by Martina Cole
Jordanna could see the angst and remorse on Joanie’s face as she watched her in the mirrored doors, unable to bring herself to turn and face her friend once more. She felt as if she was suddenly in a parallel universe where everyone and everything she had believed in was gone, replaced with distrust and deceit; it was like a physical pain it hurt her so much.
‘Just go home, Joanie. I need to be by myself.’
Kenny came in late, and he knew he was in for a mouthful. As he stepped through the back door into the kitchen, he saw his sister kneeling beside his granny, her head in her lap, and her body shuddering with the strength of her sobs. She was in bits, and he had never before seen her crying like that.
Jordanna was not a crying type of person, and as he took in the scene before him a huge and black anger began to erupt inside him. He was a big lad, already over six foot. He was also handsome, and he knew it. He had a deep voice and a kind nature. He was also capable of great violence if he felt his family or his personal pride was being abused in any way.
Going to his sister’s side, he put a huge hand on her head and asked loudly, ‘What the fuck is going on? Has someone done something to you? If they have, you tell me who they are and I’ll fucking annihilate them.’
Mary waved him quiet. ‘Sit down, you bloody fool. She has had the misfortune to bump into your mother who, as usual, has caused fucking ructions. I curse the day I brought that whore into the world. If it wasn’t for you two, her life would have been lived without any meaning whatsoever.’
Kenny was unsure what to say to that. He had never really known his mother, he had only vague memories of her and he knew they were always accompanied by a feeling of a terrible, crushing fear. Now he was grown, he did not think of her at all. Only sometimes, at Christmas, or on his birthday. But the thoughts were fleeting, and he didn’t really know her well enough to say he missed her. Though from what he had heard over the years, she was not a person who would be missed by anyone who was in full possession of their faculties.
So his sister’s reaction to meeting her was not something he was prepared for. ‘Come on, Jorge, wipe your eyes. Don’t let her fucking make you feel bad. She is a cunt and she ain’t worth it. Tell her, Nan, she shouldn’t waste anything on her.’
Mary nodded and sighed. She had been all set to launch her grandson into outer space when poor Jordanna had come home. She had known then something was wrong. When young Joanie had left without even saying goodbye to her, she had guessed something was in the offing. When Jorge had come down the stairs and told her that she had met her mother in a pub in South London Mary had nearly died. It had been a long time since she had even thought about her daughter. She had happily wiped her from her memory and her life, had been overjoyed at seeing the back of her.
Mary knew that the time was nearing to tell Kenneth about his father’s demise and that, from what poor Jorge had told her about Joanie, she now knew for definite that if she didn’t put him in the picture then someone else certainly would. He needed to hear that story from his family, not from friends, people who had told it so often it had been stretched and bent out of all recognition. People who had not been there and who actually knew fuck all about it except what they had heard through drunken gossip and speculation.
She hated Imelda for the trouble she had caused for everyone who had ever come into her orbit. Her father was dead and everyone she came into contact with she had destroyed one way or another. Now Mary was faced with how Kenny Boy was going to react once he was told the truth of his family history. Imelda was not a person who garnered sympathy, and she was not a person who had understood the power of it. She had once more taken her own child and destroyed her in a heartbeat without any real understanding of how her actions affected those around her.
She was good at that, always had been. But Mary was determined that these children would be protected from her, and she would make sure it was done properly and with the required threats. That was all Mel understood, so she would make sure that is exactly what she got. Her old dad used to say God is good, and he was good, but he was also very busy. He just needed a bit of help now and again.
‘Oh, leave it out, Mel.’
Imelda was laughing, and it was a pleasant sound. She was, as always, on the skank. On the ponce. She would try and get anything she could for free. A cigarette, a drink, a pair of tights. She saw it as her mission in life. The man was zipping up his trousers, and she carried on laughing at him as he fastidiously checked himself over. She had him a couple of times a week. He was a fucking earhole, but he really believed he was a ladies’ man. He combed the reminder of his hair with a plastic comb that had more teeth missing than a gypsy wedding picture. He smelt of Boots shaving cream and American strong mints. He had a very overinflated opinion of himself and Imelda found him absolutely amusing when she was this stoned.
‘I need another fiver, El, I hope you can see your way to helping me out. I have to see me daughter. I swear to you, she needs me. Lovely girl, real pretty.’
‘No chance. I’ll be back tomorrow or the next day, you can earn it. I ain’t giving the money away, what am I, a fucking charity?’
Imelda grinned once more in her usual, easy-going way. She had already palmed his cigarettes and lighter so she was not going to push the issue, she knew when she was beaten. She slipped out of his car and sticking her head back in the warmth once more, she said gaily, ‘See you soon then, eh? And do me a favour, El, have a fucking bath first next time, you smell worse than a dustbin outside a kebab shop.’
