by Martina Cole
‘Hello, Mandy, I understand you had a word with my lovely wife at two o’clock this morning. Now my wife is usually a chatty person. But being heavily pregnant and asleep, she wasn’t exactly, as I understand from her, what you might call friendly.’ When she didn’t answer, he bellowed angrily, ‘Are you for real, you stupid bitch? You rang my home? Where my wife sleeps and where my child will soon be ensconced! Are you off your fucking head, woman?’
Mandy had heard tales about Angus when he was angry, but she had never experienced it herself, and his shouting terrified her. She felt the tears come, but she couldn’t say a word; she was too scared, and too worried about saying the wrong thing. One thing she had learned, growing up with a violent alcoholic for a father, was to keep her mouth shut and just let the storm pass. If only her mother had learned that lesson, how different all their lives could have been.
Angus could feel the fear coming off Mandy and knew that he had done his job. Truth be told, he actually felt sorry for her. She was a nice girl, caught up in a shit world. He couldn’t hold that against her. But he had to make sure that she knew she had fucked up, and fucked up big time. He also had to make her understand that they were never going to be an item in any way, shape or form.
He looked at her forlorn face. She was a good-looking sort – and she was all natural, he couldn’t take that away from her. Even her hair was naturally blonde, collar and cuffs. She would be a real little touch for the right man, but that man wasn’t him. She had a lovely personality, didn’t have much to say for herself – but then he wanted a fuck, not a thesis on Third World poverty.
He opened his arms wide and she ran into them gratefully. She needed to be treated nicely now – after all, he wasn’t a bully – plus he still had to find out how she got his phone number.
‘I’m so sorry, Angus, I knew as soon as I made the call I had done wrong. But I was drunk, out of it. And I missed you.’
Angus hugged her to him and stroked her beautiful hair. He would miss that hair; it was so long and thick, and when she was splayed on the bed it was like a silken halo. She was a real looker, there was no disputing that.
‘Look, Mandy, you have caused me a lot of upset and aggravation with my wife. Darling, I would never leave her – you know that. She is the only woman who will ever bear my name. You’re a nice girl, but she is my actual wife, and I can’t have people upsetting her – ever.’
Mandy was really crying now. She felt so guilty – and so relieved that he wasn’t still balling her out.
‘Come on, calm yourself down, Mandy. Now I need to ask you something, and I want a truthful answer, OK?’ He tilted her face up so he could look into her eyes. ‘Who gave you my home number?’
Mandy shook her head and smiled tearfully. ‘No one gave it to me. I just saw you dial it.’
Angus raised an eyebrow. ‘You are telling me that you saw me dial a number, and you remembered it?’
She nodded, and then repeated the number back to him. ‘I have always had that knack, Angus. I only have to see something once and I can remember it.’
Angus wasn’t sure if she was taking the piss.
Mandy saw the disbelief on his face, and she said quickly, ‘I can prove it. Write something down and show it to me, and I will tell you exactly what you wrote.’
Angus got off the stool and walked behind the bar. He poured out two glasses of brandy, then he picked up a pad and a pencil and went back to his seat.
He handed her a drink, saying, ‘Have a sip of that, and wipe your nose, darling.’
He wrote on the pad four phone numbers and the address of a man he’d had reason to visit a few weeks earlier. He handed the pad to Mandy. She glanced over it, and handed it back.
‘Come on then, clever bollocks, show me what you can do.’
No one was more surprised than Angus when she did just that. She repeated it all back to him verbatim.
‘I am a bit nervous, Angus, so you have to allow for that.’
He was blown away, and he immediately wrote down another set of numbers, random this time, and a verse from a poem he had always loved.
Once again, she repeated it all back to him, number perfect, and word for word.
‘You know what you have, don’t you, Mandy? I was reading about this a while ago. You have an eidetic memory. Mostly kids have it, I think, then lose it. But a small percentage of the population keep it. It’s also called a photographic memory. It’s a fucking wonderful gift to possess.’
Mandy was just pleased she had made him happy. She had always had that gift; it just came naturally to her.
Angus rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘You and me are going to use that gift of yours, Mandy, and it is going to make you a wealthy woman, providing you do what I say. Now do you think you could do that for me?’
Mandy Downs nodded happily, thankful that she had dodged a bullet, because she had been sure she would be out of work from today and, even worse, barred from any of the other clubs. But it seemed that she was still in with a chance, and anything that kept her near this man would always be a good thing to her.
‘Let me make a few phone calls, darling, while you finish your drink.’
She finished her brandy in one gulp and smiled tremulously as Angus refilled her glass.
He winked at her saucily. He had not even dreamed that someone like her could actually be of any real value. She was just a good-looking girl, a lap-dancing slag who he had used to scratch an itch, because that was all these girls were, could ever be. But she had a gift that, in the right hands, could be utilised in so many ways.
She was a dream come true. Who would have thought that today would have ended up giving him so much pleasure? It just went to prove that you never knew what was around the fucking corner.
