by Martina Cole
The Russians who had come through the unit were hard men who had grown up in abject poverty. The inmates had been astonished at how tough their lives had been, especially those from the Ukraine. Even older men who had lived through the war and been brought up on bombsites were amazed at how those men were raised. Poverty bred criminals – it was as simple as that.
One thing that had struck Cain was how they used tattoos to let others know why they had been banged up, and just how much they were capable of. Certain designs could indicate that they were murderers for hire, or that they had killed policemen or other gang members out of self-defence or for profit. They were each covered in a network of inked tattoos that were as weird as they were colourful. These were the Russian equivalent of cockney rhyming slang – completely incomprehensible to the outside observer, but crystal clear to those in the know. They were dangerous fuckers who needed to be treated with extreme caution.
Cain had to admit, though, that he liked the ones he had met and admired their stoic acceptance of their sentences. From what they had told him, the British penal system was a doddle compared to the Russian equivalent, where the most basic amenities were few and far between. Even food had to be bartered and paid for – it was an eye-opener all right. They were clever fuckers for all that, and worthy of their reputations. Cain knew he had good reason to be wary of them, so was pleased that Hasan and Ali Osman had come round to his way of thinking, and now they had Jason Biggs on board for the future, which would work to their advantage.
Cain’s son would be coming in later on for a visit, and he couldn’t wait to see him. Cain Junior had made himself very useful to his father, liaising directly with those on the out on his behalf, and it was working even better than he had hoped. The lad had a natural affinity for the Life and he enjoyed the day-to-day which, at his level of the game, could be monotonous. Cain was a lucky man to have his enterprises looked after so well in his absence.
He had spoken to his Jenny earlier. He never failed to marvel at how much she still meant to him after all these years. He had long forgiven her for Freddie Marks, and rarely allowed the thought of him to spoil his days. Just hearing her voice was enough to give him a hard on. She was still the sexiest woman he had ever laid eyes on, and he told her so constantly. He missed her so much, just as he missed his family life. From what he could gather, his mother had upset everyone at his boy’s dinner party the other night, and he wished she could keep her fucking beak out of everyone’s business. She was a loyal old bird, and he had to allow for that. Trouble was, no one else did, and that was something she didn’t seem to grasp.
The past was the past and sometimes you had to leave it alone if you wanted to have a future. Cain finally felt the time was coming for that to become a reality, and it felt good. He had wanted the Good Life, and had had it for a while. Now he wanted a good life, and that was something completely different.
As he showered, he felt another tingle of excitement at the prospect of seeing his handsome son; he lived for the visits from Cain Junior and his Jenny. They were what made this fucking shithole bearable. They gave his life meaning, and provided him with a reason to get out of bed every morning. Without them, he didn’t know how the fuck he would have coped all these years.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-One
Ali Osman was drinking in a small boozer on Old Compton Street. It was a private club owned by an ex-con and frequented by a legion of cronies and their associates for planning operations and discussing times gone by. It was also a place where you could drink alone and be sure that no one would bother you, unless you wanted them to.
Ali was there to meet a man he had tracked down through an old acquaintance – a well-known Face in his own day called Kevin Donovan. He was now retired and just did the occasional quick job for good financial gain, provided his involvement was kept on the down low. He was adept at planning things down to the last detail and was always in and out with the minimum of fuss. Kevin was sixty-seven years old – though he looked a good decade younger thanks to his healthy lifestyle and a new wife of thirty-two. He had a little boy of five who he adored, and a string of older grandchildren.
Ali Osman was determined to have his way over Jason Biggs and this was how he was going to achieve it; it gave him great pleasure to shake Kevin Donovan’s hand and get on with planning the next move. If his brother Hasan couldn’t see what was going on then, as far as Ali was concerned, it was a good job that he had it all sussed out for them both.
The two men settled in a dark corner with their drinks before Ali said quietly, ‘It’s a big job.’
Kevin grinned, showing expensive veneers. ‘I’d sort of worked that out for myself.’
‘It’s a hit, and it’s on Jason Biggs.’
Kevin Donovan sat back in his chair and Ali could see he was shocked. Kevin drained his entire drink before getting up quickly. ‘Not in a million years, Ali. Sorry, son, but I plan to live a bit longer. If you want my advice, I would forget the whole thing before it gets out of hand.’ With that he walked away.
Ali Osman sat there for a while, contemplating Kevin’s words and wondering how best to move forwards. It didn’t occur to him that if a man like Kevin Donovan wouldn’t go near a proposition, it was unlikely anyone else would consider it lightly. Kevin was a hard man who would do literally anything for the right price. The very fact that he was walking away should have spoken volumes. But Ali Osman wasn’t thinking straight. He had a blind spot where Jason Biggs was concerned and was still smarting from the man’s attempts to humiliate him. He was also too coked up to rationalise his behaviour. Cocaine did that to the body after prolonged use. He was snorting first thing in the morning and suffering from nosebleeds and numbness in his face. His teeth were getting loose and his gums bled when he cleaned them. He also had regular headaches and panic attacks – all symptoms of long-term cocaine use. He was convinced that people were talking about him, laughing behind his back and trying to do him down. He saw his brother – who he adored – as the enemy when he didn’t agree with him on every single matter they discussed. Ali Osman was an addict and, like all addicts, his habit would be sure to destroy not only him, but everyone else around him.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two
Cain Junior already had the teas and biscuits waiting when his father walked into the visiting room. Cain Moran always felt a surge of pride when he saw his boy – he was very good-looking and easily a head and shoulders above everyone else in the room. If the admiring glances he got from the women were anything to go by, Cain Junior also had his father’s way with the opposite sex.
