The Business

by Martina Cole

  Imelda looked at her intently, her body tensed and ready for flight at the first sign of any aggravation. ‘Can I come in?’

  Louise Parks felt her heart lurch inside her breast at this unexpected visitor. Opening the door wide she said quietly, ‘Of course.’

  As Imelda walked into her home, Louise was suddenly unsure at how she should react. She didn’t know how she was supposed to treat this girl. She was desperate to ask about the child inside her but was frightened to allude to it. She felt like a hostage, someone who was devoid of power. Someone who had no real control over her life any more.

  Imelda made her way into the kitchen, it was a homely room, but she didn’t remember it like this. She remembered the house as always being in uproar, always untidy. Now it looked almost clinical in its cleanliness. She assumed that this was due to the loss of her husband and her son.

  Louise spoke then, and her voice was soft. ‘It’s cold out by the looks of it.’

  Imelda nodded. ‘It’s chilly. Do you mind that I came here?’

  Louise smiled then, a real smile that made her look years younger than she was.

  ‘ ’Course not, I am thrilled that you found it in your heart to come and visit me. I don’t know what to say to you. How to start . . .’

  Imelda grabbed at the distraught woman’s hands, and she held on to them tightly. ‘I felt the need to see you, I felt an urge to come here.’

  Louise Parks was astounded at her words and it showed when she whispered sadly, ‘Can I make you something to drink? Tea maybe, or cocoa? I craved cocoa when I was carrying Jason.’

  Louise stopped herself then, was frightened that she had mentioned his name out loud to this poor girl with the swollen belly and the haunted eyes.

  Imelda shook her head slowly. ‘I came to see you because I need your help.’

  Louise seemed to come to life at her words. Pulling out a chair she said gently, ‘Sit down, love. If I can help you I will, darling. I swear that I will do anything within my power to help you out.’

  Imelda sat down heavily, playing on the lump she carried, acting as if she was in pain. ‘I know that if Jason was alive, and knew what he had done to me, despite everything that had happened between us, he would try and make amends somehow. For the baby’s sake.’

  Louise nodded in agreement, thrilled at the course the conversation was taking. ‘Of course he would, darling, he would be over the moon at me being given the opportunity to help you, to make things right with you . . .’

  Imelda nodded almost imperceptibly, her face the picture of tragic innocence. ‘That’s what I thought. What I hoped you would say.’

  ‘How long have you got to go, until the birth I mean . . .’

  ‘About four weeks, not long now.’ Imelda rubbed her belly, caressed it as if in wonderment at the miracle of life.

  ‘Oh, darling, I wish I could do something for you, I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I wanted to send you some money, but I was frightened, that’s why I gave you me number and that. I was frightened that if I went to your house or approached you in the street you would shout at me to leave you alone. I don’t know what I am supposed to do, see, in these circumstances, I don’t know how I am supposed to act.’ She was crying now, a quiet, subdued crying that was all the more powerful because of its simplicity.

  ‘I will be honest with you, Mrs Parks, I could do with the money, I need to get stuff for the baby and that. I ain’t even got a cot, or anything . . . I was hoping that you would see how hard this all is for me, that you would understand how difficult my life is because of this baby. My mum hates it, but she knows that I couldn’t give it up . . .’

  Louise Parks felt as if all her birthdays and Christmases had arrived at once. Her dream was coming true, her boy’s child, her only link with him, was suddenly within her grasp and she was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that she had a part in its life. God was good; he had answered her prayers, and he had brought this child to her door.

  ‘How much do you need, sweetheart, a grand? I can get that for you first thing in the morning.’

  Imelda stood up then, and hugging the grieving woman to her tightly, she felt the enormity of the power that she had over her, and would always have over her, because of this child that she was carrying inside her.

  She hoped it was a boy, she might even be persuaded to name it Jason, for a price.

