Maura's Game

by Martina Cole

  ‘I love you so much, Terry.’

  He didn’t answer her. Instead he picked up her keys and walked out of the house. She stood at the picture window and watched him get into her car. The workmen were gone and she was glad. They had been there for the best part of the morning and afternoon.

  Terry opened her car door – it was never locked – and she watched his tall frame bend as he got inside. As he placed the key in the ignition he smiled at her and she was pleased. She really believed then that they would get over this latest spat.

  The explosion sent her hurtling back through the beautiful room she had painstakingly created. Landing heavily on the sofa, her back screaming with pain, the last thing Maura heard was the telephone ringing endlessly.

  Then merciful oblivion.

  Chapter One

  Roy Ryan was terrified. He snatched up the phone immediately it rang. On hearing his wife Janine’s voice he slammed the receiver straight back down.

  That was all he needed now, her and her great big galloping gob for the next three hours. If moaning was an Olympic sport, his old woman would get the gold. The phone rang once more and he ignored it, knowing it was going to be her again with her usual whining. Janine was a piss head and he hated her more at this moment than he had ever hated her before.

  He put his head into his hands and stifled an urge to sob. Fear was making him sweat. He could smell himself, feel the moisture pooling beneath his arms. Where the fuck was Maura? She should have been here ages ago.

  Probably still in bed with that prick Petherick.

  Roy felt a moment’s shame at the thought. She was entitled to have Terry; had fought hard enough to get him. But no matter how Roy weighed it up, Petherick would always be a filth, not only to his way of thinking but to everyone else who counted. Roy was convinced that this was what lay behind their latest trouble. Someone was grassing big time, passing word of forthcoming blags to Old Bill, and it seemed the Ryans were seen as the likely culprits. Ex-filth in the family did not augur well in their line of work – unless of course the filth in question was known to be one of your own. Which Petherick never had been.

  In fact, he was such a stuck-up ponce he barely acknowledged any of them, looked down his nose at them – even at their mother, and she thought the sun shone out of his hairy copper’s arse.

  Roy sighed again. His eyes were hurting from lack of sleep and he had a day’s growth of stubble covering his face. He really did need to get some sleep but now wasn’t the time.

  Nearly ten years of peace in the city and now suddenly all hell was let loose. But why? Who lay behind all the arrests, all the aggravation? Someone was stirring it big time, and his family had to find out who it was before they lost all credibility with the bedrock of their business: the big league criminals of London and the south east. Today, they were starting a round-up of all disgruntled former associates. They were going to be made to come up with some answers. But where the hell was his sister? They couldn’t pull this off without Maura.

  Janine was smarting from her husband’s rudeness. She was gritting her teeth in anger and it made her face seem even more haggard than usual. She poured herself a large gin and swallowed it neat, feeling the burn of the liquid as it slipped into her sagging belly. She closed her eyes to savour the feeling and as she opened them caught sight of herself in the mirror opposite.

  She felt the sting of tears then. She looked older than her years, much older. Looked nearer seventy than sixty if she was honest with herself.

  On the sideboard was a photo of her on her wedding day and Janine stared at it for long moments, remembering how she had felt then with her brand-new husband beside her and a baby growing inside her belly. Remembered her long red hair that had attracted so much attention and ultimately attracted Roy.

  If only she had listened to her mother and father! They had had him taped from the first glance, him and his family. But like many a bride before her, she had been sure she could control her man. As it turned out no one could control him, not even the Metropolitan Police and God knew they’d tried enough times. But she had wanted him, wanted him like she had wanted no other man in her life before or since. And the big problem was she still wanted him, always had and always would. Yet she knew he despised her.

  She poured herself another large gin and swallowed a couple of Valium. Mother’s little helpers. The thought made her smile, something she rarely did though in fact if she’d realised, it made her look less haggard and much more approachable.

  If only you knew in advance how your life was going to turn out.

