by Martina Cole
Yet Jimmy Bailey knew without a doubt that it was his actions that had brought about Imelda’s latest escapade. Once again her anger and spite had resulted in a death, only this time her daughter was implicated, and he had a feeling that Imelda would guarantee that the child would be held responsible. It was an abortion from start to finish.
‘Mary, love, relax, eh? Sit down and I’ll get you a drink.’
He had brought a bottle of brandy with him and, opening it, he poured a generous measure into a tea cup that had been left to drain by the sink.
Sitting her down in a kitchen chair, he pushed the cup into her hands and waited while she took a few deep gulps.
It seemed to steady her, because she stopped trembling and, taking a few more deep breaths, she said sadly, ‘She did it, Jimmy, and I know that for a fact. She is blaming the child because she knows that little girl would never talk against her, she would be too terrified. Jordanna is petrified of her mother, Imelda treats that girl like a fucking animal.’
Mary had never before admitted to anyone outside of the social services that her daughter was mistreating her own child. Jimmy was shocked at the admission: over the last couple of years he had never once heard Mary say anything detrimental about her daughter’s parenting skills.
He sighed heavily, his handsome face was closed and wary as he decided how best to cope with this new development. ‘Come on, Mary, you don’t mean that.’
He was giving her an out, a chance to take back her accusation and with her denial of the said accusation he could once more pretend that he was completely devoid of any kind of involvement in Imelda’s latest catastrophe.
But Mary nodded her head with a violence born out of frustration. ‘It’s true, Jimmy, she treats Jordanna like a fucking household pet. Actually, a pet would be treated better. She uses that little child like a weapon to make me do whatever she wants. She uses her to get money from me for drugs, if I pay her enough she’ll grant me some access. But I always know that at some point she’ll arrive at my door and take her away, accusing me of all sorts, but really it’s only because she needs to produce her daughter to guarantee her Social Security money, her Family Allowance, and prove to the social services that the child is actually resident at her address. I know that I should not say this, but I hate my daughter with all my heart and soul. I can’t look after my own grandchild, and I don’t know where to go next.’
Jimmy put his arm around Mary’s shoulders, he was genuinely sorry for her and her situation. He knew that her granddaughter was everything to her, and he wished that he had left the fucking Prospect of Whitby alone.
‘Look, Mary, I’ll talk to Michael Hannon, he will know how to find a brief who specialises in children’s welfare. That is what you need now, someone who knows the law, and who is on your side. You and I both know that a good brief is worth his weight in gold, even if we also know that he will probably charge as much by the hour. So don’t let this get on top of you, get you down. You took over a fucking serious bit of business after your old man died, and I rely on you these days because you are so good at tracking people down. So bear that in mind. Imelda is a shit-bag, but you have me and Michael behind you so you are in with a good chance. Now, please stop crying, and let me get us both another drink.’
Mary was cheered by his words, she had needed someone else to back her up, believe in her, and Jimmy Bailey was the last person she would have expected to do that for her. Life was strange, you found comfort in the oddest of places.
‘Thanks, Jimmy, I know this is way over your head, and I’m sorry for unloading it on you. But I don’t know what else to do, the boys are useless and they have no care or interest in Imelda or the child, and I am terrified that she’ll be put into care fulltime, into a home or something. Jordanna is a lovely girl, but she will only open up with the right people; if you don’t know her like I do, she can come across as being a bit simple. But it’s just a self-defence mechanism against her mother’s anger and spite.’
Jimmy Bailey was unsure what he should say to make things better. He had been brought up in the care system and the knowledge he had of the reality of it was not something he felt he should share with Mary Dooley at this particular moment in time. In care, he had personally experienced violence, disgust, brutality of both a physical and a sexual nature, but the worst thing was that he had also been on the receiving end of the worst cruelty of them all: indifference.
To be ignored as if you did not actually exist was worse than any physical abuse, because eventually you began to believe that you were so useless and so uninteresting that you might as well have been invisible. It was made even worse because if the powers-that-be saw fit to overlook you, then the other kids saw their chance at having someone to look down on too.
Jimmy knew exactly how it felt to be ostracised for no other reason than that you were the new kid on the block, and the previous new kid was looking forward to persecuting the new guy with all the enthusiasm he could muster.
But it was the adults’ indifference that really left a scar; when you tried to confide in them about what was happening to you after lights out in the dorm, how the bigger lads were using the younger boys as their personal slaves, and knowing that the person you were trying to alert to your plight was already more than aware of what was happening and still did not give a flying fuck for you or your welfare. It was then, when you suddenly realised that you were on your own, that nobody in the world cared about what happened to you, and that the only person you would ever really be able to count on was yourself. It hit you harder than a breeze block dropped from a tower block. So you either accepted your fate, or you made up your mind to fight against it with everything you could muster.