  Let her mother fucking sweat this one out, if push came to shove she now had another place to go, and she might just do that to teach that old bag a lesson in manners. Louise Parks’s sobbing did not touch her in any way. She just saw it as another weakness that she could exploit to her advantage.

  But she was sensible enough to keep hold of the woman until her sobs finally subsided. Then she made them both a pot of tea, her face a picture of worry and fear.

  As Imelda looked around the house, she knew that this woman was worth more than a few quid. And who else did she have to spend it on, other than her only grandchild of course?

  Brendan was in awe of Jimmy Bailey. Whereas they had been used to smashing through someone’s front door or, if they were lucky, through their conservatory, he was amazed and impressed at how Jimmy Bailey went about his business.

  He knocked quietly on the front door in question and, when it was answered, he asked politely for the man of the house. If he was in, Jimmy asked to speak to him outside, on the pretext of talking business and, once they were out of the family’s earshot, he would smile in a friendly manner and then explain in graphic detail what he would do to their wives, sons, daughters, mothers, grannies, fiancées, would threaten whoever he felt was their Achilles heel. He would then proceed to tell them in a low sing-song voice how much he would enjoy removing their eyes, or their fingertips. He would smile happily as he told them about the last man who had forgotten to pay his debts, and how he had waited around for him to come home so he could see his wife, a keen amateur gardener, lose her fingers, one by one, with her own personal pair of secateurs.

  After Jimmy chatted to the person in question, he would go inside and talk to their wives and their children, asking their names, what schools they attended, and the kids and the wives, like most people he encountered, would be entranced by his good looks and his sunny smile. They would answer his questions without a second’s thought. Jimmy knew that nine times out of ten, the men involved would take the veiled threat onboard. The money would generally be paid within twenty-four hours of the visit.

  Gerald Junior didn’t like the threats to children and, even though Jimmy assured him that that was all they were, empty threats, he was still not happy about it.

  Jimmy said that if they had any problems with the payment, the only person who would be losing a finger or a toe would be the man who owed the money. But Gerald Junior still didn’t like the inference, felt that the threats were a bit over the top. But he had to admit, they got results. They had not had to raise a hand to anyone, except of course the coasters: the people who owed a few hundred bar and were loath to pay it. These were obviously seen as fair game. It was the really big debts that were accompanied by the threats towards family and close relatives, and they were the debts that needed seeing to sooner rather than later. Still, they were coining it in, and they were hardly breaking a sweat most days.

  Gerald’s wife was not a happy bunny though, she felt that since his father’s death he had been relegated to no more than a gofer: a go-for this or a go-for that. Gerald resented her inference that he was without any kind of clout any more. And, as he had pointed out on more than one occasion, his mother was the fucking linchpin these days, and Jimmy Bailey answered to her. For some reason this sent his wife off on to an ever louder rant against him and his family. If his mother was the boss, why couldn’t she see to it that his job was guaranteed for life?

  Poor Brendan was in a similar position, his girlfriend was harassing him for a wedding at some point in the near future, and he was not a man to be rushed. Brendan was not the marryin
g kind really, his mother and brother knew that and Brendan knew that. The shame was that Brendan’s girlfriend of seven years, Tania, couldn’t seem to take that fact onboard. She was at the age for marriage and children and Brendan was quite happy to give her a child, it was the marrying part he was not so happy about.

  Gerald wondered at how life could change so quickly and so frequently. Less than a year ago he had his father, his family, and a sense of direction, now he had his mother as his boss and Jimmy Bailey calling the shots.

  Still, he had no interest in running anything, he knew that he was not cut out for that side of things and, unlike his wife, he had accepted that fact a long time ago.

  He tried not to think about his sister and her condition and her lies as well as Brendan did, but they knew they could never say anything to anyone. They had not told their father the truth of it, so they were not about to let that out to anyone else, were they? It was a dangerous thing, knowledge, it made you think about things you would rather forget about. It also made you question things you were better off leaving well alone.

