by Jessie Keane
No relatives, though. Sylvester had never married, and he’d been an only child of elderly parents who were already gone.
‘Sad, ain’t it,’ sniffed Gina as they paused outside the church after the service. ‘No kin of his here to mourn him.’
Cyrus patted his wife’s arm. Claire nodded. She felt bad over Sylvester, and guilty. She didn’t tell Gina – she couldn’t tell anyone – that Sylvester had proposed to her on the day he died. She thought that maybe he had died of a broken heart and she hated herself for disappointing him, but what else could she have done? It was possible that her rejection had wounded him far more deeply than he’d shown. But . . . how could she have said yes?
‘You ever think . . .’ Gina started as Cyrus moved away, leaving the two women there together.
‘What?’ asked Claire.
‘About the baby.’ Gina’s eyes were sharp on Claire’s face. ‘Do you ever think of her? Are you sorry you let her go?’
But Claire shook her head. ‘No. I’m not sorry. Don’t talk of it again, will you, Gina? I don’t like it.’
She didn’t want to be reminded of that, now or ever. She’d come a long, long way from the gypsy camp of her youth. Now she was the manager of a thriving club in a bustling city; a success in business, if not in life. She’d lost Josh. Her family. Her innocence. And she’d just lost a dear friend. But she was stronger now. Adversity had made her tougher, more resilient.
After Sylvester was laid to rest, Claire caught up with Gina again.
‘Come back to the club,’ she said to Gina. ‘We’ve laid on a spread for Sylvester. All the girls would love to see you, you know they would.’
‘OK,’ said Gina, and they all went back together and celebrated Sylvester’s slightly eccentric life. Afterwards, when it was over and the girls had cleared everything away so that the club would be ready for business in a couple of days – for two days it would be closed in respect of Sylvester’s death – Claire went upstairs to her room and cried over the loss.
She wondered what would happen to the club now, to all of Sylvester’s dreams for it. He’d never expanded the business as he’d wanted to – she suspected his ill health had let him down on that – but he’d lived for the club, it had become his family home. Without him, it was going to feel very strange, working here.
Dear Sylvester.
Such a kind man. The sort of man any woman should be happy to love. He deserved a lot better than her.
Nearly a month after the funeral, it became clear that Sylvester had thought very highly of Claire, whether she accepted him as a husband or not. She took a call from his lawyer, telling her that Sylvester had left the club – and everything in it – to her.
46
By the time Connor Flynn came screaming into the world, Shauna had the nursery fully kitted out and was making inroads into the furnishings for the rest of the house, too, costing Josh a fortune in the process. He was making some wedge, doing lots of door work and bare-knuckle bouts. Linus Pole was keeping in touch and pushing plenty of booth sessions and ‘out the back’ straighteners his way. He went down the gym on the corner of the street often, worked out there with the weights, beat the fuck out of the other boxers. Kept himself fit.
‘You could be world class, with a bit of polish,’ said the old geezer who trained the kids down there.
All Josh knew was that he needed a lot more dosh. He wasn’t pulling in anywhere near enough. Shauna was high-maintenance. Just today he’d come home from the gym, taken a bath and sat down to eat his dinner – Shauna was a great cook – in front of the TV.
Then Shauna told him there was a new three-piece suite coming on Monday, she’d bought it on the never-never. That old thing they’d bought second-hand from an ad in the corner-shop window was tatty, she was tired of it.
‘You what?’ he said, dropping his knife and fork, feeling the steak lodge in his throat. That ‘old thing’ was less than a year old, and in pristine condition.
‘You heard. And that fucking Zephyr, Josh. You know, what we ought to have is a Rover, something classy like that . . .’
Her eyes were alight with excitement. When it came to spending money, Shauna got really turned on.
‘You take the bloody cake, you do,’ he said, slapping the table so hard the cutlery jumped. ‘What the fuck? You didn’t think to talk to me first? Shaun, we’re getting up to our neck in debt here.’
‘That’s rubbish, you earn plenty,’ she said, starting to scowl.
‘Yeah, and I’ve got to carry on earning plenty to keep up with you,’ said Josh.
