by Martina Cole
Kenny would not appreciate the favour he would be doing him until he had experienced the evil slag first-hand.
‘You know the boy needs to see you; now, I want you to be nice to him. Not too nice, but I want you to make him understand that you have nothing personal against him or his sister. Let him down gently, and when the time’s right, you can do one of your famous disappearing acts.’
‘So you don’t want me to fuck him off then, is that it?’
Basil shook his head slowly, and pointing his finger into her face he snarled, ‘Just be yourself, Mel, that should do more than enough damage. But if you draw him into your shit, the drugs or the whoring, I will fucking decimate you and laugh while I do it. I mean it, Imelda, I’ll torture you and watch as you die in fucking agony. Just give me a fucking excuse, that is all I ask. He is at an age where he needs to know who you are. He needs to know where he sprang from. He ain’t a cunt either, naïve maybe, but he has a fucking built-in shit detector and I am relying on that to make him see you for what you are. But he would not survive you using him for money, drugs or just because you think you can. He cares about you, needs to understand you and why you left him.’
‘So what am I supposed to do with him then? What if he decides to drag Jordanna into this family reunion or, God forbid, me fucking mother? What then?’
Basil grinned, his expensively capped teeth were bright in the muted light. ‘You just be nice. No more and no less. Don’t feign too much interest, just make him feel like you remember him. All he needs is a hello and a goodbye, that’s it. He is a handful, Mel, and if you upset him, he’ll let you know. He ain’t got the intelligence yet to suss out the exact nature of the mind games you rely on to exist. But he will suss out if you take him for a mug. If that does happen, I will see to it that you end your days delirious with pain and regrets.’
She knew he meant every word he said. She was quiet for a long while, then, sighing with inevitability, she said, ‘It’s his birthday next week. Bring him round my place then.’
She never ceased to amaze him, he would have laid odds of a thousand to one that her children’s dates of birth were something she had long forgotten. It was this kind of thing that reminded him just how dangerous she really was. Imelda forgot nothing of importance. It was another reason she had lasted so long in such a precarious occupation.
Chapter Twenty
Jordanna was drunk, dangerously drunk and seriously stoned. She knew she was not capable of cohesive rational thoughts, and the knowledge pleased her. She was with it enough to know she was out of it, and this was the feeling she liked. She was just broken enough to be able to blame any bad behaviour on her condition. As she listened to the noise of the people around her, heard the chatter, the laughter, she felt a sense of security. She needed to be in company, needed the anonymity that being part of a crowd afforded her. She was not aware of where she was, but that was something she was used to these days.
She glanced around the packed room, was aware that she had slept with the majority of the men in there and felt a wave of self-hatred. As always, when reality kicked in, she went in search of more alcohol, more cannabis, more disco biscuits. She knew she was letting herself down, but she didn’t care any more. She was her mother’s daughter and she had a reputation to live up to.
Jordanna remembered all the things that had happened to her as a child, they were inside her head day and night, and the only way to cancel them out was to get off her lovely little face. To blot everything out, and do it in a spectacular fashion. Her mother had taught her that much anyway.
Julie Parsons, a girl she had known from school and who she had once actively disliked, avoided like the plague, was now her new bosom buddy. All her old friends had been systematically alienated by her, they had all been witnesses to her shame. Joanie, the bitch, had made her disgust self-evident and she had never forgiven her for that. Never would, either. Her mother calling out for her to provide her with a drink had been the catalyst she needed for her hatred to take root inside her. If her mother had only left her alone that day, had not felt the urge to make her feel like an object of derision, of scorn, she knew she could have overcome everything once again. But her mother had gone out of her way to humiliate her, and she had more than succeeded.
She had kept quiet all her life about the night Lance had died, had believed that somehow her silence would make her mother realise how much she loved her. Would make her see that she was worthy of her love, loyalty.
Jordanna had harboured a secret hope for years that the woman who had given her life would one day seek her out and thank her for her loyalty. If not thank her, then at least acknowledge her. She knew her friends saw their mothers as the bane of their lives, and she had envied them the attention and love from the women they had spurned so easily, knowing that when they were ready those same women would be waiting to welcome them back with open arms. Jordanna had seen the hurt in their mothers’ eyes, and the way they had pretended not to care about the shabby treatment they had received from the daughters they loved more than life itself. She had wanted that unconditional love so badly it had nearly broken her. She had appreciated her granny’s love and care, knew she was loved by her, and always would be. But it was not the same thing. If your own mother couldn’t find it in her heart to love you, who else would? She had been the victim of her mother’s dislike since day one. Her mother had allowed her to be used and abused, and had not cared enough to remember what she looked like. She had not even known her own child. It didn’t matter how much her granny told her that her mother was useless, because she had worked that out for herself. Many moons before. But to see her, to be on the receiving end of her mother’s complete dismissal of her as a daughter was too much for her to endure.
