by Martina Cole
James Junior looked around the table at his family silently. He was a large lad, and he had the look of his father’s family. Staring at his sister, he smiled sneakily. ‘How’s Vincent O’Casey, Gabby?’
Cynthia looked at her son in shock, and he laughed at her as he said, ‘Didn’t you know, Mum? It’s the romance of the century by all accounts.’
Cynthia looked at this son of hers that she was finding it increasingly difficult to like and said coldly, ‘Not Bridie O’Casey’s Vincent?’
Gabby thought she was going to faint with fright at her mother’s words, and her eyes pleaded with her brother to not do this.
He grinned nastily as he said loudly, ‘The very same.’
Gabby was out of her chair in a second, screaming at her brother, ‘You cat-killing ponce! You rotten little bugger!’
Cynthia looked at her two children and wondered which one to slap first. Her instincts won and she knocked her son off his chair with a sideswipe. ‘Get out of my sight, you.’ Then, when he had scrambled up off the floor and fled the scene of his crime, she turned to her daughter and said quietly, ‘Is this true?’
Gabby knew it was pointless denying it, and so she nodded her head slowly.
When her mother’s hand shot out and grabbed her hair she stifled a scream, knowing it was best to take whatever she dished out as quietly as possible. Begging annoyed her, as did screaming in agony, trying to escape, and attempting to talk your way out of things. Once her mother had you by the hair, you were all but finished.
‘How long? How long have you been going behind my back?’ This was her mother all over, not ‘how long have you been seeing him’ but ‘how long have you been going behind my back’.
‘A while, nearly a year . . .’ Gabby had to be honest now she’d been caught; it was the only way out for her. If she lied now she was as good as dead. Her mother was not a woman to buy lies of any description. Once sussed out, all that you had left to redeem yourself in any way was the truth.
Cynthia screwed up her face in complete and utter amazement. A year! This had been going on for a year, and no one had guessed? No one had told her more like. The bastards. An O’Casey – a family so low down on the social stratum they might as well be fucking cavemen. Bridie O’Casey was a lazy, feckless trollop who couldn’t even keep her kids clean, let alone her home. And the father! Paddy O’Casey, the local drunkard. It was beyond her comprehension.
‘All I’ve done for you kids, and this is how you repay me? Your brother up there on the road to becoming a fucking serial killer and you well on your way to whoring! Well, lady, this stops here. You’re coming home for good. No wonder you’re always round your nana’s! I bet she’s encouraging him, fucking vicious old bag that she is . . .’
She punched her daughter in the mouth, sending her reeling across the room. Gabby landed on the floor by the dining-room door, and it was as if Cynthia was seeing her properly for the first time in years. The long, shapely legs, the high breasts, the tiny waist. This was a woman in the making and, if her boyfriend had seen his way fit to helping her along the road, she would kill the fucker with her bare hands.
Terrified, Gabby pulled herself up off the floor. She knew from experience that this was now about damage limitation. Taking a deep breath she said in her most humble voice, ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I should have told you, but I knew how you would react . . .’
Cynthia was shaking her head at the two-faced skulduggery of this daughter of hers. ‘A fucking O’Casey? Is that your fucking limit? Barbie’s Ken has got more brains than him! The whole family is a bit touched. And you are going out with him! You shouldn’t be out with any boys, you’re too young.’
The slap was resounding, and Gabby felt the fury coming out of her mother’s pores. She also felt her own anger mounting; she would not give him up no matter what her mother said.
‘Who’s next, Benny fucking Hill? You stupid little mare, you better not have been doing something you shouldn’t! If he’s mounted you I’ll cut his fucking throat.’
Even Cynthia in her rage could see the absolute shock on her daughter’s face at the suggestion and thanked the powers-that-be that at least the girl hadn’t gone that far. But she could also see that her daughter had no intention of giving this idiot up, and that was what was really upsetting her. She would make sure this family of hers would not go to the bad, and would not show her up.
Such was the thinking of Cynthia Tailor.
