The Good Life

by Martina Cole

  Especially with a wife like his Caroline. She was a wonderful mother, a brilliant housekeeper, and a blinding cook. Caroline was a beauty as well, but then that was a given − he wouldn’t want her otherwise. She was good in that she accepted he had indiscretions − she was a realist − but a permanent fixture she would never tolerate. She was too powerful a personality for that, had too much pride and who could blame her? She had a mouth on her, and she could use it; half the fun of their marriage was the making up after a good set-to. Caroline gave as good as she got, and she didn’t take any shit from him or anyone else.

  Well, he wanted them both. What man wouldn’t? They were like chalk and cheese, but each one held an attraction for him. But there was no denying Jenny Riley had got under his skin, and he couldn’t envisage his life without her. The die was cast.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Once Jamie Jones decided on something he saw it through to the bitter end and, right now, he was a man on a mission.

  This was his first foray into the world of clubs, and with it came the necessary introduction into the drugs trade. It was a lucrative business and it needed to be controlled properly on the premises. That meant bouncers who were alert to unauthorised dealers getting in on the game, and making sure the dealers you did use were only providing the drugs you provided for them. It was a fraught business, but very lucrative. He knew he would need a good team, and he was hand picking the men himself. With Cain Moran’s OK, of course.

  He liked Moran, and his funny sidekick Johnny Mac. Best friends since they were kids, they were more like brothers, even though Johnny Mac was black. His huge Afro made him look amiable but it was a mistake to underestimate him. He was wiry, but he was a strong little fucker and there was a hard streak that ran through him; anyone who didn’t see that was a fool. For all his smiling and clowning around, his eyes were everywhere and he missed nothing.

  There were rumours that he swung both ways − boys and girls. But that was just speculation, and not anyone’s business except his. What he did in the comfort and safety of his own home was his affair. Still Jamie knew that in their circles that could be perceived as a weakness. Too feminine a trait for the men around him. Most of the people in their world were there because they were overtly masculine − it was what made them so feared. Personally he couldn’t give a flying fuck what people did in their private lives; Christ knew, everyone had their secrets, him included.

  Now that ponce Richie was off the scene they could settle down and start making some money. The first step was to persuade Micky Platt to take over the drug operations for him, leaving Jamie free to sort out everything else. The hardest job was going to be convincing people to part with their premises, or take them in as partners. Cain Moran was confident that everyone would see the sense in doing what he called the right thing, but Jamie wasn’t so sure. Asking people to give them an in, or take their businesses outright, wasn’t going to be easy, and it would need tact, diplomacy and, in extreme cases, a sawn-off shotgun.

  But it could be done and, once it was over, Cain Moran would be the number one and that was ultimately what this was all about. Control the pavements, the clubs and the drugs, and you controlled your world. It was as simple as that.

  Taking over from competitors wasn’t unusual; it happened all the time from taxi ranks to burger stalls. It was about having the monopoly − if they had the main clubs under their guidance it would be like printing their own money. This new generation wasn’t like their forebears. They wanted a night out, they wanted to spend money and they wanted the best DJs and the best bands. And, of course, the best recreational drugs.

  On the plus side it meant no heroin or opiates would be in the mix. They were street drugs and not for the youngsters who were looking for a good time. They wanted amphetamines and grass, either green or on the block, Afghan Black, Lebanese gold. And, of course, LSD for the real ravers.

  No, this was going to be a real cull. In one fell swoop they would be controlling everything in London and the surrounding areas. Southend alone was worth millions, that went without saying. It was a clubbers’ paradise for the kids of Essex and they were nearest to the docks so always had the first refusal of the drugs brought in. They were used to the best and knew a rip-off when they saw it. Speed, especially, had been cut more times than a samurai soldier by the time it hit the London clubs.

