by Martina Cole
Eve seemed as nervous as he was, and he appreciated that she was not accustomed to having men in her home. She had a femininity about her that he found endearing; his first wife had been a lady. That was important to him, he had always had a preference for women who had not been round the turf more times than Shergar. He liked those types now and again, most men did if they were honest, but for the most part they were not really of any interest long-term. Pat was old-fashioned in that respect. He had never wanted an easy lay, not on a permanent basis anyway.
Eve was pouring them both a drink and he saw that the brandy was good, the glasses crystal. Once more, he approved of her choice. He looked at her again and was thrilled by the outline of her clothes. She had a good body: supple, lean and heavy breasted. Pat knew that she was as aware of him as he was of her. There was a tension in the air between them, and it was good, he was enjoying the chase.
Eve smiled at him, and he looked at her face as if for the first time. She was older than he had first thought, and that pleased him. He liked grown women, for the most part always had. Not that he hadn’t taken a flier now and again with young girls, but he didn’t see that as anything important. Eve was ripe for the picking, and they both knew that. It was why he was here, they had been leading up to this from the first time he had laid eyes on her. So why had he waited so long to make a move? Guilt had played a big part, but he was not going to allow himself to let that spoil his enjoyment. Kate was in the past, she had made her feelings quite clear. He pushed her from his mind, she was all he needed now, putting a damper on everything.
He watched Eve as she put on some music. Amy Winehouse filled the room, her dark, smoky voice, full of heartbreak and cigarettes, seemed to encompass everything he was feeling. Sipping his brandy, he put his glass on the mantelpiece. Then, suddenly full of bravado, he went to Eve and pulled her into his arms.
She settled into his body easily, and he enjoyed the smell of her, she wore a subtle perfume, and he could still catch the scent of the soap she used. He pushed his face into her hair. Rubbing his hands across her back, feeling her shape, he brought her face up to his and she kissed him, a deep, brandy-tasting kiss that made them both realise that the kiss would not be enough.
Eve pulled off her clothes and he watched her quietly, knew that there was no going back now. As she stood before him, naked and proud, he wondered what the fuck had taken him so long.
Peter Bates was drunk. Not too drunk, but drunk enough to have a punch-up if the fancy took him. His girlfriend was getting on his nerves, and he had given her a swerve earlier on in the evening.
Now he was settled in a small drinking club in Stepney with a few old cronies and an assortment of attractive and not too fussy young women. Not that they interested him at the moment, he’d had enough of young women for the time being. But they were not causing any trouble, and were easy enough on the eye, so he was happy enough to let them join the company.
Danny Foster was sitting opposite him, and he had a bad feeling off him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he sensed a general feeling of unease around him. Danny was a good kid in many respects, a handsome little fucker, of that there was no doubt, but Peter felt he was also a bit of a snide. Patrick had taken him under his wing and that was all well and good, Peter had no problem with that. There was just something about Danny that he didn’t like, he had never really quite taken to him. He felt the coldness in the boy, as if he was looking down on everyone. Felt that he was watching, questioning, biding his time.
Now Peter was watching him surreptitiously, saw the way he blended in with the company. How he had an answer for everything, a joke for every occasion, and the capacity to drink large amounts of alcohol without getting too drunk. But then that was youth for you, he had been like that once. As he watched Danny exchange banter with the girls, while at the same time talk business with the men at the table, Peter decided that there was some kind of skulduggery afoot. He didn’t know what kind, but he was still convinced that there was something seriously amiss. His instincts were usually spot on, and they were warning him to keep a wary eye out. This little cunt was out for the big purse, and it wasn’t going to be his. Not that his purse was that big these days, but it was the principle of the thing.
At the table, George Parnell was also watching the proceedings with a weather eye, he knew when Bates was working himself up for a row. He had known him for years, and he also could see that young Danny Boy was as aware of the situation as he was, and he admired him for that. It took a lot of bottle to sit there and take that kind of attitude without retaliating. He didn’t think any less of him for not saying anything, it just proved Danny was level-headed. If he had jumped in, all guns blazing, that would have shown a weakness, that he was stupid, too hotheaded to be taken seriously as a player. It was the quiet lads, the ones who had the nerve to wait their turn, that always ended up in positions of real authority. The lairy little fuckers brought too much attention with them, especially the Filth, and that was the last thing anyone wanted.
As Danny leaned forward to listen to the girls’ conversation, George saw Peter also move forward in his seat. That would herald the start of the badgering. Peter would start a war of words, then he would take sudden offence, and a fight would ensue. It was Peter’s stock in trade and, in his day, he had had some blinding rows, bless him, but that was then and this was now.
George saw that the other men at the table were unaware of the petty drama that was about to unfold before them.
‘What did you say, Danny?’ Peter’s voice was heavy with belligerence and fake umbrage.
Danny leaned back in his chair, and looked Peter in the face. ‘About what, Peter? I was talking to the girls.’ He was laughing as he spoke, the ultimate insult to someone of Peter Bates’s mentality. ‘You got a problem with that, Peter? Only I thought we were all grown-ups here.’