  She lay on the sofa and thought about her daughter Carla, the baby she had borne with so much hope and then disliked from her earliest days. Because she was a rival female and commanded a besotted Roy’s undivided attention – something she herself had never done if she was honest. Carla was more Maura’s daughter than hers now and that suited Janine. The auntie and the cuckoo in the nest were welcome to one another. But Janine’s son, her Benny Anthony, named for his dead uncle, he was a different kettle of fish. He was hers. Whatever Roy thought, he was hers alone. Even though his father had made him into a version of himself, Benny was her heart. Her son was everything to her and Janine knew that once he saw through his father he would come back to her. Eventually Maura and Roy would show themselves for what they really were and then she would be waiting for her boy with open arms.

  It was a fantasy she loved. It kept her going even though deep inside she knew it would never happen. Benny was a Ryan from his thick dark hair to his size twelve feet. He was like a born-again Michael Ryan, his dead uncle’s double. And not just his physical appearance. Benny thought like Michael too. This was what really frightened her in her more lucid moments. But whereas Michael had adored his mother Sarah, her own son loathed Janine and wasn’t afraid of showing it.

  She shook her head to clear it of the horrible thoughts she was having about her only boy. He would learn, and learn the hard way. The same as his mother had. He was cute enough to see eventually what all the other Ryans were: scum.

  The thought made Janine smile again. Cheered her up. She poured out another large gin and gulped it down neat. She was asleep within the hour.

  Belmarsh Prison, Special Secure Unit

  Vic Joliff was laughing, the picture of jollity – a big bald bastard with hard little black eyes creased in mirth.

  ‘You’re sure? It was definitely Maura Ryan, and she was good and dead?’

  Petey Marsh nodded solemnly.

  ‘Whoever was in that motor was dead as a fucking doornail, far as I can gather.’

  Vic rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Give the screw that relayed that message a good drink. We’ll use him again. So Maura Ryan’s out of the picture . . . Piss off, I want to think.’

  Petey left the cell in double quick time. He didn’t really like Joliff, no one did, but his sort were an occupational hazard when you were on a lump. And better him than the fucking Paddies in here who gave themselves airs because they were so-called ‘politicals’. At least Vic Joliff was an old-style villain with the money, the kudos and the sheer lunacy to be the main man. But though Petey had to work for him, it didn’t mean he had to like him, did it?

  He wondered briefly what Maura Ryan had done to Vic, and if this was payback. Everyone knew he could still call the shots from his prison cell, and word on the street was the Ryans were not the family they had been in Michael’s day, but Maura was generally seen as a force to be reckoned with. Still, if she was brown bread, and according to the message she was splattered all over Essex, then it left her brother Roy in charge, and as everyone knew he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the Ryans’ drawer. Stephen Hawking’s position as brain of the century was not about to be usurped.

  Petey rolled himself a nice joint and tried to relax on his bed. The days were long in here, too long. If Joliff was out for a turf war, one good thing would come of it at least. It would help to relieve the fucking boredom.


  Petey smiled to himself. There hadn’t been this much excitement on the wing since someone half-inched the video recorder. Even after the third cell search they still tried to say it was a con who’d nicked it. In fact, in the most secure prison in Europe, with such high security, it seemed blindingly obvious to them all it could only have gone walkabout with a PO. Still, such was life.

  He sighed and lay back, still trying to relax, but it was hard with the constant noise and the relentless boredom. Prison life could be a living death – though the real finite kind could be arranged there too, whether by your own hand or someone else’s.

  He heard Joliff’s high-pitched laughter and put his hands over his ears, hoping the Ryans took him out for revenge sooner rather than later. What an arsehole!

  Petey finished his joint quickly and gave up on relaxing in favour of a good hard stint in the gym.

  Benjamin Anthony Ryan was big. Huge, in fact. He trained with weights and consequently had a body like an Olympic champion. Benny was proud of his physique, worked on it constantly. Today he was in Pat’s Gym in East London and was sweating profusely, his hard-featured face red from exertion.

  He saw his minder Abul Haseem walking towards him, mobile glued to his ear and his handsome face looking pained for once instead of showing his customary smile, and guessed that something had come on top.

