She had once gone to one of the hostess clubs to relay a message after one of her prison visits and been witness to a punter causing World War Three over a bill. She had watched as the doorman tried to calm the situation and seen how the bill had finally been paid in full, without the hostess getting her fee. She had stepped in, and before the punter had left the premises she had seen to it that the girl was also paid in full. The doorman was left in no doubt that the hostesses were to be his priority in future as they were the ones who brought the men into the club in the first place.
Without the girls, why would the men pay the inflated prices? Why should a girl spend the best part of the night talking the man out of his money for the club and then be left out when the punter was asked to weigh out at the end of the night?
To Lil, it was ludicrous, but then she was too young to realise that the girls in the clubs were ten a penny. Pretty girls were commonplace and women willing to sit on the meat seats were legion. Men walked away from their kids without a backward glance; women, however, were not afforded that luxury, nor would they want to anyway. But they still had to earn a living so they could feed and clothe their kids, which was why the clubs were inundated with women.
The doorman, however, had humoured her that night and the girls had fallen in love with her.
It had been a difficult situation for Patrick Brodie when he listened to Lil; he had never in his life been expected to see a brass all right. But the brass in question had been an acquaintance of Lil’s in the cigarette factory. Seeing her reduced to hostessing because her husband had gone on the trot, leaving her with three kids and a mountain of debt, had made the now-powerful and fair-minded Lily Brodie angry. And she let Patrick know it in no uncertain terms.
She liked the feel of the clubs anyway; she enjoyed the camaraderie of the girls, it reminded her of the cigarette factory and how she had finally felt a part of something. She found that she liked being outside the home with other women, and it brought her closer to her husband. Like any young girl, Lily craved excitement and suddenly she had it in abundance.
Now that Pat wanted her to do more in the clubs she was realising just how hard the life was for the women who had to live it. She didn’t yet understand that it was the kindness inside her that her husband was exploiting because he saw the way the girls reacted to her, and how she dealt with them. Lil was a natural head girl, and she was not averse to seeing a punter slaughtered if he was not feeling inclined to pay his hugely inflated bill.
Pat was thrilled that his Lily, his heart, was willing to work for him and take the burden of the girls off his shoulders. She was now going from club to club, keeping an eye out and making sure that things were run in an orderly fashion. She had a knack for it and she also had a nose for trouble-makers, both male and female. She was good with money and tallied the takings up quicker than he ever could. She was an asset and he was pleased and amazed that she was willing to work with him, even after finding out first-hand what he was involved in. Unlike the other wives, Lily was a real asset; in the days when women were either used or exploited, she was making use of her acumen for both their benefits.
He had thought that the prostitution would have gone against the grain, she was so prim and proper in many ways. But she seemed to understand better than he did what made the women tick, and what made them sell themselves on a daily basis.
She was making her mark and she was also making sure that the clubs ran smoothly and that gave him more time for his other businesses. Some of the people he dealt with were not impressed. They saw him as being pussy-whipped but he always pointed out, when they dared say so to his face, that at the end of the day, if he couldn’t trust her, who the fuck could he trust?
Lil was putting the boys to bed. She was already dressed up to go out and she was trying unsuccessfully to blot out her mother’s voice.
Since her marriage, her mother had made herself busy. At first, she had been a dream, although it had taken Lily a while before she had trusted her enough to let her into her new life.
After the birth of Lance though, her second son, her mother had reverted back to her old ways. Finding fault, making remarks and it was getting more and more difficult to pretend that all was well with them.
Annie loved her first grandson, Patrick Junior, but Lance, she was absolutely besotted with him. Since the day he had emerged from her womb, a month early, kicking and screaming, she had been like a woman demented. It was as if she had birthed him herself.
Now, as Lil looked down at her boys, she wondered why she didn’t feel the same way. She loved her second son, but he was such a strange child, he stared at her as if he was sizing her up. Waiting for her to make a rick of some sort. He was a handsome child, with a shock of dark hair like his father, and with Annie’s pale-grey eyes. He was striking, and people had remarked on his colouring since the day he was born. But Lil’s guilt over this child stemmed from the fact that she found touching him slightly distasteful. She had stopped breast-feeding him as soon as she could, reverting to the bottle with what her mother saw as unseemly haste, even though it meant she could nurse him for hours on end. Lance’s skin always felt clammy to the touch, and unlike young Pat, he had a big-boned feel to him that made her uncomfortable. He was also very well endowed, which gave his father cause for ribald comments, yet made her feel uncomfortable with him. He lay there at three years old, legs splayed and still in nappies, making her mother comment that here was a boy who would do things in his own time. But Lil thought it was laziness that kept him in nappies, nothing more. Lance let Pat Junior do everything for him, and it felt wrong. He manipulated everyone around him, especially Annie. And he did it without any effort on his part at all. Even Patrick was enamoured of him but, as bad as it made her feel, and no matter how much the guilt ate at her, she couldn’t see this child as everyone else did.