She slammed the door shut and he drove off. She gave him a wanker’s sign once he was out of range. She knew he would be back, she was not only within his price range, she was also on his wavelength. She knew how to do the business afterwards, and that was something most of the girls never got the hang of. If you left them with a good bit of chat, decent banter, something to make them remember you, they always came back, over and over again. They felt safe, confident that you would make sure they were satisfied.
It was very dark, but it was still a nice warm night. The traffic was not even audible now, the roads being almost empty. The night was all hers. And she enjoyed it, she loved the night, always had. The night was for the people who knew that they were different to everyone else, who embraced the darkness and relished the anonymity it offered them. The night was all she ever wanted: she endured the days because she had the surety of the night to come and the ease it had always afforded her.
She settled herself down on a wooden box that had once contained cheap trinkets from Sri Lanka, her legs were still pretty good and she crossed them, showing them off to their full advantage. She knew that she would probably get another couple of goes tonight. A lot of the men she serviced liked the night. Like her, they wanted to use it as a cover for their activities.
She knew there were men working someplace near who cruised the market on their breaks. They would never normally have entertained the notion of a prostitute, but the night workers were often tempted by the proximity of the women who were not only cheap but were also available and especially welcoming.
She waved at another woman who was leaning against the wall nearby, she was a heavy blonde with thick lips and an over-abundance of varicose veins. She was nice enough though but, considering she was only in her late-thirties, she made Mel feel like a fucking Page Three girl beside her, and that was saying something, she knew.
A dark-blue Jaguar slid to a stop beside her. Pulling herself up slowly from her box, she was not surprised when the passenger door was pushed open for her. Imelda smiled at her good fortune, she was on another planet and her body was relaxed and comfortable for the moment. It was as if she was outside of herself, looking in. If she died, she would not care, would just enjoy the moment as a great way to go.
She slipped into the car’s interior, smelt expensive leather and even more expensive aftershave. She liked the feel of the seat, knew it was built for comfort. She knew that the owner of such a fine vehic
le would be worth a few quid, and would not be averse to paying out for services rendered. That happened occasionally on the Cross, a few quid would come looking for the thrill of the unknown fuck. It was what kept her sense of adventure alive.
So, smiling her professional smile, she finally looked at the man who had decided he wanted a quick fuck or an even quicker blow job.
‘Hello, Mel, long time no see.’ Basil looked good and he knew it. He also knew that whatever Imelda had taken to send her to the moon was now bringing her down faster than an anvil in a Tom and Jerry cartoon. He was pleased to note that she was frightened of him, and so she fucking should be. He was her worst nightmare, and he knew that, wanted to be that.
‘What do you want, Basil?’
He looked her over as if she was so much dirt he had picked up on the bottom of his expensive, hand-made shoes and said seriously, ‘Not you, darling, that’s for sure. If the bomb dropped and we were the only two people left on this earth, civilisation would have to die out.’
Chapter Eighteen
Imelda was crashing back down to earth with a vengeance. The high that she had been enjoying so much until now had turned into a paranoid nightmare within seconds of her recognition of the man who had nearly killed her, and who had taken great pleasure in it.
She had not held a grudge as such, she had taken her punishment and accepted that the general consensus was that she had deserved it. She knew that she was not the most popular of women, she also knew that her lifestyle would always be held against her. She had had no choice but to swallow and, in fairness, she had done just that.
Seeing him in the flesh, though, was a different ball game altogether. She knew Basil would always be her Achilles heel, he was the one person in the world who could frighten her, could make her feel nervous. She also noticed that he was looking really good, he had aged well. In fact, he looked better now than he had looked all those years ago. She was conscious of her own failings suddenly, was bothered by her scarred face and her broken body. He had done this to her, had made sure that she had suffered at his hands, not just physically but mentally, and she had accepted the former and disregarded the latter. She had never understood people who allowed their emotions to dictate their lives; it had happened, get over it.
Basil had wanted her desperately, she had always known that. Even though he was the opposite of her she had known that he was capable of deep and dangerous feelings. Like Jimmy Bailey he had not been able to resist her. He had hidden his feelings from the world, and when he had finally turned on her, she had known that it was personal. He had wanted to hurt her for a long time, all he had lacked was a reason. Once he had acquired that, he had really gone to town on her. She bore the scars to prove it. She knew that to feel that kind of hate, you needed to be able to feel that kind of love. There was a fine line between the two. Basil had not just hurt her, he had maimed her. However, he had killed Jed, so she felt she had come off lightly. She knew that if he had wanted it, she would have been dead.
The severity of his attack had told her that she was finished in their world. She had accepted that without a thought too, she’d had to, she had no choice in the matter.
Once something like that happened to you, there was no going back. She’d known then that, if she had any sense at all, she had to keep away from everyone and everything she had ever known. She had to keep a low profile for a while, and she had. She had played the fucking game to the letter.
In fact, she had not only needed to escape from Basil’s disgust but, more importantly, from his angry bitterness and hatred. His beating had been delivered in a cold and calculated manner. He had enjoyed inflicting it.
She had eventually recovered from her physical wounds, had been grateful to come out of it with her life intact.