It was a warning, a friendly enough statement of fact, and it should have calmed the situation down. The men around were quiet now, wondering where this was going to lead.
Peter picked up his drink, a large vodka and tonic and, taking a deep swallow, he said nastily, ‘Talking of girls, where’s your sister tonight?’
George Parnell sighed heavily, and gave the eye to the other two men at their table. In seconds, the atmosphere had become charged, threatening, and everyone was waiting to see what was going to happen. The girls instinctively moved backwards, none of them wanting to be in the line of fire.
Danny smiled easily. ‘I think she’s out with Patrick, at least that’s what I heard. Unless you know different, Pete.’ It was said without any anger or spite. But the challenge was there nonetheless.
‘I know he’s been sniffing round her. But then who can blame him, I wouldn’t kick her out of bed.’ Peter was laughing at his own wit. ‘But you should have a talk with her, stop her making a fool of herself. He won’t stay away from Kate for long, she’s a Filth, but she’s got class. Something Patrick has always aspired to. His wife was the same. A real lady. No notches on the bedpost, know what I mean, Danny?’
Danny didn’t seem to register what was being said to him, and George Parnell was impressed. Personally, he would have taken Peter out by now; family, especially the female members, was not something anyone would be expected to overlook in the grand scheme of things. His father had once glassed a bloke for chatting his mother up while she worked in a bookies. The problem being, of course, that his mother, God bless her, had never been averse to a bit of flirting, but that still didn’t make it right.
‘Eve can look after herself, Peter, she’s all grown up. Unlike some of the girls you knock around with, she’s old enough to drink.’
Peter Bates snorted in contempt. ‘She’s well over the age of consent, mate. She won’t see thirty again. Funny that, you can see you’re related, can’t you? She looks like you in drag.’
George had had enough; this was uncalled for, and without foundation. Peter was out of order and he said as much. ‘Give
it a rest, Peter, that’s enough. I don’t think Patrick will appreciate you discussing him and his private life in a pub, do you? Eve’s a nice girl, and she hasn’t done anything to warrant you talking about her like that. Danny is in our company, and he’s been a fucking diamond where you’re concerned, so either shut the fuck up, or let me get you a sherbet dab.’
Peter was aware that he had crossed the line, he knew he had no right whatsoever to say anything about Eve; she was a good girl, a hard worker, and he had chanced his arm a few times himself. And he also knew that Patrick would not be impressed if he found out he had cast aspersions on her character. But it still galled him that Danny Boy was not rising to the bait. He rounded on George Parnell.
‘Who are you then, George, his fucking minder? Is young Danny here sucking your cock on the side, is that why you’re sticking up for him?’
Danny was out of his seat before George could react, he physically dragged Peter from his chair, and had him up against the wall in seconds. He was livid, but he still didn’t look angry. Externally, he looked perfectly calm, it was only that Peter could see the hate in his eyes, and feel the trembling of his hands that told him he had finally gone too far.
Leaning forward, Danny whispered angrily, ‘You cunt, I’ll fucking see my day with you. I’ll fucking demolish you and laugh while I do it. You’re old, and you’re past it, but you just can’t fucking lie down and die, can you? Well, you got what you wanted, Pete. You got yourself an enemy, and I am a fucking good enemy to have, mate. You just wait and see.’
Peter pushed him away, and Danny let him do that. He knew he had more than kept up his end, knew he had been pushed into a reaction. No one had heard his threat, but Danny guessed they had half expected something like it. He also knew that George Parnell was rooting for him, and that had been a bit of a shocker in itself. He had expected him to take Peter’s side, and he wouldn’t have thought any less of him for that, after all, they had been friends since they were little kids.
But the fact George had shown his allegiance so openly had proved something to Danny; Patrick had obviously let it be known that Danny was his boy. Danny had worked his arse off for Patrick, but he had also understood that, in the world they inhabited, it often took a while to be properly accepted. Now he saw that he was. George Parnell had a puritanical streak, everyone knew that. Peter had asked for a front-up, and he had got it. George’s coming out on Danny’s side had thrown him a side bar, and Bates wasn’t sure how to react to that. He had assumed George and the others would automatically take his side.
Peter was watching him warily, and George Parnell gestured for Danny to come back to the table so they could resume their evening. Danny walked back over to Peter and, smiling easily, he held out his hand. ‘Let’s shake on it, Pete? Too much drink and too little sleep, eh?’
Danny grasped Peter’s hand in both of his. ‘You’d better fucking get that temper of yours under control, mate, it’s like your book-keeping, all over the fucking place. I want to see the books for meself, I’ve heard so much about them.’
Danny laughed again, acting as if it was all a big misunderstanding, but no one sitting at the table was fooled by him. George Parnell looked at Peter and shook his head in dismay. Peter would now have to bear the consequences of his actions. And not before fucking time.
George bought Danny Foster another drink and, at the same time, he arranged a cab for Peter Bates. Then he personally put him into it. It was the final insult, and they all knew it.
