by Mia Dolan
He was feeling nervous, but knew it was unwise to show weakness. He got a cigar out plus a gold-plated lighter.
Ronnie shook his head. ‘Sorry, no smoking. Mum doesn’t like it.’
Alan didn’t like being told what to do but recognised when he had no choice. Both cigar and lighter were put away.
The big guy sent out to guard his motor came back in, went to Reggie and whispered in his ear. Then he went out again.
Alan wondered what was said. He wasn’t long finding out.
‘You’ve got two girls in your car.’
Alan nodded. ‘My daughter and her friend. They wanted to do a bit of shopping.’
Ronnie appeared to relax. ‘Glad to hear it. Should always take care of the family, Alan. Know what I mean?’
‘I do indeed.’
‘Good.’ He leaned back, exchanged a look with his brother and laughed. ‘For a moment I thought they might be a couple of tarts.’
‘No offence,’ said Reggie, his teeth set in something between a grimace and a grin.
‘No offence taken,’ returned Alan.
He had no problem persuading them that his intentions were genuine. They expressed satisfaction that he’d come to him.
Alan congratulated himself. He struck a good deal and was told in no uncertain terms that their own boys would be waiting the next time his present ‘insurers’ came calling.
Alan congratulated himself. He was one step ahead of the game. His club was safe. His only problem was dealing with Tony’s reaction when he found out. There were tight family connections involved, but it couldn’t be helped. This was business. Tony had to understand that.
Heart in mouth, Marcie broached the subject she was dreading. ‘Look, Rita. Johnnie’s picking me up on Friday. We’re going away to Ramsgate, but I can’t go unless you cover for me. I’m sleeping over at your place. Right?’
Like a cat that’s stalking a sparrow, Rita narrowed her eyes. ‘For two nights? That’s a big lie for your dad to swallow. Besides, I don’t know whether I can.’
The fact that Rita was being awkward roused Marcie to anger and caused her to blurt out the unspoken truth. ‘Don’t be such a cow, Rita. I’ve done the same for you often enough. I still would be if Pete hadn’t dumped you.’
Rita’s soft-skinned complexion turned stiff. She might as well have been fashioned from stone.
‘He did not dump me! I dumped him!’
The damage was done. Marcie decided to go the whole hog and tell it as it was.
‘You are such a liar, Rita Taylor! You told him you were pregnant when you weren’t and he didn’t want to know. He dumped you. You did not dump him!’
Rita’s natural bravado melted like a chocolate mask. Suddenly she burst into tears. Marcie felt immediate remorse.
‘Oh, Rita. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. I know he meant a lot to you.’
Rita sobbed on her shoulder while Marcie patted her back.
Her dad came back, saw her crying and asked what the problem was.
His daughter straightened and promptly lied. ‘I got all overcome suddenly. We were talking about our mothers – our real ones, that is, not Babs or Steph. Old cows the pair of them.’
‘I wouldn’t exactly say that …’ Marcie couldn’t believe what she was saying, sticking up for her stepmother. They were hardly close. Rita was becoming aggravating of late. And selfish – very selfish.
Rita butted in. ‘Marcie wants me to lie for her on Friday and Saturday. She wants me to tell her dad that she’s staying with us, but she isn’t really. She’s going off with Johnnie, that rocker down from London.’
Alan turned in his seat. ‘Is that what you want?’
Marcie didn’t know what to say. Once again she was mortified that Rita was so forthright with her father.
He laughed. ‘Why not? Old Tony’s getting to be a miserable old sod. A girl deserves a bit of fun, I reckon. Of course we’ll lie for you.’
Rita looked dumbstruck. ‘But it wouldn’t be the truth.’
Alan grinned at his daughter. ‘Let’s face it, darling, you don’t always tell your dad the whole truth, do you now!’
Rita made a humphing sound and folded her arms across her ample chest. She pursed her lips. ‘You love Marcie more than me. And that’s the truth!’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. You’re my girl. Always have been, always will be. Tell you what, Rita. Come and sit in the front with your old dad.’
