by Martina Cole
‘Has he got his release date, then?’
Gabby smiled, and Cynthia saw what a very beautiful young woman she was. It pained her to see herself as she had been twenty years earlier. She envied this girl her youth, and they both knew it.
‘Yep.’
Cynthia would not lower herself to ask when that was; she would find out soon enough. ‘Bet you can’t wait.’
‘Nope, I can’t. You wait till you see him, Mum, you’ll get the surprise of your life.’ It wasn’t exactly a threat as such, but she knew her mother was worried at the implication. ‘Now come on, Cherie – I’ve got the car outside and we are going to Mackie D’s for our dinner!’
Cherie was thrilled; she loved a McDonald’s. Her nanny said they were too fattening and full of crap, but she didn’t care. She was happy now to put her coat on and go with her mother, especially when she promised, ‘Then we are going to watch whatever you want on TV.’
As her granddaughter got herself ready, Cynthia fought back the urge to take her daughter by the hair and batter her to death.
‘Say bye bye to Nanny, darling.’
Cherie kissed and hugged her nanny, but it was obvious she was impatient now to be on her way.
‘Don’t let her watch anything frightening, she’s too small.’
Gabby sighed heavily; this was a constant refrain. You’d think she let the child watch horror films day and night. ‘As if I would.’
Cynthia replied, all self-righteous in her anger, ‘Well, if I find out she’s been glued to those American detective shows there’ll be murders.’
‘Well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mum?’
Cynthia was fuming at the inference, and the fact that her daughter felt confident enough to say it spoke volumes. The news of Vincent’s return had given her girl an edge, an edge Cynthia would take great pleasure in blunting. She still had a few tricks up her sleeve.
Gabby smiled. ‘See you.’
Cynthia smiled back, adding nastily, ‘You can guarantee it.’
Chapter One Hundred and Eight
‘He’s going to want a bit of work at some point.’ Derek Greene was glad Vincent would soon be out.
Bertie Warner grinned. ‘Well, of course he will, but not for a few months. He’s got four years of shagging to catch up on first, as well as getting used to being on the out. We’ll have a party for him; after all, the boy’s been a fucking diamond. Bung him a few grand to tide him over and see what occurs – he might want to go straight.’
Derek laughed loudly at that one.
Bertie made a moue with his lips, then said in a serious manner, ‘It has been known!’
‘Not Vincent, it’s in his blood. I’ve had great reports about him, done his time like a fucking man, and he’s a big lad by all accounts. But then six hours a day in the gym will do that to a body. No, I think we should find him a good earner, get him back in the fold. He done a big favour for us and all concerned, and I respect him for that. Only eighteen and put on the island, and he made his mark there and all. Well liked, but didn’t take any nonsense.’
Bertie agreed with his friend, and he said jovially, ‘I bet that little bird of his is champing at the bit, eh? Four years with no nookie! Not heard a detrimental word about her either, have you?’
‘Not for a long time. Had a bit of trouble when he first went away, selling Es of all things, and to an undercover Filth. Something dodgy there – I could never put me finger on it, but it all smelt wrong, you know? That slag Christine Carter was behind it – she’s a fucking skank, that bird.’
Bertie was quiet for a moment. ‘Will young Vincent want to pay back any debts, do you think? You know, settle any scores?’
‘Wouldn’t blame him if he did. She nearly lost the kid over it.’
‘Her mother’s got the kid now, ain’t she?’
‘Most of the time, from what I can gather. Fucking Cynthia Callahan – Tailor, that was. Who would let that whore near an innocent child?’
Bertie shook his head at the stupidity of the social services; you read about those mad fuckers every day in the papers. They left kids with complete nut-bags who murdered them, starved them, or took them off nice people. No fucking sense in any of it. ‘Well, if he wants to hammer the fuck out of Cynthia, I bagsy a ringside seat.’
Derek grinned at that. ‘I’m with you there.’
