by Martina Cole
When they had stopped hugging and crying, he smiled and winked at his mother and future wife as they walked happily from the room, both easier now that they had finally got onto each other’s wavelength. Danny decided the closeness that was suddenly springing between the two women was unhealthy, it made him feel left out of it all. He would have laid money on his mother not being as happy about the forthcoming event as she had seemed to be. In fact, Mary and his mother together like that made him feel not only uneasy, but their obvious affection was something he had not anticipated so had not allowed for it. He didn’t want them to be allies, he wanted them as separate entities, both at his beck and call, each in their own little boxes.
Michael, who he cared about more than he had ever cared for anyone, was thrilled at the new-found relationship. He felt his sister needed a mother figure and said so, and Danny Boy acted as if he felt the same way. But he believed in divide and conquer, and he would divide them and conquer his wife if it was the last thing he did on this earth.
As they both sat down at the dining table Danny Boy said quietly, ‘By the way Michael, I want Louie out of the game.’
Michael looked at him for long moments before saying, ‘Fuck off, Danny, you can’t mean that, he’s been like a father to you.’
Danny Boy grinned. His handsome face, as always, making him look a lot nicer than he actually was. He had a smile that could melt even the hardest of hearts, even though it rarely reached his eyes.
‘I ain’t had much luck with the father I was lumbered with, have I? Once the wedding’s over, I am going to have a fucking serious sort out, and you had better be prepared.’
Michael had suspected that something like this was on the cards, and he had guessed that Danny Boy, being Danny Boy, wouldn’t wait for an opportune moment. He was prepared to steam in and fuck the consequences.
As he watched him chatting and laughing with his sister, Mary, and acting like he didn’t have a care in the world, Michael wondered why he was so loyal to him. He knew Danny Boy was not someone to cross, yet he also knew that he was probably the only person, other than his sister Mary and his poor mother Ange, who could actually make Danny Boy Cadogan change his mind when and as it was needed.
And he was determined to make him see that Louie was the best thing they had going for them, and remind him of how much he had helped them out in the past. Danny Boy had not been right for a while, but Michael knew he had gone through these deep depressions before, even as a kid, so he was willing to wait until he felt better again and then talk him round. Danny Boy was capable of changing his mind in an instant, so he would work on that basis. Even as he was planning what he would say to him, a little voice was telling him that Danny Boy was getting further and further away from reality, and his sister was going to have her hands full once the marriage was in place. But he knew that Danny Boy was the glue that held them all together, and he also knew that anyone who had experienced what he had at such a young age was bound to be plagued by suspicion and paranoia.
Michael Miles still justified his friend’s outlandish behaviour, and he still couldn’t admit to himself that he was actually in dire need of psychiatric help. In their game, Danny’s personality was considered a bonus, and Michael was already in too deep to walk away, even if he had wanted to.
Chapter Fifteen
Danny Boy was watching the priest, who was already half-cut; his breath was heavy on the air, the distinctive tang of cheap whisky making most of the people within a six-feet radius of him turn their faces away in disgust. Danny Boy was pleased to see him finally slipping a couple of extra-strong mints into his mouth and start sucking on them furiously. He had obviously done this before.
He was a big old boy, with the look of a typical Irish priest; a natural-born brawler who had eventually succumbed to the lure of the Catholic church. Danny Boy liked him and was pleased that he had gone to confession the night before. He had done his confession happily, as always. He enjoyed unloading his sins, lifting the burden of guilt they could create, and saying his acts of contrition with a seriousness and deep belief that would amaze anyone who knew him intimately. Danny Boy was a chancer, a waster, but he was also in the thrall of a much greater power. He admired his God, admired the fact he had created a church from fuck all, and loved being a part of that church, even if it was only a quiet acceptance, a quiet belief. A private matter.
After his confession he always enjoyed sitting in the quiet of the church, alone, taking in the stations of the cross, and praying for his plans to reach a good and plentiful fruition. It was a lovely old church, and he had lit a couple of candles for the people he had personally helped to shake off their mortal coil. It was important to him that he remembered them in his prayers. It appealed to his sense of the ridiculous. He was known as a devout Catholic, a regular attendee of the church, and he knew it made his street credibility more interesting.
For all his bastardy though, he genuinely respected the church and its beliefs. Like Jesus, he saw himself as someone who was trying to make the world a better place, but who was being crucified for that left, right and fucking centre. The Filth was bad enough, but the old boys he was dealing with lately were reminiscent of the old moustachioed petes from the twenties and thirties. It was unbelievable the way they acted up over anything new and innovative. He wondered how the fuck they had got to where they were in the first place, without someone fucking aiming them out of it. How could you stay at the top of your game if you didn’t have the sense to diversify? Drugs, especially steroids and other prescription medicines, were a huge earner for the right people. Appetite suppressants, slimming pills, as they were more commonly called, sleeping pills and other medication such as Valium or Mandrax, coupled with amphetamines, were a must-have for the new generation of youngsters who wanted to go out and then stay out for as long as was humanly possible. The amphetamine culture was here to stay and, although cocaine was the drug of choice for people with a few quid, as it had been since the late 1890s, when Coca Cola had been advertised for its magical power to relieve fatigue, with over five grams of cocaine in each bottle sold, it was no wonder people didn’t feel the need to sleep. Speed was now a requirement of the new giro generation. It was cheaper and easier to get hold of than coke, and it was guaranteed to make the night last longer. Skag, on the other hand, was like LSD, only really an earner on the right estates, with the right dealers and the right clientele. This consisted mainly of people who owned at least one Pink Floyd album, and didn’t feel the urge to leave their home for what they saw as a good night out. Most heroin addicts tried dealing at some point, and that was a waste of fucking time and energy, they always junked more than they sold. But, with the right dealer, there was a fortune to be made in them there veins.