‘Meaning?’ she fumed, her face falling into stubborn lines.
‘Meaning, take it bloody easy! Ask me before you go spending a fucking fortune on stuff we don’t even need.’ Josh stood up, his dinner only half eaten, thinking – and oh shit he shouldn’t think like this, this was his life now, the kid and Shauna – that Claire would never have done such a thing. Claire would have been happy with anything, however humble, so long as she was with him. He stormed from the room, slamming the door into the hall shut behind him.
‘Who says we don’t need it? Only you, you mean bastard!’ came Shauna’s shout from behind the door.
Upstairs, the baby started bawling its head off. Josh put his jacket on to go down to the pub and was rifling through his pockets for his car keys when he came upon the purple card John had given him. He thought about Shauna, the Money Monster. Christ, he was spitting mad at her, the silly cow. He had red bills piling up, demands for payment coming out of his ears. The rent was a week overdue. He paused in the hall and picked up the phone and dialled the number on the card. It was answered almost instantly.
‘Carlton?’ said a female voice.
‘Is Mr Houghton there, please?’ said Josh. Upstairs, the kid went right on crying. No sign of Shauna.
‘Who wants him?’
‘Josh Flynn. A business acquaintance of his, John Finlay, said Mr Houghton might have some work for me.’
‘Hold on.’
The phone hit a solid object and the woman yelled: ‘Mr Houghton! Phone! Says he’s Josh Flynn.’
Josh waited. More crying from up the stairs. The sound set his teeth on edge. Then a male voice came on the line. ‘Well, you took your fucking time,’ it said.
‘Mr Houghton?’ asked Josh.
‘I’ve been waiting on this call.’
‘Sorry.’ Fuck you.
‘Never mind. So when can you come over?’
‘Soon as you like.’
‘Tonight. Seven. Ask for me on the door,’ said Houghton, and put the phone down.
The baby was still screaming.
‘You going to sort that bloody kid out?’ Josh shouted. Something hit the kitchen doorway and shattered and fell to the floor. Probably what was left of his fucking dinner. Even their food was ridiculous. Steaks, salmon, trout – nothing but the best for Shauna Flynn. She’d be necking foie gras and bloody caviar next, off a silver spoon. Well, fuck her.
Josh left the house without another word to his wife.
47
The Carlton Club was up West, just around the corner from Annabel’s where all the celebs and royals hung out. Josh scrubbed around his previous plan to spend the night down the boozer and went straight to the Carlton. Outside, it didn’t look anything special, with two skinny pimple-faced youths trying to puff themselves up and look big on the door. He told them he was here to see Mr Houghton and one of them went off indoors ahead of Josh, beckoning him to follow.
Inside wasn’t much better. There was a jazz trio up on the half-circle stage trying to liven the atmosphere, bored hostesses were propping up the bar with empty trays, and a handful of punters sat at the dimly lit circular tables. The place would have seated ninety, but there couldn’t have been more than twenty in tonight and, from the look of them, they probably wouldn’t be coming back again.
Josh grabbed the youngster’s arm. ‘It always like this?’
The youth nodded, said nothing
. He led the way through the club and paused beside a red door at the back, knocking. Then he opened the door and Josh stepped into Mr Houghton’s inner sanctum. It was a bare room with filing cabinets, a cheap desk and chair, nothing stylish about it. Behind the desk sat a man who slapped the phone back on to the cradle then looked up with weary eyes as Josh came in.
‘What now?’ he asked irritably.
Josh looked at Houghton. He was a half-bald little monkey of a man in his fifties with a thin wrinkled face, but there was an air of authority about him.
‘I’m Josh Flynn,’ said Josh. ‘John Finlay at the Crown asked me to give you a bell.’
‘Oh, right. Yeah. The boxer,’ he said with more interest.
‘That’s right,’ said Josh as Spotty left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘Take a seat then. I’m Dave.’
Josh did. ‘So what’s the problem, Dave?’ he asked.
‘Druggies,’ said Dave, running a hand through his thinning hair. ‘Druggies in here day and night, shooting up in the bogs. That useless pair of tossers I got on the door, I think they’re taking a slice of that action and turning a blind eye when the dealers come in. It gives the place a bad name. Makes the punters stay away. I need someone solid out there, someone who’ll kick arse.’
