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by Martina Cole

  Pat also wanted to find out where his father’s money had gone; even Lenny had not known the whole of it, where that was concerned.

  But Pat knew a lot more than anyone realised; he had listened and watched his father as a kid and he had also known a lot more about who had been involved in the main businesses than anyone realised, his mother included.

  Pat had promised himself that he would make amends, not just for him, but for his whole family. Every time he had been humiliated by Brewster or his mother had slipped out and brassed herself for a few quid, the urge for retribution had been overwhelming. His father had been murdered and he was going to pay back everyone involved for that.

  Pat was going to track down his father’s assets if it was the last thing he ever did on this earth. He had to make it all right, he had to make sure that his family were secure at last.

  Pat knew he was capable of keeping the businesses going and he also knew that his rep was already in place through his sojourn in prison. He had to act normal now, had to make sure that he was trusted and respected by all the people he would be dealing with. Then he would bide his time and when he had all the information to hand, all fucking hell would be let loose.

  Pat saw his father’s last moments every day of his life and he was not going to let that go, no way. He missed his father and he had ferreted out so much information with friendly chats and well-thought-out questions that he knew more about his father’s last few deals than anyone else, especially the people his father had been dealing with. He was a good lad and he knew that was what his reputation was based on. But he was his father’s son and, one day, people would realise that.

  ‘You all right, Pat?’

  Lance had seen him staring into space. Ever since they were kids, Patrick had gone off into his own world; he just sat and stared at nothing.

  Lance hated it, hated the fact that Pat was not on his wavelength. He watched Patrick close his eyes and then, taking a few deep breaths, he came back to the real world once more.

  ‘You were fucking miles away.’

  Pat laughed. ‘If only you fucking knew the half of it.’

  They laughed together then. Lance was much happier, knowing that Lenny was gone and that his association with him was over was making him feel better and more secure by the hour.

  Pat wouldn’t understand his actions, he knew, but he had done what he could to keep all their heads above water. Pat had always made him feel inadequate; he had fucked up big time when they were kids, and he regretted that, had regretted it ever since. He had been a kid and he had not understood what he had done to that girl. If he saw her now he felt bad inside.

  Pat was remembering the day his father died. His father’s murder had made him understand at an early age what being dead really meant, had shown him how much blood the human body actually held. His father’s blood had been everywhere, it was sprayed all over the walls and covered the floor. It had been everywhere and he could remember seeing pieces of his father’s brain tissue on the floor beside his body that night. That sight had never left him, had never left any of them. It had changed all their lives; in seconds, all they knew and all they had believed in had disappeared. Pat remembered going to the hall the next day. The balloons and the bunting were still up and the food, laid out ready to eat and enjoy, was now dried-up and stale. The presents still piled up on a table. Patrick had never again celebrated a birthday.

  Pat thought about how much he missed his times with his father; the evenings when he would talk him through life and his role in the family. His father had asked him to do errands for him; a bit of ducking and diving, and so he knew much more about what had been going on than anyone realised. He would bide his time and get the money back. Get the lot back and, when he did, he would slaughter the person involved and enjoy every second of it.

  Everyone knew that he had taken out Brewster and he was pleased about that. He’d wanted Lenny’s death to be a statement, not just for the people around abouts, but for the people he had met in prison too. He still had a few of them to prove his worth to and he knew this act would be enough. Lenny was already old news and Patrick wanted his name coupled with his for ever. When people talked about Lenny dying they would talk about the young man who had been responsible for it happening.

  It had started his legendary status off perfectly and it was almost a public service. It wasn’t a murder, it was more a culling and Lenny was to be the first of many.

  Jimmy Brick was in the Prospect of Whitby pub; he was having a drink with a few old mates and his reception had pleased him no end. As he saw the drinks being bought, and heard the jokes being told, he settled down and felt the relief once more at being part of the winning team. It seemed that his contribution to the recent events had put him in good stead once more with the people that were important.

  ‘Hey, Jimmy, I hear that Brewster was well fucking gutted when he was taken out. Is that true?’

  Jimmy grinned. A few beers short of a witness statement, he knew that the circumstances were probably common knowledge by now. In a joking voice that was just loud enough to be heard by the people surrounding him and a few of the eavesdroppers standing nearby, he said, ‘Well, when he realised that he was on the way out, he was completely crushed, I can tell you.’ Jimmy nodded his head in derision and knew that he had made a statement that would be remembered and repeated for a long time to come.

  Everyone laughed again and Jimmy was aware that Spider was smiling with the others but not, in any way, committing himself. But then, Spider never had overcooked the turkey; he was far too shrewd and still was, by the looks of it. Jimmy knew how fragile villains’ friendships could be; unless you were born and bred with someone, how the fuck could you really trust them? Jimmy’s instinct was telling him that he couldn’t trust Spider as far as he could throw him.

  He also understood that Lance had absented himself from the main event and that told him that he was also someone to watch closer than a filth with stolen goods.