Seeing Cain Junior always reminded Cain that he had another son out there in the world. Cain had written many times to Michael, and was pained by the fact that he had never received a single reply. He continued to send him birthday cards each year, even though he guessed they would be thrown away. He wanted the boy to know he had not forgotten him, even if he had forgotten his father. He hated Caroline for her part in the loss of his first son, just as he hated her for ensuring that Jenny would never bear another child. Caroline had a lot to answer for and he hoped that when she got it, she would get it big time.
Cain Junior embraced his father briefly, and then they settled down at the visiting table. He had been doing this for so many years that it never felt strange to him. Seeing his father incarcerated had been something he had come to accept as his way of life – for the most part this had always been his reality.
‘How are you, son, and how’s that lovely girl of yours?’
Cain Junior blushed to the roots of his hair and his father grinned.
‘Good, Dad. Actually, I have some news and I wanted you to be the first to know. She’s pregnant – she’s having my baby.’
Cain Moran was stumped for a few seconds. Then with a beaming smile he grasped his son by the shoulders and hugged him tightly, much to the amusement of the people sitting nearby.
‘Congratulations, son. Fuck me – your mum w
ill be over the moon. She loves babies. I don’t know how fucking Eileen will take it though . . . She’ll be a great-granny!’
They both laughed at that.
‘My mum will be thrilled too. Don’t be too hard on her, son. I know how you feel but when it comes to family they don’t come more loyal than her. Never forget that.’
Cain Junior just nodded; he wasn’t getting into that conversation today.
‘I wanted to tell you first, Dad, because I know how hard it must be sometimes, always getting things second-hand. We’re going to tell Mum tonight.’
Cain Moran felt a sudden urge to cry and had to blink away the tears. His boy had grown up to be such a kind and caring man, and that was because of Jenny. Christ knew, he couldn’t parent him from in here – Jenny had taken on the role and here was the result: a decent, loving man.
‘I appreciate that, son, and you’re right. It is nice to be the first to know. I am so pleased for you, mate. A new baby, and I’ll be a granddad! How’s Linda doing?’
‘She’s grand – determined not to put on too much weight, eating the right food, all that fucking palaver. She’s only a couple of months gone.’
Cain laughed at his boy’s resigned expression. He could tell that this Linda already had him well under the cosh.
‘We ain’t told her mum and dad yet either. I wanted this to be yours alone. Everyone else can wait.’
Once again, Cain felt the urge to cry, and he wondered if this was part of getting older. He was much more sentimental these days, and he wished he had his old mate Blokko to talk to about it; Blokko always had an answer for everything to do with long stretches inside. Cain knew that this was a tough reminder of another big event he would only see from inside, and that was hard to take.
‘I can only say that I’m honoured, son, to be the first to know. This is a real milestone.’
As his son outlined his plans and dreams for the future, Cain Moran marvelled at how much of a man his son had become. He was so proud of him and pleased for his news, but at the same time he couldn’t help dwelling on the fact that the first time he held his grandchild would be in this shitty room, watched by every fucker in the place. But, as he had always told himself, it was what it was. He had chased the Good Life, and now he was paying the price.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Three
Jenny and Eileen were in The Highwayman pub with Linda’s parents, Sally and Peter Lloyd, when the happy couple announced they were having a baby. After the champagne had been ordered and glasses raised, Cain Junior told Jenny that he had shared the good news with his father earlier that day before he’d told anyone else. Jenny had never felt more proud of her son in her life; she knew how much that would have meant to her Cain. Being the first to know anything was unusual, even with his mobile phone!
‘He’s pleased as punch, Mum. A granddad, eh? And you’ll be a granny too.’
Jenny looked at her mum as she said slyly, ‘Just think, Mum, you will be a great-granny!’
Eileen retorted loudly with, ‘We will have to fucking see about that!’
As they laughed and joked together, Jenny looked up to see Caroline Moran standing near their table staring at them all, and her heart sank to her boots.
She was grotesque in size and her eyes, which had once been her best feature, fired hate.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, what do you want now?’ It was Eileen who started the conversation off. She hated that bitch, and wondered if she had some kind of supernatural power. The fucker seemed to have a way of turning up and ruining everything.
‘So he’s going to be a granddad, is he?’
Cain Junior stood up and moved between the woman and his mother.
‘Why can’t you take yourself off to another part of the pub? This is a private family party.’
Caroline Moran laughed at that, and said nastily, ‘You are your father’s son all right – the spit of him – and you are like him in other ways too, I hear. I wouldn’t be surprised if your kid spent the best part of its life visiting you in a maximum-security and all. Like father, like son.’
