by Martina Cole
Benny interrupted him.
‘Already done, Dad. Abul sorted it on the way here.’
Roy nodded.
‘Anything else you want done, Maws?’
She shook her head carefully and lay back on the pillows.
‘Just get me moved to a private hospital as soon as possible before the papers descend on us and anyone else decides to have a pop.’
‘It’s done, Maws. We’ll be back later, OK?’
As they walked from the room she called out, ‘And keep me mother away. I can’t cope with her at the moment.’
When they shut the door she lay back and remembered the events of the day. The fight. Terry leaving like he did. The last sight of him, smiling at her through the windscreen of her car as he turned the ignition key and was blown apart by the bomb that had been meant for her.
Now he was gone, really gone, and the pain and the guilt would stay with her the rest of her life. No time to grieve, though. Open war had just been declared and she had to sift through all the shit and try and make some sense of it all.
She swallowed down the tears. Time to pick herself up and get on with the job in hand. Let personal feelings wait.
It was what Maura Ryan had done all her life.
Garry Ryan was like a raving lunatic and his girlfriend Anita, a beautiful girl with a weight problem and a nervous twitch, watched warily as he went through his phone book. Writing down names, he muttered under his breath. When he was like this he frightened the life out of her.
He looked up at her with deep blue eyes.
‘Make me a cup of tea, Nita, and get me a flight to London. Now.’
She nodded.
‘Am I coming, Gal?’
She was nervous as usual when she spoke directly to him.
He sighed.
‘Do you want to come?’
It was a fair question and he asked her nicely, which for him was a first. She didn’t want to leave Marbella. She loved it here, especially without him. But she answered him promptly. ‘’Course I do, darlin’.’
Garry chuckled and this scared her even more.
‘No, you don’t. You don’t even like me. You just like the kudos, Anita. Look that word up in the dictionary when I leave, OK?’
She nodded, relieved that she didn’t have to go with him.
‘Then pack your stuff and fuck off.’
She blinked a few times before she said sadly, ‘But where will I go?’
Garry was fed up with the conversation now and said dismissively, ‘How the fuck do I know, Nita? You’ll find somewhere, your type always do.’
She burst into tears.
‘You rotten bastard! Why do you treat me like this!’
He stood up. Standing in front of her, he placed one hand gently under her chin. He tilted her face up and kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘Because I can, silly. Now, make me tea and book me flight, there’s a good girl.’
He saw the stark confusion in her eyes and felt a moment’s sorrow for her. But he despised her too because no matter what he did or said she still hung around.
‘I tell you what, if you’re really good I’ll let you stay on here for a week until you find somewhere else. I can’t be any fairer than that, can I?’
She walked away from him, utter dejection in her whole stance. An hour later he was on his way to the airport with not even a passing thought for Anita, his companion of two years. Such was the mindset of Garry Ryan.
On the plane he planned his revenge on whoever was responsible for trying to off his sister Maura and ultimately his whole family, because it wouldn’t stop there, he was quite sure. Whoever they were they had better be good runners because when he got back to Blighty and sorted himself out there were going to be murders committed.
Garry Ryan was looking forward to it.
Sandra Joliff was tall, with silicone breasts, a sunbed tan and startling white teeth. Her blonde hair was streaked to within an inch of its life and cut so it hung in a shaggy sexy mess around her face.
She felt like shit. She had been on it all night and her kidneys were aching from too much cocaine and too much vodka. Her skin was grey under the tan and she wanted a shower and a cup of tea as soon as possible.
She had to visit her husband the next day and needed to look good for the visit. She knew he was proud of her and didn’t want to let him down. He was all right, old Vic. He knew the score with her and they’d built a life together around their personal foibles.
As she pulled onto her drive a car hooted from behind her and a dark-haired man stuck up his finger. She did the same back.
‘Tosser!’
She knew she had cut him up as she pulled across the road but was too tired to care. Stepping out of the car, she surveyed the drive. The gardener had been and the front of the house looked immaculate. She never ceased to be amazed at how she lived, thanks to Vic. Originally from a council flat in Woodford Green, Sandra now lived like a queen. Her two little girls went to private school and she had a BMW 330 and money coming out of her ears. It was her lucky day when Vic took a shine to her, bless him. He had taken her from her old life and transported her to this new one without a second’s thought.
She opened the door to her five-bedroomed detached house in Emerson Park and turned off the burglar alarm. As she walked through to the kitchen she saw her Doberman Kelly lying in the middle of the floor.
There was blood coming from the dog’s mouth and ears, and its body was twitching. She knelt beside the animal and stroked its head.
‘All right, Kelly. What happened to you, love?’
Her voice was low and comforting. The dog placed its nose in Sandra’s hand and whined gently. Nearby there was a lump of bloody meat. Instinctively she knew Kelly had been poisoned.
As she stood up she felt a presence and turned to see a man standing behind her. He was big and heavyset, smartly dressed though in designer gear. She automatically clocked him as she did all men and rated him on a one to ten scale. This geezer was a four but she put that down to the ski mask he wore. He smiled widely, displaying perfect white caps through the slit in his mask.
