Faces

by Martina Cole

  She instinctively laid a hand on her belly. She was five months gone, but bigger than she had ever been. This was the baby that would sort out all her problems, she was sure about that. She was singing softly to herself, the wine glass balanced on her tummy and a cigarette dangling from her perfectly manicured fingers when she realised that someone was watching her from the doorway.

  ‘You fucking whore. You drunken fucking whore . . .’

  She was frozen with terror at the sight of him. She dropped the cigarette into the bath water, her fear so acute it was hanging on the steamy air, her face was stretched in dismay, her mouth a perfect ‘O’.

  He walked slowly towards her, and his huge body, stiff with his anger, reminded her of how strong he was, how hard he could hit. He snatched the crystal wine glass from her shaking hand and, throwing it at the wall above her head with all his considerable strength, he shattered the mirror tiles, along with the glass itself. She felt the shards as they rained down on top of her. He was almost exploding with suppressed hatred, she could feel the heat of his anger burning into her.

  ‘You’d drink with my baby cooking inside you, after all that’s happened. You’re your mother’s daughter, all right, you fucking drunken cunt . . .’

  She was still unable to move, all she could do was look at him in absolute shock and horror as he loomed over her. His face was twisted in anger, his huge body rigid with fury. As he grabbed at her she flinched, bringing her arms up to protect herself, thinking he was going to slap her face, or pull her out of the bath by her hair. So she was unprepared for what he actually did to her. Grabbing her ankles, he dragged her legs up towards him, forcing her head and upper body back into the bath. She was totally submerged, unable to breathe, and she tried to fight him off, tried to free herself from his grip, the water going everywhere, she was panicking, trying to lift herself out of the water, desperate to take a breath of air. She could feel the burning inside her nose as she started to breathe in the bath water . . . Unable to hold her breath for any longer, she was gradually losing her energy, felt the darkness that heralded her losing this battle for air when suddenly he dragged her head up from out of the water, and she was gasping for breath, her lungs bursting. But within seconds he was forcing her back into the water once more. All the time he was swearing and shouting at her, and as she felt herself finally losing consciousness she prayed that this was final, that she would not wake up ever again.

  Ange was worried, and she did what she always did when anything bothered her; she cooked and cleaned. She used to laugh years before, when the kids were babies, that her problems were the reason why she had the cleanest house in the street. But those days were gone; she had not known what a real problem was, she knew that much now anyway. Her husband had been a trial, but those days seemed almost worthy of nostalgia lately. He was a different man.

  She was worried about the boys and about that whore of a daughter she’d spawned, but she worried mostly about her husband. Since Jonjo had attacked him, he had seemed to have lost the will to do anything. He didn’t even go to the pub any more. In fact, all he did was sit around and smoke; she provided those. And she also made sure he had a drink to soften the edges of his life. But she knew he had already given up on himself. It was in his eyes, in his stance. He didn’t even eat anything unless she kept on at him, cajoled him, she had even forced him at times. He was wasting away in front of her eyes, and she didn’t know what to do.

  The doctor said he was depressed, said the pain was probably a contributing factor, but he was talking out of his arse; the man was destroyed, had been demolished by his sons, and there was nothing she could do to change that. Jonjo didn’t care about his father at all, he saw him in the same way Danny Boy saw him. As a useless appendage, less than human. In one way she understood their feelings toward him, he had used them and abused them all over the years. But he was still their father. Still her husband and that should have meant something to them. Instead, they thought he was a joke, the man who had sired them, and she was left with two sons who were completely out of control. Danny Boy was a holy terror, whose only saving grace was that he still attended mass on a regular basis, and her younger son was following in his footsteps. On top of that, she had a daughter who was already well on the road to whoredom, and was under the mistaken belief that she was somehow immune to any kind of parental control. It was an awful way for a mother to have to live her life. Especially as she was unable and unwilling to admit anything was out of the ordinary where her family was concerned. Especially in public; it went against the grain, it was anathema to her to ever criticise anyone in her close family no matter what they might have done. Her instinct was to protect them, care for them. No matter what, and that even meant looking out for the skank that passed as her daughter these days.

  Her husband was staring blankly into space as usual, and his voice made her jump as he said quietly and with a determined anger, ‘We managed to breed animals, Ange, get over it. Stop letting it bother you.’

  He turned to her and looked into her eyes and, for the first time in years, she knew he was actually talking to her, not simply answering her or pretending an interest in what she had to say; he was trying to tell her something important. She surmised that this sudden lucidity on her husband’s part was because he was suddenly afflicted with the urge to communicate his feelings towards her for the first time in his life.

  ‘They aren’t animals, Danny, they are our children, they are our flesh and blood.’

  He shook his head sadly, his beaten face slack again, making him look like the cheap bastard he had always been.

  He didn’t answer her, and she knew that he should have been very vocal on the subject, and she knew she had been expecting this for a long time, and wondered why, now that it was here she was so surprised. She tried to make him change his mind, change the outcome of their union, even though she had known for many years that it was inevitable.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Danny. Don’t bail out on us.’

