The Trap

by Kimberley Chambers

  ‘Awww,’ Brenda whined.

  Queenie stared at her offspring. Brenda was eleven now and could be an obstinate little mare at times. Unlike the boys who favoured their father with their black hair and chiselled features, Brenda looked more like her side of the family. Her hair was mousy brown, the same as Queenie’s and Viv’s natural colour, and she was a skinny little thing even though she had the appetite of a horse.

  ‘Please, Mum?’ Brenda tried again.

  Vivian laughed. ‘You help me carry the cake to my house so our Michael don’t see it and I’ll give you a nice iced bun. Deal?’

  Queenie smiled when Vivian and Brenda left the house. Family was the most important thing in the world and she loved hers with a passion. Albie was a tosspot, she knew that, but he had given her four beautiful children, for which she would always be grateful to him. She didn’t love or respect him any more. What woman could love and respect a bone-idle drunk? But he never pestered her for sex these days and even if he did, she would never leave him. He was the father of her children and for that reason alone, she would always see it as her duty to suffer him.

  ‘Oh, I do love being two doors away now, Queenie. It feels like we live together, don’t it?’ Vivian said, letting herself back in with her own key.

  Queenie laughed. It was her Vinny who had secured Vivian the council house next door but one. It had become available a few months back when old Ada had passed away and Vinny had offered the man at the council a backhander to ensure it went to Viv. He had bragged when he had come home that the man was so petrified, he had refused to take the money, but had given Vinny the keys anyway. ‘My reputation precedes me once again, Mum,’ Vinny had chuckled.

  ‘Is that my little soldier I hear coming down them stairs?’ Vivian said, when she heard Lenny’s familiar flat-footed walk. He had been tired earlier, so had gone for a lie-down on Queenie’s bed.

  ‘Can I watch Mr Ed?’ Lenny asked excitedly. The programme featuring the talking horse was his current favourite. Before that, it had been Flipper.

  ‘Yep, course you can,’ Queenie replied. Both she and Vivian now had posh TVs. They had been Christmas presents last year from the boys.

  ‘I love Mr Ed too,’ Brenda said, following her cousin into the lounge.

  Queenie locked eyes with her sister. ‘Ain’t we lucky with our little lot, eh? I know we’ve had hard times, but kids don’t come no better than ours, you know,’ Queenie said contentedly.

  Vivian grinned. ‘We’re blessed, Queenie. Truly blessed.’

  After George had left earlier, Vinny had spent the rest of the afternoon shagging his prettiest stripper, Karen. Unlike his brothers, who were both girl-mad, birds didn’t bother Vinny as a rule, neither did sex.

  Apart from his mother and aunt, Vinny was no big fan of women in general. He found girls his age silly and annoying, so why he had bothered ramming himself inside Karen again, who was already asking him questions such as ‘Am I your girlfriend now?’ He did not know.

  Vinny got out of bed and quickly got dressed. He had only ever had one proper girlfriend in his life and the slag had broken his heart. Fifteen, Vinny had been when he’d first set eyes on Yvonne Summers. She was two years older than him, but the age gap hadn’t mattered as he was very mature for his age. To say he had treated Yvonne like a princess was putting it mildly. Even back then, he knew how to earn a bob or two and he was forever taking her to the pictures and buying her nice presents. Had she appreciated his adoration and kindness? No. The whore had two-timed him, then run off with a lad five years his senior. Rumour had it, she’d moved to Leeds.

  Vinny had been distraught at the time and didn’t know how he would have got over it if it wasn’t for his mother. She had held his sobbing body, wiped away his tears and made him feel worthy once again.

  ‘So, am I your girlfriend now?’ Karen repeated, desperation in her voice.

  The doorbell saved Vinny from insulting her. ‘Get dressed and go out the back way. I’ve got business to deal with,’ he said, coldly.

  Wondering if George had come back to try to extract even more money, Vinny took the stairs two by two. He flung open the big metal door only to see his father standing there with a sheepish expression on his face. ‘What do you want?’ Vinny asked, unable to hide the bitterness. He didn’t want to let on to his dad he knew about Judy Preston before tomorrow. He wanted to watch him squirm when he announced his infidelity at the restaurant in front of his mother.

