Faces

by Martina Cole

  Like Michael, Carole saw these women as they really were, and not as they wanted to be seen. That what people thought of them and the lives they were purported to live, meant more to them than their actual day-to-day living was incredible to Carole’s way of thinking. She wouldn’t change places with any of them for all the money in the world. Their lives were such shams, and that they knew that as well as she did, and yet did nothing to make their lives better irritated her. Even as she understood them. A Face was a catch; look at her with Michael; he was a Face. To the majority of the women here, she had won the fucking pools two weeks in a row.

  But Carole felt a connection with him, especially since they had become an item. And people treated her with the utmost respect, something she had never experienced before, even the people who had seen her as beneath their radar before now went out of their way to claim a friendship, make a claim to any kind of tenuous link to her family that they could manage. It was laughable really, except the people concerned were so earnest that she didn’t like to let them down. She was automatically nice back. It was her nature, she was a good person, and she knew it was beyond her to be nasty, or rude to anybody deliberately. Michael had told her to let it go over her head, a giraffe’s fart, he called it. But she was not comfortable with it at all.

  Still, after today she could choose who she continued to be friends with and who she didn’t. Not that she would be horrible to anyone, of course, but her new status would afford her the luxury of not having to acknowledge anyone specifically unless she chose to. She could be a nice and friendly acquaintance to the women in her world, and then just concentrate on her new husband.

  Carole had such a great reputation locally, everyone knew her as being kind, friendly, and the first person to offer any help if anything should occur within their community. Her marriage to Michael, Danny Boy’s right-hand man, had actually cemented her standing in the community, though she did not immediately realise that. She only hoped that her life with Michael would be everything she hoped it would be.

  Mary was pregnant once more, and this time she seemed to believe she would hold onto the child full-term. Carole knew from Michael that Danny Boy had not been home for weeks, and this made her think that could be the reason Mary’s pregnancy had not evaporated like all the others. Danny Boy was the picture of kindness to her and, as much as she liked him, and she did like him, she guessed he was not the best husband in the world. She also believed it wasn’t any fault of Mary’s. Danny Boy would have been the same, whoever he married.

  Arnold Landers looked very handsome in his morning suit and Carole saw his sprightly gait as he walked over to them. He was a very handsome man, and she knew that Michael, like Danny Boy, rated him highly. He had the south London operations all sewn up, and that was not an easy task, by anyone’s standards. She only hoped that Annie saw the good in him before it was too late. In fact, she hoped he was the man who would lead her young friend back onto the straight and narrow. Arnold was not the type of bloke who would swallow his girlfriend’s antics without a fight. But then again, he had to find out about them first. Although, having said that, the way that Annie was carrying on, that could prove to be much sooner than anyone expected.

  Carole steadied her breathing and as she heard the first strains of her chosen music, the theme tune to Gone With the Wind, she walked slowly down the aisle on her father’s arm. Her head was held high, and her heart was open and waiting for her new husband to fill it with the love she knew he had in abundance.

  Everywhere she looked, people were genuinely pleased for her, the wedding guests were all looking at her expectantly, as if her marriage would change everything about her new husband’s life. He was Danny Boy’s partner, although she knew that was a loose term for Michael’s actual place in the firm. He was the real brains of the outfit, but she understood how people saw Danny Boy as the main man in the relationship, and she also understood why it suited Michael for people to think that. He was the only person who could talk Danny Boy down.

  It also meant that when Michael went in for the kill, no one would ever expect it. Though his wife-to-be wasn’t aware of that fact yet.

  Carole saw Danny Boy watching her intently as she walked down the aisle towards her new husband and she made a point of not making eye contact.

  She was radiant, as brides were supposed to be, and she was also beautiful, really beautiful, for once in her life, and she felt it then and there for those few minutes, she knew how it felt to be Mary. All eyes drawn to you because of how you looked, and conscious of that.

  Michael was waiting for her with a deep and abiding love that seemed to radiate from his open face. It caused many a tear to fall from the eyes of the women in the church, and many a snide comment from the males attending the occasion.

