by Martina Cole
As Donna walked to the funeral car, Detective Inspector Frank Laughton placed a gentle hand on her arm.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Brunos. I never meant you any harm, you know that.’
Donna faced him and said: ‘I know that, Mr Laughton. You were just doing your job. Now it’s all over, for everyone. ’
Laughton was nonplussed at her words and Donna grinned up at him as she added, ‘I really thought you had fitted him up, I really believed that.’
Looking down into her face, he said honestly, ‘I did - but you see, Mrs Brunos, I had the edge. Because I knew what your husband was. I just wanted him off the streets, that’s all.’
Donna nodded sagely, then squeezed the bigger man’s arm.
‘You were a wise man, Mr Laughton,’ she murmured, ‘and I didn’t see that for a long time.’
Detective Inspector Frank Laughton watched in silence as she moved away from him. He knew in his heart there was a story to be told; he also knew that it was one story he wouldn’t even begin to understand. Because Donna Brunos had been far too good for her husband - and he had a feeling that even she was aware of that fact now.
Maeve and Pa Brunos were waiting for her on the small pathway between rows of graves.
‘There’s a lot of me here now, Donna. I’ll not be buried in the Old Country after this.’
Donna hugged Maeve to her, both women feeling the enormity of what had happened. ‘You knew what Georgio was, didn’t you?’
‘I knew, I always knew, but he was my son.’ Maeve stared back to the open graves and whispered brokenly, ‘They were my sons, and in me own way, I loved them.’
Donna nodded, and linking arms the two women made their way back to the funeral cars.
Pa Brunos’s sad voice broke through the air. ‘What a day, eh? Two sons buried. Two sons.’
He shook his head, tears rolling down his face and for the first time that day Donna wanted to really cry. Not for Georgio, or for Stephen, but for the two people who had created them. Turning, Donna looked into Pa’s face.
‘My Georgio, he loved you, Donna. Don’t you ever forget that.’
She felt the tears on her tongue, tasted the saltiness of them. They reminded her of the tears she had shed when Georgio had first been taken from her, when she had cried out for him.
Pa wiped his eyes with a crumpled handkerchief. ‘I’ll see you back at the house then, eh?’
Donna nodded, watching as he led Maeve away, towards their funeral car.
Carol’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Do you want us to come back with you?’
‘If you don’t mind. I don’t think I could stand it there alone.’
Carol hugged her. ‘That’s what friends are for, ain’t it, Doll?’
Dolly pursed her lips and blew out the air with an unladylike snort. ‘Have you seen who’s over there?’ she said viciously.
Donna nodded wearily. ‘Leave it, Dolly love,’ she said. ‘Please, just leave it.’
‘Look at her standing there, bold as brass, all tits, teeth and fucking tan!’
Carol’s voice was envious and Donna giggled despite herself. ‘Funny how it doesn’t hurt any more. All I feel is relieved it’s all over.’
As they climbed into the limousine, Donna glanced once more at Vida, standing alone with the child beside her. Her long, streaked hair was backcombed to its full height and her face was covered in make-up. She looked down, unable to meet Donna’s eyes. As they drove past, Donna searched the child’s face for any sign of his father there. He was Georgio’s child all right; he even had the long thick eyelashes more suited to a girl than a boy.
Then closing her mind on the scene, Donna pushed the woman and the child from her mind.
It was time to move on.
For all of them.
Maeve sat on her bed. She could hear the sounds of the family coming through the thin walls. She looked down at the photographs in her hands and felt the sting of tears again. Georgio looking at the camera with his huge dark eyes, Stephen making his First Holy Communion, looking serious and proud all at the same time. His face, like Georgio’s, full of childish innocence.
Then she thought of the child at the cemetery, Georgio’s child, her flesh and blood . . . and she knew exactly what she had to do. The child was the living image of him.
She stood up unsteadily and went back to the wake.
A lot of the relatives from Ireland had flown over, but the family from Rhodes had not bothered. Only Pa’s younger sister Patrina had come, and she had travelled down from Manchester where she lived with her eldest daughter, having been widowed two years previously.
Patrina took her arm and squeezed it.
‘What a day. Who would have thought any of us would be burying our children? It’s the wrong order. They should be burying us.’
Maeve pulled away from her and walked over to where Donna sat sipping whisky and nibbling a ham sandwich.
‘Hello, darlin’.’
Donna looked into the strained, tired face of her mother-in-law. ‘Hello, Maeve,’ she said tenderly.
Opening her arms wide, Maeve pulled Donna into them and the two women cried together publicly. The rest of the family stood back watching, pleased at this turn of events. It reinforced in all their minds that Georgio couldn’t have been all bad to have held the love of these two women.
Maeve was crying for what could have been, and Donna was crying for all the children in Sri Lanka and the rest of the world who had been harmed by the two men buried earlier in the day.
Maeve whispered into Donna’s ear, ‘I’ll see to the child, Donna. You’re a good woman to have told me everything.’
Donna smiled through her tears. She sincerely hoped that Georgio’s son gave Maeve more happiness than his father ever had.