Eileen stood up immediately, shouting, ‘Fuck off, you silly bitch! At least he ain’t a fucking nancy boy like your Michael. I hear he likes the blond boys – is that true? No grandchildren for you by the sounds of it.’
‘My boy ain’t queer.’
‘No, of course not – but all his friends are.’ Eileen was laughing at her own wit.
‘Sit down and shut up, Mum. And, as for you, Caroline, stop showing yourself up. It’s been fucking donkey’s years since he left you for me. It’s time you got over it.’
Caroline could see how well Jenny looked – how youthful her figure had remained, and how beautiful she was. She envisioned herself ramming a glass into that perfectly made-up face and twisting it for maximum effect. But Peter Lloyd was ready for her if she made a move like that, and so was that handsome bastard who, unlike her boy, was a man’s man. It was so unfair. This woman had stolen her life and yet she still came out of it smelling of fucking roses.
Peter Lloyd stood up and went over to Caroline. Taking her arm gently, he said in a placating voice, ‘Come on, love, let’s see you to your car, shall we?’
His tone instantly triggered something in her. ‘Get your fucking hands off me! I am meeting a friend here. Who are you to fucking tell me what I can and can’t fucking do?’
‘Leave her, Peter, let her do what she likes. You can’t hurt me any more, lady. Meet your friend, eat a fucking big dinner, I really don’t care. Just leave me and mine alone.’ With that, Jenny motioned for the men to sit and they resumed their conversation as if nothing had happened. But Jenny could see the fear in young Linda’s eyes and she hated Caroline Moran for spoiling what should have been a really great night.
Caroline felt humiliated once again as she turned away. Everyone in the pub was staring at her, and she knew her bulk was largely to blame.
Then Eileen shouted, ‘Here, can I rent your dress? I want to go camping in France. Sleep six, will it, you fat cunt?’
That’s when all hell broke loose.
Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Four
Sally Lloyd and Jenny Moran were sitting in Eileen’s flat while the men sorted out the police. Linda was shaken up but relatively unharmed. The pub, on the other hand, had been destroyed. It was amazing how quickly Caroline Moran could move considering that she was nearly twenty-seven stone in weight.
Everyone was seeing the funny side now, as was often the case. Eileen walked in with a tray of tea, announcing loudly, ‘That poor man! When Caroline landed on him I thought she was going to fucking crush him to death. And did you see his wife’s face!’
They all laughed again at that.
‘It’s not that funny, Mum. You fucking caused the whole thing with that tent joke.’
‘Come on! Everyone in the pub laughed.’
Jenny grinned. ‘Well, they soon stopped when Ten Ton Tessie fucking launched herself at you!’
‘The weirdest thing for me was hearing her speak. She had the most beautiful speaking voice.’ Sally Lloyd had a deep throaty voice herself; and hated it. She never believed it when people told her it was sexy.
‘You’ve got to give her that – even her swearing sounds posh.’
That led to another raucous outburst.
‘There goes my door. I bet it’s the lads back from the police station.’
Instead, Jenny answered the door to find Michael Moran, her husband’s first-born son, standing there. You could tell instantly that he and Cain were related – there was nothing of his mother in him at all – and it was like looking at an older version of her own son. She looked him straight in the eye and said firmly, ‘We don’t want any trouble.’
He responded with a shrug. ‘I don’t want to cause trouble, I just came here to apologise for my mum.’
‘Well, that’s very good of you, Michael,’ Jenny answered warily. She couldn’t take her eyes off this man: her son’s brother
and her husband’s first-born. What did he want? She hated to be suspicious but it seemed strange to her that he had come knocking after so many years of silence. Nevertheless, she led him into the living room to join the others.
‘How is she? Your mum, I mean.’
Eileen was wide-eyed, watching with a look of scorn, but she knew better than to say a word.
Sally Lloyd, however, was the epitome of diplomacy and said quickly, ‘Come on, you two, let’s make another pot of tea.’ With that she ushered them into the kitchen, closing the door behind them.
Michael Moran looked at the woman who had stolen his father away – she wasn’t the monster he had expected. In fact, she seemed very nice indeed.
‘Please sit down.’
As he took a seat on the sofa she noticed he had his father’s hands.
‘Is Caroline OK?’
Michael grimaced, ‘She’s in hospital. They keep a special eye on her you know, what with her drinking and her weight. I’m forever telling her to do something about it but she won’t listen.’
‘She is enormous, but surprisingly light on her feet considering.’
Michael smiled at that. ‘I know. The thing is she has been getting help for years with her mental health. She has episodes . . . at least that is how the psychiatrist describes them. She’s always been unstable apparently.’
Jenny didn’t know what to say; she just nodded. This was so surreal.
‘I just wanted you to know that if anything had happened to the girl having a baby I would never have forgiven my mum. I’m not making excuses for her, but she isn’t all the ticket at the moment. I felt you were owed an explanation.’
‘Can I get you a drink – a tea or something stronger?’
