by Martina Cole
The door opened slowly and Maggie smiled wanly.
‘You look like death warmed up!’
Maggie could have cried. This was the last thing she needed, but in her confusion she had forgotten her mother was supposed to be coming over. ‘I feel really rough, Mum.’
‘Anniversary hangover, more like!’
Maggie shook her head sadly and she looked on the verge of tears. ‘You know Jimmy had to go to Scotland, remember.’
Her voice was quavery, and she sounded blocked up, ill.
Lena was concerned. She looked rough, bless her. She looked awful, in fact.
She bustled about taking her coat off and getting her cigarettes and lighter out of her bag. In the large kitchen she put the kettle on herself, and then sat at the scrubbed pine table. Once she had lit up, she was ready to rock and roll. ‘You got the flu, mate, you can see it from here.’
Maggie tried to smile once more. ‘I have a really bad headache, Mum, I don’t think I can cope with shopping.’
Lena was disappointed but her daughter looked terrible, and she said gently, ‘Go to bed and I’ll bring you up a cuppa and a bit of breakfast, eh?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘Just the tea, thanks.’
‘Why was a locksmith here, anyway? You lost your bleeding keys again?’
Maggie sighed heavily, and Lena looked at her in concern once more. The girl was obviously sickening for something, and she seemed worn out and depressed. It was in her eyes, they were dead somehow. Her daughter looked uncannily like her sister, wiped out and grey skinned, and that alone was enough to alert Lena to trouble of some kind. She suddenly felt really worried. Her baby looked very ill, from the dark circles under her eyes to the pasty pallor of her tanned skin. She looked yellow, like she had not slept for days.
‘Well, answer me, why change all the locks? What’s going on? You ain’t had an intruder, have you?’
Maggie broke down crying, tears silently pouring out of her eyes, and she didn’t even attempt to stem the flow in any way.
Lena was scared now. She rushed to her daughter and pulled her tightly into her ample arms. ‘Here, hold up, girl, you all right? You been burgled or something?’
Her voice was soft, caring, and it was Maggie’s undoing. The sympathy on top of the way she was feeling made her start sobbing, low at first, then after a few seconds loud and harsh. She sounded like an animal in pain.
Lena rocked her daughter and tried to whisper the loving words that all mothers used to placate their offspring. Finally, after what seemed an age, Maggie began to calm down, but she still remained with her face buried in her mother’s brand-new Marks and Spencer twinset.
‘What on earth is wrong? Tell me, love, tell your old mum.’
Maggie was still sobbing, shuddering as if she was cold, even though she was calmer.
‘Were you burgled, my love? Did someone break in?’
‘No! Don’t be silly, Mum.’
Maggie’s voice was hard, and Lena was taken aback at the tone of it.
‘I just lost me keys, that’s all. For fuck’s sake, Mum, give it a rest, will you?’
Lena swallowed down her retort. The so-called lost keys were on the hall table, she had seen them as she had come in. Maggie had a distinctive, heavy brass key ring that, on close inspection, spelled her name.
Lena kept her own counsel and made the tea. She knew that once her daughter was ready she would get some kind of explanation. She hoped it wasn’t to do with Jimmy, then she dismissed the thought out of hand. Whatever this was, it would not be about him. They were sound as a pound. No, this was something completely different. Maggie looked like shit, and Lena decided that if she had a bad head then maybe that was the cause of her upset. She had had a migraine once, years before and she had never wanted to repeat the experience.
But why the change of the locks? If she had anything happen she would get Lily Law. No reason not to - they were all legal. Not a nicked thing in the house, they were far too shrewd for that.
Lena was nonplussed, but she was also sensible enough not to pry just yet. Maggie was still upset and needed to calm herself down. But this frightened her, this was so out of character for her daughter, and she hoped it was not something too awful, something that could not be rectified.
The only person who could make her daughter feel like this was Jimmy, but he would never hurt her in any way, of that much she was sure.
She sighed deeply, then lit another of her endless cigarettes.
Well, as her old nana would say, it would all come out in the wash.
Jackie was looking at herself in the full-length mirror in her bedroom. She had just had a bath, and she knew that the bath was long overdue.
The drinking stopped her from doing the everyday things, but by the same token she had always been lazy. When her husband had gone away she had lost interest in herself, and she had drunk to blot out her struggle with the children and her struggle with her loneliness. Freddie had never understood that, he had been surrounded by people in the same boat, while she had been too frightened to go to the pub, talk to a man or be seen in any situation which could be misconstrued. Her world had gradually imploded and her best friend had become her drinking partner. Her best friend was vodka when she was flush, wine and cider when she wasn’t.
She closed her eyes and savoured her drink once more. It gave her a lift, even more than the pills, although the Valium she also took on a regular basis always ironed out the little wrinkles in her life. It smoothed the edges, made life that bit more bearable.
She had soaked herself for ages, knowing the grime in her toes would take time to dissipate. She had decided that she was going to start looking after herself, and so at eleven thirty in the morning she was sipping white wine mixed with vodka and attempting to put on eye shadow and lipstick.
