
Dangerous Lady
by Martina Cole.
Back Cover Notes.
No one thinks a seventeen-year-old girl can take on the hard men of London's gangland, but it's a mistake to underestimate Maura Ryan: " she's tough, clever and beautiful - and she's determined that nothing will stand in her way.
Together, she and her brother Michael are unbeatable: the Queen and King of organised crime. But notoriety has its price. The police are determined to put away Maura once and for all - and not everyone in the family thinks that's such a bad idea. When it comes to the crunch, Maura has to face the pain of lost love in her past - and the dangerous lady discovers her heart is not made entirely of stone.
Praise for Martina Cole's bestsellers:
'Right from the start [Cole] has enjoyed unqualified approval for her distinctive and powerfully written fiction' The Times
'The slags and scum of Cole's fictional underworld are becoming the stuff of legend... It's vicious, nasty and utterly compelling' Mirror Cover photograph by
Richard Haughton
headline
Fiction/General
Over the last ten years, Martina Cole has written nine
outstandingly successful bestsellers. Her most recent novel, Faceless, shot straight to No. 1 on the Sunday Times bestseller list and total sales of Martina's novels now ixceed three million copies. Dangerous Lady became a hu gely popular TV drama series, as did The Jump, and s everal of her other novels are in production for TV. This t enth anniversary edition of her first novel is being published to celebrate Martina Cole's bestselling career and to c oincide with the publication of her latest novel, Maura's G ame, which is the sequel to Dangerous Lady. Martina C ole has a son and daughter and she lives in Essex.
Praise for Martina Cole's bestsellers:
'Right from the start Cole has enjoyed unqualified a pproval for her distinctive and powerfully written fiction' The Times.
'Intensely readable' . Guardian
'Gritty novel from an author who knows intimately the wo rld she writes about' Daily Express The slags and scum of Cole's fictional underworld are
becoming the stuff of legend . . . It's vicious, nasty and
utterly compelling' Mirror
You won't be able to put this one down' Company
Set to be another winner' Woman's Weekly
Martina Cole again explores the shady criminal underworld,
a setting she is fast making her own'
Sunday Express
Powerful, evocative and crackling with lowlife humour'
Maeve Haran
Also by Martina Cole
The Ladykiller
Goodnight Lady
The Jump
The Runaway
Two Women
Broken
Faceless
Maura's Game
Dangerous Lady
10th Anniversary Edition
Martina Cole
headline
Copyright (c) 1992 Martina Cole
The right of Martina Cole to be identified as the Author of
the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 1992
by HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING
This paperback edition published in 2002
by HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING
10987654321
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be
reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,
in any form or by any means without the prior written
permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated
in any form of binding or cover other than that in which 'f, it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious
and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,
is purely coincidental.
ISBN 0 7472 3932 0
Typeset in Galliard by
Letterpart Limited, Reigate, Surrey
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Mackays of Chatham pic, Chatham, Kent
HEADLINE BOOK PUBLISHING
A division of Hodder Headline
V 338 Euston Road
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www.hodderheadline.com
To my parents
Foreword
When my editor Clare Foss asked me to write this foreword
for the tenth anniversary edition of Dangerous Lady, I never realised how much my life had changed over the last decade, until I sat down and thought about it. I now
have a beautiful grandson Lewis and, in true 'Martina
Cole' fashion, I gave birth to my daughter Freddie, who
was born an aunt. They are like brother and sister and they have brought more happiness into my life than anything or
anyone else, other than my son Christopher.
My first piece of luck, in my writing career, was finding
Darley Anderson, my agent. He has been a constant
throughout the last ten years and he has not only masterminded my career, but me as well - when I needed it! He
is such a good friend and also godfather to my little
daughter Freddie Mary. I want to thank him now for
everything he has done for me, and for the friendship he
and his partner Adele have shown me over the years. It has
been a privilege to know them both and I thank God every
day for that phone call I made one sunny. Thursday
evening. It was a life-changing moment, though I didn't
know it at the time.
Martin Booth, who was at the BBC, gave me my first
break in the writing field and, along with Darley, he gave
me the confidence I so desperately needed to turn a hobby
into a career. Thank you once again.
Sue Fletcher, my first editor, also inspired me to write
and to believe in myself as a bona ride author. I am proud
to say that she was instrumental in my life and I thank her from the bottom of my heart for all the care and advice she has given me over the years.
I have been lucky enough to see Dangerous Lady and The Jump made into TV drama series, and there are others in the pipeline. What a wonderful day it was, watching my
characters come to life through Lavinia Warner of Warner
Sisters. Lavinia has been a true friend over the years and is the woman who introduced me to PJ's in Covent Garden!
It hasn't all been a bed of roses, of course. I was very ill for a while and I got divorced. But what kept me going
was knowing how lucky I was to be doing something I
loved and to be getting paid for it! For so many years
before Dangerous Lady was first published, I wrote for
nothing. Night after night, I would sit in my little council flat, putting my thoughts on paper, writing what I liked to read. Luckily, others felt the same and wanted to read it
too!
I have tried to make each book different, even though
the criminal theme runs through them all. Owing to the
content of Two Women, I am now the Patron of Chelmsford
Women's Aid. It is an honour I was pleased to accept, and a cause that I fervently believe in. Women come to me at
signings who are from local refuges and they tell me how
much they enjoy my books and I feel so sad for them and
their plight. The sorry thing is that we need these refuges at all in the twenty-first century, but we do and they need as many donations as possible.
I have also become involved in prison workshops, teaching
creative writing to inmates. There is a lot of talent
around and I have been lucky, once more, to be part of
finding it and, hopefully, developing it.
I have made so many new friends as well, not least
Lynda Page, Lesley Pearse and Gilda O'Neill. I have
wonderful publishers, especially Clare Foss and Martin
Neild, who have helped me enormously and I appreciate
them very much. (Also Amanda Ridout has always been so
good to me.) I also want to say a thank you to Louise
Page, my publicist, who has been a friend and a shoulder
to lean on over the last few years. We have travelled the
length and breadth of the country together and have had
some laughs along the way.
But my main luck has been with my readers. I have met
thousands of you over the years (especially on Romford
Market!) and anyone who is with me always remarks on
what lovely people you are. In bookshops, staff are amazed
at the friendliness and camaraderie of everyone involved. I still write my books for me and, in doing so, I hope I am
writing for the people who bother to pick them up, take
them home and read them. So, the biggest thank you over
the last ten years, is to all the people reading this book
and, I hope, enjoying it. I have just finished writing the
sequel to Dangerous Lady, it is called Maura's Game and I
hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing
it.
I would also like to thank all the people who have
helped me with research over the years. You know who
you are. Through you I have been able to put realism into
the stories. So a big thanks once more, especially to
Graham P. who has been such a star and a good friend
since we were kids.
My only regret is that my parents died when I was in
my early twenties and therefore never saw my books
published. My mother would have loved it. Her daughter
Martina, an unmarried mother at eighteen, now a
published writer. She worried about me so desperately
(although I never realised just how much until my own
son grew up) and she would have enjoyed my success
even more than I have. But I know that wherever they
are, they can see me and their new granddaughter and
great-grandson. They watch over us and, at the end of
the day, that has to be enough.
There is an old saying - you get the life you deserve.
Well, I think that's half true - you get the life you work
for. Then when all the worries are out of the way and the
kids are grown up, then, and only then, do you get the life you deserve. And, let's face it, we all deserve the best we can get.
I wish you all peace and happiness.
Good luck and take care.
Martina Cole
August 2002
LONDON, NOTTING HILL
If possible honestly, if not, '
somehow,
make money - Horace, 65-8 BE
Am I my brother's keeper? - Genesis, iv, 9
'You took your bloody time!'
Dr Martin O'Reilly stared down into the child's face
and sighed.
'I had to see another patient. Now where's your ma?'
'In bed, of course.'
The little boy went back to sit on the stairs with his
seven brothers. They ranged in age from three to fourteen.
The doctor lit a cigar. He stood in the hallway puffing on
it for a few seconds to make sure it was fully alight. The
smell of the Ryans en masse was enough to turn the
strongest of stomachs, though the slum stench was in his
blood now, he reckoned. It permeated his clothes and
skin. He started to pick his way up the stairs, careful not to tread on any little fingers. The children shuffled left and right on their bottoms to let him pass. He was also careful not to touch the wall. The smell he could combat with his
cigar, but the roaches - he would never get used to them.
How the buggers ran up the walls he would never know.
They defied gravity.
On the landing he pushed open the first bedroom door,
and there in front of him was Sarah Ryan. She was lying on
a large double bed, her belly huge and swollen. He smiled
at her, his heart breaking. Sarah Ryan was thirty-four years old. Her faded blonde hair was scraped back from her face
into a bun, her skin was pale and dry. If her eyes had not
been so bright and alert, she could have been mistaken for
a corpse. He could remember coming to this house fifteen
years earlier to deliver her first child. A fine-looking
woman she had been then. Now her body was fat and
scarred from constant childbearing, and her face wrinkled
prematurely from habitual frowning.
'It's well on then?' His voice was gentle.
Sarah tried to hitch herself up in the bed. The old newspapers that had been placed underneath her crackled at the movement. 'Yeah. It's good of you to come, Martin.
I told the little sods to get their dad, but as usual he ain't nowhere to be seen.'
She gripped her belly as another pain shot through her.
'Oh, it's dying to be born this one.' She smiled faindy.
Then her eyes stretched wide as she saw the doctor take a
syringe out of his bag.
'You ain't sticking that thing in me! We had all this out
the last time. I ain't having any bloody injections. This is me thirteenth child and I never had one with any of them.
Not even the stillborns. I ain't starting now.'
'Come on, Sarah. This will ease you.'
She put up her hand to stem his protests. 'I'm sorry but
them things hurt like hell, whereas giving birth . . . it's nothing. Nothing . . .'
Martin put the needle on the small bedside table and,
sighing heavily, pulled back the blankets covering her legs.
His expert hands felt around her sides and then he slipped
two fingers inside her vagina. When he had finished he
pulled the blankets back over her.
'I think this one's breech.'
Sarah shrugged.
'First one if it is. I ain't done so bad. Ben was saying the
other day that soon they would drop out as I walked down
to the shops!'
She laughed and the doctor laughed with her.
'That would do me out of a job. Now you relax for a
minute, I won't be long. I want one of the boys to run an
errand for me.' He left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
'She had it then?' This from eight-year-old Leslie who
had let him in earlier.
'No, she hasn't had it yet. Be patient, you young
bugger.'
The doctor turned to the eldest boy, Michael. At nearly
fifteen he was already over six feet tall and towered over
the little Irish doctor in front of him.
'Michael, go and get old Mother Jenkins. I'm going to
need help with this one.'
The boy stared down at the doctor for a few seconds. The muwer's gonna be all right, ain't she?' His voice was deep and concerned.
The doctor nodded. 'Of course.'
The boy still did not move.
'She's never had old Mother Jenkins before.'
The doctor stared up at the boy impatiently. 'Look,
Michael, I can't stand around here all day talking to you.
Your ma's bad, but if we can get this baby born she'll be
all right. The sooner you get Mrs Jenkins the better.
Time's short.'
Michael turned slowly away from the doctor and placing
one hand on the banister and the other on the wall he slid
down, jumping over the younger boys' heads. As he
landed heavily on the linoleum, the doctor called to him:
'Tell her I'll be paying the ten shillings or she won't
come.'
Michael waved to let the doctor know he had heard,
then, opening the front door, he rushed out.
The doctor looked down on to the younger children's
heads and his teeth clamped down even harder on his
cigar. Michael's foray down the stairs had caused the
cockroaches to fall from the walls. The youngest child,
Benny, not only had them crawling in his clothes, but one
adventurous roach was slowly making its way across his
face. Martin watched the child flick it gently away and
made a mental note to see the landlord about getting the
house stoved. It would never get rid of the damned things
permanently but at least it would give the Ryans a
breathing space.
'Now then, I want a couple of you to go and find your
father.' Geoffrey, Anthony and Leslie all stood up. The
doctor pointed at them in turn. 'You, Geoffrey, try the
Latimer Arms. You, Anthony, go up the Roundhouse. And
you . . .' ",.,",
Leslie nodded, his eyes fixed on the floor.
'. . . go to the Kensington Park Hotel. If you can't find
him in any of those places then try the Bramley Arms. If by any chance you do find your da, tell him that he is needed
at home. Can you all remember that?'
The three heads nodded and they went on their way.
Martin went back into the bedroom with Sarah.
'Sure they're good boys you've got there.'
Her voice sounded sceptical. 'I don't know about that,!
Doctor. They're a bit wild at times. It's the old man. He
takes the belt to them for nicking one minute, and then
the next he's sending them out to do it. The poor little
sods can't win.'
She doubled up as another pain hit her.
'Relax now, Sarah.' He pushed a few stray hairs from her
face. It was getting dark so he pulled the curtains and put on the overhead light. He lit himself another cigar from
the butt of the previous one. Then, with it firmly clamped
between his teeth, he examined her again. When he had
finished he had a worried look on his face. He visibly
relaxed as he heard a voice in the hallway. A few seconds
later Matilda Jenkins had pushed open the bedroom door.
She stood at the end of Sarah's bed, all eighteen stone of
her.
'All right, Doctor?' This was a form of address, not a
question.
'All right, Sarah? The bloody stairs knacker me these
days. But them boys!' She flapped her hand at Sarah. 'Talk
about scatter them. One look at me coming up 'em and
they run like mad!' Her deep booming laugh reverberated
around the bedroom. The doctor was paying her the ten
shillings, she could afford to be friendly.
'It's a big woman you are, Matilda, to be sure. Now get
yourself back down the stairs and heat me up lots of water.
I want to sterilise me things. This little fellow's breech.'
Matilda nodded her head vigorously.
'Righto, Doc. I'll send around the neighbours, get them
to put their kettles on. We might even get a cuppa out of
them!'
As she stamped from the room, Sarah glared at the
doctor.
'What's she doing here? I ain't got ten shillings, and if I did have I'd give it to the kids. They ain't eaten since
yesterday, and until that man of mine comes home, they
won't eat at all! Knowing him, he's shacked up with some
old sort somewhere and won't be home till the morning!'
She was near to tears.
'Calm down now, Sarah. I'm paying her.' He grasped
one of her hands. 'Now be quiet, woman. I can't cope
with this on me own. So you whisht now, and save your
strength.'
Sarah lay back against the pillows, her face drenched
with sweat. Her lips were cracked and dry. Turning
awkwardly towards the bedside table, she picked up a glass
of water and sipped the warm liquid gratefully. A little later Matilda brought up a bucket of steaming water. The
doctor set about sterilising his things, including a large
pair of scissors.
By nine in the evening Sarah was in great distress, as was the child within her. Twice the doctor had tried to push his arm inside her to turn the child and each time he had
failed. He wiped his hands on a towel he had brought with
him.
This child had to be born, and soon, or he would lose
the pair of them. Blast Benjamin Ryan! It was always the
same. He gave her a child every year, but was never there
when it came into the world.
The little boys kept their vigil on the stairs. All were
tired and hungry. Michael, waiting at the top, was silently cursing his father as he looked at his younger brothers'
little faces. Benny was sucking the arm of his jumper.
Suddenly there was a loud banging on the front door.
Six-year-old Garry answered it, only to be knocked flying
as two policemen came crashing in. Michael took one
look at them and, swearing under his breath, ran into his
mother's bedroom. Cries could be heard from the stairs
as the policemen tried to make their way up to the
landing, the remaining boys making it as difficult as
possible for them in the hope that their brother would
get away.
Michael had opened the bedroom window and was half
in and half out as the policemen burst into the room.
Then the lights went out.
'Who turned off the lights, you little bastards?'
'No one turned off the bleeding lights. The electric's
gone.' Sarah's voice was faint. The policemen turned on
their torches.
'Bring those over here. This woman is in danger of her
life.' The urgency in the doctor's voice brought both men
to the bed. The boy was long gone, they both knew that.
Sarah was writhing in agony, tears on her cheeks.
'You lot want slaughtering. My boy ain't done nothing.'
Matilda Jenkins broke in, 'Look, has anyone got a
shilling for the meter?'
'I have.' The smaller of the two policemen fished some
change out of his pocket. Leaving his colleague to help the doctor, he walked from the room and carefully made his
way down the stairs. Stepping through the children as
gently as he could, he went to the cupboard under the
stairs and, locating the meter, put a shilling in. He put in another, and turned off his torch as he stepped out of the
cupboard. Seven pairs of eyes were looking at him with
open hostility, even the youngest's who was not yet four.
The man looked at the boys as if seeing them for the first
time. At the heads close-cropped to combat the lice and
the holey jumpers with elbows poking through. He stood
for a while staring at them. He felt for the first time in his life what it must be like to be one of them and was
overwhelmed with a feeling of sadness and futility. Taking
out his wallet, he pulled out a ten-shilling note and offered it to Geoffrey, the second eldest. :
'Get yourself over the Messer's and get some fish and
chips.'
'We don't want old Bill's money!'
'Hark at the hard man! Well, clever clogs, your little
brothers are starving, so go and do what I tell you.'
He pushed the money into Geoffrey's hands. All the
boy's instincts told him to throw the money back at the
policeman, their natural enemy, but his little brothers'
faces changed his mind. They had not eaten for nearly two
days. Sullenly, he pushed past the man, who held on to his
arm.
'Tell that brother of yours that we'll catch him in the
end so he might as well give himself up.'
Geoffrey pulled his arm roughly away. Then, looking at
the man as if he was so much dirt, he let himself out of the front door. The constable walked back up the stairs,
shaking his head.
In the bedroom, Sarah was fighting to get the child
born. The other policeman was holding her down, while
the doctor was cutting her down below. As he cut she gave
an almighty push and ripped open to her behind. The
child slipped into the world, still in its birth sac. The
doctor punched this open and looked at the little blue face inside. He cleaned its nose and gently blew into its mouth
while he pressed tenderly on its tiny ribcage. The baby
coughed and gave a little cry. Then, taking a deep breath,
began to bawl its head off. Quick as a flash the doctor had cut the cord, passed the child to Matilda Jenkins, and was
stitching away at Sarah as if his own life depended on it.
She lay against the pillows, her whole body numb. She
swore to herself that this was going to be the last child.
'Your first girl, Sarah.' Matilda's voice was kind.
She sat up in the bed, dumbstruck, her face aglow as if
lit from the inside. She grinned, showing all her large
yellowing teeth.
'You're joking! I thought it was another boy! A girl! It is really a girl?'
Even the policemen smiled at her. She was genuinely
amazed.
'Oh, let me have her. Let me hold her! A daughter at
last, thank Gawd!'
Matilda placed the child in her arms. The baby was now
cleaned up and Sarah looked down into the bluest eyes she
had ever seen.
'She's a beauty, Sarah.'
She stared down at her daughter in wonderment. This
was her thirteenth child, but her first girl. All tiredness was forgotten as she gazed at her daughter. Then she looked
around her at the other smiling faces, and remembered
why the policemen were there. The elder of the two had been coming to the house for nigh on fifteen years. Ben had even been at it all through the war.
'What's my Mickey supposed to have done now?' Her
voice was flat.
'He's been running for a bookie again, Sarah. I've
warned him twice now. This time I'm going to nick him.
So you tell him to come and see me.'
She looked back at her daughter. The doctor had
finished, and, after removing the old newspapers from
under Sarah, covered her up. She looked back at the
policeman.
'I'll tell him, Frank, but he's like the old man. He goes
his own way.' Her voice was low.
Matilda Jenkins opened the bedroom door and called
the rest of the boys in. They all trooped in, eating their
fish and chips, and clustered around the bed. Benny could
not see anything so pulled on the doctor's coat.
'What do you want, child?' , :
Benny looked up with his little monkey face. His mouth
was full of food.
'Is it Hovis, then?'
'Hovis? The doctor's voice was puzzled. 'What are you
on about, boy?'
'Hovis . . . you know, brown bread. Well, is it?' '
The doctor looked around him for enlightenment.
'Brown bread? Are you delirious, child?'
10
'He means is it dead? Brown bread . . . dead. Get it?'
This was spoken by Anthony, and his tone indicated that
if anyone was stupid it was not his little brother.
'Brown bread, bejasus! No, it's not. It's very much alive.
Now eat your chips, you little heathen. Brown bread
indeed!' ,
The policemen laughed.
'How long you been in London, Doc?' the elder asked. 'Twenty years? And you still don't know the lingo.' They thought this highly amusing. 'We'd better be off, Sar.
Don't forget to tell Michael when he gets in.'
'I won't forget, Frank. I'll tell him, but he won't come.
You know that.'
'Well, try and persuade him. Good luck with the new
arrival. See you all.'The two men left.
Sarah looked at her sons' faces and smiled.
'It's a girl!'
All the boys grinned at her.
'A daughter for me old age.' She hugged the child to
her. 'I'm going to call her Maura. Maura Ryan. I like that.'
'Shall I go and get Mickey, Mum? I saved him some
chips.'
'Yeah, Geoff. Tell him the coast is clear.'
. The doctor stopped packing away his instruments and
looked at Sarah sternly.
'You knew where he was all along?'
She grinned at him. 'Course I did. He's in the Anderson
shelter at number 119. He always hides there.'
Seeking the funny side of what Sarah said, Martin?
O'Reilly threw back his head and laughed out loud. Seven
mouths stopped chewing as the boys stared at him.
'What a night! Your little girl certainly picked her time to arrive. She saved young Michael's bacon tonight, that's a fact.'
Sarah chuckled with him. 'She did that all right!'
Pat Johnstone, Sarah's best friend and next-door neighbour, came into the bedroom with a tray of tea. She
ushered all the boys out and poured Sarah a strong cup.
'Here you are, girl. Get your laughing gear around that. What about you, Doc? Fancy a cuppa?'
'That would be grand. I'm parched.'
Pat poured the doctor out a cup of tea and placed it on
the bedside table. Then she sat on the bed next to Sarah.
She looked at the baby and gasped with surprise.
'Oh, my Gawd! She's a cracker, ain't she?' Her naturally
loud voice seemed to bounce off the walls. 'Gis' a little
hold, Sar.'
Sarah passed the child to her and took a deep drink of
her tea. 'This is just what I needed, Pat.'
'Is that right the filth came in looking for your Mickey
and the electric went? I nearly wet meself laughing when
Mrs Jenkins told me, I thought it was so funny.'
Sarah rolled her eyes to the ceiling. 'Oh, please, Pat.
Don't remind me!'
The doctor finished putting his things away and drank
his tea. 'That was lovely. It just hit the right spot. Now I'll be off, Sarah. Don't get out of bed until I tell you that it's safe. I've had to put in a lot of stitches. If you start to bleed, send one of the lads around for me, OK?'
'I will, Martin. And thanks for everything.'
'That's all right. I'll see you in the morning. 'Bye now.'
He went out of the bedroom and down the.stairs to the
hallway where Matilda Jenkins was waiting for him with
her hand out. He slipped a ten-shilling note into her palm.
'Thanks, Matilda, 'Bye.'
"Bye, Doctor O'Reilly.'
She closed the front door behind him. He walked down
the flight of stairs that led to the road and looked at his
12
car, a Rover 90. It was his pride and joy. There was not a
windscreen wiper to be seen. He should have known this
would happen in Lancaster Road.
'Little buggers!'
He got into his car and drove off. On 2 May 1950 he
had brought Maura Ryan into the world.
Sarah Ryan glanced around her kitchen. A feeling of
satisfaction swept over her. It looked beautiful. Taking a
deep breath she sighed with contentment. She had not felt
this happy for years. The table was laden with food.
Turkey, ham, a large joint of beef, all carefully prepared
and waiting to go into the oven. The kitchen was filled
with the aroma of mince pies and sausage rolls cooking to
a golden crispness in the oven.
She was startled out of her reverie by a loud crash from
above. Her mouth set in a grim line, she went to the
kitchen door. Opening it wide, she shouted as loud as she
could: 'I'm warning you lot, one more noise and I'll come
up there and scalp the arses offyer!'
She stood listening for a few minutes, trying not to
smile. Then, assured that the children were all in their
beds, she went back to her preparations, humming a little
tune. Her last task was to lay thick strips of bacon across the turkey. Finally she stepped back from the table to
admire her handiwork. Then, picking up the poker from
the hearth, she banged it three times against the back of
the fireplace. A few seconds later the banging was
answered by two sharp thuds. Going to the sink she filled
the kettle with water and placed it on the gas. As the kettle
came to the boil she heard the back door open and popped
her head into the scullery to see her friend Pat Johnstone
kicking snow off her shoes.
'Get yourself in, Pat, I've got the kettle on.'
'Oh, Sar, it's brass monkey weather out there tonight!'
Coming into the kitchen, Pat dropped into an easy chair
by the fire. She looked around the kitchen, impressed.
'By Christ, you're well set up this year.'
Her voice held a hint of jealousy. Sarah poured the
steaming water into the tea pot and smiled at her friend.
'Michael brought the lot in this morning. I couldn't
believe it meself when I saw it! There's sweets and biscuits as well as nuts and fruit. He's a good boy.'
Pat nodded her head, reckoning up the cost of everything
in her mind. She realised that what was being said
about Michael must be true. You couldn't buy all this
working at Lyons bakery or the Black Cat factory. Crime
certainly did pay by the looks of it.
'And there's presents for all the kids,' Sarah chatted on
happily, unaware of the animosity she was creating.
Pouring the tea into two thick white mugs, she gave one
to her friend. With a tea cloth around her hand she
opened up the oven and took out the mince pies and
sausage rolls, placing them on the top of the stove to
cool as she put the turkey in to cook. Her movements
were quick and confident. She straightened up, wiping
her forehead with the bottom of her apron, and then
went to the dresser to open the drawer. Taking out a
package, she passed it to Pat.
'I nearly forgot! Happy Christmas.'
Pat Johnstone took the package and placed it on her lap.
She looked at Sarah's face with troubled eyes.
'I didn't get you nothing, Sar ... I ain't got the money.'
Sarah dismissed this. 'Oh, shut your face and open it.'
Slowly Pat tore the brown paper apart. Then her hand
went to her mouth. Her voice shook as she tried to speak.
'Oh Sar! Oh, it's lovely.
Sarah patted her friend s shoulder gently.
'I knew you'd like it!'
Pat pulled the white blouse out of the wrapper and held
it to her cheek, rubbing the soft material against her skin.
'It feels like silk!'
'It is silk. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was for you.'
All the terrible things she had thought earlier rose up in Pat's mind. Jealousy of her friend had been steadily mounting in the last few months. It had started the day
three months previously when Michael paid to have the
house stoved. Sulphur candles had been burning for days,
leaving the house free of vermin, then the whole place had
been painted from top to bottom. Like most of the
women in the street, Pat Johnstone had been angered by it
all. By Lancaster Road standards, the Ryans had gone too
far up in the world, making them aliens. If it wasn't for the fact that Michael Ryan was now a force to be reckoned
with, the other families would have tried to force them
out.
All this flickered through her mind in a split second and
she felt ashamed. She had gone to school with Sarah, and
they had helped one another over the years. Now Sarah was
remembering her friend and Pat felt she didn't deserve it.
'It's absolutely gorgeous, Sar.'
Satisfied that her friend was happy, Sarah sat opposite
her and took a quarter bottle of Black and White whisky
from the mantelpiece. She poured two generous measures
into their cups of tea.
'This'll keep the cold out, Pat. God himself knows we
need it in this weather.'
Picking up her mug, Pat toasted her friend. 'Merry
Christmas to you, Sarah . . . and many more.' '"
Settling themselves into their chairs, warmed by the
whisky, the two women began the serious business of the
day: gossiping.
Michael Ryan walked down the Bayswater Road. He
walked, as always, as if he owned it - head held high, even in the driving snow. At eighteen, Michael was magnificent.
Over six foot two, he was built like an athlete, his dark
brown overcoat emphasising the spread of his shoulders.
He still had thick black unruly hair, which he now wore
cut in a DA. His eyes, deepset and a striking blue, seemed to drink in everything around him. The only softness
about his rugged face was in his lips. They were full and
sensuous like a woman's, though at times they gave him a
hint of cruelty. Women and men were drawn to Michael
Ryan, and he knew it. He used it to his advantage as he
used everything.
Now he watched the women lounging against the
railings of Hyde Park. Even in the snow on Christmas Eve
the streetwalkers were out.
A few of the younger girls, new to their beat, looked at
him with interest. One opened her coat to reveal a scantily clad body. Michael looked her up and down, his lips
curling with contempt. He wouldn't touch a tom with a
barge pole. An older woman, - seeing the exchange,
laughed out loud.
'Cover yourself up, girl. Before you get frostbite of the
fanny!'
The other women laughed, glad of some light relief.
Michael carried on walking. He didn't really mind the
prostitutes. In fact, he admired them. To his mind theirs
was a business, like any other. Supply and demand. What
he didn't like was the way some of them looked at him as
a potential John. He liked to think that people put him
above that kind of thing. He crossed the road, dodging
the traffic skilfully. The snow was easing up and last
minute shoppers were everywhere. The Portobello Road
had been packed.
He walked into the warmth of the Bramley Arms.
Pushing his way among the men he went to the bar,
nodding a greeting here and there. Over the last year he
had worked hard to create an image for himself and it was
paying off. People were deferential towards him. He
snapped his fingers at the barmaid and ordered a brandy.
He didn't particularly like brandy, but it was part of his
image. It set him above other people. The men at the bar
moved to give him room.
He sipped his drink. Ranging around the crowded bar,
his eyes settled on a group by the window. He picked up
his drink and made his way over to them. One of the men
glanced at him, giving a double take as he realised who it
was.
Tommy Blue felt a knot of fear somewhere in his
bowels. The four other men at the table with him sensed
his panic and stopped talking to look at the newcomer.
Seeing Michael Ryan smiling at them, they seemed to
crowd together, hunching in their seats. Enjoying the
terror he was creating, Michael drank his brandy in one
gulp. Then, wiping his hand across his mouth, he placed
his glass gently on the table.
'I've been looking for you, Tommy.' ,
His voice was quiet.
Tommy Blue felt his heart sinking. He tried to smile, his
lips trembling.
'I think me and you had better have a little walk.'
Looking around the table at the other men, Michael
Pointed at Tommy.
'I'll be waiting outside for you.'
Turning, he pushed his way to the door. Outside he
leant against the wall of the pub. He bit on his lip, the
feeling of excitement in his breast causing his heart beat to pound in his ears.
A group of Salvation Army singers were making their
way along the road. Pulling a pack of Strands from his
pocket, Michael lit one. The strains of 'Onward Christian
Soldiers' gradually grew closer. He pulled hard on the
cigarette. He would give Tommy Blue five minutes before
going in after him.
Inside the Bramley Arms, Tommy was rooted to his
seat.
'How much do you owe, Tom?' This from Dustbin
Daley, a totter from Shepherd's Bush.
'Forty-five quid.' Tommy's voice was low.
One of his companions whistled.
'I'd better get out there . . . otherwise he'll come in
after me.' Getting up unsteadily, Tommy made his way to
the door.
Dustbin Daley shook his head. 'He must be bloody
mad.'
The others agreed with him. Their earlier high spirits
were gone now, out of the door with Tommy Blue.
Tommy shivered as the cold hit him. He was wearing a
thin jacket, torn in places, and a thick multi-coloured scarf.
Michael threw his cigarette on the slush-filled pavement,
and ground it out with his boot. Pushing himself from the
wall he grabbed Tommy's jacket and pulled him along the
road. The Salvationists were alongside them. A young girl
pushed a tin in their direction. She smiled at Michael as
she rattled it.
'Merry Christmas, sir.' Her eyes held open admiration.
Pulling his coat open, he pushed his hand into his
trouser pocket, and taking out two half crowns dropped
them into the tin. The girl flushed with pleasure.
'Thank you, sir. Merry Christmas.'
Nodding at her, Michael resumed piloting Tommy Blue
along the pavement. The tambourines and the singing
faded into the distance. The two men walked in silence for.
five minutes. Tommy Blue could not feel the cold now. He
couldn't feel anything. Fear had completely taken over.
Tommy Blue was on automatic pilot. All he could do was
wait. The beer he had been drinking steadily all day was
now weighing heavily on his stomach.
Michael slowed down in Treadgold Street. The laundry
here was known affectionately as the bagwash. Michael
himself had brought his mother's laundry here on many
occasions. Now it was deserted, shut up for the Christmas
holidays. Taking a key from inside his coat Michael opened
the double doors of the building and pushed Tommy
inside. Pulling the doors shut behind him, he turned on
the lights. Tommy stood immobile.
Taking out his pack of Strands, Michael lit one slowly.
He pulled deeply on the cigarette and blew the smoke into
Tommy's face.
'You've made me very cross.' As usual Michael's voice
was quiet.
Tommy's face seemed to come to life. He blinked his
eyes rapidly.
'Look, Mickey, I . . .I tried to get the money. I swear it!'
'Shut up, Tommy. You're beginning to annoy me.'
Dropping the cigarette he grabbed Tommy's scarf,
forcing him backwards until he was against one of the
huge machines. Bringing his right fist back over his
shoulder he punched Tommy in the face with considerable
force. Tommy's nose seemed to collapse underneath the
blow. Michael let him drop on the filthy floor. Groaning,
Tommy curled himself up into a ball, his hands covering
his head. Michael kicked him in the back, the force of the
blow sending Tommy across the dirt-strewn floor. Picking
up one of the large wooden podgers the women used to
push down the bagwashes, Michael prodded Tommy the shoulder.
'Hold out your arm.' Michael's voice held no emotion
whatsoever. Tommy was blubbering.
'Please . . . please, Mickey, I'm begging you.' He looked
up at Michael, his face bloody and awash with tears
'Don't do this . . .1 swear I'll ge-get the money somehow.'
Kicking him in the legs, Michael brought the podger
down on Tommy's shoulders.
'If you don't put your arm out, I'll break your bastarc
back for you. Now put your arm out!'
Michael's voice echoed around the laundry. Slowly
Tommy placed his arm on the floor, his whole body
jerking with fear. Twice the 'podger' smashed down on his
elbow, shattering the bone. Tommy screamed with pain
He was struggling to keep conscious as red-hot waves of
nausea washed over him. He threw up on the floor, ee
mixed with bile steaming in the cold. ,
'Get up, Tommy.' Michael's voice was quiet again,
Slowly he dragged himself to his feet, his arm hanging
awkwardly against his side, the sleeve of his jacket gradually staining crimson. Droplets of blood ran over fingers and dripped on to the floor. He leant against the
machine, crying quietly.
'You've got seven days, Tommy, that's all, to find the
money. Now piss off
Michael watched Tommy stagger from the laundry,
checked himself over to make sure there was no blood on
his clothes. Then, whistling to himself, he washed the
podger clean and put it back where he'd found it, against
on
the far wall. Then, still whistling, he turned off the lights and locked up.
Joe the Fish listened avidly to everything Michael said to
him, nodding his head now and again and every so often
muttering, 'Good . . . good.' When Michael had finished,
Joe smiled at him. 'The arm was good and broken?'
'Yeah. Smashed to smithereens!'
Joe the Fish sighed. He had a distaste for violence, but
in his business it was a necessity. He looked at Michael
Ryan sitting opposite him. He liked the boy, could see
himself in Michael. The boy had the same urge to better
himself. That had been Joe's ambition as a young man.