  Gerald Junior gulped at his pint of Guinness, and smiling at his brother he asked casually, ‘Are you all right there, Brendan, is life treating you well?’

  It was a saying of their father’s and he said it occasionally to lift his brother’s spirits and to keep their father in the forefront of their minds.

  Brendan shrugged, and finishing his pint of bitter he said sadly, ‘I’ve had worse days, and I’ve had better ones.’

  It was their father’s stock answer and Gerald didn’t know how to react to it.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Mary was determined to keep her voice low and calm.

  ‘I was out.’

  Mary smiled grimly. ‘Have you seen the baby’s room? It’s beautiful, the decorator finished it today.’

  Imelda forced a look of bright interest on to her face and walking up the stairs she went into what was now the baby’s bedroom. It was lovely, even she had to admit that. The walls were pale-lemon and the curtains and matching cot cover depicted rainbows. The colours were subtle and the overall effect was one of peace, of calm. The carpet was cream, and the furniture was solid oak.

  ‘It’s lovely, Mum.’

  And she meant it, it was lovely.

  Mary smiled then, a real smile that changed her face completely. ‘Do you like it, really?’

  She needed her daughter’s approbation and Imelda felt a small spark of sorrow because of it. She had no care for any of this crap, all she cared about was herself. But she knew how to play the game.

  ‘Honestly, Mum, it’s beautiful. If I was going to have this baby for keeps, then I would have this room for it.’

  The answer pleased her mother as she knew it would. ‘Oh, Mel, can we not try and be friends, at least until the child’s here.’

  Imelda smiled once more. ‘By the way, Mum, what happens to me after the baby comes? I mean, I need to know what’s going to happen to me.’

  Imelda saw her mother’s face settle into its familiar noncommittal look and her practised look of feigned interest.

  ‘Well, you aren’t going to want to stay here, are you? I mean, with the child here and all. If you wanted the child then it would be different . . . But I think you should move on. Like we said, the sooner you move on, the better, for everyone concerned.’

  Imelda nodded. Mary saw the beauty that was her daughter, the face that was so beautiful it could reduce you to tears when you finally understood that the girl you had loved and adored was devoid of anything even remotely resembling a real feeling, an emotion. She had accepted that this girl of hers played at being a fully paid-up member of the human race, but she knew now that she felt nothing for anybody except herself, she only concentrated on what she wanted, on what she desired.

  She regretted her outburst, was sorry for striking her daughter while she was pregnant, and knew that she had been foolish to let herself be dragged down to her daughter’s level. Dragged into her daughter’s drama as per usual. She prayed daily for the child’s arrival so that she could finally take it away from her and, by doing so, get her daughter out of her life once and for all. She would never forgive the girl for the lies and the deceit that had culminated in her husband’s death. Mary was determined not to let her near the baby, and she knew that would only be achieved with money, and with determination. Both of which she had in abundance.

  ‘So basically, Mum, if I understood you correctly, once the baby’s born, I’m homeless. I’m out of the house. Is that what you’re trying to tell me, Mum?’

  Mary shook her head vigorously, laughing as if she had just heard the funniest joke in the world. ‘Don’t be so silly. I’ll help you get on your feet and get a job. I’ll help you to get a flat and some furniture. Christ Himself knows, you’re my daughter. I would never see you without.’

  Imelda grinned, and it was a grin that seemed to her mother to be drenched in hate, and that made her go cold inside. She had seen that grin before, had finally learnt what it meant to those who were unlucky enough to be on the receiving end of it.

  ‘And just what kind of job would you envisage for me then, Mum? An air hostess, maybe a cleaner, or I know, how about a nanny? I could look after some other fucker’s screaming brat, only this time, I would be getting paid for it. I mean, what type of job do you have in mind for me?’

  She smiled that wide, toothy smile once more.

