by Martina Cole
Becky and Delia sat on the floor in front of the fire and gazed up longingly at the two big men in their front room.
Every time Bernie clapped eyes on her nephews, she felt an overwhelming feeling of love and pride. They were so handsome, and so huge! Both stood tall at six foot, both were well built. They had the same blue eyes, the same thick eyebrows, and the same brown-red hair. Boysie had a thinner face than Daniel though it was only noticeable to people who knew them exceptionally well.
In turn the two boys loved their aunts to distraction. Briony was referred to as ‘The Aunt’, though they called her Mum when they were with her. Bernie was next best; living so near and doting on them, it was inevitable. Then came Auntie Kerry, the singer, the famous one of the family who lived in Knightsbridge with their cousin Liselle. Then there was Auntie Rosie, or ‘poor Auntie Rosie’ as she was known, whom the boys had always adored uncritically. Their granny, Granny Moll, also worshipped them. In short, they felt quite at home in a family of women.
Nothing they did could ever faze ‘The Aunt’; everything just washed over her. Even when they’d set fire to the house in Barking by accident, she’d eventually laughed it off as a boyish prank. When the house had been bombed in the Blitz she’d laughed about that too, moving them all to Manor Park without any fuss. The boys had missed being called up by months, their Auntie Briony keeping them from going with a mixture of backhanders and chats with influential friends. Now they were just reaching manhood, voting age, the time to strike out on their own, and were still inexorably tied to ‘The Aunt’, though neither realised this fact.
They always dropped in on their Auntie Bernie to clean up properly before they went home. It had always been that way. The Aunt only ever saw them looking perfect. Even as little boys they had done it. Filthy rotten, they’d drop in on Bernie and she would spruce them up. It was their mark of respect for the woman who had brought them up and whom they loved wholeheartedly.
The clock chimed six and of one mind they rose to leave. ‘Thanks for the tea, Auntie Bernie.’
Bernadette kissed them both. Delia, the younger cousin at eight, held her arms up for a kiss and Boysie threw himself on the carpet, holding his leg.
‘Oh... Oh! Help me, I got a bone in me leg, maybe two!’ Bernadette, Delia and Rebecca laughed at his antics. Bernie dragged him up.
‘You are a case, Boysie. Here, let me brush your coat down.’ Out in the hallway she took a clothes brush from a hook by the coatstand and brushed at his coat. Smoothing the shoulders with her hands, she said, ‘There you go, son. All ready for Briony.’
The two boys kissed her on her cheek. ‘Thanks, Auntie Bernie. See you tomorrow.’
Leaving their car in her drive they walked to their own house.
Briony was writing some letters when she heard the front door open. As always, she felt a rush of pleasure at the thought the boys were once more in the house.
‘Hello, boys. What’s to do?’ she greeted them.
She had asked them this same question every day of their lives from young babies and somehow they expected it, welcomed it, and always answered in the same way.
‘We’re doing all right.’
Briony rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “‘We’re doin’ all right”? Is that what that bleeding poncey school was costing me the national debt for!’
Both boys grinned sheepishly.
‘Come here and give me a big kiss.’
Standing, she hugged them, looking even smaller between the two big hulking men.
‘You in for dinner?’
‘Yeah. Then we’re off to a club.’
‘Right then, I’ll let Cissy know. Pop in on old Mrs H, will you? She loves seeing you both.’
As they left the room she smiled to herself and went back to her letters again. The boys were home, the house was alive and everything was well once more.
Mrs Horlock, now in her eighties, was bedridden. She had shrunk ’til all that was left was a frail old body and a wispily covered skull. Her teeth were long gone and she sucked up stews, broths, and bread and milk noisily. Her mind, though, was still as sharp as a knife. As the two boys entered her bedroom she treated them to a gummy smile and patted her bed.
‘Hello, you pair of ’andsome little gits! Come and see your old Auntie H!’
They sat either side of her on the bed and took a thin hand each.
‘Hello, Auntie H. How you feeling?’