‘But, Del Boy, she was fuckable when she was young. Arse like two boiled eggs in a handkerchief, tits that pointed at the ceiling, and she had a walk which could reduce a grown man to his knees. Well, you would want her on her knees, if you get my drift.’
Derek was really laughing now. ‘Young Gabby looks like her then, spitting image.’
Bertie grinned. ‘Yeah, but she ain’t got that air of danger that her mother always had. And she was one mad cunt – she shot my mate, and I could never get back at her, because she was only defending herself and her sister. It’s a bastard, but it’s the truth. If Parker had come after my old woman, I would have wanted Cynthia Tailor on her team, know what I mean? But he was a silly fucker was, Kevin. He wanted revenge, and revenge is something you do at your leisure – not in the heat of the moment.’
Derek nodded at the truth of the other man’s words. ‘Well, none of them have had any real luck, have they? Jimmy Tailor killed himself, we removed Parker from the equation, and the son’s in some kind of home for the mentally incapable. Fucking great family to be marrying into, that lot! Makes the fucking Borgias look like the Mickey Mouse Club.’
Bertie laughed. ‘Well, young Vincent will soon make up his mind about them all once he’s out from behind the door.’
Derek agreed with his old friend and said seriously, ‘Amen to that.’
Chapter One Hundred and Nine
Mary loved little Cherie, she was an endearing little thing, but she could see a lot of Cynthia in the child and she had to admit that bothered her. She had the same selfish streak and the same arrogance that had been Cynthia’s trademark all her life. She had her great-grandfather twisted around her little finger, but Cherie, Mary knew, understood, even at four years old, that her great-nana Mary wasn’t as enamoured of her as she should be. Consequently, the child was a bit offish towards her. She was a little manipulator, but then she would be; after all, she had a great teacher.
‘You all right, Nana?’
Mary nodded. ‘I’m fine, love, just tired that’s all. Did Vincent phone today?’
Gabby nodded and grinned. ‘This morning. I can’t wait, Nana, I’ve missed him so much.’
‘He’s a lucky lad. He got a result when all was said and done. Only four years . . .’ Jack’s voice was full of pride and, hugging his granddaughter, he continued, ‘I hear he is very well thought of. I went in the pub the other day and everyone, and I mean everyone, was buying me drinks, and asking about him. Saying what a diamond geezer he is. You done well there, Gabby – he’s got a great future ahead of him, that boy.’
Gabby glowed at the praise and, smiling, she said happily, ‘I know. Bertie Warner came round today and dropped off a few quid, as he put it, to get Vincent back on his feet. It was ten grand! They’re having a party for him as well – Vince will love that.’
Mary sniffed disdainfully and said sarcastically, ‘Ten grand, eh? What’s that work out at? About two and a half grand a year? Vincent would have been better off getting a job as a postman – at least he would have been home every night.’
Gabby rolled her eyes in annoyance, ‘All right, Nana, we get your drift, but what’s done is done, and I just want to put it behind me. Once Vince comes home it will all be different.’
‘Well, hopefully he’ll sort your mother out.’
‘I think we can guarantee that much, Granddad. He hates her.’
Jack Callahan laughed then. ‘Like me then! The only way I’d talk to her now is if it was through Doris Stokes!’
Even Mary laughed at that, though the joke saddened her. Cynthia had caused too much trouble for them, and
she was still pulling their strings after all this time.
Chapter One Hundred and Ten
James Tailor Junior looked around him with wary eyes, and wondered if the girl sitting in front of him on the bus was worth chatting up. She had nice hair, long and dark, seemingly her natural colour, but you could never tell, never be sure about anything.
As he stepped off the bus, he noticed the changes that had occurred in the area; if anything it looked even more run down than it had when he had come here as a child. Walking along the road, he saw that the traffic had increased twofold, and the shops were now all either take-aways or cheque-cashing facilities. He knew that when the pawn shops moved into an area, it meant the work was on the way out. It was common sense – rich people didn’t need pawn shops. They suited him though; they would take a TV set without asking too many questions and, as for most junkies, those shops were a godsend.
