The Business

by Martina Cole

  ‘Is this about Jordanna? Only, I did not even know who she was. She came over to me, mate. I was not in the market for long-lost kids, I was after a bit of nifty, that was all. I would have been none the fucking wiser if she had not felt the urge to come over and reveal her identity. I half expected Jimmy Savile to turn up.’

  Basil knew that this woman was a hard fuck, knew that she was without any scruples, was devoid of any kind of love or care. He had always known that about Mel, yet her complete absence of memories or even a mild interest in her kids, still had the power to blow his mind. He knew she was just being honest, knew she had no care or want of her children and that she was incapable of anything even remotely resembling love.

  He was a second away from beating this woman to the ground once more. Imelda Dooley was a fucking nightmare, she was the only person on God’s green earth who made him feel that murder was not a deadly sin. In her case it would be classed as a mercy killing, mainly for all the people she had ever been near or by. Especially her children.

  ‘She don’t want to see you, Mel. I am here for your mother and your kids, we want you to know that if you ever see any of them again, you had better walk away from them. You need to leave them alone. Jordanna was devastated that you did not even know who she was. Did you really not recognise her, your own daughter? Can you imagine what that feels like to a young girl? Her own mother doesn’t even have the sense to know her own child? Then, when she finally gets up the nerve to approach you, you mug her off, treat her like a cunt. You shout at her in front of her mates. Do you think anyone is going to let you get away with that? Did you honestly think no one was going to give you a tug at some point?’

  Imelda was angry herself now, she was being criticised and threatened for something she did not feel was in any way her fault. ‘Look, Basil. I didn’t know who she was. I am sorry for that, but it’s the truth. She came over to me, and I was not expecting a fucking relation to jump out of the woodwork, know what I mean? I was as shocked as you are. I won’t just run if I see her again, I’ll fucking invest in a set of roller skates, but believe me, I do not want to see her again any more than she wants to see me.’

  Basil knew Imelda was telling the truth, he knew that Jordanna was the person who had initiated contact and, God love her, she had expected her mother to have at least known who she was. How Imelda had not seen the likeness between the two of them was fucking outrageous. But then he knew that Imelda was never really interested in her surroundings. She looked, but she didn’t really see anything. She was only interested in her own doings, in her own dramas. But poor Jordanna, the child who Imelda had used and abused as the fancy took her. To realise at such a young age that your own mother had no recollection of you, and still had no interest in you even when she was informed of who you were. That had to hurt, that had to really make you feel like you were nothing.

  Basil faced Imelda then, saw the utter confusion in her eyes, and knew that as bad as she was, she had been honest when she said she had not recognised her own child. He also knew that she was unable to see what the problem was anyway. As far as she was concerned, it was over with, finished, it was done.

  But then, Imelda had never understood the consequences of her actions. She had always believed that she could walk away from anything, that she could talk her way out of any situation. She had learnt the hard way that no one was beyond reproach. Especially where he was concerned. She had been made to see the error of her ways.

  But he wondered now what had she really learnt from his beating. She was still without any kind of morality. She was still living the life of a junkie. Only, as usual, she was looking quite good on it, considering.

  ‘Can you honestly sit there and tell me that you didn’t even have an inkling that your own daughter was nearby? She is your fucking ringer, Mel, like the spit out of your mouth. She knew who you were from the off. Even after all this time.’

  Mel shrugged nonchalantly, her whole countenance was without any kind of guile or pretence. She was being totally honest with him. Truthful. She was also being sarcastic now. Unable to comprehend what the big deal was.

  ‘I am sorry, but no. I had no reason on earth to think that about her at all. I was only there to score, Basil, not to appear on This is Your Fucking Life. Fuck her, and fuck you. I couldn’t give a fucking toss, she is me mother’s property now, they both are. I have no interest, darling, and you can tell her that from me.’