Chapter Fifty-One
Mary and Jack Callahan listened to their granddaughter, Mary with a sympathy that belied the fact she agreed, in part, with Cynthia’s take on this state of affairs. Gabby was well and truly older than her years in looks, but not in any emotional capacity. She was all legs and make-up at the moment, and that was to be expected at her age. What the girl couldn’t see was that a few choice words on Vincent’s part, and her life as she knew it could be over and she’d be left holding a baby. Mary had never thought she would agree with that mad bitch of a daughter of hers, but on this she was right behind her. The boy was too old and too knowing by half. He was also too good-looking for his own good.
It would do Gabby good to go home for a while. In all honesty, since the episode with the kitten, Mary didn’t want the lad here either. He was a strange boy, with his vicious trouble-making and she pondered long and hard at how he had become so callous without her or anyone noticing. She supposed that was the way of the world these days. TV was to blame in her opinion. It made children adults before they were ready – even the soap operas were full of sex and violence, and the kids watched them as avidly as she did herself. Though, at least she was scandalised by what she saw. Mary closed her eyes; she felt very tired suddenly and her granddaughter’s voice was going through her head like a ninety-pound hammer.
‘Well, you should have thought of all this, Gabby, when you were sneaking around meeting that lad.’
‘But it’s so unfair, Nana, my mum is the . . .’
‘Don’t say it, Gabby, she’s still your mother.’
‘I hate her, I hate her guts.’
Jack heard his granddaughter ranting and raving about her mother, his daughter, and he felt a terrible urge to join in with her. But he didn’t. How they had come to this state of affairs he didn’t know, all he knew was it was Cynthia’s fault. Everything she touched she destroyed. Her own children included.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Derek Greene was a happy man. He had had the go ahead from Jonny P, and he knew his future was secure. He also knew that, if he played his cards right, his father’s future would be secure too. He loved a bit of skulduggery, thrived on it in fact. ‘Walk Like An Egyptian’ by The Bangles came on Melody FM and he turned it up; he liked the beat of the record.
In the back of his car he had a small armoury, and he was delivering it to a friend in need. He was, therefore, driving within the speed limit, with his seatbelt on, and his face a mask of pure innocence. It annoyed him when people got a tug for a stupid traffic violation while endeavouring to carry out their illegal business. It was a pointless nicking and it led to far too much trouble. While he was pursuing his nefarious businesses, he acted, drove and lived by the letter of the law. Why attract unwanted attention to yourself?
Pulling up at the scrapyard in Bow, he got out of the car and stretched for a few seconds. The Bangles had been replaced by David Bowie singing ‘Ashes To Ashes’ and he hummed along for a few seconds before walking nonchalantly to the Portakabins that served as offices.
He liked the yard. It was a place he had played in as a kid, and it was owned by his dad’s old mate Phillip Gardener, a prince among men. He had come to Derek’s rescue after his father’s untimely nicking, having heard about their financial position, and he had stepped in to help them out. Derek had a feeling Phillip would have liked to help his mother out in a more personal fashion and she had knocked him back. He didn’t blame the man for trying, and he respected his mother for her refusal; she was a decent old bird when all
was said and done. His father had better remember that when he finally got out. Derek remembered his father had liked a bit of extra-marital interest, and that would not be tolerated this time round – his mother should be treated better than that. He would see she got the respect she deserved.
Phillip was a nice geezer, all bonhomie and kind nature most of the time, but he could also kick the shit out of men three times his size and he wasn’t small by any standards. What Phillip had was a refusal to admit defeat, and young Derek understood that because he had a similar trait running through his veins. No matter how many times he was knocked down, he would get up again, making the opponent wonder just how long the fight would have to go on, and worrying how long they could keep up with the nutter in front of them.
Phillip watched Derek walking towards the offices and put the kettle on, he knew the lad liked a cup of tea. He drank gallons of the stuff day and night. He heard him come into the Portakabin and called out a greeting from the little cubby hole where drinks were made and hands were washed. Unhygienic, but unfortunately needs must and all that. Phillip was quite a fastidious man in his own way.
