by Martina Cole
Kenny was frowning at her, and she knew he had asked her something that he felt was of real import.
‘I’m sorry, son, but I don’t know what you want from me.’
He stared at her with those dark-blue eyes of his, eyes that he had inherited from her. The word ‘son’ had thrown him, as she knew it would.
Basil was impressed at Mel’s deft handling of her son and, seeing the effect her words had on Kenny he said quickly, ‘I think that what Kenny wants to know is why you didn’t just pretend you knew Jordanna, why you had to make a snide remark and humiliate her in front of her mates?’
He had exaggerated the question, and they knew it. But Kenny also knew that it had to be asked at some point, so now was as good a time as any. He had worked out already that she had not even heard him ask her why she had more or less blanked her only daughter.
He saw the feral glint in Basil’s eyes and then saw the same glint mirrored in his mother’s. He knew that Basil was just waiting for an excuse to pounce on her and he understood that was because this woman was genuinely without any kind of feelings at all. It was a real eye-opener for him.
‘In all honesty, I was embarrassed. I did not recognise her, and if that makes you both angry, so be it. I am trying to be honest here and, believe me, that is not something I tend to do very often, as Basil will tell you.’
Kenny nodded. He looked at her once more, at her tight clothes, heavy make-up and well-cut hair. She wore good shoes; she was obviously vain about her legs and, in fairness, she had good reason to be. She looked what she was though, a brass. A pro, an old tom. She was a user, a ponce. She was without any scruples or decency.
This woman had given birth to him and yet she felt no connection to him whatsoever, even though that was not something most women did lightly. Labour was a long and painful experience from what Kenny could understand, and she had only gone through with his pregnancy and birth because she had hoped it might get her a reduced prison sentence if that became an issue. Otherwise he would probably have been scraped out and flushed down the bog long ago.
She was quiet now, watching him as he digested everything she had said. She knew then that he had made his mind up about her, and not in a good way either.
They looked at each other for long moments then, sizing each other up. He would keep an eye on her, he’d decided that she was someone it was better to keep tabs on. Now that he had finally spoken to her, the allure he had felt initially had vanished. But she was still his mum and, unfortunately, nothing or no one could ever change that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jordanna was still not right and Mary was at a loss as to how she could make the girl she loved more than life itself feel happy once more. As Jordanna lay on the sofa softly sleeping, Mary wished she could make it right for her. In the months since the attack she had reverted back to how she had been as a child.
Jordanna had never been what you might call an ebullient kind of girl, well not since Lance’s death anyway. Away from her mother’s oppressive personality, and the foster home she had been forced to stay in, she had come home to her granny and brother and, after a while, she had started to emerge from her self-induced shell. Eventually, after a lot of hard work, she had become a child once more, albeit a child who knew too much, far too much than was good for her. But Mary didn’t like to dwell on any of that.
She was a child who had silently watched the people around her, who waited to see how the people around her were going to react to the abrasive forces surrounding them, before ever allowing herself to interact with them. A child who, for a long time, had been nervous, without any kind of authentic emotions. For years she saw everyone around her as possible enemies, users.
The more they loved her, or tried to care about her, the more she seemed to mistrust them, believed they were only trying to use her for their own ends. It was all she had ever really known in her young life.
But Jordanna had one saving grace; she had always loved her granny, the only constant in her little life. She was the only person who she knew genuinely loved her, no matter what she had done, or what had happened to her. Jordanna needed someone in her life who did not judge her, or try to question her about the events of the fateful night when Lance had died, or about Jed and her mother. About the night when they had been bought to book and which she had heard in stunning clarity by all accounts.
Mary remembered now that Jordanna had pushed her little brother under the bed, had tried to protect him. It was a shame that no one had managed to protect her when she had needed it.
She had seen to it that the girl she adored had been given everything she needed, everything she asked for. She had loved them both, especially Jordanna, with a vengeance. She had also used her influence to guarantee that the girl had never had to answer to anyone about Lance’s death, she had made sure that the girl had been allowed to live a relatively normal life.
Because of that, the children had managed to get over it in the end, and Mary had created a life of sorts for them all. In fact, she had eventually even managed to bring laughter and a sense of normality into their daily lives, something they had never known before. She had been determined that these children would be loved and wanted, would feel loved and wanted, and Mary knew that she had achieved that much.
Then, once again, Imelda had come into their lives and in a few minutes and with a few choice words she had destroyed everything they had built up together without a second’s thought.
Now Kenny Boy had been determined to get in touch with her, and, having thought about it some more, she thought in all honesty that he was right, they were far better off if they knew where she was and what she was doing: in that way they could police her. Imelda had a habit of turning up like a bad penny so, in this case, forewarned was forearmed. Mary wanted to keep her as far from Jordanna as was physically possible, though. Imelda had been responsible for the girl’s problems and Kenny knew the truth of that as well as she did, as did Basil and everyone else. Michael Hannon hated her with a vengeance and so did Jimmy Bailey. Imelda had managed to fall out with everyone who would have helped her out if she had used her loaf now and again.