  Ange cried, she saw Michael as the son she wished she had been lucky enough to have been blessed with. She now saw Danny Boy as the Devil who, she knew, would annihilate anyone on a whim. But she put aside her anger and fear because this was one wedding she knew she would enjoy.

  The smoke was like a grey cloud in the bar of the hotel, the women and children were in the ballroom, the disco was loud, and the lighting was dark enough to make even the older women look mellowed out. The buffet was spectacular and plentiful; two young men in chefs’ whites made sure it was replenished at regular intervals and everyone was more than impressed. After the five-course meal that afternoon, this was totally over the top. But it was, as everything in their world was, expected. This was a show of power as much as anything else, from the doves outside the church to the piper who had piped them into the Park Lane Hotel. It was class, as more than one person had remarked that day; this was all put down to Carole, of course. The latest Queen of the Underworld.

  The men were laughing and joking, Michael had done his duty, danced the first dance, and, after cutting the six-tier cake, he had circled the room talking to everyone with his brand-new wife by his side. Now, he was relaxing with the boys, as was expected of him. As he sat by Danny Boy in the plush surroundings of the bar he marvelled at just how far they had come in the last ten years. They were the top of their game, and there was no one who could come even close to taking their crowns from them. The only way things could fuck up was if Danny Boy let his legendary temper get the better of him. Michael had already smoothed over too many acts of violence and he knew that Danny himself was more than aware of that fact. Danny Boy was not a fool, he knew no one was completely safe from harm, and he was trying to keep himself in check these days. His rep was enough to get what he wanted from people, he didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. Even the Faces outside the Smoke kowtowed to him these days. He was the business, the main man, and he was living it large.

  Danny was also banging a new little bird who, it seemed, might be on the way to taming him. She was a tiny little thing, with a neat figure and huge blue eyes. She was a civilian as well, she worked as a secretary in an office in the City, and he was besotted with her, despite his other bit of strange, who had also had his kid.

  Michael thought she was as thick as two short planks, but she seemed amiable enough, had a pleasant way with her. And, what was classed as a bonus as far as he was concerned, she didn’t want to be a part of this world. She was happy enough with a meal and a few good nights out.

  As they chatted Michael saw a tall man with a balding head and large yellow teeth come into the bar; he was obviously drunk and, as he wasn’t one of his guests, he ignored him. They were sitting in the centre of the room, about fifteen of them, huddled around two tables. There was champagne and brandy laid out for their use and, as they all chatted together and told hilarious stories, the man, a resident in the hotel, bought a drink and, passing by their table, he accidentally bumped into Danny Boy and spilled his drink, a large whisky, onto Danny Boy’s jacket.

  Danny Boy stared at the offending stain as everyone at the table went quiet. The man was mortified and, as he began to apologise profusely, everyone braced th
emselves for Danny Boy’s reaction. Just then Carole popped her head inside the bar to see what condition her husband was in, and her eyes locked with Danny Boy’s. She smiled at him, blissfully unaware of the situation, and called out happily, ‘I’m depending on you to make sure my husband doesn’t get too drunk.’

  Michael smiled at her as she went out again and, turning back to the situation in hand, he was amazed when Danny Boy grinned that boyish grin of his and said jovially, ‘No harm done, mate. We’ve all done it, overindulged on the Gold Watch.’

  Signalling to the barman, who had picked up on the tension, he shouted, ‘Oi, John, get this geezer a fresh drink, stick it on my tab.’

  Everyone relaxed then as Danny Boy waved the bloke off and sat back down without any kind of reaction.

  Michael looked at his old friend and felt the urge to cry and, when Danny winked at him, he knew that this man, for all people said about him, real and imagined, was a good friend to him. He had restrained himself from correcting the stranger’s lack of manners and, even though for most people that wasn’t really an issue, where Danny Boy was concerned, it was something he would normally feel honour-bound to do. Even at the expense of ruining a wedding reception; with Danny Boy, his reactions to certain situations was instinctive, not the result of drunken bravado like most of the men at these tables. Danny Boy actually believed, deep inside, that a lack of manners was worse than killing someone. It showed a poverty of respect, not just for the person concerned, but for themselves as well. Michael knew that the men with them were as aware of this as he was, and he also knew that this story would be told many times in the future. It was an action of deep loyalty and friendship and Michael knew that better than any of them. Not just towards him, but towards his new wife as well.