He was smiling to himself now, and he wondered at what kind of reaction he would get at his nana’s house. Not a fucking visit from them in years – a birthday card or Christmas card had been the sum total of their interest in him. Which, in fairness, was more than he could say about his mother. He had not heard a fucking peep out of her since he had been taken away. When they had said he could go home, she had said, ‘No, thank you, he’s not my responsibility any more.’ What a fucking diabolical liberty! Who the fuck did she think she was? Well, he was going to go and see her as well, and when he did she would know about it.
The only one who had ever kept any real contact was his sister. Gabby had written to him at least three times a year, and he had appreciated that. In fact, sometimes he wished he had written back, but what could he tell her? That he was still on a lock down? Still in trouble? Still fighting everyone?
He had learned to play the game, though. Eventually it had occurred to him that he had to change to get out of that place and that is what he had done. He had acted the way they wanted him to act, and the psychiatrists had patted themselves on the back – look how well we’ve done with him, he can join the real world again, mix in society and blend in!
Fucking morons. He had gone from a group home to his own bedsit at sixteen. He was still classified as mentally ill, but not violent any more. It was in the bedsit he had first encountered heroin. He had not been able to believe it was illegal – it was the best thing he had ever experienced in his life! And he had been on more drugs than fucking Kurt Cobain! Anti-psychotics – you name them, he’d had them. He had spent most of his life higher than a jumbo jet. Now he knew what it was to be mellow, and he liked it. He still had violent fantasies, but the heroin helped to subdue them much better than those fucking pills they had shoved down his throat ever had.
So, finally, he was going to visit the family. He was going to see just how the land lay and, more important than anything else, where that skank of a mother of his lived.
As he walked towards his nana and granddad’s house, he saw Roy Brown, and nearly said hello. The cat incident had long been buried away in his mind, but now he remembered it and was sure his nana would remember it too; it wasn’t exactly something you forgot, he supposed.
It all came back to him – the look on his nana’s face when she had seen her bread knife, the precious antique bread knife she thought was so fucking marvellous. The memory made him laugh; she had looked so funny with that surprised look on her face.
Then he remembered the hammering his granddad had given him and suddenly he wasn’t smiling any more. He was scowling, brooding. He’d like to see the old bastard try that now; he’d wipe the floor with him, and laugh while he did it.
James took a few deep breaths; he had to calm himself down, he had to look like he was a nice lad now. It was like pretending to the shrinks and the social workers – as long as you told them what they wanted to hear, and acted like they wanted you to act, you were all right.
Life, he had sussed out, was nothing more than an elaborate game; you played the role required, and you watched and waited for your opportunity. It was simple really.
As he approached his nana’s house he felt the first stirrings of excitement mixed with apprehension. But it had been ten years since he had seen any of them, and that, he surmised, was to be expected.
Chapter One Hundred and Eleven
‘Come on, Mummy, I want to go to Mackie D’s!’
Cherie was already bored with being at her great-nana Mary’s. All her great-granddad wanted to do was watch the horse racing; she had picked out his winners for him and, as one had come in, she was now the queen of the horse world. At least that was what her great-grandad was calling her anyway. But it was stifling here, and she wanted to go out, go somewhere else. It smelt of cigarettes, chip fat and furniture polish, and she hated it. So did her nanny Cynthia; she had said the house was like a tomb, and then explained it was a place for dead people. Cherie didn’t really understand that, but she imagined that the smell of her nana Mary’s was that of a dead person’s house and she didn’t like the thought of that. Dead people were scary.
She liked it at her mummy’s flat because it was bright and cheerful. But Nanny Cynthia said that her mummy wasn’t a proper mummy, and the police wouldn’t let her stay there all the time because her mummy sold drugs and her daddy was in prison. She didn’t believe her daddy was in prison, and she tried to explain that he was training to be a fighter pilot and go to the war. But her nanny Cynthia said it was lies and she should remember that. It was confusing really; she had to remember so much and it was very hard to understand.