  Tonight they were having their first meet with Micky Platt, known as Micky Two Fags because he smoked like a chimney and only ever had two fags in his packet − whether by design no one was really sure. But it was a name that had stuck since his school days. Micky Platt didn’t like Cain Moran; in fact, Micky Platt didn’t like anyone. He was a hard, pig-headed individual, so this wasn’t going to be an easy sell. But it was what it was. Only time would tell.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Micky Platt had never been so insulted in his life. How dare that cunt Cain Moran offer him an out from his own club? From his own premises? Outrageous was the only word for it.

  ‘You must be on something, Cain, if you think I will just roll over and give you my fucking livelihood without a fucking fight.’

  Cain had been expecting this reaction so he let the man vent his spleen.

  ‘You come waltzing in here like you already own the place, telling me what I can and can’t fucking do? Can you hear yourself?’

  Cain looked at Jamie Jones and Johnny Mac: both men were tight-lipped and following his lead as he knew they would. Micky Two Fags was going to be the hardest nut to crack, but once he had capitulated all the others would follow. It was why they had approached him first.

  ‘Listen to me, Micky. This is non-negotiable, mate. I’m not asking you to sell to me − I’m telling you. I will pay you the fair market price, for goodwill et cetera. Unfortunately for you, I need your premises, and that’s the bottom line. Harsh, but I am just being honest. You will sell to me eventually. Because I’m determined, Micky.’

  Micky Two Fags was almost apoplectic. ‘Oh, no, I fucking won’t! I don’t care how many fucking thugs you bring with you. I saw the others getting out of the cars, your little show of force. Well, you don’t fucking scare me, you lairy cunt.’

  Cain stood up and, sighing heavily, he said calmly, ‘Well, I should scare you, Micky, because I always get what I want. And I want this place.’

  Johnny Mac and Jamie Jones stood up then too, and Micky Two Fags saw what he was up against. But he didn’t care. This was his club and it would stay that way.

  ‘Fuck you, Moran.’

  Cain grinned nastily. ‘Not even if you asked me extra nicely. Be seeing you, Micky.’

  After the men left, Micky found that he was shaking − how much was in anger and how much was in fear he didn’t know. What he did know was that losing his club was inevitable; it was just whether he would fold sooner rather than later. Picking up his Benson & Hedges, he opened the packet and it was empty. Screwing the box up in his hand he threw it across his office, cursing Cain Moran into the ground as he did so.

  Chapter Twenty

  Cain snuck into his house at twenty-five past three in the morning. As he tip-toed through the giant hallway he got the fright of his life to see his wife sitting on the large staircase waiting for him.

  ‘You’re home, then?’

  Cain knew that tone of voice and his heart sank. Caroline was up for a fight, and one of her fights could go on till the next day. If only he could delay the row until after he had had a few hours’ kip. If she was pissed, then fireworks were guaranteed even over something trivial, but he had been out of the house for thirty-six hours. Even though he had not exactly expected a brass band welcoming him home, he had anticipated her being tucked up in bed.

  Holding his hands up as if she was pointing a gun at him, he said reasonably, ‘Calm down, Caroline.’

  She started to laugh hysterically. ‘Calm down you say? Aren’t you Mr Reasonable And Kind?’

  Then the expensive crystal wineglass she’d been nursing whizz
ed by his head and she was off the stairs and launching herself at him, all the time screaming expletives and attempting to claw his eyes out.

  ‘Who is she? Who is it can keep you out this fucking long?’ She was enormously strong, so great was her anger. ‘I will fucking kill you and then her. So come on, clever bollocks, tip it up. Who is she?’

  Cain grabbed her hands and pulled her into his arms, enveloping her in a great bear hug, using all his considerable strength to try to keep her still, despite her kicking and struggling. Eventually, after about five minutes, she started to calm down.

  He had not said a word to her, knowing his voice would be like a red rag to a bull at this precise moment in time. He could feel her heart beating fast, and he was genuinely sorry for causing her so much distress. She was sobbing against his chest now and he hugged her to him, kissing her hair and neck. She always smelled so nice, did Caroline. Her thick hair was loose and he enjoyed the feel of it on his face.

