by Martina Cole
Brendan’s wife had recently birthed twin boys and, as expected, Mary had gone to see them at the hospital, thrilled at the new additions to her family. She had been received very coolly by the woman of the hour. Mary had felt the atmosphere almost immediately and knew that she was not as welcome as she would have expected, especially as she had been bankrolling the fuckers since day one.
She had not been invited to hold the new babies, or even to touch them in any way. The fucking treacherous whore had more or less mugged her off completely. She knew she was being set up, knew that they thought she would weigh out more for access to her new grandbabies.
No chance. She had just about been pushed to her limit by them all; at least with her daughter, as big a fucker as she might be, she knew that her kids were actually her kids. That Imelda had actually birthed them was never in any doubt. Unlike her parenting skills, of course. Mary herself had seen them both arrive, emerge from the child she had pushed into the world many years earlier. Daughters were a touch in that respect. With her sons, however, and allowing for their choice of wives, she was not so bloody sure about the parentage. And she knew that they were trying to force her into abandoning the children produced by Imelda in favour of theirs. As if that was ever going to happen! The fact they had no care or sorrow for the children in question spoke volumes as far as she was concerned anyway.
Well, she was well able for them in the future. The next time they were on the fucking borrow, on the want, she hoped they found a bank mug enough to entertain their stupid fucking ideas and their pathetic excuses for all their debts. Because she was finished with them all now. She had felt about as welcome as a nun on a stag weekend, she had been treated like an outsider, like the enemy. And this by the very people who expected her to see them all right for a few quid. She didn’t even know the names of her grandsons.
Mary knew that Mel’s kids were seen as the opposition, were seen as the only people she seemed to care about, and she knew that, to an extent, that was probably very true. They thought that Mel being the cause of all the family’s trauma should have guaranteed her and her children’s exclusion. Mary understood that to an extent as well. But she also knew that she was open and willing for love from any of her children’s offspring. She knew how important family was; after all, family had been her life for a long time. All she had cared about, or thought about. But the need of these two poor babies was like a canker with her sons and their respective spouses. They saw these children as standing in the way of any children they produced. They did not seem to understand that their sister’s kids needed her, needed someone they could rely on. Needed their uncles as much as they needed their granny. They didn’t understand that Jordanna and Kenneth needed the illusion of normality in a world where their mother’s addiction guaranteed them a life of nothing more than abysmal betrayal, interspersed with their mother’s haphazard affection, along with her blatant ignorance of them as people, of their lives, or of their welfare.
Poor Jordanna was already accused of being a murderer. Oh, they might dress it up as manslaughter, but it was still whispered about as murder when it was gossiped about. Like mother, like daughter, seemed to be the general consensus. And her sons had not even tried to help her out, had not shown any loyalty at all. In fact, they had distanced themselves so much that she had been surprised to find they were still in the same fucking country. That had hurt, that had really smarted.
Her Brendan was so weak and so childish he put her in mind of an old Irish shawlie. He was unable to even make a decent argument about why he had not attempted to help his sister’s children out. Blanking Mel, she understood. But the children needed their uncles and yet they had acted as if they were the spawn of the devil. She had asked her sons for their help just once, and they had not even bothered to answer her calls. Her Brendan was completely manipulated by the ugly mare he had tied himself to, and by his misguided idea of loyalty. He was terrified of his wife, and so he should be, she was the size of a fucking all-in wrestler, and she had a face like a boiled shite. She was all scowls and unspoken insults, and that was when she was in a good mood. A seriously ugly bitch both inside and out, and a real bully as well. She had the art of the martyr off pat, and she played it for all it was worth.
Well, she could fuck her old man over with her constant carping till the cows came home, but where she was personally concerned, the ugly bitch could take a flying jump. Mary had told her as much on the quiet, with words of practised friendliness but determined insolence. She had told her that the twins were welcome, but as they had two parents her daughter’s children would have to be her priority. She had been told in no uncertain terms that she had to choose, and she had chosen there and then. She had been advised that their children would be far better off if they did not have to mix with Mel’s children, who they felt would be a bad influence. She had shaken her head slowly and sagely, and she had then told Brendan and his wife they were right. She was sorry that she would not see much of the boys but she understood their predicament, as they must understand hers. She had hinted that the money she was normally so liberal with could be much better spent elsewhere and had taken her leave from the hospital with her usual brusqueness.
She was willing to sit this all out, wait till the twins reached manhood if necessary, before she might finally manage a relationship of some kind with them, because then they would want to see her, would wonder about her, would be sick to death of the parents that God had seen fit to force on the poor little buggers in the first place. And that would be enough for her. That was all she could hope for in the future. Especially as it was so tough for her nowadays. She already had enough on her plate with Mel’s brood, with the fact that she was now bringing up more children when she should be enjoying life as a granny, should be enjoying just seeing them periodically, not taking them on as her own.
She had not overstayed her very thin welcome at the hospital. She had swallowed the insults from her son’s mother-in-law, who had acted as if she was an intruder, every word and look telling her that she was not welcome. Which obviously, she wasn’t.