  ‘What’s up?’

  Benny’s voice was low. He did not want to attract any kind of audience to what he was about to hear.

  Abul shook his head slowly before answering.

  ‘Someone’s bombed your aunt’s drum, that’s all I know.’

  He watched the changing expressions on Benny’s face which registered stark incredulity and seething anger in under a second.

  ‘Fucking what?’

  People turned to stare, hearing the fury in Benjamin Ryan’s voice.

  Abul turned off the phone and whispered, ‘Not in here, Benny. The car’s outside and your father is expecting you at the hospital, OK?’

  Benny followed him without a word, grateful for the fact he had a mate who could keep so calm in a crisis.

  And this was a crisis, of Olympic fucking standards.

  He felt the sting of tears, and was unsure if they were for his aunt or from sheer anger. Either way, he could happily cry like a baby.

  Abul, a friend since school and more like a brother than a mate these days, squeezed his shoulder.

  ‘Let’s find out the score first, eh, mate?’

  Benny nodded.

  ‘I will personally kill the cunt who thought they could get away with a stunt like this. And if she is hurt, I swear on oath I will take that cunt apart with my bare hands and an Airfix toolkit.’

  Abul closed his eyes momentarily. Benny had a thing about gluing people’s eyes shut; said it scared them shitless and Abul agreed with him whole-heartedly there. But the thought still made him feel sick.

  In a waiting room at Oldchurch Hospital Sarah Ryan shrugged off her eldest son’s arm and cried, ‘For Christ’s sake, Roy, I’m not in me dotage yet!’

  Even in her eighties she was still hale and hearty. Smaller than ever, she seemed to be shrinking on a daily basis but was mentally as tough as she always had been and this was conveyed by her voice.

  ‘Look, Mum, let me get one of the boys to take you home. This is going to be a long night . . .’

  She interrupted him with a wave of her hand.

  ‘I’ve had a few of those over the years with you lot. Especially with Michael and your toerag of a father. Now tell me what the shag is going on!’

  Roy stared at the tiny woman before him and marvelled at her strength of will.

  ‘Where’s Terry anyway? He should be here.’

  Roy licked his lips before answering her.

  ‘It was a car bomb, Mum. Meant for Maura. Terry copped it.’

  Sarah screwed up her eyes as if unable to take this in.

  ‘What? You mean, Terry’s dead?’

  Roy nodded.

  ‘Holy Mary, Mother of Christ! What has she caused this time?’

  The blame was immediately placed at her daughter’s door and Roy felt the urge to fell his mother with one blow at the unfairness of her reaction.

  ‘Wherever she is there’s death. Death and destruction. My poor boys . . .’

  Sarah’s voice trailed off as Roy walked quickly away from her. She felt sick with apprehension. This could mean only one thing: more skulduggery was afoot and Maura, as usual, was behind it all.

  Where had she got her daughter from? Sarah had been plagued by Maura since she was old enough to join in her brothers’ nefarious activities. But whereas Sarah could swallow wrongdoing from them, she never could accept having a daughter of the same ilk. It was wrong, all wrong in a woman, and this was the upshot. Another pointless death.

  Terry Petherick had been a decent man who had loved that blonde-haired whore she had delivered into the world with a passion. He’d been a policeman once, clean-living and good, and what he had seen in her daughter was beyond Sarah’s comprehension.

  She walked over to her son and pulled him round to face her.

  ‘Don’t you turn away from me, boy, when I’m talking to you.’

  Roy shrugged her off none too gently and said in a low voice, ‘Aren’t you going to ask about your daughter? Your only daughter. Don’t you want to know how she is? If she’s alive, dead, maimed or what?’

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘I’m not interested . . .’

  Roy held up his hand for silence.

  ‘Then piss off home, Mum. I’m sure you’ll learn all you need to know from Janine later.’

  Sarah watched him walk away from her and felt a moment’s sadness. Maura had caused all this trouble in the family. Forcing everyone to take sides. Making them choose. She sat herself down in a scuffed plastic chair and placed her large leather bag on her lap.

