The Jump

by Cole, Martina

  The judge removed his spectacles once more.

  ‘Georgio Anthony Brunos, I would be failing in my duty as a public servant if I did not impose the maximum penalty possible, under the present law. It is my solemn duty to remove you from society, which I feel most strongly has earned a respite from you. I sentence you to life imprisonment, with a recommendation that you serve at least eighteen years. I can only hope you use the time to reflect on your life and put right the many wrongs you have done. Have you anything to say for yourself?’

  Georgio stood up unsteadily, his face a mask of fear and shock. Pointing to Inspector Laughton, he said weakly: ‘This man has fitted me up and you fell for it, hook, line and sinker. You’re all fucking mad!’ Then leaning on the rail before him, he began to shout: ‘You’re all off your fucking heads! There’s nothing to put me away for, nothing!’

  As Georgio was dragged from the court, Donna could hear herself screaming his name. It was only as he disappeared down the stairs behind the holding box that she realised the voice was only inside her head. The tears escaped from her eyes; she felt a heavy hand drop on to her shoulder. Seeing the dark hairs on it, she recognised it as Pa Brunos’s. He pulled her up gently and all she could say was: ‘The world’s gone mad. The whole world’s gone mad. He is innocent, Pa. Innocent!’

  Donna’s legs were trembling as the police officer opened the cell door.

  ‘You can have ten minutes, love.’

  She gave him a tired smile and walked into the cramped coolness of the cell. Georgio was sitting on the small bed, his head in his hands.

  ‘Georgio . . . Oh, Georgio!’ The crack in her voice seemed to make him spring from the bed. Then she was in his arms and he was whispering to her, his voice drenched with tears.

  ‘I didn’t do it, Don Don, I swear to you. That bastard Laughton fitted me up, Laughton and Wilson. I can’t believe this is happening. Eighteen years, Don Don. Eighteen bastard years!’

  Donna held him to her tightly, savouring the smell of him, the feel of him. He pushed his hands up under her skirt and caressed the flesh beneath. He was rough, urgent. All the time talking to her, at her. Needing to put into words what had happened as if that would make it real.

  ‘Oh, Don Don, what am I going to do, eh? They’ve tucked me up. I’ll see that Wilson dead! I’ll hear him screaming! That bastard lied through his teeth. He lied, Don Don. You believe me, don’t you? You believe me. If I didn’t have you, I’d die. I’d die inside, Don Don.’

  She held him, remembering back over the years to when they had first met. He had called her Don Don then. He hadn’t called her that for years. In the still of the night, they had lain in bed together and he would whisper it to her, to make her laugh. Now it had an added significance. He was trying to hold on to the past, and it was breaking her heart. Tearing her up inside.

  ‘You can appeal,’ she said desperately. ‘Everything is circumstantial. Once we know what’s happening, we can appeal.’

  He stood before her, looking down into her face. It hadn’t changed much over twenty years. He saw the tears on her dark lashes, the pain buried deep at the back of her eyes, and pushing his hands into her thick brown hair, he pulled her face up to his, kissing her with a fervour, a deep passion. A mark of ownership.

  ‘Don’t leave me, Donna. I couldn’t go on if I thought I didn’t have you.’

  She shook her head in denial, as if he had accused her of leaving him already.

  ‘Promise me you’ll stand by me, no matter what happens? Promise me that, Donna. So I can take it with me, to keep me alive. Give me something to hold on to.’

  ‘I’ll never leave you, Georgio, never. We’ll get you out of this. Home again. You’ll be home again. Once we appeal . . .’

  He cut off her words with his mouth, forcing his tongue between her lips. They heard the cell door open.

  ‘Come on, love, your time’s up.’

  She held on to her husband tighter, unable to break the embrace. Frightened to stop holding him in case she never held him again.

  Georgio pushed her away from him gently. ‘Promise me, Donna? Promise you won’t leave me.’

  She smiled bravely. ‘Never. I love you too much, Georgio.’

  ‘You’re a good girl. You were always a good girl.’