  He drank his drink and he watched the people around him; he knew how to play the game and it was why he was still on the dance floor all these years later. Young Patrick Brodie was going to be his golden goose; it was like having Pat back in the team. Like his father, he had the spark, that little bit of extra something that made people listen to him and respect him. And he also had the violent streak that was so attractive in men of their ilk.

  Jambo Delaney was a good-looking man. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw and he walked with a straight-backed strut that made him very attractive to the opposite sex. He had been given the nickname Jambo, Swahili for hello, as a young man. Everyone wanted to say hello to him; he had that kind of face, that kind of demeanour about him. No one could not like him, it was impossible not to like him. He had no bad points really. Not only was he great company, he also fitted in with any crowd. But he could, when required, have a row too. A real row, a row that stopped errant husbands from forcing their opinions on him or trying to get a reaction of any kind.

  Left alone, he was good company and well worth an evening’s drinking with, but upset, he was a different kettle of fish. Once first blood had been drawn he would defend himself with such vigour and strength that the assailant would always retreat in haste. He was a man who would let the first punch go for free; anything over and above that and he was entitled to defend himself and defend himself he would.

  Jambo was a nice guy, if a little lazy, and a little forgetful. Sometimes he didn’t know who the husbands were talking about; he’d forgotten the women involved, even though they rarely forgot him. As far as he was concerned, they were an interlude, a good time and, in some cases, a means to an end. But he never meant to hurt anyone, wife or husband; he never set out to cause any heartbreak.

  Jambo earned a crust by minding, debt collecting or talking his way into company. He was a womaniser and, like all womanisers, he never understood why women took him so seriously. What made them think he was going to treat them any differ
ent to any other woman he had been with? Why did they always think they were the one who would change him, make him settle down and want to be with in the same place for the rest of his life? His famous last words were always the same thing. The four Fs: he fucked them, he fed them, he fought with them and he fucked off when they got on his nerves.

  He was sitting opposite Lil Brodie, a handsome woman with a fine brood of children and a healthy sexual appetite. He liked and respected Lil, with whom he had often had a few drinks and a little bit of bump and grind, but today he noticed that she looked a bit worse for wear.

  He knew her son was home from the poke and causing a bit of a stir on the streets and Jambo was suddenly feeling a little bit nervous. Errant husbands were one thing, sons, especially young Pat Brodie, were another thing entirely. Not that he wouldn’t defend himself, but he liked the boy. He was a good kid and he had not had many breaks.

  ‘Jambo, you’re not going to like what I have to tell you, but I’m pregnant.’

  Jambo nodded slightly. He knew it was pointless asking her if she was sure; this was Lil and she would be more than sure before she would even think about discussing it. He was also not going to ask if it was definitely his, he had more sense than that.

  Lil watched his face and felt bad for him; he was a nice bloke and he didn’t deserve this really. But she knew she had to tell him anyway.

  ‘You want it?’

  He wasn’t asking her anything except what did she want, and she loved him for that alone. There were no recriminations, no stepping back as if he had never been near her in his life, no stroppiness and no body language that said, as soon as you look away, I will be out the door so fast you will wonder if you had shagged an Olympic athlete.

  He was calm and interested in what she wanted to do about the situation. She was grateful for that much at least.

  ‘I ain’t got a lot of choice, mate, I’m Catholic. If it’s there then what can I do?’

  She shrugged then and he smiled at her. He liked Lil, he really liked her attitude to life and love. She was calm about it and she was not demanding anything from him.

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  It was a fair question, she thought. A nice question really. She knew Jambo was a man who cherished his single state and she understood why he felt that way. She was of a similar disposition herself these days. A baby was the last thing she wanted, or needed, but the child was created now and there was nothing to do except love it as best she could.

  If she disposed of it, Lil knew she would never know another happy day. Not that there had been many of them over the last few years. But in Lil’s mind, a child didn’t ask to be born and she had no right to remove it from her body just because it wasn’t convenient. For all her lifestyle, the Catholic part of her kicked in with her hormones.

  ‘Can I be honest, Jambo?’

  He nodded slowly, but he was wary enough, she sensed that much.

  ‘I’m only telling you because I thought you had a right to know. I don’t want anything from you, mate, not really. No undying love, no special treatment, no money even. I just want you to do me a favour, one thing, and that’s all I will ask of you.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  Lil grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, and Jambo knew she was a woman on a mission and that if he had any sense, he would make sure she got what she was asking for.

  ‘Just give the child the time of day, not every minute of your time, I know you can’t do that. But just for once in my life, I want one of my kids to feel that someone other than their mother cares for them. That is all I want. No more than that, Jambo. Just a visit occasionally to let them see your face and know who you are.’

  Jambo nodded and he felt so sad for her then. He knew how hard Lil’s life had been, knew how much her family meant to her and had even guessed how much she resented them at times as well. That was real life, though most people wouldn’t admit that. Women were so unlucky; they were left in charge of a human being, sometimes a crowd of human beings, and they had to be seen as doing the best they could. They had to make sure that all these people were taken care of in every way.

