‘Good for Eddie. They want locking up, them press,’ Joyce said boldly.
Dougie dragged Eddie into the house and told Jessica to pour him a strong drink. ‘He don’t need all this shit with them knobs out there,’ he said, sticking up for his friend.
Stanley put on his jacket. ‘I’ll drop the kids off at their mate’s. I’ve got to go home to see to me pigeons,’ he offered.
Jessica nodded. The further away from all this upset the children were, the better.
‘I will come with you, after all. I could do with a bit of fresh air,’ Joyce told her husband. She had suddenly realised how wonderful it would be if her photo appeared in a newspaper. Her friends were already in awe of her underworld connections and they would be so, so jealous if they opened their newspaper tomorrow and saw her face smiling back at them.
‘Come on, then,’ Stanley said angrily. He knew his wife better than she knew herself and he guessed her intentions were not entirely honourable.
Joyce gave a royal wave as the electronic gates opened. On their father’s orders, Joey and Frankie hid their faces under a blanket in the back of the car.
‘Stop waving at them, you stupid old bat,’ Stanley screamed.
‘Just shut up and drive,’ Joyce replied, still waving.
Relieved that they weren’t being followed, Stanley told the twins to uncover themselves. He felt so sorry for his grandchildren. ‘Where do you want me to drop you?’ he asked sympathetically.
‘In the town centre, by the clocktower, Grandad,’ Frankie replied.
‘What one of your friends lives by the clocktower?’ Stanley pried.
‘Stacey,’ Frankie said, nudging her brother.
Five minutes later, Stanley put his indicator on and stopped the car. ‘Now are you sure you’re going to be all right? Me and Nanny will watch you go into your friend’s house,’ said a concerned Stanley.
‘We’re fine, Grandad. Stacey’s mum owns that pub across the road. It’s called the Angel.
‘Stacey and her family live upstairs,’ Joey lied.
Stanley watched the twins walk into the pub. Worried sick, he turned to Joyce. ‘Them kids won’t grow up to be normal, not in an environment like that, they won’t.’
‘Jessica and Eddie are wonderful parents. Them kids have never wanted for a thing in their lives,’ Joyce said angrily.
Stanley scowled at his superficial wife. ‘A bit of normality wouldn’t go amiss for them. Everything’s about money with you, isn’t it, Joycie? What do you know about parenting anyway? You was the one that encouraged your own daughter to take up with a villian in the first place.’
Joyce was shocked by the change in Stanley’s attitude. ‘Turn the car around and drop me back at Jessica’s, immediately. How dare you talk to me like that, Stanley? How dare you?’
Furious, Stanley swung the car around. ‘I’m trying to make you see sense. Something bad will happen to our Jess or them kids. I can feel it in me bones, Joycie, on my life I can. One day you’ll be sorry you never listened to me.’
TWENTY-FOUR
1988
Eddie knotted his black tie and glanced at himself in the mirror. Greasing his hair back with Brylcreem, he put on a pair of dark sunglasses to enhance his image. Today was his father’s funeral, God rest his soul. The police had kept hold of Harry’s body for six weeks and they would have kept it longer, had Eddie not intervened. He’d threatened to blow the whistle on a couple of his dad’s old acquaintances just to get things moving.
‘You want us to catch your father’s killer, don’t you?’ the bent DS asked Eddie sarcastically. The bent DS was nothing to do with Harry’s case and wasn’t keen to intervene.
Unable to function properly while his father was lying on a cold slab in the mortuary, Eddie gave it to him. ‘If you don’t get my dad’s body released by next week, I will personally ensure that the shit hits the fan. I know every dodgy deal my father did with you and your pals and I’m sure it would make interesting reading for the Chief of Police. The mugs leading the hunt are no nearer to finding his killers now than they were the day he died. Useless cunts, the lot of them. Just release me dad’s body so he can get the send-off he deserves and then I’ll find the killer me fucking self.’
The threat worked wonders and the following day Eddie received a phone call allowing him to organise the funeral. The six weeks since Harry had been murdered had been the hardest in Eddie’s life. Many a night he’d woken up in a cold sweat as a nightmare had brought it all back to him. The images of his father’s battered face and body seemed to torture him every time he closed his eyes.