‘I could probably take the job on,’ said Josh. He thought of Shauna, running through the money like it grew on ruddy trees. His mate Linus Pole had a few handy lads who’d be pleased with this work and enjoy the rucks that would inevitably occur. He didn’t fancy doing more door work himself, but he could certainly subcontract it out to them and carry on with the fighting. ‘Provided the deal was right, of course.’
‘Sure, sure. We can discuss all that.’ Dave’s eyes were bright with interest. ‘Bare-knuckle then?’
‘Whatever’s going,’ said Josh.
‘John said you were a champion. Among your own kind.’
‘He’s right.’
‘But no ambitions to go further with it? Go pro?’
Josh shrugged. ‘Whatever brings the wedge in, I’m happy to take on.’
‘Then I reckon we can do business,’ said Dave. ‘We’ll discuss the door stuff further, yeah?’ He pulled open a drawer and yanked out a sheet of headed notepaper. ‘Maybe some other stuff too. That’s my home address,’ he said, scribbling it down and shoving the paper across to Josh. ‘There. John said you’re married, right?’
‘Married with a kid. Little boy. Connor.’
‘Come out to dinner on Sunday and let’s see how we go. Bring your old lady, she can meet my Phil. Don’t bring the ankle-biter though, Phil can’t stand ’em until they’re teenagers.’
Josh took the paper, folded it, put it in his pocket. ‘That’s kind of you. Thanks.’
‘Come at four, we eat around six. OK?’
‘Fine,’ said Josh.
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ asked Shauna from the bed when he got home later. He’d tried fumbling around in the dark, but his boots had hit the floor with a clatter and she’d woken up. ‘Shh! You’ll wake the sodding baby, I’ve only just got him back down.’
Connor was peacefully asleep in his cot under the window. Josh went over and stood for a moment, looking at his sleeping son, lit by moonlight, cosy as a bug in a rug. He reached down, touched a finger to one chubby little cheek. The baby didn’t stir. Josh smiled, and then he thought that – ah, shit! – this should have been his and Claire’s baby. He stopped smiling and sighed.
‘He’s fine,’ said Josh, turning away from Connor. ‘I been up West, doing some business at the Carlton.’
Shauna sat up. ‘Ain’t that one of the clubs all the nobs go to?’
Josh peeled off the rest of his clothes and climbed in. ‘It is.’
‘What they after then?’
‘They got trouble with druggies. Want someone on the door to stamp it out.’
‘You could do that with one hand tied behind your back,’ said Shauna.
‘That’s true,’ said Josh, relieved that the temper tantrum of earlier in the evening was over. She was like a penny firework, Shauna. She blew up, then ten minutes later she was smiling again. ‘Also, the owner’s invited us over to his place for dinner. Not tea, dinner, he said. On Sunday.’
Shauna looked at him, outlined dimly by the light of the moon. ‘Dinner,’ she echoed.
Josh’s head turned and his teeth flashed in a grin. ‘That’s what the nobs call it. And if they eat at noon, that’s called lunch.’
‘Luncheon,’ said Shauna, who took a keen interest in all matters upwardly mobile. ‘Like luncheon meat. And you ought to say napkin, not serviette. Bet you didn’t know that.’
‘It’s a whole new world,’ said Josh, yawning and settling down. He didn’t give a fuck about napkins or serviettes. Crystal chandeliers and mansions didn’t do it for him. He felt a bit treacherous thinking it, but he knew Claire wouldn’t have given two hoots for any of this social-climbing bollocks that Shauna seemed so caught up in.
Shauna snuggled up.
‘Where’s their place?’ she asked.
‘Dunno. Henley, think I saw on the paper he gave me. I’ll show you in the morning.’
‘What the fuck am I going to wear?’ wondered Shauna.
‘You got lots of clothes.’ Shauna had a wardrobe bursting with stuff. All of it bloody expensive, too.
‘I’ll have to buy new,’ she said, and grabbed his cock.
‘Shauna . . .’
‘Shut up,’ she said, and got to work.