  Basil hated Imelda more at this moment than ever before. She was the most selfish, uncaring, disgusting person he had ever laid eyes on. Her honesty was all she had going for her at this moment in time. But even her honesty was not a given, she could lie like a politician if the need arose. It was all part of her job, lying, scheming, pretending. She was a natural at it, he knew that from bitter experience.

  But this, her complete ignorance of her daughter’s dilemma, of her daughter’s feelings when she had made herself known to her, to her own mother, a mother who had then dismissed her like she was nothing? Who had not even had the decency to pretend that she cared about her child, who was quite happy to see her daughter crushed and demoralised? It was beyond him. He knew that Imelda was incapable of any feelings and he could live with that. After all, he knew her, knew what she was. But she could have pretended she cared, feigned an interest. She had to know how difficult it was for a child to introduce herself to her own parent, especially since that parent had been the cause of all her troubles and all the ills that had plagued her young life.

  Jordanna had never once talked about the murder of Lance, or of Jed, come to that. Basil knew, as Mary knew, that Jordanna remembered everything that had ever happened around her, but she had never said a word to anyone. She had a loyalty that was amazing in someone so young. And this parody of a woman before him did not deserve to have such great kids. It was obscene to see her children growing up and know that she did not even give them a passing thought.

  Basil side-swiped Imelda suddenly with his clenched fist, putting all his strength into the blow. Her lip split, and the blood spurted out immediately. She had been unprepared for his attack. He had not known that he was going to smack her either. In fact, the blow had shocked him almost as much as it had shocked her. But Imelda Dooley needed to be reminded of her responsibilities. She needed to remember that she was the mother of two children. Even though she would never get any access to them, she needed to remember that they existed.

  Imelda wiped the blood from her face with a tissue she had retrieved from her jacket pocket. He noticed that, like her, it had seen better days. It was crumpled-up, dirty. Like her, it had been used once too often.

  She did not flinch though, she just sat there quietly. Waiting for him to do whatever it was he felt the need to do.

  He told himself that she was not worth his anger, or his hatred, that she was like a stranger to him now. But her complete disregard for her daughter, and her daughter’s feelings, made him want to really hammer the fuck out of her. He smacked her across the face once more, his hatred overtaking his good sense. ‘You cunt. You broke your daughter’s heart and you are so fucking dense you can’t even see it, can you? Do you know something, Mel, I would not want to be you for all the money in the world. You will die a lonely death like all junkies, probably of an overdose. One day you will finally score a decent bit of gear for once, and that last armful of shit will be your last fucking hurrah. Your body will probably not be found for weeks; after all, who would bother to visit you? Your kids will be left with the legacy of your fucking reputation, though. They will spend their lives living you down. They will spend their lives wondering what they had done to make you abandon them, leave them, and they will eventually understand why they were better off without you. Especially Jordanna, you used her, and you don’t even feel that you did anything wrong, do you?’

  Imelda didn’t say a word, she was not going to antagonise him, give him another excuse to belt her one. He was so wound up that he was tighter than a watch spri
ng. He would not need much of a push to go ballistic once again. She knew his words were meant to wound her, hurt her. But they didn’t. She wished she could talk to him, explain to him that she really didn’t care. He was a nice bloke was Basil. In fact, he knew her better than most people. But he didn’t understand that she knew herself better than anyone ever could or would. She was a fucking junkie, and she actually liked being a fucking junkie. It suited her. It was enough for her. It was her life, her choice. Why were people always so quick to make out that their lifestyle was the only one that mattered? Why didn’t they just leave people to do what they wanted with their own lives?

  Her daughter had crossed paths with her by sheer accident, she had not gone looking for her, had not sought her out or tried to contact her by phone, letter or fucking pony express. She was without any curiosity about the girl or her life, she had no interest in her at all. She never had been afflicted with a conscience and she was not going to develop one now. That Basil had taken it upon himself to warn her, threaten her, chastise her even, was telling her to keep away from her daughter, suited her right down to the ground. She did not want to see her again, she had never intended to in the first place.