‘Who the fucking hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?’
He could see the bravado in her face and admired her for it. He looked her over appreciatively and she felt a moment’s disgust as it occurred to her that he might want to rape her. Well, he could have a good fucking try.
She squared her shoulders and balanced herself on her stiletto heels.
‘Sandra?’
His voice was low and pleasant with a slight accent.
She frowned.
‘Who wants to fucking know?’
She was still on her dignity and determined he wouldn’t see the fear she was feeling inside.
‘Do you know who I am? Who my old man is? He finds out about this and there’ll be fucking murders, mate.’
He smiled.
‘I was counting on that, Sandra. It’s why I’m here.’
She screwed up her face in consternation.
‘You what? What you on about, you fucking nutter!’
The dog whimpered again and she automatically looked down.
‘All right, Kelly. I’ll get a vet in a minute, baby, as soon as this dickhead leaves the house.’
She looked at the man again.
‘You don’t know what you’re getting involved in here, mate. I warn you, my old man is heavy duty and this will piss him off big time.’
The man opened his coat and she saw the sawn-off shotgun. Her blue eyes widened as she realised what he was about to do. She made a run for the back door; its glass shattered as the first blast caught her in the lower legs. As she hit the floor the man stood over her and laughed.
She was writhing on the floor; her legs felt like they were on fire.
‘What you doing to me! Take what you want, mate, take me watch, anything . . . but, please, I have two little girls . . .’
She was sobbi
ng in pain and shock.
‘Sorry, love, nothing personal.’
Then he blasted her in the face. He was still smiling while he did it.
Sandra’s mum had had to pick the kids up from school and assumed her daughter was out on one of her marathon lunches again. She took the girls back to her own house, determined to have a word with Sandra about her neglect of the kids. Since Vic had been banged up she had gone mad, out all the time, coked out of her nut. Her mother was getting fed up with it. Consequently Sandra’s body wasn’t found for twenty-four hours.
Vic Joliff had to be sedated when he was told the news, as did Sandra’s mother who was unfortunate enough to find her daughter’s mangled body along with the dog’s. Chantel and Rochelle were now to live with their granny, who smoked too much and lived for Bingo.
The police were baffled. Everyone was.
Sandra was a wife, a civilian, had had no dealings in Vic’s business, though some said she had snorted most of the profits. But that was Vic’s problem, no one else’s.
This certainly wasn’t his doing. He’d adored her, even when she was taking on all comers. He swallowed it because he knew she was young and high-spirited. It was only human nature. She hadn’t married him for love.
But then the murder was linked to the bombing at Maura Ryan’s house and as one astute old lag said sagely: ‘No good will come of this. The pavements will run with blood within the week.’
In fact, his prophecy was to come true within two days.
Chapter Two
Sheila Ryan smiled as her husband slipped his arm around her waist.
‘You never give up, do you?’
Lee, the youngest of the surviving Ryan brothers, laughed.
‘Never.’
She heaved again, dry racking heaves, and he rubbed her back once more.
‘This baby is a troublesome little thing!’
‘It’s a boy, Sheila, and takes after his father’s side of the family!’
She laughed because no matter how bad she felt now, she was so glad to be pregnant again. Sheila loved being pregnant, loved the feel of the babies growing inside her belly. The movement of them, and the knowledge that she was creating a little person from scratch, still filled her with awe every time.
Her grey-blue eyes were ringed black from lack of sleep and her face was pale. Lee loved her with a vengeance no matter how she looked. When she was heavy with a child, her belly swollen out of proportion, he felt like the luckiest man alive. His brothers ribbed him over it, but he knew they admired him too. Since Sheila he had never really looked at another woman, just the odd one-nighter here and there. He couldn’t risk losing what he had.
She sighed heavily.
‘I feel so rough, Lee. I never felt like this with any of the others.’
‘It’ll be worth it when he arrives.’
‘It could be a she, you know. Especially as this pregnancy is so different from the others.’
He squeezed her shoulder.
‘You can hope, girl. But I only have masculine sperms.’
They were laughing again. Lee looked fondly at his wife and was as always thrilled that she was his. He hoped this baby was a girl. Deep inside he would love a daughter, and after four boys it would be a nice change. He knew Sheila wanted one. His mother wanted a girl as well. She acted like it was entirely his fault that they had had four boys, like he could choose or something.
‘I love you, Sheila.’
She looked up into his eyes.
‘I know.’
The bedroom door opened and his four young sons piled in. Sheila was still trying to throw up in the en suite when Jason the youngest said seriously, ‘Is Mummy’s baby coming out?’
They all laughed again.
Lee picked up his three year old and said loudly, ‘Who wants a bit of brekker then? Eggs, bacon and fried bread for me boys, eh?’
‘Oh, stop it, I feel sick enough as it is, Lee!’
As he heard his wife throw up again he called through, ‘Sorry, Sheila. Dry toast for you then, eh!’