The first person he rang was his mother.
Chapter Fifty-four
Angus had stayed close to home for a few days. He knew what he had to do to convince Lorna that he was suitably contrite.
He was genuinely devastated that she had been subjected to that kind of humiliation; he would never have wished that on her. He was in the wrong in every way, and he was quite content to show Lorna that. He had also boxed clever because he had asked for her input in making the first night of the new club a thank-you to his mum, and listened to her ideas for planning it all.
If there was one thing his Lorna loved, it was planning things, and being in charge. His mother had helped them buy this place, and Lorna was going to make sure that his mum knew that they were grateful for that. She might not love his mum, but she was savvy enough not to bite the hand that fed them. She was full of ideas and, in fairness, some of them were excellent.
Lorna had a natural talent for what was tasteful, and that was something he knew was instinctive. Even the way she dressed was perfect; she looked amazing and sexy, without revealing anything, and she didn’t overload the make-up. That was a big part of her charm, as far as he was concerned.
Angus lay in bed beside her, listening to her breathing. She slept so quietly and she looked so exquisite, with her high cheekbones and her lustrous hair, that he could happily watch her for hours.
He felt the sudden dampness and wondered for a few moments what it could be. He thought for a split second that she had wet the bed. When she sat up and groaned, he felt panic rising inside him.
‘My waters have broken, Angus. Ring the hospital and get my bag. We need to get going!’
She doubled over in pain, and he heard her shouting for her mother, who was staying with them in preparation for the baby.
Sinead came into the bedroom, half asleep, but she took one look at her daughter and said quickly, ‘Oh, darling, you’re definitely on your time.’ She looked at Angus and shouted, ‘Well, get dressed and get the fucking car! This baby is on its way.’
Angus obeyed. As he was getting his trousers on, he was struck by the excitement of a man about to meet his first child. It was suddenly real, and he felt the rush of adrenalin.
>
As he ran back into the bedroom, Sinead shouted, ‘Phone an ambulance, Angus! This baby ain’t hanging around for no fucker, it’s already well on its way.’
He did as he was told. This was women’s work, he wasn’t about to question any of it. Then he went back into the bedroom, and he knelt by the bed and held Lorna’s hand as she grunted in pain.
‘The ambulance will be here in a minute, darling, don’t worry.’
Lorna looked magnificent. She was in control, and he could see her concentrating on every movement of their child. Every time she had a contraction, she squeezed his hand tightly and he watched her face, amazed at how she stopped herself from crying out from what was obviously such incredible pain. Then she kicked off the blankets, and he saw her back arching as she pushed down while swallowing another scream.
‘Fucking hell, Angus, this is too quick. You jammy cow, Lorna.’
Lorna and her mother started to laugh, and Angus watched in amazement as they giggled together.
‘Oh, Mum, it hurts.’
‘Of course it hurts – look at the size of Angus’s head. If it takes after him, it will be like birthing Frankenstein’s monster.’
Now Lorna and her mother were laughing and crying at the same time.
Angus couldn’t believe that his Lorna could find humour among all this blood and gore. He put his hands to his head, because he just didn’t know what he was supposed to do. His wife was in agony on the bed. She was bleeding, and he could see her belly tightening with every pain, and yet she was laughing. It was just outside of anything he had ever seen or experienced in his whole life.
His mother had gone through this pain to bring him into the world. And from what he had heard, his dad was in the pub being patted on the back for his part in this miracle.
Then Lorna seemed to change, and he felt it, as did his mother-in-law.
‘Oh, Mum, Angus . . . the pain, the fucking pain!’
Sinead smiled at her daughter and said, ‘You are crowning, darling, the baby’s head is coming out. You’re nearly there, Lorna.’
Lorna put her head on her chest and she pushed, and as she pushed, she let out a howl like an animal. Angus watched in shock and awe as his child’s head came out of his wife’s body. He had never seen anything so vicious or so violent or so beautiful in his whole life.
‘You’re nearly there, Lorna, one more push, darling. Oh, where the fuck is the ambulance!’
Angus watched in utter astonishment as his child emerged, and he watched as his Lorna pulled herself up, crying, ‘Is it OK, Mum, is it OK?’
Then he heard the ambulance, and he ran down to open the gates and let them in so they could tell him that his wife was going to be all right. Because after what he had just witnessed, he couldn’t believe that women could go through that more than once in their lives.
It was visceral, it was bloody, and it was miraculous. His beautiful Lorna had not only grown but she had even birthed a human being, all by herself. She had expelled that child from her body in pain, and she had still been laughing. It was just the most perfect thing he had ever been witness to. And he didn’t care how many times this same thing happened in the world, every second of the day, to him it had been a revelation, and he loved and respected his wife – and his own mother – even more than he had before.
The ambulance men were fantastic, and he watched as they looked over his wife and child, cut the cord and declared them both hale and hearty. When they put them in the ambulance to take them to the hospital, he hugged his wife so tightly she had to prise his arms away from her.