  But she was bleeding and she was frightened and, quite frankly, she was bored out of her skull.

  ‘Can I go now, Basil? There is nothing I can say that will resolve this, you know that as well as I do.’

  Basil sighed heavily. Imelda was right in what she was saying, but that did not make it any better. She was like a robot, or one of those women who were destined to find work in doctors’ surgeries. She was without a personality, without any scruples whatsoever, and she would make sure that no one ever got past her without a fight.

  ‘Fuck off, Mel, you ain’t worth a wank. But I’ll tell you this before you go. Your daughter is a fucking star, and your son, remember him, do you? Your little boy, he is a real good kid. How that happened with you in the background like the spectre at the feast I do not know. But they are better off without you, and that is what I came here to say. Keep away from them in future, leave them alone. Even your own mother hates you, and who could blame her? You make Myra Hindley look like mother of the year.’

  Imelda got out of the car then and closed the door gently. As Basil drove away she shook her head in baffled silence.

  Her crony was walking towards her now, and giving her a lighted cigarette she said sagely, ‘The bigger the car, the smaller the prick, and the more liable the bastards driving them are to try and get the price down or hurt you in some way. It’s his problem, darling, not yours. Though it’s probably his poor wife’s as well. After all, unlike us, she has his company all the time.’

  Imelda grinned at her, grateful for the woman’s sympathy. That was the real bonus of the pavement, the girls looked out for each other. After all, no one else cared about them. Most of them didn’t even care about themselves; if they did they would not have been there in the first place.

  Her lip was swollen, but the bleeding had stopped now. She went back to her seat, settled herself down once more, and smoking her cigarette slowly, she started to ponder on what had happened to her.

  But twenty minutes later she was ensconced inside a beaten-up Fiesta and as the man, an Asian guy with bad breath and dirty fingernails, fucked her hard, she was already getting herself psyched up to go and score some brown. The night’s events were already gone from her mind, after all, Imelda never dwelt on anything for any length of time.

  Kenny was sitting on his sister’s bed, it was very late and they were keeping their voices as low as possible. If their granny heard them she would be in on top of them within nanoseconds. ‘Was she really that bad, Jorge?’

  Jordanna sighed heavily, her whole body seemed to deflate with the expulsion of her breath. ‘She was worse, Kenny, I went over there to say hello. That was all. I knew her, knew who she was from the second I laid eyes on her.’

  She sighed again, her whole body tense with anger and betrayal. ‘She looks really battered these days. In fairness, she was a real beauty once. She is scary-looking now though, because of the scars all over her boat race, but then she was scary anyway when we were kids. I just wanted her to acknowledge me, that’s all. I didn’t want a fucking big reunion, I didn’t even want to go and talk to her. I just wanted her to look over and see me. I wanted to see her reaction when she knew it was me. Her daughter. I mean, she was watching us for fuck’s sake, me and me mates, and she had no concept of me as a person whatsoever. It was like I didn’t exist, Kenny. Had never existed. That was how I felt, like I was nothing.’

  Kenny was shaking his head in abject disbelief. ‘That is fucking outrageous, how the fuck could she not know who you were? Maybe she was pretending . . . You know what she was like.’

  Jordanna laughed then. But it was a wicked laugh, full of sarcasm and hate. ‘I wish I could say that was true. Kenny, she was watching me and my mates for ages, we were making a bit of a stir you know, dancing, shouting, we were making sure we got attention from everyone. She really had no idea who I was. I could see it in her eyes. I was just a girl in the pub, nothing more.’

  Kenny lit himself a joint, took a deep toke on it and expelled the smoke slowly. The aroma of grass filled the room, sweet and cloying, the smoke hanging in the air like a fog. Jordanna waved her arms around to dispel it.

