The Know

by Martina Cole

  She finally left, but he knew she would be back and when she was it would mean trouble. Big trouble. But not as bad as the trouble Jeanette was going to find herself in when he got his hands on her.

  He rang his mother on her mobile first, and then he rang his sister. Neither of them answered, which did not come as any surprise. He rang up Little Tommy and asked him to come over and watch Kira.

  Then he made his way to Jasper’s.

  Joanie and Paulie were entwined in the back of his Jag, laughing their heads off.

  ‘Here, Joanie, do you remember years ago when we went in the woods that time and the filth shone a light in the car and you shouted out, ‘‘I ain’t getting out of this car until I get paid’’?’

  She burst out laughing again.

  ‘Their faces! They were a picture.’

  He hugged her to him, feeling her skin against his hand. The warmth of it. The softness. In the half-light she looked younger, and he saw the girl she had been all those years ago when she had first come to work for him. Even then she had had something about her, though he had never ascertained exactly what that something was. All he knew was he liked her, liked being with her.

  ‘We better get moving, girl.’

  He didn’t attempt to move as he said the words so Joanie stayed put. She loved the feel of him as much as he loved the feel of her.

  ‘Thanks, Paulie.’

  He grinned down at her.

  ‘What for?’

  She smiled.

  ‘For being here this last few weeks.’

  He kissed her gently on the forehead.

  ‘We’re mates, ain’t we, Joanie? That’s what friends are for.’

  He was telling her not to take any of it too seriously; distancing himself verbally and physically. It was what he had always done and she wondered why she didn’t just leave it.

  As he let go of her he pretended to stretch. The pretence did not fool either of them. Joanie got dressed in silence; the atmosphere in the car had changed again.

  She sighed deeply.

  She should have kept her mouth shut and then they would still be lying here enjoying the quiet and each other’s company. Now they were speeding back to reality and it was all her fault.

  Her own big mouth would always be her downfall.

  Bethany was asleep when Monika came into the house. She was crashed out on the sofa, looking very young. Monika, feeling an unaccustomed twinge of guilt, decided to carry her to bed. As she picked her up she clocked the ring and the fifty pounds underneath the cushion the girl was using as a pillow.

  Bethany was woken roughly then the whole sorry tale was told. Monika, however, wasn’t interested in her daughter’s foray into thieving, she was more interested in the fact that Kira the wonder child had been left in the house alone. Miracles would never cease.

  Still smarting from previous events, she set the rumour mill running almost immediately. Joanie had left her Kira, the one with the learning difficulties, alone.

  It was, for Monika, sweet revenge.

  Joanie had her kids, her job, now she even had that fat ponce at her beck and call. Her, Joanie, a brass who was no better than Monika was herself. Yet everyone liked her, had always liked her.

  Well, Monika had found a chink in her armour and she would use it, let people know that Joanie wasn’t as snow white as she made herself out to be.

  After all, who the hell did Joanie Brewer think she was?>

  The sad part was, Monika knew that whatever else Joanie Brewer might be, she was ten times the mother she herself could ever hope to be and that was what rankled the most.

  Monika’s elder daughter had nothing to do with her and soon Bethany would follow suit. It was a hard life for women like her, and she had made it harder still by taking absolutely no interest in anything other than herself. That, unfortunately, was how it had always been. Her kids raised themselves and Monika sat back with a drink in her hand and left them to it.

  Joanie walked into the block of flats feeling happy with her evening out. Even though it had been slightly marred by her own silly comment, she had still enjoyed herself. She could smell Paulie all over her and was loath to bathe it away. She loved being with him, and knowing that a few words out of place had brought things to an abrupt end hurt her. She should remember that to be close to Paulie, you pretended you were anything but. He liked her to act as if she was just a mate. A good mate admittedly, but a mate nonetheless.

  As she let herself in she was smiling broadly. He had told her to come back to work tomorrow night bright and early. He thought she was doing a good job with the parlour and she was pleased that she was doing so well. If she could sort out the kids and her private life as well she would be truly happy. But until then she would concentrate on work, on getting in there tomorrow and making a go of the place, once and for all. In fact, she was looking forward to it.

  Jon Jon’s face as she walked into the lounge told her that things had just taken a turn for the worse.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  His mother’s voice was resigned. Looking at her, Jon Jon felt sad for what he had to say.

  ‘Jeanette left her on her own. I think she’s given Kira some kind of pills, I can barely wake her up.’

  Joanie was struggling to comprehend what was being said to her.

  ‘Jeanette what?’

  Jon Jon sighed as he explained once more.

  ‘Jeanette, our Jeanette, has drugged our Kira?’

