The Runaway

by Martina Cole

  Betty nodded. ‘I bet she’s a beauty. Cathy was stunning as a child - really stunning. I envied Madge that little girl, I really did. Maybe I should have taken her over . . . Madge probably would have let me. But the past’s the past, isn’t it? Not a lot you can do about it once it’s gone.’

  Desrae shook his head sadly. ‘No, you’re right there. Leave the past in the past, as my old Joey used to say, Gawd love him. We’ll all look out for Cathy and then she’ll be fine, eh?’

  Betty smiled, happier now she felt someone else was involved. ‘You’re a very nice woman, Miss Desrae, Cathy was lucky to have found you.’ The words were sincere and Desrae smiled sadly.

  ‘No, I was the lucky one. But thank you all the same.’

  He showed her to the door then picked up the phone. There was only one person to deal with this effectively, and that was Susan P. If anyone could sort out this mess, then she was the woman to do it.

  Madge looked terrible. As she walked along the Roman Road, people stared at her. Years before she would have known everyone, and indeed she recognised a good few faces now but she knew no one would recognise her. Her face, striped up in prison, had puckered scars along each cheek. Her hair was grey, straggly and unkempt. Her eyes had disappeared into the bags beneath them.

  She looked what she was, and she knew it.

  As she hit the second-hand stall she sorted through the clothes, looking for a dress or a suit, a good coat and maybe a pair of shoes. Her clothes from prison were well past their sell-by date and she knew she needed to tidy herself up.

  Especially if she was going to see her girl. Madge smiled at the thought.

  A woman looking for a new top jostled her and Madge, used to prison life, knocked her flying with one meaty forearm.

  The stallholder stared in amazement at the old lady with the face like the back end of a bus. ‘Calm yourself down, love . . .’ Her words were cut off by the expression on the old woman’s face. Madge looked ferocious, and her scars, a sure sign to any East Ender of a prison sentence served, stilled the stallholder’s tongue.

  Madge carried on looking, undisturbed. After twenty minutes she had what she wanted, and when she bartered the stallholder down the woman didn’t say a word. As Madge moved away with her purchases, the woman looked after her and breathed a sigh of relief. The youngsters were aggressive enough, without old-age pensioners jumping on the bleeding bandwagon!

  Madge stayed down the Roman all afternoon, enjoying the familiar sights and smells. She treated herself to a few eels and ate them standing by the stall, eyes taking in everything around her.

  She was really out, she was home. But she still had old scores to settle and settle them she would.

  Betty made them a pot of tea. She had arrived home before Madge which had pleased her. Her friend need not know she had been anywhere.

  ‘Had a nice time, duck? The clothes look a treat on you. She does a good deal that young Marion, doesn’t she? Got meself a lovely lambswool coat off her last year.’

  Madge nodded and sipped at her tea.

  ‘Come on, cheer up,’ Betty urged. ‘You’re out now. Soon you’ll have your own little place, and can pick up your life again.’

  Madge stared at her friend for a while and then she began to laugh. It was a chilling sound that made Betty uneasy all over again.

  ‘Give over, Madge, that wasn’t meant as a joke.’

  She stopped laughing. Her voice hard, she said: ‘But it is a joke, isn’t it?’ Her face took on a mock-puzzled expression then. ‘I mean, I do the time for my daughter - my daughter the whoremaster - and she gets a good life, a nice husband, money, respectability, the whole fucking enchilada. And what the fuck do I get, eh? Fuck all, that’s what. And you can’t see the joke, Betty? You must be losing your sense of humour in your old age. I find it fucking hilarious, personally.

  ‘But I’ll sort her out, don’t you worry about that,’ she said ferociously. ‘I’ll sort her out once and for all. The spawn of the fucking devil her! Never knew a real day’s peace from the moment I birthed her. Should have put her down the toilet like I did the others.’

  Betty was shocked and this made Madge laugh again.

  ‘All those fucking years and not a word from her. You don’t know what it’s like inside, Betty. It destroys you a little bit more every day. I had a long time to think about what that little mare did to me, and I’ll repay her, don’t you worry about that.’