Phillip was a fixer. He fixed things for people and he had a knack of knowing how a fix should be executed. It was a very lucrative living for him and, when anyone was in a position they were not sure of, they came to him for advice – for a price of course. He was like the grave – he never discussed his own business so it was only right he never discussed anyone else’s. He knew where the bodies were buried, and that meant literally as well as theoretically, so he was left alone, but was very well respected. No kids or wife had come his way – he had a large house that was looked after by his large, ugly, kind and very capable cousin, Marge. He quite liked his solitary existence, loving Belinda Greene from a distance and treating her son as his own.
The lad was a good study, and he learned quickly. He would make a good fixer himself one day, but first he had to learn the economics of this kind of work. One wrong word and the world he had so carefully constructed could tumble down on him in an instant.
Now they had a bit of work and they needed to make sure it was planned out and executed properly. Derek knew a small part of what was being undertaken, but that was all; even in his honoured position he would not get the full facts until it was deemed necessary. Phillip brought out the two teas and, as was his wont, he poured a small amount of brandy into his own mug.
Derek was sitting on the leather banquette, patiently as always, his face a study of earnest concentration. Oh, Phillip liked this kid. He was a pleasure to teach and a fine example of how a young man could be trained if under the right guidance.
‘Did he swallow it?’
Derek smiled, a wide, amiable smile. ‘Hook, line and fucking sinker.’
‘He’s a slippery cunt Jonny P, and he can smile while he cuts your nuts off, so don’t let your guard down even once, you hear me?’
Derek nodded, exasperated at how careful Phillip could be at times, even as he understood why the man was chary. Jonny P was a force in his own right, but not for much longer.
‘Let him stew a while, and get him onside, then we’ll arrange the final meeting.’
Derek nodded his assent. ‘My thoughts entirely, Phillip. Then we can meet our mutual friend and get the deal done sooner rather than later.’
‘It’s going to cause chaos, you know that, don’t you?’
Derek nodded.
‘You can walk away any time you like, son. This is a dangerous operation, and you have a young family.’
‘I know, mate, but I’m in over me head now, and I feel confident we can pull it off.’
Phillip smiled, one of his rare, real smiles. ‘Good lad. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
‘Well, maybe if you took more notice of him he might not be such a fucking strange one, James. If you didn’t snort up that shit like there’s no tomorrow . . .’
Jimmy Tailor looked at his wife and wondered as he often did what she would do if he slapped her across her lovely mouth. He never would, but it didn’t stop him dreaming about it. ‘Shut up, Cynth, for once in your fucking life, just shut up.’
It was evident that she was momentarily shocked at his words, but she recovered her composure in about three seconds. Her shouting could be heard all over the house and, in her bedroom, Gabby put her hands over her ears. She was sick of it, and she was sick of being held prisoner like she had done something wrong. She could hear James Junior next door, kicking the wall as loudly as possible, and wondered at how she wasn’t as mental as him.
She turned her CD player up to drown out the noise of her family’s madness. She lay on her bed and thought about Vincent, which was all she did these days – even her schoolwork was suffering. But he was like a obssession, growing more powerful by the day. She wondered if he would be at the school gates tomorrow? She hadn’t seen him today and it had worried her. Maybe he was fed up with the situation. Who could blame him? It was all her fault. She couldn’t bring herself to use the word mother, or mum. She was just her now, and Gabby hated her.
Downstairs, the shouting was reaching its crescendo.
‘You! You’re not a fucking man, James Tailor, you’re a fucking boy, an innocent, a laughing stock as well!’ Cynthia was in full screaming mode now, her life as she knew it was in tatters, and this idiot she had tied herself to was as much use as a handbrake on a canoe.
‘He’s fucking going, Cynthia. If it will help him he has to go, can’t you see that?’
Cynthia was swallowing down the urge to smash this man over the head with the nearest chair. He was quite happy for their son, their child, to go into a psychiatric assessment centre, a place where he would be labelled a nut-bag, and he thought she would happily say it was OK. What fucking planet was he on? As always, her mind was not on the poor child, but on what his actions would look like to the outside world, what people would think of her.