He patted his daughter’s plump knee just as he’d done to Marcie – though not so high up.
Rita jumped at the invitation. Marcie was ejected from the front seat and forced to sit in the back, not that she was worried about that. She watched as Rita flung her arms around her father’s neck and kissed his cheek.
‘You soft cow,’ said Alan and kissed her back. ‘Now let’s get going, shall we? Back to Sheep Dip by the Sea.’
He laughed at his own joke. Marcie had never heard him call Sheppey that before and in such a derogatory tone. He actually sounded as though he hated the place.
Still, none of her business.
It had been a long day. She slept all the way back, her head resting among Rita’s many purchases.
‘Come on, sleepy head. I want my stuff.’
Rita dragging the carrier bags from under her head woke her up.
‘Wait a moment, Marcie. I’ll get my girl and her stuff into the house then I’ll run you home. OK?’ said Alan, and winked at her.
She knew what he meant when he winked. Somewhere on the way home he’d stop, open the boot and hand over her new dress and shoes.
Marcie watched somewhat enviously as father and daughter approached the front door. They were so close. The only way to keep the envy at bay was to remind herself that he regarded her as a daughter too. It made her feel better, enough to throw him a welcoming smile when he returned.
When he invited her to sit beside him in the front passenger seat before they set off, she jumped at the chance. The rear seat was small. Falling asleep there meant a stiff neck and knees.
‘Don’t you worry about our Rita and you staying out the weekend. Go on and enjoy yourself. Leave your dad to me. I’ll make sure he’s kept busy.’
Marcie’s eyes shone with gratitude. ‘That would be great. I can’t thank you enough.’ The gratitude was echoed in her voice.
Alan stopped the car next to a farm gate. Straggly-coated sheep chewed the long salt-laden grass. On the other side of the road a barren piece of beach stretched between old concrete pilings. Offshore the old fortresses stood rusty and barren, the sea lapping at their rotting legs.
‘Let’s stretch our legs,’ said Alan.
He winked again.
She laughed. She knew what he meant. Let’s get your new purchases out of the boot.
‘Here you are.’
He took them from the boot and offered them. She hugged her two purchases to her chest.
‘You’re so good to me,’ she said sighing with satisfaction.
‘If you really want to show your appreciation, you can give me a kiss. A great big one. Is that possible?’
She laughed again. ‘Of course it is.’
He held out his arms. She knew she had to do the same. They hugged mutually, and while they did so, she kissed him on the cheek.
‘A real kiss,’ he added, suddenly holding her at arm’s length. ‘Seeing as I’m lying for you this weekend.’
It embarrassed her to kiss his lips and to feel the pressure of his teeth against his mouth, kissing her back. He hugged her like a grizzly bear.
He didn’t force her to kiss again but stood looking pensive as he stroked her hair back from her face.
‘This boy, Johnnie. What do you know about him?’
‘He’s from London.’
‘And?’
She had to admit she knew nothing much except that he’d had a motorbike for two years and that his dad was employed full time and was sometimes away. He’d never told her what he did for a
living. Come to think of it, Johnnie had never told her exactly what he did for a living either.
‘I push bits of paper about and sometimes work in a motorcycle shop,’ was all he’d admitted to.
‘His name’s Johnnie Hawke.’
Alan narrowed his eyes. The name meant nothing.
‘I’d like to see you in that dress and shoes,’ he said suddenly. ‘How about you give me a fashion show, right here and now?’
Marcie blushed. ‘But I couldn’t undress here.’
‘There’s no one around – except me, that is. Oh,’ he said pulling a face. ‘You’re quite the young lady, but I promise I won’t peek. Honest I won’t. Tell you what; I’ll pull the boot up. You can change behind there and I’ll sit here in the front. You can shout out ready or not, if you like. On the other hand you can come round to the front of the car and give me a fashion show.’
His suggestion seemed innocent enough.
‘Alright! I will.’