Yet she loved him, and in her own way she protected him, because he was hers, she had birthed him. He was her responsibility and, unlike her mother who had left her to her own devices, she was determined that none of her children would ever feel abandoned, unwanted or unloved. They were hers, and she would die for them.
As she bent to kiss Lance’s head, his peculiar smell of baby sweat and urine once more made her shudder. She couldn’t figure out why he made her feel so uncomfortable and the feelings that he engendered made her question her role as a mother.
Pat Junior was lying in the other bed smiling at her, and his smile lifted her heart. This was a child she could really love. He was happy, healthy and, unlike Lance, he talked to her and reacted with her. Lance said few words, and it wasn’t because he couldn’t, he just didn’t want to.
‘Night, Mum.’
She smiled at her eldest child, and her heart swelled with pride. His dark good looks and startling blue eyes marked a winning combination. He looked Irish, and he had the blarney, as Pat was always joking.
He was all for cuddling his sweet-smelling mother and she, as always, obliged.
‘Off to sleep now, baby, and I’ll bring you back a Caramac.’
He was thrilled, his sweets were assured and his eyes were already closing as she snuck from the room.
Annie was making a cup of tea and Lil, as always, felt the burden of her. She felt responsible for people, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that it wasn’t her job. Her mother had treated her worse than a dog all her life. Pat questioned her about it constantly but, as she tried to explain, her mother was the only mother she was ever going to get. Like with Lance, no matter what she felt inside, they were her family and she would never ever let them down. No one really guessed about her feelings for her younger son and if it was left to her no one ever would.
As Annie laced her tea liberally with a bottle of Bushmills whiskey, Lil forced a smile and said gaily, ‘I’m off, Mum.’
‘You’re looking more and more like the women you are supposed to be earning from.’ It was supposed to be funny, but the underlying sarcasm was there all
the same.
Lil looked into the faded eyes so like her own and felt a sudden urge to scream. She felt stifled, suffocated and, like Patrick Brodie, she wondered why she put herself through all this day after day. Her mother was like a snake, dripping her venom into her sons’ ears. Guilt was a strange thing, a destructive thing.
As Lil walked from the house, the silence was deafening and the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken thoughts and unwanted emotions.
In the cool evening air, she was finally able to breathe easily once more. She gulped it into her lungs as if her life depended on it.
Ruby Tyler smiled at Pat as he looked over the club; he was searching for someone in particular though no one would have guessed that from his demeanour.
He saw Ruby’s eyes on him and he wished he had not been so drunk the night before. Ruby had ambitions for the big time, and now she had serviced him she was expecting some kind of reward. She saw him as a step-up, as a wage packet for the foreseeable future. She was not, he realised, a woman who would be shrugged off easily; in fact, she was already looking decidedly piqued at his lack of interest in her. Ruby, unfortunately for them both, had a very high opinion of herself.
As Pat walked through the club into his small office, he knew she would not be far behind him.
He was pouring himself a Scotch when he heard her enter the room: the door closed quietly and he took a deep breath before saying, ‘What can I do you for?’
As he turned to face her, he marvelled at the stupidity of women. Especially women like Ruby. She was a sort, an earner. That was her prerogative of course, but it was also a good reason for her to realise that he wouldn’t be looking for a long relationship with her just because she had blown him off once.
Ruby, for her part, was well aware that she was a good-looking girl, but she also saw herself as a bit of a shrewdie. She thought she had enough nous and enough body to tame the wildest of men. Patrick Brodie was a prize by anyone’s estimation and she saw herself as the new contender for his affections. He had a couple of kids with his wife so he must be getting bored, and he was a Face. In her book, he was in line for the full Ruby Tyler treatment. She wanted the notoriety that being his pull would bring, and she wanted an easy ride in the club as would be her right as his bird. Ruby saw herself as a realist: she knew he would never marry her, or live with her. She would be strictly his outside bird. And she was content with that and all it would bring her. He had singled her out, she had obliged and now she was determined to make the most of the opportunity he had afforded her. As she had remarked to her best friend, she was not letting this one go without a fucking good fight.
Patrick stared at her for long moments and she felt the sheer magnetism that dangerous men seemed to have in abundance. He was a handsome fuck, no doubt about that and, coupled with his rep and his financial status, he was the answer to every hostess’s dreams. A man with a bit of clout was what she wanted; she had no interest in his loyalty, no interest in anything pertaining to him and his married life. Not yet anyway. All she wanted was a piece of the action, her fifteen minutes of fame.
‘Well?’
His blue eyes were cold and for a split second she faltered.
She smiled then, showing her perfect teeth. Ruby had a lovely smile and she had paid a fortune to guarantee that it stayed that way. All her body maintenance was about the long term and making sure she didn’t end up like her mother. Old before her time and acting twenty years older than she actually was because her life had ended abruptly with the unfortunate acceptance of a plain gold wedding band.
’Are you a bit fucking thick?’
Ruby stared at him, unsure what to say, the smile still on her thickly painted face.