Like Michael he had started out as a 'breaker' - a heavy until he had built up his own business. Now he was a
respected member of the community. He owned shops,
clubs and market stalls, from Petticoat Lane to the
Portobello Road. His most lucrative business, though,
was the bets. Joe had been a bookie for over twenty years,
gradually moving into loan sharking. He had realised as
soon as he had employed Michael that he had found
himself a kindred spirit. Michael was innately honest. If he said the punter had paid him fifty quid, Joe knew that was
what had been paid. Most of the breakers kept a portion
for themselves, knowing that the unlucky punter would
eventually pay that portion once again. Michael Ryan,
though, had his own set of principles. He might beat a
roan up so badly he needed hospital treatment, yet Joe
knew that in Michael's mind, keeping any money back would be tantamount to stealing. Joe liked him. He liked the way Michael looked at his home. He liked the respect
that Michael afforded him.
He coughed and spat some phlegm into the fire, hearing it sizzle as it hit the coals.
'From January I want you to take over the "breaking"
side of the business. I'll inform all the men that they're to take their orders from you.'
Michael stared at Joe. Then a wide grin broke out across
his face and he shook his head in amazement.
'Thanks, Joe! Bloody hell!'
Joe, like most people, felt happy to see Michael grin. It
was as if a blinding sun had emerged from behind a black
cloud. Michael had the gift of making people want to please him, as if by giving him pleasure they were somehow indebted to him. Joe felt a rush of warmth go
through him. He would enjoy working with this boy,
teaching him the ropes. He let his eyes travel over
Michael's body. He certainly was a fine-looking boy.
Michael watched Joe's eyes and a thrill of anticipation
went through him. Joe the Fish was fifty years old. He had
never married or had an association with any woman as
as Michael knew. What he did know was that Joe liked to
be surrounded by young men. In the last few months he had consciously ingratiated himself with Joe, flattered him let Joe think that he was grateful to him for giving him the breaker's job. He stared into Joe's face and smiled at him; his deep blue eyes seemingly full of gratitude and admiration. He watched Joe heave his bulk out of the chair, a flicker of repugnance crossed Michael's features, to be quickly replaced by the dazzling smile he knew caused Joe
so much happiness.
Opening one of the drawers in his desk, Joe took out a small box. He walked around the desk and gave it to Michael.
'Just a little token of my appreciation.' Joe's voice
low and husky. Leaning against the desk he watched
Michael's face as he opened the box. When he heard the
deep intake of breath, Joe relaxed. He would not rush the
boy, he had to let him come to him.
Michael stared at the tie pin glinting up from the red
velvet lining. It was gold, in the shape of a large M,
encrusted with diamonds. Looking up into Joe's face,
Michael felt a moment of terror at what he had to do.
Then, seeing the softness in Joe's eyes, he swallowed
heavily. It was now or never.
Placing his hand on the top of Joe's thigh, he gently
brushed his knuckles against the man's groin. Joe stared
down at the large, rough hand gently rubbing against him.
Closing his eyes momentarily, he felt a rush of ecstasy
pulsing through his body. He opened his eyes and stared
down into Michael's face. In the firelight, he looked like a dark angel. His blue eyes held an amber glow that caused
Joe's heart to somersault inside his breast.
Dropping heavily on to his knees, he placed his hands
on Michael's thighs, rubbing and kneading them, his
breath coming heavily. Watching him, Michael smiled to
himself. He-thought Joe looked ridiculous, and noticed
that he had a film of sweat above his lips which he licked at nervously.
As he felt Joe begin rumbling with his trousers Michael
stifled an urge to slam his fist into Joe's head. He couldn't go back now, not after all the planning and scheming of
the last few months. Joe was his ticket out of Notting Hill, his passport into the world of real villainy. Gritting his
teeth he lay back in the chair and forced himself to relax.
Outside, in the muffled stillness of the snow, Michael
heard a lone voice singing 'Silent Night'. Looking down at
the top of Joe's balding pate, Michael listened to the
haunting childish voice and could have cried.
Sarah was basting the turkey when she heard Benjamin
come in. The front door was slammed as loudly as
possible, causing Sarah to wince. Putting the turkey back
into the oven, she sat back in her chair. Benjamin stumbled into the kitchen, his hair and clothes still laden with snow.
He grinned his wide toothless grin at her and made his
way unsteadily across the room to her side.
'Hello, Sarah, my darling!'
As usual when drunk, he spoke to her as if she was at the
other end of the street.
'Will you keep your voice down! You'll have all the
bloody kids up!'
Benjamin stared down at his wife, blinking his eyes as
he swayed unsteadily before her. The more he tried to
concentrate, the more blurred she seemed to become.
Finally seeing two Sarahs, he staggered into the seat
vacated by Pat Johnstone not an hour ago. Lifting up one
of his legs he broke wind loudly, causing Sarah to purse
her lips. He sat in the chair smiling amiably at her, his
clothes beginning to steam with the heat of the fire.
Wordlessly she pulled herself from her chair and swiftly
began making him some ham sandwiches. She looked at!
the clock and noticed it was twenty-past one - everyone
was in now except Michael. Placing the sandwiches on
plate, she gave them to her husband. She was bone tired.
She had been working since seven in the morning.
Going through the scullery she pulled on an old coat
and went out into the tiny back -garden. Squatting down
she took a plate from the top of a large glass bowl. The
snow had drifted up the sides and on to the plate.
Carefully she wiped it clean. Then, touching the green
mass inside the bowl softly, she smiled. The younger
children loved jelly. That was one good thing about the
snow, it kept everything nice and fresh. Replacing the
plate, she stood up and went back inside the house,
banging her slippers on the step to get rid of the snow.
Back inside the kitchen she heard her husband snoring
loudly. He was sprawled in his chair, his long legs outstretched, his hand holding the plate of sandwiches away
from his body. Taking the plate gently from him she placed
it in the sink, then checked the turkey one last time,
turned the gas down as low as it would go and made her
way up to bed.
As she undressed in the bedroom she saw her daughter
had climbed into their big double bed. This was Maura's
first real Christmas. Slipping into the bed Sarah looked
down on the white-blonde head and felt the familiar
tightening in her guts. The child stirred and burrowed
deeper into the bed. Placing her thumb in her mouth, she
sucked on it furiously for a few seconds before settling
down once more into a deep sleep. If Benjamin had given
her nothing else in their life together he had given her this child, and for that Sarah would forgive him anything.
Michael woke up and glanced at his watch. It was three
fifteen. Shaking his head to clear the fustiness he noticed a fat arm around his waist. In the dying firelight he looked
down on the sleeping face of Joe the Fish. Somewhere
inside himself he felt disgust at the events of the previous few hours. He was acutely aware of everything that had
gone on in front of the then roaring fire. Mixed with his
revulsion was also a tiny feeling of excitement. He now
had Joe the Fish in his grasp, as he had sworn to himself
that he would. A cruel smile played at the corners of his mouth. He would play Joe like a musical instrument. He would slowly become the focal point of his life. Then,
when Joe had served his purpose, he would dispose of
him. Michael knew what he had to do. He had been
Planning it long enough.
Gently, he brought his face down on to Joe's and kissed
him on his lips. Joe's watery eyes opened and he smiled,
displaying discoloured teeth.
'I've got to get going, Joe.'
Yawning lazily, the older man stretched his plump arms
above his head.
'All right, Michael love. Try and get around tomorrow.
I'm always alone on Christmas Day.' His voice sounded
sad.
'I will. Don't worry.'
Joe watched Michael dressing in the firelight, his heart
bursting in his breast. In his mind's eye he relived their
lovemaking of a few hours before and the picture of
Michael lying underneath him as he penetrated him rose in
his mind. He couldn't quite believe he had found himself
such a beautiful animal. As Michael slipped on his overcoat!
Joe felt a wave of loneliness wash over him.
'See you tomorrow then.' Michael's voice was gentle
and caressing. He favoured Joe with one of his blinding
grins. Pulling himself up from the floor he stood befor
the dying fire, his short fat legs and large stomach making Michael feel sick inside.
'Haven't you forgotten something?' Joe's voice
sounded like a young girl's - high and breathless with
anticipation. Michael frowned at him, bewildered. Then seeing Joe's lips pucker, he walked over to the fireplace and embraced him. Joe pushed his tongue into Michael's
mouth, kissing him with an energy that startled him!
Breaking away gently, Michael smiled at him and quietly
left the room.
The picture of Joe's doughy white body seemed to be
imprinted on his mind. As he walked out into the silent
white world Michael was glad of the freezing cold that
seemed to cut down into his lungs. A light snow was
falling and he raised his face to allow the soft flakes to
28
fall on his skin, willing it to wash away the disgust he felt inside.
The street lights gave the pavements a glittering glow as
if thousands of diamonds were lining his path. Picking up
speed, Michael began to smile. He shook his head and
shrugged in the stillness of the night. The worst was over
now. He knew what he had let himself in for and he was
glad. Let the fat old queen use his body. It had put food
on his mother's table. It had brought the kids clothes. It
would eventually bring him untold riches. Never would he
allow himself to feel bad about it again.
He looked up into the black sky and waved his fist at the
stars. This was a new beginning for the Ryans. He was
going to pick them up out of the gutter and establish them
in the monied world where he knew they belonged.
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his overcoat he felt
the little box that contained the tie pin. He grinned. As
soon as the shops opened after the holidays he was going
to go out and buy himself a tie!
When Michael saw the happy faces on Christmas Day,
the food that seemed inexhaustible and the merriment his
gifts had brought, he finally came to terms with himself.
Anything, however bad, was worth all this. After a large,
noisy Christmas dinner, Michael sat with his sister Maura
asleep on his lap. As he looked down at her sleeping face,
sucking contentedly on her thumb, he swore that he
would commit murder if it kept his family as happy as they
were now.
It was a promise he was to keep many times.
Garry and Benny Ryan were playing on the bombsite that
was once Testerton Street. The day before they had
noticed while coming home from school that an enormous
mound of sand had been left there. That meant one of two
things - the remaining houses were either being patched
up or demolished to make way for pre-fabs. Either way
they knew that their playground was going to disappear.
Both boys had been up and out by six-thirty. If they timed
it just right they could scavenge for a few hours before
going to the Royalty in Ladbroke Grove for the Saturday
morning minors. P
They had played in the mound of sand for "over an hour.
Benny, at nine, was already a true Ryan. Big for his age, he towered over Garry who was eleven. Garry had a long thin
body, giving him a waif-like appearance. He was the only
Ryan to wear glasses, which he was forever pushing higher on his nose, the thick lenses giving him an owlish appearance. Where Benny was dark-haired with the characteristic and dark blue eyes and full-lipped mouth, Garry was the
opposite. He had light brown hair and a feral quality about him that made people do what he wanted. Garry was the acknowledged genius of the family, forever reading. His room was strewn with books and papers. He also fancied himself as an inventor - a pastime that had his mother
caught between maternal pride and an almost uncontrollable
urge to murder him.
The June sunshine gave their play an added vigour. All;
around them the world had come to life. The hum of the
traffic was getting louder and every so often the rattling of a train set the dirt trembling. To the right of the mound of sand stood what remained of the houses in Testerton
Street. The bomb had been a direct hit and only the last
few dwellings had still been standing afterwards. They
had no fronts left. Their rooms were great gaping caverns that miraculously still had wallpaper and broken furniture inside.
The two boys knew every inch of these houses. From
the roof rafter of the most stable hung their 'bundle
swing. Now summer was here the swing would become
focal point for the children around and about. Boys would
come from as far away as Shepherd's Bush and Bayswater
to play on it between fighting rival gangs. Providing the
work didn't start too soon, it would be a good summer.
Scrambling down from the mound of sand, Garry began
walking towards the houses, his hands and knees stained
orange. Seeing his brother walking away Benny followed
hastily, rubbing off the damp sand from his hands on his
shorts. He caught up with Garry, puffing for breath.
'What we gonna do then?' As always he waited for Garry
to decide what games were to be played.
Garry looked up at his brother, his thin face already
grimy. 'We's gonna look for bombs and things. Lee's got
some gunpowder he swiped from under the Arches and
I'm gonna pinch it off him.' -"
Benny looked worried for a second. Lee at thirteen was
already as big as Roy, who was seventeen, nearly six feet
tall, and was also bad-tempered.
32
'Lee'll smash us up!'
Garry smiled and pushed his glasses higher up his nose.
'He's got to catch us first!'
Benny laughed nervously. Lee would catch them, he
always did, but he kept his own counsel because when
Garry got mad he sent him home. Then he'd have to play
with his sister! He followed Garry into the end house. The
stairs were still sound and both boys made their way up to
the top floor. Standing dangerously close to the crumbling
edge, the two looked out across London. Over the last few
years the landscape had changed. From their vantage point
they could see the whole of their world. In the distance
Garry saw that the fairground had arrived at Wormwood
Scrubs Park. He poked Benny in the ribs and pointed to it,
a thrill of expectation going through them both.
'I'm gonna get Mickey to give us some money! We'll go
there later and see what rides they've got!'
In his excitement Benny jumped backwards and tripped
over a lump of wood. As he landed on the floor boards he
gasped, 'Here, Gal, look at this lot!'
Garry was already staring at what lay beneath his brother's large feet.
'Where'd you reckon they come from?'
Garry shook his head. Kneeling down on the floor, he
picked up an empty cartridge case. There were over a
dozen in all.
'I reckon someone nicked them and then left them
here!'
Pushing his glasses up on to the bridge of his nose,
Garry snapped: 'Trust you to state the bloody obvious.
These have been hidden here by a little firm, and I think I know whose it was!'
Benny pulled himself up from the floor with difficulty.
Both his hands were stinging where he'd skinned them.
'Who d'you reckon hid them then?'
'I bet it was that gang from Elgin Avenue.' Garry's
voice was triumphant.
'Come on, let's nick them quick. Before anyone comes.
Both boys began stuffing the empty cases down their
shirts. Then they ran down the stairs as fast as they could As they ran out of the house into the sunshine they got
skidded to a halt. Lee, Leslie and Roy were walking
towards them. Garry looked at Benny, his face troubled.
'Whatever you do, don't tell them about this lot.' He
patted his shirt. Benny's hands were smarting and
rubbed them gently on his shirt. Tears were already
forming in his eyes.
Roy noticed the boys and called to them. 'What you two
standing there for? What you done?'
Garry as usual did the talking. 'We ain't done nothing.
We thought you was looking for us, that's all.'
'What would we want with you two?' Roy's voice
sounded incredulous. 'We get enough of you at home.
Now sod off, the pair of you.'
Neither boy needed to be told twice. They ran off as fast
as their legs would carry them. When they reached the
safety of the pile of sand they sat on top of it and watched their brothers. The three older boys stood by the opening
of the houses. They were all smoking.
'Did you smell them? I reckons they've been to the
baths in Silchester Road. They've all got that smelly stuf
on their hair.' Benny's voice was disgusted. In his mind
anyone who could have a bath without being told to
needed treatment. He himself had a bath every fortnight,;
sixpenny one with soap and towels supplied. He hated it!
If his mother didn't stand outside waiting for him he'd,
spend the money on something important, like caps for a gun and comics.
A little while later three girls arrived on the scene, two
blondes and a redhead. Garry laughed.
'Dirty bleeders! That's why they've been to the baths.
They're going snogging!'
They watched the three girls pair off with their brothers
and go off in different directions. Even more disgusted,
Benny stood up.
'Come on, let's go home. I'm hungry.'
Silently the two boys made their way home.
It was three in the afternoon when Roy brought Janine
into his house. It was the first time he had brought a girl home and both he and Janine were nervous. Grasping her
hand in the hallway, he smiled at her.
'Everything's gonna be all right.'
He looked down into her green eyes and as always had the urge to kiss her. She had milk-white skin and long thick red hair. To Roy's mind Janine was class. She was
also very tall - five feet eight inches. In a way he was glad that she was 'in trouble'. It would give them the push they needed to come out into the open.
He led her by the hand into his mother's kitchen. As
usual Sarah was cooking. Even on days like this with the
sun cracking the pavements Sarah still cooked. With nine
children to feed, preparing a meal was a major event. She
looked at Roy and Janine, her surprise showing on her
face. Roy stood awkwardly in the kitchen and, still grasp-ing Janine's hand, smiled at his mother.
'Mum, I'd like you to meet Janine . . . Janine Grierson.'
The girl stretched out her free hand and nodded her
head. 'Pleased to meet you, I'm sure.'
Her voice was very low and refined. Wiping her hand on
her apron, Sarah took the girl's hand and shook it gently.
'And you, love. Well, sit yourselves down. I've made
34
some ginger beer. Would you like a glass?'
Without waiting for an answer, she went to the scullery
and took the large jug from the table out there. She
needed time to think. Grierson? Grierson? Where did she
know that name from? She carried the jug back into the kitchen. Roy had sat Janine at the kitchen table and standing beside her. Then, like a bolt out of the blue, it
came to Sarah. This was Janine Grierson. Her heart sank
in her chest. Her father owned the butcher's in
Portobello Road. He had also owned the house next door
to Christie's round in Rillington Place. What on earth was Janine doing with her Roy? Not that she didn't think her son was good enough for her, oh no! But Elizabeth Griers had great plans for her only daughter, Sarah knew that much.
Forcing a smile on to her face she poured out
glasses of ginger beer. As she placed them on the table
Roy spoke up. 'Janine's pregnant, Mum. And I'm the father.'
Outside in the garden, Maura was watching Garry and Benny working. Benny was holding the cartridges steady while Garry filled them with the gunpowder. After watching a particularly thrilling Lone Ranger at the Saturday morning minors, Garry had experienced a renewed interest in the making of bombs. He pushed the wadding carefully into the cartridge before taking it from Benny
and placing it on the garden wall. He stepped back to admire his handiwork. That was the last one.
Maura sat on the wooden crate. Her long blonde hair seemed to come alive in the sunlight which gave it golden highlights. Her aquamarine eyes carefully watched every
movement her brothers made. At five, Maura knew that
she wanted to be a part of their games she had to sit and
watch quietly, otherwise they would sneak out of the
garden leaving her alone.
She saw Garry give Benny a large hammer. Then Garry
carefully took one of the filled cartridges and placed it on the grass. He had to press it down a couple of times to
stop it falling over. Then he nodded at Benny who took
the hammer and brought it back over his head, ready to
smash it down on to the cartridge at a sign from his
brother. Garry pushed his glasses higher on his nose and
raising his hand as if he was starting a race, brought it
down heavily to his side . . .
Inside the house Janine was crying quietly as Sarah spoke.
'It's nothing against you, lass, but think of your father.
He'll go stark staring mad when he hears. Baby or no
baby, there's no way he'll allow you to marry Roy. I know
it.' Her voice had a finality about it that made Roy's blood run cold in his veins. He opened his mouth to answer.
Both women were looking at him expectantly. They saw
his eyes open wide until they seemed about to start from
his head.
'Benny! Benny. . . don't you bloody dare!' His voice
was so loud both women jumped in their seats. A split
second later an almighty bang erupted from the garden,
followed by Maura's frenzied screaming. The three adults seemed to be catapulted from their seats as they ran out into the back yard.
Maura had seen the hammer descend on to the cartridge
just as she heard Roy's voice from the house. The impact o f the hammer hitting the brass casing of the cartridge had caused a flash of blue light followed by an enormous bang.
As if in slow motion she had seen Benny travel backwards
through the air, landing heavily on his back among the
36
rubbish that littered the end of the garden. That's when.;.
she started to scream. Through her tears she saw Garry
scaling the wall as he made a run for it. -
Roy ran to where Benny was lying, his heart pounding in
his ears. This time Garry had really done it. He had finally killed somebody. Picking Benny up gently he cradled his
head in his lap, conscious of his mother standing in the
garden, her hand over her mouth as if terrified of what she, might find. Benny was soot-blackened all over. The smell of burnt powder seemed to hang around him in a cloud.
Looking down into his brother's face, Roy felt the tears
come into his eyes.
'Benny . . . Benny!' Roy's anguished voice carried up
into the pale blue sky. Janine, stunned, had gone to the
little girl sitting on the crate. Instinctively she pulled the child to her breast, stroking the long blonde hair.
Roy clutched Benny to him, cuddling the dirty head to
his breast. Opening his eyes Benny looked up into his
brother's tearstained face.
'What happened?' His childish voice broke into everyone's
shocked thoughts. 'One minute I was hammerin'
The next I was blown up!'
Benny looked around him, a bewildered expression on
his face. 'Where's Garry gone?'
Picking him up, Roy felt the terror slowly leave his own
body. 'When that little bastard gets home, I'm gonna
murder him. If it's the last thing I do in this life . . .'
Maura clung to Janine, enjoying the flowery smell of
her. Her cries had subsided to little hiccups. Sarah let
Roy carry Benny into the house, and as she looked at
Janine comforting her only daughter, the ice in her heart
melted. Going to the girl, she put her arm around her
shoulders.
'That Garry will be the death of me. Well, if you think
38
you could stand the strain of being part of this family,
you're welcome.'
Janine's white face made Sarah's natural good nature
come to the fore. Pushing the girl's heavy red hair back
from her face, she said, 'I'm warning you, though . . .
excitement like this is an everyday occurrence!'
'Oh, Mrs Ryan, my father is going to go mad.'
Sarah waved her hand at the girl, her voice sounding
more confident than she actually felt.
'He'll get over it, love. He'll get over it.'
James Grierson was stalking around his house in a fit of
temper so acute he could almost taste it. Unlike his wife,
who had taken herself off to bed like one of the heroines
in the penny dramas, he, James Grierson, was going to do something. What exactly he wasn't sure, but he would think of something. Stamping up the stairs he went into
the bedroom he shared with Eliza.
'How could a daughter of mine take up with that
bloody scum? A filthy, stinking Ryan!' He clenched his
fists and raised them to the ceiling. 'I could throttle the bitch. My God, my mother used to say: "Show me the
company you keep and I'll tell you what you are." Never
was a truer word said!'
Eliza closed her eyes and groaned. Since Janine had told
them that morning that she was pregnant, her whole
world had fallen apart. Only a week ago, she had stood in
their butcher's shop and completely demolished the reputation of young Carrie Davidson for the same thing:
having to get married. She could hear herself talking to
anyone who would listen about the shameless hussy. Now
it had happened to her daughter and she didn't like it, she didn't like it one bit. Eliza Grierson was known as a gossip o f Olympian standards. She prided herself on her ability to
sift through the most innocent conversations and turn
them into major scandals. She knew that this trouble with
her daughter would be all the more enjoyed because it was
a reflection on herself. She groaned again and pushed a
pillow over her head. If it had been anyone but a Ryan . . She felt tears of frustration stinging her eyes. She could cheerfully throttle Janine herself!
A loud banging at the front door stopped both of them
in their tracks. Pulling back the curtain, James Grierson
looked down into his garden and groaned. It was not a
very good day today, and he had a terrible feeling that it
was going to get worse.
Michael and Geoffrey stood in the Griersons' front
garden. Like everything of Eliza Grierson's, the garden
was what she described as 'classy'. It was also immaculate, as were the curtains at the windows and the shiny brass
knocker on the door. This was opened by a rather subdued
James who said gruffly: 'You'd better come in.'
Michael and Geoffrey walked into the spacious hallway
as if they owned the house. Opening the parlour door,;
James ushered them inside.
Michael sat himself down in an armchair and looked
around the room slowly. Geoffrey sat on the rather hard
horsehair settee.
Taking a packet of Strands from his pocket Michael gave
one to Geoffrey and after offering the pack to James, who
refused, laboriously set about lighting the cigarettes. He
knew that his slowness was annoying James Grierson. It
was a calculated move. Drawing the smoke into his lungs
he put his head back against the chair and blew two large
smoke rings. Then, looking at James, he smiled.
'I understand, Mr Grierson, that my brother Roy has
been shunting your daughter.'
Geoffrey watched the red flush creep up James Grierson's
40
neck and continue until it reached his receding hairline.
Stamping across the room, the man made as if to grab
Michael's shirt. Grabbing Grierson's hand in a vicelike
grip, Michael laughed.
'Naughty, naughty.'
Then pushing the older man from him, he sat forward
in the chair. James was sent sprawling across his own
parlour carpet, a blinding anger building inside him.
Michael pointed at him, the cigarette smoke curling
around his finger.
'In three weeks' time, Mr Grierson, my brother is gonna
marry your daughter, with or without your permission.
Personally I would advise you to give them your blessing,
what with the baby and all. A new little Ryan ... a Ryan
that your daughter is carrying inside her.'
Slowly James Grierson pulled himself up from the floor.
Geoffrey put out his hand to help but was ignored.
Waving his hand away, the older man slumped down on the chair opposite Michael.
Staring at him, Michael underwent one of his lightning
changes of mood. From anger and animosity he turned in
a split second to a benevolent caring brother only here to
see justice done. His rugged face softened. All irritation
seemingly forgotten, he leant forward in his chair and
smiled at James Grierson - one of his most stunning smiles
that seemed to wipe the cruelty from his face at a stroke.
He began to speak in a man to man voice. -
'Listen, James . . . may I call you James?' The man
nodded, not at all happy with this bewildering change in
his antagonist.
'The way I see it is this. Your daughter has been made
pregnant by my brother.' He opened his arms out wide in
a gesture of helplessness. 'They love one another, they
want to marry. It's not as if Roy's had it on his toes, is it?
41
He's quite willing to do the right thing by the girl. I know you've had a shock. No man likes to think of his daughter
... well, you know what I mean. But, the only thing
left to do is to get them married. I hope you will change
your attitude, soften towards them?' His voice was now
redolent with an underlying threat that was not wasted on
James Grierson. Michael Ryan was offering him a face
saver and he knew it. He was being told in no uncertain
terms that he could come out of all this as the loving,
caring father who would do anything to keep his daughter's
reputation; who welcomed her choice of husband
with open arms; who would not bow down in the face of
adversity, but would rise up and conquer it.
For the first time in his life James Grierson felt a'
grudging respect for a Ryan. He knew he was being
manipulated but, he asked himself, what was the alternative?
He had heard stories about Michael Ryan. That he
was as queer as a nine-bob note. That he had taken over
Joe the Fish's businesses and made a name for himself
among the villains. At nineteen Michael Ryan was already
becoming a neighbourhood legend. 'Cruel but fair' was
the local opinion. Could he really let his only child become a part of this family? Even as the question formed in his
mind he knew it was useless. If he went against this young
man sitting opposite him, he would in effect dig his own
grave. The course was already set. Janine was marrying
Roy Ryan whether he liked it or not. What he had to do
now was stretch out and take the hand of friendship being
offered to him. He sighed heavily and his voice came out
in a nervous croak.
'You're right, of course. If they really care for one
another . . .'
He swallowed deeply as Michael Ryan took his hand
and shook it, the animal strength of the handshake
42
reminding him acutely of exactly what he had done. His
lovely Janine had brought him this low, had brought
Michael Ryan into his home. He could have wept.
Three weeks later, on the first Saturday of July, James
Grierson gave away his only daughter to Roy Ryan. It
wasn't until after the reception, once home in his bed that he finally gave way to the tears that had been building up
inside him since Michael's visit. He felt he had taken his
only child like a lamb to the slaughter.
It would be twenty years before he discovered how right
he had been.
Michael was fuming, his blue eyes dark with anger. He
rubbed one hand across his face and stared stonily at Joe.
'Look, Michael, you had no right to borrow any money
behind my back. This is my business.' Joe the Fish pushed
a pudgy finger into his chest.
Making a fist Michael smashed it down on the desk in
front of him, causing their empty coffee cups to rattle in
their saucers.
'So it's your business now, is it?' Michael's voice was
bitter. 'I suppose this is your office as well? Don't let's worry about the money I've brought in . . .'
Joe sighed loudly. He interrupted Michael as if he was
talking to a little child.
'Oh, for Christ's sake, Michael. No one's disputing that
you've done well. What's annoyed me is the fact that you
borrowed out five grand without even bothering to
mention it to me.' Joe's voice was cajoling. In his heart
he was frightened of Michael, frightened of his phenomenal
temper. 'Come on, son . . . try and see it from my
Point of view.'
Michael picked up his pack of Strands from the desk and li t one. He sat at the desk, his head hanging forward on his chest, taking quick drags on his cigarette. Joe was conscious that Michael's hands were shaking. He knew he
was trying to calm himself down.
Joe sat in the chair opposite and placed his elbows on
the desk. Michael was such a difficult boy. He gravitated
from extreme happiness to a difficult and dangerous
depression in the space of seconds.
Normally Joe would have let Michael have his head, he
was a good businessman, but this latest flouting of the
rules had angered him. He had loaned five thousand
pounds to Phillip Wreck, one of the most notorious villains in Paddington, and in Joe's mind Michael had more
chance of getting the Pope's inside leg measurement than
he had of getting that money back.
Michael stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it into the
ashtray with such force Joe thought it would surely break.
Snapping his head up he looked at Joe, his mouth clamped
closed. In the quiet room Joe could hear his laboured
breathing.
'I'm warning you, Joe . . . I'm warning you now...
don't fight me on this. I know exactly what I'm doing. I'll get that money back. I'll get it and the interest on it, you just wait and see.'
There were tears in Michael's eyes. He's just like a
child, Joe thought, it's as if I've taken his toys away from him. The difference being that when Michael was like
this he was liable to explode into a 'raging temper at any
moment.
Joe felt the familiar fingers of fear touching him. It was
Michael's very unpredictability that drew Joe to him.
Twice Michael had lashed out at him and hurt him, only
to be contrite and loving in the next breath. Although Joe
had never tried to analyse their relationship, inside himself he knew that it was the boy's vicious streak that attracted him.46
'All right, Michael, I'll let it go this time. But in future, you come to me.'
Michael's face broke into one of his winning smiles and
Joe felt himself relax.
As Michael looked at the man sitting opposite, his fat
ugly face grinning like a Cheshire cat's, he felt an impulse to smash his fist into his teeth. Instead he carried on
smiling. Joe didn't know it but his days were numbered.
Soon he would be out of the way and he, Michael, could
get on with his life.
Joe got out of his chair and walked around the desk.
Standing behind Michael he began rubbing his taut muscular
shoulders. Feeling the solid flesh beneath his fingers
he felt himself harden, completely unaware that Michael
was planning his demise.
Roy was in the butcher's shop in the Portobello Road. His
father-in-law had given up trying to explain to him the
different cuts of meat. Roy had been working for him since
three weeks after his wedding, and he hated it. He felt like a kept man. He couldn't do the job, he knew it and his
father-in-law knew it, but it was all part of the grand
master plan: How To Keep Your Daughter At Home.
They lived with Mr and Mrs Grierson. They ate with Mr
and Mrs Grierson. And they watched from the sidelines as
Mr and Mrs Grierson between them brought up the baby,
Carla. It had been a few months before Roy realised he
had married what his mother would have called 'a lazy
bitch'. Janine was quite content to let her mother take over the baby, the cooking, everything. That left her free to play at being married which consisted of getting herself done up to the nines and visiting her friends all day, now
and again taking the baby, all nice and clean, out in her
pram. Playing at being mother of the year.
Roy winced as he thought of her. What had happened
to the girl he had fallen in love with? The spirited young
woman who had been as eager for life as he was?
Admittedly they were only nineteen, but surely, he
reasoned, there must be more to married life than this? If
he mentioned moving out of her parents' house, she
dissolved into tears. Last night had been the last straw.
He had told her there was a flat going in Westbourne
Park and she had had hysterics.
'How am I gonna cope with a baby on me own?'
That's when he had lost his temper. 'Well, we won't find
that out until you try, will we? God Almighty, Janine,
you've never once looked after the bloody kid for a whole
day since it was born!'
After that her mother, Eliza, had come into the bedroom
and led Janine out, taking her into her own bedroom. Then
this morning she had told him that Janine was 'delicate' and needed her mother to look after her. He was frankly bewildered by it all. He wanted them to have their own little
place, where Janine looked after the baby all day and cooked his meal in the evening. What he had was a pampered, spoilt brat whose only interest in life was lipstick and what was on at the pictures. She never looked at the child unless she had to. Even his mother had noticed it. She had asked him a few Saturdays ago if everything was all right between them. He
had felt like telling her everything but just couldn't. He
wouldn't even know where to begin.
'Hello, Bruv.' Roy was brought out of his reverie by-Michael's voice.
'Hello, Mickey!' He hadn't been so pleased to see
someone in all his life.
'Fancy skiving off for a few hours? I've got a bit of
business I want to talk to you about.'
Roy wiped his bloody hands on his apron. 'I'll be with
48
you in a tick.' He walked through to the back of the shop
and called out to his father-in-law. James Grierson came
down the stairs that led to the flat above the shop.
'What's all this row about?' His voice was loud and
agitated. 'Can't you even look after the bloody shop?
Want me to hold your hand now, I suppose.' Roy was
conscious that Michael could hear every word and
groaned inside.
'I've got to shoot off for a couple of hours.'
'You what!' Grierson's voice was incredulous. 'This is a
bloody business here, not a bloody knocking shop where
you pick your own hours . . .'
His voice faltered as he saw Michael slip through the
doorway. Grierson paled.
'Who do you think you're talking to?' Michael's voice
was icy. He pointed at Grierson. 'I'm talking to you. You
had enough bunny just now ... so answer me. Who d'you
think you're talking to?'
As Michael stepped towards him, Grierson stepped
backwards, his hands coming up to defend himself if the
visitor lashed out.
Michael snapped at Roy: 'Get your coat.' Then walking
to where Grierson was cowering against the wall, he
grabbed him around the throat. 'Now, I don't know
what's going down here, but I know this much - if you ever talk to my brother like that again, I'll rip your nuts off and ram them down your throat. Do you understand what
I'm saying?'
Grierson was nodding his head furiously when Roy
came back with his coat. Pulling Mickey away gently, he
led him through the front of the shop and out into the
street. He was ashamed that Michael had heard his father
in-law speak to him like that. He was ashamed that he
himself let him.
'Come on, Roy, we're going to the KPH. I think we'd
better have a talk.'
They walked in silence. The bright October day belied;
the cold wind. Roy noticed that everywhere they walked
people acknowledged Michael. It was as if he was their
sovereign and they his subjects. Depending on how influential people were, Mickey either nodded at them or gave
them a hearty greeting. Roy was impressed. Michael's
name was becoming synonymous with those of the Krays
and the Richardsons, two of the most influential young
gangs of that time. Roy knew that Michael kept up a
friendship with them. An uneasy alliance. It seemed that
once people met him they decided they were better off,
having him as a friend than an enemy.
They walked into the red warmth of the Kensington
Park Hotel. Michael ordered them both hot whiskies and
they settled down in the lounge bar.
Michael took his cigarettes from his overcoat pocket,
and then slipped the coat from his shoulders. Folding it up carefully, he laid it across a chair. All his movements were performed with a natural grace. Roy shrugged off his own
coat while still sitting, letting it fall over the back of his chair. Adjusting his trouser crease fastidiously Michael sat down again, settling himself into the over-upholstered
chair. Then, pulling a large white ashtray towards him so it would be within easy reach, he lit -a cigarette. Throwing
the packet across the table at Roy, he finally spoke. 'How
long has he been talking to you like that?' His
voice was quiet.
Roy hung his head. 'I know it sounds bad, Mickey, but
he is my father-in-law . . .'
'I couldn't give a fuck if he was the Immaculate
Conception! There's something wrong, ain't there? The
Roy I knew would never take that from anyone, not in a
million years.' He lowered his voice. 'Come on, Bruv.
What's the SP?'
The barman brought over their hot toddies and Roy was
glad of the few seconds' reprieve. He could feel Michael's
eyes boring into him. When they were settled again, Roy
spoke.