48
Shauna got the shock of her life when she opened the front door the following morning and found Jeb Cleaver lounging on the step.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ she barked out, shocked, looking left and right. Josh had only just left, heading off to the gym. Five minutes earlier, and he’d have come face to face with Jeb, and she didn’t like the idea of that at all.
‘Cool down,’ said Jeb. ‘What sort of welcome is that? I saw your old man go out and thought I’d come say hello.’
‘Fuck it, you’d better come inside,’ she said, and Jeb strolled in. Shauna shut the door quickly. ‘He’ll be back soon. What do you want?’
Jeb was leaning against the hall wall now, looking around. ‘Nice place you got here. How’d he get the dosh for this, then?’
‘Never you mind. How did you find me?’ snapped Shauna.
‘Yeah. About that.’ Jeb’s eyes sharpened on her face. ‘That was bad, Shauna. You moved on from your last place, and the one before that over the chippy, and both times you didn’t tell me your new address. Luckily the new people had it or I guess we’d just have lost touch. And I’d hate that to happen, wouldn’t you?’
Oh sure, thought Shauna. She’d hoped that would be the result. But here Jeb was, turning up like a bad penny. She looked at him with his scruffy beard and mac and boots and thought that the very last thing she needed in her life at this moment was Jeb Cleaver and his no-mark brothers and their horny old goat of a dad. Sunday, they were going to dinner with the nobs in Henley. That was where she was headed.
‘You’re not answering,’ said Jeb with a pout. His eyes were hard as they stared into hers. ‘You know what Rowan reckons? He reckons you’ve had your use of us and now you’ve just turned your back.’
‘That ain’t true,’ said Shauna, although it was.
A wail went up from the kitchen.
‘Look, I’ve got to . . .’ said Shauna and turned away from him.
She went into the kitchen where Connor was sitting in his blue romper suit in his high chair at the table, eating chunks of banana. He looked up as Shauna came in, and grinned.
‘Cute little fella,’ said Jeb, following behind her. He moved closer to Connor, reached out a grubby hand and touched the baby’s cheek with it. ‘Hey, boy, how are you?’
Shauna felt an electrifying jolt of protectiveness surge through her as Jeb stood beside Connor. She moved, placing herself between them. Jeb saw the ala
rm on her face, and smiled.
‘He Josh Flynn’s then is he?’ asked Jeb.
‘Well he sure as hell ain’t yours,’ she said.
Jeb’s smile broadened. Then he reached out and touched Shauna’s cheek. She flinched away. Suddenly his smile vanished. He grabbed her face and held her there, squeezing the flesh until she groaned with the pain.
‘I can understand that you like to better yourself, gal,’ he said softly, leaning so close that his breath brushed her face. ‘I got that. That’s fine. But you know the one thing you should never do?’
Shauna couldn’t speak. She half-shook her head.
‘You should never forget where you came from. You should never forget your roots,’ said Jeb.
But that was exactly what Shauna wanted to forget.
Jeb released her and she sagged against the kitchen table, her cheek throbbing. Connor was looking up at the two adults looming over him, curious, not frightened.
Now Jeb was smiling again. ‘We’re going to stay in touch, you and me,’ he said to Shauna. ‘We’re buddies, ain’t we. Lovers too. You carry on, gal, you climb just as high as you like, but don’t forget one thing – I’ll be right alongside you. ’Cos I got first dibs on you, no matter about Josh Flynn or fancy clothes or cars or whatever else takes your eye. Remember?’
Shauna nodded. All she wanted was for him to get out. All she wanted was him away from her baby, and from her.
‘Josh will be back any minute,’ she said, hating the tremble in her voice.
‘Yeah.’ Jeb’s eyes were on her face. ‘See you then.’
And he turned and walked off down the hall and out the door.
49
‘Oh my God. I mean, wow!’ said Shauna as they pulled into Dave Houghton’s drive in Josh’s old car.
Actually, they couldn’t pull in. They had to stop ten feet into the drive as they were met with a big set of closed iron gates with two concrete lions atop plinths on either side. There was an intercom. Josh got out of the car, pressed the button.
