Human Conditioning

by Hirst, Louise

  I courageously reply, “Surely, later in life, with all your association with those in the higher ranks of society, you do not believe that the middle-classes are level-headed and trustworthy enough to be the only successes in this country?”

  He smiles his megawatt smile. “Of course not, but I know their determination to look after their own kind… I know all their dirty little secrets.” He sits forward and adds, rather poetically, “Their true nature is veiled by their class, Miss Daley. Whereas my class wrongly defines my true nature…”

  “Are you bitter, Mr Foster, because you didn’t have privileges like others had. Others like me, for instance?” I ask, my eyebrows raised and the irony of my own sudden resentment is not missed by either him or me.

  He laughs and runs a hand through his thick, dark hair. “No, love, I’m a realist,” he says and his earlier belligerence is now replaced with bravado as he relaxes back in his chair once more. “I, Aiden Foster, known to be associated with murder, sexual exploitation and drug trafficking, gained respect from highly regarded men from a middle-class background; those who worked in our councils and in our parliament, and do you know why?”

  “No,” I reply indignantly and totally unprofessionally, my cheeks flushing with annoyance. I am totally confounded by his tenacity.

  “Because I had money, Miss Daley. Because I wore the right clothes, talked the right talk and walked the right fucking walk. If they’d seen me five years before, nicking fucking food from the local shops for me lunch and breaking into cars, they would have had me sent down in the blink of an eye. I was earning more money in a week than they were in a year. That’s why they liked me, that’s why they respected me, and that’s why they turned a blind eye to all my skulduggery and helped me when I needed them.”

  “So, it all comes down to money?” I ask. “The rich get richer and the poor get poorer and the only way the poor stand a chance is to become criminals? Sounds typically anti-establishment to me…”

  “It’s the way of the world, Miss Daley,” he replies, shrugging his burly shoulders.

  I feel the heat of embarrassment in my cheeks at the realisation that this man is admonishing me – that he probably sees me as some dim-witted young middle-class girl who knows nothing about the way the world really works. I am also very conscious that we’ve gone off topic once more. The interview is proving to be more difficult than I first envisaged. He has great opinions and he’s certainly a commander in all that he does, even down to the way the interview is developing.

  I gulp and straighten my back, attempting to convey some kind of control over my position. “So, your environment did affect you?” I ask, and I’m well aware that I am showing him that I can do self-righteous too.

  His smug smile drops and his lips press into a hard line and for the first time in the last ten minutes, he is absolutely frank with me. “More than you know,” he says.

  Again, his honesty stuns me into silence. He is captivating, yet erratic in his moods. He doesn’t like to give much away, yet if you ask him the right questions, he’s willing to answer them honestly. I idly wonder whether he suffers from some sort of psychological disorder: sociopathy or schizophrenia, maybe? If he does, I wasn’t warned before I came into this lion’s den.

  I decide to move on. “You had a guardian other than your parents… a Mr Grant O’Donoghue?”

  He runs a hand over his face again. I quickly realise this is a common gesture of his when he is under stress or scrutiny. “He helped pay for things when Duggie couldn’t…” he replies on a sigh of resignation.

  “Yes, Douglas was predominantly a bare-knuckle boxer in his young life, but he damaged his leg not long after you were born and had to quit…”

  “Grant was Duggie’s manager…”

  I smile. The air has cleared once more. “I guess he was quite disappointed when your father got injured…” I say. It’s not a question from my list.

  He smirks. “I doubt it, considering he was the one who injured him in the first place…”

  “Oh!”

  “It’s no secret in our world that Duggie tried to fix a match in another man’s favour and Grant beat him to within an inch of his life because of it. It is a family secret, however, that the only reason why Grant didn’t finish Duggie off was because my mother begged him not to.” I gawp and he adds, snidely, though not towards me, “Then Grant became my mother’s personal bank account…”

  “Out of guilt, do you think?” I ask.