Excited to show off her new outfit, she waited until he’d opened the boot and lifted the lid. As promised, he went back and sat in his place at the wheel.
After checking to make sure there was nobody around, she stripped down to her undies. Back at the shop she’d noticed that the dress had cut-back sleeves which meant her bra straps were exposed. She removed her bra and pulled the dress over her head. Then she tried on the shoes. They were burgundy patent and had low enough heels to be the height of fashion.
Dancing round to the front of the car, she could see that Alan held his hand so it shaded his eyes. He’d kept his promise not to peek.
‘What do you think?’
She twirled on the spot.
‘Very nice. You’ve got the figure for it.’
Alan Taylor was telling the absolute truth about the dress suiting her figure for he’d seen her strip down to her pants and take off her bra. Thanks to the strategically placed rear-view mirror, he’d seen her sweet young breasts in all their rounded beauty. It was tempting to press himself on her right now, but he knew it wasn’t the right time. Let her have her fun with this Johnnie bloke. It wouldn’t last – he’d make sure of that. And once it did come to an end, he’d be offering his shoulder to cry on – and much more besides.
Chapter Twenty-six
Alan Taylor was true to his word. Picking her up in his car he confirmed she was spending the weekend under his roof with Rita.
Rosa Brooks was trimming the privet hedge when the sleek green car came to a halt at the kerb. She stopped when she saw him, her eyes narrowing as she attempted to study his face through the gleaming glass windscreen.
He got out and gave her a wave. ‘Keeping well, Mrs Brooks?’
She nodded. ‘Well enough.’ No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t warm to Alan Taylor. Yes, he’d been of some assistance on her son’s release from prison. He’d even provided him with a job, if you could call cleaning cars and sweeping the showroom much of a job. For Tony’s sake she had not criticised, but smiled as though she agreed with him when he said that Alan Taylor was the salt of the earth. Too much salt can be poisonous.
A smiling Marcie hurtled out of the house clutching her brother’s navy blue duffel bag which seemed to be stuffed to bursting.
On her way to the gate her granddaughter leaned over the navy blue Pedigree pram where Annie was just stirring from an afternoon nap.
‘Bye, bye, Annie. See you on Sunday.’
She stopped to kiss her grandmother.
Rosa nodded an acknowledgement. Her brows knitted in a troubled frown as she watched Marcie get into the car. Deep inside, she knew beyond doubt that her granddaughter would be leaving the family nest before very long. Something brushed against her arm. Anyone else would say it was just a privet twig catching her sleeve. But she knew better.
‘She is too young to leave home, Cyril.’
The breeze snatched her voice along with the snipped leaves and twigs, sending them dancing over the grass.
‘Did you say something?’
She turned to see Tony standing behind her. He’d lifted young Annie from the pram. Somewhat forgetting what she’d been thinking, she smiled at the blue-eyed, fair-haired child. Her son was so different in colouring from his daughters. He was typically of Mediterranean origin, whereas Annie and Marcie both had blue eyes and blonde hair. And yet Marcie’s features bore a resemblance to her father and grandmother. Whereas Annie’s features were …
Her head swivelled back round in time to see Marcie waving from Alan Taylor’s car. She caught a glimpse of Alan Taylor waving at her through the windscreen. He had fair hair and blue eyes.
‘I was speaking to your father,’ referring back to Tony’s question.
It was a family joke that she could often be heard talking to herself. Whenever she was asked she always said that she’d been talking to her dead husband.
‘And what did he have to say?’
Rosa Brooks pursed her lips. She could tell by her son’s tone that he was wearing an amused expression. Humour the old girl.
‘He said that it wasn’t only chickens that lost their heads.’
Everything else about that Friday night paled into insignificance once Marcie was on the pillion of the Triumph Bonneville, her head leaning against Johnnie’s back, her arms around his waist.
The evening blue washed into indigo as they sped along the road to Ramsgate, reaching the campsite by about eleven that night.
Putting the tent up was a feverish exercise and done with the least amount of fuss or conversation. Eventually they fell onto their sleeping bags. Their arms wrapped quickly around each other by the light of a battery operated torch.
‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ said Marcie after extricating her lips from the first deep kiss of the night.
‘Don’t tell me you’re up the spout,’ said Johnnie. ‘We haven’t done it enough for that to happen.’
‘Of course not.’ Marcie too had heard that you couldn’t possibly get into trouble right away. ‘I bought Rita’s birth control pills seeing as she won’t need them any more.’
‘That’s great!’
‘I started taking them last weekend so it should be OK.’
He showered her with kisses. ‘Even better.’
‘I think I’m supposed to be careful until I’ve taken a week’s worth,’ she managed to blurt between kisses. Rita had been less than forthcoming with the instructions.
‘That’s a shame.’
He stopped kissing her and sounded very disappointed. It made her feel as though she was being a spoil sport and she certainly didn’t want to be that. She’d been looking forward to this weekend and knew he had too.
‘I’m not sure if it’s true, though. You know what Rita’s like. If it’s not dinner time she doesn’t always pay attention.’
Johnnie laughed. ‘She does like her food, doesn’t she? Pete reckoned she ruined his back suspension with her weight.’
‘That’s not a nice thing to say.’
‘But it’s true.’
Marcie sat up. ‘Don’t say that. Rita’s my friend.’
Johnnie lay looking up at her. His hand reached for the nape of her neck. As he began drawing circles with his fingers, his touch had the desired effect. Shivers of delight ran like cold water down her spine.
‘Can we forget Rita?’
Marcie shrugged.
‘Everyone else can go to hell,’ Johnnie went on. ‘Tonight’s for us. Right? We’ll just have to be careful.’
He ran his hand down her back and back up but beneath her jumper this time. His fingers found her bra fastening.
She didn’t know how he did it, but with a flick of one finger the hooks parted from the eyes, the bra became loose and her breasts were free. The hand that had been drawing circles on the nape of her neck now slid between her arm and her ribs and cupped her breast. A thumb and forefinger tweaked her nipple.
Marcie closed her eyes and shivered. Sexual longing was indescribable. It was like being
devoured whole; and she wanted to be devoured. She wanted everything her body wanted. She wanted Johnnie, now and for ever.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Tony Brooks was polishing cars at the showroom when the phone rang. Alan was down at the pub having lunch with someone he described as an old friend, which in Alan’s parlance probably meant it was his bit of stuff on the side – or rather one of his bits of stuff on the side.
Tony knew him well. Alan had always had an eye for a nice piece of skirt. He’d been much the same himself when he was younger, which was why they’d clicked years back and were still friends now.
Joyce who manned the switchboard waved at him from behind the glass screen that shielded her office from the car showroom where Jags rubbed shoulders with Ford Zodiacs. Signs saying ‘One Careful Owner’ meant they were all ex-company cars, their mileage turned back to make the statement more believable.
Joyce was pointing her finger at the receiver and then at the black phone hanging on the wall in the corner. The call was for him.
After downing his polish and cloths, Tony wandered over to the corner, picked up the phone and said hello.
‘It’s me. Your cousin Xavier.’
Xavier wasn’t exactly a cousin, more a second cousin about twice removed, but he was family – of more than one kind. Xavier regarded Rosa as his aunt, mainly because his grandfather had lived a stone’s throw from her father back in the old country.
‘What’s up?’ said Tony. It wasn’t usual for anyone from the East End to contact him unless there was a job in the offing. He wondered what it was.
‘Your friend has gone over to the opposition.’
The line went dead. Tony put the phone down. He didn’t need to hear any more. Alan had jettisoned his Maltese relatives and arranged to pay his regular protection money to the Krays. Now where did that leave him? Pissed off! Very pissed off! Unbeknown to Alan he’d been getting a ten per cent kickback from his Maltese ‘cousins’.
Grinding his jaw in frustration he walked back to the half-polished Jaguar, Alan Taylor’s pride and joy, opened the driver’s side door and snatched the keys from the ignition.
