Dangerous Lady

by Martina Cole

  Maura shrugged.

  ‘I suppose so. Still, he won’t be around much longer.’

  Kelly smiled and poured them both out another drink.

  ‘I can guarantee that. Now drink up. You look as if you need it.’

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  November 1986

  Michael’s body was being lowered into the ground. It was a freezing cold day. A fine rain had been falling all morning and overhead dark clouds were gathering for the storm that would erupt later in the afternoon. Maura was not crying. Her eyes scanned the crowd of people; over a hundred had turned out for Michael’s funeral. She noticed that the hostesses were out in force. Some of them had stopped working over twenty years previously but stood now with their younger counterparts, in their smart coats and brightly made-up faces, looking genuinely sad. It pleased Maura to see them there. They remembered the strong, vibrant Michael of his youth.

  Her eyes wandered to Geoffrey who was standing to the right of the grave. Maura could see he was crying, tears streaming down his face. He stood beside their mother, who was stony-faced and dry-eyed. Maura felt an urge to walk around the open grave and throw him in on top of the brother he had helped to murder. If it had not been for him, no one need be here today. Michael would be in his office as he always was, bright and early, no matter what time he had got to bed the night before. She only hoped that wherever Michael was he would see Geoffrey’s death. She smiled to herself. It was to be the typical IRA assassination for informers. Kneecapped first and then a single shot to the back of the head. Ten days after the funeral, Kelly had said.

  Geoffrey raised his gaze from his brother’s coffin and locked eyes with his sister. He thought for one moment that she was smiling at him and smiled back at her tremulously. Then, when she dropped her eyes, he realised that the breach with Maura would never be healed. Geoffrey knew that he had opened up a can of worms that was going to be the finish of him. All his years of planning and watching and listening had been to no avail. When he had set the ball rolling for Michael’s death he had regretted it almost immediately. He would give his own life now to have him back.

  Maura stared into the gaping hole. Michael was down there in a wooden box and he would never be coming home. She hated Geoffrey with a vengeance now. If she had let Michael finish him when he had wanted to, maybe it could all have been avoided. If someone had told her a month ago that she would be the instigator of one of her own brothers’ deaths, she would have protested vehemently. Now she could not wait for it to happen.

  She saw that people were watching Geoffrey pityingly as he cried and that only made her anger more intense. She was disgusted. She turned her face away and buried it in William Templeton’s coat. He held her tightly to him, murmuring into her hair.

  ‘It’s all right. Everything will be all right.’

  Sarah Ryan was watching her daughter. She noticed that Carla was as usual close by her. Sarah herself had Geoffrey on the left of her and her grandson Benny on her right. She reached out her arm and placed it across her grandson’s shoulders. He shrugged her off. At almost eleven years of age he thought that he was too old to be cuddled, thought that he was a man. He wished he had been allowed to stand with his father and his uncles. He had loved his Uncle Michael, and although he did not know it, was the double of him as a child. He had the same features, expressions, everything. He also had the same quirk to his nature that Michael had had. Sarah and Janine both doted on him and did not realise that he was turning into a greater misogynist by the day.

  Sarah concentrated on her only daughter. She wished that she was burying her today. As bad as Michael had been she had preferred him to her daughter. In Sarah’s mind men were a violent breed. It was a fact of life. While women should be strong but never violent.

  She’d watched women brawling in the street - ‘old shawlies’ as the olden day Irish women had been called. Her own mother had been known as the most argumentative woman in Shepherd’s Bush. But Sarah could never condone her daughter’s way of life. She could not see what should have been staring her in the face: that Michael and Maura were as one, twins born years apart. She could not see that her daughter had loved her brother wholly and desperately. She could not see that Maura had been slowly dying inside since she was sixteen and had experienced the pain of rejection by Terry Petherick and the agony of having her baby scraped from her body. That all the pain and hurt had had to come out at some time. In some way Sarah herself had pushed the memory of the abortion into the back of her mind. If she ever did think about it she soothed her own guilt by telling herself that a child from her daughter’s body should never have been allowed to walk the earth.