'I don't know, Mickey. Since Carla was born it's as if I
don't exist any more. Janine and her mum and dad act like
she never got married. I feel like a lodger in the house. I eat their food, I sleep in their bed, I shag their daughter now and again.' All the bitterness of the last two years
seemed to boil over and come tumbling out. 'And I mean,
now and again. Every three weeks when they go and visit
her bloody granny in Bethnal Green. She says she can't do
it while Mummy's in the house. Then old man Grierson
treats me like the village idiot. I'm not a butcher, Mickey. I hate looking at the meat, I hate touching it. . .' His voice trailed off.
'So what are you gonna do?'
Roy shrugged and took a gulp of his drink. 'I dunno.'
'You don't know? So that's it then, is it?' Michael was
getting annoyed. 'Why don't you give her a right-hander?
Show her who's boss. Tell her old man to go and stuff his
bloody butcher's shop up his Jacksey. I knew she spelt
trouble ... I bloody knew it!'
'All right... All right, Mickey. Keep your hair on.'
'Why don't you come and work for me? That's what I
wanted to talk to you about.' He saw a gleam of hope
appear in Roy's eyes.
'I'd jump at the chance, you know that.'
Michael laughed. Roy was like a bloody kid at times. He
looked at his brother's open face, and made a mental note
to tell his mother what was going down with him. He
knew that she was worried.
50
'That's settled then.' He looked at his watch. 'From
two-twenty-five today you are a working member of the
Ryan dynasty.' They both laughed. Anthony and Geoffrey
worked for Michael already. Now he had Roy.
'What's the pay, Mickey?' Roy sounded uncertain. 'Bloody good, that's what.'
'I wouldn't ask, but what with the baby and everything
. . .'
'No worries, I'll start you on thirty quid a week. That's
a bit more than the others, so keep stumm about it.'
Michael tapped his nose with his forefinger.
Roy was amazed. He was going to go and get Janine
and the baby and if necessary drag her to the flat in
Westbourne Park. This was gonna be a new start. Mickey
was right. Maybe she needed a right-hander. And if his
father-in-law stuck his oar in, he would get one and all!
He drank his whisky down and felt the warm glow
through his body. It was partly the alcohol and partly the
knowledge that he was finally going to do something
about his life. The worry he had been feeling about Janine
was replaced by elation. He would take a leaf out of
Mickey's book. Hit first, ask questions later.
Michael watched his brother's face and guessed immediately
what was going through his mind. He motioned to
the barman to refill their glasses, a feeling of satisfaction running through him. He had a-soft spot for Roy, the
same as he did for Benny. They were both too nice for
their own good. He was going to toughen Roy up. Make
him into someone. Then, when Joe the Fish was out of the
way, the businesses would be run exclusively by Ryans. He
raised up his steaming glass to his brother. """"
'To the Ryans!'
'The Ryans!'
52
Geoffrey and Anthony were sitting at the end of Penzance
Gardens, where it met Princedale Road. It was nearly two-fifteen in the morning. They sat in a black Humber Snipe. Both were freezing and both were nervous, especially Geoffrey. At twenty-one he was two years older than
Anthony. They were identical to look at. Both had the
Ryan dark hair and firm chin. Anthony had more of
Michael's ruggedness whereas Geoffrey had softer features,
almost effeminate.
Anthony spoke. His voice in the darkness caused Geoffrey
to jump. 'How much longer have we got to wait?'
'How the hell do I know? What do you think I am? The
Oracle or something?'
'Very funny. You get on my wick, do you know that?'
Anthony's usual animosity was coming to the fore.
Anthony Ryan was known in his family as able to pick a
fight with his own fingernails. The only person he was
even remotely respectful to was Mickey. 'You think
because you've read a few crappy books you know it all.'
Geoffrey rolled his eyes up towards the roof of the car.
'Do me a favour, Ant. . . Save all your hag for what we've
got to do tonight. I ain't in the mood.'
They were silent again. Anthony was frustrated because
he wasn't as quick-brained as Geoffrey so always came off
worse in an argument. It didn't deter him though. He
tried a different tack.
'I saw that sort you've been knocking about with last
night. I'd give her one meself.' Knowing that it would
annoy Geoffrey, Anthony braced himself for the ensuing
argument. Instead, Geoffrey put his hand over his brother's mouth. They listened. Footsteps were approaching the
car. They sat tense and nervous. Anthony's hard features
looked as if they had been carved from stone. His fists
were clenched tight on the steering wheel.
The man who was walking towards them stepped into
the light of a streetlamp. It was Joe the Fish. He was
walking unsteadily along the road, obviously the worse
for drink. Geoffrey nodded and Anthony started the car.
He did not put on the headlights. Reversing back a little,
they waited until Joe began crossing the intersection
between Penzance Gardens and Princedale Road. Pushing
his foot down on the accelerator, Anthony thrust the car
forward. if
Hearing a loud noise through his drunken haze, Joe turned in time to see the car coming at him. He raised his arm as if to protect himself as the car hit him full on. His body flew into the air and landed on the bonnet. His head
crashed against the windscreen. Anthony slammed his foot
on the brake. As the car screeched to a halt, Joe's body slid from the bonnet on to the road. Anthony ran the car over
him one more time before speeding off. The whole
operation had taken less than three minutes. A woman
who had been up getting herself a glass of water heard the
commotion and ran out into the street. She took one look
at Joe's face and began to scream. Lights began to go on
all over Princedale Road.
Anthony and Geoffrey drove the car from Holland Park
to Moscow Road in Bayswater. The streets were deserted.
Parking the car they left it there and walked around to
Porchester Terrace, throwing the keys to the Humber
Snipe down a drainhole. In Porchester Terrace they picked
up a blue Mark 1 Zephyr and drove sedately home to
Lancaster Road. It was just three o'clock.
Inside a private house in Beauchamp Place, Knightsbridge,
Michael picked up his cards and studied them carefully. He
was on a winning streak tonight. He had three aces and
two kings. Joe had left an hour earlier. He had been given
54 '
a lift to the Bayswater Road by a mutual friend, Derek
O'Connor. If everything had gone according to plan then Joe was well and truly out of the picture, and he, Michael, had the perfect alibi. He smiled smugly to himself as he
raised the bet by fifty pounds. If Geoffrey and Anthony
had bungled the job tonight, he would personally batter
their brains out.
Sarah heard a loud banging on her front door. She
glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was five
o'clock in the morning. Sleepily she dragged herself out
of bed. Benjamin was snoring his head off as usual, so it
wasn't the police after him - that would make a change.
She yawned, went down the stairs and opened the front door. Two men stood there and she recognised at once that they were CID.
'Is Michael at home, love?'
Blinking her eyes rapidly to try and clear her head, Sarah
said, 'Come inside and I'll go and look.'
The two men walked into the hallway. She went upstairs and looked into Michael's room. The bed hadn't been slept in. As she walked back on to the
landing, Geoffrey came out of his room.
'Who's that downstairs, Mum?'
'The old Bill. They're looking for Michael. What's
going on?' She knew her sons and would bet her last pound that Geoffrey had been awake waiting for something like this.
'You go back to bed, Mum. I'll sort out the filth.'
Both turned as they heard a door opening. Maura Ryan came out of her room, clutching a raggy doll. Sarah went to her, picking her up in her arms. Geoffrey went down
the stairs.
'Mickey ain't in.'
'Well, where is he then?' This from the older of the
policemen.
'He's up West. At a house in Knightsbridge. What do
you want him for?' Geoffrey yawned in their faces, scratching his belly lazily. The younger policeman noticed that his
pyjamas were hardly creased. Geoffrey Ryan hadn't been
in bed. The trouble would be proving it. .
'Somebody tried to murder Joe the Fish earlier.'
Geoffrey felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold
water over him. 'What do you mean, tried to murder him?'
'Exactly what I say. And knowing how close Mickey is to
him, I thought we had better let him know.' The older officer was trying to goad him.
Unlike Anthony, Geoffrey could keep a lid on his
temper. Deliberately misconstruing the policeman's words,
he shook his head sadly and said, 'Mickey's like a son to
that man. This will come as a great shock to him. What
exactly happened?' He had to know what was going on.
Half of his mind was saying silent prayers. He'd been sure
Joe was dead when they left him.
'Someone tried to run him over a few hours ago. He's
fighting for his life in St Charles's Hospital. The hospital said to try and get his next-of-kin. We assumed that was
Michael Ryan. Two men couldn't get any closer than
those two have been over the last couple of years, could
they?' The policeman raised his eyebrows and his colleague
laughed.
Geoffrey was saved from answering by his mother's
voice. She had been carrying Maura down the stairs and
had heard the policeman's remark.
'What are you trying to say? I know you lot with your
dirty insinuendos.' She hitched her daughter up on to her
shoulder, holding her steady with her free hand. The other
was gripping the banister rail, her knuckles white and
56
I
bony. 'My Michael is a decent clean-living individual. Now
I'll thank you two to get out of my house.'
Hiding a grin, Geoffrey took the heavy child from her as
she came to the bottom of the stairs. Maura sat in his arms, an alert expression on her face. At seven she was already wise to the likes of the police. Sarah pushed angrily at the two policemen. She looked so tiny beside the two
men, yet so ferocious, that Geoffrey laughed out loud.
'That's it, Muvver. Tell the bastards to sling their
hooks.'
Opening the front door, Sarah let the men out. She was
fuming. How dare they say that of her Michael! Her
temper was caused by the fact that she had a terrible
suspicion that what they said was true. Slamming the door
on them, she turned her anger on her son.
'Well, don't stand there like a gormless eejit! Go and get
dressed and find Mickey!'
Placing Maura carefully on the floor, Geoffrey ran up
the stairs. Maura followed her mother into the kitchen,
curling up on one of the easy chairs by the fire.
'Can I have a standing up egg, Mum?'
Sarah nodded. 'Of course you can have a boiled egg if.
that's what you want.'
She filled the kettle, her mind racing. If Joe the Fish
died then it would be a murder charge for somebody. But
who? Michael? She pushed the thought from her head.
Whatever she thought about her boys, there was one thing
she knew: they were not murderers. They were just
tearaways. High-spirited tearaways. Or, at least, she hoped that's all they were. Putting the kettle on the gas, she went to her daughter and hugged her tightly.
Joe was lying in the hospital bed. Nurse Walton looked'
down at his battered face. She shook her head and turned
to see the policeman by the bed grimacing at her. She
blinked and sighed.
'Who would do such a thing?' Her voice sounded very
young.
PC Blenkinsop pushed out his narrow chest and tried to
look like an all-knowing, sophisticated officer.
'You'd be surprised. It's a wicked life out on the street
these days. He might look like an old man who's been run
over a few times to you, but to me . . .' he puffed his chest out even further '. . . he's a vicious criminal.'
Nurse Walton looked suitably impressed. 'Just wait until
I tell my mum!'
PC Blenkinsop looked as if he was readjusting his
shoulders inside his tunic top. He thrust out his chin and
smiled. joe groaned and immediately had the attention of both of them. 'Mickey . . . Mickey.'
PC Blenkinsop was writing down Joe's words with a
flourish of his pencil. Licking it, he waited expectantly.
Michael stood in the entrance to the ward. He had
known that a policeman would be in attendance. Squaring
his shoulders, he walked down the ward towards Joe's bed.
He could see the young PC and the nurse through the
inadequate screens. Putting a sober expression on his face
he went to the bed.
PC Blenkinsop noted Nurse Walton's reaction to
Michael Ryan and it annoyed him. He thrust out his lip
like a petulant schoolboy.
'And who might you be?' He stood up and seemed to
roll on the balls of his feet. Michael gave him a scathing
glance. He picked up Joe's hand which was heavily
bandaged. He turned to the nurse and smiled sadly at
her.
'How bad is he?' His voice sounded wretched. Nurse
Walton stared into his dark blue eyes and was immediately
filled with pity for him.
'He's very bad. The doctor says he'll be surprised if he
lasts out the day.' If she had known Michael, she would
have noticed the glimmer of relief that came into his eyes.
'Has he said anything at all?'
The PC interrupted. 'He has been calling for a . . .' he
glanced importantly at his notebook '. . . Mickey.'
Michael nodded. 'That's me.'
The young nurse brought Michael a chair and he sat
beside Joe, holding the old man's hand and stroking it
every now and again. The PC watched him. So this was
Michael Ryan. He couldn't wait to get back to the station
and brag about how he'd seen him.
The nurse brought Michael a cup of tea and he thanked
her, giving her one of his radiant smiles. PC Blenkinsop
could have cried. She didn't even know he was there now.
Shortly before seven in the evening Joe opened his eyes
and immediately recognised Michael. He passed his
tongue over his cracked lips and tried to speak. Michael
could see by the look in his eyes that he knew who had
ordered his accident. Agitated, Joe tried to lift his head off the pillow.
'Mickey . . . Mickey . . . you . . .' Then his head fell back and he died.
Michael closed his eyes, a feeling of euphoria surging
through him. He had got away with it! Then, as could
happen with him, he felt a deep despondency, replace his
feeling of elation. Tears welled up in his eyes, spilling over on to his cheeks. In his own funny way he would miss Joe who had been his passport into the real world. For that he
would always be grateful to him. He would give Joe the
Fish the best send-off anyone had ever seen.
PC Blenkinsop looked embarrassed. Later on in the
58
station canteen he had everyone hanging on his words.
'Yeah, I'm telling you. It was quite touching. Michael
Ryan cried like a baby. Well, it was to be expected really.
After all, the old boy died calling out his name.'
At Joe's funeral a week later, the police noted that all
the gang bosses stopped to pay their respects to Michael
Ryan. He was well and truly established now. That,
together with the fact that Joe had willed him everything
he possessed, made Michael Ryan a very happy man.
60
Sister Rosario looked at the pinched face of Maura Ryan
and her heart went out to the child. She had noticed her
being teased mercilessly all through the dinner hour, no
doubt due to the fact that her brother Benjamin had been
expelled the day before. The nun realised that now the
child had no one to protect her, some of the other
children were making up for lost time. She watched
Margaret Lacey lean forward across her desk and pull hard
on one of Maura Ryan's long blonde plaits. Sister Rosario
didn't like Margaret Lacey. She didn't like any of the
Laceys, with their carroty red hair and green malicious
eyes. And this Margaret Lacey was the most brazen strap
of a child she had ever come across. The nun leapt from
her seat, causing her chair to fly backwards. The noise
brought thirty pairs of eyes to rest on her.
'Margaret Lacey, come out here at once!' Her voice
reverberated around the classroom. Margaret, her face pale
with fright, slowly edged her way from behind her desk
and began to walk to the front of the class. Sister Rosario was without doubt the hardest nun in the school. No
amount of tears could shake her. Margaret stood before
her, trembling. Tapping a ruler across the palm of her
hand, Sister Rosario stared at the child for a few seconds.
She knew from thirty years' experience that bullies were a
breed apart. Most were inherent cowards who picked only
on people who they knew were frightened of them.
The nun's countenance and dark brown close-set eyes
challenged the child before her.
'Did I see you pull Maura Ryan's plait?'
Margaret's big green eyes seemed to have taken possession
of the whole of her face. Her tiny pink mouth was
trembling. Already, tears were beginning to glisten in her
eyes.
'N ... N ... No, Miss ... I mean, Sister.'
In her fright she had begun to stutter. This caused some
of the other children to titter, quickly putting their hands over their mouths to stifle the sound.
Margaret Lacey was the class bully and the children
enjoyed seeing her get, for once, what she doled out so
often.
'Are you calling me a liar?' The nun's eyes had narrowed.
'No, Sister!' Margaret's voice was stronger now. Whoever
heard of calling a nun a liar? It was unthinkable. Her
own mother would kill her if she knew. Her eyes were now
riveted on the ruler in the nun's hand. She knew that it
was liable to come swishing down on her hands and legs at
any moment.
Sister Rosario was enjoying Margaret's discomfiture.
Running her tongue across her teeth she glared down at
the object of her annoyance. Her white wimple covered
nearly all her head, revealing only wrinkled yellowing skin that, combined with her dark eyes, had earned her the
epithet 'Lizard Features'.
'So . . . you admit to pulling Maura Ryan's plait then?'
Maura watched Sister Rosario completely demoralise
Margaret Lacey. She sat in her chair, her face scarlet. She did not thank this nun for making her the centre of
62
attention. She knew that whatever Margaret got she would
make sure Maura got it back one hundredfold.
'Yes, Sister ... I pulled Maura's plait.' This was said so
low as to be virtually inaudible.
'Speak up, child.'
'Yes, Sister. I pulled Maura Ryan's plait.' The high
piping little voice was trembling with fear.
Smiling smugly at the class, Sister Rosario lifted the
ruler. 'Hold out your hand then.'
The thin little hand came out. Margaret closed her eyes
tightly as the ruler came down hard six times across her
palm. Against her will, hot scalding tears burst from her
eyes and down her cheeks. She held her injured hand to her breast as if frightened it might drop off, and at a nod from Sister Rosario made her way back to her desk, rubbing at
her injured palm with the thumb of her good hand. Sister
Rosario's beady eyes scanned the classroom for
about twenty seconds before she said, 'Let that be a
warning to any would-be bullies in this class. Next time it will be twelve strokes of the ruler and your name read out
at mass.'
Thirty faces looked scandalised at the thought of having
their name read out by Father McCormack. Picking up her
chair, the nun turned to her blackboard and began writing
on it.
Seizing her opportunity. Margaret leant forward across
her desk and whispered to Maura.
'You're dead, Ryan. Come hometime I'm gonna kill
you.'
Maura closed her eyes, a knot of fear already forming in
her stomach. Everyone was frightened of Margaret Lacey,
even some of the boys. Which was surprising really because
she was so small. But small or not, she could fight and that was all that counted.
Maura sat back in her chair and looked out of the
window to the side of her. A group of younger children
were playing rounders. The voice of Miss Norman, the
games teacher, drifted in at the window now and again.
Always encouraging, never reprimanding. As Maura
watched the dust motes flying through the air in the rays
of the June sun she wished that she was outside with the
younger children. That she was anywhere away from
Margaret Lacey and her cronies who would without doubt
be waiting for her as she left the school. Why was it that
time always flew when you didn't want it to? The minutes
sped by until the bell that heralded hometime.
Slowly Maura went to get her coat, hoping against hope
that if she took long enough Margaret would get fed up
and go home. She walked slowly from the school, across
the playground and out of the gates into Latimer Road.
Sure enough, Margaret was waiting for her, about twenty
yards past the school gates. She had three of her cronies
with her: Jennifer Howard, Betty Leeds and Vanessa
Rouse. Maura began walking towards them like a condemned
man on his way to the gallows. Prickles of sweat
had broken out along her backbone. She bit down hard on
her lip as she watched the four girls.
She saw that Jennifer and Vanessa were laughing at her
and something inside her stirred. In all her ten years she
had always had one or other of her brothers watching out
for her. Now here for the first time she was fighting her
own battle. And fight it she would! She swallowed deeply.
She could hear her heart crashing in her ears. She decided
then and there that she was not going to stand for it. She
had eight brothers and had had to fight or argue with
every one of them at some time or another. Holding her
head high, she walked faster, swinging her schoolbag
menacingly. 64
The four girls looked at each other, puzzled. This wasn't
supposed to happen! First they were going to make her
squirm, then Margaret was going to hit her . . . Betty
Leeds began to hop from one foot to another, a sure sign
of agitation. Vanessa and Jennifer stepped back behind
Margaret. Maura stopped in front of them, still swinging
her school bag. She gave a loud sniff.
'Well?' The insolent way she said it made the other girls
gasp with astonishment. Margaret Lacey soon found her
tongue.
'I'll "well" you, you ugly bitch you! I'm gonna smash
your face in!'
The other girls smiled. This was more like it.
'Well then, don't just stand there talking about it... do
it!'
All eyes were glued to the swinging schoolbag. Margaret
was silent for a few seconds. She could feel the others
losing their nerve. If she didn't do something, and soon,
they would desert her. She spat on to the pavement
casually.
'I will when I'm good and ready!'
Margaret Lacey was getting more worried by the second.
She had thought she'd give Maura's long blonde hair
a few good tugs, a scratch or two on her face, and then
home to tea, basking in the other girls' admiration. Now
she wasn't sure what to do. She might even get hit herself!
She decided on a delaying tactic. Kneeling down on the
dusty pavement, she made as if to tie her shoelaces.
The next thing she knew, she was lying sprawled across
the pavement. Maura's schoolbag had hit her straight in
the side of the head. Next, her long red hair was pulled so hard she felt as if it was going to come out by the roots.
Finally, she felt a kick on the knee that brought a shocked cry to her throat. She lay on the pavement staring up at
Maura Ryan, amazed. Her three friends had already run
off. As soon as Maura's schoolbag had hit Margaret in the
head, they had made their escape, frightened in case
Maura decided on a repeat performance on one of them!
Maura just stood there stunned, staring at Margaret
lying at her feet. She had done that! She had knocked
Margaret Lacey down! She could feel her chest swelling
with the joy of it. She had actually defended herself against Margaret Lacey, the school bully, and she had won. She
had done it alone without one of her brothers to defend
her!
Seeing Margaret begin to pull herself up, Maura's
natural kindness came to the fore. This would be all over
the school tomorrow. She tentatively held out her hand to help Margaret up. The smaller girl looked at her long and hard before accepting it. Maura pulled her to her feet and
began to brush down Margaret's uniform, which was
covered in grey dust. This was all done in silence, except
for the occasional sniff. Maura saw the small swelling on
Margaret's grubby knee and felt ashamed of herself. She
had kicked her very hard and Margaret was smaller than
her. In silent agreement they walked together down Latimer
Road, into Bramley Road and then through to
Lancaster Road, where both girls lived. They stopped
outside Margaret's house first and stood looking at one
another. ' Margaret sniffed loudly and said, 'Come in if you want.
Me mum's at work.'
It was the hand of friendship. Maura shrugged nonchalantly.
'All right then.'
They walked up the steps that led to the front door.
Margaret's house was the same as Maura's except it had
been made into flats. Margaret's family lived on the top
floor. Being large town houses they were three storeys
high with large basements. As many as five families lived in them. As they made their way up the stairs the smell of
cooking and urine seemed to overpower them. Margaret's
flat had no lock on the door. There was no need for one,
there was nothing to steal.
'You take off your things and I'll make us some bread
and Marmite.'
'Ooh, lovely. I love Marmite.' As Margaret made the sandwiches and a pot of weak tea, Maura glanced around her. The room was filthy, clothes
and newspapers strewn everywhere. Unlike her own home
that was stoved regularly, cockroaches were on everything.
A particularly adventurous one with large quivering antennae was being slowly buried in the rancid margarine.
Maura shuddered inwardly. The last few years her mother
had been waging a war on all vermin, including bed bugs.
Money was now plentiful in her home, thanks to Michael's
employing her brothers in his business, while the majority
of the people in Lancaster Road were still no better off
than they had been before the war. Margaret's mother
worked at the new Black Cat cigarette factory out in
Harlow and her father still worked in Lyons bakery. Maura
watched with distaste as Margaret flicked the cockroach
out of the margarine with the breadknife. It landed on the
floor where it lay on its back, its numerous legs doing
cycling motions as it tried to right itself. Wrinkling her
nose Margaret stepped on it, the crunching noise sounding
like a gunshot in the hot evening air.
'I hate them bloody things.' 'So do I.' Maura's voice sounded small.
Soon the girls were eating their sandwiches and drinking
weak tea. Neither of them mentioned what had taken
place outside the school and neither of them would. From
outside, the sounds of a game of cricket floated into the
66
hot airless room. Finishing her tea, Maura got up to go.
Margaret offered Maura her little finger with a shy smile.
Maura linked it with her own, vowing that the two girls
would be best friends for always - through thick and thin.
This was the female way of becoming blood brothers -
unlike the boys they did not cut each other's thumbs.
Margaret walked Maura down the stairs to the street. ' i'll be here in the morning to walk to school. OK?'
Margaret nodded her head vigorously. 'See you then,
Maura.'
"Bye.' Maura walked towards her own house. She felt
lighthearted and gay. What had started out as a bad day
had suddenly become brighter.
In the road a gang of boys with a makeshift cricket bat
stopped their game to look at her. Already the news was
travelling fast. Dinny O'Brien, one of Garry's friends,
smiled at her.
'That right you podgered Margaret Lacey, Maws?'
She nodded, feeling herself blush.
'We're friends now, Dinny.'
He looked away, disgusted. Trust girls! In Dinny's code,
if you beat someone in a fight you made their life misery
for as long as possible. You did not become friends with
them.
Maura hurried home. As she let herself in at the front
door her mother's voice came booming out of the kitchen.
'Is that you, Maura!' !
'Yes, Mum.'
She went into the kitchen where Sarah was standing,
hands on hips, her face like thunder.
'Where have you been, you bloody little sod? I've been
out of my mind with worry about you.'
Maura chewed on her lip, staring at her mother. She
very rarely got told off and when she did it upset her.
68
'Well? Answer me, you little cow.' Sarah's face was
haggard.
'I went to me friend's house and had a bit of tea.' Her
enormous blue eyes had tears glistening on their lashes.
Sarah saw her daughter's face crumple and her heart
melted. Pulling the child into her arms, she hugged her
close.
'I'm sorry, love, but you gave me such a fright. It's not
like you to stay out like that. You're normally the first one home. I was worried.'
'I'm sorry, Mum, I won't do it again, I promise,' She
tried to smile at her mother, genuinely sorry to have vexed her.
. 'I sent Benny, Garry and Lee out looking for you.' As if
her words had conjured them up, all three burst into the
kitchen.
'Mum . . . Mum!' They were all talking at once. 'Have a
guess what!'
'One at a time . . . One at a time.' She held up her
hands for silence then pointed at Garry, the most honest of the three.
'Right then, Garry, you tell me what happened.'
He pointed at Maura who was beginning to panic.
'It's her' ;
'What about her?' Sarah looked at Maura, a frown on
her face. ;
'She's been and gone and smashed Margaret Lacey's
face in!'
Sarah's eyes widened. 'She's what!'
The tone of her voice frightened Maura. She pulled on
her mother's flowery apron.
'I had to, Mum. She was gonna kill me 'cos Sister
Rosario gave her the ruler for pulling me plaits.' She
looked into her mother's face, pleading for understanding.
'Am I hearing right? You . . .' she pointed at Maura
'. . . had a fight with Margaret Lacey.' She screwed up her eyes as if she was having difficulty seeing her child.
Maura was gabbling with fright. 'I hit her with me bag
but we're friends now, Mum. That's where I was earlier
when you were looking for me.'
Sarah shook her head slowly as if to clear it. So this one
had gone too, another fighter in the family.
'Go on, all of you . . . out in the street to play. Your dad will be in soon and I haven't got a bit of food on.' She
pushed the children towards the kitchen door. She wanted
them all away from her.
The three boys ran out. Maura stood for a second
looking at her mother. 'I'm sorry, Mum . . . honestly.'
Sarah's voice was tired. 'Get yourself outside, Maws. Go
on now.'
When she had gone, Sarah poured herself out a large
mug of thick black tea. She spooned four heaped spoonsful
of sugar into it and some condensed milk and sat at the
kitchen table. She sipped her tea and her body seemed to
sag in the chair. Her mind was racing, though.
Leslie, aged twenty, was doing three years for robbery.
Anthony, aged twenty-two, was with him, doing five years
for robbery and malicious wounding. Michael was like the
local Mafia, everyone was frightened of him. He now had
all the older boys working for him.-Over the years she had
forced these thoughts from her mind, telling herself that
her sons were the product of their father. And now this!
Her only daughter, the apple of her eye, had been brawling
in the street. It just wasn't fair. Her mother used to say
that what was bred in the bone came out in the blood, and
she had been right.
Oh, Sarah had plenty of money these days and the house
was lovely. After the lean years, she had been only too
70
happy to take the money her sons thrust on her. She had
never questioned where it came from, though she knew
deep inside. But if their lifestyles affected her daughter, she would murder the lot of them. Maura was going to have
the chances that she herself had never had. One of her children would achieve something in this world. She was determined on that.
Outside in the summer evening, Maura was the centre
of attention. 'Well done, Maws.' This from Garry, who was very fond of his sister.
'I hit her with me bag, that's what done it.'
They all looked across the road as they heard their father
call. Maura's eyes lit up and she skipped across the road to meet him. Benjamin Ryan had had a skinful, that much
was evident. He was flushed around his ample face and
neck. Under one arm he had a large box of crisps and a
bottle of Tizer. He passed the box to Lee who had
followed Maura over the street and picked his daughter up
in his arms. The old man, as they called him, worshipped his daughter and they all knew this and accepted it. In their own way they all felt the same. Maura rubbed her
face against his cheek and felt his stubble scratching
against her smooth skin. She breathed in his familiar odour of best bitter and Woodbines and snuggled against him,
safe and secure.
'How's me best girl then?'
'All right, Dad. Had a win?' ,.
He laughed at her cheek.
'How do you know I've had a win?' He asked the
question in a mock stern voice.
'The box of crisps and Tizer for a start, and your beery
breath.'
Benjamin looked at his sons, a theoretical scowl on his
face. 'Hear that, boys? Typical woman! She'll drink the
Tizer and eat the crisps, and still complain where they
come from!'
Benny laughed with Maura, but Garry and Lee just
smiled wanly. The memory of empty bellies because their father had gambled away all the National Assistance was still fresh in their minds. They all walked up the steps and into the house.
Sarah had started the evening meal. She completely
ignored her husband until he fell asleep in his chair,
whereupon she woke him up and berated him all the way
up the stairs, their shouting and swearing affecting the
children not one iota. Half an hour later they sat down to
their tea. Maura was once more in high spirits. As they sat chatting around the table there was a loud knock on the
front door. Garry answered it and came back into the
kitchen with two policemen.
'Go and wake your dad up.' Sarah's voice was heavy.
The elder of the two policemen smiled at Sarah but she
dropped her eyes and tried to busy herself at the sink.
Every nerve in her body was jangling. Every time the
police visited her house she felt a heavy sickness inside her.
Maura and Benny carried on eating.
Benjamin Ryan shuffled into the kitchen in his trousers
and string vest, his braces hanging down the sides of his legs.
'What the fuck do you want?' His voice was menacing.
The older policeman looked at the children, a question
in his eyes.
'Never you mind them, they'll hear what you got to say
sooner or later. Now spit it out, man. I ain't got all day.'
'Very well. We've got some bad news for you, concerning
your son Anthony.'
'What about my Antney? Escaped, has he?' Benjamin's
voice sounded hopeful.
72
'No, not exactly. I'm sorry to tell you, Mr Ryan, that
your son is dead.'
'He's whatf Sarah's hand went to her chest and she
struggled to find breath. Lee went to her and folded her in his arms. The younger children were pale and silent.
'He was stabbed to death this morning in Pentonville
prison. In the showers. We're doing everything possible to
find the people responsible.'
Sarah's sobbing was building to a crescendo. The
younger policeman was watching her, fascinated.
'Jesus H. Christ!' Benjamin was trying to clear his
drink-fuddled brain. 'Who would want to kill my Antney?
Everyone liked him . . .'
The younger policeman dragged his eyes from Sarah
and looked at Benjamin.
'Well, someone didn't. You don't stab your mates.'
Benjamin went for him. 'Why, you dirty little bastard!'
The other officer intervened, all formality forgotten
now.
'Calm down, Benny. And you, Brown, shut your bloody
big gob!' He pushed Benjamin back against the kitchen
wall. 'Look, Ben, we've been questioning Leslie all morning and he won't say a dicky bird, but we think he knows
who done it.' .
Benjamin pushed the man away. 'Of course he won't tell
you. He ain't a grass.'
'Grass or no, Ben, this person has killed his brother.'
'And that person will pay. Thanks for coming, Bill, but
you can go now. I need to speak to me wife.'
His tone held dismissal and the two officers left the
house. Benjamin pointed at Lee.
'Go up West to Mickey's and tell him what's happened.
Tell him, Geoffrey and Roy to get their arses home - now.'
Lee nodded. Still holding his mother, he walked her to his
father. As Benjamin tried to comfort her, Sarah pushed
him violently away. 'a
'Don't you dare touch me! You've brought us to this,
you conniving old bastard.' .
Getting up from her seat, Maura ran to her mother. The
two held on to each other tightly. Benjamin looked
frightened by his wife's attitude. The hatred in her voice
had shocked him.
'Garry, nip round and get the quack for your mother.'
The boy ran from the room, frightened. His mother's
wailing, following him down the front steps, seemed to
spur him on. Maura, tears running down her face, was
frightened out of her wits. Anthony was dead . . . her
brother Anthony who had alternately teased and comforted
her was lying somewhere dead, never to come home
again. Fighting Margaret Lacey seemed so futile now. Why
was it that bad things always happened when you were
feeling happy?
The voices had been going on all evening. Maura could
not sleep. She slipped out of bed, where her mother was
snoring softly. The doctor had been in and given her some
sleeping pills. He had tried to give her an injection but it had only made her more hysterical. Pulling the cover up
over her mother's shoulders, Maura crept from the room
and down the stairs.
The front room door was slightly open and she pressed
her face to the crack. Her eldest brother Mickey was
walking up and down the room talking, his face set in a
dark scowl. Maura loved Mickey. He was her favourite
brother. She thought he was the handsomest of them all.
All the boys were dark, with deepset blue eyes, but
Mickey was magnificent. He had something that attracted
people to him - men as well as women. Maura adored
74
him. He was like a god to her. Now, though, she was
seeing a Mickey that she didn't know. His teeth were
gritted together and he had dark circles under his eyes. He looked ferocious.
'I swear I'll kill the bastards! So help me God, I'll kill
them.'
'Calm down, Mickey. Calm down.' This from Geoffrey.
'Calm down, you say? When them bastards have stabbed
our brother to death?'
Geoffrey took a long drink of his whisky.
'Calm down and think clearly, that's what I'm saying.
Think with your head and not your heart.'
Michael stopped abruptly in his pacing and punched the
wall.
'I'd rather have given the bastards the cab ranks than see
Antney dead.'
Geoffrey sighed.
'Well, it's done now, Bruv. What we've got to decide is
how we retaliate.'
'We'll blow the fuckers off the face of the earth, that's
what we'll do!'
'I was thinking along those lines.' Everyone in the room
stared at Gerry Jackson, one of Mickey's closest friends,
and he coloured slightly.
'What I thought was, right, they've got a rank in Ilford,
ain't they? In the High Street.'
All heads nodded in agreement.
'Well, on Saturday night, Lee here and, a few of his
mates can go up the Ilford Palais, right? Later on in the
evening they go into the Greek bastard's cab rank, as for a cab to say . . . Wanstead. Anywhere, just so they can get a good look in. If he's there, one of them can trot off and
let us know, then we can poodle round and petrol bomb
the place. We can sit round Green Lanes waiting for word.
It must be someone they won't recognise. That would
teach the saucy gits a lesson.'
Mickey nodded his head.
'Yeah, that sounds dawdy, Gerry, I'll have some of that.
Meantime, me and Geoff and Roy, who'll be the main
suspects, can be causing a disturbance somewhere else.'
'Brilliant! That's it then.'
Maura, listening to all this, was frightened. Her brothers
were planning to blow someone up! She had heard people
talk about her brothers. Tearaways and out of control, had
become the prevalent opinion in Lancaster Road. Yet she
realised that people were always nice to their faces, especially Mickey's. A couple of Saturdays previously, she had
walked with him along the Portobello Road. They had
stopped to get some fruit for her, and the stall-holder had insisted that it was a gift, refusing Michael's money as if it was the norm to give his produce away for free. Now she
knew why people acted like they did. It was because her
brothers blew people up.
She started to hop from one foot to the other. She was
scared. Anthony was dead and her brothers were going to
blow someone up. Suddenly, the door opened and Roy
was standing in front of her.