  “Guilt, love, pity… I dunno.” He shrugs and his large chest arches forward as he stretches his arms backwards. I sense his sudden indignation. I have focused on a subject he does not wish to discuss and so, in return, he wants to make me feel uncomfortable, again.

  I, however, advise myself to ignore this and decide to continue as normal, quickly coming to the conclusion that I am dealing with a man who has never quite grown out of petulant adolescence. In a way, I’m glad. It’s not an attractive trait, and it allows me to concentrate on why I’m here and not be distracted by his natural and all-consuming charm. Yet even as I conclude this, I succumb to the megawatt smile he is now flashing.

  “What?” I ask impatiently and, once again, utterly unprofessionally. He’s getting to me and I’m letting him.

  “It’s good to talk,” he announces rather genuinely, and his eyebrows furrow momentarily as if he regrets the fact that he doesn’t talk more often, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s reliving memories that he hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on for a long time. I don’t know.

  I twist my lips, totally bemused by his constantly changing mood. “Then shall we move on to your enterprises, starting from the beginning?”

  He immediately relaxes, giving me the impression he’s happier talking business than he is talking personal, and for the next three hours I listen intently as he tells me, in grotesque detail, about the misdemeanours of his past.

  Chapter one

  July 1986

  “You’re a lying cow, Gina!” Lily Summers pointed a stiff finger at the girl who had been her best friend for the past six years. Gina Watson stood confidently in the middle of the school car park as Lily strode up to her and halted a good five metres away from her so that they had to raise their voices to communicate. The sun was beaming down on them, an unexpectedly warm summer’s day gracing their last ever day at school.

  Lily and Gina had grown up together. They had shared every important moment in their young lives from first kisses to first boyfriends to trying cigarettes and underage drinking. They had laughed and cried together and shared their dreams and fears with one another since they were ten years old.

  Lily’s light blue eyes glistened with tears. She knew she shouldn’t really be saying anything to Gina. Aiden would go spare, but when the smug cow, with her large breasts and perfectly long legs, had given her a half-hearted apology for sleeping with him behind her back, she had finally lost all of her usual composure.

  “And you, Lily, are a complete pushover! You have no idea what your fella gets up to!” Gina retorted nastily, curling her long self-manicured fingers over her prematurely developed hips.

  Lily was mortified. Struck dumb momentarily, she peered at the crowd of students that was quickly assembling around them. Their argument was the last thing anyone thought they’d see. It was common knowledge that Lily Summers and Gina Watson were – usually – inseparable. Now they were glaring at one another as if they wanted to tear each other apart and everyone wanted to see what would happen next.

  “My bet’s on Gina,” Lily heard one girl mutter behind her.

  Contrary to Gina’s dark features and sinister temperament, Lily was a little ray of sunshine, all sparkling blonde hair, blue eyes and sweetness. She didn’t have half of Gina’s confidence or her natural ferociousness.

  “You’re housewife material, Lily,” Gina pressed, her dark, plucked eyebrows shooting up beneath her fringe. She whispered, loudly and deviously, her green eyes narrowing, “Aiden wants somet
hing a bit more exciting, if you know what I mean.”

  The crowd around them muttered and fidgeted with anticipation. Lily’s pink lips parted in shock. She felt her cheeks flush, and from somewhere deep inside, from some faraway place where she didn’t visit often, came her growling response, “Well, at least I haven’t got a mouth like a sewer and legs like a corner shop!”

  Gina frowned, twisting her lips derisively at her friend’s attempted insult.

  “Open all hours,” Lily added with a quivering smirk of her own. There was a snigger from the crowd and Lily felt immensely proud of herself, despite the fact that she was shaking from head to toe. She didn’t do confrontation at all well.

  Gina narrowed her eyes and surveyed her friend. She saw why someone like Aiden Foster would be attracted to Lily Summers. Lily represented the kind of person Aiden could only dream of being, and deep down Gina had to admit that she had befriended Lily for the very same reason. Lily was an angel, someone who hadn’t been negatively affected by her environment. She was one of a very low percentage of young adults in that car park who had not already been defeated by deprivation and questionable parenting: the council-estate culture of the East End.