  Terry Petherick and two other policemen were sitting in an unmarked car by the funeral cortège, jotting down the names and car numbers of everyone at the funeral that they recognised or were unsure of. From another car a police photographer was taking photos. In spite of everything, all the policemen were impressed by the number of influential people who had turned up to pay their last respects. It showed them also that Michael Ryan had had a lot of pull to get such a turn out.

  The Shakespeare Set, also known as the Dear and Dahling Brigade, were all there: so-called respectable actors and actresses who lived on the fringes of the London gangster scene. There was the usual smattering of over-the-hill models, hoping to get their faces into the nationals once more and then sell their ‘my nights of love with gangland murderer’ story to the News of the World. Even though Michael Ryan was the best-known shirtlifter in the South East! Even after his death the sycophants and hangers-on were still after a little bit of reflected glory.

  Terry Petherick smiled to himself. He had noticed a few back-benchers looking solemn and nervous. I wonder how much they owe? he thought to himself, and carried on scanning the mourners. A good few boxers and sports promoters were there along with some big name gangsters from Liverpool and Birmingham. They had travelled down to show their faces and offer their condolences, and also to see how the land lay. Whether there would be an opening for them now. See if the Ryan family was as strong as before. Terry counted three QCs and two judges, one of whom had been drummed out of his profession because of a penchant for rent boys and child pornography. Quite a little cache, he mused. There were the usual blaggers, mainly small-time, in catalogue suits and nervous twitches, who would relive Michael’s funeral for years as the highlight of their criminal career. Give them a bit of pull if they ever got banged up again.

  Then Terry saw that the funeral was now over and people were making their way to their cars. That’s when he saw Maura. He felt the familiar tightening in his guts that she caused whenever he laid eyes on her. She was as lovely as ever and he relived in his mind the last night they had spent together. He was still unmarried, and it was because of this tall, stately, and utterly unscrupulous woman. He wound down the window of the car and the damp cold whipped at his face. He knew that she had seen him.

  Maura was walking towards her funeral car when she saw the face of the man she had alternately loved and hated watching her. William had his arm round her waist and felt her body stiffen. He held her tighter but she pulled away from him and walked to Terry’s car.

  ‘Bloody hell! They won’t do nothing to us, will they?’

  Terry could have laughed at the fear in the young PC’s voice, but was too busy watching Maura approach him. She spoke and her husky voice sent his pulses racing.

  ‘Hello, Terry. It’s been a long time.’

  ‘Hello, Maura. Too long.’ They stared at each other as if devouring one another with their eyes. The policemen and William Templeton were well aware of the spark that was flaring between them.

  ‘I’m sorry about your brother’s death.’

  As Terry spoke, Garry and Leslie came over to the car, accompanied by a drunken Lee. They were all incensed at the police and press being there. Outside the graveyard was a film crew who were recording all the famous people who had turned up. Michael dead was as newswort
hy as he had been alive.

  Garry leaned in at Terry’s open window.

  ‘Why don’t you fuck off? Mickey’s dead and you lot still won’t leave him alone.’

  Leslie and Lee stood aggressively behind him. The atmosphere was charged with malice.

  ‘Leave it, Garry!’ Maura’s voice was clipped and as hard as steel.

  He faced her angrily.

  ‘They’re plainclothes filth, Maws.’

  ‘Just shut it. I won’t have any aggravation today. Now get moving. People are beginning to stare at us.’

  Her voice dripped ice and Garry, Leslie and Lee were nonplussed for a moment. Lee, who was well away, did not grasp the warning in her voice. He lurched towards the car, belching loudly.

  ‘You wankers!’

  Maura grabbed his arm. Her hand was like a steel band. She spoke through gritted teeth.

  ‘Garry, you’d better take him away from me before I get really annoyed.’ She shoved Lee towards Garry and Leslie. ‘I’ll deal with you lot later. Now, take him and get out of my sight.’