  ‘Come on, love. I’m sorry but you have to go now.’ The policeman’s voice was kind.

  Donna turned and felt her skirt bunched up over her thighs. Hastily tugging it down, she sniffed loudly. ‘They’re taking you to Wormwood Scrubs. I’ll visit you as soon as I can.’

  Georgio nodded, unable to speak.

  Her head held high, Donna walked out of the cell. Georgio had always liked her to look as if she was in control. At the doorway she turned and smiled at him tremulously. Suddenly he looked much smaller, vulnerable, and that was the hardest thing to take. Her Georgio, her big strong husband, looked broken. Something she had never expected to see in her lifetime.

  The officer closed the cell door gently, but the sound of it was like a thunderclap. She followed the man slowly out of the cell area, her head low now, tears raining down her face.

  Inside his cell, Georgio Brunos threaded his hands through his hair and pulled it hard, then he began to groan low in the back of his throat, the desolate sound gaining in volume as he pulled harder and harder on his hair.

  Detective Inspector Frank Laughton opened the small metal window in the cell door. He smiled grimly as he watched the antics of Georgio Brunos.

  ‘Open the door.’ His voice was clipped as he addressed the young policeman beside him.

  Stepping into the cell, he smiled widely. ‘Eighteen years, Brunos. Gutted or what, eh?’

  Georgio stood staring at the man in front of him, his face hard. ‘I’ll see me day with you, Laughton, you see if I don’t.’

  Frank Laughton stopped grinning. It was as if a hand had wiped the expression from his face.

  ‘I promised myself I’d give you a visit on the day you were sent down. It gave me something to look forward to. I’ve got you now, Brunos, and I won’t ever let you go. I’m still investigating you. I know you could hold your hand up to a lot more robberies, and when I have the evidence I need, I’ll haul your arse back into that court so fast you’ll burn a fucking great hole in the carpet!’

  ‘Tell Wilson he’ll be seeing me.’

  Laughton laughed. ‘I think he’s sussed that one out for himself. Well, I’m off home. I’m taking my wife out tonight to celebrate.’

  ‘Did you book your trough in advance?’

  Laughton chuckled gently again. ‘Still the bravado. Still the hard man. Did you know you’re to be Category A? You’ll be in Maximum Security with the scum of the earth, so you should feel well at home. I’ll be seeing you again soon, Georgio. Look after yourself for me. There’s a Dover Sole with my name on it, so I’d better get off home. I’ll be thinking about you tonight when I’m eating and drinking and making merry.’

  ‘I hope you choke, you ponce!’

  ‘I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you. How about a little bet then, before I go?’

  ‘Fuck off, Laughton. You’ve had your gloat, now piss off.’

  The policeman carried on as if Georgio hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ll bet you a oner your lovely little wife is taking on all comers by Christmas.’

  Georgio launched himself at the man before him, his face twisted in hatred, but three uniformed men were on him before he could throw one punch. On the floor of the cell, with his hands pushed up his back and his cheek pressed on to the cold concrete, Georgio felt the rage explode uselessly inside him as he heard the Inspector’s shoes clomping heavily along the corridor and his deep laugh reverberating around the cell walls.

  Donna sat in the El Greco restaurant in Canning Town. The whole family was there. In the harsh daylight, the faded paintwork and scratched bar surfaces were mercilessly revealed. Pa Brunos looked on his restaurant as his life’s work. His sons had all been waiters there at one tim
e or another, his youngest daughter Nuala did the book-keeping, he and Maeve did the cooking. As he watched his family drinking Retsina and Ouzo, observed their different degrees of disbelief, he felt a tightening across his chest. Taking a small bottle of heart pills from his pocket, he unobtrusively slipped one into his hand and placed it under his tongue.

  ‘Come on, Donna. Eat something, love.’ Maeve’s voice was tired, low.

  Donna shook her head. ‘I couldn’t eat anything, thank you.’ Her eyes were red with crying.

  Maeve pulled her chair closer and placed a large meaty arm around her daughter-in-law. ‘He’s my son, God love him, but we have to keep our strength up. Tonight me and Pa will open up this restaurant, we’ll smile at the customers and chat with them. Life must go on. You must tell yourself that once his appeal comes up, Georgio will be back home. That is what I keep telling myself.’