He walked towards her: he wasn’t rushing, he didn’t seem angry so she wasn’t too bothered until he grabbed her round the throat and pushed her up against the door. ‘You listen to me and you listen good. If I ever see you within three foot of me again I’ll break your fucking neck. Now, do you understand me or shall I tattoo it on your fucking fat arse?’
Pat’s voice was low, and she realised then that she had completely misread the situation.
Ruby Tyler was now terrified of the man she had so recently seen as an easy mark.
He looked into her eyes and then, hawking deeply in his throat, he spat into her face. The globule of phlegm hit her on the cheek, the residue sprayed her eyes and she closed them instinctively, expecting the worst.
‘You ever fucking come near me again, girl, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. A blow job gains you nothing from me except my disgust. Now out! Get your coat and anything else you have here and don’t come back, you hear me?’
She nodded, her perfectly backcombed hair unmoving even with the violence of his attack. He loosened his grip on her throat and she instinctively leant back further on to the door, her breath coming in short and painful gasps.
He turned back to his desk and started tidying his papers, and she made her escape as quietly and as quickly as she could.
Patrick was controlling his anger with difficulty; a cunt like her could ruin his whole way of life. As easy-going as Lil was, a ponce like that fronting her up would guarantee her having to do something about it, if just to save face. He had to make sure that never happened again; what the eye don’t see, the heart don’t grieve over, that had been his mantra all his life and he saw no reason to change it just because some cunt with a cleavage and a friendly mouth had got too big for her boots.
Trouble looked for him, as it did most people, and he had no intention of bringing it to his own front door because some tom didn’t understand the ways of the world.
Annie Diamond went to the front door, her steps light and easy on the thick carpet that she marvelled at every day. That Lil, the neuter, the runt, had managed to get herself this far on in life irked her, even though her daughter’s circumstances gained her not only respect but a decent roof over her head and the added bonus of serious wedge regularly. Annie’s jealousy of her daughter knew no bounds.
As she opened the door, she smiled craftily, and Mick Diamond slipped inside without a sound.
The terror of her life, the man she had shackled herself to because a name for her child had been more important than anything else, was once more a fixture. Only this time, he needed her more than she needed him.
For Annie though, his main appeal these days was the fact that she could sit with him and slaughter her daughter without worrying that it would get back to her or indeed that husband of hers.
Mick and Annie finally had a common goal; they were both determined to make the most of Lil’s good fortune, and they were even more determined to wait patiently until the day Patrick Brodie got fed up with her and pushed her aside for a newer model. Although that would signal the end of any money that came their way, they were both agreed that she was getting far too big for her boots.
Mick had been overlooked by Lil and her new husband; he had been ignored and humiliated by Pat more than once. The first time he had approached him and Lil as they sat in the pub chatting. Patrick had acted like he was invisible and he had stood there all nice and friendly while his cronies had looked knowingly at each other. Lil had glanced at him and he had been gratified to see a flicker of fear in her large grey eyes.
The second time, he had waited until Pat was leaving his house and he had hailed him, introducing himself with a flourish and acting the concerned parent. He had then been told in no uncertain terms by Brodie that he knew he was a bullying ponce who had given his Lil a bastard of a life and if he thought her alliance with him was going to bring any kind of rewards then he was obviously a fucking nutcase. He also made it very clear that if he ever approached him again he would make sure that he spent the remainder of his miserable life as a raspberry ripple.
Mick had swallowed though, and when his wife had also gone AWOL he had learned a hard and bitter lesson. The survival of the fittest was an act of nature and he was now so far down the food
chain that he was practically human plankton. His reign of terror was over and his daughter’s wages were well out of his reach. His wife had left him without a backward glance and ingratiated herself with her daughter and her new beau. She had signed the papers that guaranteed their marriage could go ahead and she had made herself indispensable into the bargain.
She had one thing he didn’t; she was blood and blood went a long way in the East End. It took a lot for anyone to turn their backs on it, and Lil was no different to anyone else in that respect. Bolting the door on a parent, no matter what they had done, would have been seen as an outrageous act of arrogance. The only way you could have got away with that was if your mother or father was proved to be either a grass or a child molester. Anything else was expected to be overlooked, and taken into consideration when the parent in question was housed and fed. Inside the front door you could do what you liked, beat the shit out of them, whatever; outside the front door though, it had to look like you were doing your duty.
Now, here he was, dependent on the woman who he felt had tricked him into marriage and then produced a child by someone else, without ever giving him a child he could call his own. But thanks to Annie’s naturally antagonistic personality, he had finally got his in, even if it was only by sneaking round when Lil and Pat were both out and then having to listen to his wife’s litany of complaints until she slipped him a few quid and hurried him out lest they got caught together.
He also learned a lot about Brodie and his business dealings, and the more he heard, the more his anger swelled up inside him.
Annie opened the bedroom door as always, and he looked down at the two sleeping boys, all the while wanting to wring his wife’s neck for rubbing in the fact that he had no real kin of his own. But he admired them as always, and waited for her to lead him through to the kitchen and pour him a large drink.
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