‘With me bleeding hands as always! What you two been up to then? Been fighting?’
‘Her shrewd eyes scanned the two of them and they smiled. ‘Got me winnings have you?’
‘The end of the week.’ Boysie’s voice was tight.
‘That scut Lawson’s tucked you up, ain’t he? Well, listen to me. When people tuck you up and get away with it, it’s like they won, see?’
‘I gave him a dig. If he ain’t got the brass at the end of the week, I’ll slaughter him.’ Boysie’s voice was matter-of-fact.
‘Good boy. Now there’s another fight this week in Bethnal Green. I want you to put a tenner on for me. It’s Jimmy Sands and Michael Derry. Put a tenner on Derry for me, he’ll piss it.’
Daniel laughed.
‘I’ll see Tommy Lane about putting the bet on for you. Might have a monkey on him meself. Do you want us to get you a drop of the hard, Auntie H?’
The old woman cackled. ‘What do you think? ’Course I do. You off out with the birds tonight, I suppose?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Oh, Danny Boy, the girls who get you two will be lucky!’
They kissed her and made their farewells.
Cissy was big. Over the years weight had piled on her. She now ran the house in between carrying on relationships with different men, from American airmen of indeterminate age to the coal man who had a wife and thirteen children. She was as ugly as the day was long but her ample breasts and cheery manner helped enormously, coupled with the fact she wasn’t too fussy. She would say to Briony: ‘If they’ve got their own teeth and a bit of hair, that’s good enough for me.’
To which Briony always replied. ‘Cissy, they only have to be breathing to be good enough for you!’
This reply always sent Cissy into gales of laughter. She said the blackout was the best thing that had ever happened to her and Briony was inclined to agree. Like a lot of unmarried women, and a good few married ones, she had had what was termed ‘a good war’.
Tonight the boys sat down to a large dinner. They started with a nice slice of home-made chicken liver pate with hot toast. Then they devoured a large roast chicken and finished off with a slice of apple pie. They had never known anything about shortages. In Briony’s house there was always plenty of butter, milk, eggs and meat, and the boys never questioned this, just took it all as their due.
Both of them held their stomachs with their hands and declared at exactly the same time, ‘That was handsome, Cis.’
Cissy swelled with pride, holding back an urge to take a bite out of them.
Briony laughed.
‘You two can certainly eat! Cissy, love, bring the coffee through, and a cup for yourself.’
Cissy did as she was told and they all sat chatting for a while. Both boys lit up cigarettes and Briony watched them through half-closed eyes.
‘What’s this I hear about you two being over Bethnal Green way, in a drinking club?’ She had chosen her moment carefully and was gratified to see them start.
‘Oh, I hear everything, my loves. Now listen to me. I give you a lot of freedom, but take this bit of advice. You only play with the big boys when you’re big enough to win. You get my drift?’
Both boys nodded and Briony smiled at them. Relaxed now, they smiled back. Daniel and Boysie looked at one another and raised their eyebrows. They were being given permission and they both knew this.
‘Listen, Mum, we want to start up our own business but we aren’t really sure yet in what way. We went to the club in Bethnal Green just to feel the place
out like. We’re going to another tonight in Canning Town. There’s a lot of money to be made with these clubs. People want a bit of life after the war. We want a bit of life, don’t we, Boysie?’
‘Too right we do!’
‘Well, just as long as you know what you’re doing. If you need anything, you only have to ask.’
They each grasped one of her hands.
‘We know that, Mum.’
Briony nodded but her heart ached. Here they were surrounded by people who loved them. She corrected herself, women who loved them. They had been fawned over and petted since birth. Briony knew that it was a harsh world out there and wanted to protect them from it. She knew they were spoilt rotten, she knew that they had been given more than was good for them, but they were fine boys nonetheless. A bit wild at times, she had had the police round on more than one occasion. But somehow she had always got them out of it, and knew she always would. They had become her life and the habit of loving them would have been too hard to break, even if she’d wanted to.