  ‘She is a real piece of work, ain’t she? I mean, once you told her who you were, she could have asked after us, asked if we were both all right. I mean, she didn’t have to fucking start mothering us, did she? But a polite enquiry, I mean, it ain’t fucking rocket science, is it? I ask after me mates’ nans and that. It’s just being nice, respectful. She fucking brought us into the world . . .’

  Jordanna closed her eyes in distress. ‘Don’t remind me! Unlike you, Kenny, I actually remember her and all that went with her. I remember her hatred, her fucking bullying, I remember her habit as well, the stench of her burning it up, the soot-blackened spoons all over the place. I remember the neglect, the dirt we lived in. I could tell you things that would freak you out no end. I am glad of one thing though, you were too young to remember her. She only wanted us when she was after something, she used us as weapons with Nana. I hate her, I really fucking loathe her.’

  Kenny was quiet for a few moments, digesting what she had said. ‘I heard about her years ago, Jorge. I know she was accused of killing me dad and that she said you had shot him, even though you were only about three then. I also know that my so-called dad was a right fucking lemon. Poor Nan is worried out of her mind now. She wants to talk to me tomorrow and I know that it will be the story of Lance. I am just going to tell her that I have known the story since the Infants. I have never talked about it before because I never knew what to say. Now though, I think it’s time for us to get it out in the open, don’t you?’

  For the second time in twenty-four hours the murder of Lance was being dragged up and Jordanna was not comfortable with that subject. She would not talk about that day, no matter who wanted to know about it. Like Jed, Lance was filed away for future reference.

  Jordanna’s face had drained of colour and Kenny saw the fear that had crept into her eyes. He knew that whatever she had witnessed was not something she was going to talk to him about in the near future. She had never spoken about it to anyone, as far as he knew. She always closed up if it was mentioned.

  He grabbed her hands, held them tight and, looking into her eyes, he said sadly, ‘Please, Sis, I don’t care what happened, all I care about is you. Me and you, that is all I am interested in. Please don’t be frightened. I think the world of you, I care about you more than anyone else in the world, even Nan.’

  Jordanna did not answer him, he had not expected her to. She looked like she had been hit over the head with a blunt object.

  ‘That is me last word on the subject, Jorge, I swear to you.’

  She nodded gently. Her face was still a deathly white, and her palms were now sticky with her sweat. He let go of her
hands and relighting his spliff he drew on it deeply once more, pulling the harsh smoke into his lungs and holding it there for a few seconds. As he exhaled, he smiled sadly at his older sister, sorry to the heart for all that she had been forced to endure.

  ‘I love you, Kenny Boy.’

  He grinned. ‘Same same, Sis. You have always looked after me, I know that. Fuck the old woman, who needs her anyway? We’ve done all right without her so far.’

  Jordanna sighed at the suppressed anger and the obvious bafflement behind her brother’s words. ‘Well, be fair, Kenny, we never had any choice in the matter, did we?’

  Imelda was sitting in the pub in her usual place, well dressed as always. Her body was still slim and her hair was washed and styled as always. She was one of the few brasses who understood the importance of keeping her body clean. She might live in shit, and she did. Her flat looked like a squat after a bad weekend catering to squaddies. But she took care of herself. She was not in the first flush of youth and she was far away from her real earning days, but she still groomed herself as a matter of personal pride. She had the look of a woman who had seen better days, but she also knew that in her game that could often be a bonus. The men who trawled the streets were not expecting a fucking babe, if they somehow got one for themselves, the pressure would prove too much for them anyway. She was a woman who did not look like she expected satisfaction, she looked like a woman who had experienced enough satisfaction for everyone.

  Young girls were often seen as frightening, intimidating, older men often wanted a woman they could use without any preliminaries. They wanted to rent a hole, no more and no less. If they wanted a big fucking song and dance they could go home and fuck their old ladies. The whole attraction of a prostitute was that the man concerned did not feel under any obligation to make the experience good for all concerned. And thank fuck for that much anyway!