He was more than capable of killing her himself, after all, he had not paid anyone else to do the dirty deed for him. It had been personal, and she had allowed for that. That he was in a position where he could call on any number of friends or associates to do the dirty deed for him had spoken volumes. She had been foolish enough to believe that she could have him over. She had believed that she had been capable of controlling him. At the time, she had really thought she could get away with it, had been willing to blame Jed for it all. It had simply never occurred to her until then that her dealings might be found out, might be misconstrued by the people she dealt with. The downside of the chemical cosh was that you did not know just how fucking cuntish you had been until it was too late. She knew better now, she understood that she had made a really big mistake. She had underestimated him, and he had shown her the error of her ways. Imelda could only hope that he was not here now for a return match of some sort.
Basil saw the scars she still carried upon her person and he felt every one of the blows he had delivered on to her face and body as if for the first time. He had made sure that she had been destroyed physically. And, God help him, he had enjoyed her demise, had loved every second of it.
Now though, after all this time, seeing the damage he had inflicted on her, and seeing the way she had overcome it, he felt a sneaking respect for her. She was one hard fuck when all was said and done. He knew men who could not have survived that level of violence and still had their balls intact.
Imelda Dooley had been in hospital for months, and that had assuaged his colossal anger towards her just a little, had caused the hate he felt for her to finally abate.
He saw her terror of what he might do to her this time, and he liked the feeling that gave him. He knew that he had finally shown her that no one was beyond retribution. Even her. Imelda had needed to fear someone. Until he had put her in her place, she had always been the person who had caused the fear. Until he had chastised her, hurt her, she had never quite understood the power that fear could produce.
She did now, though, he could see it in her eyes, in her body language. ‘Are you going to hurt me again, Basil, is that what this is about?’ Even her voice was different, she was still trying to play it cool, trying to act like she was not that scared. But she was not convincing him, or herself for that matter.
Basil saw the livid scars on her forehead, knew that they would not fade for many more years and he knew that every time she looked at them she thought of him.
She was like a parody of her former self. He knew she had not really changed, not internally anyway. She was still the same junkie piece of shit she had always been, only now she was frightened of someone. She was frightened of him, of his power, of his anger.
He lit another cigarette and, looking out of the windscreen, he said softly, ‘If I wanted you hurt, Mel, you would be hurting by now, believe me.’
She nodded almost imperceptibly and relaxed a little, assuming he wanted her to tell him something, or find out something for him. She assumed he was after something from her, needed something from her.
‘So, what do you want then, Basil? Why are you here?’
He saw the sweat that had enveloped her whole body, could smell it coming off her. It had a faint uric tang to it, and he knew she was not aware of it. Imelda was only aware of the desperate need to put more drugs inside her. He had a feeling that the drugs she craved would be in even greater demand than usual after this visit. He knew that his arrival into her useless fucking world had thrown her off course, she was so wrapped up in herself that she had given no real thought for why he might have encouraged her to get into his nice clean motor. She assumed, as always, that this was about her.
‘You are drenched, Mel, do you sweat like this often?’
He was genuinely interested. She was now so wet that her clothes were sticking to her body, not that he was that interested in her body these days. She was like a fucking doughboy, and she was beginning to smell like one into the bargain.
‘What do you want from me, Basil? Don’t prolong the fucking agony, tell me what’s going on. What I’ve done this time, or what you want from me, should that be the case.’
He laughed then,
she was so fucking different. Gone was the arrogance and the need to fight her end, no matter what. Gone was the feisty girl who had no fear of anyone or anything, who believed that the fact she wanted something was reason enough for her to demand it. Take it. Who saw the world from her point of view only, didn’t see it as something that was to be shared. Didn’t see it as something that was also the domain of billions of other people, all living their lives quite happily without her interference. He had cowed her, so he had achieved something at least. He had done a good job on her. He had often wished he had finished her off, but seeing her like this, he was pleased that she had survived his anger and his hatred.
Seeing her like this was like a balm to him, seeing her so humble was worth all the money he had amassed, and he had a lot of money, even by so-called rich people’s standards. He was worth a fucking fortune. She knew that, and he also knew that she did not give a flying fuck about it. He had always known that she had earned, but providing she had enough to score she was actually quite happy.
‘I have always known where you were, Mel, I made it my business to know that. I am here to tell you that if you ever go near your fucking kids again, you will be hunted down like a fucking dog and, this time, lady, you will be disposed of permanently. That is a promise.’
Basil saw the bewilderment that his words had caused and he knew then that she had not even thought about her children at all.
Imelda laughed at his words, her whole body language telling him she was amazed to even hear her kids mentioned.
‘What you on about? I don’t want to fucking see them, either of them, why would I? If I had wanted to, I would have seen them long before now.’
Imelda was genuinely bewildered by his words. But she sussed out what was wrong in seconds and knew that she was being warned away. Like she needed to be told. She had no interest in her kids anyway.