‘I set the plans for Berwick Manor in motion tomorrow. You want to see the state of it! Jesus, they wanted it for a hospital. Well, all I can say is they must have had sick pigs in there, it’s like a bleeding shithouse! Still, we all had to do our bit for the war, I suppose. There’s plenty of work ahead if I can get the wood. Luckily I have a friend who can get me all I want.’
‘At the right price?’ Boysie’s voice was jocular.
‘Of course. You don’t have a dog...’
Both boys interrupted her.
‘... and bark yourself!’
Cissy shook her head. ‘As clever as a bag of monkeys, these two, Bri. They’ll go far.’
Briony laughed and said, ‘That’s what worries me!’
Boysie stood up. ‘We’ll never leave you, Mum.’
‘Nah, we know when we’re well off!’
The place the boys were going to in Canning Town was a snooker hall. It was tucked away in a little turning just down from The Bridge House pub. They had dressed carefully for their evening out and both wore black suits, white shirts and black ties. Their hair was Brylcreemed back and they wore light beige camel-hair coats.
The October wind was biting as they slipped through the little doorway and entered the snooker club. It was nearly empty, as they knew it would be, and walking up to the tiny bar they ordered large whiskies. The man behind the bar surveyed them warily. He knew who they were all right, the Cavanagh twins. This was the first time he had ever seen them in his establishment and it worried him. Wherever the Cavanaghs went, trouble followed.
They were a pair of little fuckers in his opinion, but what could he do? Their aunt was Briony Cavanagh.
The twins drank their scotch and looked around them. The place was dim. Four men were playing a desultory game of snooker, watching the boys surreptitiously as they chalked their cues. Eyeing one another with unspoken questions.
At just after eight-thirty three more men walked in. The proprietor smiled at them eagerly but the snooker players kept their distance. Everyone including the twins knew who these men were. The McNees were well known in Canning Town, all over Silvertown for that matter. They were three lunatics who took protection money from little clubs such as this and played the heavy for the bigger villains who couldn’t be bothered to do their own dirty work. The eldest, Seamus McNee, was hoping to become the torturer for the Rileys eventually. It was his only aim in life. They clocked the twins immediately and nodded in their direction. The twins nodded back, smiling cheerfully.
‘Fancy a drink, Seamus?’ Boysie’s voice was loud and jocular. ‘Another round here, mate, and whatever the McNees want.’
The proprietor heaved a sigh of relief. He had been worried that there was going to be trouble with them all. He set about pouring two large scotches and three pints of Guinness with whisky chasers, the McNees’ trademark.
‘We’ll have a drink with you.’ Seamus sounded like he was doing them a favour. He saw Boysie’s face harden and clicked his fingers at the owner.
‘Ain’t you got something for us?’ He held out a large meaty paw.
‘Of course I have, Mr McNee, I ain’t never let you down, have I?’ His voice was nervous. The feeling of foreboding was back. Declan and Porrick McNee smiled at the twins in a friendly manner and Seamus rolled his eyes.
‘All right, Declan? How’s it going, mate?’ Daniel’s voice was low.
‘Oh, not too bad. What one are you? I always get you two mixed up.’
Boysie laughed as he watched the owner hand over a roll of cash to Seamus.
‘That’s because you’re as thick as fucking shit.’
Seamus turned to face them, dropping the money into a pool of beer on the bar.
‘What did you say?’ His voice was outraged.
The twins laughed together.
‘What, you deaf as well as stupid?’
Seamus stood erect, his face growing red with temper. As he drew back his fist the twins looked at one another and stepped away from him, then together they put their hands inside their overcoats and took out sawn-off shotguns. The four men playing snooker all dropped to the floor.
Boysie took the money off the bar and laughed as he put it in his pocket.
Then he pointed the gun at Seamus McNee’s legs and pulled the trigger. The explosion as the gun went off shook the small club. The owner crossed himself before running out through the back of the bar and locking himself in the toilet. Declan and Porrick looked at their brother writhing on the floor in agony as if they had never in their life seen him before. Boysie and Danny laughed out loud.
