Wishing and Hoping

by Mia Dolan

  She knew very well that it was much more than that and decided to mention it to Michael the next day when she went to see him. She loved him all the more for thinking of her with all that he had to contend with at present.

  ‘Tomorrow I’ll tell Michael how kind you’ve been,’ she said.

  Kevin’s smile was hesitant. ‘No need for that,’ he said.

  There was something about his smile that she couldn’t put her finger on. It was as though he didn’t really want her to mention it to Michael at all.

  Kevin and his boys deserved to be mentioned, she decided. And tomorrow she would do just that.

  Allegra, as loyal as ever and seemingly without any life of her own nowadays, had offered to look after Joanna and Aran.

  ‘Do I look good?’ Marcie asked her.

  Her dress was white with crisp white daisies scattered all over it. Her coat was pillarbox red and she wore black pull-on boots.

  ‘He’ll fall in love with you all over again,’ said Allegra.

  Marcie took a deep breath and nodded. A host of butterflies were fluttering in her stomach. She hated the prison. It reminded her of Pilemarsh, though without the ribald comments and laughter of girls like Sally Saunders.

  The day was grey and the sight of the prison made it seem greyer.

  Marcie shivered the moment she entered the prison gate and, even when she was inside the building and out of the bitter cold of the December day, she didn’t feel any warmer.

  The high ceilings, the plain painted walls and solid floors only added to the cold atmosphere. Nobody could ever be warm in here, Marcie decided.

  First, along with all the other visitors, she had to go through security.

  ‘Here again then, Mrs Jones.’

  The prison officer smiled into her face whilst searching her bag. It struck her that he was taking his time searching and standing far too close. Her suspicion was confirmed when, leaning close to her, he lowered his voice and said, ‘You look right lonely, darling. What a dirty rotten shame. If you ever need a bit of company, just tip me the wink. I’ll give you my address. I’m sure I can think of some way of keeping you entertained.’

  She felt herself blushing. It wasn’t something she did much nowadays, but in the presence of this man she couldn’t help it. His intentions were obvious and far from honourable.

  She hurried on, aching to see Michael, even though it was in a room full of complete strangers.

  He was sitting as usual at a table, his hands folded before him. When he looked up she stifled a gasp.

  ‘Michael?’

  He nodded at her in acknowledgement. She spotted a bruise beneath one eye and reached out to touch it.

  He pulled back from her. They weren’t supposed to touch. ‘It’s OK.’

  She noticed the nervousness with which he surveyed the watching prison officers.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I fell.’

  She knew enough of her father’s time in prison to recognise the age-old excuse for having been at the receiving end of some brutality, usually on the part of the uniformed staff.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  He shook his head. ‘Never mind me. What’s happening with the club? Have you found a buyer yet? Jacob seems reluctant to tell me what’s going on though he did tell me that Paddy Rafferty was putting the screws on. He went round to see him and Fred. He didn’t stay long, but he made his point. I’ve told Jacob that we can get more than he wants to pay. It’s ripe for redevelopment. You’ll be OK then.’

  She looked down at her hands, the wedding ring and engagement ring shining bright on her ring finger.

  ‘It was always your ambition to have a nightclub.’ She said it sadly.

  ‘Marcie, have you noticed this one small matter that I’m not there to run it at present?’

  ‘There’s no need to be sarcastic.’

  ‘Sod it! I’m stating a fact. The Blue Genie’s going to go right down the drain without me there to run it.’

  ‘I can run it,’ she stated, looking him straight in the face. ‘I can do it. Honest I can.’

  His face, white and pasty already, turned a whiter shade of pale. ‘You’re a woman!’

  ‘You’ve noticed.’ She felt the anger welling up inside her.

  ‘Women don’t get involved in that kind of thing – not women like you.’

  She tossed her head. ‘So all women are fit for is to take their clothes off in those places.’

  He shook his head angrily. ‘You can’t do it. I won’t let you do it.’