All the boys laughed and Lee led them downstairs happily. No matter what the trouble at work he never brought it home with him. It was something that had served him in good stead all his life, and Sheila was his life now. Her and his kids. As bad as things were for the Ryans in general, his own little family had no inkling that anything was amiss and he was determined to keep it that way. Sheila knew the score and was of the same opinion. Outside the house was another world and they both protected the children from it as much as they could.
The phone rang as he was serving up the eggs and his eldest son Gabriel answered it. At eight he was already big for his age and like the others a miniature Ryan.
‘Yeah, OK, then, Uncle Roy. I’ll tell him, he’s just cooking the breakfast.’
Lee heard his son laugh at something his uncle had said and felt a stab of pride in all his family. They were close, and they loved each other. Nothing could ever come between them.
‘Uncle Roy said he’d meet you at the office.’
‘OK, Gabriel, thanks.’
Sheila came into the kitchen, her long blonde hair brushed and her swelling belly hidden underneath a satin dressing gown. She smiled wanly at her husband as he placed a cup of tea and two slices of toast before her.
‘A late one again today?’
Lee nodded.
‘See you when I see you then.’
He kissed her, to the derision of his four sons.
Garry and Roy were having breakfast at their mother’s house. Garry still chose to stay there whenever he was in the smoke.
‘Joliff had a message saying that we killed his bird, which we didn’t, but I think it was Joliff who done Terry right enough. There’s something heavy going down all right.’
‘It’s definitely a set up, but let’s wait and see what we garner from the other boys, eh?’
Sarah listened to them with only half an ear. As she placed a Benny Special in front of them they smiled their appreciation.
‘Nothing like a bit of grease, Mum. Clog up the old arteries.’
‘Shut up and eat it, you stupid fool.’
She left the kitchen and went into the sitting room. It had hardly changed in years, still jampacked with religious statues and overstuffed furniture. Photographs of her five dead sons had candles burning beneath them and rosaries placed across the frames. Four of them butchered – she blamed Maura for those deaths. In Sarah’s eyes even Leslie’s car crash was attributable to her daughter and not to the amount of alcohol and drugs he had consumed. Hadn’t he been working at her club that night? Even though they all knew he had developed a drink problem, she’d still had him working where he could get the whisky he craved, Sarah thought grimly.
In fact, Leslie was actually a coke head and an accident waiting to happen. When it finally did, it not only killed him but the nineteen-year-old hostess with him and an elderly couple in a dark blue Lada.
All Sarah could see was that five of her gorgeous sons were dead as doornails and that bitch was still walking around like she owned the whole world.
She knelt down and crossed herself.
As she prayed her gaze took in the view through the window and she marvelled that now this whole area of Notting Hill was worth a fortune. They even had a pop star living two doors down from them in Lancaster Road. It was amazing to Sarah that anyone would want to spend so much money on any of these places. She remembered the days when they were infested with roaches and the tenants were hard pushed to feed their broods of children. This was once the last refuge for the poor and now it seemed people were killing themselves to live here. She blamed that eejit Tony Blair. A classless society? Whoever heard such rubbish!
Her grandson Benny poked his head around the door.
‘All right, Nan. Me dad here already?’
His voice was neutral, as if she was a stranger he had just asked directions from.
‘He’s in the kitchen. Can I get you something
to eat?’
‘Nah, Abul’s mum done us something earlier.’
He shut the door gently and she smiled to herself. He was getting better was Benny. But like her Michael who he was the head off, as she pointed out on a daily basis, he could be a moody little bugger.
Sarah wouldn’t admit to herself that he didn’t like her but she felt it off him and knew she wasn’t alone in suffering his contempt. His mother bore the brunt of it. Yet if her grandson gave her a civil word it made Sarah’s day.
Garry had been to early Mass with her so she was relatively happy, but Terry’s death had cast a shadow over the whole family. She wondered idly when Maura would be back on the street. And more to the point, what was her darling daughter going to drag them all into next? That was what Sarah would like to be told.
Knowing her, the streets would run with blood. Maura was hard and she was dangerous. The beautiful blonde-haired angel she had given birth to with such happiness all those years ago was now the bane of Sarah’s life. She had become a force to be reckoned with, by police and criminals alike.
If only she lay dead instead of that good man, how much easier Sarah would feel. Now, though, Maura would cause more mayhem, more death. It was what her daughter did when thwarted or angered.
Sarah kissed the cross of Christ on her rosary and began praying once more, her eyes raised heavenward as if Jesus Himself was communicating with her.
Carla swept back her thick red-brown hair. The action made her look even more like her mother Janine, but that was as far as the similarity went.
Carla was a sweet-faced woman who lived for her son Joey and for her Aunt Maura who had been a surrogate mother to her all her life, even though there were only five years difference in age between them.
It was odd but Maura was like her mother, sister and soulmate all rolled into one. Carla knew she was the child her aunt had never had, and she cherished the fact that even after all these years they loved one another and still held the closeness they’d had from childhood.