  She didn’t deserve the grief he was giving her, but he couldn’t help himself. God forgive him, even now he wished he was holding his Jenny in his arms and, as disloyal as that was, he had to acknowledge the truth of it.

  ‘Where have you been, Cain?’

  Judging it safe to release his hold on her, he looked down at her face and said as honestly as he could, ‘I’ve been working, Caroline. I’ve got a delicate deal going . . .’

  Before he could finish his sentence she had kneed him in the groin with all her might. As he bent forward in agony she spat in his face.

  ‘I will get to the bottom of it, Cain, and if you have a bird bird, you will regret it to your dying day.’ With that she turned and went up the stairs to her bed.

  Left in the darkness of the hallway, Cain knew that he had to cool it with Jenny − at least for the time being.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The following day, Johnny Mac thought the story was the funniest thing he had ever heard.

  ‘It ain’t that funny, Johnny, she nearly removed them from the sac. Fucking painful, I can tell you.’

  ‘Well, Cain, you knew she was a spirited girl. That’s why you had that great big expensive wedding, remember?’

  Though Johnny Mac was laughing as he spoke, there was a note of censure in his voice and Cain asked him outright, ‘Do you think I’m being a mug, Johnny?’

  Johnny thought for a few moments before he answered his friend. ‘Truth be told, Cain, I like Jenny. She’s a lovely young girl − emphasis on the young − but you have a wife and a little boy. You know and I know that once Caroline gets the bit between her teeth she will move heaven and earth to find out the truth. All I am saying is, are you willing to take the flak? More to the point, is Jenny worth the trouble she is going to cause? It’s your funeral, mate. But think on this. You’ve got a lovely home, a lovely wife and a great little kid. That will all be up the Swanee if Caroline ever finds out the truth.’

  Cain knew his friend was speaking sense. He needed to cool it with Jenny for the sake of marital harmony − and his nuts. But it was proving harder than he had thought it would be. The more he saw of Jenny the more he cared about her. When he was with her nothing else really mattered.

  Johnny Mac watched the conflicting emotion crossing his friend’s face and felt a second’s sorrow for him. He was a man in love all right − the most dangerous emotion in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Cain Moran had put the hard word on Eileen and, as much as she would have liked to brag about her daughter’s boyfriend, she knew it was a no-no. Cain would launch her into outer space, and in a way she understood that; after all, he was a married man. But it was hard not to have even a little show-off.

  Cain was shrewd enough to compensate her for her silence with good hard cash. Money spoke louder than words in Eileen Riley’s life. Now, as she looked at her daughter all upset and flustered, she said gently, ‘Look, love, you have to see it from his point of view. He’s a married man, and that wife of his is hard as nails, by all accounts. All he is saying is, let the dust settle for a bit.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘I know, Mum, but it’s been a while now and I really do care about him.’

  Eileen rolled her eyes in annoyance. Young love! If she knew anything about it, it wasn’t love that was keeping Cain Moran in the picture, it was her daughter’s obvious attractions. Not that she would say that to her Jenny, of course; she was still living in cloud cuckoo land, where the fairies sang sweetly and men left their wives and children for young girls.

  ‘If you really care you will do as he asks, love. You have your whole life in front of you.’

  Jenny made herself a coffee and took it to her bedroom. She sat in front of her makeshift dressing table and looked at her reflection in the old mirror. She missed Cain with a vengeance; she physically ached with sorrow at not seeing him. Every day she got up and went to work in that stupid office that didn’t really need a secretary, then she came home, ate her tea and waited by the phone all night in case he called. It wasn’t a life, it was just an existence.

  But if this is what it took to have a few hours with Cain, then she knew she would accept that. She would be seventeen in one week. She hoped she would see him on her birthday. That was all she wanted − just to see him, even if only for an hour. As wrong as it was to want him − a married man with a little boy − she couldn’t help herself. Young Jenny had discovered not only love, but also the powerful emotion of lust. She yearned for Cain Moran with her entire being.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Micky Two Fags was not about to give in to the inevitable without a fight. His club in Southend was his pride and joy, and there was no way he was giving it up without at least a show of defiance. He had bought the premises in 1974. It had been a rundown shithole, but after nearly six years of hard graft it was finally a success.