Ed had finally got hold of Gary and Ricky the day after Boxing Day. They had flown home within twenty-four hours and, along with Raymond, had been a great support to him ever since.
With the Old Bill about as much use as a chocolate fucking teapot, Eddie had started his own line of investigation. He, Ray and the boys had spoken to every underworld connection they knew, but nobody had heard so much as a whisper.
Frustrated, Eddie had turned his attention towards his dad’s neighbours. The young lads that had been harassing his father had been spotted by all of them and Eddie managed to get a description. The problem was, seeing as they’d always worn their hoods up, the description was rather vague.
The one thing that did prick Eddie’s ears was something that Iris next door had said. Annoyed with the boys making a racket outside, she had confronted them and chased them with her rolling pin. ‘They were laughing at me, Eddie, taking the right piss, they were. The one that spoke to me – called me a silly old cow and told me to fuck off – wasn’t a Cockney. He had an accent, a strange accent. I couldn’t say where it was from, but his voice had a country lilt to it.
From day one, Eddie was positive that the O’Haras were behind his dad’s untimely death and Iris’s bit of info only confirmed his belief. Jimmy O’Hara and his motley crew all originated from the Cambridgeshire area and their accents were just how Iris had described. With no actual proof, all Eddie could do was sit back and bide his time. He was positive that the young boys had been sent to his father’s as a ploy. He was also sure that somebody much bigger and stronger had committed the actual murder.
The police had told Eddie the reason why none of the neighbours had heard his father’s screams. The coroner said Harry had been gagged at the time of his death, which had occurred between midnight and 2 a.m. on the morning of Christmas Day. His official report stated that Harry had eleven serious injuries, among which were a broken jaw, bones and a fractured skull. A baseball bat had been used on Harry’s head and the rest of his body had been kicked around like a football. With so many injuries, the actual cause of death wasn’t properly identified. The coroner had said he was 90% certain that Harry had died of head injuries, but couldn’t be absolutely positive. The only thing everybody could be sure about was that Harry Mitchell had died in one of the worst ways imaginable.
Picturing Jimmy O’Hara and his cronies gloating, Eddie smashed his fist against the bedroom wall. O’Hara had held a party round his on Christmas Eve to give himself an alibi, Eddie was certain of that. He obviously hadn’t committed the murder himself, but he must have organised it.
Seeing Jessica walk into the room, Ed tried to pull himself together. ‘Are you OK, love? What have you done to your hand?’ she asked, noticing his knuckles were bleeding.
‘I caught it in the drawer,’ Eddie lied.
Jessica stood on tiptoes and put her slender arms around his shoulders. ‘Me and the kids are ready. Shall we make a move now?’
Eddie nodded. He just wanted the day to be over.
Joyce stood in Harry Mitchell’s front garden. The flowers and tributes that kept arriving completely took her breath away. A keen gardener, she had never seen so many flowers. Hundreds and hundreds there were, and she had just seen another enormous arrangement arrive that spelled out the word LEGEND. Aware of a photographer standing over the road, Joyce patted her hair into place. Ever si
nce she had got her picture on page seven of the Sun newspaper, she had felt like a local celebrity. People were still stopping her in the street now and the article had appeared six weeks beforehand.
As more and more people arrived to pay their respects, Stanley became increasingly uncomfortable. Most of them were obviously well-known villains and he felt like a spare prick at a wedding. Noticing Roy Shaw, the notorious prize-fighting champion, looking his way, Stanley quickly averted his eyes. He didn’t feel at ease around these people and he couldn’t wait to get home to his pigeons.
As the horse-drawn hearse arrived carrying Harry’s body, all the neighbours came out of their houses. The street was heaving with mourners and it was more like a carnival than a funeral.
Eddie got into the first car. He was joined by Paulie, Ronny, Reg, Albert, Auntie Joan, Auntie Vi and his dad’s distraught long-term lady-friend, Sylvie. Gary and Ricky got into the second car with Jessica, the twins, Raymond, Joyce and Stanley. The other cars were filled with more distant relations.