She saw his face go pale.
'What's this then? Can't you sleep, Princess?' His voice
was very loud. He picked her up and carried her into the
front room. It was heavy with cigarette smoke and she
coughed. Michael held out his arms to her and she shrank
away from him, clinging to Roy. This Mickey frightened
her. This was not her brother who cuddled her and bought
her things . . . this was a man who blew people up. She
looked fearfully into his face. He was so hurt by her
attitude he was nearly in tears. With all that had happened with Anthony, he was near the end of his tether. Suddenly
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sensing this, Maura slipped out of Roy's arms and ran to
him, big dry sobs bursting from her throat and bouncing
off the walls.
He scooped her up into his arms and holding her
tightly, rubbed his face into her soft, sweet-smelling hair.
She cried hard, wracking sobs distorting her voice. 'I
want Antney to come home ... I want Antney to come
home! Blow the bad man up, Mickey. Blow the bad man
up!'
He looked at the other men in the room, his eyes
resting on his father. Through her tears Maura heard
someone mutter, 'Jesus Christ!'
Michael held her until her sobs subsided. Holding her
away from him so he could look into her face, he spoke to
her. His voice sounded worried.
'Listen, Princess. You must never . . . ever . . . tell anyone what you heard here tonight. Do you understand
what I'm saying? If you tell anyone, even a friend, then the police will come and take us all away. Even Dad. Do you
understand me?'
She nodded at him solemnly. 'I won't tell anyone,
Mickey . . . not even Mum.'
Instinctively she knew that this was what he wanted to
hear. He blinked and the relief in his eyes was evident.
'Good girl. You're a good girl. Now, let Dad put you back
to bed.' He kissed her on the forehead and lips tenderly,
then placed her on the floor. 'Good night, Princess.'
She took her father's outstretched hand and began to
walk from the room. At the door she looked back over her
shoulder at Mickey, her face serene. In her white nightdress she looked like a golden angel. She opened her
mouth and spoke.
'I meant what I said, Mickey . . . get them that done in
Antney.' With that she carried on walking with her father.
Benjamin looked at her sadly. His little girl was learning
the realities of life. He just wished she could have been
spared them a little longer.
On 20 July 1960 they buried Anthony Ryan. The funeral
cortege went slowly past Wormwood Scrubs prison, up
past the wagon works and on to Saint Mary's Roman
Catholic Cemetery at the top of Scrubs Lane. There were
five cars from the funeral parlour following the coffin.
Behind these were two dozen other cars containing friends
and relatives. A police car containing Leslie, handcuffed
but in his best suit, was last in the line.
In the first car Sarah sat dry-eyed, staring out at the
passing roads. As they had passed by Du Cane Road,
where the entrance to Wormwood Scrubs prison was, she
had been reminded of how many times she had been
there, visiting either her husband or one of the older boys.
Her husband had been proud of how he had lived his life.
'I'm a ducker and diver.' How many times had she heard
him tell someone that? Well, the result of his way of living was upon them today. Her lovely boy dead. She felt the
hot tears bunch in her throat.
Looking into her troubled face, Benjamin placed his hand gently on her arm. She smacked it away. She blamed him for all this. He had encouraged the boys to be villains.
Even when they had been little more than babies he had
started to corrupt them. If they had been beaten in a fight, he would give them a good hiding and send them back
out to do the job properly.
'None of my boys are Nancys,' had been one of his
favourite expressions, coupled with, 'All my boys are hard.'
He had dragged them to dog tracks, pubs, bare knuckle
fights. He had taught them how to pick a lock, steal a car, to shoplift. . . The list was endless.
What had he done? She asked herself. She felt an urge to
fell him to the floor of the car, strike his face and hurt him as she was hurting inside. Her big manly husband - at this
moment she hated him. She crossed her arms across her
breasts and hugged herself. Her gaze lighted on her only
daughter and her face softened. This one he could not
touch. A beauty was her Maura. Sarah's pride in her
daughter knew no bounds. With her white-blonde hair
and dark blue eyes, she was exquisite. Now Maura's hair
was hanging in long waves, unaccustomed to being out of
plaits, her eyes sad and shining with unshed tears. Sarah
knew that the child was bewildered by all that had
happened. She leant across the car and grasped Maura's
hand, forcing herself to give her daughter a little wink.
The cars stopped and everyone got out, standing around
in little groups, talking in hushed voices.
Sarah's seven remaining sons carried Anthony's coffin to
the graveside. The main mass and requiem mass had
already been said in the RC Church in Notting Hill. Now
all that was left was to bury her boy. The youngest, Benny, although only thirteen, walked with his brothers, carrying
the coffin. Michael had placed Maura, dressed in white, at
the front of the coffin. She led them slowly through the
graveyard to the burial site.
Father McCormack was standing silently by the yawning
hole. The sun was high in the sky and beating down on
the mourners' heads. In the yew trees nearby, birds sang
and the hum of traffic and smell of exhaust fumes carried
on the air. Outside the cemetery walls were carts carrying
totters from Shepherd's Bush. The rag and bone men were
grim-faced and silent. Benjamin Ryan's eldest brother was
leading them. Their horses had the old-fashioned black
plumes rising up from their harnesses. The carts had been
washed down and polished for the day's event. Paddy
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Ryan wiped a tear from his eye as he watched his brother's
son being lowered into the ground.
Bees were quietly going about their business, bumbling
from flower to flower, the hot summer day bringing them
out in force. The priest's voice droned on. The police had
once again handcuffed Leslie. Funeral or no funeral they
were not taking any chances. Maura was holding Michael's
hand tightly, her face pale and troubled.
The policeman to whom Leslie was handcuffed was
impressed by the turn-out. The Krays, Richardsons, and
many more villains had come to pay their last respects. It
showed the respect accorded to Michael Ryan.
Mickey stared stonily into the grave. Anthony's oak
coffin had a large brass crucifix on the lid. The INRI above Jesus's head was glinting in the sunlight. In his mind's eye Michael could see Anthony's face inside it, staring upwards at darkness for the rest of eternity. He clenched his teeth together before he lost control and cried out. He prayed
for the first time in years to the Holy Spirit to come and
take his brother's soul. To care for him and protect him.
He prayed to the Immaculate Conception and Holy Saint
Anthony, the patron saint of miracles. He prayed to every
saint and martyr he could remember from his years of
Catholic schooling. Somehow, today, there being a God
was important.
Out of the corner of his eye, he'saw a movement. He
turned his head. Being so tall he was head and shoulders
above most of the mourners. To the left of him, standing
about ten yards from the small crowd around the graveside,
was a man. Michael stiffened. Feeling the change in
him, Maura looked up into his face. She noticed that he
was staring across the graveyard. She followed his gaze, through a small gap in the mourners opposite her, and saw the object of Michael's scrutiny.
The man was dark - not dark like her brothers but
swarthy. His thick black curly hair seemed to grow around
his head like a crown, leaving his forehead exposed where
it had receded. He reminded her of the mad professor in
her comics. The sun was behind him and she could see the
glare that shone on his bald pate. Instinctively she knew
that this was Stavros, the Greek man that her brothers had
been constantly talking about since Anthony's death. The
man was smiling slightly.
She looked from him to Michael and realised that her
brother was going to go over to the man. He was pulling
back his shoulders in his arrogant way. Holding Michael's
hand tightly, she pulled on it. He looked down at her.
When they both looked back a split second later the man
was gone, but his face was stamped on Maura's memory.
Then she felt the hot, scalding tears come into her eyes,
spilling down her face and entering her mouth, their
saltiness exploding on her tongue. From far off she heard
shrieking. It was a few seconds before she realised that it was coming from her.
Michael picked her up in his arms and held her tightly to
him, murmuring endearments into her hair and stroking
her back until she was spent. After what seemed an age all
that could be heard were little hiccups. Even the hardest of the men there was sobered by her outburst. Reggie Kray,
always a lover of children, had tears in his eyes as he
watched Michael comfort the girl. Like most Londoners
from working-class backgrounds, family was important to
them all. You looked after your own, no matter what.
A little while later, still holding Maura in his arms,
Michael threw his handful of dirt on to the coffin. When
the service was finished, he put her down gently by their
mother and, picking up a shovel, filled in Anthony's grave, helped by Geoffrey and Roy.
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One of the rag and bone men's wives, Lilly McNamara,
had been asked to sing while this was being done. She was
noted throughout Kensington and the surrounding areas
as a fine singer. In the hush, broken only by the scraping of the shovels in the dirt and the soft thuds as it landed on
the coffin, she sang 'Amazing Grace'. To outsiders it
would have looked incongruous: men in black zoot suits,
all with fashionable elephant's trunk hair styles, filling in a grave, surrounded by more men and women dressed in
black. The women's hats and bright make-up made them
look like exotic birds. To the Ryans and their like,
Anthony had been given a magnificent send-off.
Sarah stood dignified and erect as her sons buried their
brother. She would not cry here; she would wait until after the wake, when she was alone. In the scorching heat she
had felt as if she would pass out; now she wished she had.
It would have saved her having to watch this grisly ritual, the burying of her son's remains. She closed her eyes, her
hand on her daughter's soft and springy hair.
When the singing was over and Anthony buried, the
mourners went to the family and paid their respects. Diana
Dors, the secret object of the young policeman's desire,
hugged Michael long and hard. She was a firm favourite of
everybody there, a kind, loving, generous woman who
never in all her life judged anyone. Freddie Mills and his
boyfriend Michael Holiday each clasped Michael to them.
Freddie Mills had been Michael's boyhood hero. It had
been worship of him that had aroused Michael's interest in
boxing. Nowadays he met him socially, as an equal. A few
days before Anthony's death they had been together at the
Lancaster Road Baths watching local semi-professional
boxers.
It did not escape Sarah's notice that Michael was treated
as the head of the family and her husband relegated to
second position. That was how it should be. After all,
Michael was the main provider. He made sure that she had
ample money. More than enough in fact. She did not feel
overawed by the company at her son's funeral. She had
known Violet Kray for many years. The Richardson boys
had been visitors to her house for a long time. Many of the mourners were young men who had grown up with her
sons. Petty criminals most of them, but good boys all the
same.
Roy's wife looked depressed as usual. Sarah knew that it
was not the funeral that had put the sad look on her
daughter-in-law's face, but something quite different.
Janine and Roy had problems, she was sure of that.
Neither of them looked happy these days. Their daughter,
Carla, nearly five now, looked as if she hadn't been washed for days. Sarah made a mental note to go and see Janine.
Even in her grief she could still look out for her remaining children.
Finally, they began to make their way back to the cars.
Sarah noticed Roy trying to take Janine's hand and being
shrugged off. She frowned. As if there wasn't enough
unhappiness in the family, they had to bring their petty
squabbles into the cemetery with them.
Benny was staring at the mound of dirt that covered his
brother. Benjamin walked back to get him, his old face
looking more haggard and careworn than usual. He had
been drinking steadily since the early morning.
'Come on, son.' His voice was slurred but gentle.
Benny was staring intently at a large worm wriggling on
the pile of damp earth. In his mind's eye he saw it boring
its way into the earth, down, down, until it reached his
brother's face. Covering his own face with his hands, he
was overtaken by silent sobs that made his shoulders shake.
He was as tall as his father, and as Benjamin took his
namesake into his arms, he felt the strength of him.
Sarah was watching them. She realised for the first time
how Benjamin must be feeling. After all, Anthony had
been his son too. A feeling she had not known in over a
decade slipped through her body. All animosity towards
her husband dissolved and a spark of affection for him
seemed to light up inside her, as it had in the old days. She couldn't blame him entirely for what had happened.
Children would go their own way in the end. In the
environment they lived in it was inevitable that kids would turn to crime. All she could really blame him for was not
working hard enough to get them out of it. She sighed
heavily. How could he? He had never had the chance.
All this flashed through her head in an instant. She
looked around the cemetery. The brilliant sunshine
seemed to be mocking her. It was too nice a day to be
burying a young life. It should have been cold and raining
as befitted a funeral. She saw the flowers gently swaying in the light breeze, the lichen-covered gravestones that hid
their contents from the world, and was overcome with
sadness. The birds were still singing as she made her way
slowly to the cars. Her body seemed to have shrunk since
Anthony's death, giving her the appearance of an old
woman. She was only forty-four.
Back at the house everyone was drinking. Maura pushed
her way through the adults and stationed herself in the
front room next to the table piled high with food.
Presently she was joined by Margaret Lacey. This had been
arranged the day before. That morning Margaret had
complained of a bad bout of sickness. Her mother, anxious
to get to work, had given her the day off school. Now she
was up and dressed and holding her new best friend's
hand. She could not even imagine what it must be like to
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have a brother who had been murdered. Her mum and
dad had talked of nothing else for days. According to them
it was a wonder something like this had not happened
before. Margaret, though, wisely kept this bit of information to herself.
Mickey came up, and, taking the two girls by the hand,
led them out of the house and into the back garden. He
could not bear to be away from Maura today. She was so
innocent and trusting. With his guilt over Anthony, he felt that at least she loved him and didn't blame him for the death. No one would dare say that it was his fault outright, but he knew what was going on in everyone else's mind.
He sat in an old deck chair and the two girls sat on the
ground, each leaning against one of his legs. He was
already half drunk. The sun was so hot it was impossible to open his eyes without being blinded. Eventually he dozed.
Maura and Margaret sat by him for hours. The friendship
of a lifetime was bonded that day. Maura and Margaret became a pair, the friendship only to end with the death of
one of them.
That night in bed Maura had her first nightmare. It was
of the man in the cemetery coming after her with her
mother's bread knife. She was to have the same dream
intermittently for the rest of her life.
Carla Ryan opened her eyes. The sun was streaming in at
the windows of her room. She lay for a few moments
watching the patterns it made on the ceiling. A cool
breeze drifted over her thin little body. She rubbed her
arm, where she had a large bruise above the elbow. Her
mother had picked her up bodily the night before and
dragged her into her room where she had then thrown her
on to her bed. She had bumped her arm on the little
bedside cabinet. The pain had made her lose her breath for
a few seconds. Lining up her pink nightdress her mother
had then smacked her behind as hard as she could,
afterwards putting her face next to Carla's and telling her that she had had enough. Her mother's breath had been
sour as it always was when she had been drinking.
What exactly her mother had had enough of Carla was
not sure. All she had done the night before was make
herself a sugar sandwich. She had asked her mother for
something to eat over and over again, until finally she had decided to get it herself. She supposed it was'the sugar all over the table and floor that had made her mother cross.
She sat herself up in bed and swung her little legs over
the side. She yawned and her long brown hair fell over her
face as she stretched her arms out. She winced as her bad
arm was stretched. This was going to be a sore one, she
reflected. Like the one she'd had on her leg a few weeks
previously. Slipping off the bed she crept across her room, opening the door as silendy as possible.
She looked through the crack into the hallway. Opposite
her bedroom was the kitchen. She waited a few seconds for
any sounds that might tell her that her mother was in there but out of her range of sight. Nothing. She walked across
the hall and into the kitchen. The sugar she had spilt
everywhere the night before was sticking to her bare feet.
She was hungry again. She was always hungry. Sneaking
across the kitchen she made herself some bread and
margarine.
She was kneeling on a kitchen chair, her long hair
trailing in the margarine, when she heard the steps. The
heavy thudding steps that meant her mother was getting
up. She froze. Her heart was fluttering in her chest. Her
breathing came rapidly. Remembering the night before she
threw her knife from her hand as if it was red hot, then
tried to push the sticky mass of bread and margarin
underneath the bread wrapper. In her haste she was clumsy!
and only succeeded in pushing the loaf of Dinkum bread
and the sandwich off the table and on to the floor, already sticky from the sugar. -,
Tears of frustration stung her eyes. She felt her mother's
presence before she turned and faced her, her little grubby hands clenching and unclenching with nerves. Janine
looked at her coldly. Her daughter's face was exquisite!
even when she was terrified. Her eyes were a startling violet colour that made her look incredibly strong-minded.
Coupled with her dark brown hair and high cheekbones,
she looked like a miniature woman. Janine watched her
daughter sweep her hair away from her face with a gesture
that was more fitting to a sexy movie star than a four-year old girl. Her long neck and strong pointed chin were
88
shown to advantage by the gesture.
Janine chewed her lip, staring spitefully at her child. She knew that if she didn't speak Carla would get more and
more nervous, eventually breaking the heavy silence herself.
She noticed the black bruise on her arm and a wicked
light glowed in the back of her eyes. She would have to
keep the child's arms covered, because Roy would go crazy
if he thought his little angel had been whipped. She gritted her teeth and, aping the child's earlier movement, theatrically swept her own thick red hair off her face. She looked
like a sleek, tawny cat about to pounce on its prey. Carla
stared back at her, every nerve in her body tensed and
waiting. As her mother swept back her hair in a parody of
her own action she dropped her eyes. Everything she did
annoyed her mother. How she sat, how she stood, how
she ate, how she spoke. Every movement was ridiculed and
parodied.
She wished her father was home but he was very rarely
around much these days, and when he was her mother
fought with him. Carla would curl up on his lap and hold
her hands over her ears desperately trying to block out
their arguing. She loved her father and missed him when
he was away. She thought of him as a big tree, with strong
branches that enabled her to climb him, which she did
when he was home. With Roy holding her by the arms she
walked up his body until, reaching his shoulders, she
flipped over and landed on her feet, screeching with
laughter. She wished he was here now. Her mother daren't
touch her when her father was at home. The tension in the
kitchen had reached its peak and, stuttering in fright, the child spoke.
'Where's me dad?' As soon as she spoke the words she
flinched inside. Why had she mentioned him? She closed
her eyes tightly. Somewhere inside her was a weak hope
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that she had not spoken. She heard her mother's slippers
crunching across the sugar-strewn floor. She squeezed her
eyes shut as tightly as possible. As she felt her hair being yanked, she screamed. The pain was searing through her
scalp. Shaking her like a rag doll, Janine began to shout.
'You want your dad, do you? You little slut! He's out whoring as usual. Shacked up with some woman somewhere.
He don't care about you.'
Carla was trying to drag her mother's fingers from her
hair. Crying now, and frightened, she screamed back at her
mother, 'Please, Mum . . . Please . . . Let go of me hair . . .
You're hurting me!'
Sarah heard the screams from the entrance hall of the
flats. Grabbing Maura's hand she ran up the stairs and
banged on the front door with her fists, demanding to be
let in. Janine heard the banging and shouting and went
cold with fright. She threw Carla from her and looked
around her wild-eyed, like an animal seeking an escape
route. The state of the kitchen registered inside her mind
somewhere. Carla lay sobbing where she had landed,
holding her poor injured head in both hands. Her
granny's banging on the door was like music to her ears.
She watched her mother walk out of the kitchen as if in
a trance and a few seconds later Carla was nestled in her
granny's arms. Little kisses were planted on her wet face,
and murmured endearments and gentle strokes administered.
Gradually the child calmed down. A handful of her hair was lying on the floor.
Maura watched the whole thing wide-eyed. Janine was
now sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette. Maura took in the dirty sugar floor and the loaf of bread now
scattered everywhere, the filthy table and the stacks of
dirty dishes. She dragged her eyes from it all, disgusted. '
She didn't like Janine. Taking the weeping Carla out of the
90
kitchen Sarah motioned with her head for Maura to follow
her, which she did gratefully. Going into Carla's room,
Sarah laid the child on the bed. Maura watched as her
mother checked the little girl from head to toe, shaking
her head and tutting as she did it. Finally, Sarah turned to her own daughter.
'You stay here with Carla. Find some half-decent clothes
and get her dressed. I'll call you if I need you ... all
right?' Her voice was thick with emotion. Maura nodded
wordlessly. In the kitchen Janine sat at the table smoking
yet another cigarette. Pulling herself up to her full height, Sarah glared at her.
'Now then, Janine. I think you'd better tell me exactly
what's been going on here.' Her voice was determined.
Janine glanced at her and, all the hatred and animosity
falling from her, began to cry. Groaning as if in physical
pain, she rocked herself back and forth in her chair - her
teeth bared as if she was grinning at some diabolical joke.
Sarah stared at her. Where on earth was the beautiful, vital girl her son had married? How did this scruffy, dirty
looking individual come into being? The girl was only
twenty-two years old. She looked at the filthy kitchen. The windows were so grimy it was difficult for the sun to
penetrate them. The whole place stank. She had always
understood that Janine's mother was never off the doorstep, that's why she never came herself. Say what you like
about Eliza Grierson, she was a very particular housewife,
so how come the flat was in this state? She shook her head
in puzzlement. And just how long had Janine been beating
the child? By the looks of Carla she had not had a decent
meal for weeks.
Sarah blamed herself. She should have come over
sooner, she should have spoken to Roy, but how did you
ask a grown man about his home life? Once they left home
it was up to them surely? That had been her own mother's
philosophy. She was distressed, unsure how to go about
sorting this situation out. Suddenly Janine spoke.
'No one ever said it would be like this!' Her voice was
high. 'I hate it all... I hate the cooking and the cleaning and the dirt and the washing and the mending. I hate this
flat - it's like a prison to me. Sometimes I don't see
anyone for weeks on end. I'm so lonely.'
Sarah was nonplussed. Janine took a deep breath and all
the fears and worries inside her came tumbling out like a
great canker that had finally burst. 'Roy's never here. He
leaves me for days on end. And Carla . . . that bloody
Carla is like a permanent reminder of my bloody mistake!
If it hadn't been for her I wouldn't be here ... I wouldn't be here!'
She began crying again in earnest. Sarah went to her.
She hesitated a few seconds before putting her arm around
the girl's thin shoulders.
'What about your mother, Janine? I thought she came
to see you.'
She gave a harsh bitter laugh.
'Well, you thought wrong, Mrs Ryan. My mother, my darling mother . . . has nothing to do with me anymore.'
'But why, Janine? Why?'
'Oh, it's a long story. She told me that if I left Roy and
went home she would forgive me having Carla and everything
. . . forgive me bringing shame on them by marrying
a hoodlum. That's her choice of word not mine. And as
much as I hate Roy at times . . .' she began to cry again
'. . . I know that if I left him, I would never be happy
again. I can't live without him, Mrs Ryan! I love him so
desperately yet I can't seem to make him happy. When he's
here I start fights and drive him out of the house. I want
92
him to want me and he doesn't. I know he doesn't. . .'
'Dear God, Janine. What on earth's the matter with
you, girl? Look around you, for Christ's sake. Who'd want
to come home to this? It's like a bloody pig sty.' Janine's declaration of love for her son had softened Sarah up. She
reasoned that if she could help the girl, she could save
their marriage as well as the child. 'Look at yourself. You look like the wreck of the Hesperus! No woman likes
housework, but it's got to be done. At your age I already
had five children living and not the hope of a decent wage
coming. You've got it made if only you'd realise it.' She
began rolling up the sleeves of her best dress. 'I'll tell you what we'll do. First we'll have a cup of tea. Get ourselves nice and calm. Then we'll go through this place like a dose of salts. Scrub it out from top to bottom. With the two of
us working like blacks we'll have it done in no time. What
do you say?' Janine nodded but Sarah could see her heart
wasn't in it. She tried a different tack.
'Then you can go and get your lovely hair done while I
get some food cooked. Can you imagine Roy's face when
he comes home to everything nice and clean and homely?
I'll take the little one home with me for a few days to give you a break. Now what do you say to that?'
Janine brightened up and Sarah smiled but deep inside
she was worried. The only reason Janine had cheered up
was because she was taking her child from her. She sighed.
Even when your children grew up they still made
demands. You were never free of them. Wearily she put on
the kettle for the tea. Already she was tired, and by the
looks of the flat by the time she was finished she would be exhausted. Well, soonest done soonest mended, as her
mother used to say. She made the tea.
In the bedroom Maura had dressed Carla in a fairly
clean pinafore dress. All the child's socks were dirty so she
M
had turned a pair inside out and put them on her. They
looked pretty clean. She was sitting on the bed cuddling
Carla when her mother came in and told her to go to the
shops and get some bits and pieces. She was instructed to
take Carla with her and get her a big ice cream, and one
for herself also.
She was amazed at how quickly Carla seemed to get
over what had happened to her. At the mention of ice
cream the little girl became excited and animated, bouncing up and down on the bed. Maura felt so sorry for her.
Her arms were like sticks and the purple-black bruise
looked swollen and painful. Yet jumping on the bed she
could almost be a normal, happy little girl. She had seen
the pity in her mother's eyes and a great rage against
Janine had rushed through Maura. If she was older she
would go into that kitchen and tear her apart.
Instead she took the money from her mother and
walked sedately down to the shops with Carla, playing
with her and making her laugh. She knew that Carla was
coming home with her and decided that she would take
the little girl into her bed with her. After all, she was her aunt. She had a responsibility towards her.
Three hours later the little flat was sparkling clean. Janine seemed to get up some enthusiasm as her mother-in-law
chatted to her, telling her about her own difficult marriage, and how it was hard when one was young and
unsure of oneself. For the first time Janine felt that she had an ally, and it made all the difference to her. Sarah was
consciously getting her confidence, telling her what she
knew she wanted to hear.
When Janine finally opened up to her she felt the
loneliness and unhappiness emanating from her. Sarah
reproached herself. She should have visited her more
often, should have taken more of an interest in her - and
just wait until she went around to Eliza Grierson's! She'd
floor that bitch with what she had to say to her! The
supercilious old cow! Sarah was looking forward to it.
She'd 'hoodlum' her before she was much older! Next on
her agenda was that galloping big son of hers. Letting the
girl get into this state, and neglect that little child. She'd annihilate him as well! When she got her hands on the
bugger, that was. From what she'd gleaned from Janine he
came and went like a bloody ghost, flitting in and out as it suited him. Sarah's mouth set in a grim line. He wasn't too big for a clout round the ear hole, whatever he thought.
Janine came into the kitchen dressed up for her trip to
the hairdresser's. Sarah smiled at her. ,
'You look a picture, love. Like one of them girls on the
adverts! Now get yourself off and I'll fix you something
for your dinner.'
Janine smiled shyly at Sarah. She felt better than she had
for months. 'Thank you, Mrs Ryan. You've been so good
to me.' Her voice was trembling with emotion.
Sarah waved her hand impatiently. 'Don't you think it's
about time you called me Sarah? As for thanking me ...
for what? I should have been here for you a long time ago.
I'm ashamed of meself.'
Janine went to her and kissed her on the cheek.
'Thanks . . . Sarah.' She said her name timidly, as if it felt strange to address her so. Sarah just grinned at her.
'Get yourself off and I'll have a lovely meal waiting for
you, OK?'
Janine nodded and left the flat, feeling lighter hearted
than she had for many days. Sarah watched her go and
wiped her arm across her brow. She was sweating. It had
been a hot and sultry summer. In a way she was grateful to
Janine. Today had been the first time since he died she had 94
95
not been tortured with thoughts of her Anthony. She
looked out of the now sparkling window and heaved a
deep sigh. She began to cook the meal, briefly wondering
how her own household was coping without her. She
pictured Benjamin waiting for the food to run out of the
cupboard and into the frying pan, and smiled. It would
never occur to him to cook himself anything. Well, he
would just have to wait. She had more pressing things on
her mind.
As she prepared the vegetables, she heard the front door
open. Thinking it was Maura and Carla she called out:
'I'm in here, lovelies.'
'What you doing here, Mum?' Roy was standing in the
doorway, staring at the kitchen as if he was in the wrong
house.
Sarah smirked at him nastily. 'Well, well. The Wandering
Jew's returned to his home at last!'
She looked at his crumpled clothing, and the dark
shadow on his jaw. 'Obviously your new lady love isn't
looking after you very well.' ';
She slammed the saucepan of potatoes on to the draining
board. Roy stared at her warily. There was something funny
going on here.
'So, now that you're home, are you thinking of staying
at all? Or are you just going to get a change of gear and go off again on your merry way?' She gripped the handle of
the saucepan.
Roy looked at her, bewildered. 'Are you being funny?
Where's Janine and the kid?' Too late he realised his
mother's intention. The saucepan and potatoes hit him full
in the chest, the water drenching him.
Sarah ran to him, slipping on the wet floor. Righting
herself she slapped him across his face, a white hand print appearing as if by magic. 'I'll give you where's the kid
96
she's your daughter, Roy Ryan, and you fought hammer
and tongs to marry her mother. When I think of the trouble
you caused because you couldn't keep your private parts to
yourself! You've driven that poor girl to distraction.'
'I've what! Now you hold up a minute, Muwer.'
Sarah screamed at him: 'No, I bloody well won't, you
gormless eejit! Before that girl took up with you the most
she ever did in her life was get dressed up for church. She wasn't brought up to do all this.' She gestured around the
flat. 'She's been slowly going out of her mind stuck here
day in day out, and do you care? Not on your bloody
nellie! I'm ashamed to admit that you're my son! That
poor innocent little child has taken the brunt of everything.
She's got a bruise on her arm like she's been ten
rounds with Dempsey . . . and it's all your fault.'
Roy's mouth was hanging open with disbelief.
'Shut your bloody gob up! You look like a mental
deficient standing there gawking.'
Roy's mouth snapped shut. 'Janine won't do anything
around the place.'
'Shut your trap, I said, or you'll be getting another
smack off me otherwise. You're not too big for a good
hiding, you know.'
Roy wanted to laugh. He towered over his mother. He
had to admire her though. She stuck by her guns. Inside
him there was a little nagging doubt. What his mother had
said was true. He didn't try to understand Janine. Slowly
bending down Sarah picked up the saucepan. It was
dented on one side. She stifled an urge to brain her son
with it, and instead placed it in the sink. In unspoken
agreement mother and son began clearing up the debris.
Potatoes had flown to all four corners of the kitchen.
Water was everywhere. When it was all put right, Sarah
Pushed Roy into a chair. Outwardly, she looked her old
formidable self. Inside, she was gloating. She was actually enjoying herself! She had not had so much fun for a long
time, since before she buried Anthony.
She made a pot of tea. Putting a cup in front of Roy, she
said, 'I came here this morning because I knew that
something wasn't right. I sensed it at the funeral. The
child looked like the orphan of the storm, and Janine
looked terrible. I admit that I'm as much to blame, I
should have come to visit her, but I understood her
mother was never off the doorstep, so I left her to it.
When I came here this morning she was pulling the child's
hair out of her head.'
She watched Roy's mouth harden. 'And don't you come
the old biddy with me! If you had done your job properly,
been a decent husband, then all this could have been:
avoided.' She poked him in the chest. 'You are going to
get yourself sorted out, my man, and you're going to start
coming home at nights. I sat in many a night myself when
you were all younger, waiting for that piss artist of a father
of yours to come home, knowing in my heart that he was down the Bayswater Road, spending desperately needed money on old brasses. How I never got a dose of clap I'll never know! Well, I won't have any of my sons going the:
same way.'
Roy sat staring at her. He knew, as all the boys had
always known, that she had not-had the best of lives with
his father, but she had never before spoken to him like
this. He knew that she was trying to help him save his
marriage, and in a tiny part of himself he knew that she
was right. He had left Janine to fend for herself. He had
chosen to ignore the fact that she took out her frustration on Carla. But he just didn't know what to do. He was
ashamed that his mother had so accurately put her finger
on where he spent his nights. Since Michael had opened
98
hostess club in the West End, he had literally had his pick of women to spend the night with. It had been easier than
coming home to fighting and arguing. To a dirty home
and an unhappy wife.
But he still loved Janine. He had thought that taking
her away from her mother's influence would have encouraged
her to stand on her own two feet. Instead she had
leant even more on him and he just couldn't take it, so had chosen the easy way out. Now he had to face not only
Janine and little Carla, but his mother. He heard the front door open and braced himself, looking at his mother for
support. As Janine walked into the room, Sarah stood up
and smiled at her.
'You look an absolute angel, doesn't she, Roy?' She
poked him in the shoulder, her bright smile belying the
force she had used. Janine smiled uncertainly at him. The
tension in the kitchen was like an electric current. Janine did look like angel. Her hair was swept up off her finely
boned face, emphasising her long neck. Her deep green
eyes were made up expertly and there was a wistfulness in
them that pierced Roy's heart. She was a cracker, he
thought. She really looked the business. His mum was
right, Janine was like a high-spirited thoroughbred. She
needed gentle guidance. He got up from his chair and
held out his arms to her. Janine hesitated for a few seconds before she slipped into them.
Sarah watched, a satisfied expression on her face. Now
all she had to do was go and see Father McCormack and
Set him to sort out her Michael and she would be happy.
Half an hour later she left the two love birds, Maura and
arla in tow. Her next stop was the Church and Father
McCormack. She looked at her watch. If she hurried she would catch him as he finished six o'clock mass.
Sitting in the refectory with a glass of wine in front of her, Sarah poured out her heart to the priest.
'I feel ashamed to tell you this, Father, but Michael has
bought himself another club, this time a bordello.' She
sipped her wine to steady her voice. Then go there to ...
Well, I don't have to paint a picture, now do I?'
Father McCormack looked at her through shrewd eyes.
He was sixty years old and had been the parish priest for
over thirty years. His hair was grey and cut in an American crew-cut. He had heavy grey-flecked eyebrows that gave
him a wise demeanour and looked on religion the way
some men looked on marriage: as a necessary part of life.
You made the best of it. He put his large, soft hands
together.
'I see, I see.' His Irish accent was still thick even though he had left Ireland over forty years previously. 'Sure that Michael was always a difficult one. I can see why you're
worrying.'
'I think that if you had a word with him, Father . . .' Her voice trailed off. ;
'Well, Sarah, I'll do my best. But your Michael was
always a strong-minded fellow. He might not like the
interference.'
Sarah was determined that before she left this room she
would have an appointment to save her son's eternal soul!
She tried a different approach.
'Oh, Father, I know what people say about my Mickey,
but as you know yourself, stories get stretched in the
telling. All he needs is a little gentle guidance. If you were to talk to him, I'm sure he would listen to a fine man like yourself. Even when he was an altar boy, he always had " high regard for you.'
The priest raised his eyebrows. When Michael had been
an altar boy he had also stolen the lead from the church
100
roof! But he had the glimmer of a plan forming in his
mind, and it would please this poor soul sitting before
him. He decided to do as she asked.
'Hostess club, you say? Well, I think that a few words
from me are called for, as you say.' Sarah jumped in before he could change his mind.
'If you come to my house at eleven o'clock tomorrow
morning, I'll make sure that he's there.'
He smiled at her, showing tobacco-stained teeth.
'Eleven o'clock it is then. Now tell me, how are the other
children? I hear that all the older boys are driving big
expensive cars and living the life of Riley. They all work for Michael, I take it?'
'Yes, Father, that's true. But if you can help to sort out
Mickey, the others will follow suit, I'm sure.'
'Well, Sarah, we can only put our trust in the Lord.'
He looked up at the ceiling as if expecting to see him
floating there. 'As it says in the Bible, "God is no
respecter of persons", Romans 2-11. Michael Ryan may
be a big man on earth but in heaven he's just another of
God's children.'
Sarah smiled at him. There was nothing, she thought,
like a chunk of the Bible when spouted by a true believer.
She left a little while later, happier than she had been for a long time. Over the years her religion had been a great
comfort to her. As she had suffered one setback after
another - no money, another still birth, one or other of
the boys in trouble with the police - she had turned more
and more to the church. Benjamin was no good at all. If
she relied on him for anything, it never happened.