Mary knew that her son’s mother-in-law saw her as a threat, even though she had been bankrolling the boys since day one. Well, fuck them all now, the new kids included. No one treated her like a mug; she was now so hurt and angry by their treatment of her that she was never again going to lend them a fucking halfpenny. She knew that Brendan would be round within weeks on the borrow, on the ponce, for money that they never had any intention of paying back anyway. She was just throwing good money after bad, and she knew that she had to make a stand at some point and now was as good a time as any. Let them get proper jobs now that the scrapyard had fizzled out. She was in a position to buy her grandsons’ company, should she desire it, but she was not about to do that just yet.
She would not buy her sons’ affection, or put up with their wives’ contempt. She was far too shrewd, and far too busy with the children who genuinely needed her for all that crap.
She knew that Brendan and his brother Gerald Junior really believed that it was their father’s money they were taking from her anyway, that she personally had no right to any of it. They were convinced that she wasted it all on their sister, the junkie, the whore, and her children. She was actually earning more than any of her boys would ever earn in their lives, and she was earning it on a regular basis. Her old mum had always said that everyone had their niche, something they were good at. They just had to find it. Well, she had found hers: ferreting out people’s most private and personal agendas. This had made her a rich woman; her husband had provided, but she was making more money than he had ever done. She had a respect now from her new career, that she had never had when she had been no more than the wife of a repo man. People gave her the time of day, made a point of hailing her when she walked the streets. Yet she knew that she was still seen by her sons and their wives as a fool, as even worse than that, as the enemy.
She had brought up three fine children, or so s
he had believed for all those years, but what had she actually spawned? Two boys, sons who were chronically lazy, who were unable to grasp even the simplest of concepts. Who had been fed and cared for, firstly by herself, and secondly by their father. A man who had once described them to her as thick and thicker. She had laughed with him at that description, but deep down they had both known it was the truth, that there was not one ounce of real gumption in either of them. Gerry had known, as she had, that the boys’ only real chance at any kind of life was if they worked alongside their old man. And they had, and they had convinced themselves that they were the dog’s gonads. They still didn’t have the sense to understand that without anyone to tell them what to do, they were useless. Which was why they had lumbered themselves with a pair of female bullies who, unfortunately, didn’t understand the whole set-up either.
Her boys had both taken on complete arseholes and, as far as she was concerned, that was their prerogative, but they had alienated her and she was now quite happy to return the favour. Her disappointment in her children knew no bounds, and her sons’ actions were not something she was prepared to dwell on. They were a pair of complete wasters and, as such, they were now beneath her contempt. She had needed them after the first of her tribulations, had expected the boys to stand by her and their little sister. But they had done what they had always done. Stepped back, and waited to be told what was the right thing to do, waited for someone to take over so they did not have to even think about anything, let alone make it all right. Her sons had turned out to be such a let-down, and she knew that their treatment of her had basically been the cause of her active dislike of them both.
Then there was her only daughter, the girl she had loved and cherished like no other. She had been the cause of her own father’s death, and her lies had been believed by so many people that they were still assumed to be the gospel truth by hordes of people even to this day. Imelda had brought about so many heartaches, had been the instigator of so much pain and hurt. And now what had happened to her?
She had seemingly fallen on her feet once again, she was earning fortunes, even though she was not on the bash any more, at least, not publicly. She had taken on the mantle of the pimp now instead, arranging for other people’s daughters to go out on the bash instead. Her daughter actually saw this as a step-up in the world, as some kind of promotion. But all that aside, Mary guessed that her daughter probably still had a few private customers on the side, it was the nature of the beast that she would always put the earn first.
Imelda was so busy these days that her children did not see that much of her, and for that alone, Mary would be eternally grateful. She knew that could only be a good thing, for the kids anyway. Imelda was a strange entity: was a ponce, a leech, she would sell her kids for a wrap, and yet she could still come across as Marjorie Proops when the fancy took her. It was all about how you were perceived by the rest of the world, and it had taken Mel a long time before she had sussed that out.
As Mary watched the children growing up more each day, and wondered at how they would cope with their uneasy starts in life, she wished that she could keep them like this for ever, as innocents, as her babies. As she smoked her cigarette, she watched the two children as they sat together now, their heads close and their conversation obviously of a very confidential nature. They were so lovely, were such good kids, and she prayed every day that neither of them would inherit anything from their mother except maybe her good looks. She also prayed that they would not inherit anything from their uncles either, especially their cowardice.
The doorbell went, interrupting her thought. As she answered it she was shocked to see the two men that she had noticed hanging around and about, and as they smiled at her she felt a terrible feeling of foreboding. She had been expecting this to happen at some point, and she had assumed that it would be because of the car crash that masqueraded as her daughter’s lifestyle. But even though she had convinced herself that she was more than ready for it, now the time had come, all she knew was that she was genuinely frightened and, worst of all, that she was without any real care for her only daughter’s welfare. All she cared about were the children that she now felt were more her flesh and blood than the woman who had birthed them. And she was quite happy to fight the whole world if needs be, fight until she had nothing left inside her if it meant they would be all right. Would be safe.