  ‘I can do it – I am doing it! And what sort of woman am I supposed to be? I’m stronger than you think, Michael. And I can’t be the only woman out there in a man’s world. Besides, Kevin and the boys are keeping an eye on me. They won’t let me come to any harm. You asked them to look after me and they are.’

  He blinked. ‘That’s good of them.’

  He sounded genuinely surprised which wasn’t at all what she’d expected.

  ‘I think so.’

  Sighing, he shook his head. ‘Marcie, you have to understand that nightclubs attract a criminal fraternity. Tough men, Marcie. I only know of one woman . . .’ His voice trailed away as though he were confronting the truth of the matter and didn’t want to go there.

  Marcie wasn’t interested in female gangsters. Despite hating their surroundings, she’d been looking forward to seeing him.

  ‘We shouldn’t be arguing,’ she said quietly. ‘We have so little time together.’

  He nodded in agreement. ‘How are the kids?’

  She told him that Aran was walking and Joanna was a right little chatterbox, following her around and asking questions all the time.

  He didn’t bother to ask whether Joanna enquired the whereabouts of her adoptive father. The answer would only cause pain.

  ‘That bruise,’ she said unable to take her eyes off it.

  ‘Drop it.’

  ‘Have you seen the doctor?’

  ‘It’s nothing. Don’t fuss.’

  Their conversation swung to the reason he was on remand. Michael told her the facts.

  ‘Jacob reckons that everything hinges on the gun. It isn’t enough to prove it was planted. We need to find out who put it there. Someone has to know.’

  Marcie nodded. ‘You hear a lot in a nightclub.’

  ‘Criminals admit nothing,’ stated Michael.

  Marcie raised her eyes to his. ‘They do to their girlfriends. Some even admit things to their wives, but their girlfriends – the hostesses and strippers – for some crazy reason men think that the sex overshadows everything else. That somehow the secrets and boasts they divulge never leave the bedroom – or their lover’s head.’

  Michael looked taken aback.

  Marcie’s mind was buzzing with possibilities as she got up to leave, so much so that she didn’t notice that she was being followed.

  The same prison officer, who’d taken so much time searching her bag and making suggestions, collared her again.

  She gritted her teeth. Bloody screws! Give a man a uniform and power over others, and they thought they could do as they liked. Well, she was going to give him a piece of her mind.

  ‘Let go of my arm.’

  He leered into her face with what passed for a smile. ‘Shame about your old man’s accident,’ he said in a low voice. ‘He deserves better service really. Mind you he could have better service. Could live the life of Riley, but of course, there’s always a price to pay for special service.’

  ‘I take it that bruise had nothing to do with an accident.’

  He shook his head. ‘These old places . . .’ he said, waving at the cold Victorian walls with one meaty hand.

  ‘You bastard.’

  His leer was sickening and she wanted to spit in his face. But what he was saying sunk in and was far more sickening than that leer. He was telling her that Michael was being singled out for rough treatment by the screws. The price for Michael receiving better treatment depended on
her.

  The thought of ‘being nice’ to this man was totally repugnant and her first thought was to tell him to get lost. Michael’s safety curbed her angry reaction. She had to be careful for his sake.

  Before she had chance to respond, a more senior officer intervened. ‘Morgan. I need to speak to you.’

  ‘Let me know. Here’s my telephone number,’ Morgan said softly.

  Marcie shuddered as she took the slip of paper he handed her. He’d come all prepared for her to agree to his demands.

  At first she was tempted to screw it up and throw it away, but she stopped herself. This wasn’t about her well-being; this was about Michael. Her blood ran cold.

  She was still feeling icy cold when she regained the outside world. Responsibilities were tumbling onto her shoulders like raindrops, only heavier and far more deadly.

  How would she get round this? Who could help her out of this one?

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  ALLEGRA AND SALLY almost fought over the chance to look after Marcie’s children whilst she went to the Blue Genie; their way of making up to themselves what they had lost. This evening, it was Allegra’s turn.

  Marcie outlined her plan to ask the girls at the club if any of their men friends had told them secrets or whispered in their sleep.