  Betty felt the sting of tears. Where was the old Madge? Where was the slapdash, haphazard friend she’d had for so long?

  ‘Coming up the pub?’ Madge’s voice was normal again.

  Betty nodded. There was a phone there and she knew she had to get some help. She could no longer cope with Madge Connor on her own.

  Madge and Betty sat in The Two Puddings in Stratford, sipping port and lemon. Madge had wanted to see it again after all the years inside. They had cabbed it there and now sat quietly watching the world go by.

  ‘It’s all changed, Betty,’ Madge was saying. ‘I mean, when they gave me the twenty quid as I left I thought I had a fucking fortune, but it’s fuck all these days, isn’t it? The price of everything is astronomical. How young girls manage with a couple of kids, I don’t know.’

  Betty nodded in agreement. ‘I know, the prices are a joke. It’s that Margaret Thatcher I blame. Whoever voted her in needs treatment, if you ask me.’

  Madge finished her drink. ‘Bit posh in here and all if you ask me - full of them yuppies by the looks of it. Read about them in the papers I did. The money they earn!’

  Betty smiled. This was more like it, Madge was talking normally again. ‘You seem a bit better, love,’ she said.

  Madge smiled, and there was a glimmer of a resemblance to the girl she had once been. ‘I am better now I have a plan. Yes, I feel much more relaxed.’

  Just then, a young man walked past their table on the way to the toilets and eyed them with derision.

  ‘Had your fucking look, you ugly little cunt?’ Madge’s voice was loud and hard. The people in the bar turned to stare at her. The boy was shocked which suited Madge. Her face was screwed up into a mask of hatred.

  ‘Go on, piss off,’ she bawled. ‘Go and pull yourself, bleeding plonker. And on your way back, don’t you dare look in my direction again.’

  Betty was red with embarrassment and shock. ‘Leave it out, Madge, it ain’t the old days now. You can get nicked for threatening behaviour these days.’

  ‘Up yours, Betty,’ Madge said scornfully, ‘and up his and all. Who did he think he was, looking at me like I was a piece of dirt? Who’s he, for fuck’s sake, that makes him better than me? Answer me that one if you can.’

  Betty was distressed. ‘Come on, I’ll get us another drink.’ She walked up to the bar, keeping her eye on the door.

  The barmaid said softly, ‘You’ll have to keep that old dear in line or you’re both out, love. I can’t have me customers spoken to like that.’

  Betty mumbled an apology and ordered the drinks, all the time thinking that Carlos the Jackal would be hard put to keep Madge in line.

  When the door opened and Richard Gates walked through it, Betty felt as though she had been given the keys to the Bank of England. Never in her life had she been so pleased to see anyone, especially an Old Bill.

  Madge saw him too. She glared across at Betty and shook her fist threateningly.

  Richard said quietly: ‘Long time no see, Madge.’

  She stared up at him, and he saw the ravages that time had inflicted on her face.

  ‘Not long enough for me, mate.’ Animosity was coming off her in waves.

  As he escorted her from the premises, Betty followed them, leaving the drinks on the bar. Outside, Susan P was waiting in her Lotus. Richard put Madge into the back seat and climbed in beside her. Betty watched as her friend was driven away, feeling she had done something bad, very bad. But she knew that if Madge had hurt Cathy, she would never have forgiven herself.

  G
oing back into the pub, she drank both her drink and Madge’s, giving her friend a final toast as she did so. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be seeing old Madge again.

  ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t Mr Gates, the villain’s friend. I might have guessed I’d see you at some point.’

  Richard ran one hand over his bald head. ‘You’re a complete prat, Madge. You’ll never change, will you?’

  She snorted and then said nastily, ‘And how are you, Miss P? All right, are you? You both look like you’re doing very well. Nice cars, nice clothes. The scene has definitely changed since I’ve been away, eh? Even me daughter seems to be somebody now. Well, let me tell you this: you’re all nothings, nobodies. Outside the Smoke no one’s heard your names, or even knows you exist. You’re big fishes in a little pond.’

  Susan P watched the old woman in her mirror, wondering what the hell they were going to do with her now they had her.