  ‘I can’t believe it happened, any of it.’

  Nuala gave a loud snort as she shouted: ‘It’s the police, Donna. They wanted him - they got him. They needed someone and he fitted the bill.’

  Mario, her elder brother, shook his head. ‘Georgio was a fool; he mixed with the wrong people. I told him so. A few weeks before it all happened, I saw him with Jack Black. I mean, who in their right mind would cultivate him, eh? Jack Black, the biggest villain in Silvertown! But no, our Georgio wouldn’t listen. He knew best.’ Mario’s voice was high, almost girlish, and full of anger towards his brother.

  ‘What do you know, Mario?’ Patrick Brunos spoke up. ‘In his lines of business he had to mix with all sorts, surely you can see that? Jack Black has the ear on the building everywhere. He also has a haulage business. It was sound economics for our Georgio to deal with him.’

  Nuala pushed back her short black hair. ‘That’s true. He’s right, Mario. You’re too hard on Georgio. You’ve always been hard on him, just because he’s done better than you. He’s done better than everyone.’

  Nuala was upset and Donna closed her eyes. This family fought like other families loved. Yet they were closer than most families could ever hope to be.

  ‘What do you know, Nuala? Running around with that no-hoper Dicky Barlow. If you’re not careful, you’ll be visiting him and your brother together . . .’

  Pa Brunos banged his fist on the table in front of him, knocking over a glass of red wine in the process.

  ‘Be quiet! You all hear me? No more of this! We have enough trouble as it is without you all arguing among yourselves. Where is my Mary? Why isn’t she here?’

  Nuala’s voice was low now. ‘She had to get back. Geoff has to open his own restaurant tonight.’

  Pa Brunos nodded, his eyes closed. ‘Of course. The businesses must be seen to. You will need to look into Georgio’s businesses now, Donna. We don’t know when he will be home. Will you be keeping on that Mark Hancock or will you get someone else?’

  ‘I don’t know Pa. I haven’t really thought about it. All the time I believed Georgio would be coming home.’

  Maeve pulled her into her arms. ‘And he will, darlin’, I promise you. I could cheerfully smack his face for him, big as he is. Getting involved with all this . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  Pa Brunos poked himself in the chest. ‘If you need me, just call, Donna. I will personally see to anything you want me to. It is the least I can do for you.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Nuala poured out more Ouzo and said, ‘Why don’t you run the business, Donna? If nothing else it would keep you occupied. Then, when you visit Georgio, it will give you something to talk about. He’ll feel much better knowing you’re looking after things.’

  Maeve nodded. ‘For once in your life, Nuala, you’ve opened that big galloping trap of yours and something intelligent has come out. After all the money your education cost, that bit of talk was like balm to me poor spirits.’

  Everyone laughed at this. It broke the tension in the room. The second youngest Brunos son, Stephen, smiled at Donna.

  ‘I have a business degree, as you know. I’m quite willing to help you out in any way. We all are. As I see it, the building business is best put into the hands of a competent manager, then you can learn from them. As for the cars, Georgio is in partnership with Davey Jackson. Davey will keep that sorted until you can get actively involved. He only has a twenty-five percent stake in the company so you have what’s known as the controlling interest . . .’

  ‘Jaysus, Stephen, what did you have for breakfast, a company report? Leave the girl alone. There’s plenty of time for all that once the shock wears off.’

  Stephen shook his head. Taking off gold-rimmed glasses, he began cleaning them on a table napkin. ‘All I’m saying is, there’s a lot of money involved, Mum. Our Georgio had many business interests; his accountant is a known face in the City. I don’t think it would be a good idea to leave it too long. It’s been left for nearly nine months as it is. The sooner someone starts sorting everything out, the better. Georgio can run his business from prison, through Donna.’

  ‘I don’t know if I could, Stephen . . .’