  The disbelief was there again, along with devastation at what she was hearing. Jon Jon explained it all in greater detail.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Joanie’s voice was flat-sounding, almost muffled by anger.

  ‘She’s gone, Mum.’

  Joanie looked puzzled.

  ‘What do you mean, gone?’

  He shrugged and said harshly, ‘Gone. I threw her out.’

  Joanie screwed up her eyes as she said incredulously, ‘You what?’

  Jon Jon sat down beside her.

  ‘She is out, Mum, and she ain’t coming back here. Not now, not ever. She stepped over the line tonight, the two-faced little bitch! A social worker came . . .’

  He saw his mother’s face blanch. She was shaking her head.

  ‘No, Jon Jon, they didn’t see Kira had been left on her Jack Jones? That’s all we fucking need!’

  He explained how he had told the woman he had only been gone twenty minutes, that he was the responsible adult who was taking care of his sister. He tried to settle his mother down with reassurances but the truth couldn’t be disguised.

  ‘She drugged Kira?’

  He nodded.

  ‘That’s what it looks like, Mum. I found four Temazepam in her bedroom drawer. I assume she got them off her piece-of-shit mate over in the maisonettes. Another cunt who’ll be getting a visit from me.’

  His words made Joanie think of where her daughter must have gone.

  ‘Jasper?’

  It was a question but the fear she felt was in her voice as she uttered his name.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, he’s OK. If he wants her that bad, he can have her. I’m taking all her gear over there in a minute.’

  Joanie walked into Kira’s bedroom and stared down at her youngest child who didn’t seem any the worse for her latest ordeal. She was dogged by bad luck, this child. If poor Kira ever did anything it turned into a three-ring circus. Joanie only hoped her child’s life was not to be plagued by bad luck for ever.

  As she pushed her daughter’s hair back from her forehead and looked at her beautiful face, she wondered at a sister who could drug and leave someone so small and vulnerable - and all for a worthless bullyboy like Jasper Copes.

  Joanie would have forgiven her eldest daughter a lot, but feeding Kira Temazepam was the final blow. If she wanted Jasper Copes so much, so be it. Jeanette could live with him and all it entailed, including his drunk of a mother and all his racist mates. The only decent member of the family was his sister Junie
, and she had had to live her mother down all her life. But then, Joanie had had to live her own mother down so she could sympathise with the child on that score. But the Copeses’ filthy house and the mother’s drunkenness were Jeanette’s problem now and Joanie felt she never wanted to lay eyes on her again.

  Was the girl so stupid she didn’t see her own heritage would always be there between them? Her father had been a Muslim, a nice enough fellow but a Berserk all the same. And that Turkish blood was in Jeanette whether she liked it or not.

  But Jon Jon was right: let them have her because Joanie had taken just about all she could. Jeanette was fifteen soon and was already out of control; always had been if her mother was honest. She was selfish, arrogant and ignorant, and she was never going to change. Jealous too of this poor child who needed all the help she could get. But then, that was Jeanette all over: self, self, fucking self.

  Joanie put her hands over her face and cried like she had never cried before. All night she had had an inexplicable conviction that her life was at a turning point. Out with Paulie she’d thought it was for the better; now though she was not so sure.

  It was as if a dark cloud was hanging over them all. As stupid as it was to believe in such things, it felt more real to her at this moment than every punter who had ever passed between her legs, and they were legion.

  If Jeanette stood in front of her now Joanie would rip her to pieces so it was just as well she wasn’t. She only hoped Jasper Copes was worth the hurt he had caused because she had a feeling he wasn’t worth the proverbial wank.

  She sobbed all night until in the end Jon Jon shouted at her, but she could hear frustration and fear in his voice rather than anger.

  Joanie did a lot of things when she was upset. She shouted, screamed, threw things, even cried. But this deep endless sobbing was a first. And Jon Jon didn’t know how to cope with it. With any of it.

  Paulie sat in the dark in his own lounge and sipped brandy poured from an antique crystal decanter. He stared around him. In the gloom the room looked eerie. Yet he knew that to most people, even if they did not consider it a comfortable room, this would be a place to admire. It was most definitely not a room to sit and relax in. He had never relaxed in his own home, not really. He always felt like an outsider here. It was mad because he’d provided all this for his wife and daughters. But they were separate from him somehow; existed beside him, not with him. He paid for everything and they smiled at him and occasionally thanked him. He knew no more about his girls now than he had when they were newborn babies.