  Lily Summers was the daughter of Sergeant Howard Summers of Hackney Police Station and DI Anne Summers of the Metropolitan Police. The family owned a four-bed terrace abutting Victoria Park in Hackney. They had two cars, went on holidays outside of the UK and, according to Lily, were all very happy. Gina and Aiden… they had not experienced much happiness growing up. It made sense that Aiden had turned to her when things had got complicated with Lily.

  Both from Hackney’s notorious Carlton estate, Gina Watson and Aiden Foster were of the same ilk; they understood each other. They thrived in the darkness and the danger of the world they inhabited. Lily was too good for Aiden, too good for any of them: a Filth’s daughter. The only imprudent thing she had ever done in her entire life was date Aiden Foster: the son of an alcoholic waster; an insanely attractive, five-foot-eleven man-boy, who smoked marijuana and could beat up most lads his age with his little finger.

  Gina noticed the streaks of tears that glistened on Lily’s pink cheeks and she sighed, her green eyes locating the floor. She didn’t want to continue a slanging match with her friend. She didn’t want to hurt her any more than she already had.

  “How could you do this to me?” Lily sniffed, the crowd insignificant now as she stared at her old friend, beseeching her for comfort. “You know how much I love him.”

  Gina couldn’t look her friend in the eye. She so wanted to announce to the world that she loved Aiden too, or at least she thought she did, but such words just didn’t pour out of her as easily as they did out of Lily. And what would Aiden say if he ever found out? When their eyes met once more, Gina knew this moment would probably be the last time she saw her friend. Lily was off to college, leaving her behind to fester in the squalor and inopportunity of life on the Carlton estate.

  Running her hand through her thick mass of dark hair, Gina replied, softly and with empathy, “If he cared about you, Lils – really cared – do you think he would see me behind your back?” She wanted so much to reason with her friend, to enlighten her with the plain fact that Aiden was just better off with her, and Lily was better off without him. Lily had potential, one out of the very few around their way who could get out of Hackney and actually do something good with her life. She didn’t need the likes of Aiden Foster bringing her down to their level. Gina adored him too, but she was a realist and the reality was that he was bad news, and not meant for Lily.

  Lily hopelessly attempted to defend him, but her words were fruitless against Gina. Gina knew exactly the type of person he was and, though she could be accused of not taking her own advice, she was just too besotted to care. Aiden was the best she was ever going to get. But Lily… she deserved more; she could achieve much, much more.

  “We had a fight. He was angry and wanted to get back at me, that’s all…” Lily persisted, but even she wasn’t convinced by the false conviction in her words.

  “Then where is he, Lils?” Gina snapped.

  As if her words had magically summoned him, a blue Nova pulled into a parking space on the other side of the car park and Aiden climbed out of it. Slamming the door shut, he swaggered over to the crowd, which quickly dispersed. No one was getting in the way of Aiden Foster, especially when he had the expression of someone on a mission to destroy. But it was obvious, as he came closer, that only Gina was in the firing line of his penetrating icy-blue glare. Even so, Lily quaked. She hadn’t told him that she’d found out about his infidelity, but by his expression, she knew he somehow knew.

  He came to a halt beside them. “G, get in the car,” he instructed sternly.

  Gina frowned at him with suspicion. “Since when have you had a car?” she asked, and Lily could not help but feel green envy of Gina’s courage and coolness around him, whilst there she was, struggling to catch a breath and as always totally overwhelmed by his presence.

  Aiden threw a set of keys and Gina caught them effortlessly. “Get in the fucking car,” he snapped. He flicked his head towards the Nova. Gina glanced at Lily, but didn’t say another word before she turned and headed across the car park. When Aiden was in this kind of mood, you didn’t try his patience.

  Aiden pulled a cigarette from the pocket of his jeans and lit it up. He turned to Lily, and taking a long drag, his deep blue eyes twinkled as he took in the sweet blonde he’d chosen to let go. Even at the tender age of sixteen, he knew that he would always love Lily Summers. If only things were different, but he had his reasons for letting her go and, being as he rarely got what he wanted, it wasn’t in his nature to dwell on things he couldn’t have.