The funeral was to take place at East London Cemetery in nearby Plaistow. Harry had purchased his own plot years before, insisting he wanted to be laid to rest next to his beautiful wife.
Frankie nudged Joey as the procession made its way through the crowded streets. Hundreds of people had made the effort. Some were waving banners and flags, but most were bowing their heads as a mark of respect. Jessica pointed a flag out to the twins. ‘Look at that. “Harry Mitchell, simply the best”, it says. Your grandad was very popular, wasn’t he?’
‘Shame we never saw him,’ Joey whispered to Frankie.
Stanley felt his face redden as the TV crews pointed a camera in his direction. He could just imagine all his old pals down the bus depot watching the news tonight and seeing him on there. Thank God I took early retirement, Stanley thought. He was embarrassed to be a part of such a family.
‘Will you stop fucking waving,’ Stanley shouted at Joyce, who was milking it. Her outfit looked awful. She had a massive black-netted hat on her head and Stanley thought she looked like a fucking witch. The only thing she was lacking was a broomstick.
Due to the horrific circumstances surrounding Harry’s death, the service itself was a very solemn affair. The vicar who presided over the proceedings was an old pal of the Mitchells. He had married Harry and his wife many moons ago.
Eddie stood up to say a few words, but was too choked up to go through with it. Seeing Ronny race towards him in his wheelchair, Eddie handed him the piece of paper.
‘My Dad was the best and, I swear on God’s life, we’ll get revenge for you, Dad. Whoever did this to you, we’ll do a hundred times worse to them,’ Ronny slurred, ignoring what was written down in front of him.
Eddie cringed. Trust Ronny to be pissed and say something like that in the house of God. Frantically waving his hands, Eddie urged the organist to play the song that he had chosen. Harry’s all-time favourite was the old war time classic, ‘Heart of My Heart’.
‘When I pop me clogs, I want that played at me funeral. It was me and your mother’s favourite song, Eddie,’ his dad had told him.
Lots of tears flowed as everybody joined in with the words.
When we were kids on the corner of the street,
We were rough and ready guys,
But oh, how we could harmonise!
Feeling his eyes well up, Eddie did his best to hold back the tears. Every villain in London was here and he was desperate not to make a tit of himself in front of the world’s finest. Pulling himself together, Eddie joined in with the singing:
I know a tear would glisten,
If once more I could listen,
To the gang that sang
‘Heart of My Heart’.
As the chapel began to empty, Jessica squeezed Eddie’s hand. ‘It was a lovely send-off. Your dad would have been proud,’ she told him.
Eddie stood by the graveside, amazed by the number of people in attendance. There had been hundreds unable to fit inside the chapel and they had listened outside to the service on a loudspeaker. Eddie stood between Sylvie and Auntie Joan. Both women were beside themselves and he had to nigh-on physically support them.
As his father’s body was finally laid to rest, Eddie breathed a sigh of relief. ‘God bless, Dad,’ he whispered, as he threw earth on top of the coffin.
Desperate to be seen as an important member of the family, Joyce grabbed Eddie’s arm. ‘Come and look at the beautiful flowers,’ she insisted.
Eddie let her drag him away and listened as she rattled on about who had sent what. ‘Look at that beauty that says BIG H; Freddie Foreman sent that. I love the LEGEND one, don’t you? That’s from the Krays. Look at that boxing glove, Ed, it’s massive, ain’t it?’
‘Who sent that?’ Eddie asked, completely disinterested.
‘Er, I can’t remember. Here we go: the card says Jimmy O’Hara and family.’
Eddie felt the blood in his veins run cold, ‘Give us that fucking card,’ he yelled.
Wondering what she had done so wrong, Joyce nervously handed it to him. Eddie stared at it. ‘To Eddie and family. Our thoughts are with you at this sad time. Jimmy O’Hara and family.’
Eddie was livid. He left Joyce standing with her mouth open and stomped over to his brothers. ‘The cheeky pikey cunt, he’s taking the fucking piss out of us,’ he yelled.
Raymond ran over and tried to calm him down. ‘Don’t say nothing here, Ed. If Jimmy’s done it to wind you up, you don’t want him to think he’s succeeded. There’s too many eyes and ears around. Just forget about it for now and we’ll discuss it tomorrow.’