  Unable to look his son in the eyes, Albie stared at his shoes. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem and I really need your help,’ he mumbled.

  ‘What do you want? Beer or Scotch?’ Vinny asked, leading him into the club.

  ‘Scotch please, son.’

  Vinny poured two large Scotches on the rocks, then sat down at a nearby table. ‘Fire away then.’

  With his hands clasped together, Albie twiddled his thumbs. There was no sign of Roy which was a shame as Roy had a lesser temper on him than Vinny. He also had a more understanding nature.

  ‘Where’s Roy?’ Albie asked.

  ‘Gone to collect Michael’s moped.’

  Albie stared at his hands. There was no easy way of saying what he had to say, but he wanted to find the right words. ‘I’ve got meself in a bit of a pickle, boy. I know I promised you I would never stray again, but I had this bird come on to me. Only young, she is, and being a weak man, I was flattered if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Oh, I know what you mean all right. And I know who the tart is. You’ve been shafting Judy Preston, haven’t you? So, what’s happened? Has her brother Johnny found out and now wants to chop that diseased little cock of yours off? You make me sick, Dad, do you know that?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I know what I did is wrong, but your mum don’t want me in her bed no more. It was just too good an opportunity to turn down. I ain’t getting no younger, boy, and I was just flattered I suppose. I do love your mum though. You know that, don’t you, son?’

  Unable to stop himself, Vinny sank the rest of his drink, then brought the glass down so hard against the table, it smashed into a thousand fragments. ‘Do not fucking sit there telling me you love my mum when you stick your cock in anything that moves, and do not ever call me your son again. You are nothing to me. I despise you,’ he snarled, standing up.

  Albie looked back down at his feet. ‘How long you known for?’

  ‘A week or so. Was gonna confront you tomorrow in front of Mum at Michael’s birthday bash. I’m still telling her, so don’t think you’re fucking getting away with this one. I warned you before after I found out about that Maureen bird that if you did it again I would grass you up.’

  ‘You can’t tell her, boy. I’ll never do it again, I swear on the Bible, but please don’t tell your mother.’

  ‘You can go to hell, Dad. Unlike you, I’m a man of my word and tell her I shall. She’s bound to kick your sorry arse out, so what you gonna do then? Gonna set up home with your young bit of skirt, are ya?’

  Absolutely petrified that his whole world was about to fall apart, Albie stood up and banged his fists against the glass table. ‘You can’t tell her, Vinny. I know I don’t deserve it, but you really need to side with me for once on this. I need your help, boy.’

  Vinny chuckled. ‘Why? ’Cause Johnny Preston is gonna give you a good fawpenny one? Good! Saves me from fucking doing it.’

  ‘It ain’t Johnny. He knows about me and Judy and he’s OK about it.’

  ‘Well, what is it then?’ Vinny asked, his lip curling into another snarl.

  ‘Judy’s in the club and she’s keeping it. I accidently got her pregnant.’

  Vinny leapt up, grabbed his father by the neck in disgust and rammed his body against the wall. ‘You fucking what?’

  ‘It weren’t my fault. She said she was taking that tablet thingamajig. She lied to me,’ Albie said, panicking.

  Unable to stop himself, Vinny did what he had wanted to do for years. He beat his father senseless.
r />   CHAPTER THREE

  Bored with doing the washing up and spending their lives confined to the café, young Nancy and Christopher Walker begged their parents to allow them to go out to play.

  ‘You’re to go no further than a short walk away and you are to be back here by five at the latest,’ their father ordered them.

  Missing her friends from Stoke Newington dreadfully, Nancy tagged along reluctantly behind her brother. All day, Christopher had been harping on about the rich men with the posh cars whom he had seen the previous day when he had taken a trip to the sweetshop, but Nancy wasn’t car-mad like her brother. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a Sunbeam Tiger and an Austin Healey.

  ‘This is it,’ Christopher said, plonking himself down on a doorstep opposite the snooker club.

  ‘But there ain’t no rich men here, nor is there many cars,’ Nancy complained.

  ‘Well, there was yesterday. That Jaguar Sedan is the car that I want when I’m grown-up.’ Christopher pointed to the shiny black car that belonged to Vinny Butler.