Whether it was her housekeeping or anything, he always
let her down. Michael, God love him, had been a good son in many ways. He had looked after his younger brothers and sister, he had made sure that she always had
enough money, but she had been hearing things of late
that had frightened her. Anthony's death had been the last
straw. She knew that her eldest son was involved in all
manner of criminal activities, that he was thought of as a
kind of mobster. She shuddered. She was all for a bit of
ducking and diving, that's how everyone lived in her
estimation, but from what she had gleaned recently about
her sons, it was a completely different lifestyle they were after. She had seen the effect that Michael had on the
people around and about. She herself was now treated like
visiting royalty when she went anywhere.
She could, to an extent, understand Michael's craving for recognition. She was shrewd enough to understand that the way he had been treated as a child would give him
the added drive and determination to better himself. But
she herself drew the line at prostitution. In her mind it was the ultimate degradation, and any man who could live on
the proceeds of it was the lowest of the low. She fervently hoped that Father McCormack would be able to talk some
sense into her son. The robbing was bad enough though
the insurance companies could afford the losses and
money had no soul. But the wilful destruction of young
lives was a different kettle of fish altogether. She had been shocked to read in the News of the World about the drugs
that were available now to youngsters. What on earth was
the world coming to? Young girls selling their bodies for
drugs.
In the war years and after, women had sold their bodies
to feed their children. That fitted in with Sarah's creed.
You could do anything to feed the children, to keep the
family fed or clothed. Even sell your body. But that had
been for women with no man to protect them, so they had
to do whatever they could and were respected for it. Sarah
herself knew many women who had moonlighted down
102
the Bayswater Road to supplement meagre war pensions
or National Assistance. What Michael was doing was
disgusting. He was putting them on the game, women and
young girls who would otherwise never have dreamt of
doing it. He was offering easy money, a far cry from the
days when it was a means to an end.
She watched Maura and Carla skipping in front of her.
Maura looked huge beside the tiny Carla. Dear Maura, she
had taken the poor little thing under her wing. Sarah only
hoped now that Janine and Roy sorted themselves out.
That it wasn't too late for her to take to her daughter. Oh, the worry of having children! A Jewish woman Sarah had
been friends with, before the war, used to say to her,
'When your children are young they tread on your feet.
When they get older they tread on your heart!' How right
she had been! The poor woman had died when she had
been bombed in the blitz. A direct hit. Sarah often
thought of her. Too many good people had died in the
war, had suffered in one way or another. She sighed. She
was dead tired. Now she had to go home and start her
own cooking and cleaning. Still, she consoled herself,
Father McCormack was coming in the morning and hopefully everything would right itself.
Father McCormack sat opposite Michael and appraised
him. There was no doubt about it, he was a fearsome
looking individual.
From his dark expertly cut hair to his handmade shoes
he was the epitome of the new young man. His single
breasted suit was made of mohair and he flicked a trace of
ash off his trousers with a perfectly manicured hand. His
closely shaven face was tense and his usually sensuous
mouth set in a grim line. The priest had guessed that he
was well aware of the object of this visit.
Sarah had made a pot of tea and left them together in
the overcrowded room. It was as if, after years of having
no furniture at all, Sarah had gone mad for it. The room
was filled with tables, knick-knacks, chairs, and a large
horsehair three-piece suite. Religious paintings were all
over the walls. The Sacred Heart, the Last Supper and the
Crucifixion stared down at them. Our Lady of Lourdes
looked at the doorway opposite her in a gesture of
supplication. On the large sideboard that covered nearly
the whole of one wall statues of the Virgin and Child, as
well as the holy family, stood silently. One particularly
macabre statue of Saint Sebastian, arrows poking out of
every limb, was given centre stage. The priest found his
eyes drawn towards it and made a conscious effort to stop
staring at it. He picked up his cup of tea and turned his
gaze back to Michael.
'I expect you know why I'm here?'
Michael sniffed and uncrossed his legs. 'Yeah.' His voice
was wary.
The priest nodded as if in understanding. 'Well,
Michael, if you know then it's pointless me droning on
now, isn't it?'
'Yeah.' This was said insolently. Michael's fear of priests and nuns was long gone.
Father McCormack sat forward in his chair and replaced
this cup on the table. His face hardened. He spoke in a low voice. 'What I am here for today is something completely
different. When your mother, good woman that she is,
came to see me yesterday I was not shocked to hear what
she had to say. I guessed that you were breaking the law in some way. I'm not a fool, you know. Anyway, that's all neither here nor there ... I want to speak to you as a man
of the world.'
Michael looked at him. His blue eyes were sceptical.
104
'What I'm after is a little donation.'
Michael sat up in the chair, stunned. 'A what!'
The priest became agitated. 'Whisht now, whisht. You'll
have your mother galloping in here else. As you know, I
am rather sympathetic to my countrymen. There's poor
Paddies in London even now, God love them, who have
been driven out of their homes by the Proddies. It's every
Irishman's duty to help these poor unfortunates.'
'Look, Father, just because my name's Ryan don't mean
I'm Irish.'
The priest banged his fist on the little table, causing the cups to jump in their saucers.
'Listen here, you, since nineteen-twenty the Catholics
have been discriminated against in Ulster, Belfast, all the North. They can't even get a council house out there! The
bloody Protestants run the whole fecking sheebang! I
collect money for the IRA so we can build up an army and
fight the bastards at their own game. One day, my laddo,
we'll be ready for the eejits. We forced them out of the
South and we'll fight the buggers in the North. We want
an Irish Free State that spans the whole of Ireland.'
The priest's eyes were alight. Michael stared at him as if
he was mad. He had heard stories of Ireland from the
cradle, as most Catholic children had. He could still hear
his granny singing 'Kevin Barry' on Saint Patrick's Day,
still remember the stories of the Easter Uprising and the
Famine. How his ancestors had left the meat that Queen
Victoria had sent over to them to rot in the streets rather than accept help from the English. But this was nineteen
sixty, for Christ's sake. Who gave a toss what was happening out there?
Father McCormack drank his tea. Wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand he spoke again.
'I know an awful lot about you, Michael Ryan. There's
nothing I can't find out if I want to. All I am asking is a little donation now and again. You'd be surprised at how
many people give money to the cause. The Americans have
regular collections in their bars and churches. Ireland is a poor country and needs all the help it can get.' '
Michael laughed.
'Supposing I give you some money. . . now and
again . . . what would you do in return?'
The priest took a handkerchief from the pocket of his
black cassock and mopped his forehead.
'I would tell your mother exactly what she wanted to
hear. If it came from me she would believe it. I can be a
very persuasive man.'
Michael ran his tongue over his lips, and shook his head.
'What about the poor orphans and the starving blacks?'
His voice was sarcastic.
'Sure, they would get a bit as well, God love them.
Though I think most of the blacks are in Notting Hill.'
Michael burst out laughing.
'All right then, Father. You've sold me. But I'm warning
you now, you've got to keep my muwer sweet.'
Father McCormack smiled.
'I will, Michael son.' He sighed heavily. 'Sure, it's a
terrible world we're living in today. Money makes it so
much easier. I remember this room when there was hardly
a thing in it... except children, of course. Your mother
always seemed to have plenty of those. Well, I must be off.
It's been grand chatting to you, Michael. I'll expect you at the Presbytery in a few days with your donation.' He held
out his hand. 'I won't give you a blessing ... I don't think you need one!'
Michael shook his hand. 'I have a feeling I've just been
conned, Father. An Irish Catholic Northern Ireland?
Donations to the IRA. . .?' He smiled. 'If it was anyone
106
else I'd kick their arse out of the door.'
The priest's face straightened and he looked meaningfully
at Michael.
'Don't mock what you don't fully understand. Your
religion is the mightiest in the world. Remember this? Dominus illuminatio men, et salus men, quern timebo?
Michael translated it for him, smiling as he did so. 'The
Lord is the source of my light and my safety, so whom
shall I fear?'
'Would you listen to that! You remembered your Latin.'
'Yeah, I remember it all right. And I don't fear anyone,
not even God. You remember that.'
Father McCormack digested the veiled threat gracefully.
'How could I forget? But I'll tell you one thing before I
go. One day the troubles in Northern Ireland will be
known all over the world, and the British will have to listen to us. When that day comes you remember my words,
Michael, because we won't forget our friends, whoever
they are.'
With that the priest picked up his hat and left the room.
Michael watched him leave. He felt like laughing out
loud. The old boy had lost his marbles somewhere along
the line. Still, if it kept his mother off his back, he didn't care. He picked up the tray of tea things and took them to
the kitchen where he glanced at the clock. If he got his
head down for a couple of hours he would be nice and
fresh for the evening. His new club was raking the money
in. After the lean war years, people wanted a bit of fun.
And he would make sure they got it!
'You look nice, Maws. Where you off to?' Sarah's voice
was tight.
'I'm going up Tiffany's with me mates.'
'Tiffany's? Where's that?'
Sarah's voice had taken on the tone of an interrogation.
Garry answered for Maura.
'It's in Ilford. The old Allie Pallie.'
'What's she going up there for? What's wrong with the
Hammersmith Palais?
Maura sighed and tossed back her hair. 'There's nothing
wrong with round here, Mum. I'm just meeting some of
the girls from work, that's all.' Her voice was beginning to rise and she tried in vain to control it.
Sarah wiped her hands on her apron and stared at
Maura, her face wrinkled in concern. 'Well, it's a bloody
long way to go if you ask me.'
'Well, I'm not asking you, Mum. I'm nearly seventeen
and I can do what I like.'
Sarah walked towards her daughter. Garry tried to pull
her back, holding her arm gently.
'Let me tell you something, Madam. You can't do what
you sodding well like . . .'
Her diatribe was cut off by Michael who stormed into
the kitchen. The constant bickering between Maura and
his mother was beginning to get on everyone's nerves.
'For Christ's sake, Muwer, give it a rest. Let the girl go
out if she wants to. Anyway . . .' he put his arm around his mother's shoulders '. . . Garry's going up there tonight.
He can give her a lift on the back of his scooter.'
'I'm not getting on the back of his scooter with all my
new gear on!' Maura's voice was horrified.
'Just as well, 'cos I ain't going up the Palais.'
'Tiffany's.'
'Tiffany's then. I'm going to the pictures with me
mates.'
Maura smiled triumphantly. 'Well, that's settled then.'
She picked up her shoulder bag. 'Gawd Blimey, it's worse
than living in Scotland Yard here. Where you bin? What
you been doing? What did you talk about? Did he kiss
you? I wouldn't mind, but I can't get a bloody boyfriend!
As soon as they find out who I am they shy off.
' "You Mickey Ryan's sister?" they say. "Yes," says I,
and watch them poodle off down the road. So stop
worrying about me getting in the club, Muwer, I don't
get the bloody chance!'
She snatched her coat off the kitchen table and stormed
out of the kitchen, shouting, 'And if by any chance I do
need an escort, it won't be my bloody brother. Ta rah!'
She walked out of the front door and gave it a satisfying
slam behind her. In the kitchen Michael and Sarah stared
at one another, shocked. Garry went to the sink and
washed his hands. In the back of his mind he was cheering
Maura on.
'Well, I never, Michael. Did you hear the way she
carried on?'
He sighed heavily. 'I think the whole of Notting Hill
heard it.'
110
Garry wiped his hands on a tea towel and faced his
brother. 'She's got a point though, ain't she?'
Michael looked at him. It was like looking at a miniature
version of himself. 'What do you mean by that?' His voice was cold.
Garry plucked up every bit of courage he had.
'Well, the way that everyone's at her. If I was her, it
would drive me up the wall.'
'If you was her you'd be getting the same treatment.
She's our sister, our responsibility. If we don't look after her, who will? You want to put your brain in gear before
you open your trap, Garry. Our Geoff was right about
you. He said an original thought in your head would die
of loneliness. After hearing the crap you just come out
with, I'm inclined to agree with him.'
Garry's face was scarlet with embarrassment.
'Come on, you two, get a move on or you'll be late.'
Sarah was worried. She knew that Michael was capable of
attacking Garry for what he had said. In Michael's mind it
was tantamount to mutiny and he would not stand for
anyone disagreeing with him.
He took a comb from the pocket of his suit and stood at
the sink. Looking in the mirror that was perched precariously on the windowsill, he combed back the hair that
hung over his eyes. Then, turning to Garry, he pointed the
long steel comb at him.
'In future, Bruv, keep your nose out of what don't
concern you.'
He kissed his mother lightly on the forehead and walked
out of the room. Garry was fuming inside. Sensing this,
Sarah went to him.
'He don't mean it, Gal. But he's right about Maura, you
know. You should all look out for your sister.'
Garry shrugged her arm off and picked up his crash
helmet. 'We're not looking out for her, Mother. We're
trying to own her, and that's a completely different thing.'
When he had gone Sarah carried on with her chores, but
Garry's words stayed with her all evening.
Maura breathed a sigh of relief as she slammed the front
door. It was getting more claustrophobic in that house by
the day. If it wasn't for Margaret she would go mad. They
were as close as two friends could be. They worked in the
same office, they ate their lunch together, they went down
the Lane on Sundays and the Roman Road on Fridays.
The only cloud on the horizon was a boy called Dennis
Dawson. Margaret had been seeing him for nearly a year
and Maura had the feeling that they were going to get
married. Still, she consoled herself, she would always have Margaret as a friend.
Tonight the two girls were meeting Dennis and one of
his mates up Tiffany's. She had nearly had heart failure at the thought of Garry going up there. That was all she
needed. The only reason they were going there was
because they could be pretty sure that one or other of her
brothers would not be up there and Maura would have a
bit of privacy. How she hated the way her brothers
protected her, and her mother was all for it. She was
beginning to dislike her mother. The last few years Sarah
had practically suffocated her only daughter. Maura wished
that she could meet a nice bloke and get right out of it. If she married, at least she would have a life of her own, away from prying eyes. She daydreamed sometimes about finding
a little flat but knew they were just that - daydreams.
There was no way she would ever be allowed to go and
live alone.
She saw Margaret waiting for her outside her house and
she gave her a little wave. They made a funny pair. Maura
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was tall, nearly five ten, and big-boned. She was what her
father jokingly called 'a good eyeful', with her large breasts and wide hips. Her long blonde hair was backcombed up
into a beehive, kept firmly in place with sugar and water,
making her look even taller - like an amazon. Her eyes,
still a startling blue, were now heavily made up, with black liner and white eye shadow, the false eyelashes giving her a startled doe look. In her short shirt waist dress and white winklepicker shoes she was the height of fashion.
Margaret on the other hand was still under five feet tall.
Her orange-red hair was worn bouffant, and her orange
lipstick made her look like a small circus clown. She was
very flat-chested but had big legs and a large behind.
When they were younger the boys in the streets whistled
the Laurel and Hardy music as they passed. Nowadays
they took no notice if people stared at them, they were
used to it.
'You managed to escape then?'
'Oh, don't talk to me about it, Marge.'
Margaret laughed her billy goat laugh.
'You'd better check in your bag. It might be bugged.'
'Don't even joke about it, Marge, I wouldn't put it past
them.'
They began to walk to the bus stop.
'What's Dennis's mate like?'
'Well, he's tall and very good-looking. He's twenty-four
years old.'
'What job's he got?' ;'
Margaret shook her head. 'Dunno. Dennis did tell me
but we was too busy . . . well, you know.'
'No, I don't know. And you know that. Come on,
Marge, tell me. What's it like?'
Margaret pursed her bright orange lips. 'What?' Her
voice was innocent.
'You know very well, Marge. A bit of the other?'
'Maura Ryan! I am not discussing my sex life at a bus
stop!'
Maura burst out laughing. 'Why not? It's never stopped
you before!' ' '
Both girls laughed and pushed each other in the chest.
'Come on, tell me.' Maura's face straightened and she
looked earnestly at her little friend.
'Well, I've only done it a couple of times as you know.
But... I like it. It's nice, but a bit embarrassing. Dennis said that I'll get over that. In fact, he says I'm a natural!'
The last piece of information was given with a toss of her
head.
'Oh, hark at the Duchess of Duke Street.' They both
laughed again. The bus pulled up and they jumped on it,
going upstairs so they could smoke.
'Two to Holborn, please.' As they lit their cigarettes
Maura felt the familiar annoyance wash over her. This was
another bugbear. Her brothers all smoked yet when
Mickey had seen his sister smoking he had snatched the
cigarette from her hand, grinding it out with his heel,
shouting at her that only slags smoked. He had done it in
the street in front of everyone. She had thought that she was going to die of shame. Now she could only smoke when well away from them.
They got off the bus at Holborn and got a train to Mile
End, from there taking another train to Ilford. They were
in Tiffany's at nine forty-five. If they got in before ten it cost only a pound. They went straight to the toilets and!
repaired their makeup and hair. As they came out of the
toilet and into the bar Maura's heart stood still in her
chest. Standing beside Dennis was the best-looking man
she had ever seen in her life. She looked at Margaret with a question in her eyes and when she nodded felt a burst of
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happiness like she had never felt before.
'Hello, darling.' Dennis kissed Margaret on her cheek.
'Maura, this is me mate Terry. Terry, this is Maura.'
She shook the stranger's hand timidly. Terry Petherick
was well over six foot. It seemed strange to Maura to look
up at someone. He had dark blond hair yet his eyes were a
light brown. Maura was besotted after one smile.
'Would you like a drink?' His voice was deep and it sent
her pulses racing. ' ..
'Please.' Her throat was dry with nerves. 'I'll have a
scotch and dry.'
She was surprised at her answer. What on earth had
made her say that? She drank half of bitter normally, but
somehow she couldn't say that to him. He would think
her terribly unsophisticated.
'Ice?'
She nodded at him. As he took Margaret and Dennis's
orders she watched him. When he went to the bar she
whispered into Margaret's ear, 'He's gorgeous!'
At the bar Terry Petherick was thinking about Maura.
He had been surprised at how big she was, but she was
absolutely fantastic. She was incredibly sexy and didn't
even realise it! As she had walked towards him he had felt
a physical pain in his guts. She was like one great big
present, just waiting to be unwrapped. He paid for the
drinks and took them back to the others.
Maura gulped at her drink. The music seemed very loud
all of a sudden. They were playing a Beatles number. 'Love
Me Do' seemed to be reverberating off the walls. Maura
could see Terry's lips moving but could not make out a word. She smiled and gestured that she couldn't hear him.
He laughed, showing perfect white teeth, and putting his
mouth to her ear, he shouted: 'Another drink?'
She looked at her glass and was amazed to find it was
empty! She smiled and nodded.
When he brought her back another drink he moved
close to her trying to have a conversation. 'Do you come
here often?'
'No. Only in the mating season.'
The record ended just as she spoke and her voice caused
people to stare at them. Terry's eyebrows went up and she
felt herself blushing furiously. Why had she said that? It
was a silly saying of Margaret's. Now he would think she
was a tart. She could have kicked herself. She concentrated on her drink to hide her embarrassment, deciding that
whisky was all right. Just like drinking ginger beer really.
She noticed that it was getting very hot all of a sudden
Terry grinned at her ruefully. 'Another?' ;
She was aware of the disbelief in his voice even above
the din. He bought her another drink and she sipped it. A
slow dance came on. Putting her glass on the bar, she went
on to the dance floor with him. As it was quieter now, he
began to talk to her.
'I thought I'd better dance with you in case you wanted
another drink.' His voice was jocular.
'I don't drink shorts very often.'
'I thought so. Are you nervous or something?'
'Yes . . . Yes, I am.'
He smiled a funny little lopsided grin and pulled her
closer. She could feel his heartbeat against her breast and it gave her a feeling of longing she had never experienced
before. She closed her eyes.
'What do you do for a living?' he asked.
'I work with Marge. We're typists for a firm of accountants in Charing Cross.'
'That's right. I remember Dennis telling me now. I'm a policeman.'
He felt the change in her.
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'You're a what!' Her voice sounded shocked.
'I said, I'm a policeman. What's wrong with that?' He
was puzzled. Maura could hear it in his tone.
'Nothing! It's just that I've never met a policeman
before.' God forgive me for lying, she thought.
He relaxed. 'Well, don't worry. I'm not on duty so I
won't arrest you. Not tonight anyway.'
She tried to smile at him. Bobby Darin was crooning
'Dream Lover' and Maura stepped back into Terry's arms.
They finished the dance in silence. When they went back
to Dennis and Margaret, Maura picked up her drink and
slugged it straight back. She signalled to Margaret and
both girls went into the toilets.
As soon as they were in there Maura said: 'He's only an
old Bill.'
'He ain't!' Margaret was stunned.
'Oh yes he is, Marge. What am I gonna do?'
Margaret put her finger to her bottom lip. Her tiny
heart-shaped face was screwed up as she thought the
problem over. She looked up at Maura.
'Do you like him, Maws?'
'Oh, yes, Marge. But a filth . . . Jesus!' Maura was nearly in tears.
'Then it's simple. Just don't tell him about your brothers.'
'Do you honestly think I could get away with it?'
Margaret grinned. 'It's a doddle!' Her green eyes widened
as she thought of a plan. 'Look, Dennis obviously
ain't said nothing to him about your family and I'll put
him wise. He don't see that much of Terry anyway. You
just carry on as if nothing's happened. Let's face it, your brothers are more well known on their own turf than
around this way. Anyway, you're not responsible for them,
are you?'
'No, Marge ... I know that. But I would feel a bit
snidey pretending that I don't know them.'
Margaret rolled her eyes at the ceiling. 'Look, pea brain,
you're not denying them . . . you're just not mentioning
them. There's a difference. Like in confession when I tell
Father McCormack that I have sinned in a personal
manner - I don't tell him I'm having it off, do I? It's just a matter of not letting on, that's all.'
Maura still wasn't convinced. :
Margaret sighed. 'Well, it's up to you, Maws. But I
think he's lovely, and you can tell a mile off that he likes you. Now let's get back to them before they send a search
party out looking for us.'
Later in the evening Maura was sitting in a small
Chinese restaurant with Terry. What Margaret had said
earlier had been going through her mind over and over
again. She tried to reason with herself. Just because he was a policeman didn't mean she couldn't go out with him,
surely? She shook her head to clear it. It was all the whisky she'd had. She was drunk.
'Do you come from a large family, Maura?'
'Oh, the usual, Terry. A few brothers, that's all. How
about you?'
'There's only me now. I had a brother but he died.'
Maura's heart went out to him.
'Oh . . . I'm sorry. One of my brothers died. I know
how you must feel.'
'We lost Joey to cancer when he was twelve. I was
sixteen at the time. Funny, though, I still miss him. How
did you . . .?'
Maura looked at the tablecloth.
'He got run over. I was only a kid. I don't really
remember it.' Another lie, she thought. Not a day went by
but she saw Anthony's face, and superimposed on it the
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1
face of Stavros, smirking slightly as he had been in the
cemetery.
No one in her family had been the same since
Anthony's funeral. Her mother and father had aged
dramatically overnight. Michael and the boys had
become harder, more violent somehow. As for herself,
she just missed him. Sometimes in the middle of a
celebration, Christmas or Easter, she would think of him
and the knowledge of how he had been murdered would
cast a shadow over everything.
The food arrived. As they served themselves from the
many little dishes, Maura surveyed her companion. She
could really get to like Terry and the thought frightened
her. She was going to murder Margaret tomorrow, going
off with Dennis and leaving them like that. Now he had to
take her home whether he wanted to or not.
'Eat up, Maura.' She smiled at him and brightened up.
He wouldn't have asked her out for a meal if he didn't like her, she reasoned.
'Sorry. I was miles away.'
'Maura?'
'Yes.'
'Can I see you again? I don't think I've enjoyed myself
so much with a girl for ages.'
He smiled at her with that lopsided grin and she was
undone. Her whole body seemed to tingle with expectation.
He liked her!
'Of course you can. Whenever you want!' She popped a
prawn ball into her mouth and bit on it, showering him
with sweet and sour sauce.
'Oh, I'm sorry!' She leant across the table to wipe his
face with her napkin and knocked his glass of wine into his lap. Mortified at what she had done she leapt out of her
seat and collided with a waiter, sending the plate of egg
fried rice he was carrying flying through the air. She stood in the restaurant with her hand over her mouth and tears
in her eyes. Terry burst out laughing, causing all the
people in the restaurant to take their eyes off Maura and
begin staring at him. He laughed so hard that he had a fit
of coughing which, in turn, caused big tears to roll down
his face. He stood up and, throwing a handful of money
on the table for the bill, led a scarlet-faced and humiliated Maura out of the restaurant and into the night air.
'Now can I trust you with my car? You won't knock my
wheels off or pull my radio to pieces?' Although it was said in a jocular fashion it was too much for Maura. The
whisky, the heat, the Chinese food, the humiliation, and
finally the cold night air all took their toll. She threw up in the gutter.
Terry rubbed her back as she heaved. When she had
finished she leant against his car, gulping in the cold air.
Her forehead had small beads of sweat on it that glistened
in the lamp light. Her mascara was smudged under her
eyes. One of her eyelashes had come unstuck. Gently he
pulled it from her eyelid. Giving her his hanky, he went
back to the restaurant and came back with a glass of iced
water.
She stood there dejectedly looking at him, convinced
that he would never want to lay eyes on her again. She
looked at the red wine stain on his trousers and felt tears prickling her eyes. She frantically blinked them away.
'Feeling better now?' His voice was gentle. He handed
her the glass of water. 'Drink this down and you'll feel
much better, I promise you.'
She shook her head.
'Come on, drink it.' The authority in his voice Surprised
her and she took the glass and drank the water. The
coolness eased her throat which was burning. She handed
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the glass back to him and he returned it to the restaurant.
She breathed deeply, trying to settle her nerves.
He came back and unlocked the car, helping her into
the passenger seat. As he pulled away from the kerb, he
said, 'I think you drank too much.'
'It was the whisky. I've never drunk it before. Normally
I drink a half of bitter.'
She looked at his profile. He looked solid, not just
physically but mentally, with an air about him that denoted an inner strength. He smiled.
'Well, if it's any consolation, it happens to us all! I can remember the first time I got drunk on Scotch. I threw up
all over my mum's slippers! Never touched the bloody
stuff since, so you're in good company.' He poked himself
in the chest. 'I can't take my drink either.'
He felt in his jacket pocket and brought out a pack of
Juicy Fruits. 'Have one of these. It will freshen your
mouth up.'
She took one gratefully.
'Where do you want dropping off? I know you live in
Notting Hill.'
'Do you know the Bramley Arms?' He nodded. 'Well,
there will do. I live nearby.'
'I'll take you right to your door.'
'No . . . That's all right. It's my dad. You know.'
He glanced at her and grinned. 'I get it. You're supposed
to be coming home with Margaret.'
'That's it. He's a bit old fashioned.'
They chatted on until they came to the Bramley Arms.
The water and the Juicy Fruit seemed to have done the
trick because she felt great. And better still, the big hunk of man beside her made her feel terrific. He stopped the
car and turned to face her.
'When will I see you then?'
'Whenever you like.'
He smiled at her eagerness. 'Let's see.' He put his head
to one side as if he was thinking, closing one eye and
giving his little grin. 'Tomorrow's Sunday. How about
Monday night? I'll pick you up here at about seven-thirty.
Is that all right?'
She nodded and he pulled her into his arms and kissed
her, then waved his finger in her face and said: 'And no
drinking whisky!'
She grinned and got out of the car.
'See you, Maura.'
"Bye.' She watched the car pull away. He wanted to see
her again! She felt as if she could float up into the starry night. It was two in the morning and she walked the short
distance to her home as if on a cushion of air. He wanted
to see her again! She couldn't believe her luck!
She had a little nagging worry in the back of her mind
about Mickey, but pushed it impatiently away. As Margaret
had said, what people didn't know couldn't hurt them.
Anyway, Mickey and the boys weren't really bad. They
were just tearaways.
As she pushed the key into the lock of the front door
she heard a row going on. She walked into the kitchen just
in time to see Benny punch Garry in the face. She ran and
stood between them.
'What on earth's going on?'
'Get out me way, Maws. I'm gonna kill that little runt.'
'Calm down, Benny. What's he done?'
'Calm down? You dozy cow! He's poached my fucking
bird, that's what he's done. The no good dirty ponce!'
Garry pushed Maura out of the way and faced his
brother. 'She ain't your bird. She can't stand you, she told me that herself.'
With that Benny launched himself at Garry. As they
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fought, their mother and father came into the room,
followed by Leslie and Lee who separated their brothers.
'What the hell's all this row about?' Benjamin's voice
was slurred as usual. He was still half drunk.
'That wanker's poached me bird, that's what.'
'For the last time, Benny, she ain't your bird.'
Leslie threw Garry across the kitchen where he fell
against the fireplace. He pulled himself up slowly. Leslie
pointed at him.
'What's her name?' -
'Mandy Watkins.'
Leslie and Lee looked at one another and burst out
laughing. 'Not Mandy Watkins from Bletchedon Street?'
Benny and Garry nodded warily. There was something
going on here.
'What's she doing, Les, making a career out of the
Ryans?' Lee and Leslie began hooting with glee.
'What do you mean?' This from a sullen Benny.
The and Lee's had her, and Geoffrey. Me and Lee had
her at the same time. She's a dog.'
'You're lying, you . . .' Garry went for Leslie who
grabbed his arms and held him tightly, pushing his arms
up behind his back expertly.
'Ain't we had her, Lee?'
He nodded, still smiling, then picked up a pack of
cigarettes from the table and lit one.
'I take oath that we've all had her. Christ almighty, she's had more pricks than a second-hand dart board!'
'That's enough!' Sarah's voice echoed off the kitchen
walls. 'I won't have this kind of talk. If you have no respect for me, your mother, at least have some for your sister.'
All the boys looked shamefaced.
Leslie spoke. 'Sorry, Mum. We're out of order.'
'Who wants a cuppa?' Maura tried to defuse the situation.
The boys all nodded but Benjamin and Sarah went back to
bed. Maura put the kettle on.
'Have a good time, Sis?'
'All right, Garry, I suppose.'
As she made the tea she thought about the way her
brothers had talked about Mandy Watkins. She had known
Mandy all her life. The papers might talk about the
swinging sixties but the nearest most girls of Maura's age
got to it was in the clothes they wore. If her brothers even suspected that she had been with a boy, all hell would
break loose. She put their tea on the table. Benny and
Garry were bosom pals once again. Kissing all the boys,
she made her way up to bed, taking her tea with her. Her
last thought before she fell asleep was the reaction she
would get if they knew that she had been out with a
policeman. She didn't care, though. She couldn't wait
until Monday!
Margaret and Maura were in Maura's bedroom, painting
their nails. They had worked out a system. On the nights
that Maura saw Terry, Margaret would come to the
house and they would get ready there as if they were
going out together. In reality, Maura was meeting Terry
and Margaret, Dennis. Maura had been seeing Terry for
nearly five months, and miraculously had managed to
keep him a secret. Sometimes though a terrible feeling of
dread came over her. She knew that she was playing with
fire but couldn't help herself. She was absolutely besotted with him.
'How's you and Den these days, Marge?'
'Great! We're getting engaged.'
Maura's eyes rounded. 'You're joking?' .;
'Oh no I ain't! We get on so well. He's got a good job
and mine ain't that bad. We're thinking of saving up a
deposit for a little house.'
Maura was impressed. '
. 'Good luck to you, Marge. Dennis is lovely, and you can
see how much he thinks of you.' :
'He's all right, I suppose.' Margaret was embarrassed.
'How about you and Terry? You doo-dahed yet?'
'No, we most certainly have not!' Maura's voice
sounded shocked even to her own ears. 'No disrespect to
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you, Marge, but I want to save myself for when I get
married.' Even as she spoke she knew she was being a
hypocrite. She wanted to do it more than anything in life.
Margaret laughed. 'You can't fool me, Maws. You're
more worried about your brothers. It's 1966, for Christ's
sake. Saving yourself for marriage, my Aunt Nellie!'
Maura ignored the jibe and started to apply mascara. 'I
have all me life to do that.'
'That's just it though, ain't it? You don't! Imagine still
doing it at forty!' Both girls laughed. To them forty
seemed positively ancient.
'I'll think about what you said, Marge. Now can we
drop the subject?'
'Be a damn sight better if you dropped your drawers and
got it over with!'
'Marge!' Maura's voice had lost its joviality now and she
sounded annoyed.
'All right, all right, keep your hair on! I'm sorry!'
'I should bloody well think so and all! You're obsessed
with it.'
Margaret glanced at her watch and jumped off the bed
'Come on, Maws. Get a move on. It's nearly a quarter past
seven.'
Both girls scrambled into their coats. It was October
and the nights had turned very cold. They hurried down
the stairs. Michael and Geoffrey were in the hallway.
Geoffrey whistled at them.
'You two look nice. Who's the lucky lads then?' Maura
thought she was going to faint with fright.
Mickey glanced at Margaret and chucked her under the
chin. 'You might be little, Margie, but you poke out in all the right places.'
Sarah's voice stopped Margaret from having to answer.
'Will you leave the poor girl alone! I don't know what
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comes over you sometimes, Michael. You can see she's
embarrassed.'
He picked Margaret up and hugged her. 'She knows I'm
only joking, don't you, Margie?' Margaret smiled shyly
and nodded her head. He placed her gently on the floor
and turned to Maura.
'Now you, Princess, you look absolutely gorgeous!' He
frowned. 'I wish you'd lay off the make-up, though.'
Maura rolled her eyes up to the ceiling. 'Everyone wears
their make-up like this, Mickey. It's the fashion.' Her
voice, as usual when talking to Michael, was strained.
'Well, I think it suits her.' This from Garry who had just
come in the front door. 'You look a cracker, girl.'
'Thanks, Gal.' Maura smiled gratefully at him. He was
the only brother who allowed her to live her own life. He
worked for Michael but wasn't as subservient towards him
as the other boys. And though Michael acted as if he was
annoyed with Garry when he spoke out of turn, Maura
also got the impression that he admired Garry for it.
Geoffrey snatched the books Garry was carrying from
under his arm.
Garry and Geoffrey were the only readers in the family.
They shared a common bond, a love of literature. The
other boys revelled in baiting them about it, but in a
good-natured way.
Michael put on his best voice and said, 'And what is one
reading this week?' "
Garry grimaced at him.
'I've read this, Gal. It's quite good. Heavy going at first, but then you can get into it.'
'I've read it before, Geoff. I like Voltaire.'
'I like revoltaire.' Michael parodied Garry's voice.
Everyone laughed. Geoffrey looked at Michael.
'In Candide it says, "If we do not find anything
pleasant, at least we shall find something new." A very
astute man. It's for that reason people like us read, ain't it, Gal?'
'Oh, for Gawd's sake, don't start on all that crap!'
Mickey's voice was full of fun. 'I've read a few books in my time, and there's one thing I've learned . . . there's a
difference between education and being well read.'
'Come on, Marge, before Robin Day turns up to join in
the debate!'
'You saucy cow! Where you off to and we'll give you a
lift'
'Oh . . . we're just off to get the train to Holborn."
'We'll drop you off. Come on then, Geoff, let's make
tracks.'
Maura and Margaret exchanged dismayed looks.
'That's all right, Mickey. We don't want to put you out.'
'You're not. See you all.' He kissed his mother on the
cheek. As he passed Garry he pretended to punch him in
the arm. 'See you later, book features.'
'Tah rah, Mickey.' Garry took his books back from
Geoffrey.
Inside the Mercedes, Margaret and Maura sat quietly in
the back. Maura felt panic building inside her. She was
meeting Terry at Holborn, and prayed her brothers would
not see him there. If he came over to them she would have
to introduce him, and that thought was enough to bring
on near hysteria.
Michael's 280 sports car pulled out of Lancaster Road and
into Bramley Street. It was already dark. As he turned the
corner a police car pulled out in front of them. Slamming on the brakes, the car skidded to a halt. It was obvious to
Michael and Geoffrey that the car had been waiting for
them. A policeman waved Michael over to the side of the road. His face dark with temper, he parked the car.