  They were in the country again. They were always in the country these days and Paulie didn’t mind. He knew he should mind, but he didn’t. He never knew what to say to them when they were around. In the past he had gone down there for weekends; now he left them to it, only speaking occasionally on the phone to one or other of them. Of course, it normally was because they needed something. Usually something to do with the horses or a trip they were planning. He knew they called him Barclays behind his back and it had made him smile once. Not any more, though. It rang far too true these days.

  He thought of Joanie’s mad house, and then considered his own home with its three en-suite bathrooms and a garden you could lose a circus in. Yet it felt sterile, unused. Even his mother, on the few occasions she had been allowed through the front door, had observed that the Borgias would be better hosts.

  She had a point and all. Even he felt like an unwanted fart in a packed lift, and it was his fucking house, all bought and paid for by him!

  He poured more brandy and turned on one of the lights. The room took on a rosier hue, and suddenly he decided he was going to turn on every light in the house. He was laughing as he ran around, flooding the place with light.

  ‘Might as well have a fucking party!’

  He was hollering out into the empty rooms, seeing them all lit up for the first time ever. Lamps, overhead lights, even the garden and outside lights were turned on. He ran out on to the drive and looked at his house. It looked really welcoming for the first time he could remember.

  Inside once more, he drank the brandy in one large gulp, coughing with the after-burn as it made its way into his stomach.

  He wondered what Joanie would think of his house. She would love it, he knew that much. But he wondered what she would think if he told her he actually preferred to be round her flat with her mad dinner-party collection and her noisy kids who, although bastards, were also a lot like their mother: what you saw was what you got.

  He was sorry he had left her so early. He had been going to a club owned by a mate in King’s Cross but at the last minute had not fancied it. He wished she was here now so they could have a laugh and reminisce about the old days.

  It was crazy really, he had everything everyone else wanted: money, prestige, he was a face known to all and sundry. He commanded the best tables in restaurants, the respect of all his peers. Yet he would rather spend his time in the company of a small-time hustler and brass who had three kids by three different men and who sold her crump for a few quid to whoever cared to request it.

  He felt the sting of tears.

  What had his life come to when Joanie’s son meant more to him than his own flesh and blood, was like the son he had never had? Yet even if Paulie had been given a son, he knew the boy would have grown up as indifferent to his father as his daughters were. Sylvia would have seen to that.

  There was no love left on either side, and now he was being honest with himself he admitted that his daughters didn’t really love him either.

  Paulie sighed.

  What was there to love anyway? As someone had once pointed out, he was a deceiving, conniving whoremonger. How many times had he been called that before? Too many times really. Years ago it had made him laugh. Now he was reaping what he had sowed and it hurt. Sometimes, like tonight, it hurt so much it was almost a physical pain.

  He buried his head in the arm of the chair and said one word over and over: ‘Joanie.’

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Something was going on over there last night, I can tell you.’

  Joseph listened half-heartedly to his son’s chatter, glad that this was his last day here and consequently the last time he had to hear the saga of his son’s newfound mates the Brewers.

  It still rankled that because of them Joseph’s own behaviour was curtailed. He couldn’t do or say what he wanted any more. His vitriolic attacks on his son had become fewer because Jon Jon Brewer was liable to give him a dig if he upset their babysitter. Joseph couldn’t wait to get away. His son couldn’t wait for him to go. Each had a hidden agenda and each knew what the other’s was.

  But they had called a truce and so far it was working.

  ‘I think that Jeanette is a little mare - know the kind I mean, don’t you, Dad? Trouble, that is all that girl causes.’

  Joseph had tuned out his son’s chatter, only coming back to reality when he heard his plans for Kira.

  ‘You be careful with that girl . . . remember last time, the trouble?’

  His son gazed at him, that dead, unblinking stare that Little Tommy had had since he was a baby. It was unnerving, as if he was an empty vessel.

  Tommy moved then, walked over to his father and, leaning on the kitchen table, looked into his face as he said casually, ‘No. You remember it much better than I do, you go on about it all the time! Kira and me have something special. I love her, really love her. But not in a bad way. I leave that kind of love to the perverts.’

  ‘You don’t know what love is.’

  Tommy grinned.

  ‘What are you telling me? That you do?’

  His father dropped his eyes first and this did not go unnoticed by either of them. Joseph just wanted to get out of this place once and for all.

  There had been a subtle shifting of power here and his son was now the decision-maker. That fact alone made Joseph feel inadequate. It had taken him a long time to subdue his wife, but his son had been easy prey. Now, it was
as if he was coming out of a cocoon and what had emerged was a strong-minded individual with a nasty streak.

  It was definitely time for Joseph to move on.

  ‘By the way, tell your lady love that I will pop over once you are both settled in properly.’