Jordanna finally knew for sure that all she had been told about Imelda was the truth, she knew that she had not even scratched the surface where her mother’s deceit and hate was concerned. She now knew that her need to be acknowledged by her mum had been not only foolish, but laughable in its naïvety. She still remembered how her mother had rarely bothered to acknowledge her existence as a child, unless it was to get something for herself. She remembered exactly how she had been used as a pawn in the war that raged between her mother and her granny. She was aware that she had been used, along with Kenny Boy, to manipulate the social workers and anyone else that her mother came into contact with.
But what really hurt her more than anything else was that she had been showing off for once, with her sexy dancing and her loud-mouthed antics, and she had somehow managed to find her mother’s pub to do that in. She had paid the price for her youthful actions by her mother’s public display of disinterest. She was a fucking fool, and fools were the grateful recipients of other people’s humour. Her mother had quoted that more than once to her as a child and she had only just found out what it really meant. That she had instinctively gone to a place where her mother was comfortable, where she drank, had proved to Jordanna that blood will out in the end.
Now she had finally faced the truth of her life, she was sorry that she had not listened to the stories that she had been told all those years before. If she had understood and accepted her fate, she might not feel so distraught about it now. She really was growing up now, had always looked much older than she was. She knew that, had always known that.
And she knew now that her well-developed body would eventually be her downfall, as it had been her mother’s before her. And it was, she offered it to anyone who wanted it. She basked in the few minutes of uninterrupted attention that it provided for her. For that short time she felt valued, needed. Because for that short while, she was valued, was needed.
It was strange, but men didn’t see an actual age as such, they saw the age you looked. Not the age you acted, or the age you might insist that you were. It was as if her early development had wiped out all their common sense and decency. Men had been hitting on her since she was a kid. She had learnt how to ignore the sexual overtur
es, knew that her family name, along with her grandmother’s association with Bailey and Co., had ensured her a security that most girls could only dream of once they hit their teens.
Then that casual meeting, that one might of humiliation in her mother’s company, had wiped that out, had taken her confidence away. Now she raved as far away from home as possible. As long as she was drunk and stoned, she was all right. Then she could forget, even as she believed that she was only being her mother’s daughter.
Jordanna loved her granny, and she loved her brother. But neither of them could help her now. Neither of them could understand the way she felt about herself, her loathing at what she had let happen to her. Her mother’s murder of Lance, the father of her little brother, Jed’s treatment of her, and his death, had been inside her all of these years. She had witnessed far too much, far too soon, and no one cared. She was Jordanna, the older sister, she was supposed to look after her brother. No one had ever looked out for her. Not really.
How she had ever been stupid enough to believe that her silence had been for the good of them all, she did not know. What she did know was how having been used and then promptly forgotten about had broken her both mentally and physically. Not that anyone would ever notice that, or care about it.
Jordanna always felt unwell now, always had a cold of some sort, she often complained of being under the weather. But the amount of drugs she took was bound to make her feel a little bit off her game, surely. No one had noticed that either, not her gran, her brother, Jimmy, Basil, no one in the world. So she took more and more. It was really just an excuse to distance herself from the people who wanted to get close to her. The people she now wished would leave her alone with her guilt and her shame.
Jordanna lay in her bed and played the scenario of Lance’s murder over and over again in her head and, each time, she felt the full force of what had eventually happened to all those concerned. Especially herself.
Then she would think about Jed, Jed and his whispered endearments, his wandering hands, and his eventual possession of her. She remembered the pain and the blood that had lasted for days, that had been the cause of her and her brother staying in that filthy flat for weeks until she had been capable of walking properly once more, until she was without any outward scars, was only left with the ones inside her brain.
She had suffered so much for her silence. In care, foster care, she had been the unlucky observer of just how vulnerable the parentless child really was, saw how predatory the people who were supposed to be caring for you really were. How, if you came from a family like hers, you were seen as fair game. How you were looked down on because of where you were born, and because of who you had the misfortune to be born to. It was a lottery, life. And bullies were the only people who prospered. Jordanna had known at a very young age that she had more savvy up top than all the so-called government agency workers put together. People who couldn’t find their own arses with both hands if their lives depended on it. They needed people like her to make themselves feel better. Her granny had fought for her, and she shuddered to think what her life would have been like if she had not done just that, and won.
She had suffered in so many ways, but until her mother had been in front of her, until she had admitted the truth of her situation to herself once and for all, had seen the complete ignorance of who she actually was on her mother’s face, she had not understood how worthless she really was. Not just to her mother, but to everyone else around her as well. If your own mother turned away from you without a backward glance, then there had to be a reason for it.
She had forgiven Imelda for causing her father’s death, and even her grandfather’s death, she knew it was because of her chosen lifestyle, and her selfishness. So why had she harboured dreams of her mother’s love when she had destroyed everyone she had ever come into contact with? What had made her think she was any different, believed that somehow she deserved Imelda’s love and gratitude?