But now, looking at Jordanna and seeing the toll the last months had taken on her, Mary wished, once again, that her daughter would just die. An accidental overdose, or she could fall under a train; anything to get her out of everyone’s life once and for all. As long as she was alive, Mary knew that Jordanna would never know a day’s peace.
Jordanna awoke at last. She looked terrible.
Smiling falsely, Mary asked, ‘Are you all right, my darling? What did the doctor say this time?’
Jordanna smiled tremulously. She saw through it all as if she was looking through a pane of glass. But she played the game, she had no other choice.
‘I’m all right, Nan. But he told me something, and I need to talk to you about it.’
She was suddenly on the verge of tears once more. Her huge blue eyes, so like her mother and her grandmother’s, were filled with pain and sorrow.
Mary sat down on the sofa beside her granddaughter, and placing her arm around the girl’s slim shoulders she said gently, ‘What is it, my love? There’s nothing you can’t tell me, I have heard it all. I love you, and I always will.’
She was terrified inside, wondered if the girl was going to tell her she was HIV positive. It was all you seemed to hear about lately. On the TV, the news. Everyone seemed to have it. So she braced herself for whatever was coming. No matter what it was, they would cope somehow. It was all they could do.
‘I’m pregnant, and I don’t know who the father is. I have no real recollection of anything as you know . . .’
Jordanna was crying now, really sobbing. And Mary was so relieved that it wasn’t a terminal disease that she was almost smiling with gratitude.
‘Look, Jordanna, things happen in life. We know that better than most people, darling. All I can say to you now is that a life coming into the world is something to cele
brate. A gift from God himself. But if you don’t want to have this baby, I will understand, and I’ll even help you to arrange . . . whatever.’
Mary could not bring herself to say the word abortion. But she was quite willing to arrange just that if this child felt that was what she wanted to do.
Jordanna looked into her nana’s face then. ‘I am like her, ain’t I? Pregnant and without any idea who the father is. I hate meself for that, hate that I have so much of her inside of me. But I can’t have an abortion, I just couldn’t.’
Mary was so sorry for this girl who was the antithesis of her mother if she could only see that. She had acted like her mother, she had been destroyed by her, but she had nothing of that bitch in her at all.
‘Listen to me. You look like her, granted, but that is where the similarity between you ends, believe me. Now, you listen to me, and then let this be an end to it. You’ll be all right, but you have to put her out of your mind as I had to. She is a canker that taints everything around her and if you let her colour the rest of your life, then she will have won. This little child you’re carrying will be tainted by her, and so will anyone and everything that comes into your orbit. She is not right in the head, and you know that is true. Somehow she was born into this world with something missing, she has no kindness, no caring, no emotions like normal people. Once you accept that, as I have had to, and remember this is my daughter, my child, I am talking about, you will feel much better, believe me. I’ve watched you lose yourself because, somewhere in your silly fucking head, you thought you were like her, that she was your destiny. Well, she ain’t. I am your mother, to all intents and purposes, not her, and this child will have you as its mother, and you are bursting with love and caring. So please, Jordanna, just try and forget about Imelda, she is not worth the time or the effort. But, if you can’t do that, then don’t drag a child into all this; your mother did that twice, and I had to pick up the pieces. I am too old to be doing that again.’
Jordanna knew that her granny was telling her the truth of the situation. She had already let her mother poison her life, and this pregnancy was the result of that. She had gone into a spiral of drink, drugs and casual sex until, finally, she had been left for dead in the gutter, beaten and used. She had allowed her mother’s hatred and evilness to overtake her and become, for a while, the very person she had once loved and then, eventually, despised. When Imelda had humiliated her and laughed at her in front of her friends and when the stories had once more started to emerge about her childhood, she had suddenly believed that, no matter what she did, or what she achieved, she would never really be anything more than Imelda Dooley’s daughter.
Now Jordanna knew it was time to take control of her own life. She hoped this child would help her to find the good in life, hoped that it would help her to find some kind of peace inside herself. A child was born with the knack of unconditional love, she had first-hand knowledge of that, and she knew she needed someone to love, someone who was capable of loving her back, no matter what. Her mother had never returned her love, and, in the end, she had killed it. She hoped that this child would be healthy and happy, because she needed it to wipe away the sadness she felt inside herself.
Kenny was like a tightly coiled spring; he was ready to explode at any minute of the day or night. As much as he had thought he was on the ball where life was concerned, his sister’s dilemma had made him realise that he had no personal knowledge of the real world. Not when it pertained to women anyway.
He now understood that experience was of paramount importance in the world he inhabited. It was why old lags were still on the payroll well past their sell-by dates, and why the likes of Basil needed youngsters like him. He had the nous of his peer group and Basil had the experience to use it to its full advantage.