‘It’s a boy, Angus, in case you were wondering.’
He was crying with emotion as he kissed them both tenderly. ‘You were a warrior tonight, Lorna, you were just magnificent, darling.’
Sinead laughed then. ‘What she was, Angus, was bloody lucky. It was all over in no time.’
Angus went to the hospital with his wife and son in the ambulance. He had never felt such a rush in his life. He couldn’t stop staring at his wife and his son, this lad he had seen entering the world. He had heard all the talk from the other men about their wives, and their kids being born, but nothing had prepared him for the drama and the reality of it. He knew that he would never forget this night as long as he lived, and he didn’t ever want to.
Lorna smiled at him happily as she cradled their son in her arms.
‘We will call him Angus, like you.’
Angus just nodded. He couldn’t take his eyes off his son who, if he was being honest, looked like a wrinkly, miserable old man. He was already deeply in love. This was the start of a whole new chapter in his life, and he knew that never again would he ever feel completely safe, because he now had an Achilles heel.
He now had someone he would happily die for.
Book Three
1988
What ought a man to be? Well, my short answer is himself.
Peer Gynt,
Henrik Ibsen (1828–1906)
Chapter Fifty-five
The music was heavy and loud, and the whole place was absolutely banging – it was exactly what Angus wanted.
He could smell the sweat, which equalled success, and that was all he was interested in. There was a vibe that ran through certain clubs. He always felt it when he walked in – and not just because he owned them. If they didn’t have that feeling within three months of opening then he was quite happy to let them go, sell them on, and let the new owners trade on his name for a while.
It was a competitive market, and no one understood that better than he did. He made sure that they had the most in-demand DJs, the very newest music and also the best people working the floors. That meant employing good-looking boys and girls who were an attraction in themselves. They were also there to guide the punters to not only the top-priced alcoholic beverages but also the best drugs that could be purchased, with an unspoken guarantee that they were the safest they could hope for. Angus had seen the sense in that, and he had made it his mission to ensure that the drugs supplied in his venues were not fucking home-made and liable to kill the very people he was catering for. That kind of business would be pointless.
He wasn’t running a one-off rave; he had clubs that were open regularly and were known as the places to be. This generation had mobile phones, and word travelled fast, sourcing the places they wanted to go.
What kept him on top was that he offered a service that was not only quality but was also appreciated by the punters and brought them back time and time again. All this lot wanted was a few good Es, decent music and a good drink; it wasn’t exactly rocket science. He was basically printing his own dosh.
Supply and demand was the great British anti-work ethic for criminals since World War Two. The black economy had kept this country afloat since time began, and even though past governments had tried their hardest to destroy it, everyone knew that would never happen. This country couldn’t exist without it. That was the beauty of a consumer society, and Maggie Thatcher was its biggest advocate. They were mugs, and they were too fucking blinkered by their policies to even give it a whirl.
If they just legalised cannabis, they could pay for everything – from the NHS to the OAPs – without batting a fucking eyelid. But no, it cost the taxpayers a fortune to bankroll court cases for an eighth of home grown, clogging up the judicial system and the prisons. The sentences were fucking outrageous, considering that cannabis was organic.
It was scandalous really, because these people who were governing the laws were so set in their ways, they should have been pensioned off years ago. They weren’t really aware enough to make laws for the emerging generations, they didn’t understand that times had changed drastically since their youth. Give old Maggie her due, at least she encouraged free enterprise. She was a bit of a battleaxe, but you couldn’t fault her when it came to earning a good crust.
As usual, Angus was being walked through the club with his minders all around him. Even that was just for show. Angus knew that the
people who frequented his clubs loved that he was mentioned in the tabloids. There was a lot of talk about him, of course, but no one could ever prove anything, he made sure of that. But he was a Face, and he knew that for his clubs to work he had to be seen, and he was. It all added to his reputation – a reputation that stood up quite well on its own. The talk about him just enhanced his business and his clubs, and that was what it was all about these days.
It was a great time to be a villain because, basically, they were once again flavour of the fucking month. It was like the fifties and sixties, when the Faces were seen as glamorous and someone to aspire to be. And if you had a good idea for an earn, you would be listened to.
As he moved through the club, people tried to get his attention and act like they knew him. Every now and then he would wave to someone, or acknowledge a greeting. As the Sun had said recently, move over Peter Stringfellow, there was a new king of the clubs.
He had a certain public persona, and that was useful because it guaranteed him an alibi as and when he needed it. He knew how to play the game, and he played it with aplomb. He was a showman, and that was a big part of his attraction for the women and the men around him.
As he stepped into the private lift that would take him up to his offices, he winked and smiled at two girls who were standing nearby and watching him in awe. He sighed regretfully. If he didn’t have a serious meeting, he would have invited the two of them up to his offices and done them, one after the other. It would not have been the first time. He made sure to use a condom on the strangers; after all, you couldn’t be too careful – the last thing he needed in his life was to give his wife a round of applause. The fucking clap.