  Jonjo was laughing, and Annie was pleased to hear the sound. As she stood with him and listened to the jokes that were spewing from their old neighbour, Siddy Blue, she was also feeling the effects of the wedding party. It was late now, and the day was almost over. Kids were stretched out on chairs, coats covering them as they slept the sleep of the innocent. The DJ was playing the slower songs, the dance floor was spotted with couples dancing together, some in the throes of new passion, the majority sick of the sight of each other.

  Siddy was a scream, and he had a repertoire of jokes that seemed to be endless. He was in his forties, with a thin frame and a thick head of hair. Even Danny Boy was laughing his head off. Siddy told his jokes fast, he hammered them out one after the other, he was a regular at any social gathering.

  ‘How about this one, Danny Boy, Old Bill knocks on a door at Wanstead flats and a kid of about twelve answers, he’s got a glass of Scotch in his hand, a prostitute on his arm, and a fucking dirty great big joint in his gob. Filth says, is your dad in, son? Kid says, does it fucking look like it, you cunt?’

  Everyone creased up again, then Danny Boy looked at his little brother and said loudly, ‘It was him, Siddy, fucking Jonjo here. He liked the old Persian rugs.’

  He ruffled his brother’s hair as he spoke, and Annie relaxed, it was the first time Danny Boy had addressed Jonjo directly in months. Since the day he had found out about his habit and then proceeded to hospitalise him, he had never once spoken to him directly. He completely ignored him, only spoke to him through a third party.

  Jonjo was so pleased at his brother’s notice that he laughed delightedly. Danny Boy was finally over his pique, and that meant he was once more in the bosom of his family. That Danny had also joked about the reason for his initial anger spoke volumes, it meant he was over it, could finally forget about it. He was willing to give him another chance. The relief that Jonjo felt was overwhelming.

  Michael walked over to the table then and said happily, ‘I’m taking my new wife off to the honeymoon suite.’

  Danny stood up and embraced him, really held him close, and it was seen and remarked on by everyone who had witnessed it. As the two men hugged, Danny, his voice weighed down with emotion, said brokenly, ‘You got a fucking good one there, my son, a fucking Brahma.’

  Michael looked at his old friend and said happily, ‘I know that, Danny Boy, this is the happiest day of me life.’

  Siddy, listening to the two men talk, said loudly, ‘Make the fucking most of it, Mike, ten years from now she’ll look like her fucking mother and who wants to fuck her when they’re at home?’

  He laughed at his own quip, and it was only when Danny Boy upended the table and dragged him from his chair that he realised he had gone too far. His remark was a staple at weddings, it was just something the men said amongst themselves; it was proof that they were men together. It was usually followed with ribald comments about the dangers of married life from the experts among them. No one really meant what they said, it was just a bit of fun. However, the words were listened to by Danny Boy Cadogan, who was now coked out of his nut and unable to calm himself down. To whom, suddenly reminded of his own wedding and his own married life, the comment was like a red rag to the proverbial bull. He wanted a Carole, he wanted this, and he knew somewhere inside him that it was impossible. He destroyed everyone and everything he came into contact with, and that knowledge stoked the fire of his anger. He had never had a chance, his father had made sure he would never be the person he wanted to be; his father had sold them down the river, and he had never got over that. All he had inside was a great big ball of hatred and despair that caused him to be immune to the usual feelings and emotions that kept everyone around him from turning into an animal on a whim. The coldness of his own life was not something he dwelled on until, like now, when it was so patently obvious even he had to admit to it.

  As Danny Boy attacked his old friend and neighbour, the scene was watched by everyone in the place with a mixture of astonishment and adrenaline-induced excitement. When Michael and Arnold dragged Danny Boy off the prostrate man, the blood was everywhere, although his wounds were mainly superficial. It was Danny Boy’s screaming that was the real shocker, ‘You cunt, you fucking animal, talk about that girl like that . . .’