128
A plainclothes policeman got leisurely out of the Panda
car and walked across the road to them. He looked at the
tax disc on the windscreen and motioned Michael to wind
down his window. 'Insurance certificate, please.' Michael
already had it in his hand.
The policeman took it and studied it.
'Well, well, well. I never thought I would see a Ryan
driving a new Merc with all the rent paid.'
'Well, officer, we live and learn, don't we. Now fuck
off!'
'That's not very nice, Mickey. You should have a bit
more respect for the boys in blue.' The voice dripped
sarcasm. 'It looks like pimping in the West End is a
lucrative business. Who's that in the back? A couple of new girls?'
The policeman was knocked off his feet as Michael
jumped from the car.
Geoffrey was trying to drag him back by holding on to
his overcoat. He could see what the police were trying to
do. They wanted Mickey to lose that famous temper of his
so they could legitimately nick him. '-.;
'That's my sister you're talking about, you ponce!'
Two uniformed policemen got out of the Panda car and
joined their boss. Geoffrey got out of the car and stood in front of Michael, willing him to calm down. If Mickey
went berserk here there were too many witnesses.
Michael pushed him out of the way. 'No one talks about
my family like that and gets away with it. Do you hear
me?'
The two uniforms stood in front of their boss to protect
him. They were both terrified. It was true what they had
heard: he was crazy all right. 'Mad Mickey' they called
him. Since the Krays had been sent down, Mickey Ryan
was the Number One. The only one left of all the big-time
Crooks. And unlike the Krays and the Richardsons,
Michael Ryan was as cunning as a fox.
'oh that's your sister in there, is it? I'm sorry, Michael. It was an easy mistake to make. I should have guessed because you don't have a lot of time for girls, do you?' He was goading again. He noticed that the veins were standing
out on Michael's forehead and against his will felt a
surge of apprehension. Geoffrey tried to save the situation.
He grabbed Mickey's arm.
'they're trying to wind you up. Ignore them. If you
blo your top, they'll nick you double quick.'
Michael's breathing was returning to normal. Geoffrey
faced the plainclothes officer. 'Look, what do you want?'
The man ignored him and carried on talking to Michael.
'Can't your club run without you? I heard you had a very
good doorman. Gerry Jackson, ain't it? Another brainless
Mick. . .
Michael shook his head in disbelief. ,"
'If I'm not mistaken, you're Detective Inspector Murphy,
ain't you? So you would know all about brainless Micks,
wouldn't you?'
The two uniforms laughed and the Inspector was
annoyed. 'I wasn't born in Ireland, Ryan.'
'neither was I, nor any of my brothers. Neither was
Gerry Jackson, by the way. Now why don't you take these
two little boys home? It's way past their bedtime.' The two
uniforms sobered up instantly. Michael was calm now.
Michael got out of the car and went to him.
'Can my brothers and I go now, please?'
The uniforms were giving her the once-over. One of them smiled at her.
'Who are you smiling at?' Michael's voice was loud. The
uniform was in a quandary. He didn't want to
answer Michael, but at the same time didn't want to look
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like a coward. He was saved from answering by the DI.
'Very attractive girl, Michael.' He smiled at Maura,
feeling a little bit sorry for her. He looked at her feet. In her winkle picker shoes they looked enormous. 'Do your
feet go right to the end of those?'
He tried to sound jocular. She was only a kid. He had a
daughter about that age himself. Maura looked at him
with the arrogance of youth.
'Do their heads go right to the top of their helmets?'
She jerked her head in the uniforms' direction.
Everyone looked at her in amazement. Michael and
Geoffrey burst out laughing, surprised at Maura's front,
but proud of her all the same.
'Now, Mr Murphy, can we go? Or would you like to ask
us some more questions? Only I don't know about you,
but we're very busy people.' She was as surprised as
everyone else at her outburst. But she was annoyed. What
gave this man the right to speak to people like he did! She would bet her last pound that her Terry didn't carry on
like that. She got back into the car with Margaret. Now
the excitement had worn off she was shaking.
She heard the DI saying, 'I'm gonna have you, Ryan.'
Michael laughed softly. 'Yeah, Murphy. Of course you
are.'
Without bothering to speak again Michael and Geoffrey
got back in the Mercedes. The three police stood watching
them. Murphy knew when he was beaten and decided to
retreat on this occasion. He made a mental note to have
Maura Ryan checked out. Young girl she might be, but
she was as streetwise as her brothers. She had made a fool
of him and he wouldn't let that go. Once the uniforms
had told their version in the canteen, he would be a
laughing stock.
In the car everyone was congratulating her.
'Oh, Maura, how could you?' Margaret's voice was filled
with awe.
'She's a Ryan, Margie. And she showed that tonight! I
thought I was going to piss myself. Murphy's face!'
Michael was roaring with laughter. 'I'll tell you something though, Geoff. I'll do for that bastard one day. I take oath on that. He winds me up!'
'You get wound up too easily. They can't touch us,
Bruv. They can't prove nothing!' Geoffrey stressed the last two words.
'I thought we was all gonna get nicked!' Margaret's
voice was still quavery. Michael looked in the mirror and
caught her eye.
'I can just see you in Holloway, Marge. Them big butch
warders would all be after a little thing like you!'
'Aaow, don't!' She put her hand over her mouth.
'Don't be rotten, Mickey. Marge, he's winding you up.
What on earth would they nick us for?'
'That Murphy's all talk. He couldn't nick himself
shaving.'
They all laughed and joked until they got to Holborn.
Maura was praying that Terry was not about. Her prayers
were answered. When she and Margaret got out of the car,
Michael and Geoff drove off immediately.
'Sod that, Maura, I thought we was gonners there!'
'I know Mickey's my brother, but he scares even me
when he gets annoyed.'
'Don't you think he's a bit weird, Maws? I mean, one
minute he's foaming at the mouth and the next. . laughing and joking.' Michael's quicksilver temperament made Margaret nervous. Maura was annoyed. -'
'No, Marge, I don't actually!' -
'I wasn't criticising him, Maws . . .' . ':
'He likes you, Marge. He always makes you feel welcome
when you're round our house. There's nothing wrong with
Mickey. He's just. . . highly strung.'
In her heart Maura agreed with Margaret's opinion of
Michael, but she would never admit it openly. Maura was
more like her brothers than she cared to think about.
There was a loyalty in her family that would not, and could not, be understood by outsiders.
Margaret was contrite. 'I'm sorry, Maws. Here, imagine
the old Bill thinking we was old brasses!' She tried to
lighten the atmosphere between them.
Maura giggled. 'Bloody cheek!'
They stood outside the station until Dennis came up.
When Margaret and he had gone, Maura thought about
what had happened. Tonight she had discovered a new
side to herself. She had not intended to say what she had.
It just came out. She shrugged and pulled her coat tighter
around her. It was getting cold. She saw Terry walking
towards her and smiled at him. The familiar lurch in her
breast that always heralded his approach left her breathless.
She ran into his arms for a kiss.
'Hello, Princess!' Maura froze in his arms then pulled
away from him.
'Do me a favour, Terry. Don't ever call me that
again.' Her voice was frosty. Terry couldn't believe her
attitude.
'I'm sorry, Maura. I. . .' He held out his arms in
supplication. Maura could see that he was bewildered.
'Look, it's no big deal. It's just that I hate that
expression, that's all.' Her voice was rising.
'All right. Keep your hair on!' He was annoyed and she
knew it.
'Terry.' She drew his name out softly and slipped her
arm through his.
'What?' His voice was flat and expressionless. He had
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really been looking forward to seeing her tonight. Then,
within two minutes, she had started an argument with
him. He couldn't believe it.
'I'm sorry, Terry.' Her voice was small.
He relaxed. 'Let's forget it. I've booked a table for us up West in a snazzy restaurant.' He saw her face fall again.
Now what was the matter with her?
Maura was in a state of acute agitation. She couldn't go
up West with him! Supposing Mickey saw her? Or one of
her other brothers? Not to mention all the people who
worked for them. They all knew her. Michael might come
into the restaurant to say hello! She felt faint just thinking about it.
'Are you all right? You've gone very white.' His voice
was all concern. Maura's mind was reeling.
'I feel a bit under the weather. I haven't eaten all day.
Can't we eat around here?' She knew she was clutching at
straws but nothing would get her up the West End.
'But I booked the table especially. We're celebrating.'
'Celebrating what?'
'Never you mind. I'll tell you when we get to the
restaurant.'
Oh, God, please help her.
'Oh, let's stay around here . . . please. I don't fancy
travelling back up West.' Her voice was wheedling. He
couldn't help smiling. She was some girl! Not two minutes
in his company and she was biting his head off. Now she
didn't want to go to an expensive restaurant in the West
End. He shook his head at her.
'All right. You win as usual. What's it to be? Indian?
Greek? What?'
Maura felt the tension drain out of her. She kissed him
hard on the mouth.
'Greek, please. I just love taramasalata!'
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She tucked her arm into his. Twenty minutes later they
were sitting in a little restaurant drinking retsina.
'So what are we celebrating then?'
'I've been given a transfer. I applied for it about six
months ago. Anyway, today I was told that it had been
passed. From next month I will be at Vine Street! That's
why I wanted to go up West tonight. Get the feel of the
place.' He grinned at her.
Maura felt herself smile in response. She felt the muscles
in her face moving. 'What exactly will you be doing up
there?'
'It's hard to explain really. There's a lot of illegal
gambling up there, always has been, as well as prostitution and drugs.'
The waiter placed two moussakas in front of them.
'Anyway, some firms - that's gangs to you - are using
the hostess clubs as a front for many other things. Guns,
blackmail. . . the list is endless. Well, I'll be a very small cog in the wheel that's trying to stamp it all out.'
'I see.' Maura was finding it increasingly difficult to
swallow.
'You don't see, but never mind, love. You'll never have
to worry about it. Or are you a closet villain?' She laughed with him, amazed that she was still able to function
normally while her insides were doing the Twist!
'How about a toast to your new job?'
'I'll drink to that, Maura.'
They clinked glasses and Terry chattered on.
'It's so exciting. Do you know that there's men running
clubs up there who would murder somebody like you or
me would have a cup of tea? It's unbelievable. I tell you.'
She stared into her glass of wine. What was she worried
about anyway? Michael wasn't involved with anything like
that. And drugs? Never!
But a little nagging voice at the back of her mind kept
reminding her of the way he had blown up the taxi rank
after Anthony died. A little voice was whispering: 'They all work for Michael now.'
She pushed the thoughts firmly from her mind, forcing
herself to concentrate on what Terry was saying. All the
while icy fingers were touching the back of her neck -
ghostly reminders of the past. Later on, when they left the restaurant arm in arm, she shivered. Terry pulled her closer to him.
'I want you, Maura.'
'I want you too, Terry.' And she was surprised because
she meant it. At this moment she wanted him more than
she had ever wanted anything in her life.
'Really?' His voice was husky with longing.
'Yes . . . really.'
'Oh, Maura, you don't know how much I wanted to
hear you say that.' He clasped her hand and pulled her to,
his car. 'Come on, before you change your mind.'
'Where are we going?' :'
'You'll find out.'
She felt the thrill of sexual anticipation sweep over her
body, wiping everything from her mind except Terry,
herself, and their need.
Inside the car he kissed her, long and hard. He fumbled
in his pocket and took out a key.
'Do you see this?' Maura nodded. 'Well, it's a key to a
flat in Islington. I rented it today. Not for this, Maura, I swear. But to be nearer my job. All that's in it is a bed and a camping stove, but it's home for us ... if that's what you really want.'
Maura loved him just for those words. He wasn't trying
to force her into anything.
'I want to go to your flat in Islington, Terry.'
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He kissed her again and then started up the car. Tonight
was his lucky night.
On the way to the flat, Terry had stopped and bought a
bottle of wine. Maura sat nervously on the edge of the big
double bed while he opened the bottle and brought her a
glass. She took it from him. The bedroom had large bay
windows covered with grubby nets. Grantbridge Street
was the centre of bedsitterland. Even now, record players
and radios could be heard. Occasionally a shout or a loud
laugh broke the gloom. There was no light in the bedroom,
only the moonlight and the subdued glare of the
streetlights outside the window. Maura was glad. She
drank the wine and placed the empty glass on the floor by
the bed. Terry walked out to the kitchen, talking as he
moved.
'It doesn't look much now, I know, but you wait until
I've finished it - decorated it, I mean. Hey, why don't you help me? We could go to Camden Market together and
pick out some furniture.' He walked back into the bedroom
with the bottle of wine. 'What do you say?' His
voice was eager.
Maura caught some of his enthusiasm. 'I'd love it.'
He refilled her glass and gave it to her.
'Look, Maura, you don't have to sleep with me, you
know.' His voice was caressing. 'I'll understand if you're
not ready.'
She looked up. In the half-light he looked boyish. She
traced the contours of his face with her finger.
'I am sure, Terry. In fact, I'm positive!'
He sat on the bed beside her and kissed her gently.
'Well, as long as you're sure.'
He stood up and removed his shirt. Maura watched
him, fascinated. The muscles of his arms and chest were
rippling as he moved and she felt a hot flush creeping over her body. She took a deep breath and slipped off her coat.
The room was not very warm and she felt goosebumps on;
her arms. Her dress fastened up the front and she began to
undo the buttons. She could sense his eyes on her and felt
a sudden bashfulness. She had never in her life undressed
in front of a man - not even a doctor. She came to the last button and, plucking up all her courage, slipped the dress
off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor.
Terry watched her. His throat was dry and his breathing
heavy. Standing there in the moonlight in her underwear
she looked magnificent. Her breasts were huge - like giant
orbs in the confines of her bra, spilling over the top like overripe melons. He couldn't believe his luck. She was like a larger than life fantasy that had just come true. He
dragged his eyes from her breasts to her long legs. He was
surprised at how small her waist was. She was like some
voluptuous painting by Titian. He could feel himself
hardening. ,.,. He slipped off his trousers and went to her. Putting his arms around her back he unhooked her bra, letting her
opulent breasts free. He pulled the brassiere from her body and dropped it on to the floor. Instinctively her arms
crossed over her chest. He gently pulled them away,
staring down at her body. He groaned.
'Oh, Maura. You're beautiful. . , You're so beautiful!'
He pressed his lips against her nipples and she jumped. She could feel them hardening under his tongue and was
caught between pure ecstasy and an urge to run from the
room. Her heart was hammering in her breast and her
breathing was irregular. She could feel herself panting. He squeezed both her breasts together and licked and chewed on her nipples, sending delicious waves of euphoria through her. He pulled her gently on to the bed. They fell
138
together, their arms and legs entwined. He loomed over
her.
'I love you, Maura. God, I love you.'
If he never said it again, the way he had just expressed
himself to her would last for the rest of her life. She felt his fingers hook into either side of her panties, and as she felt him pull them down her body she closed her eyes. It was
finally happening. The mystery of man and woman was
about to be unfurled before her. She bit on her lip, an
exquisite agony tearing her apart. Her natural shyness was
trying to overcome a new, bigger, and more intense
feeling.
Unaware that she had even done it, Maura opened her
legs wide. As his tongue flicked over her thighs she
groaned out loud. Slowly, he pushed his forefinger inside
her. She was like a juicy peach.
Terry was in a fever of excitement. Who would have
dreamed she would be so fiery the first time? She was like
an experienced woman, the way she moved her body and
opened herself up to him. He loved everything about her the way she looked, the way she acted - everything. He
especially loved the smell of her.
Maura felt him push himself up on his arms. She opened
her eyes, and as he straddled her watched his swollen
member trying to push into her. Her eyes opened wide. It
was too big, surely? She pushed her elbows into the bed to
pull herself up, but she was too late. She felt a tearing pain as if Terry pushed against some kind of obstacle. Then she
felt a wave of dizziness as he slipped right up inside her. As he moved backwards and forwards she thrust her hips up
to meet him at every stroke, a jumble of feelings and
emotions raging through them both. Suddenly, she felt a
shuddering somewhere in her bowels. It seemed to be
slowly creeping into her groin and up ... up into her
stomach. She arched her back, and as she lost control in
the final throes of orgasm felt Terry biting on her breasts.
She called out. . . All self-consciousness seemed to dissolve in this all-encompassing feeling. She was aware that
she was wailing and moaning, but she didn't care. This
feeling was too good, too exciting to let go of. She felt her legs grab Terry's thighs and was trying desperately to push him further inside her.
Above her Terry was watching her, fascinated. As he felt
his own orgasm beginning to pulsate he felt her legs
gripping him and drove his penis into her as hard as he
could, bursting inside her like a dam.
They lay together, their bodies bathed in sweat, their
hearts beating a tattoo on each other's chests. Terry kissed her gently, little tiny kisses, all over her face and neck. He licked her throat and tasted the saltiness of her.
'That was fantastic, Maura.'
She lay beneath him, shy again, amazed at her
feelings. .,
'Thank you, Maura. For letting me be the first. And if it
lies with me, I will be your last. You're my girl now. You'll always be my girl.'
He kissed her again and was surprised to find that she
was crying gently. He was immediately concerned. 'I
didn't hurt you too much, did I?'
'No, you didn't hurt me. I'm crying because I'm happy.
That's all.'
He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly. He
had promised himself that he would not get too involved
with her, but at this moment he could no more have
parted from her than he could have cut his own throat.
Maura felt the heightened awareness that comes with
lovemaking. That feeling of infinite perception that envelops lovers in its embrace. She was acutely aware that she
140
had burnt her boats. That she now belonged to the man
lying with her. That her family had taken a back seat in her life. But she was also aware that no matter how she felt,
her family would never allow her to relegate them to
second place. The fact that Terry was a policeman would
be enough for Michael. He would never countenance her
having an association with one. He would take it as a
personal affront.
She felt Terry's hand running over her body, kneading
her breasts and shoulders, and was caught up in a feeling
of presentiment. They were doomed and she knew it. She
closed her eyes tightly, praying to her God to take pity on them. To help them find a way out of the morass they had
jumped into. She wished fervently that they might be
allowed to be together, that nothing would happen to
make them part. And even as she prayed and wished, she
knew, deep inside, that it was all useless. But with the
foolishness of youth, she convinced herself that somehow,
somewhere, there was an answer to their problem.
Finally, she abandoned herself to him once again, the
moonlight playing on their bodies as they loved each other
with a strength that surprised them both. Their whispering
and low moans echoed around the empty flat, like ghosts
that danced on the ceiling with their shadows.
Maura had never dreamt that she could feel like she felt
at this moment. She had indeed burnt her boats. But she
smiled while she did it.
Benjamin Ryan pushed his wife oat of his way. He was
drunk as usual, but today, instead of his normal boisterous drunkenness, he was in a violent, vindictive frame of mind.
Sarah watched him warily. Ever since Anthony's death
her husband had suffered these fits of depression. His face was bloated and red-veined. His large nose was reddened
and bulbous. His dark blue eyes, inherited by all the
children, were now listless, the whites a sepia colour, like an old photograph. He looked terrible. His once black hair
was grey, hanging across his face in greasy tendrils. Sarah shook her head sadly. He was grey-skinned and the weight
that had once given him an air of affability had dropped
off him, leaving only a large beergut that hung offensively over his trousers. He stalked across the bedroom to her.
Sarah put her hands up to her face through years of habit.
The chances were that she was going to get a good hiding.
She braced herself for the blows.
'I want some money, Sar . . . I'm warning you,'
His breath was sour and she tried to turn her face away
from him. He grasped her chin with his hand and pulled
her face towards him. He grinned at her, showing yellowing teeth. 'What's the matter then? Turning your face away from me these days?' He squeezed her chin in his large
hand, causing her to flinch. 'That's right, my lovely. . .
You be scared of me, because if you don't give me some of
the money you've got stashed, I'm gonna beat you all
around this room. Now where is it?'
Sarah was trying desperately to pull herself away from
him. He pulled his right arm back and punched her in the
stomach. He used such force she fell to her knees, winded.
He grabbed her hair, forcing her head up to look at
him. 'That's just a taster, Sarah.'
She nursed her injured stomach with her arm, feeling
sick. She stared at her husband, and gathering all her
strength she spat at him. She saw his lips draw back over
his teeth.
'You old trout! I'll bloody murder you for that.'
As his fist was raised to begin his beating she screamed,
holding her arms over her head. His first punch hit her on
her wrist, causing her to cry out in pain. Somewhere above
the din she heard the bedroom door opening, then she felt
Benjamin being pulled away from her bodily. It was Garry
and Lee.
Lee felt a rush of emotion he had never known before.
Seeing his mother kneeling there while his father beat her
caused him to lose control. He was aware that he was
punching and kicking his father. He could feel the surge of adrenaline as his arms and legs came into contact with
Benjamin's body. He could easily kill this man who had
fathered him. Eventually Garry pulled him away, forcing him to sit on the big double bed. His breathing was loud and noisy. The effort he had used on his father had
exhausted him. He felt his mother's arm go around his
shoulder. He grasped her rough workworn hand. His
knuckles were bleeding.
Benjamin was too drunk to feel anything. He lay on the
bedroom floor staring up at a picture of Our Lady's
Ascension into Heaven. Her pale blue and gold gown was
144
swimming before his eyes. He could taste blood in his
mouth. Running his tongue around his gums, he found
that one of his few remaining teeth was loose. Garry
looked at his father with a feeling of disgust coupled with distress. The older man's woeful face was like an open
book. All the setbacks, troubles, humiliations and causes
for discontent were there for anyone who wanted to look.
Only nobody ever wanted to. Even his own sons regarded
him as an object of derision, tempered with a love that
came more from duty than any feeling of filial affection.
Garry sighed.
'Help him up, son. We'll put him to bed to sleep the
worst of it off.' Sarah's voice was flat, resigned. Before the boys had grown up, she would have endured the beating;
years of experience had taught her that it was preferable to giving him the money.
Garry and Lee, calmer now, put their father to bed.
Benjamin was pliable. He allowed his sons to strip him and
bundle him under the covers. Within minutes he was
asleep. The three went down the stairs together. In the
kitchen Lee examined his mother's arms and face. She
shrugged him off.
'I'm all right, Lee. Give it a rest now, for Gawd's sake.'
She made one of her endless cups of tea.
Garry took his and went back upstairs to his room. He
placed the tea on his dressing table and went back to what
he had been doing before his mother's scream. He was
making a car bomb. The main work had already been done
in one of Michael's lock-ups. Now he was perfecting the
detonator. He took his glasses off the bed where he had
left them earlier and slipped them on.
Garry's years of being the inventor of the family had
paid off. Michael had taken his expertise and channelled
it to his own advantage. Garry made everything, from
Molotov cocktails to delayed-action devices for robberies
or personal revenge attacks. His natural misanthropy and
lack of interest in possessions gave him the perfect
temperament for an explosives manufacturer. In Garry's
mind there was no black or white, just fuzzy grey areas
that he could interpret to his own advantage. Like
Michael, he was a psychopath. He could champion causes
with a fervour that amazed those around him. He could
also see two sides to an argument, could balance the
debate in his mind or that of whoever happened to be
interested. But there was another side to him that even
his own brothers did not realise. He would not stand for
anyone or anything getting in his way. He had no real
feelings about anyone, except his sister Maura. He was
incapable of deep feelings or emotion. If Garry had a girl
friend, she was his property. He would be jealous and
moody. The girl always seemed to think this was because
he felt deeply for her, but Garry felt the same way about
his car or his record player. It was his. Until the time
came when he tired of it.
The bedroom door opened and Lee came in. 'Mickey
just phoned and said that we're all to meet him at the club tonight. Nine-thirty, OK?'
'All right, Lee. Thanks.' Garry carried on with what he
was doing. Lee walked out of the room. The earlier
trouble with their father was now forgotten. In the Ryan
code, if you didn't mention it then it had never happened.
When Benjamin had slept off his drink and emerged once
again into their world he would be treated with the usual
haphazard affection. ;',
Garry had finished his detonator and smiled to himself
happily. He began clearing away. His room was so tidy,
Garry would know if anyone had been in while he was out.
He had everything strategically placed.
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Like all the rooms in the house, this also had a religious
print on the wall and a small crucifix over the bedroom
door. Garry's religious painting was of Jesus's entrance
into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. Jesus sat on a donkey, the
marks of the stigmata on his outstretched hands, his face as always serene with a hint of sadness. Around him were
crowds of people holding their palm leaves, expressions of
ecstasy on their faces. The print was in beautiful pastel
shades of blue and pink. Picking up the detonator, Garry
went to the picture. Holding the device under the Donkey
of Christ, he laughed softly.
'Bang fucking bang!'
Jesus still sat there, the yellows and golds of his halo
shadowed by Garry's body, still serene and still sad.
Mickey, Geoffrey and Roy sat in the offices above their club, Le Buxom, in Dean Street. All three were wearing the usual
dark suit, brilliant white shirt and thin black tie. It was their uniform. Michael's tie had a grey stripe going through it
horizontally. It was his way of being just that little bit
different. He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke out noisily.
'So what else have you found out then?' He stared at
Geoffrey.
'Plenty. He's a bit of a rogue, is old Hanley. He likes the gee gees for a start, and he's not averse to a bit of skirt now and again either. Both expensive pastimes for old Bill.
He usually goes round to the wives of convicted criminals
offering them a bit of consolation.'
Mickey laughed. 'In return for a bit of the other, I
suppose.'
'Exactly. He now owes us about three hundred quid. He
was betting quite heavily in our South London shops. I
tipped the lads the wink to give him as much tick as he
wanted, which they did. Now we have him right where we
want him. By the short and curlies.'
'Good work, Geoff. Arrange for him to come and see
me next week. Another face would be to our advantage.
Especially a prat like Hanley.'
'How about we give him a free night here, before you
see him? Let him have his leg over with one of the girls for nix. That should soften him up before you give him the
bad news.'
'Yeah, I think that's what we'll do, Roy. Bent filth are
ten a penny these days. What we want are the ones who
can do us the most good. Hanley's at Vine Street, from
what I understand. He's the one who liaises with all the
other nicks. We'll cultivate him, I think.'
. Geoffrey and Roy nodded in agreement.
'Now about the loan sharking. I had a visitor today . .
do you remember old Moses Mabele?'
Roy nodded. 'The old West Indian bloke who lived in
our street?'
'That's him. His wife Verbeena was mates with Muwer.
Used to help her out now and again with money. Old
Moses used to work in the Docks.'
'Yeah. What about them?' Geoffrey's voice was puzzled.
'Well, they moved Plaistow way. They got one of the old
Dockers' Mansions - he was working in the East India
Docks. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Moses popped
off a bit sudden like . . .' , '
'What's this got to do with us?'
'Well, if you'd listen, you might learn something, Roy.
Now where was I?'
'Moses had popped off.'
'Thanks, Geoffrey. Moses popped off a bit sharpish and
Verbeena couldn't afford to bury him like. So she went to
one of our "borrowers" - no prizes for guessing who that
was.
148
Geoffrey groaned. 'Not George Denellan!'
Mickey smirked. 'The one and only. Anyway, the rub is
she couldn't pay it back quick enough and Georgie boy
sent round some heavies . . .'
'You're joking!'
'I wish I was, Roy. I bunged her a couple of ton for her
trouble and told her the debt was scrubbed. What I want
you two to do is go and see Denellan. Put him straight
about a few things. She's an old lady, for Christ's sake. I want at least an arm broken. He's got to learn that he
works for me, not the government. You don't belt old
dears. In fact, you don't lend money to old dears, period,
not without querying it with one of us first. He takes too
much on himself and he's beginning to aggravate me.'
'I'll go, Mickey. I don't like Denellan anyway, he's a
ponce.'
'All right then, Roy, you can sort him out. What an
advert for us, eh? Beating up old ladies!'
They all laughed.
Geoffrey got up and poured them all a drink. 'What's
happening with that Smithson, Mickey?'
Michael took the glass off him and sipped the brandy.
'Our Garry's made him a little surprise present. He should
be getting it some time over the weekend.'
'You're definitely trouncing him them?'
'Yep. I don't like doing it, Geoff, but that saucy
bugger's asked for it.' He poked his finger in the air.
'Nobody fucks me up and gets away with it. It'll be a
lesson to all the blokes who work for us.'
'How much exactly did he poach?'
'Nigh on two grand.'
Roy whistled softly. 'That much?'
'It's not so much the money as the principle of the
thing. One bloke owed us a monkey. He paid three oners
s
over, and then the last two hundred plus the fifty quid
interest. Next thing he knows he's got three blokes
waiting for him as he leaves for work. They'd trashed his
motor.' Mickey laughed softly. 'The poor bastard is
informed that he still owes three hundred smackers. Anyway, he paid it... but he came to see our Lee and he told
me about it and that's how we uncovered the little
bastard's game. Fuck me! It ain't as if we don't pay him
enough. For a bloke who came out of the South London
slums he's done bloody well. Do you know, his kids go to
private school? Straight up.'
'That don't surprise me, Mickey, he always fancied
himself. He still brags in pubs about how he worked for
the Richardsons.'
Michael snorted. 'Don't talk to me about him. He's
history now.'
The three men were quiet for a few moments. Geoffrey
got up from his chair. 'Shall I bring the other lot up then?
See what's happening with their teams?'
'Yeah. Hang on, what's the time?' '
'Eleven-thirty-five.'
'I bet you a tenner Benny's sitting in the club watching
the stripper. She comes on at half-past.'
They all laughed.
'He's sex mad. Most of the girls don't have to "go case
with the punters, they can go home with Benny!'
Still laughing, Geoffrey made his way down the stairs to
the club's foyer.
Gerry Jackson, the doorman, nodded at him. 'We're
pretty full tonight, mostly Americans. Must be a convention on somewhere.'
'Plenty of money then?'
Gerry nodded. 'The touts reckon that the streets are full
of them. I bet a few get rolled, don't you?'
'Bound to, ain't they? Stupid bastards. They flash their
money about like it's going out of fashion. Someone's got
to stomp them, it stands to reason.'
Geoffrey walked into the club itself. The air was thick
with cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. At the bar area
seats lined each wall to either side. They were plush red
velvet, were upholstered and fixed to the wall. On them
sprawled women and girls of every shape and colour. On
entering the club, punters were able to see the merchandise and if a particular girl took their fancy, she accompanied
them to their table. The hostesses were only allowed
to drink champagne - which they tipped on to the carpet
when the punter wasn't looking. With a different stripper
on every twenty minutes this was not difficult. At the
moment a tall blonde of about thirty was dancing semi
naked to 'Pretty Flamingo'. She bent over almost double
and her long bleached blonde hair touched the floor. She
swayed her buttocks suggestively before hooking her
fingers into her sequinned panties and slowly pulling
them down her legs.
Geoffrey smiled. Sure enough there was Benny, sitting
on the edge of his seat, his tongue poking out of his
mouth as he watched the girl in a state of hypnotic
fascination. Stepping out of her panties, the stripper stood up and turned to face the audience. Her pubic hair was
black, in stark contrast to the whiteness of her hair. She
raised her arms above her head and once more set the
tassels on her small breasts spinning.
The music ended and she nonchalantly picked up her
discarded clothes and walked from the stage. She would
strip in six or seven different clubs during the course of the evening. She passed by Benny and Geoffrey saw him squeeze
her buttocks. The girl smacked his hand away and
glared at him, shouting at the top of her voice, 'When
150
you're old enough, Little Boy!'
Benny laughed good-naturedly. Geoffrey called him and
he walked over, his moon face wreathed in smiles.
'You never give up, Ben, do you?'
Benny grinned. 'Old slag! She's got a face like a
carpenter's nailbag. Let's face it, I don't want to marry her, just fuck her.'
'Well, she obviously don't want to fuck you.'
Benny tapped his nose with his finger and winked
lewdly. 'She will. It's just a matter of wearing her down!
She'll come round in the end.'
Geoffrey laughed. 'You'll wear your dick out if you're'
not careful. Where's the others?'
'In the back bar as usual. You know they don't like
sitting with the peasants!'
'Get upstairs, you ponce. Mickey's waiting for you. I'll
go and get the others.'
He walked across the dance floor. All round the walls
were large photographs of women in various stages of
undress. Geoffrey stopped at a table where a small baldheaded man was sitting with two girls. He smiled at the
girls warmly and shook the man's hand. ,"
'How is everything, sir?' His voice was solicitous.
The small man grinned, showing expensive-looking
teeth. 'Just fine, son. These here two ladies is just about as fine as you could get.' His voice had a southern drawl. The two girls giggled. Geoffrey noticed that one of them was
high.
'I'm glad to hear it, sir. We like all our guests to enjoy
themselves.' He nodded at the man and moved away
from the table, his eyes taking in everything that was
going on around him. One of the hostesses, a young lady
who called herself Shirelk, had her head buried in a
man's lap. Geoffrey sighed with annoyance and, pulling
back a curtain at the end of the dance floor, walked into
the back bar.
'What on earth's going on here?' His voice was loud.
Two hostesses were sitting at a table. Geoffrey recognised
them as Liverpool twins who Denise, the head girl, had
taken on a few days previously. They were tiny little things with wide brown eyes and mousy blonde hair. They were
not particularly pretty but their attraction was that they
only worked together. They had little half-formed breasts
and were no more than fifteen. From what he had gleaned
they had been toms for quite a while. Looking at them, it
was obvious they had been roughed up.
Garry spoke. 'We caught these two "doing a dolly".'
Geoffrey was stunned. 'You're joking!'
'Oh no I ain't! Me and Lee were walking across the
dance floor to come in here and I saw them, as plain as
day. One of them slipped her arms around the bloke and
kissed him on the mouth. While she was doing it she lifted
his wallet and passed it to the other one. They've obviously done it before because it was all over in a split
second. In fact, if I'd have blinked I'd have missed it. The slags!'
Both girls looked at Geoffrey with frightened eyes. In
Soho you could be striped up for less. No clubs liked their punters rolled. It brought them to the attention of the
police - the last thing a hostess club needed.
'Where's the wallet now?'
'I've got it, Geoff. It's got over three hundred quid in
it.'
He gave a low whistle. . ;
'Look, Lee, go back in there and tell the punter that the
girls had to go somewhere. I noticed as I passed through
that Monique and Cynthia are still up in the meat seats.
Bring them to him. They're good girls. Pretend to find the
152
wallet under the table. Make a big thing out of it. Oh, you know what to do.'
'What about these two?' Garry nodded at the girls.
'Sling them out. Give them a slap, Garry, but don't go
too far. All right.'
Garry nodded at him.
'When you've finished, get your arses upstairs. Mickey's
waiting for you.'
He stormed out of the back bar and went to where
Denise was standing. She was nearly fifty years old and
weighed in at seventeen stone. Her face was heavily made
up and she wore too much rhinestone jewellery. She had
been a prostitute for over thirty years. Her bright orange
hair was piled up high on her head, and somehow she had
squeezed her enormous bulk into a lurex two-piece. Her
huge pendulous breasts spilled over the top. She smelt of
gin and Parma violets.
'I want a word with you, Denise. Garry and Lee just
caught those scouse birds "doing a dolly".'
'Look, sonny, I ain't got eyes up me arse, you know.
There's over thirty brasses in here. I can't watch them all.'
'Well, my advice to you, Denise, is to get some eyes put
up there then! And in the back of your head. That slag
Shirelle was giving a punter a blow job earlier. Now either get your act together or you get another job! This is my
last warning.'
He stormed off before she could answer him. Shrugging
her ample shoulders, she cursed him in her head.
One of the girls on the meat seats had heard the
exchange. She shouted to Denise: 'What's the matter
then? You been a naughty girl?' All the other girls laughed.
Denise curled her lips back from her broken teeth. 'Oh,
go fry your shite!'