‘It’s only for a few weeks, and then he’ll be home, and he’ll get the help he needs.’
‘Over my dead body.’
‘Well, from what the shrink said that’s an option, Cynth. She said he’s on his way to becoming a full-blown Looney Tunes. Or, in her words, he has no idea of the effect his actions have on the people around him. He is only interested in the world as it pertains to him and his wants. He cannot empathise with others, and has no understanding of the needs of others. Quote, unquote. Remind you of anyone, Cynth?’
‘You ponce! Don’t blame me for all this! This comes from your side, all fucking weird your family. Your mother’s about as with-it as a three-legged camel.’
Jimmy sighed heavily. ‘Can’t you see that he has to go away, before he does anything terrible. It’s for his own good as well as everyone else’s. Anyway, we ain’t got no say in it. If we refuse, the social workers will intervene and we’ll have no control over his life at all.’
In her heart, Cynthia knew what her husband was saying was true, but it hurt her to admit that her child was ‘not right’, and she knew that people would blame her. They always blamed the mother in these cases. She felt the tears stinging her eyes and blinked them away rapidly. Why was this happening to her? What had she ever done to deserve this?
She needed to see Jonny and she needed to see him soon. He was another one – she could feel he was different, knew that all this with James Junior had pissed him off. She had gone on about it too much but, in all honesty, she couldn’t see what they were up in arms about. He was ten years old, and they were labelling him already. He was highly strung that was all, and now tomorrow morning, they were supposed to take him to a child psychiatric unit in Kent and leave him there. Suddenly that didn’t seem such a bad thing; with James Junior gone all she had left was Gabriella – that had to make life easier surely? He was a handful was young James and, as his father said, he would be in the best place.
She smiled grudgingly suddenly. ‘If you’re sure, James.’
Jimmy s
ighed with relief. She had finally seen sense and now the boy could get the help he so desperately needed.
He poured them both a stiff drink and, as she took hers from her husband, Cynthia was pondering how she could get rid of her daughter as well. She could do with a break; after all, she was the first to admit, she wasn’t really the maternal type, and now she had her job. She would board her daughter in a good, strict school, where they would watch the little mare like a hawk. That would put a stop to her gallop, and give her the time she needed to pursue her other interests. James Junior killing that cat was like a gift from the gods really, it had turned out to have unexpected benefits. She felt a rush of excitement at having her life to herself once more, and it was very hard not to stop a wide grin from splitting her seriously concerned face.
Jimmy guessed what was really going through her mind; he knew her better than anyone. But he didn’t say a word, all he could do was make sure his son got the best treatment available and hope against hope that it worked. Being brought up by Cynthia Tailor had to have some kind of repercussions, and he had a feeling this was just the start of them for both his children. He didn’t worry as much about Gabby though. She had a thick skin where her mother was concerned, and he was glad about that. She was going to need that thick skin for a while yet; she was growing up and turning into a beautiful girl and it wasn’t something his wife was going to accept graciously. That Cynthia was jealous of the girl was evident – not that she would ever admit it – but Gabby was really going to be a beauty, and that was something Cynthia was going to find difficult to tolerate. It was her way or no way – how many times had he heard her say that to the kids over the years?
Well, this was the upshot of her mothering and, while he hoped that it taught her a lesson, he doubted very much that it would. Cynthia didn’t care about anyone or anything enough to change her ways, and that thought, along with his kids’ problems, depressed Jimmy further still. He knew he should leave, take his daughter now and go, but where? Cynthia would let them go, of that he had no doubt, but he knew that with his lifestyle and his little habit, he wasn’t going to be much use to his kids. It was a cop out, but he didn’t want the responsibility of those two by himself. Like his wife, he was too caught up in the world he lived in to make those kind of changes. It was a vicious circle, and every one of them was caught up in it. The kids more than any of them, because they lived at the whim of their parents, and he knew he and Cynthia were not parents anyone would choose to be lumbered with.