  He smiled then, the deep creases that amounted to his life etched into his skin and his voice as he said with a short laugh, ‘He’s a fucking vicious bully, your son, and you know it better than anybody. He even tortured you for years though you’ll never admit to that. He has that poor girl living on her nerves, and you still won’t admit that he’s a fucking headcase. He’s finished me, I can’t live like this any more. He ain’t my flesh and blood, Ange, he’s nothing to me. If he died tomorrow I’d put the fucking flags out. As for the others, they’re like him. You brought up a litter of pups who haven’t got one decent bone in their bodies between them. You made them like you; they pretend that they live perfect lives, pretend that they’re perfectly happy, when none of them knows the meaning of the word.’

  The words hit her hard, as he knew they would. He wanted to hurt her, make her see that whatever he had lacked as a father, it was her mothering that had done the most damage. She knew that, like the children he was so quick to denigrate, he couldn’t take the blame for anything they might be accused of.

  ‘They are our children, you’re the one who encouraged them to be like they are. Even your daughter, the only one of them you ever gave a toss for, has inherited your bloody traits. She’s a whore in the making, sleeping with anyone who’ll have her, even though she knows her brother would be capable of murder if he knew the score. I gave you the best years of my life, and I’ve tried to keep this family together, even after all you’ve put me through. So don’t you dare to try and place any blame on me for the moral bankruptcy that you passed on to your offspring. It was you who left us out to dry, you who caused your eldest son to become the man he has, you and your selfishness that has brought us to where we are this day. Danny Boy took over from you, and he did what you should have done for us. So stop trying to pass the buck, and just once in your life, take responsibility for your actions. Or, in this case, your complete lack of action where the care of your family was concerned.’ The anger had finally surfac
ed, as he had known it would.

  ‘You’re an angry woman, Ange, and you’ve passed that anger on to all your children. None of them has anything even remotely resembling compassion or affection for you, me, each other, or anyone else in the world for that matter.’

  ‘And who do you think made me angry, eh? Why do you think you are in the state you are? Are you honestly trying to blame it on me? I was the one who tried to make this all better, I was the one who always welcomed you back with open arms. No matter what you’ve done to me or the kids, I’ve never stopped loving you, ever. I stood by you no matter what. Even now, I’m still trying to make you realise what you have got. Make you understand how much we need you. So don’t try and make me feel that your leaving us will make me think I was the cause of our suffering because that crap don’t work with me any more. You are the one who made your kids into thugs, not me. If I was guilty of anything, it was going out on the graft, making enough money to feed and clothe them all. I didn’t gamble my money away, or drink it with my cronies in the dingiest pubs I could find. I never weighed out my wages on the nearest old whore I could find. That, my darling, I left to you. Let’s face it, Danny, it was the only thing you were ever good at.’

  Her tirade was as unexpected as it was true, but Big Danny Cadogan still didn’t think she deserved to get the last word in. He was making up for every slight, every cross word and, more to the point, he was determined to leave her with the knowledge that he was bowing out without any kind of guilt whatsoever.

  ‘Oh, Ange. You finally got what you wanted, your blue-eyed boy all to yourself. The kids all saw you as the saviour of the family, and I let them think it. I let you be the victim you insisted to them you were. You might blame me for how your life turned out, but you had a big part in it all. You could have dumped me years ago, and given them a fucking fighting chance, yourself included. But you didn’t, and I can tell you now, I wish you had. Because it would have made everyone’s lives that much easier.’

  She was saved from answering him by a loud knocking on the front door. She walked slowly and painfully through the immaculate home she had created and wondered what new trouble could be waiting for her on the other side of the freshly painted front door. She knew from experience that no one knocked here any more unless there was a specific reason for it. That reason was always because something bad had happened again, and so she opened the door with the resigned expression she had cultivated over the years, the one that told whoever was brave enough to approach her that she was ready and able for anything they might be inclined to divulge. This time though, there were tears in her eyes and a catch in her throat and, for once, she didn’t try to disguise them.

  Like her husband, she had finally had enough herself.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Outside her home, Annie Cadogan extracted herself from Arnold Landers’ arms with difficulty. He was a big man, and his heavily muscled body was a constant reminder of just how physically powerful he actually was. It was a big part of his attraction, that and the fact he was a well-known Jamaican drug dealer who was also renowned as a womaniser and a hard-case. He was a Rasta man with a penchant for youthful white girls and heavy gold jewellery. He was also a nice bloke who was liked by most of the people he dealt with. He had a friendly demeanour and was known as a man’s man. Someone to be looked up to and respected. Annie though, was unlucky enough to be the only girl who he actually felt a deep affection for. Her tight body, coupled with the fact that she had a healthy disregard for him, was very attractive to him. She was the first female ever to make him work to guarantee her affections. Her brother’s reputation was something he was aware of, but something he didn’t really let bother him too much. In fact, he was pleased she was so well connected; he had every intention of taking this relationship to the max. He was a plastic Rasta, a Catholic by birth, thanks to his fiery red-headed mother. Like Bob Marley before him, he had felt inclined to embrace the dominant colour of his skin because it was the most obvious sign of his parentage. However, until now, he had not really thought too deeply about the ramifications of his religion or his lifestyle. Annie had caused him to have a complete rethink on his way of life. She was like a drug to him; he knew in one way that she was dangerous, but he also knew that his life before her and, more to the point without her, was no life at all.