The girl made a face at her and called out, 'She's a
silver-tongued bastard, ain't she, girls?'
Denise picked up her Sobranie cigarette from an ashtray
and pulled on it, stifling an urge to put it out on the girl's face.
She'd murder that bloody Shirelle!
Detective Inspector Murphy was driving home to his house
in Putney. Since his run-in with Maura Ryan he had been
doing some snooping and what he had found out had given
him food for thought. She was as clean as a whistle, never
even been cautioned, but she had an Achilles heel and he
had found out what it was. Tomorrow morning a certain
young DC was going to get a shock. He smiled to himself.
He quite liked young Petherick as well! He began to
whistle a little tune. He would teach Maura Ryan a lesson
she shouldn't forget. If there was one thing he hated, it was mouthy young women.
Maura got out of bed and began to get dressed. Terry
lay for a while watching her. She was the sexiest girl he
had ever known. The secret of her allure was the fact
that she was completely unaware of it. She sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed her stockings up her legs.
He pulled her backwards and kissed her, fondling her
breasts.
'Is it my imagination or are your boobs getting bigger?'
Maura pulled away from him. 'Don't be so rude!' She
pursed her lips. 'Come on, Tel, get dressed. You've got to
run me home.'
He got off the bed and stretched himself lazily. 'I wish
you didn't have to go.' His voice was childlike.
'Well, I have. And soon. So hurry up.' She picked up a
pillow and threw it at him. He caught it and threw it back, knowing it would cause a pillow fight. Five minutes later
they lay semi-naked on the bed, both trying to catch their
breath.
'I love you, Terry.' Maura's voice was low.
'And I love you, Maura. More than you think.'
She smiled at him. She hoped that what he said was
true, because tomorrow she was going to find out whether
she was indeed pregnant. She bit her lip. There was going
to be murder, she could feel it in her bones.
Michael arranged to see Lee on his own. His brother
stood in front of him, his face pale. As far as he knew he
had done nothing wrong.
'That right you give the old man a hammering today?'
Lee swallowed noisily. 'He was belting the old woman.'
Michael smiled one of his radiant smiles that seemed to
light him up from inside. 'You did good, Lee. Remember
this . . . you always look after the womenfolk. You never,
ever let anyone hurt them, no matter who they are. I'm.
proud of you, Lee.'
Lee smiled with relief.
'I'll bung the old man a few bob tomorrow. He'll be as
sweet as a nut. Now get yourself off home.'
Lee left the little office with his heart singing. He
could hear the first few bars of 'Jailhouse Rock' and
hurried down into the club. The girl who stripped to this
particular record was a six foot amazon with olive skin,
jet black hair, large brown eyes, and the biggest tits he
had ever seen in his life! He settled down next to Benny,
who being a thoughtful kind of boy had saved him a seat.
'Detective Constable Petherick, the big boss wants to see
you.'
The WPC who gave Terry the message was grinning all over her face. He looked across his desk at Detective Sergeant Jones and made a little face. Far from being
amused DS Jones just stared at him sadly and shook his
head.
'You must have been barmy, lad if you thought you
could get away with it.'
Terry looked at him nonplussed. 'What are you on
about?' His voice was genuinely bewildered.
Jones picked up some papers from in front of him and
pretended to sort through them. 'Get yourself into the
office, son. The Chief Inspector doesn't like to be kept
waiting.'
Terry stood up. The WPC who had spoken to him was
standing with one of her cronies and laughing. He had a
sneaking feeling that the object of their amusement was
himself. He racked his brains trying to think what he had
done wrong. As far as he knew all the reports he had typed
up were fine. He'd had two 'collars' in the last few weeks, and neither of them had been in any way abnormal. There
was nothing that he could think of that would merit being
seen by the Chief Inspector. He made his way across the
crowded office to the glass partition that served as the
Chief's office when he was down 'below' with his men and
tapped on the door.
The Chief Inspector was deep in conversation with DI
Dobin when he motioned with his hand for Terry to enter.
He walked into the office tentatively, shutting the door
quietly behind him. The two men stopped talking as he
entered and the Chief told him to sit down. Both the
Chief and the DI regarded him stonily. Terry sat down
opposite the Chief. He could feel sweat coming out of
every pore in his body. He wiped the palms of his hands
on the front of his trousers. As far as he knew he had not
done anything wrong. He was trying frantically to think of
any slip-up he could have made when the Chief Inspector
spoke.
'Well, Petherick. This is a nice kettle offish, I must say.'
His voice was hard. Never had Terry been reprimanded
before, not even when he had inadvertently written down
a suspect's numberplate wrongly and it had led the inquiry
team to go to the house of a respected judge.
He cleared his throat. 'I'm sorry, sir. I'm not with you.'
'I've been wondering the same thing myself, young
man.'
Terry watched his superior. He was not loved by his
men but he was respected, which in Terry's mind was a
much better thing. Chief Inspector Harris was an ample
man who ran his squad along the lines of an army platoon.
Indeed, he had been a colonel in the Lancers. He still
sported large handlebar moustaches that had earned him
the nickname 'Flying Officer Kite'. He was a large,
extremely corpulent individual, much given to brightly
coloured clothes that made him look like a confidence
trickster. But for all that he was shrewd. Very shrewd
indeed.
'I am sorry, sir. I really don't have any idea what you're
talking about.'
The Chief looked up at DI Dobin, a smirk on his
chubby red face.
'Hear that, Dobin? The cheeky young bugger's begging
me pardon.'
Dobin nodded. Personally he thought that the Chief
was an arsehole. He would not have given Murphy house
room, but the Chief was the Chief, and if he saw fit to
listen to Murphy. . . Dobin mentally shrugged. What
could he do? He felt sorry for the boy. He was getting
caught up in one of Murphy's little vendettas. Dobin had
heard the chat in the canteen about how Maura Ryan had
wiped the floor with him verbally. He had laughed, along
with most of the others. Now it seemed Murphy had done
a bit of digging and had uncovered poor Petherick's
association with the girl. He was to be Murphy's sacrificial lamb.
Most of the plainclothes police had had associations
with villains' female relations. There was nothing like a
twelve stretch to bring the Casanovas out of the woodwork,
especially if the villain's wife was a nice-looking sort,
and the majority of them were. He felt sorry for the boy in front of him.
'Seen much of your girlfriend, Petherick?' The Chief's
voice dripped with sarcasm and innuendo. i
'I saw her last night, sir.' Dobin closed his eyes. He
couldn't look! The Chief linked his fingers together and
leant on his desk.
'How long have you been seeing this Miss "Ryan"?' He
stressed the 'Ryan' and suddenly Terry had a terrible sick
feeling in the pit of his stomach. His mind was screaming
'No' but it was all becoming frighteningly clear.
Ryan . . . Ryan . . . Ryan . . . seemed to be swimming
around in his head, like a rogue shark waiting to pounce
on him.
He licked his lips.
'I have been seeing her for about nine months, sir.'
'Nine months. How thrilling for you. Taken you home
to meet Mummy and Daddy and the boys, has she?
Especially her brother Michael... I bet he just loved you,
didn't he?'
'No, sir, she has not.' He stared at the men defiantly. He
was in a kind of limbo now. The officers in front of him
had already tried and convicted him in their minds and he
was quietly furious.
The Chief's voice rose a few octaves at the tone of
Terry's voice.
'Well, young fellow me lad, you have a decision to make.
I suppose you realise that her family between them have
done more time than bloody, Big Ben?' m
'NO! No, sir ... I didn't.'
The Chief's voice seemed to thunder from him. Terry
and Dobin were aware that everyone outside had gone
quiet and were listening to all that was taking place.
'Don't you take the piss out of me, sonny. I was doing
this job when you were just a drunken twinkle in your
father's eye!'
Suddenly it was all too much for Terry. The enormity of
what he had found out, coupled with the humiliation of
being bawled out in full earshot of his colleagues, took its toll. He lost his temper. He stood up and, putting his
hands on the desk in front of him, palms flat, shouted in
the Chief Inspector's face. ;
'I'm not taking the piss out of you . . . you can't takef the piss out of shit! Surely you know that? You seem to know everything else. As for Maura Ryan, it never
occurred to me to run her through Interpol. Let's face it
160
if every bit of skirt that got pulled around this place was checked out for credibility, there wouldn't be any time to
catch criminals. And another thing: Maura Ryan is a
decent law-abiding girl who never mentioned her family.
Now, I might add, I bloody well know why!'
He stood staring at his boss, flecks of spittle at the
corners of his mouth. Somewhere in the distance he heard
the sound of clapping. He guessed, rightly, that it was his partner, Jones. Obviously the whole of their slanging
match had been witnessed. He felt his heart sink. He had
just thrown away his career, all that he had worked for. He felt an insane urge to bang his head repeatedly on the desk in front of him.
DI Dobin was having trouble keeping his face straight.
He wished he had the nerve to clap the boy. It was about
time someone gave the sanctimonious old bastard a taste
of his own medicine. Then, to the amazement of everyone,
the Chief Inspector actually smiled. His large moustaches
seemed to crawl upwards towards his eyelids and he
was showing small, even white teeth.
'Good lad! The fact that you lost your rag shows me
that you're not guilty of anything. You must understand
that the last thing we need here is a bent copper. I know
they exist, but please God not in my division.'
He sat back in his chair, placing his fingers together and
resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. He stared at
Terry for a while before he continued speaking. Then his
voice was low and adamant.
'It's either her or the force. You realise that, don't you?
I can't have one of my men running around with the sister
of the biggest villain London's ever known. It would cast
doubt, not only on your integrity but on the integrity of
your colleagues. You can understand that, surely?'
All the fight had left Terry and he dropped his
chair, defeated. He nodded. Dobin handed him a cigarette
and he took it gratefully. Taking his matches from his
pocket he lit up, aware that his hands were shaking.
Dobin spoke for the first time. His gravelly voice was
quiet. 'Has she ever asked you about your work, Terry?'
'Never, sir. In fact, she hated me even mentioning it.
Now I know why. It's all falling into place. Why I could
never pick her up from her house . . . never phone her
there . . . Oh, lots of things.'
The Chief was sorry for the boy.
'Well, lad, I'll give you twenty-four hours to make your
choice. I hope you decide to stay with us.' He held out his hand to show that the meeting was over. Terry shook
hands with both men and left the office. In the main!
office, the hubbub of conversation had begun again. A few
of his friends smiled at him and patted his back. WPC;
Lomax, who had brought him his summons, winked at
him saucily. Terry ignored everyone and went to his desk. a He picked up his jacket.
'I'm going home, Jonesy. I don't feel very well.'
'Go home, lad, and come in tomorrow. He's given you
an ultimatum then, has he?'
'Yeah.' Terry's voice was tired. He needed time to think.;
Away from this place.
'Well, if it's any consolation, son, I think you have the!
makings of a good copper. Don't throw away a perfectly
good career for a piece of skirt. They're not worth it.'
Jones's wife had been one of an army of long-suffering
women who, faced with the loneliness of being a policeman's wife, had got herself an alternative wage packet.
Jonesy still carried a torch for her though he would never
admit it.
'Thanks for the vote of confidence. God knows I need it
at the moment.'
'That slag Murphy had told everyone before he saw the
old man. Never could stomach the bastard. There was talk
once ... a few years ago now. . . that he was in on the
Train Robbery. Nothing was ever proven against him,
mind, but he's had a hard job living it down, I can tell
you. What's this Maura Ryan like?'
'She is one of the sweetest girls you are ever likely to
meet. I just can't believe that she is in any way related to that shower.'
'Well, you know what they say, son. You can pick your
friends, but not your relatives. I reckon the bloke who said that had never been in the police force.'
Terry tried to smile. 'See you tomorrow.' He slipped on
his jacket and left the building. He sat outside in his car for ten minutes before pulling away, his mind screaming one
question: Why?
Margaret and Maura walked into the little chemist's. They
had both had the day off work and had spent the morning
walking aimlessly around the shops. It was twenty minutes
before they plucked up the courage to enter the chemist's
shop, standing outside waiting for it to empty of people.
Now they were finally inside, Maura felt as if she wanted to scream. An Asian man stood behind the counter.
'I... I would like the result of my test, please.'
The little man smiled, showing decaying teeth. 'Surely
you would, madam. And the name?' He spoke with the
inbred politeness particular to the Pakistani race.
'Miss ... I mean, Mrs Ryan.'
He grinned at her. Oh, they were all Mrs in this country,
he thought. Even those who were not. He went into the
back of the shop and looked through the test results that had arrived that morning. He walked back into the shop'
and looked at Maura pityingly before he said, 'I am
pleased to tell you that the test was positive.'
It was the standard reply that was hardly ever what the
woman wanted to hear. 'You are three months pregnant.'
Maura's face dropped. Under normal circumstances she
and Margaret would have had a laugh at this man's
expense. Mimicked his voice to each other and remarked
on his rotten teeth, saying he had a mouth full of dogends, the standard expression for tooth decay. Now she very much doubted if she would ever laugh again. She had a
terrible feeling, as if her head was filling up with hot air.
She felt much too hot, and prickles of warmth crept up her back to her neck. She was having trouble breathing. She put her hand up to pull her blouse away from her
throat... As she fainted away on to the floor the lastf
thing she heard was Marge's voice, coming from some-1
where in the distance, high and croaky.
'Oh my Gawd! The bleeding shock's killed her! She's ' dropped down dead!'
Maura woke up on a little couch in the back of the
chemist's shop. As she opened her eyes and took a deep
breath she vaguely wondered how on earth the two tiny
people looking at her anxiously had managed to carry her
in there. Margaret's face had tears and mascara running
down it.
'Oh, Maws, you gave me such a fright... I thought
you'd copped it.'
The little chemist pointed at a cup of hot sweet tea
beside her. 'Come along, madam. Be drinking it up, it will
make you feel much better. It's the best thing for shock.
And it's a terrible shock you had, I am thinking.' He
looked at the two girls closely.
Maura pushed herself upright on the little couch and
picked up the cup of tea. Her dress had somehow risen up
over her thighs and she noticed the chemist staring at her
164
legs. Hastily she tried to pull her dress back down, spilling her tea as she did so.
'I am having a friend who can help ladies like yourself.
. . young ladies who cannot tell their mummies and
daddies what has befallen them. I will write his name and
address down and give it to you. Tell the man that Mr
Patel sent you. It will cost you only eighty-five pounds.
That is very cheap price.'
He hurried back into the shop. The two girls stared at
his retreating back. Maura felt as if she was trapped in
some kind of nightmare that would never end. She
glanced around the room. It was chock-a-block with boxes
and packs of shampoo, disinfectant, bleach, and all manner
of weird-looking instruments. The only nice thing about it
was that it smelt lovely . . . of pine-scented bath cubes and perfume.
The little man rushed back in with a piece of paper.
'This man is very very good, madam. A very nice man
indeed.'
Maura took the piece of paper, because she didn't know
what else to do, and placed it in her shoulderbag.
The man kept chattering on until finally Maura put
down the tea and stood up. She felt absolutely terrible and as if he read her mind he pointed to a small door in the
corner of the room. Entering the tiny toilet, Maura
retched for what seemed like ages, the dank and musty
smell of the carpet tiles mingled with the overpowering
smell of urine seeming to spur her on. Cold droplets of
perspiration were standing out on her forehead and she
wiped them away with the back of her hand. She staggered
out to the smell of the pine bath cubes.
'Come on, Maws, we better make a move.' Margaret
took her arm and, thanking the little man, they left the
shop. They walked for a while in silence before Margaret
said: 'You should have seen that skinny little sod trying to lift you on to that couch ... If I hadn't have been so
worried. I'd have pissed myself laughing!'
Maura, seeing in her mind's eye the incongruousness of
the situation, started to laugh. Margaret laughed with her, and soon the two girls began to scream with laughter.
Passersby paused to stare at them, smiling themselves and
thinking it must be a great joke. Maura's laughter was
tinged with hysteria. They held on to one another,
screeching, until Maura's laughter turned to deep racking
sobs. i;
'What am I gonna do, Marge?'
Margaret led her into a small coffee shop and sat her
down. She ordered a pot of coffee from a fat bored
waitress and went back to her friend. When she was seated
Maura repeated her question.
'What the hell am I gonna do? There's gonna be
murders committed over this.'
'There's not a lot you can do, Maws, except tell
everyone. People are funny like that. Remember Gina
Blenkinsop? She got in the club by some bloke who had it
on his toes. Well, she had her baby and now her mum and
dad absolutely dote on the poor little thing.'
Maura snapped at her friend, 'Oh, yeah? I can just see
Mickey, can't you? Holding the baby at the christening . . .
every villain in London on one side'of the Church and the
best part of Vine Street nick on the other. Use your bloody head, Marge. This baby will be as welcome as a pork chop
in a synagogue.'
The waitress brought over their pot of coffee. She laid
out the cups and saucers and the two girls sat quietly
until she had finished. When she went Margaret tried
again. 'I still can't understand why you never went on
the pill.'
Maura sipped her coffee and banged the cup back in the
saucer.
'Oh, don't be so bloody ridiculous! How could I go
to O'Reilly? He would have been straight round my
mother's!'
Margaret swallowed her temper. Maura was in one of
her moods and in fairness, Marge admitted, she would be
the same if the boot was on the other foot. She took a
deep breath.
'I told you to go to that doctor in Hampstead where I
go. He'll give you slimming pills . . . anything you want, as long as you can pay.'
Maura screwed up her eyes and stared at Margaret. Her
weight was a touchy subject. 'Are you being bleeding
funny?'
'Of course not! Anyway, slimming pills would be a bit of
a waste of time now, don't you think?'
She looked meaningfully at Maura's waist. The look
brought Maura back to reality and she wailed: 'Oh, Marge,
what am I gonna do!' Her voice held a plaintive note. She
put her hands on her belly. She had a little life in there, and somewhere inside her she was pleased. She loved
children. Her brother's daughter Carla had always been
like a little sister to her. She had never resented the
amount of time she spent at the house. Maura was aware
that Janine did not really like her only child, but it had
never mattered because Carla was doted on by herself and
her brothers. Now she had a child growing in her own
body and knew that it would be hated, despised, because
its father was a policeman. The biggest cloud on her
horizon was not Terry's reaction but Mickey's. He would
want to kill Terry stone dead just for sleeping with his
sister, and when he found out that Terry was a policeman
. . . she felt sick with fright. He would kill Terry, then
herself - in that order. He would take it as a personal
affront. She closed her eyes tightly to block out her
brother's image.
'I tell you what I'm going to do, Marge. I'm going to
go and see Terry and tell him everything. About the
baby . . . the boys . . . everything. He loves me, I know he does. We could go away together somewhere. I know that
he'll stand by me. He's got to!' Her voice was full of
panic. Margaret wondered who she was trying to convince
with her talk about going away.
'I hope he stands by you, Maws.' Her voice sounded
sceptical.
Maura wailed, 'Oh, don't put the mockers on me,
Marge! As if I haven't got enough troubles.'
Margaret stretched her hand across the table and held
on to Maura's. Squeezing it tightly, she smiled at her best friend. They had come a long way together since the fight
outside their school. She just wished that she had as much
faith in Terry Petherick. She liked him well enough, but
couldn't see him standing by Maura, somehow. She might
'not have any qualifications but she was cute enough to
realise that Terry Petherick would not want relations like
the Ryans in his job. She said a quick Hail Mary, as she
used to when she was a child, and prayed that Maura
would not come unstuck. Though another part of her
mind said: She already has. Terry was sitting in his flat in Islington. The chair he was sitting on had been a present from Maura. They had been
strolling through Camden Market when they had seen it.
It was large, high-backed, and upholstered in green
leather. They had homed in on it together, both of the
same mind. Instead of a settee they would have the chair,
then they could cuddle up in it together. Something they
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had since done many times. They had bartered with the
stall owner for it, laughing and joking until a compromise
had been reached. For the grand total of six pounds they
had got their 'loveseat'. Maura had then bought some
material, a riot of green and blue brocade, and had made
the curtains for the windows. He remembered thinking as
he watched her sewing them: She's a natural homemaker.
Over the months they had been together he had fallen
deeply in love with her. Her smile, her cheeky quips, her
long legs and incredible breasts . . . Now he had to decide . whether that love was strong enough. All day a little voice had been nagging at him, telling him that if he really loved her he would have thrown in his job there and then . . .
Oh, he had defended her, but not vehemently enough to
tell his boss where to stick his job, and logic told him that's what he would have done if he really, really loved her.
He stood up and went to the window. It was cold
outside and a solitary little boy was kicking a football
around the road. He turned abruptly from the window
and walked into the bedroom. He stared at the bed.
Maura had really abandoned herself there. She had
shocked him at times with the intensity of her loving. She
wasn't a girl who would give herself lightly, he knew that. Was that why he was feeling such a bastard? Because deep inside he knew that there was no competition really. Maura
Ryan was an also-ran.
He went back into the small living room and opened the
bottle of Teacher's he had bought on the way home from
work. What he needed was a stiff drink. He poured himself
a large Scotch. He needed something to numb his mind
for what he was thinking of doing. He checked himself.
What he was going to do. He had decided then, and not
even realised it. ;..--'
He took a large gulp of his Scotch, grateful for the
burning sensation it created in his throat. All his life he had had one ambition: to be a policeman. He had studied
long and hard with that one thought in mind. Now he had
to choose between the job he loved and the woman he
loved, and the woman had lost. He had to admit that to
himself. . . Oh God!
If she had been anyone's sister but Michael Ryan's! The
thought of Michael brought his heart leaping into his
mouth. He took another long pull of his whisky and sat
back in the armchair. Everyone knew about Michael Ryan
and his brothers - they were notorious. There was talk of
their being involved not just with drugs and whores, but
arms too. Not just the odd sawn-off either, but high
velocity rifles, rocket launchers, and anything else that the British Army wouldn't miss. Jesus Christ, how did he ever
get personally involved with all this! He was starting to
sweat. He had before him the awesome task of giving
Michael Ryan's baby sister the Big E. He put the glass he
was holding to his forehead. The enormity of it all was
breaking into his consciousness.
All day he had been worried about Maura . . . Her
reaction. How to let her down gently. In his worried state
he had concentrated wholly on Maura. Now the thought
of her brother invaded his mind. He rolled the glass along
his skin, savouring the coldness as he became unbearably
hot.
He sat back in the chair. Everything in the room seemed
to be mocking him. Even the TV set in the corner. Once
again the dreadful feeling of foreboding pervaded his
being. Michael Ryan would not like his sister being with a
policeman, he would lay money on that.
He closed his eyes again. In his mind he could see
Michael standing over him, threatening him with bodily
170
harm. Suddenly he tensed. He could hear the scraping
noise of a key going into a lock. His whole body was taut.
In his mind's eye he could see Michael Ryan letting
himself into his flat. He sat in the chair paralysed with
fright, the knuckles of his hand white as he clutched the
glass. He heard the door swing open with its familiar
creaking groan. Every nerve in his body was jangling. For
the first time he knew the smell of fear. It seemed to rise up into his nostrils, an overpowering aroma of hot sticky
stale sweat. Supposing Ryan had taken the key off Maura?
They could have been seen out together. A hundred
different thoughts whirled around in his head, leaving him
breathless and dizzy . . .
Instead of Michael's heavy footfall, he heard the familiar
clatter of Maura's heels as she stepped into the hall on to the worn linoleum. He collapsed into the chair like a rag
doll. A thin trickle of sweat slipped down his forehead,
over his eyebrow and down on to his cheek. A feeling of
euphoria swept over him. It was Maura . . . Maura . . . Her name bounced around inside his head like a crazy pattern
in a child's kaleidoscope. She walked into the lounge and
smiled at him.
'You all right? You look as if you've seen a ghost.'
He stood up awkwardly. Placing his glass on the small
coffee table he went to her. Maura was in the process of
putting her key back into her bag. Reaching out, he took it from her gently and slipped it into his trouser pocket.
Maura looked at him.
'What did you do that for?' Her big luminous eyes held
a hint of fear. He tried to smile and succeeded only in
grimacing.
As he looked at her he didn't see her lovely trusting
face. Terry saw only Michael Ryan. A very angry Michael
Ryan.
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fib
'I think that we're getting a bit too serious, love.' It
sounded lame even to his own ears. 'I think we should
cool it for a while. We're both young . . .' His voice trailed off. He felt so bad he could not meet her eyes. Maura just
stood there thunderstruck.
'I beg your pardon?' Her voice sounded small and hurt.
Terry still could not bring himself to look at her so he walked back over to the window.
'It's quite simple really, Maura ... I don't want to get
involved right now. I want to be free. Go out with other
women. I don't want to get tied down just yet.'
'I see.' Her voice was flat. Pride had taken over. 'And
just when did you come to this earth-shattering conclusion, may I ask? Only I was under the impression that you
was my bloke . . . My chap, if you like that expression
better. Now I find that I was just a screw.' She stormed
across the room to him, pulling him around to face her
with considerable strength. 'Let me tell you something,
Terry bloody "I want to see other women" Petherick!
I'm...'
She stopped herself there and then. How could she tell
him about the baby? Her eyes darted around the room,
looking for a chance of escape. It was all going wrong. All the words she had practised on her way over here dried up
inside her head. The picture she had built up in her mind
of Terry taking her in his arms and whispering that they
would always be together, no matter what, faded in front
of her eyes like chalk paintings in the rain. He was
dumping her. He had had his bit of fun and now she was
ancient history.
The fight left her as quickly as it had come. The urge to
rip his face open with her nails dissolved along with all her dreams and hopes. She felt the hot salty tears come and
forced them away. If she had to go, she would go with
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dignity. She glanced around the room. She had experienced
so much pleasure in this little flat, the result of
which was inside her at this very moment. Should she tell
him? Should she scream it out into his face? Make him take
the responsibility? Even as the words formed in her mind
she knew that she would never say them to him. She
would never tell him about the child. Having him on
sufferance would be far worse than not having him at all.
She bent down wearily and picked her bag up off the floor.
She had not even realised that she had dropped it. She
turned to leave and his voice stayed her.
'Believe me, Maws, I am really sorry about this.'
His voice sounded so sincere. She laughed bitterly. He
had the knack of sounding sincere. Last night in bed he
had told her that he loved her, and had sounded sincere.
The lying, two-faced bastard!
Without facing him, she said: 'Terry.'
'Yes?' His heart was breaking.
Gathering up every ounce of strength and hatred she
could muster she turned to face him, launching herself at
him with arms flying. She felt his skin tear beneath her
nails. Felt the pure rush of pleasure as she made him hurt, as she was hurting. As quickly as the attack began, it
stopped. The sudden urge of energy left her drained.
'You can fuck off, Petherick!' She saw his hand go up to
his face. Four deep grooves on his cheek were bleeding
simultaneously. She smiled at him, a nasty evil smile, and
pointed her finger at him. Her long scarlet-painted nails
made him flinch.
'I never thought I would ever say this to you. You're a
dirty rotten swine. You took me and you used me. I
trusted you, Terry.' Her voice broke. 'But I tell you
something now, boy. The day will come when you will
want me . . . when you will need me. You'll live to regret;
this day, because if you live to one hundred years old you'll never find anyone to love you like I do.'
With that she turned away from him and left the flat,
slamming the door behind her.
Terry watched her leave. In his heart he knew that what
she said was true. She deserved much better than the
treatment he had given her. She was his first love, the first woman to meet him on an equal plane, and he had
destroyed her with a few simple words. He was not
surprised to feel that he was crying. The tears were
running into the scratches on his face, making them sting.
He had a terrible feeling that although he had destroyed
Maura, somewhere along the line he had also destroyed
himself. He saw droplets of blood falling on to his shirt,
their deep crimson colour spreading over the material.
Suddenly he couldn't let her go. He ran to the window.
Pulling back the net curtain, he looked out on to the
street. She was on the other side of the road, her head
tucked into her coat. He knew that she too was crying.
Fumbling with the ancient catch on the window he finally
opened it and leant out, calling her at the top of his voice.
'Maura . . . Maura . . . come back!'
His voice carried to her on the wind.
He knew that she could hear him, saw her hesitate
before walking away faster, her white-blonde head tucked
even further into the collar of her coat. He watched her
until she turned the corner, the hum of the traffic grating on his ears.
Pulling his head back inside, he closed the window. The
once friendly little room looked alien now, and hostile.
Everywhere he looked was Maura Ryan . . . He could see
her flitting about, putting up the curtains, making sandwiches or curled up with him on their special armchair. He could breathe in her perfume and taste her musky body.
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She was everywhere around him. He sat in the chair.
He was still sitting there thinking about her when he
passed out much later in the evening. He had drunk the
whole bottle of Scotch.
Maura was devastated. If someone had told her that Terry
would dump her like that she would have laughed at them.
'I want to see other women.' Those words kept echoing in
her head. They would stay with her for the rest of her life.
Anything he could have said, even that he hated her would not have had the profound effect that those few words had. Well, let him see other women! She hoped to
God that he caught a terrible disease from them.
She passed the Angel and made her way along the
Pentonville Road. The fact remained that she was still
pregnant. She had an urge to go and drown herself but
dismissed it. It was getting dark and she wandered aimlessly, trying to figure out what on earth to do. All around
her were couples, holding hands, laughing, kissing. She
pushed her hands further into her pockets and carried on
walking, letting her legs carry her wherever they wanted to go. Terry's face was fresh in her mind, his softness and his tenderness welcome memories to her in the cold evening
wind.
She found herself at Kings Cross Station and was
surprised at how far she had walked. A black cab came
along the road and she hailed it, telling the driver to take her to Notting Hill. She sat in the back, huddled into a
corner of the seat, staring listlessly out of the window at the rapidly moving landscape. A lone tear rolled down her
face and she wiped it away impatiently. She was done with
crying, she had more important things to think about.
The cab driver looked over his shoulder at her and asked
cheerfully, 'Whereabouts in Notting Hill, love?'
'Lancaster Road, please.' She wouldn't go home just
yet. She would go to Margaret's. Margaret would know
what to do. She rested her head on the window, her breath
coming in little gasps that barely managed to create steam
on the glass surface. She felt so lonely, so frightened. Her bottom lip quivered as she tried to stop the tears of
frustration and rage. She loved him so much!
'You all right, love?' The driver's voice was concerned.
She sat up in her seat and saw him watching her in the
mirror above his windscreen.
She gave him a small childish smile. 'No, actually, I'm
not.'
He had a broad good-natured face. 'You listen to me,
girl. If it's boyfriend trouble that's put that frown on your boat, remember this. Us blokes ain't worth it!' He
laughed at his own wit.
Maura looked back out of the window, then forced a
large smile on to her face. 'Don't I bloody know it!'
176
Michael Ryan was in the Valbonne nightclub in Kingly
Street having a quick drink with his boyfriend, Jonny
Fenwick. It was a well-known fact that Michael Ryan was a
'brown hatter'. Not that anyone would call him that to his
face. Far from taking anything away from his street credibility it enhanced it, because queers were known to be
nasty bastards. They had a cruel twist to their nature and
the best thing to do was to keep on the good side of them.
There was no queer bashing when Michael Ryan hit the
streets. He also took a woman now and again which
further puzzled his friends and adversaries alike. It was
proof of his ever changing habits. He treated his friends
like he treated his lovers. He could go one way or the
other.
At the moment Michael was besotted by Jonny Fen
wick's youth. He was a beautiful boy with thick blond
curly hair and large, wide-spaced grey eyes. Mickey had
put him up in a flat and paid him an allowance. He was
Jonny Ryan now. Michael owned him, lock, stock and
barrel. Jonny loved it, and loved being seen with Michael.
Tonight, though, he was in a dilemma. He had heard a bit
of gossip today concerning Michael's sister and was not
sure whether to tell him or not. He certainly didn't want
any comebacks off Michael if what he said turned out to
be false. But Michael was in fine fettle tonight, full of
laughter and jokes, and Jonny decided to risk it. Not only
that, but that bitch Tommy was looking at him all
gooey-eyed and Michael was loving it, so Jonny would use
it as an excuse to get him away from the bar and Tommy!
He tapped Michael's arm.
'What, mate?' Michael's voice was warm.
'It's a bit private, Mickey. I heard a bit of news
today... I don't want to talk about it here.' He looked
meaningfully at Tommy and pursed his lips. Michael
nodded.
'Come and sit down then.'
He picked up their drinks and led Jonny over to an
empty table away from listening ears. Jonny sat down and
crossed his legs, placing his hands one on top of the other on his knee. He leant towards Michael theatrically.
'It's about a member of your family. But first I want
your solemn promise that you won't go ape shit in here.'
Michael's eyes narrowed. 'I won't lose my temper. Now
tell me what you heard.'
Jonny flicked his hair out of his eyes with a girlish
gesture and said, 'I asked you to promise me, Michael.'
He gritted his teeth. 'For fuck's sake, Jonny, spit it out.
I ain't got all night.'
Jonny licked his lips nervously. He wasn't at all sure that he was doing the right thing now. Michael spoke of his
little sister as a mixture of the Virgin Mary and the Queen.
Either way, she was completely beyond reproach.
'It's about your sister . . . She's got herself a boyfriend.'
Michael relaxed. 'Is that all? Who?'
Jonny took a sip of his gin and tonic before answering.
'It's a policeman from Vine Street.'
Michael looked as if he had been hit by a bus.
'A what!'
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'Keep your voice down! Do you want the whole world
to know? He's a young Detective Constable. Remember
my friend little Mo, the fat queen from Kensington?'
Michael nodded. 'Well, apparently he has a few friends at Vine Street, though myself I'd call them customers. Anyway, one of them told him. It seems a bigwig there . . .
some bloke called Murphy. . . pulled the rug out from
under him today. Told his Chief Inspector that he was
seeing her . . . your sister. Apparently there was a big to-do about it. Anyway, little Mo rang me. And being a good
boy, I thought you ought to know.'
Michael was staring at Jonny without seeing him. His
face was dark with fury. The conniving little bitch! She'd
been knocking about with a filth right under his nose. He
felt a blinding compulsion to wring her neck.
'Phone this little Mo and find out who his customers
are. Names, ranks, the works. Tell him from me that if he
decides to become coy I'll break his fucking neck.'
Jonny nodded. 'All right, Mickey. First thing in the
morning.'
Michael was in the throes of a violent rage. Maura had
never even brought a fellow home. A small rational
thought broke into his reverie. It said to him, Well, she
wouldn't, would she? Of course not. She had a bit more
sense than to bring an old Bill straight into her family of criminals. He could easily walk out of this club and smash
her to a pulp. At least one good thing had come of it. He
had the means to blackmail a few of the shirtlifters on the force. He consoled himself with that thought."
'Look, Jon, I have to get around to me own club now.
I'll see you later on tonight.'
Jonny smiled his best smile. He had been the teller of
very bad news and now he was scared. Michael was capable
of taking the whole thing out on him.
'All right, Mickey love.' He fluttered his eyelashes as a
woman might. Watching him, Michael experienced one of
his lightning changes of mood. He laughed softly, guessing
what was going through the boy's mind. Wagging his
finger in Jonny's face, he said: 'Behave yourself, you!'
To which Jonny answered seriously, 'I don't have much
choice do I?'
Michael squeezed his shoulder affectionately and left the
club.
As he made his way to Dean Street he thought about
what Jonny had told him. The doorman of the Pink
Pussycat hailed him and he waved back halfheartedly. His
arrogant, strutting walk and dark countenance were familiar features around Soho. Unlike most of his contemporaries
Michael didn't feel the need to be surrounded by
minders. His immense size, coupled with the fact that he
was known to carry a piece, was warning enough for any
would-be assassins. Since Michael had taken over as the
Baron of the West End he had not had one serious threat.