  ‘It could be dangerous,’ Allegra warned her, while cradling Aran in her arms. ‘And the girls might be too frightened to talk. I know what Victor was like.’

  Marcie conceded that she was right, but she was desperate. ‘It’s the only way I can think of getting to the truth. If only I can get to the bottom of how that gun got there.’

  Marcie noted the thoughtful look in her friend’s eyes and jumped to an instant conclusion as to what Allegra was thinking.

  ‘I don’t believe he was having an affair with that girl. Michael wouldn’t do that.’

  Allegra shook her head. ‘I wasn’t thinking that. I was thinking how lucky you are to have each other. The two of you were meant to be.’

  Her smile was a little sad. She was sitting on the floor helping Joanna build a brick tower. Marcie knelt down so her face was level with that of her friend.

  ‘I’m sorry about you splitting with Victor. But it isn’t the end of the world, Allegra. You have to believe that. There’s someone out there waiting for someone like you. You just wait and see. Who knows, this time next year you might have had a whirlwind romance and be getting engaged or even married.’

  Allegra half turned her head away as though she didn’t want Marcie to see the look in her eyes. ‘I don’t think that’s what God has planned for me. I think he has other plans. I think he’d always had other plans for me. It’s just that I haven’t been listening to him.’

  Even though her grandmother was Roman Catholic, Marcie couldn’t get used to talking about religion as though it were a radio programme and God as though he were a next-door neighbour. Allegra had changed a lot. She knew her friend attended mass more frequently than she used to. But it wasn’t just that. To Marcie’s knowledge Allegra no longer went up West, clubbing, dancing and dining. She was always available for babysitting and when she wasn’t doing that she stayed in reading, listening to the radio or watching television.

  ‘I may do something none of you expect me to do,’ said Allegra. ‘I hope you don’t think me mad when I do it.’

  ‘It’s your life, love,’ said Marcie, patting her friend’s shoulder. ‘Don’t listen to me or anybody else. You follow your conscience.’

  She straightened, feeling quite proud of herself. She’d given Allegra the best advice she could under the circumstances. Her own life was a mess at present. There were big hurdles to overcome and she was about to start jumping over them.

  She’d opted to wear a trouser suit to the club. It was pin-striped and had a deep reefer collar and a hip-skimming jacket. The trousers were slightly flared – the very latest fashion from America. All the hippies were wearing them. She’d seen them on television and for one wistful moment had wished she didn’t have the responsibilities that she did. She wished she was young and carefree and into flower power – whatever that was.

  She’d bought a white blouse trimmed with broderie anglaise around the collar and cuffs and she wore her hair pinned into a French pleat. Her reflection confirmed that her intentions were fulfilled; she looked older and more businesslike. Michael’s black briefcase completed the picture, though she still took her black velvet handbag, tucking it inside the more voluminous leather case.

  She was tempted to take Michael’s car but couldn’t bring herself to do it. The interior would smell of his presence and she’d break down. She took her own.

  The queue outside the Blue Genie was more than satisfactory. The nightclub was doing well and attracting a broad church of people. Beautifully dressed people were queuing alongside the more flashily dressed to get in. Businessmen, bankers and barristers were jostling shoulders with county types up from the country and criminal types from the wrong side of the river.

  Even without its freehold value, the Blue Genie was a very worthwhile proposition.

  Marcie slid into the front of the queue.

  ‘Excuse me,’ someone said in a rather superior tone, ‘but I think we were here first.’

  ‘That’s the boss,’ explained the doorman, barring the man’s way with an arm the size of a battering ram.

  ‘Oh!’ said the man who had spoken, his tone one of surprise that a good-looking blonde could possibly have any idea of how to run anything.

  The subdued lighting of the nightclub was provided by the neon blue female genies coming out of typically Aladdin-style lamps. Crisp white tablecloths covered the tables. In the centre of each table was a small lamp with a blue shade. Like the blue genies on the wall, the lampshades were mounted on Aladdin-style lamps.