  Nancy took a strawberry bonbon out of the paper bag and popped it into her mouth. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up, Christopher? I think I would like to be a hairdresser and do famous people’s hair like Twiggy.’

  Sucking on a Kola Kube, Christopher wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Twiggy would never have let his sister near her hair, but it was good Nancy had dreams, because he was determined to fulfil his. ‘I’m gonna be a policeman and catch people like Jack the Ripper. He killed loads of women round ’ere, you know.’

  ‘What’s that man doing, Christopher?’ Nancy asked, bemused.

  Christopher had no idea who the Italian-looking man was, but when he punched a nearby wall and then glared at him and Nancy, the boy’s intuition told him it wasn’t safe to be there. He grabbed his sister’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the café.’

  Michael Butler entered his mother’s house wearing his trademark green parka and a big grin on his face. ‘Urgh. What’s that smell?’

  ‘Lavender bags. Dotted them all over the house, including that stinking bedroom of yours,’ Queenie informed her son.

  Michael screwed up his nose and plonked himself on the Dralon sofa. His mother was the most house-proud woman that he knew. Years ago, their lounge had looked like anybody else’s. But since Vinny had been earning good money, it had had a complete transformation. The new floral wallpaper now matched the mustard three-piece suite, and the rest of the room featured dark teak furniture, a posh rug and floor lamps, a modern round coffee table and, his mother’s pride and joy, a glass ornament cabinet which was now full to the brim with expensive pieces of china that Vinny was forever bringing home.

  ‘So, how was Carnaby Street?’ Vivian asked excitedly. She had never been there herself, but knew it was all the rage at the moment for the youngsters.

  ‘Yeah, hip. Met a nice bird, and Kev got himself a well ace pair of two-tone shoes. If my brothers give me money for my birthday, I wanna go back up there and get a pair too,’ Michael replied.

  Knowing full well that Vinny and Roy had clubbed together to buy Michael his much-wanted moped, Queenie winked at her sister. ‘Don’t know what they are giving you, son, you’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings.’

  ‘I wish I was going to be sixteen tomorrow. I hate being eleven. It’s so boring,’ Brenda piped up.

  ‘I wish I could be eleven all over again, sweetheart, and know what I know now. I certainly wouldn’t make the same bleedin’ mistakes again,’ Vivian told her niece.

  ‘By saying mistakes, she means my dad,’ Lenny said casually.

  Michael looked at his mum and aunt. Knowing that a truer statement had never been spoken, all three burst out laughing.

  Roy was shocked to see Vinny sitting on the concrete steps of the club looking extremely dishevelled. ‘Whatever’s happened?’ he asked, staring at his brother’s ripped blood-splattered shirt.

  Vinny took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the kerb. ‘I’ve given Dad a good hiding,’ he admitted bluntly.

  ‘What! You fucking promised me that you weren’t gonna touch him, Vin. I thought we’d agreed that we was gonna confront him together at the restaurant tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s before I knew he’d got his young bit of skirt up the spout,’ Vinny spat.

  Gobsmacked, Roy sat on the step next to his brother. ‘For fuck’s sake. Mum’s gonna go off her rocker when she finds that out. Where is Dad now?’

  ‘Lying on the floor in the club. Mum can’t find out that it was me who done him over. We tell her nothing now, do you hear me?’

  Roy nodded. ‘What about the bird he’s knocked up? I take it she is getting rid of it?’

  Vinny stood up. ‘Me and you will have to pay her a little visit to help her make her mind up.’

  Roy followed Vinny inside the club and bolted the door. ‘What about her brother, Johnny? He’s meant to be a bit handy, ain’t he?’

  ‘There’s two of us and one of him, but that’s another reason why everything that’s happened just stays between me and you now. You say nothing to no-one, not even Michael, because if Johnny Preston does start playing up, we might have to get rid of him.’

  ‘I’m in agony. I think I’m dying. I can’t breathe properly,’ Albie Butler cried out.

  Roy gasped when he saw the state of his father. His face was covered in blood where his nose had caved in and Roy could tell immediately that his right leg was broken below the knee as the bone was poking through his skin. ‘Fucking hell, Vin. You shouldn’t have done that much damage to him.’