  ‘You’re to leave Cathy alone. If we thought you wanted to see her because you’re her mother and she’s your child, we’d take you to her. But you don’t, do you, Madge? You want to hurt her. As if you didn’t do enough to hurt her in the past.’ Richard’s voice was low, barely audible. The quieter his voice became, the more deadly he was. Madge knew this and kept her peace. Then suddenly she exploded.

  ‘Fuck you, Gates, and fuck you an’ all, you lesbian bitch. I have nothing to lose any more. Nothing at all. You don’t scare me, any of you. She owes me, the little whore, and now I’m going to collect. Her clubs and her kid and her nice husband . . . when did she ever give a shit about me, I ask you? I grafted for that little mare, I flogged my arse to keep her clothed and fed.’

  Madge actually believed what she was saying, Richard and Susan P realised in shock.

  ‘I gave up the best years of my life for her, and now she wants to blank me out like I never even existed. Well, she can’t. I done a lot of bird for that little madam and the thought of her doing well gets right up my fireman’s.’

  Richard sighed. ‘You have already broken your parole agreement. I can get you banged up again tonight. You were supposed to go and stay in the accommodation allocated to you by Social Services. Instead you did a runner. Now I’m going to take you back to the nick with me and let that be an end to it. If I recommend you have another assessment in, say, one year and go back inside pro tem, they’ll listen to me, Madge. I’ll say you’re a danger to your daughter and grand-daughter. I’ll tell them you threatened me, say I think you’re a danger to the public. Then, when you’re banged up once more . . .’

  Susan P interrupted him then. ‘I’ll see to it that you get your just deserts in prison.’

  Madge grinned. ‘Fuck you, lady.’

  Susan P screeched the car to a halt by the kerb. Turning in her seat, she grabbed Madge by the hair and, dragging her face towards her own, said viciously: ‘No, Madge, it’s fuck you, because if I choose to, you’ll fucking die, lady. And you know I can make that happen. I looked after you in that nick. I saw to it you was left alone. Because Cathy asked me to, wanted me to. You know she couldn’t visit, she was on the run. And later, though I could have arranged it, I knew you were too vicious an old crone to let her see you. So just watch yourself, lady, because if Cathy gets so much as a fucking cold, I’ll blame you.’

  Madge was shocked. ‘I’m getting all the blame as usual, am I?’ she whined. ‘You don’t know her. You’ll all learn as I did what she’s really like . . .’

  Susan P pushed her back into her seat and sighed. ‘Tell her the score, Richard, I want to go home.’

  ‘OK. You’re going on a little journey, Madge. Fancy that, do you? Or would you rather go straight back in clink?’

  He smiled at her expression. Let her sweat, it’d do her good. All he wanted was her well out of the way, somewhere he could keep an eye on her. Prison was not the place for her now. She needed help and he was going to see she got it.

  Cathy was wary for a while but after a few months, thoughts of her mother faded from her mind. She believed that Madge had decided to leave her alone and get on with her own life. In a way, she was sad. She had wanted to see her, talk to her. But it obviously was not to be. Gradually her life hit an even keel and she began to live once more. Richard and Susan never told her anything, and nor did Desrae.

  They had all decided that in this matter ignorance was bliss so far as Cathy was concerned.

  BOOK SIX

  ‘Come, let us take our fill of love until the morning, let us solace ourselves with love. For the goodman is not home, he is gone a long journey’

  - Proverbs, 7, xviii

  ‘Liberavi animam meam’ ‘I have freed my soul’

  - St Bernard, 1090-1153

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  NEW YORK 1995

  Cathy walked out of Saks on Fifth Avenue laden down with bags. She felt full of beans. Springtime always made her feel good as if life were beginning again and everyone had a new chance.

  That morning she had walked through Central Park alone, watching the rollerbladers, enjoying a cigarette and coffee from a street vendor, and watching the world go by. Everywhere was budding, becoming beautiful. The grass was greener than ever, the trees being slowly dressed for the summer with leaves, and the sun was strong, making even the Atlantic wind bearable.

  She had come to love New York, to love America. In the eight years she had visited regularly she had become a New Yorker in as far as she knew the city well. It was now a second home to her. So much so that a year before she had bought herself a loft apartment off Bleccker Street. It reminded her of London’s Soho, and the artists and trendy young men and women who thronged the streets made her feel at home.