Jimmy had chosen the latter and, after going to bed with a couple of large builders’ bricks that he had secreted inside his pillowcase, he had proceeded physically to take out a tall, heavy-set and arrogant fifteen-year-old boy called Dennis Crosby, by smashing him over the head repeatedly with his home-made weapon until he stopped moving. Crosby was after him for sexual reasons and he somehow knew that. Jimmy also knew that if he had not taken him out once and for all, he would have been destroyed on a nightly basis.
He had then taken Mr Crosby’s booty from his bedside cabinet. It had consisted of contraband, primarily cigarettes, money and drugs. The drugs were mainly sleeping pills and Valium. There were a few purple hearts and a few other stimulants for the older kids, the kids who were too old or too big to be preyed on any more. But in the care system, most of the kids just wanted oblivion. Sleep, that was the main thing they all yearned for. Deep, undisturbed sleep.
Jimmy had learnt a valuable lesson, that the strongest was not always the biggest. That, if you needed to, a weapon was a good way of putting your feelings across, especially to certain people who only understood a stronger will than their own.
After that night, he had been left in peace, but it had been a real learning curve, and he had never dropped his guard again. He had learnt how to defend himself, and he had finally understood how important your reputation as a hard man could be.
But he also heard stories about how the girls were invaded, and the thought of that little child having to endure what he knew a lot of the men who worked in the care system thought of as a bit of fun, was too much for him to contemplate.
Jordanna was her mother’s double, from the deep-blue eyes to her well-sculpted cheekbones. He knew from experience that she was exactly what those fucking nonces dreamt about and looked for. And he wished that he had kept his fucking distance from it all, because now he would have to do something about it. He knew better than anyone what the care system did to the kids who were unfortunate enough to have to live in their family’s shadows.
‘I don’t want her any more, and I know that you won’t have any kind of opinion about her personally, because you never do. But I think she is another one of those children who are too disturbed for anyone to reach. She doesn’t talk, or move, she does nothing.
She is so pretty as well, like a little doll, but she has not even blinked in my presence. I want a child I can at least communicate with, who can react physically with a hug, or a kiss. I want them just once to give me a baby I can actually baby.’
Emily knew that her husband was not really listening to her, and she was fine with that. All she really needed was someone within her vicinity who looked as if they were interested.
‘She has only been here a little while, give her a chance, Em. After what she has been through I ain’t surprised she doesn’t talk. She seems like a nice kid, even I can see that she is very pretty.’
It was the first time her husband had ever made a remark about any of the children that had passed through their home and Emily felt quite excited at this new development on her husband’s part. Emily was suddenly overwhelmed with emotion for the little girl with the long hair and the empty eyes, seeing her for the first time as a real person, not as another child who was not ready for her hugs and kisses within the first two hours of her arrival. Another child who was unappreciative of the home comforts she was desperate to give them.
‘You’re right. She is a little dear and I expect too much too soon.’
She smiled then, and her husband smiled back, hoping that this time she gave the kid time to adjust to the new environment.
Jordanna listened to the conversation with her usual blank expression, she was not yet three, but she understood everything that was being said around her. As she saw the lady smile properly for the first time since she had arrived in the house, she decided how best to cope with this new scenario. How she should act to make sure she was not going to get beaten or starved; both of which punishments her mother had used to keep her in line, to make her do what she wanted her to do.
‘Drink please.’
Her voice was soft and hesitant, and Emily was so thrilled at those two words that she felt as if her chest would explode with pride.
She saw her husband grin, and raise his eyebrows in a gesture of amazement at her request.
Emily was thrilled at the little girl’s sudden interest in her surroundings. ‘Orange juice?’
Jordanna could see the kindness and the gratitude on the woman’s face, and knew that she had done the right thing. It might not last long here, but she was determined to make her stay as easy as possible.
She nodded her assent, and smiled widely, with all her energy. She had perfected this smile a long time ago to make her mother believe that she was thrilled by her attention, to make her mother think that she was happy in her company. She could feel the tight movement of her face, her cheeks, even her ears. As she attempted to please the two people in the room with her Jordanna wondered, in her own bewildered way, what was going to happen to her next. She hoped against hope that whatever it was, it would not involve her mummy.
As she was crushed against the lady’s enormous chest she smelt her peculiar aroma, stale sweat and perfume. But she knew better than to pull away from her, after all her mother and her cronies had smelt much worse.
Michael Hannon was nonplussed, for the first time in his life he did not know what to do. Mary Dooley was a star of stars, but her daughter’s shit was not his concern, and yet Jimmy Bailey was standing in his office expecting him to reel off the names of people who could help her.
‘I don’t have anyone on my books who deals with fucking children’s rights, have they even got any?’ Michael smiled in consternation, showing his immaculate white teeth, and knowing that Jimmy was not impressed by his pristine white railings or the answer to his question.
But he was being honest, he didn’t know a brief who could sort out children’s issues and he was not in a fucking tearing hurry to meet one personally either. It was so fucking annoying, people fucked up, and then they all descended on you, expecting you to be the jewel of wisdom.
Well, he was not that conversant with the law anyway, unless it pertained to him personally, and this quite obviously did not.