  She had crept under his skin, and she resided there with his permission and with his deep regard. Without her, he knew he would be broken-hearted. This was all new to him, and he hoped she felt as strongly for him as he did for her. As she smiled at him, her even white teeth and huge blue eyes making him feel the usual lurch in his breast, he grinned back happily. Her long, dyed-blond hair was silky smooth and he pushed a huge hand through it gently. Loving the feel of it, enjoying the power he knew she wielded over him.

  He wasn’t a fool, he knew she had been around the turf a few too many times for his liking; in fact he knew she had far too much mileage on her than would be good for either of them in the long run. But he didn’t dwell on that now, because he also knew that she was capable of generating deep feelings in him that were as confusing as they were exciting.

  ‘I wish you would stay with me tonight, Annie. I am getting pissed off with this creeping around, you know. We have a good thing going, as Maxi Priest would say. Why can’t we just be together?’

  Annie shrugged uneasily, knowing that her feelings for him were not what they should be, and suddenly aware that she might just have bitten off more than she could comfortably chew. He was sexy and exciting, but he was also a man who would do to her what her brother was doing to his wife. Would control her every move; like Danny Boy, he was a man who expected his partner’s complete and utter obedience. He would be a worse candidate than her father in the marriage stakes, and that was saying something. She also knew that, like the men in her family, he wouldn’t go away without a fight. She was desperate to get away from him now, desperate to try and make some kind of sense of this new problem she had brought on herself.

  ‘I’m too young to make any kind of big decision about my life, I keep telling you that. Now I have to get inside, my dad will be worried about me.’

  She sounded so young when she spoke, and she looked so innocent he forgot for a few moments just how experienced she actually was. That she could suck a cock like a pro, rolling a joint at the same time.

  Arnold watched her as she turned away and put her key in the lock, and smiled gently to himself at the way she tried to manipulate him. He started walking away.

  As Annie let herself into the quiet darkness of her home, she was still wondering about her relationship with her latest beau; it was only when she walked into the kitchen that the reason for her initial unease became apparent. Her screams brought Arnold to her side within minutes and opened up a can of worms that guaranteed her life would never be the same again.

  Her father had blown his brains out in the kitchen, and bone and skin, along with blood, seemed to have permeated everything around him. The scene was so horrific that even Arnold, who prided himself on his strong stomach, was hard-pushed to keep his dinner from joining the carnage all around him. It was so unexpected, and the sight so appalling, that he didn’t know what to do for a few minutes. He knew that the girl he loved was looking at what remained of her father’s face, and he pulled her out of the room quickly. He pushed her face into his chest as if that would wipe out the images she had witnessed.

  Annie was still holding onto him tightly when Jonjo arrived home a few minutes later. It didn’t occur to any of them to phone for the police or an ambulance. They both knew on a subliminal level that Danny Boy would need to be told what had happened before anything could be done about this latest catastrophe.

  Jonjo was rooted to the spot and, like his sister, the shock set in quickly, and that told Arnold that he would have to take charge for the time being at least. He did take over and, without realising, it made his journey into the bosom of the Cadogan family much easier than it would
have been otherwise.

  The first thing he did was remove brother and sister from the scene of the crime, and then he set about tracking down Danny Boy Cadogan with the least amount of fuss possible. But, before he did that, he quietly and unobtrusively removed the note he had seen among the human debris that was now covering the kitchen table.

  Mary was white-faced and drawn, but even the young doctor at the hospital was uncomfortably aware of how lovely she still was. The loss of her child was bad enough, but the news that her father-in-law had committed suicide seemed to have hit her harder than he thought possible. It seemed to outweigh the loss of her baby, and he noticed that she seemed even more terrified after she had been delivered of the news. He wondered at her state of mind, even as he understood her husband’s need to be with his mother and siblings at this tragic time. He was sorry for her though; another miscarriage, and such a late one too, was not something he felt she needed to experience alone. As he offered all the usual platitudes, he could not help noticing the lifelessness behind her eyes. It was almost as if she was already dead inside herself, and her body was existing as a separate entity, devoid of any kind of feeling or emotion.

  He left her with her brother and his girlfriend, glad to hand her over to someone else, and unable to account for the feelings she engendered inside him. He knew that there was something radically wrong with her, yet was unable to pinpoint exactly what that might be. He heard her crying softly and was pleased that she was finally letting some of her emotions out. She was wound up tighter than a watch spring, and he knew she was going to unravel spectacularly in the near future. He had seen it time and time again.

  ‘Are you all right, Mary?’ Carole’s voice was low, and dripping with concern.