  Lily opened her rose-pink lips to speak, to plead with him to stay and talk to her, but he turned away and headed in the direction of his car and Gina. As she watched him walk away, tears pricking her eyes once more, she was convinced she would not see him again.

  Chapter two

  Gina wasn’t given the chance to orgasm, even if she could, before Aiden pulled his member from her and pushed himself off her back and off the bed. He padded over to her dresser and lit a half-smoked joint that he’d left in the metal ashtray placed upon there. Taking the smoke deep into his lungs, he held his breath and watched Gina slip on her black lace knickers and bra.

  Gina had a magnificent figure. At just sixteen, she had the body of a porn star. That’s what he thought, anyway. If she would just stay quiet she would be the perfect escort but Gina was a mouthy bitch and this wasn’t an acceptable quality in his mind. Still, there was something about Gina Watson that kept him coming back for more.

  She strutted over to him, her hips swinging and her large breasts bouncing. Taking his hand, she directed the joint to her mouth and took a drag. “You could have let me finish, you selfish cunt,” she announced on her exhalation.

  Aiden looked down at her, his top lip twitching up into an arrogant smile. “I gotta go.”

  “’Course you have…” she replied derisively.

  Neither of them spoke whilst Aiden dressed himself. Leaning against her dresser, Gina surveyed him with a mixture of derision and desire. He was the embodiment of perfection, with a flawless profile; all high cheekbones, straight nose and full sculptured lips; tall and naturally muscular with definition around his arms, chest and back; and his piercing blue eyes put any girl into a trance. As he ran a hand through his thick black hair, she thought of how she loved tugging on it when they lay together; how she loved to slide her hands down his back and over his impeccable arse. Yet, for all his exceptional physical qualities and absolute charm, Aiden Foster was also an arrogant, callous and vindictive git, which by some cruel design seemed to drive her wild with affection for him.

  Dressed and equipped with his pot, cigarettes and lighter, Aiden opened the door to her bedroom and made to leave. “Am I seeing you tonight?” she asked with a keenness she had not meant to convey so transparent
ly. She wanted to see him again soon. She always wanted to see him.

  “Dunno. I’ll call you, yeah?”

  He walked out. Gina watched him swagger down the hallway of the two-bed flat she shared with her father. When he disappeared out of the front door and out of ear shot, she slammed her bedroom door and, with a growl, punched the back of it then threw herself onto her bed. Tears pricked her eyes. She wouldn’t see him now for days. It had been the same for the past couple of months. He’d turn up out of the blue, get his fill then disappear, leaving her questioning her emotional attachment to him all over again. She mustn’t keep convincing herself that he cared for her, because it would be the ruining of her for sure. But she just couldn’t help it. She was addicted to Aiden Foster.

  The Foster family home was located on what was one of the countless notorious council estates in the borough of Hackney, where many of the high-rise towers in the area had been built following World War II. Once a safe haven for brave war veterans who sought to build a happy home with their families following the ugliness of war, now they were a breeding ground for crime in a decade where the lower classes were driven to fight, steal and beg for survival. Carlton House was a newer build, a four-storey block built in 1968 and sat between the 1940s ‘Twin Towers’, as they were labelled, that stood menacingly and bleakly over the estate.

  Aiden let himself into flat number twenty-two, Carlton House; his home since he had been an infant. It stank as usual, of cigars and cabbage. He took off his Adidas jacket, threw it onto the stairs and headed for the kitchen.

  Vivien Foster was cooking her usual: colcannon. Her dark hair, cut into a short bob that emphasised her heart-shaped face and bright grey eyes, swung from side to side as she mashed the potatoes. She was dressed in simple cream cotton trousers and a cream jumper with shoulder pads and, although she had been at home all day, she sported a pair of black patent stilettos. Her cheekbones were augmented by bright red blusher, but the rest of her face was barely made-up; just a touch of mascara on her eyelashes.