Donna was saved from answering by Uncle Jimmy beginning to sing ‘Kevin Barry’. From long experience Donna knew that once the Irish rebel songs began, the wake was about to turn into a party. Tears and laughter would be the order of the day, then the reminiscences.
Maeve turned from her and began to sing with him:
In Mountjoy jail, one Monday morning
High above the gallows tree
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.
Donna knew she had to sit the wake out, and she would do that. But only for Maeve and Pa and the family.
Not for Georgio or Stephen Brunos.
She was a free woman now and a wealthy one, who owned a building business, a car lot, and Talkto Enterprises, as well as two plots of barren land abroad, all of which she was selling to the highest bidder.
She was free, free and clear, with stolen money in her possession, as well as a house worth in excess of a million pounds. She was as free as a bird now.
Yet she still wasn’t happy.
There were too many loose ends to tie up.
Alan Cox arrived at Donna’s house at eleven-thirty in the morning the day after the funeral. Dolly opened the door to him.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped.
Alan smiled. A charming smile. ‘I’d like to see Donna, please.’
Dolly bridled. ‘Well, you can’t. She’s prostrate with grief and she can’t see anyone.’
Alan laughed. ‘I’m sure she is.’
He pushed past Dolly and walked into the house, calling Donna’s name.
Dolly shut the door and said, ‘She ain’t here.’
Alan looked at her. ‘Well, her car’s in the drive,’ he said loudly. ‘Don’t tell me she’s walked off somewhere. This house is in the back of beyond. Now where is she please, love? I have to see her, Dolly.’
Dolly shook her head in resignation. ‘She’s gardening. Sit in the kitchen and I’ll fetch her.’
Alan followed her through and said, ‘I’ll find her, while you get the kettle on, all right?’
He was past her and out into the garden before Dolly could answer.
He followed the pathway towards the ten
nis court. Turning a corner, he came across Donna dressed in tight jeans, a thick cable jumper and Wellingtons, looking far too elegant to be burning rubbish in a small brazier.
He walked up to her and said, ‘My mum used to do the gardening. Said it relaxed her.’
Donna looked over her shoulder at him. ‘What brings you here, Alan?’ she answered.
He watched as she threw a small bundle on to the fire. ‘I’ve come to see how you are and to tell you something.’
Donna threw more rubbish on the fire and laughed gently. ‘What have you come to tell me, Alan? Say it and go away.’
He bit on his cigar then he said, ‘I’ve come, Donna, to see if you need any more help.’
‘No, actually, I don’t. So you had a wasted journey.’
He bit once more on the unlit cigar and burst out: ‘You’re not making this easy for me, you know, Donna. I’m trying to tell you that—’ He looked at Donna’s gloved hands and said incredulously, ‘What the fuck are you burning there?’
He walked towards her and when he saw what was on the fire he nearly choked on the cigar in his mouth.
‘Where the fuck did you get that money from!’
Donna laughed gaily. ‘It was Lewis’s money, from the robbery. I gave half to Carol Jackson, and as you can see, I’m burning my half.’
Alan pulled her round to face him. ‘Are you mad, woman? There’s a fortune there!’
Donna nodded. ‘I’m not mad, Alan. In fact, I have never felt better in my life. And I’m enjoying this, really enjoying it.’ She took a fifty-pound note from a bundle and lit it in the fire.
‘Here, light your cigar.’
Alan looked at the burning money for a second, watching the Queen’s face crumple and burn, and then he bent his head and lit his cigar, puffing on the huge brown Havana between laughing and coughing.
Finally he held the lit cigar in his hand and grinned at her. ‘You’re a wealth of surprises, do you know that?’
Donna looked up into his face and, feeling the pull of him, her need of him, she said, ‘You had to come to me, Alan. You realise that, don’t you? You will always have to come to me. My days of running after anyone are long gone. Georgio knocked all that out of me. Now what you see is what you get, and what we had in Sri Lanka was the best I have ever had in my life. But we had things to do, both of us, before we could be together.
‘Now the only thing I ask is that you always come to me, that’s all I want from you. That you will always do the running.’
Pulling her into his arms, Alan said gently, ‘I’ll always follow you, Donna, wherever you want to go. I have never in my life loved before, not really, not until the day you walked into my office. You’re in my mind all the time, and you’re in my heart. I will follow you, Donna, every day of my life, because I know now I can’t live without you.’
When she still didn’t answer, he whispered, ‘You do love me a little bit, don’t you?’
Donna smiled at the hesitation in his voice and then, grinning, she pulled him to her, hugging him tightly.
‘That, Alan Cox, is about the only thing I am really sure of.’
Then she kissed him.
When she had finished, he looked down into her eyes and said, ‘Come to bed with me.’
Donna laughed, her blush accentuating her creamy skin.
‘What, now? What about Dolly?’
Alan grinned and said craftily, ‘I’m sorry, Donna, but I can’t accommodate her and all. One woman at a time is more than enough for me.’
Throwing the last of the money on the fire, Donna linked arms with him and said: ‘I’ll make sure you never want another woman again.’
Her voice was strong and he laughed gently.
‘Actually, that’s just what I was hoping you’d say.’
Together they walked into the house, the fire sending up thick black smoke behind them.