Eddie brushed Raymond’s arm away. ‘Let’s get away from here. Tell the undertakers we’re ready. I need a fucking drink.’
As Jessica ran over to see what their father was upset about, the twins nudged one another. ‘I think our family is really weird, don’t you?’ Joey whispered.
Frankie burst out laughing. ‘I wouldn’t say they’re weird, but they’re definitely not normal.’
Joey smiled as he saw Auntie Joan, Auntie Vi and another lady heading their way.
‘Look at yous two. Ain’t you all grown up, and such handsome kids. Look Sylvie, these are Harry’s grandchildren. This is Frankie, who’s a ringer for her father, and doesn’t Joey look like his mother?’ Vi said.
Sylvie shook hands with the twins. ‘We have met before, but it was years ago and I’d never have recognised you now.’
Frankie and Joey both kissed her politely.
‘Kids, come on, we’re going!’ Eddie yelled.
‘Goodbye Sylvie, bye Auntie Joan, bye Auntie Vi. Are you all coming back to the pub?’ Joey asked.
‘No, lovey. It’s been a long day. Me, Vi and Sylvie are gonna toast your grandad indoors. We’re going back to mine for a drink,’ Joan told him.
Joey linked arms with his sister and led her back to where the cars were parked.
‘Dad didn’t look too happy, did he?’
Frankie giggled. ‘I shouldn’t fucking think so. He has just buried his father who happened to be brutually murdered in his own bed.’
‘I didn’t mean that – you know what I meant,’ Joey said, annoyed.
Frankie laughed. ‘Come on, I’ll race you. Last one back buys the fags later.’
Eddie had no other option than to book the Flag for the wake. His father had spent so many hours of his life in there, he would have come back and haunted Eddie if it had been held anywhere else. Obviously there was a free bar, but the size of the pub was a problem. With so many mourners, there weren’t enough staff behind the bar or enough room for people to stand comfortably. Eddie made a quick phone call and organised another free bar in the Ordnance Arms, which was also an old haunt of his dad’s. People could make their own mind up where they wanted to go. If they weren’t happy being squashed like sardines in a tin, they could have a drink in Harry’s memory down the road.
Jessica stood in the corner of the pub with Vicki. Dougie was up at the
bar with the men. Neither Vicki nor Jessica were annoyed that their husbands had deserted them. On this type of occasion the men always clubbed together and the women were left to their own devices.
‘Where are the twins? Can you see them? I have to keep my eye on them, as they do like a drink, you know,’ Jessica said to her friend.
Vicki craned her neck. ‘I can’t see them, but I’m sure they’re fine. How old are they now? Nearly sixteen, aren’t they? I was drinking in pubs at their age, weren’t you? I wouldn’t worry about them too much.’
Jessica nodded. The twins were a bit too streetwise for her liking and she couldn’t help but worry about them.
Eddie stood up at the bar with all the old school.
‘Can I have a quick word with you, Eddie?’ Patrick Murphy asked him.
Eddie followed the big Irishman outside the pub and they found a quiet spot. ‘Please don’t think I’m sticking my nose in your business, Eddie, but I’m telling you now, your father’s murder had nothing to do with the O’Haras. I was round at Jimmy’s on Christmas Eve. His sons were there, his brothers, his cousins. I didn’t leave there till three in the morning. I know this must be awful for you, Ed, but you’ve gotta look somewhere else for your answers. You know as well as I do that when Alice left Jimmy, he lost his swagger. I know you’ve had a feud with him in the past, but he’s a changed man now. He don’t want any grief, especially now Alice has agreed to give him another chance.’
Eddie put his thinking cap on. Maybe the stress of what had happened to his father had caused him to bark up the wrong tree. If the whole of the O’Hara clan were at Jimmy’s, then maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t them. Rubbing his tired eyes, Eddie looked at Patrick for answers. ‘Apart from the O’Haras, I can’t think who else had a massive grudge against my dad. I mean, if someone would have blasted his brains out, I could have dealt with it, understood it. But battering the life out of him – who would do a thing like that? It ain’t exactly our style, is it?’
The Feud Page 22