  The club was breathtakingly atmospheric. Marcie couldn’t help the lump that rose to her throat as her eyes roamed the special place he’d so lovingly created. Michael had been so proud of his achievement.

  They would not lose this. Come hell or high water they would not let it go.

  People wanting to buy drinks were pressed up against the bar. In amongst the crush she could just about see the tops of two heads that she knew very well. Sally was here. So was Carla, the latter making her way to the Ladies.

  After putting her briefcase in the office and locking the door, she was aware of admiring glances following her as she made her way back into the bar. Her skirt was short and red, her top was black and her shoes fashionably flat with stacked soles.

  Sally was perched on a particularly high bar stool.

  ‘Well, you’re looking the bee’s knees! Quite sophisticated in fact.’

  ‘I’m feeling businesslike.’

  ‘How’s Michael?’

  She told her about his injuries and the attitude and demands of one particular screw in particular.

  ‘Bastard!’

  Marcie nodded. ‘Of the highest order of bastards.’

  ‘Are you really running this place yourself?’

  She ordered a gin and orange from the bar before answering. ‘I’m determined, Sally, so don’t try to talk me out of it.’

  It was at that moment that Carla emerged from the ladies’ cloakroom. She looked from Sally to Marcie. ‘What’s going on here?’

  After taking a sip of her drink, Marcie said, ‘I’m here for a reason, Carla. Well, two reasons really. Number one I refuse to let this club be sold. Michael was so proud of it. Number two is that this is where all our problems began. This is where the weapon that killed Linda Bell was found. Apparently the whole case against Michael depends on that gun and how it got into his desk drawer and I don’t think he put it there. I thought that one of the girls might have heard something – you know how some men talk.’

  ‘So this gun wasn’t his?’ said Carla, as though a man and his gun should never be parted.

  Marcie took umbrage. ‘He’s never had a gun,’ she snapped. ‘He does bookkeeping,
not guns!’

  ‘Keep your shirt on,’ muttered Carla, whilst shrugging in her low-cut gown and in serious danger of her boobs popping out.

  ‘It might just work. So what did Michael have to say?’ asked Sally, intent on cooling things down.

  Marcie averted her blazing eyes from Carla’s face, though she was far from being placated. Sally mentioning Michael had brought other problems to bear.

  ‘As I’ve just been telling Sally, he’s been getting some bad treatment.’ She explained about his eye and the sullen look.

  ‘Other prisoners can be bastards,’ snarled Carla. ‘But it can be sorted,’ she added with a wink.

  ‘Not necessarily other prisoners,’ said Marcie after taking another large sip of her drink. She went on to explain about the prison officer and the deal he had offered her.

  ‘If I’m nice to him he’ll make sure that everyone is nice to Michael.’

  ‘Something needs to be done about the bastard!’ Sally exclaimed.

  ‘What’s his name?’ asked Carla. Her eyes were narrowed as though she were thinking hard.

  ‘David Morgan. He’s slimy. It makes me shiver just to think of him.’ Marcie shrugged. ‘There’s nothing to be done about it. I could report it, but if I do that they’ll treat him even worse. I’m stuck!’

  Carla’s arched eyebrows beetled into a deep frown and she looked as though she were grinding her teeth. ‘So where does he want you to be nice to him? Surely not at the prison?’

  ‘At his home. He’s given me his telephone number. I’m to phone him to arrange it.’

  ‘Bastard!’ Sally exclaimed again. Marcie had told her the details before Carla had joined them and she was still voicing her disgust. Sally was like that. Like a dog with a bone she wouldn’t let it drop. When Sally disapproved of people – men, that is – it was the one word she used over and over again, like a record player needle stuck in the groove.

  Carla wasn’t saying anything. She was strangely quiet.

  Carla gave Marcie the creeps when she did that. It was almost as if there were a different and more lethal Carla beneath the blousy dresses and the fox fur coats.

  Marcie acted to divert the conversation. ‘Let’s not talk about that. I need everyone to keep their eyes and ears open. Kevin’s asked the barmen and girls to keep their eyes and ears open.’