‘Well you must know somebody who could recommend someone, that’s all I am asking of you. Mary needs the best of the best, and you are known around the law courts, I just hoped you would ask about, that’s all. For fuck’s sake, she is a mate and she is a valued fucking worker.’
Michael Hannon smiled then. He felt bad for a few seconds, he knew he should have been doing this for Mary Dooley, not Jimmy Bailey.
‘ ’Course I will. I’ll ring my barrister and get a few numbers. What’s the chat about Imelda anyway? Is she going to be bailed or what?’
Jimmy shrugged with exaggerated indifference. ‘I could not give a fuck, to be honest. Mary is my priority at the moment and that little child.’
Michael Hannon smiled in wonderment. ‘Why are you so bothered about her?’
Jimmy looked into his friend’s face and, searching his eyes for some kind of understanding, he said sadly, ‘I was brought up by paid parents, remember, that’s when I wasn’t in a home, of course. So, unlike you, Michael, I have a working knowledge of how the care system actually works, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, let alone a two-year-old child.’
Michael had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’ll get the numbers for you now then, shall I?’
Jimmy wanted to hammer him until he couldn’t walk. Instead he said quietly, ‘Good man.’
Three days later Imelda was bailed out to her mother, on the proviso that she resided at her mother’s address, and that she attended a methadone programme to be determined by her social worker. She was also told that her daughter would be returned to her care within the next twenty-four hours.
Mary was not thrilled at having her daughter under her roof, but she would put up with anything to get the little one back home with her. She felt, deep down in her boots, that Imelda would not be brought to book for Lance’s murder. She knew that her daughter had shot him, knew how angry and vicious her daughter had been that night. After all, she had seen her first-hand herself when she had come to take Jordanna away from her.
Mel was still insisting that her daughter had shot Lance accidentally, while trying to defend her mother from his violent temper. Accidentally was meant to mean that, as a child, she did not know what she was doing. Jordanna was supposed to have seen her mum being beaten and gone to get the gun that was kept under the sink in the kitchen, and then shot Lance to stop him from hurting her mummy any more. Mel had the bruises to prove he had attacked her that night, and her daughter being so cute, no one was willing to bring any charges that might involve the little girl.
Though Mary had heard through the grapevine that the Old Bill were doing everything in their power to build a case against her daughter, she also knew that, with the circumstances being so unusual, and the victim in the case being such a dirt-bag, there was not much chance of the truth ever coming out.
She would attempt to get what she could from little Jordanna, but she knew already from the local CID that Jordanna would not even acknowledge any questions that pertained to the events of that night, let alone enlarge on them, or give some kind of answers. She was not yet three, and she was already shrewd enough to keep quiet around the Filth.
It was so annoying for Mary that she was back to square one, her daughter once more ensconced in her old bedroom and her baby girl being ignored by her mother, though she was completely loved by her nana.
And the worst of it was that she had seen the frown that crossed little Jordanna’s face when she had realised that her mother was staying at her nana’s house too. Mary wondered at how her Imelda, her own baby, could have turned out to be such a lying mare and, even worse than that, how she had been born such a crap mother. Even a stray dog would have done more for its pups than her child had done for her baby. She’d wondered occasionally, in her darker moments, if she had made her daughter like she was. If she had done something without realising it, and that whatever it was, it had made her daughter into the selfish, useless ponce she had become. But she could never think of anything specific or otherwise that coul
d account for her daughter’s behaviour. She had ruined her, but even that had been in a good way. She guessed it was the drugs, she always blamed the drugs, there was no other reason she could come up with.
As Mary hugged little Jordanna to her tightly, she saw Imelda watching them both from the corner of her eye. Mary was thrilled at Jordanna’s return and, as she hugged her, she talked to her in her usual baby talk. Jordanna loved it, she liked the sound of the words and she tried to repeat them as often as she could. But her attention span was short and her eyes were always watching to see what her mother might be doing; she was naturally subdued by her mother’s presence in the house. But there was not much that she could do to change that.
Imelda walked towards her daughter and said loudly, ‘Bad baby.’
Jordanna did not move an inch. Instead, she stared her mother down and, as she walked away on her little legs she said loudly, ‘Mummy bad.’
Mary grinned with pleasure, she was not about to disagree with that diagnosis, the child had a valid point. Her mummy was a bad girl.
Imelda was already on her way out of the house, and smiling at her little daughter she said gaily, ‘Mummy good, Jordanna bad. Jordanna horrible little bastard.’
Mary pulled the child’s head into her bosom in an attempt to stop her hearing what her mother was saying to her. ‘Don’t say that to the child, what the hell is it with you, why can’t you just for once be like everyone else?’
Imelda laughed as if what she had just heard was so lame it was not even worthy of an answer.
So Mary grabbed her daughter’s arm, and turning her round none too gently she asked her again why she had to be so wicked to her own child.
Imelda pulled herself away from her mother’s grip and, wiping her arm clean of imaginary filth, she said sarcastically, ‘Hasn’t the lawyer told you? I’m having another one. I’m pregnant, Mum. Lance was the father. Maybe I’ll like this one.’