  Danny Boy was still attempting to kick the prone man as Arnold and Michael pulled him from the ballroom. The table was broken and glass and alcohol were everywhere. Women were gathering up their children, and men were collecting jackets and wraps, ready to leave the scene of the crime. No one was willing to get involved in it. Danny Boy was not someone you interfered with when he went on a mental.

  Mary watched as her husband was taken from the room, and she knew she ought to go and try and sort him out. Try and get him to see reason, calm him down. But she knew it was a fruitless exercise, so she didn’t bother. She only stood up when Carole came running towards her, her wedding dress splattered with blood, and the tears pouring down her face. She was shouting hysterically. ‘They’ve put him in a car and driven off with him. He was like a lunatic, Mary, threatening everyone and trying to get back inside. The manager’s called the police and an ambulance for poor Siddy, Michael’s driven him away somewhere. They’ve all gone, Mary. What am I going to do? He’s ruined everything, he’s ruined it all.’

  Mary sighed and, remembering her own wedding, she said sadly, ‘Welcome to my world, Carole.’

  Denise Parker was asleep when she heard the hammering on her front door. Dragging on her dressing gown she went out into her tiny hallway and shouted though the front door, ‘Who is it?’

  Michael called out calmly, ‘Open the door will you, Denise?’

  She opened the door with her usual scowl and stepped aside as Danny Boy walked in, flanked by Michael and Arnold. He could barely walk, and she raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow as she said flatly, ‘What’s all this about?’

  Michael shrugged as they walked past her; it didn’t occur to her not to allow them entry into her home. She could hear her baby crying and she shut the door and went into his room to quieten him. The flat was beautifully decorated, and she took a deep pride in it. Her son’s room was magnificent, with expensive wallpaper and a cot that had been
delivered from Harrods, along with matching furniture. She settled the boy down quickly, and then she went back into the front room where Danny Boy was lying on the sofa, obviously out of his nut. Michael placed a couple of wraps on the coffee table and said quietly, ‘He’s done a bottle of Courvoissier and enough speed to knock out the Cambodian army. He asked us to bring him here.’

  Denise nodded as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Arnold was not so blasé about this sorry state of affairs, but he kept his own counsel. He just wanted shot of the whole situation, Danny Boy especially.

  ‘Leave him here, Michael, I’ll sort him out.’ Denise was already settling herself down beside him, and Danny Boy was grinning at her as if they were both in on some kind of big elaborate joke.

  Outside, Arnold looked at Michael and felt the man’s despair at the turn of events. ‘You should get back to your wife, man.’

  Michael nodded tiredly. The dawn was breaking and he was desperate for his bed. Desperate for the feel of his wife’s body, of her warmth.

  ‘You did me and Danny Boy a right favour tonight and we won’t forget it.’ Arnold got into the car but didn’t reply.

  As they drove away Michael said sadly, ‘He don’t mean the half of it really. Danny Boy has a lot to contend with in his own way.’

  Arnold didn’t answer him, he was just bowled over by the loyalty and generosity of the man sitting beside him, and he knew he wouldn’t have been so good about the turn of events if the same thing had happened to him.

  Calming down Danny Boy Cadogan for two hours in a freezing cold Portakabin while rabid-looking dogs patrolled the scrapyard they owned was not his idea of a fucking wedding night. They had poured the drink down his throat and listened to his angry opinions on everything from unemployment to the state of the prison system. They had been reduced to nothing more than bystanders until Danny Boy Cadogan had eventually allowed himself to be medicated with alcohol and a shitload of illegal narcotics. It was a real eye-opener all right, and it had convinced Arnold, once and for all, that Danny Boy Cadogan really was a bona fide fucking madman. A twenty-four carat nut-job. But he kept his opinions to himself; he had a feeling that was the best policy where these two were concerned. He knew one thing though, the relationship between Danny Boy Cadogan and Michael Miles was far more complicated than any marriage could ever be.