her training Kim had found much more enjoyable. Some mornings her muscles would ache so much she could barely get out of bed, but on the plus side she had never felt so fit in her whole life. She’d learned judo, spent hours in the pool swimming laps, trained hard in the gym and c
ould now run like a whippet. She loved the role-acting too, learning how to restrain, arrest and handcuff a suspect, and how to use a truncheon.
Satisfied she’d got the mark off, Kim picked up the photo of Caroline, Keith, Fiona and Mikey. After being pushed from pillar to post all her life, they were the nearest she’d ever had to a proper family. Most of the recruits who lived in or around London had travelled home at weekends, but Kim hadn’t. She’d wanted to cut the apron strings, felt it was time to branch out on her own.
Kim planted a kiss on the photo then put it back on the chest of drawers. She phoned Caroline once a week, and Connie. They were extremely proud of her and that gave Kim a huge buzz. She wanted to make them proud, give them something back in return for their support and kindness. It wasn’t every day a child from Maylands became a police officer. Both herself and Connie had been horrified to read what Wayne Bradley had done to that poor child.
Kim’s thoughts were disturbed by a tap on the door. It was Sam. ‘How you feeling? I didn’t sleep too well.’
‘Me neither. I’m so nervous.’ There were three exams to pass at Hendon and today they would find out the results of the final one.
Sam plonked herself on Kim’s bed. ‘It’s my birthday today. Passing would be the best present ever.’
‘No way! Why didn’t you say something beforehand? I would’ve got you a card and a present.’ Sam making a pass at her hadn’t ruined their friendship. If anything, it had strengthened it. That was their very own private joke and they’d often mock one another about it when alone.
‘I’m not really into birthdays. I didn’t even do anything special for my eighteenth last year. What about you? When is yours?’
Kim rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t ask.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have two, like the queen. My mother always told me my birthday was July the fifth. But after she died, my aunt and uncle applied for a birth certificate for me and it turned out I was actually born on April the fifth.’ Kim still referred to Caroline and Keith as her aunt and uncle. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her friend enough to come clean about the past; she just didn’t want to talk about it. Her months at Hendon had been the happiest time of her life. She still had nightmares though, mostly about Tommy Boyle. That July the fifth in 1976 had almost done her in. To think she’d sat outside Maylands like an idiot, thinking Tommy would turn up, when all the while her knight in shining armour was busy marrying Donna Darling. How naïve she must have been back then. Not any more though. Tommy might still haunt her in her sleep, but never again would she trust a man. She was totally focused on her career, determined to make it in this world off her own bat. There was only one person in the world you could really trust and that was yourself.
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