  She could wait to find out what was going on. She was good at waiting, Christ Himself knew; she had had enough practice over the years.

  Five minutes later her grandson Benny walked past her as if she didn’t exist. She opened her bag, removed her olive-wood rosary and began to pray.

  ‘Fucking old witch, she is! Her and me mother should be put down.’

  Roy agreed with his son but an instinct as old as time took over.

  ‘Don’t talk about my mother like that. Or your own, for that matter.’

  Benny shrugged, temper getting the better of him.

  ‘Listen, Dad, they’re a pair of vindictive old hags, you know it and I know it. All that ‘‘respect for your parents no matter what’’ went out with Noah’s fucking Ark! I can’t bear either of them and I’m sure me Aunt Maura don’t want them here. So let’s cut the crap and get to the point, eh? Who is the culprit and how do we retaliate?’

  Looking at his son, Roy felt as if Michael were alive and kicking and looking out through Benny’s eyes. It was spooky, the similarities were so strong – though his boy was heterosexual as far as he knew. But even the timbre of his voice was like Michael’s and this was what made him so appealing to people. He had the same arrogance Michael had had, and the same vindictiveness. Maura adored him and he adored her, much to the chagrin of Janine.

  The doctor approached.

  ‘How is she, Doc?’

  ‘She’s conscious. Took a bad blow to the head, but nothing major. A few cuts and bruises. I can’t see any long-term damage. Not physical anyway.’

  Roy felt his whole body relax.

  ‘Thank fuck for that! Can we see her?’

  ‘Five minutes only, I’m afraid.’

  Benny hugged his father and Roy was reminded of just how strong and young his son was. He had the same quicksilver temperament as Michael, veering between raging anger and an almost puppylike euphoria in the space of seconds.

  ‘What a touch, eh, Dad! What a fucking touch!’

  It occurred to Roy that he wouldn’t be able to control this boy of his for much longer
, and what would happen then he didn’t like to contemplate.

  Maura looked terrible and Roy guessed she already knew about Terry’s death.

  ‘All right, Maws?’

  She closed her eyes and nodded.

  Benny pulled up a chair. Taking her hand in his, he gently squeezed it.

  ‘We’re here now. You’re safe.’

  Maura smiled faintly.

  ‘Thanks, Benny. Any idea who it was?’

  ‘Has to be that ponce from Shoreditch, don’t it?’

  Benny’s voice was loud and Maura winced. He lowered his tone. ‘No one else it can be, is there?’

  He looked from Maura to his father who shook his head.

  ‘It’s not Jimmy Milano, he’s straight as a die. Maura gave him an in a while ago.’

  Benny looked crushed.

  ‘Thanks for telling me.’

  The bitterness in his voice was not lost on any of them. Benny had been assigned to lean heavily on Milano when he first surfaced in East London. But as it turned out he’d had a good protector who was also one of the Ryans’ best lieutenants. Milano was no threat. Unlike his older relatives he was strictly small-time, in his thinking as well as his criminal tendencies.

  ‘I meant to tell you, Benny, but with everything . . .’

  Roy’s voice trailed off.

  ‘Is there anything else I don’t know about?’

  Benny was on the defensive as usual. It was his biggest failing and they all knew it.

  ‘We’ve had hag from all over the show lately, Benny. What we need now is to eliminate our suspects.’

  ‘Fucking right and all. Eliminate is just the word for what I intend to do to the cunts!’

  Maura closed her eyes wearily.

  ‘Will you stop saying that word, Benny? It irritates me.’

  ‘All right, Maura, don’t get out of your shopping trolley.’

  He was very much on his dignity and Maura, feeling suddenly sorry for him, said gently, ‘What are the police saying?’

  ‘I can’t gather much yet. Our blokes at the Met are going to call us later this afternoon with the general SP.’ Roy looked at his son as he spoke. ‘You put blokes out and about, OK? See what they can . . .’