That his sister, his Jordanna, had been out and about with geezers of somewhat dubious characters was bad enough, but that they had to have known who she was, had known that she was his sister, was beyond his belief. He might only be young and on the first rung of the ladder, but he was already known well enough to garner respect. He was a fighter, and he knew that was what gave him the edge over his contemporaries. He was already working for some real Faces, and they were pleased as Punch with him and how he conducted himself. He was confident enough in his ability as a tear-up merchant to happily go up against anyone at all. Maybe not Roy Shaw, but then who would be that fucking suicidal? But anyone else, anyone who wasn’t a professional fighter, he would happily take on in a second.
So this drama with his sister was even more outrageous than it should have been. He felt it showed him in a bad light, it made him look like he was of a negligent nature. And he should have had his eye on the ball; if he had done that, then Jordanna would have been shown the error of her ways long before it had gone too far.
Poor Basil was in the same boat as him. Although Basil did insist that she had taken herself away from her manor and had not given anyone she met her family history so, in fairness, he blamed Imelda for that, as was his right. After all, it made sense that she would not want her relationship with her mother broadcast to all and sundry. The association had never enhanced her life up till then, and that was not going to change at any time in the near future, he was sure.
Jordanna had systematically dropped all her friends and all her usual pursuits, and Kenny had not even taken the time to wonder why. He had been heart-sorry for what had happened to her, but he did not feel the same way as Jordanna about their mother. She did not affect him so much, and he understood now that was because, unlike Jordanna, he had never known her. She was a fucking fleeting memory, she meant nothing to him.
Kenny felt that his sister being found nearly dead, used and battered in the gutter, was something that needed to be addressed, and addressed sooner rather than later. It reflected badly on him, and that bothered him. It was personal now. This was not just about his sister’s fucking predicament. It was about his pride.
So that was why he had been so busy the last few months. Jordanna had been found in Ilford, she had been dumped in the gutter just off Green Lane. The road itself was private and quiet, used only by the residents who lived nearby. It was not somewhere that was ever really busy, so it seemed logical to him that Jordanna had actually been left there to die. Another few hours and that is exactly what would have happened. He also knew that, whoever had dumped her had wanted her demise, had known that if she lived to tell the tale then her story would have guaranteed their complete annihilation.
He knew that she had fooled them, telling them she was staying at a friend’s house, and that she was going away for a few days. He had not even cared enough to ask her about anything, but then he had trusted her. He had no reason not to.
His granny had an inkling that Jordanna was not right, he knew that, as she seemed to think that telling him about her worries now would somehow help the situation. If she had told him about her worries at the start, he would have sorted it out then and there.
But, in his heart of hearts, he knew that he had just assumed that she was OK. He had believed that she was safe and sound. He also knew that he had failed her, that, after the run-in with Imelda, she had changed drastically, almost overnight. He should have kept his eye on the ball, and he hadn’t. He had been so busy making a name for himself that he had neglected to take care of the main business, the business that should have come before anything else, should have taken priority over everything else. The family and their welfare.
But he had snooped and he had finagled and he had passed out large sums of wonga, along with threats of violence and torture, so he could ensure that the people involved would be discreet about him, and about his enquiries.
Finally, he had collated all the stories he had been told, and through sheer hard graft, even more threats, and some promises of future business dealings, he had finally found out where Jordanna had been on that fateful night. And, more importantly, who had seen fit to take such a personal interest in her. She had r
efused to talk to the Old Bill, and he had agreed with her decision about that much anyway. He knew Jordanna was not that sure of the circumstances herself, and she did not want what had happened to her to become another talking point when her name was mentioned. He understood that, as his gran had.
Now though, after a lot of money, and a lot of terrorising, he was outside a terraced house in Vauxhall. The tenants were two brothers from Grenada who thought they were Yardies because they had sold a bit of puff, and bought a gun from a fucking schoolboy in a pub on the Old Kent Road.
Well, they were about to get smashed all over their own back Yardie, and Kenny was already feeling a deep sense of satisfaction as he contemplated his revenge. He knew they were the prime culprits, and as he saw the two minders Basil had promised him pull up in a dark-coloured Range Rover, he rubbed his hands together with gleeful anticipation. He loved a fight, always had. He loved the rush of adrenaline beforehand, the excitement that overwhelmed him as he contemplated his enemy’s total fucking destruction at his hands.
It suddenly occurred to him that his sister’s baby would, in all likelihood, be black; well, that didn’t bother him at all. He had no feelings about anything like that.
What did bother him, though, was that the child would also be fatherless; it seemed that in the Dooley family that was now a common trait. It was starting to feel like none of them was going to be blessed with a father worth their fucking salt. Well, this pair would not be fathering any more children in the near future, not if he had anything to do with it anyway.
He was raring to go now, and motioning to the two men standing idly by, he kicked the front door in. He strode into the house, his anger physical in its immensity, and shouted at the top of his voice with an affability that made his friendliness seem almost believable, ‘I’ll have a consonant please, Carol.’