  She ate in Chinatown, a light lunch of Chow Mein and prawns washed down with herbal tea, then walked with her purchases toward Little Italy where she was to meet Eamonn at 2.30. As she strolled through the crowded streets she smiled at people and the usually abrupt New Yorkers smiled back. Maybe it was her sunny countenance, or maybe the coming of spring had affected them too.

  As Cathy walked into The Baker’s Bar she spotted Anthony Baggato. ‘No Eamonn then?’

  Anthony loved her. He loved her face, her hair and her British accent. ‘He’ll be here soon, princess, let me get you a drink.’

  He snapped his fingers and a waitress came over to them. She was dressed in a brief black dress and impossibly high heels. Cathy smiled at her.

  ‘I’ll have a glass of white wine, please.’

  The girl took the order and both Cathy and Anthony watched as she sashayed back to the counter.

  Cathy laughed out loud. ‘You’re terrible, Anthony.’

  He held up his arms in a gesture of resignation. ‘I look, I wish, I enjoy. At my age it’s the only excitement I get, for Christ’s sake.’

  He was now huge. In his early sixties, he weighed over eighteen stone. As he spoke he still watched the girl. She was all of twenty with a hard, petulant expression about her lovely face.

  ‘I don’t know, Cathy, how much shopping can a woman do? Every time I see you, you’re laden down with packages. I hope you make that Irish putz pay for it all?’

  ‘I’m an independent woman. I earn my own money and spend my own money.’

  Anthony played the Sicilian then. Jokingly he raised his shoulders and said loudly: ‘Why couldn’t I have found someone like you? My wife shops constantly and all she buys is crap. My home, a million-dollar apartment, is full of crap. That’s why I never go there.’ Anthony had traded in the last but one wife five years before. His new wife was twenty-eight, a chorus-girl type with full red lips, collagen enhanced, and a pair of breasts that defied the laws of gravity.

  Eamonn came into the bar, and as he saw Cathy his spirits soared. She looked, as usual, good enough to eat. Dressed in a tight white suit, showing off her legs and well-turned ankles, she was as gorgeous as any movie star.

  He was still entranced by her eight years on in their relationship. Today, despite all his worries - and th
ey were legion - she still gave him a boost.

  ‘So, I catch you together again. What is it with you two, eh? You seeing Anthony behind my back or what?’

  They all laughed as Cathy replied, ‘Well, I’m just glad we’ve been found out. It’s been such a strain keeping a secret.’ She sipped her wine as the men talked business.

  Anthony said, ‘What’s the rub with Igor?’

  Eamonn shrugged. ‘He’s the same as usual. Same shit as usual.’

  Anthony laughed. ‘So what you’re telling me is, the red shit has not yet hit the fan?’

  ‘The emphasis being on yet,’ Eamonn said gloomily.

  Both men looked worried for a moment and then Eamonn brightened. ‘We’ve still got plenty of time, and if push comes to shove I’ll sort it out myself. It’s not as if I haven’t done it before.’

  ‘What’s all this then?’ Cathy enquired. ‘You always seem to talk in riddles.’

  The two men looked at her, and Cathy saw the tension around their eyes as they smiled at her.

  ‘Never mind about it, honey, it’s all crap.’ Anthony stood up with difficulty. ‘I’d better be off, I have to meet Jack soon.’

  He kissed Cathy’s hand in a gentlemanly gesture. ‘Until we meet again. And don’t forget, baby, when you’re sick of this schmuck, give me a call. What time’s your flight tomorrow?’

  ‘Eight-fifteen - in the morning that is.’ She grimaced. ‘I really don’t want to go, Anthony, but duty and business call. As you know yourself.’

  ‘That’s one hell of a club you have there. I enjoyed it when I came over. Eight-fifteen, you say?’ He looked at Eamonn, a hard penetrating stare. ‘So you’re off to London tomorrow? Well, then, goodbye. Until the next time.’

  As he left the bar Cathy and Eamonn watched him go. He lumbered these days, but still had his old commanding presence.