She could hear the girls whispering in their room. They were laughing, really laughing and the noise was grating on her brain. She had a sneaky feeling they were laughing at her.
‘Stop pissing about, for fuck’s sake, and go out!’
She could hear the high-pitched anger in her own voice and she hated herself for it.
They were good kids really, she knew they were. She also knew they spent their time living down her drinking, and her fighting. She popped another little yellow pill and swallowed it dry.
The laughter had stopped and the music went on. Even the noise of the Spice Girls was preferable to their skitting and laughing, which always made her feel paranoid, as if they were mocking her. She knew they most probably were. Shouts of ‘happy birthday’ had been rife earlier when she had got in the bath, which had not helped with her bad humour at all.
Kimberley strolled in a little while later. ‘You look nice, Mum, where you going?’
The fact she assumed she was going somewhere depressed Jackie even more. Was this how bad things had got? She looked at her daughter. Kim was turning into a lovely girl and she was poking out in all the right places. They all were, and her jealousy knew no bounds. ‘Who are you, the fucking police?’
As she looked into her daughter’s eyes she saw the girl’s confusion, saw the wonderment at seeing her mother tidy and in make-up when she would normally still be in bed shouting her orders in a raspy voice as she coughed up the cigarettes and vodka from the day before.
‘I only asked!’
‘Well, fucking don’t. Do I have to have a reason to get meself tidied up, then? Is it such a fucking big deal in this house if I decide to look nice?’
Jackie wanted to shut up, but she couldn’t. She always had to justify herself to these young people who were watching her, judging her and finding her sadly lacking as a mother, a person, and as a human being.
‘Well, shoot me for asking a question, why don’t you.’
She flounced off in a temper, and Jackie swallowed down the urge to call her back, to hug her. They hated being hugged by her, and she knew it was because she stank of drink, of despair, and worst of all she st
ank of hopelessness. Her world had imploded a long time ago, and now she was waiting for it to explode, for Freddie to finally leave her. When that happened she knew it would be the end for her.
Freddie had frightened her the night before. The faceless women she could cope with, but her own sister? Her Maggie, who was probably the only person she had ever trusted around her husband. Because she had never been able to trust him with anyone else, but she had trusted her sister. She had known that no matter what he might want Maggie would not do that to her, but now she was not so sure.
And Maggie was not only young, she was beautiful. She was stunning, and she took great care of herself. At times the envy Jackie had felt towards her had been almost visceral, and she had felt great dismay about her youthful body, and her tight skin.
But Maggie wouldn’t touch him with a strangers, would she? The thing was, Jackie wasn’t sure any more. Her self-esteem was on the floor, her life was in the toilet and her head was all over the place. She was a mess.
When Freddie wanted something he went all out to get it, and no one knew just how charming he could be when the fancy took him. He would go on an all-out assault, and Maggie would not know what hit her. Jimmy was her world, but if there was trouble between them she knew Freddie would use that to inveigle his way in there. He would see it as a laugh, think it was funny to sleep with Jimmy’s wife. Freddie saw all women as fair game and he saw all their men as mugs who were finally shown the true colours of the women they professed to love.
But Maggie? Maggie and Jimmy were set like a jelly, and anyway, Maggie was too shrewd, far too shrewd, surely? Maggie had at least a modicum of loyalty, she was sure of that much.
Or was she?
She knew about that Patricia, knew all about their so-called affair, knew that it was more on his side than hers. Now the Patricias she could cope with, because they was going nowhere. He was great in the kip, but even Jackie knew he was a type and most women did not want his type for any length of time. He was dangerous, he was a fucker, but at the end of the day he was generally hers. The Patricias would finally send him home with his tail between his legs when he stepped over their imaginary line, and then she picked up the pieces.
He needed her then because he felt like she did now. Useless, unwanted, nothing.
Her head was gone, the pills were taking over and she was actually enjoying listening to a Spice Girls record. She lurched into the bedroom and asked them to crank up the sound on the stereo, and they all laughed as Little Freddie mimicked her every word.
As she started to tell him off, he did a pretty good impression of her, and she was getting more and more annoyed at every word he uttered.
Then he jumped off the bed and did a passable imitation of her walking when she was drunk.
She tried to smack him, but Roxy dragged him on her lap and the girls were all roaring at her once more. Little Freddie was pretending to stick his fingers down his throat and pretending she made him sick, which once more set the girls off in hysterics.
Christ, but at times she hated that fucking child.
Freddie was watching Patricia and she knew he was.
She looked lovely, and she knew that as well. Even though she was not really that good looking, her confidence, immaculate dress sense and air of leadership made her more than attractive in the eyes of most of the men in her orbit.
Used as they were to women being totally dependent on their men, she was an anomaly, and also a fuck-off business-woman whose brother was madder than the maddest person who was ever declared mad. This same brother gave her carte blanche with most of his business dealings, which in their world made her an honorary man. It also made her rich as Croesus, and once more that was something that held an attraction in itself. Her reputation as a good fuck who wanted no emotional ties was also a big draw in their circle. Most women wanted to be the new bird, the overtaker, while she had no interest in filling anyone’s shoes. So a lot of men wanted her, and they wanted her for a variety of reasons.