  ‘Of course you can, Donna. Georgio would be over the moon to think you were looking after things for him,’ Nuala said with finality. ‘We’ll all help in any way we can.’

  ‘Then once he wins his appeal, everything can get back to normal.’ Patrick’s voice was full of forced joviality.

  ‘I’ll drink to that.’ Stephen held up his glass of milky Ouzo, and everyone followed suit.

  ‘To Georgio’s homecoming.’

  Donna lifted her glass and forced back the tears once more. She had these people, they were her family. With all of them behind her, things couldn’t really be that bad.

  ‘Eighteen years? The dirty bastards!’ Dolly’s voice was low, shocked. ‘I heard it on the local News. Nearly fainted away, I did. How’s his mum taken it?’

  Donna sipped her tea. ‘Surprisingly well actually, Dolly. Maeve is strong. Stronger than people realise. Pa Brunos has taken it badly, but that is to be expected. Georgio was his pride and joy. Proof of all his adopted country has to offer. There’ve been a few phone calls from Rhodes. The papers there carried the story and, well, word gets round. I think he feels ashamed.’

  Dolly shook her head. ‘Georgio was fitted up - he said so himself. Once we prove that, everything will be fine once more. Do you want a drop of scotch in that tea, love? You’re looking very white.’

  She poured a good measure of cheap Tesco whisky into Donna’s cup. ‘You get that down your neck, girl. It’s going to be a hard few months. Before I forget, Davey Jackson rang. He’ll be round on Sunday morning.’

  Donna sipped the warm tea, the bite of the scotch burning her tongue.

  ‘What am I going to do, Dolly?’ she asked hopelessly. ‘I feel as if my life is on hold without him. I hadn’t thought of him being sent to prison, I only thought of him coming home. How could they believe Wilson? Everyone knows what he is. Yet in a suit, with his hair all washed and cut, he looked so respectable. The things he was saying about Georgio! That Georgio had told them to shoot to kill, and threatened them all that if they botched up the job he would kill them. It was all kill, kill, kill. I know Georgio, he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Christ Almighty, he cried when we had old Sam put down. He loved that dog.’ Her voice broke again, and she swallowed back her tears.

  ‘Wilson was saving his own arse, love. I expect Laughton did a deal with him for a reduced sentence. He’ll get his comeuppance in the nick. No one likes a grass.’

  Donna smiled through her tears. ‘You sound so knowledgeable, Dolly, like an old jailbird yourself!’

  ‘After years with my old man, I know all the jargon, my love. Now if he had got eighteen years, I’d be celebrating me drawers off. How about I run you a nice bath, put in some Radox, and while you’re soaking, I’ll cook you a light meal? An omelette, say. You’ve got to eat, to keep your strength up. The appeal will take up all your time, and the businesses. Come on, I’ll run the bath while you get stripped
off.’

  As they stood up Donna grabbed at the older woman’s hand. ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you, Dolly. This house is so empty without him.’

  ‘I know my little love. Believe me, I know.’

  Davey Jackson turned up at eight-thirty on Sunday morning. Donna was in her conservatory, drinking coffee and smoking a cigarette, when she heard Carol Jackson’s strident voice. She closed her eyes wearily. Davey Jackson was all right, she could cope with him, but Carol Jackson was a different kettle of fish. Donna loathed her and she loathed Donna.

  ‘How you feeling, Donna? Gutted, I bet. Bags of shit, the lot of them, bags of stinking shit!’

  Donna was surprised to see genuine concern in Carol’s face.

  ‘Sit down, Davey, you make me nervous looming over us like that. I tell you something, Donna, me and you have never seen eye to eye, but if ever you need a shoulder, girl, well, mine’s always there for the taking.’

  Donna was inordinately grateful. Over the last nine months she had been gradually dropped by most of her friends. Bunty and Harry Robertson had looked right through her only a week previously when she had met them in the village. She had said hello and they had ignored her, leaving her deep red with embarrassment and hurt. Over the years they had both courted Georgio’s friendship. Now they wanted nothing to do with him or anyone connected to him. Even Donna’s neighbours had stopped waving if they drove past and she was on her driveway.