  The two men took Lee away from the car hurriedly. Maura was watching the people around her. She knew that the confrontation had not gone unnoticed. She nodded her head to Terry and walked to her own car. She was fuming inside at Lee and Garry but her own brain was telling her that she had been a fool to stop and talk to Terry in the first place. But she could not help herself. Seeing him sitting there had brought it all back, the longing and the wanting that she had suppressed for nearly all her adult life.

  Sarah had witnessed Maura’s talk with the police and had taken a long hard look at Terry Petherick.

  He sat in the car watching Maura walk away from him. The other two policemen were terrified.

  ‘I thought we was all gonners there, sir.’

  Terry dragged his eyes from Maura’s retreating back and looked at the younger man.

  ‘No. You were quite safe, son. Even the Ryans wouldn’t murder in broad daylight.’

  His friend, DS Cranmer, walked over from the other police car. Opening the back door of Terry’s Sierra, he got inside. ‘I see your old bird stopped for a chat then?’

  Terry laughed. ‘Get stuffed, Cranmer.’

  As Cranmer chatted on Terry was wondering if he would ever live it down. It was the first thing any new officer was told when he came to Vine Street. And the funny thing was, nearly all of them were impressed by it. He shook his head at the double standards in his world.

  Maura reached her waiting car amid condolences and offers of help for the future. She noticed that William had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. When she finally stepped into her car Roy was waiting inside for her as she had asked him. She settled herself and tapped on the glass screen that separated them from the driver.

  He spoke to her over a microphone.

  ‘Yes, madam.’

  ‘Could you please take me to the Bramley Arms? We will not be going back to the house just yet.’

  The driver nodded and started up the limousine, leaving St Mary’s RC cemetery behind. When they arrived at the Bramley Arms a few minutes later they got out of the car and went straight into the back bar.

  On the table was a bottle of Remy Martin and two glasses. Maura slipped off her black coat and gloves. Sitting at the table, she poured out two stiff drinks.

  Roy sat beside her. He accepted the proffered drink and waited for her to speak.

  Maura gulped at the brandy. Getting out her ever-present cigarettes she lit one, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs. Roy noticed that her hands were trembling.

  ‘Did you notice Anthony’s and Benny’s graves? They look tatty. Remind me to get on to the cemetery officials.’

  Roy nodded at her. He could see that she was wound up to fever pitch.

  Maura looked into Roy’s open face. She realised how like Michael he looked. How all the boys looked like Michael. She felt an urge to cry. Really cry. She gulped at her drink again. Seeing Terry had re-opened old wounds.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you, Roy, as the next in line in age.’

  He looked shocked. ‘What about our Geoff?’

  Maura took a deep breath and slowly and precisely told Roy everything, glad of something to take her mind off Terry Petherick. Glad to be able to share her problem with someone . . . to be planning ahead. When she finished telling him he was white-faced and tight-lipped.

  ‘He tucked Mickey up? That’s what you’re telling me, ain’t it?’

  Maura nodded.

  ‘I’ll kill him, Maws! I’ll kill the bastard!’ He raised himself out of his seat as if he was going to do it immediately. Maura grabbed his arm.

  ‘Don’t worry. As I told you just now Kelly’s going to sort it out. He owes Michael that much.’

  Roy sat back in his seat and wiped his hand over his face. ‘I knew that something wasn’t right, Maws, but I could never find out what it was. To think that Geoffrey’s been waiting and planning this for years. The dirty sod!’

  ‘Well, the only people who know about it, Roy, are you and me. And it’s got to stay that way. Especially now with Mickey dying. We’re going to be in the frontline.’

  Roy nodded slowly.

  ‘Why did you never tell me this before?’

  Maura sighed heavily. ‘When Mickey was alive we thought we had it all under control. Geoff was working for us. The friction that had occurred over the years seemed to have died down. Oh, there’s lots of reasons. I never wanted Geoffrey dead. Never. Not until Michael was murdered. Christ, I even tried to save him!’ Her voice broke.

  Roy poured out another stiff brandy and put the glass into her hands. She took a large swallow to steady her nerves.

  ‘So what’s going to happen with the businesses now?’