  No one ever allowed for them to be tired out, to feel abandoned or just be plain pissed off with what had befallen them and just because they had allowed a man to get too close. Because they had just followed their natural inclinations and produced, as nature had intended them to. Then, they were left on their own, and the man leaving them was in the same condition he had arrived in, physically and mentally. The women they left behind though were now the grand owners of stretch marks and a screaming baby and their lives would never be the same again.

  Jambo understood that, he knew what men were capable of. He was an expert in hurting people himself and an expert in keeping himself out of trouble. But now Lil was asking him for no more than his time; no marriage, no partnership and no undying love. She was just asking that one of her kids had some kind of father figure. He couldn’t refuse her and it surprised him that he didn’t want to refuse her. She deserved this much at least and she wasn’t asking him for more than he was ever going to be able to give.

  ‘If you think I will be any kind of a role model, Lil Brodie, you are mad. I will do what you want but you got to make sure that I ain’t walking into any trouble, OK? Your boys are fighting for the top prize and I don’t want them to feel they need to hurt me to prove a point, you know.’

  Lil smiled happily. ‘Do you want to know a secret, Jambo? My boys are still young enough to listen to what I say and even when they are old enough to bury me, I will still have a fucking say in my own life. Don’t worry, OK, just give this child a chance, an opportunity to see that the man who fathered them is interested in them and still on the scene, and me and you will never fall out.’

  It was a threat and it wasn’t a threat, Jambo knew that; like him, Lil spoke the words and let the listener decide what the meaning really was. He also knew that she was asking a lot from him, but he was already committed now, and also he was intrigued to see what the two of them had created. The colour of the child was not a problem, he knew; the one thing he was sure of was that none of Lil’s children would ever question their own flesh and blood.

  The child would be a nine-day wonder, but he knew Lil wouldn’t care about that at all. He was in a catch-22; he had, on the one hand, Pat Junior, a boy who was already talked about with reverence and, on the other, he had Lance, a thug who had already put the hard word on him in private about his relationship with his mother. But Jambo knew that Lance had only been doing what Brewster had told him to do. Lance had been Brewster’s gofer, his errand boy, and he had fucked him off with a hate that told Jambo it was about more than Brewster’s usual dog in the manger. It was too close to home for the boy; Lance wanted him gone for his own personal reasons. He kept that gem of wisdom to himself though; he was happy for Lil to do what she thought was right. He also knew that nothing he said would change her mind anyway. Once Lil made up her mind that was that.

  ‘I am keeping this baby under wraps for a while; no one has noticed yet anyway. I am letting you know what I want from you if it goes full-term, that’s all.’

  Jambo nodded once more.

  ‘If that’s what you want, Lil, then I am happy to go along with it as I already said. But I ain’t promising you no more than what you asked, OK?’

  Lil laughed then, a real hearty, loud and dirty laugh. ‘Oh, dream on. I wouldn’t want you, darling, if your knob was dripping with diamonds and you farted perfume.’

  Now they were both laughing and Lil relaxed a little, happy she had for once done what she wanted and not waited to see what happened. This child would at least have a fighting chance in life, she was determined about that. And once the novelty of her situation wore off it would all work out somehow, she was sure. She had been through the worst that life could throw at anyone and she had survived. Older, harder and a little bit wiser but she was still managing to live through every day.


  Now Patrick was home and he was trying to make amends for the past so she hoped that, sooner or later, life for this child inside her might just turn out to be easy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ’All right, Mum, let’s sort this out, shall we?’

  Patrick’s voice was so reminiscent of his father’s that it made Lil go cold. They were in the office of the club once more; it was different now, all fresh paint and cheap furniture. The club was the blind for the other businesses, as always.

  But it was once again Lil’s domain and she knew it. She enjoyed the way she was now, back on top; it was like years ago, when this had been her world. Lenny Brewster had snatched it away from her, taken everything that she had that made her feel a part of something bigger than her. And now she had it back; her life back, her self-respect back and, most of all, she was once more working at something she loved.

  It might be a small victory to most people, but to Lil, after the years with Lenny, it was equivalent to the Pulitzer Prize.

  Lil knew that the girls understood how she felt; in fact they were happy for her, most of them anyway. That is, the ones who had bothered to get to know her and understood Lil’s craving for some kind of recognition, and for her need to be a part of the world she inhabited and that she loved.

  ‘Sort what out?’

  Lil was smiling at Pat innocently and she saw herself in his eyes and in his anger, not his father. Pat had her short temper and her ability to keep it in check if it was necessary. He was a clever boy, no doubt about that, and she loved him with all her heart. But he was also her son and her business partner, whether he liked it or not. She was the one he had left to put things back on track again. She would be the one who made the money that would give them their way of life. The taxman could climb all over this place and find nothing that would be cause for concern. She was the straight one out of them and he respected that; he knew she would never tuck her son up. You could only ever trust your own, most of the time anyway.