But none wanted her more than Freddie Jackson, who would see her on his arm as a reflection on himself. Would see her as a step-up, and who would walk away from Jackie and even Little Freddie if that was what it took to get her full time.
She played him, and they both knew that. She let him think it was a possibility, then she would make him more than aware of the absurdity of the situation.
But today, Freddie looked like the cat who had got the cream and she knew by his whole demeanour that he was full of himself, puffed up like a third-rate brass on a bender with the army.
Patricia’s flat was fantastic, and Freddie loved it here. It was new, a penthouse and he liked it so much he imagined himself as its lord and master. It was spotless, and the fridge was always full of beer and decent food, and the bed was always sweet smelling and crease free.
She had a nice drum, and he envied her that. He also envied the fact he was not the only man in her life. But he consoled himself with the fact that of them all, he was the most constant.
She made him shower before they slept together, and even though he knew it was an insult to him, he did it. If any other woman had ever asked him to do that he would have decked them. But with Pat, you either did it her way, or not at all.
It made such a change from the whining cunts he was normally involved with, who wanted sexual gymnastics and then wanted his loyalty and his love.
As if.
Yet he would give it to this woman without a second’s thought, he would watch his step and even give up the strange, because the Patricias of this world did not believe in second chances. Once you fucked up it was over, and that was that.
If she knew what he had done the night before she would freak. She liked Maggie, everyone liked Maggie. In fact, Maggie was a lot like Pat - she was a grafter and she knew her own worth.
It was strange that he wanted to bring Maggie down but not Pat, but he understood the reasoning behind destroying Maggie. It was because, between them, Maggie and Jimmy were everything he wanted to be. He had spoken the truth the night before when he had told Jackie that he should have waited, that he had married the wrong sister. But it went deeper than that. He saw the way they lived, the way they interacted, the way they were admired and respected by their peers.
Jimmy was Ozzy’s eyes and ears. It was Freddie who had been banged up with Ozzy. But Jimmy was now Ozzy’s blue-eyed boy, little Jimmy who he had schooled and loved.
Maggie was also a law unto herself, with her salons and her fucking high-handed ways. Even his girls looked up to the two of them. To a man younger than him by nearly a decade. They all treated them like they were visiting royalty and he was like the fucking hired help.
Well, he had started a train in motion and now he was going to sit back and watch what happened. Maggie was his and he knew it. Jimmy was an unknown quantity, but she would never spill the beans on their little encounter.
He also knew that the fact she would hide it would be her downfall, because once she lied to her precious Jimmy their whole life would begin to collapse.
Jimmy worshipped her. Mug that he was, he saw her as the most important thing in his life, and their life was good. They had the life Freddie had expected, but thanks to Jackie and his kids, and his drinking and his drugging, and his disregard for anything and everyone in his orbit, that life had never materialised.
Ozzy, he knew from little things Patricia had let slip, saw him as the underdog now. He was no more than a heavy, it was little Jimmy who called the shots. Well, Jimmy was getting far too big for his boots, boots which, incidentally, Freddie had fitted him with many years before.
He had come out of nick full of hope and dreams. He had spent night after night in his cell planning his new life, and he knew in his heart that he had thrown it all away. He had fucked everything with a pulse, he had ponced off everyone he knew and he had basically handed the reins over to a young man who had once seen him as the epitome of everything he had wanted to be himself.
&n
bsp; Freddie had blown it, and he was aware that it was far too late to regain any kind of foothold. He was just a heavy now, a well-respected and well-treated heavy, but a heavy all the same. His father had pointed this out to him all those years ago, when Jimmy and Maggie had married with all their pomp and ceremony, and he had known then that what his father said had been true. Well, he had shown him!
He had been due his pension, he had been due his lifestyle, and he had let it slip through his fingers.
Knowing he had fucked it up himself did not make his little cousin’s rise to power any easier. All the contacts they used were his friends, all the main people were their social equals. He knew he was now only tolerated, and it was this that he could not take any more.
Hatred was preferable to toleration, and the worst of it all was that even little Jimmy barely tolerated him these days. Yet for all that, it was his rep, his fighting ability and his ruthlessness, that kept the pretenders to their thrones at bay.
Jealousy was a terrible force. It ate at people and it made them dislike and distrust the people they loved. It caused the unsuccessful parties to question their own lives, and look too harshly at their families and their so-called friends. It made for paranoia and it made for dangerous bedfellows.
Well, Jimmy Jackson might be making a name for himself, but his little love nest was now tainted and that would have a domino effect on the rest of their lives.
He would bring the flash little fucker down from the inside, and watch as he saw his life crumble, much the same as he had himself.
‘Are you all right, Freddie?’
Pat’s voice was coming from far away, and he knew he was on a coke trip. He had been snorting it for hours like a man with a nose bigger than Barry Manilow.
He sighed and said sadly, ‘I think things are a bit off at Chez Jimmy’s. Maggie has been fit to be tied since he had to go up to Jockland.’