But one thing she did know for sure was that her nanny Cynthia loved her more than anyone else in the world. She knew that must be true, because her nanny Cynthia was the person she had to live with.
As they were leaving, the doorbell rang, and Gabby went to answer it. Cherie saw her mummy stumble backwards, and she was immediately alert to the fact something was happening. And she knew she had to tell her nanny Cynthia anything and everything that she heard or saw.
A large man was standing there, and Cherie looked at him with interest; he was smiling, but it looked wrong on his face. He had long, dark blond hair, and he was dressed like the boys who hung around on her nana Mary’s estate. He had on a black Puffa jacket and baggy jeans, and on his feet were scuffed white Adidas trainers. Scruffy was what her nanny Cynthia would call him. He looked scary somehow, and the main thing she noticed about him was how bad his teeth looked.
She listened with rapt attention as the man said, ‘Hello, Gabby, long time no see.’
Chapter One Hundred and Twelve
When Mary Callahan went to find out what was going on she thought she was going to pass out with the shock of seeing her grandson standing in her hallway. She knew she should tell him to go away but how could she do that to him? He must have been deemed all right, or they would not let him roam the streets surely?
‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Nana.’
He was smiling at her and she saw that whatever else had changed about him, he still had those dead eyes. The smile looked genuine enough, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They reminded her of a dead fish, no emotion there whatsoever. He was the image of his father, but bigger somehow, she felt the threat of him invade her and she moved back instinctively.
She noticed that Gabby had moved behind her with little Cherie in her arms.
It was Jack who took over. He walked into the hallway and looked the boy up and down before saying quietly, ‘What do you want?’
James grinned. ‘I don’t want nothing, Granddad. I was in the area . . .’
‘You ain’t welcome here, son. I’m sorry, but it’s best to tell you straight off.’
Mary and Gabby both breathed a sigh of relief. James was not a person to invite into your life. It was sad, it was tragic, but they knew what was best. James was on medication, but that didn’t guarantee anything. His ‘psychotic episodes’ as they called them – even though it was apparently some time since his last one – were still not something
anyone in their right mind would want to be on the receiving end of.
James wasn’t surprised at his granddad’s words, but he had to swallow down the urge to take the old fucker by the throat and teach him a lesson. Instead he shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Just as I expected, but I thought I would say a quick hello.’ He turned his gaze to his sister and, smiling at Cherie, he said, ‘She’s beautiful, Gabs. Looks just like Mother, but I won’t hold that against her. I’m thinking of visiting her next, but no one will give me her address. Don’t suppose you’ve got it, have you?’
At that Jack Callahan laughed. ‘I’ll write it down for you, son, I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do.’
Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen
Vincent lay in his cell and counted down the hours till he could walk out the doors of this dump and retake his place in society. It was a different lad who would be going home, and he knew that himself. He hoped that his Gabby was as excited as he was. Even though they had a child together, they had never actually spent the night in the same bed, let alone lived in the same house. It was going to take a bit of getting used to for them both.
He knew he had a lot of things to sort out. First and foremost, was that ponce Cynthia. His being banged up had been all the ammunition she needed to keep his daughter by her side. Well, she was going to get a fucking big shock once he was out from behind the door. Poor Gabby had been treated abominably, not just by that cunt, but by his own family. His dad and his brothers had skanked his dough and blown it, without even giving Gabby a few bob to tide her over. He had left her, a sixteen-year-old girl, to contend with it all and that had eaten at him like a cancer over the last four years.
He had done the right thing by keeping his mouth shut, but now he wanted compensation for that – and he intended to get it. It was true what they said in here – the last few weeks were the worst. At least when you didn’t have a release date you didn’t dwell on it too much. Once that date was set though, it was like time was crawling, every day was like a fucking month. But tempus fugit and all that, it would eventually fly for him, and he would be on the out.