  ‘Help me, Roy. Please help me,’ Albie begged.

  Ordering his brother to phone an ambulance, Vinny crouched down next to his father. ‘You got jumped by four lads outside the club who were after this, OK?’ Vinny said, taking the wallet out of his father’s pocket and putting it in his own.

  In terrible pain, Albie started to cry. ‘I know I deserved a clump, but I can’t believe you broke my leg. How any lad could do that to his own flesh and blood is beyond me.’

  ‘You just wanna be grateful that I never broke your fucking neck. If the Old Bill question you, you say I heard a commotion, came outside, the boys had already legged it, and I dragged you in here, OK? Then in return, I’ll make sure Mum don’t find out your dirty little secret.’

  ‘You’re not a nice person, Vinny. You are one callous bastard,’ Albie spat.

  ‘And you are a dirty old pervert. Now, do we have a deal or not?’

  Knowing that he had no option other than to agree with his violent offspring, Albie nodded his battered head.

  Queenie was dishing up the sausages and bubble and squeak when Vinny and Roy let themselves into the house. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, putting her spatula on the worktop. Both of her sons looked ashen-faced and serious.

  ‘Look, don’t panic ’cause he is gonna be OK, but Dad got jumped outside the club by a gang of lads. They took off with his wallet,’ Vinny explained.

  ‘Well, I bet there weren’t much in that,’ Vivian mumbled, unfeelingly. She was no fan of Albie Butler and felt her sister could have done much better.

  ‘Is he OK? Where is he now?’ Queenie asked, her face etched with concern.

  ‘At the hospital. The ambulance man said they thought both his legs might be broken,’ Roy replied, feeling awkward.

  ‘Gordon Bennett! What is the world coming to if men like your dad are getting mugged? You better take me to him now,’ Queenie ordered.

  ‘Eat your dinner first, Mum, then Roy will take you up there,’ Vinny replied.

  ‘Ain’t you coming as well?’ Queenie asked, surprised.

  Not wanting to be anywhere near his arsehole of a father, Vinny shook his head. ‘Roy’ll look after you, Mum. Someone has to be at the club, don’t they?’

  Queenie eyed her eldest child with suspicion, but said nothing. Both Vinny and Roy had virtually blanked Albie during dinner the ot
her day and Queenie wasn’t stupid. She could tell Vinny had fallen out with his father. Now all she had to do was find out why.

  Humming along to Petula Clark’s ‘Downtown’, Mary smiled as the woman she and Donald had nicknamed Mad Freda approached the counter. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’ This was the first time Freda had visited the café since the day she had knocked at the door to warn them about the Butler family.

  ‘Mug of tea and a piece of that fruit cake, please. So, how’s it going?’ Freda enquired.

  ‘Ever so well, thanks. Donald and I have been run off our feet again today.’

  ‘Met the Butlers yet?’ Freda asked.

  ‘Two ladies who came in the other day introduced themselves by that name, but they were lovely, ever so polite,’ Mary replied, desperate to avoid getting involved with tittle-tattle.

  ‘Huh. Brady and Hindley was probably lovely and polite people too,’ Freda said sarcastically, referring to the couple who had recently been arrested for murdering children on the moors.

  Thankful when Freda plonked herself at a table over by the door, Mary called her son over to the counter. Unlike his sister, who had been helping Donald in the kitchen all day, Christopher had done nothing but sit on his backside and read his Roy of the Rovers comics.

  ‘Two burgers and chips,’ Donald shouted out.

  ‘Get the plates off your dad and take them over to that table next to the jukebox, Christopher,’ Mary ordered her son.

  Christopher stood transfixed to the spot with his mouth wide open. The rich-looking man with the posh Jaguar car who he had seen punching the wall earlier had just walked into the café.

  Albie Butler felt terribly sorry for himself as he lay flat on the hospital bed with both legs up in traction.

  ‘Jesus, Albie. Whatever happened, eh?’ Queenie asked, marching into the ward with Vivian behind her.

  ‘Got jumped by a gang of lads for me wallet,’ Albie mumbled.

  ‘Why ever did they jump you? Everyone who knows you is aware you ain’t got a pot to piss in,’ Vivian replied, her voice as cold as ice.