  ‘Well, answer me then, I’m genuinely interested in what you’ve got to say, Mum. I want to picture what I’ll be doing while you’re looking after my baby. Only I found out that I can get a council flat if I keep this baby, and that I can claim money for it as well. That is without me having to work or anything, you know. Now, I don’t know about you, Mum, but I think that sounds like the better end of the deal for me. That appeals to my so-called inherent laziness: apparently the government will even pay my rent for me. Turns out this baby could be quite lucrative.’

  Mary had known deep inside that this day would come, knew that this girl would always take the easy option, use whatever, and whoever, she could, for her own advancement, even her own child.

  ‘I’ll give you anything you want, but you have to give me the baby, Mel. You don’t even want it, why would you hold it over my head like this, Mel? I’ll pay you, do anything you want. But you must promise that you won’t renege on our deal, that you won’t tuck me after all I’ve done for you?’

  ‘If you can come up with a price that I find acceptable then you have a deal: if not, then me and the baby will be forced to throw ourselves on to the mercy of the council.’

  Mary nodded in agreement, terror for the child inside her daughter taking over. ‘You name it and, if it’s within my power, you will have it. You tell me what you want, that will make it much easier all round.’

  Imelda smiled again but she didn’t answer the question. ‘Nice room, Mum, I just hope that the poor little fucker will finally get to sleep in it.’

  Mary was nearly in tears now. ‘Oh, Mel, what is wrong with you, why are you so vicious, you don’t want that poor baby, you know you don’t.’

  Imelda shrugged happily. ‘No, Mum, you’re right, I don’t want it. But the whole point is that you do.’

  Jimmy Bailey arrived at Mary’s house just after eight-fifteen. She was ready for him, as always, and, as always, he was seriously impressed with her almost encyclopaedic knowledge of people’s lives. She knew who they were related to, even distantly, she knew where they lived, what they did in their spare time, and she knew who they owed money to and who owed money to them. She could tell Jimmy their parentage back at least three generations and, more to the point, how long it would take them to gather together the money he was after. She could even tell him the people the poor bastard might ask for a loan. She was fucking amazing. No wonder her husband had been such a good collector. With her on the case it must have been easy. Mary Dooley knew everything about everyone. He had asked her how she research
ed the debts, and she had told him that he wouldn’t understand, so he had left it at that. She was a real mine of information though.

  He noticed that today she was quieter than usual, and he found himself asking her where the boys were, just to get the conversation going.

  ‘I don’t know, they are both grown men.’

  Mary was obviously not about to be drawn on anything of a personal nature so he gave up, he had always believed that people had the right to their privacy, and also the right to their own thoughts. Providing they didn’t owe him money of course. Then, their lives were basically an open book as far as he was concerned, until he got what he wanted, and then he lost all interest in them. He saw the way the big banks repossessed houses for money borrowed against them, saw how the courts took the side of the mortgage companies, the lenders. He knew, like the rest of the country, that people who took out loans were expected to pay them back. It was the law of the fucking land for Christ’s sake, only, when people borrowed from him, or people like him, they didn’t have the choice of a court case, or bankruptcy, they knew that they had to weigh him out eventually, or they would not have loaned the money to them in the first place. If you borrowed money, you now owed, if you owed, you were vulnerable, if you were vulnerable, then you were going to get hurt. It was almost biblical in its simplicity.

  Jimmy also knew that Mary’s boys were not possessed of that kind of understanding. But he kept his own counsel, there was plenty of time for personal conversations and opinions in the future.

  As he was getting ready to leave, the door opened, and Jimmy Bailey saw a girl who was so lovely she actually took his breath away.

  The effect she had on him did not go unnoticed by Mary Dooley, and that was when he saw the similarity between them. Mary must have looked very similar to her daughter when she had been the same age. It was amazing and, as always, his envy of families came to the fore. He was not envious in a nasty way, he was envious in an interested way. He felt his own loss more acutely when he was around people who had real relatives, real family. When people cared about each other, and cared about what happened to them.