  He had thought long and hard about what options were open to him and he had come up with only one: he had to enlist other club owners before the same thing happened to them. His was the biggest in terms of money and prestige, so he needed to see to the next one on the list and that was owned by a man called Jimmy Banks, otherwise known as Jimmy Boy.

  Jimmy was a headcase and that was exactly what was needed to go up against someone like Cain Moran. Word on the street was that Jimmy Boy Banks had taken out an Iranian drug dealer single-handedly. Jimmy Boy dealt in skag which was now a very lucrative business for clubs. You couldn’t move nowadays for stoners. It was pathetic − Micky blamed the punk rock movements and hippie parents. He wouldn’t tolerate it on his premises – it was too dangerous. The last thing anyone needed was a dead kid in the toilets on a busy Saturday night. No, that business was for the pubs, the shittier pubs anyway. It was a mug’s game as far as he was concerned − for the dealers and the junkies. He did a great business with the softer recreational drugs, and now that cunt Cain Moran wanted to just walk in and take it from him. Fucking scandalous, that’s what it was, and he would fight him as best he could.

  The trouble was, Cain Moran was a man to be reckoned with; nothing moved in the South East without his express say-so. He had Filth, judges and local politicians on his payroll, so he had plenty of clout. No one could take that away from him and he was to be applauded for his acumen. But this . . . this was a step too fucking far, and Micky instinctively knew he wouldn’t be the only one thinking along those lines. This was an out-and-out piss-take.

  As Jimmy Boy Banks walked into his office Micky Platt felt that in his darkest moment there was still a glimmer of hope.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  ‘Listen to me, Cain Moran, I am your fucking wife. Remember the vows we made in front of the priest? Well, I took them seriously even if you didn’t, you filthy rotten slag.’

  Cain rolled his eyes at the ceiling. ‘Always with the drama, aren’t you, Caroline? Can’t have a row, it’s got to be a knock-down, all-out fight. Then you wonder why I play away. It’s nice sometimes not to have to watch every fucking word that comes
out of my mouth.’

  Caroline laughed sarcastically. ‘Oh, really? Well, fucking fuck you. I’m amazed they can even hold a conversation. From what I’ve heard they are just on the left side of duelling banjos. Walk them about on leads, do you, your fucking dogs?’

  Cain Moran really wanted to slap his wife across the mouth, but he wouldn’t. Didn’t stop him feeling like it, though.

  Caroline was near to tears now. ‘I swallow a lot with you, and you know I do. But if you have a regular bird I will not tolerate it, do you hear me? I will not allow you to humiliate me like that. I still have some fucking pride. I’ll never forget what you put me through when I’d just had little Michael. Some bleached-blonde trollop had the gall – the fucking gall – to knock on my front door shouting the odds. In front of my mother and all!’

  Cain knew he was fucked to argue with that; he had definitely been in the wrong with that one. She had seemed so quiet. Who fucking knew, eh? Lovely looking girl, though, no doubt about that.

  ‘Here we go, bringing up ancient history as usual. I said I was sorry, for fuck’s sake.’

  Caroline really lost her rag now as she screamed, ‘Ancient history? We have only been married five years, Cain.’ She was sobbing and he went to her, holding her tightly to him.

  ‘Look, Caroline, I admit I’m a fucking nightmare, but I don’t mean the half of it. You know what I’m like. If it’s on a plate . . . I’m only human, darling.’

  She looked into his handsome face. She loved this man as if her life depended on it and, in a way, it did. She was completely helpless without him in many respects. She had lived through the humiliation of lipstick marks on his dick of all places and the smell of another woman’s perfume on him. She had been prepared to swallow that for the main prize: he was her husband and those girls had never truly meant anything to him. They were no competition because he always came home to her and Michael. She had had to resign herself to the fact her husband couldn’t be faithful if his life depended on it.