  ‘Firstly I’m going to hand over the docklands to Willy and the accountants. Willy’s a partner and he’s trustworthy. Then I’m going to extend all our other operations. I’m going to try to get rid of the gold bullion as well. Michael and I had a contact in the Channel Islands. He can offload the majority of it. But I’ll need a number two, Roy, and that’s why I am asking you. What do you say?’

  ‘You know the answer to that, Maws.’ He took her hand gently in his. ‘I’ll do whatever you say. I know you’re the brainy one. Janine’s always calling me a thicko.’ He grinned.

  Maura was annoyed.

  ‘Listen, Roy, you might not have a degree but you’re cute enough. Janine should watch her trap. She’s got too bloody much of it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Maws. She don’t get it all her own way. She just thinks she does.’ He raised his thick black eyebrows and smiled. Maura found herself smiling with him.

  Roy picked up his glass. ‘Well then, girl. Here’s to us!’

  ‘To the Ryans!’

  They both drank deeply, then Maura stood up unsteadily. ‘We’d better get to the wake. Good grief, I’m pissed!’

  ‘On a day like today, Maws, it’s the only way to be.’ They laughed softly together. Except Maura’s laughter was tinged with hysteria.

  Back at Michael’s flat the atmosphere was tense. Michael’s boyfriend Richard was red-eyed and nervous. He had taken the death badly. About forty people had been invited back to the flat, mostly family and close friends. When Maura and Roy arrived, the first person she saw was Gerry Jackson. She went to him, the brandy making her more open than she usually was.

  ‘You’ll miss him more than anyone, Gerry. You went back a long time.’

  He nodded sadly.

  ‘Yeah, Maws. I will. You know that me mum’s here? She always liked Mickey. Say hello to her for me. It would mean a lot to her.’

  ‘I will, Gerry. She’s a good woman.’

  ‘I remember once when we was all small . . . you weren’t even born then . . . me and Mickey was only about twelve. Just after the war. Well, me mum was on the “bash” then, down the Bayswater Road. I’m not ashamed of it. She fed and clothed the lot of us from her earnings. Anyway, me and Mickey was out playing and this gang
of older boys came into Kensington Gardens and started taunting me about me mum. They were about sixteen and I was scared, Maws. Bloody terrified! And then Mickey started to punch the biggest one. He went garrity. And the other boys, they were frightened, see. Because even then Michael had something about him that scared people.’

  His voice was low and charged with emotion. ‘Did you know that he sent my old mum a ton every Christmas? Never forgot her once. A nice card and a hundred quid. I loved that man, Maura. Loved the bones of him. Whatever people might say about him.’

  Maura was touched by his devotion. ‘He loved you, Gerry. I know he did.’

  Gerry brought out a large white handkerchief and blew his nose. His scarred face and missing ear were more noticeable than usual.

  ‘He loved you, Maws. Loved you to death.’

  She felt the large ball of tears in her throat and hurriedly excused herself. She made her way to the kitchen and got herself a drink. The kitchen worktops were piled with alcohol of every kind. Michael’s boyfriend followed her in there. Looking at his white face, Maura felt sorry for him. She had never liked Richard, had never liked any of Michael’s boyfriends, but seeing the grief on the man’s face, she was sorry for him.

  ‘I’ll miss him, Maura. I know that people frowned on us but we loved each other in our own way.’ She could see the tears shining in his eyes and suddenly wanted to escape from the flat. Run away somewhere where Michael was unknown. She fought down the feeling of panic. She was drunk, that’s what was wrong with her. From the lounge she heard her father’s voice starting to sing.

  She patted Richard’s shoulder and walked back into the lounge, holding on to her glass of brandy tightly. Her father was singing an old Irish ballad and it sounded funny with his cockney accent. She leaned against the wall and listened to the words of ‘The Wild Colonial Boy’.

  Maura studied her father’s shrunken form. Thanks to her mother’s dominance, she had hardly seen him over the years, and, looking at him as he sang, she was suddenly lonely for him. For his cuddles and his kind words. Everyone in the packed room, full of cigarette smoke and perfume, stood silently while he sang an ode to his dead boys.