It was that utter stupidity that was chipping away at her self-esteem now, eating away at her like a cancer. And, no matter how much people tried to tell her that she was not at fault, the more she felt the burden of her shame as it pressed down on her. It coloured her whole life, and she hated it. She hated her foolish belief that one day her mother would find her, would come looking for her. Would make it all right.
As Jordanna wandered away with yet another new male acquaintance, she felt the numbness inside her that was at the crux of her self-loathing. He was just using her, but then she was using him, so what was the difference really? The more she slept around, the worse she felt about herself, and the worse she felt about herself, the more susceptible she was to this kind of situation. She was in a vicious circle and she did not have any kind of idea how she was ever going to break free from it. Or even if she wanted to.
‘Are you telling me she knew who he was, Bas?’
Basil shrugged then, his handsome face neutral as he felt Mary’s annoyance at his interference in her life. He knew that her anger was also intermingled with her gratitude that, thanks to him, they were in a position to monitor her daughter’s effect on her son. She would be happier if her daughter had kept her distance, well, so would everyone. But Mel, being Mel, had not seen fit to do the right thing. As always, they were expected to pick up the pieces and mend the broken people she would leave in her wake.
‘She had seen him eyeballing her; I think she put two and two together, Mary. But she was wary of showing her hand until she was sure it was him. Unlike poor Jordanna, I think it was a bit too obvious if you get my drift. She saw him on a lot of occasions, and you know Mel, she is not a fucking idiot. Still, I was surprised that she sussed out who he was. I do know he hadn’t got a fucking clue that she’d made him. Let’s see how it pans out. Hopefully the fact he wanted me to arrange their first proper meet, and didn’t want to chance a reception like Jordanna’s, means he is just curious. Once he satisfies his curiosity the chances are he will lose interest in her. I mean, think about it, Mary, this is Imelda we are talking about. She is not known for her sparkling personality or her ability to form lifelong friendships, is she?’
‘Kenny will appeal to her, he did as a baby. I know my daughter better than anyone and I can tell you now that he will appeal to her ego. His size, his demeanour, his fucking arrogance. He is all the things she thinks a man should be. He is all the things she tries to destroy in the men she decides she wants for herself. You should know the truth of that, Bas. I saw him tonight, he was like a dog with six lamp-posts. His excitement was almost palpable. He went out that door to meet up with you, and it was all I could do not to drag the silly little fucker back inside, tell him that he was making the biggest mistake of his life.’
Basil sighed heavily. He resented the amount of time and energy everyone seemed to use in keeping a piece of shit like Imelda on their radar. ‘But the point is you didn’t, did you, Mary? Look, London is a big place for most people. But for anyone born and bred here it’s a fucking village. Eventually he would have come across her, he moves in our circles so it was inevitable. Same as it was with Jordanna. We didn’t think it would happen so soon, but we knew it was on the cards. Only, at least this time, with Kenny Boy, we can control it to a certain extent. I am going to keep a close eye so stop worrying.’
Mary sipped at her mug of tea, she had laced it liberally with whisky. She had needed the burn of the alcohol, needed the feeling of relaxation it would give her.
‘Basil, poor Jordanna is not the same girl since she met up with her mother. I am trying to do what you asked of me. Giving her a bit of space, whatever that really means. But I can see just how much damage has been done already because of her. Imelda has been the cause of more death and destruction than even you fucking realise. You would think twice before turning your back on her, same as I would. But not Kenny. He is still young, impressionable . . . and on his birthday, is that really a good day for them to meet up? If it goes wrong he will never forget it as long as he lives,
will he?’
Basil was fed up already, he had been through all this earlier in the day. Looking at his expensive gold watch he jumped up, saying, ‘All the better really, if you think about it. Look, I will be late meeting him if I ain’t careful. Just chill out and let me deal with this, all right?’
Mary knew when she was beaten, and nodding sadly, she watched him leave the room. He had been a good friend to her, but she was not as cavalier as him about her daughter and the influence she might have on her grandson.
Her Jordanna had learnt to survive the gossip that had always followed her. The girl had been strong enough to push that away, she had been liked and respected for herself. She had understood at a very early age that her start in life was something she needed to take on board, knew that it would always cause people to wonder about her, and what she might be capable of. She had to live down her mother’s reputation, and the deaths of not only her own father, but her brother’s father too. A death that some people still attributed to her, even though she had just been a baby at that time.
One meeting with her mother though, and all Mary’s hard work, all the love and affection she had showered on her granddaughter, had been erased within minutes. Imelda had seen to it that her own child had suffered for her curiosity and her misguided loyalty.
Mary had wiped her mouth so many times where Imelda was concerned, and she was not sure if she could swallow much more from her daughter. She was much stronger now, she had a decent few quid, and she was finally willing to use the connections she had forged over the years to ensure that her daughter disappeared one day and never returned.