‘Basil, will you fuck off!’
He was laughing loudly at her anger, and she knew that he was not going to stop, no matter what she said, or how angry she became. And she could get really angry, she was even capable of frightening him when her anger finally became unmanageable. Basil sat on the edge of his desk, and looking at her seriously now, he said quietly and without any animosity, ‘I know you don’t like me mentioning this, but I feel that I have to, Mel. You are on the needle much more than is safe for you. Than is safe for anyone on the stitch as such. You are a skaghead, and that breaks my fucking heart. You are useless to me out of your box and you know that, darling. Just try and see the massive error of your ways. Listen to my advice, I am trying to help you.’
Imelda was not even smiling at him now, in fact she was outraged by his bare-faced cheek. He was a massive fucking dealer, and he relied on people like her for his livelihood. She paid his bills, and saw to it that he had a few quid on the outside.
But she also understood that it was much easier for people like him if they didn’t personally know the people who bought his merchandise. That he actually tried to make sure that they were not in any way personally involved with him. She had tried to ensure that he did not feel any kind of responsibility for plying his trade to her and her friends. But he was still more than prepared to give his bad opinion of Mel and her lifestyle without a second’s thought to the part he played in it. Now he was suddenly trying to tell her that she was a fool for her lifestyle, was no more than a mug for taking drugs. Drugs he had been providing for her on a regular basis. She was genuinely angry with him, at his hypocrisy.
This came across in her voice, and her physical demeanour. ‘It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do, OK? Can you take that on board? Can you fucking keep your big conk out of my private business? Do you think you could manage that much, eh?’ The sarcasm was evident to anyone who could hear them as they argued.
‘Oh stop it, Mel, you are looking really rough lately, and you know it as well as I do. Now, I don’t give a toss what anyone does in their spare time, but your fucking habit is affecting your work, and that means, Mel, that it has become my personal business. You are now no more than a fucking junkie in my eyes. You are the equivalent of one of those fucking idiots you see sleeping on benches. Basically that means you are on my personal shit list. Once I have to think about you as a real person, Mel, you are finished. You are over with.’
He shook his head in exaggerated sadness. ‘You had better get it sorted and get it sorted sooner rather than later, all right? I have heard a whisper that you owe money, for your gear, and it ain’t like you can’t afford it, is it? You are on a decent earn so pay up, because if you bring trouble to my front door I’ll bury you myself.’
Mel knew Basil meant what he said, and she also knew that without him she was probably finished. She was more than aware that her lifestyle was vital, was important for the punters she now serviced, was what guaranteed her all of her goodwill, such as it was. She not only sent the girls out to punters, she made a point of taking the more lucrative men for herself. She knew that Basil was more than aware of that, and she also knew that, as long as she ran everything smoothly, he would overlook anything that was not what he would class as a piss-take. After all, if they got a capture, she would be the one to take the main flak, it was her who would be put in prison.
She was the fall guy, that was the reason for the madams in the first place. The Filth didn’t go after the main providers, they were happy enough with the middle management. She also knew that if something like that did ever happen, she would se
ll him up the river so fast he would not know what had happened to him until it was too late. She had been away before, and she was not about to let that happen to her ever again.
She had used her own daughter as a fall guy that time, so what made men so fucking stupid that they didn’t think that they might be no more than a stepping stone for the woman involved? Especially when it concerned pimps, they should know better than anyone that they were the most despised people on the planet after rapists and paedophiles.
‘I might be on the needle, but it does not interfere with my job, and you know that. You are more annoyed because I can earn, really earn, and you can’t fucking get a touch near it. But by the same token, Basil, I earn you a wedge not just from me, but off of the girls in my charge.’
Basil was laughing now, really laughing at her. ‘I am trying to help you, girl, but you are too fucking dense to see it. All I am saying is, don’t skank at work. If you do it, the other girls will think that they can do it as well. And it’s drugs that will eventually get us nicked, darling, that will eventually put us all in the clink. That’ll be the reason for a police raid: drugs. Once they get their foot in the door for the Persian rugs, we will then be done for just about everything they can come up with, from procurement to living off immoral earnings, and that will all be down to you. So you either sort yourself out, or you can fuck off. But either way, you keep your lifestyle outside of this workplace, OK? This is your last chance, Mel. We had an incident last week where one of the girls was so out of it she started a fight with her punter, a very rich and very respectable banker. He was not a happy bunny, and neither was I. But, worse than that, Mel, you have been garnering debts all over the Smoke for your fucking habit and it’s finally coming back to bite your arse. Get it sorted, and get it sorted soon. You are living on borrowed time; and you’re being talked about as a loose lip. If I find out there’s any truth in that, then I will have to sort you out personally, don’t make the mistake of thinking that I am an easy target. You’d better get your act together, and you’d better start paying off your dealers.’