Danny was having to argue these basic facts with the very people who he felt should have already known what was the new must-have designer drug. They were supposed to be at the top of their game, have their eyes on the ball. Well, after today, he was going to be a married man with a wife and the prospect of a family. He knew that he would be seen by the powers that be as settled; they were still unsure of loners, men who were not in a settled relationship and were therefore deemed incapable of rational thought. A family man, they believed, was more inclined to think things through, and less likely to put himself in any position of danger that might very well see him on the receiving end of a big sentence. It was sound economics really, and the fact he was marrying the woman whose beau he had taken out was seen as quite romantic. Well, the day had finally arrived and he was to be married at last. He wished the day was over already so he could get on with the night’s affairs. But time passed eventually, even a lifer saw the light at the end of the tunnel one day. Time passed, fast or slow, it passed in the end; any graveyard held the proof of that much.
Danny Boy was dressed in a grey morning suit and top hat; he felt a slight unease, but was still confident as he knew that his build carried the outfit off perfectly. Mary had set her h
eart on a traditional white wedding and Mary, as he had told her so often, could have what the fuck she wanted. He had wanted to possess her for a long time, and the thought of taking her this night was overwhelming. He had ironed out Kenny, the so-called love of her life, and taken the prize. To know that Kenny was dead appealed to him, appealed to his sense of what was right and fitting. He knew he needed a wife, and he wanted a family for no other reason than it was what people did, it was what most people strived for. Marrying Mary wasn’t going to curtail his nocturnal activities, he would carry on as always. Only now Mary would move into his new house with him and take care of him and his needs and he would give her children and she would be fucking grateful that he had picked her up out of the gutter she had sunk into by fucking someone as low as old Kenny boy.
Having a wife would be a laugh, he was looking forward to saying, my wife, my kids. It was something he knew would give him an air of normality and respectability that he knew was lacking in his life.
He saw Louie and his wife standing nearby; they were a lovely couple and his wife was a really nice lady, a woman who had obviously never had any carnal thoughts in her life, not even about her poor husband. She was a real Brahma, a real lady. He felt a sudden sorrow at his bad behaviour towards his friend; like Michael said, the man had helped him more than anyone else in his life and how had he repaid that kindness? He had lost it, threatened him, felt the urge to obliterate him. He knew he had to get his temper under control, most of the time he could do it, but every now and then it got the better of him and he just exploded. The scary thing was that there was often no reason for his outbursts, and he couldn’t care less about the consequences when they hit him. He just had to let the anger out, and anyone within his eyeline was fair game. He winked at his old friend and smiled, acknowledging him with an ostentatious wave that was seen and then filed away by everyone in the church. It showed that Louie was a valued friend, almost family, and Michael smiled happily at the gesture.
Michael was standing beside him, his top hat and tails were not as smart as they should have been, but then Danny had made sure of that. While everyone else had rented their suits, Danny had gone to a Savile Row tailor and had his made-to-measure. It was the real deal, and he knew it made him stand out from the other men around him. He looked like a few quid, and that was exactly the kind of impression he had set out to create.
As Michael chatted, Danny affected his usual amiable demeanour of nodding and smiling that made Michael believe he was listening to what he was saying. He was, in fact, looking around the church, impressed at the amount of Faces who had deemed him worthy enough to tempt them into attending his wedding. No one, as far as he could see, had refused his invitation. In fact, he had a full attendance record for the first time in his life. He saw every major crime family of every nationality, and every outside gang was present, meaning the people who resided north of the Watford Gap; all had either come in person, or they had sent a representative of high-standing. Jamie Carlton was there, in the thick of it, which put paid to a few of the more choice rumours about him. That knowledge pleased him. It was a public declaration of his new status and he wanted to use it to put pressure on the people he felt should be investing money in his new businesses. Once they put in a few quid he could stop worrying about them trying to take it over, or muscling in for a percentage. If they harboured delusions of grandeur, for example, dreaming about trying to elbow him out and then attempting to claim the main prize for themselves, he would be far too entrenched for them to get even a fucking toehold. He just wanted their poke and their undying goodwill, anything else was just bunce.