Patrick lay in bed and listened to Eve as she murmured softly in her sleep. She was beautiful and yet she was completely unaware of how lovely she actually was. Though she was not body shy - she was definitely not averse to getting her kit off and joining in the fun and games.
Pat had enjoyed her, enjoyed the feel of her, the taste of her. He was still reeling from the whole experience. She had loved it, had thrown herself into it without any inhibitions at all. It had been a revelation to him, he had not expected her to be so forthright. Not that he was complaining. But she had been the instigator and the principal participant, and that bothered him as much as it had excited him.
Pat had never before been the passive partner and he couldn’t help wondering if it was his age. He had kept up with her all right, but he knew that if he was expected to do that on a daily basis it would fucking wear him out in no time. He’d need forty-eight hours’ kip to get over this little lot.
He loved seeing her body in the lamplight, the smoothness of her skin and the tightness of her belly. As he looked at her, it made him aware of how much older than her he actually was. He was in pretty good shape for his age, but he wasn’t in his prime. Yet he knew Eve had not cared about that. He had felt the need in her, and loved that she had wanted him so much.
Pat had felt like a boy again, had felt that exquisite rush a new body could produce through nothing more than its utter strangeness, its difference from what he had been used to. He had loved feeling someone different in his hands, loved that she was so willing, and so amenable. She had not tried to talk afterwards either, and that in itself was a bonus where women were concerned. She had not felt the need to discuss love or relationships, she had just been there beside him. Sated and tired, until eventually she had curled into him and drifted off to sleep. It was the easiness of her that Pat wanted to pursue, the uncomplicated way she had with her. She just felt right to him, and that was what he wanted at this moment in time.
He had missed Kate more than he wanted to admit. If she had only answered his calls, responded to even one of his messages or texts, he would have believed that they still had a chance. But she had not even tried to contact him, all he knew was that she had refused his offer of a settlement, a very generous offer at that. She had declined it through her legal representative. It was harsh that they could part like this after all these years.
Well, it had given him the chance for a new life, had enabled him to get out there and find someone different.
Pat pulled the quilt up off the floor and covered them both with it. Then, turning off the lamp, he allowed himself to finally sleep. He had not felt this good in years, and he decided that he liked the feeling. It was about time he did something reckless, thought about himself, because Kate had only ever thought about herself, and he had been quite happy about that at the time. But, in hindsight, Kate had never really stopped being a Filth. Even after she had retired, and they’d attended the party, listened to the speeches, and accepted the fucking carriage clock, she had gone back there, to that dump, as soon as she could. Part-time, and with a smile on her face, she had walked back to her old life and not even thought to ask if he minded.
He pulled Eve into his arms, savouring the feel of her as she instinctively moved her body so it perfectly fitted into his. Kate had made her bed, and she could now lie in it alone. He was happy enough to lie in this bed, and re-live his youth for a while. He just hoped it was going to be nice and easy, he liked Eve, liked what she stood for. She had a good way about her, and he needed someone, needed to feel he was still in the game, that he wasn’t past it. He hoped Eve felt the same because he had a feeling she might be good for him.
Peter Bates was not that surprised to see Danny Foster on his doorstep, he was only surprised that the boy had come round to his house first thing.
He had left the bar in disgrace, got into the cab ordered for him, and he had assumed that Danny had stayed and partied the night away. So to see him standing there on his doorstep, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed had, once again, put his back up. He had the grace to feel ashamed at his behaviour today. Last night he had been drunk and coked up, and unable to contain the resentment he felt towards this young man and his place in the world even though he knew that Danny had worked hard for it, knew that Patrick had never suffered fools gladly. The fact that Patrick had put his faith in Danny Foster should have been more than enough for Peter to accept the boy on face value.
But it didn’t work like that, he had just take
n a dislike to him overnight, and he couldn’t hide it. He knew it was irrational, knew he had no reason for his antagonism, but it was there all the same.
‘Come in.’
Danny followed Peter into his house, it was a nice place and Peter knew it. Not that he really liked it there. It was somewhere to crash, somewhere he could do his business in relative peace and quiet. Somewhere his bird could watch television and give him fucking earache.
In the kitchen, Danny observed Peter as he poured coffee from a stainless-steel American percolator; he was surprised to be offered one, and he accepted it with good grace.
‘So, what’s this visit in aid of?’
Danny grinned, he couldn’t help it, he had to admire this bloke’s fucking front. Even when he was on the losing side, he still couldn’t resist playing the hard man.
‘I have been asked, on the quiet, to question the books you have put in regarding the girls. It seems that the amounts expected aren’t anywhere near those that have been paid in before. Now, I can see you are about to start explaining yourself in your usual forthright and aggressive manner, but I have to point out that I am looking for any excuse to fucking lamp you one. Do you get my drift, Peter? So calm down and answer the questions to the best of your limited fucking ability.’
Peter was already incensed - that Danny was speaking to him like that, in his own drum and base, was unbelievable. ‘You come here like fucking Dilly Daydream, accusing me of being on the con, and expect me to fucking keep me trap shut? I don’t have to answer to you, boy, I don’t have to answer to anyone.’