‘Get your brother to the hospital, lads. I think his little legs is hurting him.’ Then they tossed back their drinks and walked towards the door.
Daniel stopped and looked back. ‘Oh, by the way, tell Seamus we’ll be picking up all your rents in future, OK? And if he causes any more bother, the next shot goes right into his head. Tara.’
Porrick, never noted for his brains at the best of times, waved and said tara back.
Outside, the twins laughed and joked with each other all the way to the car. They were high on adrenaline, both feeling the rush of pure pleasure that their violent act had produced.
The story hit the streets within hours.
The Cavanagh twins were well and truly on their way.
Briony was with Mariah, sorting out how best to get the Manor back up and running. It had always been their most lucrative house, and now the war was over and everyone was getting on with their lives, they wanted to get it back in business. Mariah had been all for refusing to let it be used as a hospital but Briony had stood firm. It was the least they could do for the war effort. She had been so patriotic that everyone had been amazed. Once the Blitz started Briony had arranged for a soup kitchen, and for clothing and soap to be supplied to bombed-out people. She had doled out money, taken people in until they found alternative shelter, and had won the hearts of even the most hardened charity worker. And if she had also been the instigator of a thriving black market, she felt that her efforts to help far outweighed any of the shady things she’d done. Now all she wanted was to get on with her old business.
The call came for her at ten minutes past ten. Mariah handed over the phone while Briony was laughing about something. Her face sobered up almost immediately and Mariah watched in amazement as she had slammed down the phone and poured herself a large Napoleon brandy.
‘I’ll kill those two little fuckers! By Christ, I’ll kill them!’
Mariah looked at her friend and shook her head.
Briony was still a very good-looking woman even though she was well into her forties. Her figure was slim, and her face barely lined. The new fashions suited her and her spectacular hair was worn in a chic French pleat. It was only her voice that betrayed her. Until she opened her mouth, people always assumed she was from the upper classes.
‘You’ll never guess what the twins done tonight?’
‘What?’ Mari
ah’s voice was shocked. Briony never spoke about the twins like this. Usually she spoke of them as a mixture of the Pope and God himself.
‘They only shot bleeding Seamus McNee in the legs. In a snooker hall in Canning bloody Town. The stupid little gits! Wait ’til I get my hands on them. It’s all over Silvertown so you can bet it’ll be everywhere in the morning. And as for the Rileys, well, I just heard they’re not too happy about it. The McNees worked for them.’
‘Oh, for Gawd’s sake!’
Briony swallowed the burning liquid and shrugged.
‘Oh, sod the Rileys, they don’t bleeding well scare me. It’s the audacity of those two little sods. They sat in that house tonight like butter wouldn’t melt! They must have been planning this... You wait ’til I get my hands on them.’
Mariah took a deep breath and spoke.
‘Listen, Bri, me and you go back a long way, girl. Let me tell you something now. Those two boys are out of control. Look at last year when they had that fight at the fair in Victoria Park. They crippled that bloke, remember? Even as little kids they had a violent streak. This is the culmination of it. You’ve got to put your foot down once and for all. Stop bloody well getting them off the hook.’
Briony closed her eyes ’til they were slits and looked at the big woman in front of her. Mariah bleached her hair and still wore dresses that were too tight; she plastered the make-up on these days but she looked her age: sixty-two. It suddenly occurred to Briony that out of everyone she knew, Mariah had never been one to sing the boys’ praises. She had always pointed out their shortcomings. Even though at heart Briony knew that what her friend said was true, hearing her pulling her boys to pieces went against the grain.
‘So that’s your opinion, is it?’
Mariah shrugged. ‘For what it’s worth. It’s about time someone told you the truth of it. You and your family treat them like visiting royalty. Well, look where it’s got them. They’ve kneecapped a known villain in a dirty snooker club. I bet you’re really pleased about their good education now, ain’t you! And another thing while we’re about it...’