As he pictured the money he was going to collar, he heard the first few bars of Mendelssohn and, plastering a big smile on to his face, he turned and watched his soon-to-be wife as she floated down the aisle on a cloud of white lace and very expensive perfume. She looked fantastic, there was no doubt she was a good-looking girl, but she was also soiled goods and that meant he would have to watch her like a hawk. She had been a girl, as everyone there knew. A lively lass, a bit of a laugh, a good lay. She had a rep that was as outstanding as it was annoying. But she was radiant now as she walked down the rose-petal strewn aisle to her new husband’s side, amid gasps of admiration from the women, and grunts of lechery from the men. Danny Boy knew they were grading her from one to ten, and not finding her lacking. She looked absolutely stunning, and so she should, the dress had cost the national debt, and everyone remarked on that fact. She was like a movie star, and that was exactly the impression she had set out to create for herself.
Like her beau she had seen this wedding as the social event of the year and had made sure she was dressed accordingly. They had taken over a local nightclub for the reception, and the food was being prepared by a top London chef. The music was going to be spectacular, and the late-night buffet was costing them as much as the sit-down meal. The Rolls Royces were booked for the whole day, and would take them to Heathrow later on that night to begin their three-week honeymoon in Mauritius. All in all, this was going to be the wedding of the decade, and she was already, without a doubt, the best-looking bride they had seen for many a year. Fuckable, yet virginal, and that was something she had not been since her school days.
Ange looked at her sons as they waited for the bride to arrive. She was happy enough, and her husband was standing beside her, his tails a bit too big on his bony frame, but still looking good on him. He had been a handsome man in his day, and still was if he bothered to get himself dressed up. She saw her daughter’s petulant face, and she understood her hurt at not being a bridesmaid. She knew Mary had wanted her for the job, but it was Danny Boy who had put the kibosh on it; he was not impressed with her at the moment. She could sympathise with him though because she felt the same way towards her herself. The girl was a fecking whore in the making and this might just be the nudge she needed to set her straight.
As Ange scanned the church she was also seriously impressed by the people who had turned out to see her boy married. She knew the guest list was making her husband green with envy and she didn’t care. She was making the most of her moment of glory, what else could she do? She had learned, a long time ago, to make the most of whatever came her way. Life, more often than not, had a habit of disappointing her so why not enjoy the good times while she could?
‘So the tenth of May will be your wedding anniversary then?’
Mary nodded happily and her brother Gordon who she had thought looked so handsome in his tails, said loudly and drunkenly, ‘A white dress, sis?’
She was already feeling the shame of his glare. He was not afraid to say his piece, afraid to offend. He was a bastard when he was drunk. Like their mother he couldn’t just have a few drinks, he drank seriously.
‘Stop it, Gordon, not now. Danny Boy won’t swallow your jokes.’ She was attempting to warn him, but it was a friendly warning that she knew he could not help take on board.
He grinned at her then, and she realised he was past talking to, and she wanted to physically harm him. He always had to cause a scene, always felt the need to hurt everyone around him. Any other time she felt a deep sorrow for him, but today she hated him for it, today she had hoped he would not act up. But she could see the hate in his face, the flushed redness from the drink he had already imbibed, the recklessness of someone who had not yet come across Danny Boy with the hump.
‘That’s a bit like putting the cart before the horse ain’t it, sis, considering your past form? You’ve had more cocks than a hen house. I heard you was so popular in the pub that they named a toilet stall after you.’
He was looking at her with his usual drunken amiability, this was a stance he took so that he could act contrite the next day. He would say that he was only joking. Mary felt the smile freeze on her face. Gordon was always the first to cause trouble, and she was sick of it. She had been fool enough to believe he would behave himself today. She should have known better; at his age, he thought he was the dog’s gonads, an
d she had never bothered to disabuse him of that notion. She had spent her life sticking up for him, and now she was sorry that she had not done what everyone else had, given him a wide berth and left him to get on with it. Once he had a few drinks he was a nightmare, he was his mother’s son all right. Alcohol made him angry and vicious, made him into an evil mirror image of his usual self.
As she looked into his eyes she saw the calculated and wicked glint still there, and knew he was too far gone to be reasoned with. She glanced round her; the club they had taken over was decorated with lilies and white roses, the whole colour scheme creams and golds. It looked stunning, and her little brother, as always, had to put a vicious barb in where nice, friendly chat would have sufficed. He was so eaten up with jealousy and hatred when he had taken a few drinks that he often got a smack across the earhole from his unsuspecting victim. And always people he thought cared about him, people he didn’t think would be hurt, offended or humiliated by his words of wisdom. His excuse was always the same, he had only spoken the truth, as if that fact alone would wipe out the pain and the trouble he had caused. Knowing that the truth, in their world, was the last thing most people were interested in. The truth was, more often than not, an expensive and much over-hyped emotion that was, in actuality, a destructive and dangerous force. The truth was not for the likes of them, and this brother of hers knew that better than anyone. He was a bastard, and he was not about to give her any kind of leeway; he was determined to break her heart. He was not bothered about his words, or the effect they might have, he was lost in the moment, already unable to distinguish between her pain and his obvious cruelty. And he had promised her he would behave, promised her he would not drink until the evening. She now had to accept that, young as he was, he was an alcoholic as well as a drug addict. A complete pisshead who cared nothing for her or her new husband’s feelings.