He was, to all intents and purposes, the business - the
highest accolade that a villain could be awarded. As he
walked to his club he was hailed by touts, prostitutes,
bouncers and pimps. He crossed Shaftesbury Avenue into
Dean Street itself and slowed his pace. If Maura was
knocking about with a filth he would kill her. He hadn't
fought tooth and nail since he was seventeen to have his
little baby sister blow it all wide open for him. He gritted his teeth in temper. He had worshipped her, would have
given her the earth if she had asked for it. But he
wouldn't allow her to have this bloke. Never! He would
find out everything he could about this copper and then
he would nip it in the bud. He stormed into Le Buxom
at ten-fifteen.
The club was just picking up. A few stray punters were
180
having a drink. They were 'weekend warriors' - the
nickname given to men who saved up their meagre
earnings as civil servants or bank clerks and came up
West once a month for a drink, sex and excitement. An
experienced tom could tell them a mile off from their
off-the-peg suits to their Freeman, Hardy and Willis
shoes. The older women gravitated to them, secure in
the knowledge that it would be an easy lay. These men
were too scared of their wives and the police ever to
cause any trouble. They were seldom rough, and because
they had to make their money stretch were hardly
choosy. The only bugbear for the club was the fact that
they only ever bought one bottle of champagne, making
it last all night, until the final stripper had departed. A weekend warrior was the only sort of punter who
provided the women with, an opportunity actually to
drink the stuff.
Michael looked around the club. It was half empty. He
noticed Benny sitting at a table with one of the younger
girls, a pretty little piece known affectionately as Pussy.
Despite his anger Michael smiled. Benny had a permanent
hard on. As soon as a new hostess arrived, Benny was
there, cock standing to attention. There was a longstanding joke in all the rival clubs that without Benny, Le
Buxom would have gone bankrupt years ago. Michael
stood by the meat seats. For once the girls there were
subdued. He had that effect on people. The girls rarely
spoke to him unless he addressed them personally. The
stench of cheap perfume was overpowering. Michael nodded
to them and made his way out into the foyer and
upstairs to the offices.
Geoffrey, Leslie and Garry were already in there having
a drink. He greeted them and poured himself a large
brandy. Sitting behind his desk, he looked directly at
Garry. If anyone knew Maura's whereabouts it would be
him.
'Do you know if our Maura's got a boyfriend?'
Garry looked at his brother in bewilderment. 'What if
she has? It's none of our business.'
Michael was out of his seat and round the desk, knocking
Leslie flying out of his chair as he pushed past him to
get to Garry. He grabbed him by his shirt front, pulling
him up out of the chair with considerable strength.
' "None of our business" you say ... I heard a whisper
on the street tonight that our sister is knocking about with a filth!' He threw Garry back into his seat. His temper was seething. If he didn't get some kind of answer soon he
would explode.
Leslie stared at Garry, who was gasping for breath.
There was no doubt about it... Mickey was an awesome
bastard. There was no one to touch him. Mickey was the
business. Well the business.
'Who told you all this then, Mick?' Geoffrey tried
unsuccessfully to defuse the situation.
'Never you mind who bloody well told me! It's enough
that I've heard. I want you two -' he pointed at Leslie and Garry - 'to find out how true it is.'
Geoffrey tried again, 'It's not definite then? What I
mean is. . .'
Michael screwed up his face and bellowed at this
brother, 'Oh, for fuck's sake, Geoffrey ... I don't want a
government White Paper on it all. I just want the facts!
Now do what I fucking well told you to do!'
Leslie and Garry scrambled from the room. When
Michael was in one of his tempers, you did not argue with
him.
Geoffrey poured himself a brandy. When Michael was
like this, it was best not to rock the boat in any way.
182
Michael swallowed his own brandy in a gulp and grimaced.
'So what do you think, Geoffrey?' His voice was
once again steady.
'Who told you?'
'Jonny actually.' He sounded wary.
'In that case ... no way. Not our Maws.' His voice was
dismissive. He did not like Jonny. He did not like the fact that Michael was homosexual, though he would never say
it outright.
Michael guessed, rightly, exactly what had gone through
Geoffrey's mind.
'I know you don't like Jonny. That's tough. But I'll tell
you this much - for all his faults he ain't a liar. And there's one thing that seems to have escaped your notice . . . most people don't even know we have a sister.'
Geoffrey digested this bit of logic, watching Michael
sitting at his desk chewing his thumbnail. Geoffrey knew
from experience that Michael could sit like that for hours.
Sighing, he poured himself another drink. He hoped for
Maura's sake that what they had heard wasn't true.
Downstairs, Leslie and Garry had told Benny what had
happened. He was still sitting with Pussy, except now the
night had lost some of its enchantment. Sensing that she
had lost his attention, the girl stroked his thigh, pouting at him prettily. He smiled at her with a crafty little grin
guaranteed to melt the hardest of hearts. ".,'
'Pussy.' His voice was caressing.
'Yes?' She looked into his eyes. Their blue depths
mirrored her features.
'Let's go, shall we?'
'All right then.' They stood up together. Benny wanted
out of here before Michael decided to rope him in on
everything. There were many things he would do for his
eldest brother, but even he drew the line at a witch hunt
on his only sister. Gathering up their things, they left the club. Hailing a cab outside, Benny jumped in, pulling
Pussy in after him. There was a little hotel just off
Leicester Square where he could hole up with her for the
night. And that's what he intended to do. The thought of
ringing home and warning his sister crossed his mind, but
he soon dismissed it. He didn't want any part of this
whatsoever.
The girl snuggled up to him in the back of the taxi, and
for the first time in his life Benny wondered if he would be able to get it up.
The way he was feeling, he would need Charles Atlas to
lift it for him.
Garry and Leslie got out of their car. They were going to
see another policeman. This was their second visit in two
hours. The first had been to a young PC who had been as
bewildered as they were. They had left no wiser to their
sister's antics than they had been before. It had cost them twenty quid to keep him quiet, but it was worth it. He was
going to keep his ear to the ground. The man they were
going to see now was a sergeant in Netting Dale police
station. He had been on the Ryans' payroll for about five
years. Well, now he could earn his money.
They knocked on his front door. It was nearly twelve
thirty. The small terraced house was in darkness. A light
came on upstairs and Sergeant Potter's grizzled head
appeared from a window.
'Who the bloody hell is it?' ;
He peered myopically down at them.
'It's Leslie Ryan. I wanna see you, Sarge.' Leslie's voice
was a theatrical whisper.
Grunting and moaning, the old man retreated back
inside the room. Leslie and Garry heard him clumping
down his stairs. The hall light went on and the door was
opened.
'What the hell are you playing at? Coming round here at
this time of night?'
Garry and Leslie walked into the hallway.
'We've got a few questions, and we want you to give us
the answers.'
The old man looked at them maliciously. He had a
sneaking suspicion that he knew what they were going to
ask. 'Would the questions be about your sister by any
chance?'
'That's right, Sarge. What do you know about her
then?' Garry sounded menacing and the man realised that
he had forgotten for a moment just who he was dealing
with. He licked his lips.
He started talking in a self-righteous tone of voice.
'Now you listen to me ... I didn't know anything until
today, I take oath on that. A friend of mine who's now at
Vine Street gave me a ring at Netting Dale. He told me
that there had been a bit of malarkey with one of the
plainclothes there. He got hauled over the coals because
he was knock - I mean, seeing your sister.'
He was fiddling with the cord of his plaid dressing gown, his short stubby fingers tobacco-stained. Leslie and Garry stood quietly staring at him.
The man began to babble. 'Honestly, boys, I didn't
think you would be interested in it. I mean ... I assumed
you knew about it all.' He was getting desperate.
'What's the bloke's name?'
'The bloke who rang me or your sister's fancy man?
Sorry, I mean boyfriend.'
Garry closed his eyes wearily. He spoke slowly and
deliberately. 'Who was the man who rang you up?'
'Oh, it was an old friend.'
184
'Listen, you!' Garry pushed him across the hallway. 'I
just want his name, not his fucking life story. Now who is
he?'
The old man had fallen back on the stairs and sat there
watching the two boys. Upstairs he could hear his wife
getting out of bed. Her high-pitched, nasal voice floated
down the stairs. 'Who's that down there, Albert? Sounds
like an 'erd of bloody elephants from up here.'
He groaned. That was all he needed, his wife awake and
sticking her oar in where it wasn't wanted.
'No one, dear. It's police business. You go back to
sleep.'
'Well, just you tell them to keep their great big galloping feet off of my clean floor.'
'I will.'
Leslie had an urge to laugh and stifled it. 'The name of
your informant?'
'It was a bloke called Jones . . . He's a DS at Vine
Street.'
'Is he reliable? I mean, if he said something was true,
would that be the case?'
'Oh, yeah. He's a rare one, old Jonesy. If he told me he
had seen old Nick himself I'd believe him. He's not a
spinner.'
Garry snorted. 'That makes a change in the police force.
I thought you needed a degree in being a lying bastard
before they would have you?'
Albert pursed his lips. Even though he was on the take,
he still took a pride in being a policeman.
'What was the bloke's name who's been seeing my
sister?'
'Petherick. Detective Constable Terence Petherick.'
'That's all we wanted to know. You can go back to bed
with old vinegar tits now.'
186
As they left the house, Leslie slipped the old man a
ten-pound note.
'Listen, Sarge, we want his address. If you can get it
there'll be a pony in it for you, all right?'
'OK, son.' All his animosity was forgotten now. He
could do a lot with twenty-five quid. Anyway, he reasoned,
they'd get their information one way or the other so he
might as well feather his nest while he had the chance. 'I'll keep me ear to the ground. Don't you worry.' He closed
the door behind them.
His wife's voice came once more from above him.
'Al. . . bert!' She had the knack of singing his name out in such a way that her voice carried for about three miles.
'Oh, shut your row, you stupid old bitch!'
His wife sat in her bed, her face a mask of Pond's cold
cream and abject disbelief. Her curlers were placed strategically around her head like a crash helmet. She hitched up
her ample chest, her mouth settling to a grim line. A
malevolent gleam in her eye, she pulled the covers off her.
Swinging her legs out of bed, she placed her feet in her
carpet slippers, stood up and picked up the heavy chamber
pot from underneath the bed. She walked out of the
bedroom on to the landing. As her husband reached the
top of the stairs she flung the contents into his face . . .
that would teach him to answer her back!
She clumped back into her bedroom leaving her
husband clutching a soggy ten-pound note in his hand.
He spat. Only his Gladys would have the nerve to empty
an 'Edgar Allen' all over him. Sod them bloody Ryans! If
they hadn't got him out of bed none of this would have
happened.
Garry and Leslie drove back to Dean Street. It was just
on one o'clock. They arrived at the club at one-thirty-five.
The balloon went up at one-forty.
187
Maura was lying in bed wide awake. It was nearly two
thirty in the morning and she was no nearer sleep than she
had been at nine o'clock when she had got into bed. Her
mind was turning in circles, her thoughts drifting away on
different tangents as she tried to see a way out of her
predicament. There was none. She had talked everything
over with Margaret, but neither girl could find a solution
to her problem. A problem that was getting bigger in
Maura's mind with every passing second.
She was in a quandary. If she told her family who the
father was there would be murder. Especially if she told
them he had dumped her. As much as Terry had hurt her,
she wasn't going to be the cause of his getting beaten to
death. And if she knew Mickey that would be the
outcome. She placed her hands on her belly. There was a
tiny little person in there, a completely new life waiting
for her to bring it into the world. She turned over the
bed again. The blankets and sheets were tangled around
her.
How could he have dismissed her like that? She was still
reeling from the shock. She had thought he would have
been over the moon once the news had sunk in. She had
seen him picking her up in his arms and kissing all her fears away. Telling her that he loved her. That they would go
away and get married, away from her brothers, to Scotland
or somewhere. Now, in bed, in the dark, she could see her
plans for what they were: childish fantasies. Terry had no
more need of her than he had of his car. When it was old
hat, you traded it in for a newer model.
She felt the familiar sting of tears. Well, he wouldn't
hear about this child from her. She wouldn't lower herself. , If he didn't want her then he didn't want his child either.
But what was she going to do about the baby? She
188
couldn't see herself as one of these unmarried mothers,
brazenly having their babies and sod the neighbours. If it
had been anyone else, her brothers would have been
round the boy's house, given him a good hiding, and then
the wedding would have been arranged, quick smart. But
this was a situation that could not be resolved so easily.
Even if Terry wanted to marry her, Michael would move
heaven and earth to stop the marriage taking place.
She was hot again so she pushed off the blankets. In her
short nylon nighty she looked far more seductive than she
felt. Her long smooth legs were spreadeagled on the
blankets, her arms were hugging her breasts. She had
combed out her long hair before getting into bed and it
fanned around her head giving her an ethereal appearance,
like a saucy angel.
She rolled her head from side to side on her pillow. Oh,
why was she being plagued like this! It was bad enough
being pregnant without all this added worry. She turned
herself over again in the bed. This time she was facing the window. She stared out into the darkness, only the light of the streetlights to illuminate her room. Earlier she had
prayed - to the Immaculate Conception and Saint Jude,
the patron saint of no hope! Above her bed was the Sacred
Heart, a large golden vessel pulsing outside Christ's body.
He had looked benevolently down on her for years. She
began to pray to him again. In the half-light she could see his golden heart glinting. She began to murmur the
Eucharistic prayer.
' "Father, you are holy indeed, and all creation rightly
gives you praise." '
As she prayed she heard a car drive into Lancaster Road.
She saw the car's headlights cast long shadows over her:
bedroom ceiling as the engine died down and guessed,
rightly, that her brothers were home. She heard them
coming into the house and carried on praying.
' "All life, all holiness comes from you . . ." '
They were coming up the stairs. She could hear the
thud of their shoes.
' "Through our son, Jesus Christ our Lord." '
Her bedroom door was thrown open and the light
turned on. She pulled herself up in the bed and put her
hand over her eyes to shield them from the sudden glare.
Michael and Geoffrey stood at the end of her bed like
avenging angels.
She squinted at them. 'What's going on?'
'I was just gonna ask you the same thing.'
'I don't know what you're on about, Mickey. I ain't
done nothing!' Her voice was full of fear.
With one bound he was across the room. He grabbed
her hair, yanking her head back. 'You bloody tart! You've
been knocking about with a filth, ain't ya?'
'No . . . Mickey, I swear!' She was screaming with fear.
'Don't lie to me, you slag.'
He pushed his face closer to hers. She could smell his
breath as he shouted at her, 'Lover boy got an ultimatum
today, Maura. Either his bit of skirt or his job. I understand the job won.'
Maura's head was reeling. That was why he had dumped
her! That was why he had taken the key from her. He
knew who she was! .. , ' pounds '.'
'He was called into the Chiefs office. Told what a
naughty family you'd got. I'm the fucking laughing stock
of the Metropolitan Police Force over you. Every villain
from here to Liverpool will be laughing up their sleeves at me. I could bleeding well murder you!'
Maura was not listening to him. All she could think of
was the fact that Terry had known about her when she had
gone to him. It was the name Ryan that had created the
190
rift between them. Somewhere deep down inside her a
grain of contempt was forming. It was her family that he
objected to, not her. Even though it proved that it was not anything she had done that had caused their rift, instead of pleasing her she felt a disdain for him that was so strong
she could actually taste it. The gutless bastard! The dirty gutless bastard . . .
He didn't even have the nerve to tell her why he was
dumping her. He'd said he wanted to see other women
when in reality he meant: I am frightened of your brothers.
He had destroyed her and didn't have the decency to
tell her truthfully why. She was carrying his child inside
her. The fruit of their so-called love. If he walked into her room now, Michael wouldn't be in it. She would rip him
to shreds, Terry Gutless Petherick would be a dead man,
and it wouldn't be her brothers who killed him.
Michael and Geoffrey were watching her, fascinated by
the changing expressions on her face.
'Leave me alone, you!' she screamed at Michael at the
top of her voice, all fear of him leaving her at the thought of what Terry had done to her. Michael brought back his
fist. As he went to slam it into her body, Sarah's voice
stayed him.
'Oi! What the bloody hell's going on in here? It's a
wonder you ain't woken up the whole bleeding street.'
She took in the picture before her and ran to her son.
Raising herself up on her toes she grabbed hold of
Michael's hair, shaking him like a dog with its, prey.
'Don't you dare raise your hand to your sister, you great
gormless bastard! Leave go of her hair before you pull it all out.' She pummelled Michael's chest with her fists. It said a lot for his feelings for her mother that he didn't strike her, but instead threw Maura back against the pillows.
'Go back to bed, Mum, and let me sort this out.'
191
V
'No, I bleeding well won't!' She looked at her husband
who had followed her into the room. 'Tell him to leave her
alone.'
She pulled her daughter into her arms.
Benjamin, as usual, was half drunk. He looked at
everyone in the room with his drunken leer and, finding it
difficult to concentrate, waved his hands at his wife. 'Leave Mickey alone. He knows what he's about.'
Sarah lost her temper.
'That's right, Ben, do what you always do. Pass the
bloody buck. This time to your son. You drunken bastard!
Get out of me sight.'
She turned her gaze on Mickey.
'Now you tell me what's going on here. Your father
might be scared of you but I ain't. I'll never be frightened of something that came out of me own body, so just you
remember that. Come on, I'm waiting. What's going on?'
Geoffrey answered for him. 'She's been seeing an old
Bill.'
Maura's little sob was the only other sound. Sarah
stroked her daughter's hair gently and sat herself on the
bed.
'So what? Why should that worry you lot? Who the hell
do you think you are ... the Krays? You're nothing, do
you hear me. Nothing!
'Out on the street you might be hard men, but in
here . . .' she gestured around the room with her free
hand. '. . . you're just my boys. That's all. And I never
thought I would see the day when you raised your hand to
your own sister.'
Sarah was aware that she was speaking for effect. She
knew enough about her boys to know that they were
greatly feared. She had found guns hidden in the coal
house and had sat beside her sons in courtrooms. She had
192
even read about them in the papers. The News of the World had had a big spread a few weeks earlier about the hostess clubs in Soho, and one of the clubs mentioned was owned
by this great handsome son of hers. A son she was finding
it increasingly difficult to love these days. And now on top of everything she had this - her only daughter, her pride
and joy, being attacked in her own home. Just because she
was seeing a policeman. A decent man more than likely.
Yet she knew that her daughter's lovelife was doomed.
She looked down into Maura's tearstained face. 'Is it
true, Maws?'
Maura couldn't lie to her mother so she nodded.
Benjamin, more alert now, said, 'Oh my God!'
Sarah turned on him like a mad dog.
'I'll give you "Oh my God", because your daughter's
decent. By Christ, it's a wonder we haven't got a whore on
our hands, being brought up with you lot. You're all
whoremasters, the lot of you!' Her voice was thick with
tears. 'I can't hold me head up in the street because
everyone knows about you all... everyone knows my
sons are glorified pimps.' She turned on Michael. 'Well,
my lad, I hope you get your just deserts in this life. That you pay for all that you've done. For the innocent lives
you've ruined and for the death of my Anthony. I've
always blamed you for that.' She wagged her head at him.
'If he hadn't been working for you he would be at home
with me now.
'I also happen to know that you're a queer, Michael
Ryan. And I hear that they're very good to their mothers.
'So perhaps you could make me a happy woman now by
getting of this house and not coming back. It's high time
you left anyway, at thirty-one. Go and live with your
boyfriend, and take that little snipe with you!' She pointed at Geoffrey. 'Yes, you. You always walked in his footsteps,
tried to emulate everything he did. Well, you can follow
him out of this house tonight. Go on. Get out, the pair of
you.'
Michael was staring at his mother as if she had grown
another head right in front of his eyes. He worshipped her, lived for her. If she turned her back on him he had
nothing. He stepped towards her, his voice wheedling.
'Mum? Don't be silly, Mum . . .Idon'twanttoleaveyou.'
Sarah cut him off. 'It's a fine thing we bred between us,
Benjamin. A cruel, sadistic mummy's boy.' She put up her
arm to push him away. 'Get out of my sight, Mickey.
You're making me stomach turn. While you kept your
violence outside this house I could ignore it, but to see
you attacking your own sister . . . and her no more than a
child. That's finished you as far as I'm concerned. Now
just get out.'
She turned her back to him and pulled Maura tightly to her breast. Michael stood there, dazed. Geoffrey went to him, taking him gently by the arm and leading him from
the room. Neither looked at their father who stood staring
at his wife as if she was a stranger. He had never heard her say so much in one go, in all their years of marriage. He
heard the front door slam. Turning slowly from his wife,
he went back to their room.
Maura and Sarah cried together.
'Oh, Mum . . . poor Mickey!' Even after what had
happened Maura could still find it in her heart to feel sorry for him. She knew that her mother was the most important
thing in his life. For her to say all that to him, and for
him to stand and take it, spoke volumes. Anyone else
would have been dead.
'Don't waste any pity on him, Maws. He's no better
than a wild animal. The thought of him with another man
makes me sick to me guts.'
194
Sarah made herself comfortable on the bed and
smoothed back her daughter's hair from her face. She
loved Maura. She admitted to herself that she had been
overprotective towards her, had allowed Michael and the
other boys to run her life. But when she had walked in this room and seen Michael attacking her, something inside
her had snapped. Garry had been right all along. What she
had done was try and take over Maura's life, and this had
been the outcome. Her daughter had found herself a man,
a decent man more than likely, and the boys wanted to tear
it apart.
She said softly, 'Who's the lucky man then?'
Maura sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her
hand. 'That's the ironic part about it, Mum. As from
today I'm not seeing him any more. He packed me in.'
Sarah smiled to herself. 'Listen, child, you will meet a lot of fellows and think that you love them. It's human
nature, part of growing up. Don't make the same mistake
as I did and marry the first man that comes along. I've
regretted marrying your father all my life. You get yourself a decent man with a decent profession. Let me sort out
Mickey and the rest of them.'
Maura cried harder. 'You don't understand, Mum.
Terry ... he was the one for me. I really loved him. When
he finished with me today, I wanted to die.'
Sarah did smile now. Maura sounded so young and
naive. 'That'll pass. And in a few months someone else will be "the one". It's all part and parcel of growing up.'
Sarah's patronising tone made Maura angry. Rising up
on her elbow she shouted, 'In a few months' time I'll be
out here!' She gestured with her free hand.
Maura had a sneaking feeling of triumph when she saw
the shock on her mother's face.
'Oh no, Maws! Never that. Is that why Michael. . .?'
Maura collapsed back on to the pillows. 'No, Mum. He
doesn't know. I only found out myself today.' Her voice
broke. 'I was gonna tell him . . . tell Terry everything.
About the baby, Mickey . . . But before I got the chance
he dumped me. Said he didn't want to get tied down.
Wanted to see other women.' Her face screwed up into a
mask of tragedy. 'Oh, Mum! What am I gonna do!'
Sarah was stunned. She sat on the bed staring at her
daughter, the word 'pregnant' echoing inside her head. It
made her squirm inside. She had become pregnant at
eighteen. Her father had gone round to Benjamin's house
and given him the 'hiding of his life', as he had boasted
afterwards. Then the marriage had been arranged. Her life
had been ruined because of a furtive, fumbling, sexual
exploration up a dark alleyway. Well, that was not going to happen to her daughter. No, by Christ! Her only daughter
would get a decent crack at life. She personally would see
to that. She made a decision. 'You're going to get rid of
it.'
'What!' Maura thought she was hearing things.
'I said, you're getting rid of it!'
'But, Mum!' Maura's voice was shocked. 'I can't do
that. It's a sin!'
Sarah's thin-lipped mouth set in a grim line.
'It's a pity you didn't think of that when your knees
were pointing at the ceiling. That was a sin as well! No,
I've made up my mind. The child must go.' Seeing her
daughter's sad face, her voice softened.
'Believe me, Maws, you will thank me for this some day.
Could you imagine the trouble this would cause with
Michael? His sister pregnant by a policeman - of all things - who'd dumped her? There'd be murder done.'
Maura felt numb inside. 'That's why he dumped me,
Mum . . . because of who I am. A Ryan. He never told me
196
that - Mickey did. That's how he found out about it all.'
Sarah kissed Maura's forehead lightly. Suddenly she felt
weary, old. 'Get yourself off to sleep now. We'll make our
plans in the morning.'
When her mother had settled her down and left the
room Maura lay for a while in the darkness. Everything
had gone wrong for her. Now she was not only pregnant,
she was the cause of Michael and Geoffrey being thrown
out of the house. She felt the useless tears run from her
eyes and thought, I'll never sleep again. But she did. Only to be plagued by the old nightmare . . .
Downstairs Sarah had made herself a pot of tea and was
on the second cup. There would be no sleep for her
tonight, that much she was sure of. She finished her tea
and settled herself into her chair. Closing her eyes, she
began to pray to our Lady of Perpetual Succour.
' "Most holy Virgin Mary, who, to inspire me with .
boundless confidence, has been pleased to take that sweetest of name, Mother of Perpetual Succour . . ." ' Sarah's
lips were barely moving in the dimness of the kitchen.
' "... I beseech thee to aid me at all times . . ." '
It had finally been agreed between Maura and her mother
to use the address given to her by the little chemist. Old
Mother Jenkins would normally have been the one chosen
to perform the operation but her encroaching senility,
coupled with the fact she couldn't keep her mouth shut,
had made Sarah chary of even approaching her. Though
abortions were sometimes performed in the local hospital,
the fact that the Ryans were a well-known family had put
the damper on that idea as well. So it was that at three and a half months pregnant Maura finally went to the little flat in Peckham, accompanied by her mother. It was a high rise
block, and Mr Patel lived on the tenth floor. Sarah had
already visited the flat to arrange things. After the long
journey up in the lift, she knocked on the front door..
Both women had been silent throughout their journey
from Notting Hill. Maura felt sick with nerves. There was
a part of her that was rebelling against all that was
happening to her. Whenever these thoughts entered her
head she reminded herself what Mickey would do if he
knew, and the knowledge that he would commit a murder
generally brought her back to her senses.
The door was opened by an Asian woman. She wore a
canary yellow sari and smiled at them constantly, as if trying to make up for her lack of English with courteousness.
Maura and Sarah found themselves nodding their heads at
her like marionettes. ,
She showed them into the lounge. Maura had never
seen so many colours in one room in all her life. There
were greens and blues and reds of every shade imaginable;
the walls had brightly coloured carpets hanging on them
like paintings. Maura caught her mother's eye and felt an
irresistible urge to laugh. She wasn't sure who was the
more nervous.
A small untidy Asian man came into the room. 'How are
you doing, madams?' He shook their hands and smiled at
them so that the whole marionette game began again. 'If
you plis follow me?' He led them through a small door
into the kitchen.
The place stank of stale curry and there was a nasty
undersmell that Maura couldn't pinpoint. It could have
been blood. She wasn't sure. Whatever it was, it caught in
her throat, burning it. The kitchen was small and in the
middle was a large. Formica-covered table. It was yellow
with a small black pattern going through it. Maura stared
at the table fearfully. To the right of her was a work surface and an array of stainless steel tools upon it. She was
beginning to sweat. She felt her mother pull her coat and
slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall into her mother's arms.
'Please would you make sure your bladder is empty?' 'Er ... I... it is.' Maura was stammering with fright. '
Good. Please be removing your undergarments and get
on to the table.'
'What? You're going to do it in here?'
The man looked at her, puzzled. 'But of course.'
'Come on, Maws. Slip off your drawers.'
Burning with embarrassment, Maura slipped off her
panties. With her mother's help she climbed on to the
200
table. It wobbled under her weight and Maura had an
awful vision of the whole lot collapsing underneath her.
She closed her eyes for a second. On the ceiling above her
she could see the naked light bulb. Years of cooking had
left the flex with a coating of grease and fly droppings. She closed her eyes again. She must have been mad to come
here.
'Mum . . . Mum! I've changed me mind.' Her voice was
urgent.
'There now . . . there now. Quieten yourself. It will all
be over soon.'
- Maura pulled herself up with difficulty and Sarah forced
her to lie down again.
'For goodness' sakes, Maura! Will you behave yourself?'
She was a child again, in the dentist's or the doctor's.
Only this time it wasn't a filling she was having done, or a few stitches in a cut, it was to be the slaughter of her
unborn child.
'Money, please.' The little Asian man had his hand
outstretched.
Sarah took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to
him. He ripped it open and took the money out. He
counted it. Then putting the money back into the envelope, he pushed the lot into the pocket of his cardigan. He used such force he pushed the garment out of shape. Sarah, watching him, was aware that his fingernails were filthy. She forced herself to look at her daughter. Maura
was now gripping the sides of the table. Her long hair was
hanging over the edge, nearly touching the floor.
Mr Patel smiled at his wife. He was happy now. He had
the money, even if this silly girl changed her mind.
'Put your ankles together and let your legs drop open.'
Maura did as she was told, fear taking over. Mr Patel
stood at the end of the table staring at the opened body
for a long while. He was sweating. The palms of his hands
were damp and he wiped them on his grubby cardigan. He
parted her pubic hair with his finger. Sarah saw him lick his lips and turned her head away in disgust, the bile rising up inside her. The man picked up one of his instruments and
slipped it inside Maura. She felt the cold intrusion into her body and stiffened.
'Relax, madam, it will soon be over.'
Maura felt the stinging pain as the steel tip probed for
the neck of the womb. When she felt the hard aching
agony as he opened the cervix, she gasped. Picking up the
curette, a long piece of metal with a strange-looking loop
on the end, he began the scraping.
Sarah could hear the animal-like grunts coming from
her daughter, could see large beads of sweat appearing on
her forehead.
The man worked fast, scraping into the depths of her
body. Sarah heard him mutter something in his native
language as Maura tried desperately to sit up.
'Oh, Mum . . . please . . . the pain! I can't stand the
pain!' Maura's voice was drenched with agony. Then she
shrieked like a dog caught in a trap. The woman tried to
clamp her hand over Maura's gaping mouth. Tears were
rolling down her cheeks and into her ears. She could feel
the wetness as she rolled her head from side to side on the hardness of the table. Pushing harder now, the man carried
on his scraping. Sarah and the woman held Maura's
shoulders to stop her rolling off the table. Sarah felt as if she was caught in some kind of nightmare.
'Just relax, Maws . . . relax.' Someone in the next flat
turned their radio louder to drown out the screams. The
strains of 'I wanna hold your hand' filled the kitchen.
Maura tried to close her legs and Mr Patel forced them
202
apart with his shoulders. 'Goodness gracious, woman. Will
you keep still?'
'Mum . . . Stop him, Mum ... I can't stand it. Please!'
Maura felt herself urinating. A bubble seemed to have
burst inside her. Then she felt the hotness of the urine and blood. The man yanked out the instruments and shouted
to his wife in their native tongue. Mrs Patel went to the
sink and, tipping the dirty cups out of the washing up
bowl, brought it over to the table. Somehow, between
them, the couple managed to get Maura to squat over the
bowl.
She felt a lump slowly leave her body, looked down
through her sweatdamp hair and saw a baby, about four
inches long, lying in mucus and blood at the bottom of
the Dayglo orange washing up bowl. It was perfect. Her
shoulders began to shake uncontrollably. She felt the
hysteria rising up inside her like a tidal wave. That was her baby. She began to cry, harder now, a high piercing crying
that was tinged with mania.
Snot was hanging from her nose in long fat lines that
dripped into the bowl and mixed with the blood and
urine. She could see her white thighs smeared with blood
on either side of her baby's orange coffin. She fainted,
dropping forward on to the table, sending the washing up
bowl and its grisly contents all over the kitchen floor. Sarah stared at the tiny foetus, her grandchild, and felt shame
crawl over her body. It began in her legs and crept up her
body to her heart. What had she done? Dear Lord, what
on earth had she done?
Mrs Patel shook her arm and somehow Sarah was
snapped back to life. She dragged her eyes from the tiny
corpse and began to help the couple to clear up.
When Maura woke later her panties were back on and
she could feel a sanitary towel between her legs. She felt
dreadful. She noticed that she was lying on a strange bed
in a strange room. She gazed around her, dazed. Then she
remembered where she was, the scraping of the cold steel
inside her, and felt the familiar panic return. The image of her baby rose up before her and she began to cry again.
Sarah, hearing that her daughter was awake, went into
the room. She gathered her into her arms, her own heart
breaking. Now she knew why her church outlawed abortion.
Why it was considered a sin. She had been the
instigator of a horrific deed. She had brought all this pain and suffering on to her daughter. She kissed Maura's head
softly.
'It's all over, my love.' She helped her daughter to sit
up.
'Oh, Mum, I do feel rough.'
Her stomach felt as if it had been ripped open. She had
just had an abortion without any anaesthesia whatsoever.
Although neither of them knew it, Maura would never be
the same girl after what had happened that afternoon.
Half an hour later she and Sarah were in a taxi, on their
way back to Notting Hill. Both sat in silence until, once
again tucked up in her own bed, Maura said: 'I wish I'd
had the guts to have kept it, Mum. Every time I think of it lying there . . .' Her voice broke. Sobbing, she turned her face into her pillows.
Sarah left the room. She could'not face her daughter.
She went down the stairs and into her front room where
she poured herself a large whisky. She would not forget
this day's work in a hurry.
Later in the evening, when she went to her daughter,
Maura was asleep with the tears she had cried still glistening on her long lashes. Sarah pulled the blankets up
around her daughter's shoulders, praying that her child
would find some comfort in her rest, would wake up
204
restored a little. She knew that it would be a long time
before either of them felt their old selves again. If indeed they would ever feel anything again.
It was not until the next morning that Sarah found out
why her daughter had slept so peacefully and for so long.
Finding that she could not wake Maura, Sarah pulled the
blankets from her, disturbed by her daughter's whiteness.
A mass of deep red blood had seeped from her, till it
covered nearly all her lower body and soaked the sheets
and bedding. Maura Ryan was haemorrhaging her life's blood away.
Sarah's screams finally brought her friend Pat Johnstone
running into the house. She took one look at the scene
before her and phoned for an ambulance. The two women
sat together as Maura was operated on, united in grief and
worry.
Pat Johnstone had known immediately what had happened
and she swore to her friend that the knowledge
would go to her grave with her. After phoning the
ambulance she had phoned Michael, not knowing what
else to do. Now she held her friend's hand.
Sarah sat in limbo, waiting for the operation to be
over. She would wish to her dying day that she had not
taken her daughter to that little flat in Peckham, that she had let her have the baby in St Charles's hospital where
they were fighting so valiantly to save her life. She closed her eyes tightly to blot out the troubling visions that
kept disturbing her ...
She heard the swish of the swing doors that led to the
operating theatre and turned in the direction of the noise.
It was the surgeon. His gown was covered in blood and his
face strained. For one awful moment Sarah thought that
her daughter had died. Then he spoke.
'Mrs Ryan, your daughter is over the worst now.'
Sarah heard her own voice. 'Thank God! Oh, thank
God,'
'I wouldn't be so quick to thank him if I were you, Mrs
Ryan. Your daughter was very badly smashed up inside.
We've had to remove her ovaries. An infection had set in
and I'm afraid she was in no fit state to fight it. Whoever the person was who operated on your daughter, they
should be facing a life sentence.' He shook his head slowly.
'By rights she should be dead. As it is she will never have a child . . . another child. She still hasn't regained consciousness yet. But as I said before, the worst of it is over.
Though how she will react mentally, I really couldn't say.'
'Thank you, Doctor. Thank you.' Sarah's voice was low
and full of shame.
'Whoever it was who did this to your daughter should
be put away. I have never, in all my years, seen anything
like it. It was as if they had used a battering ram inside her.
I'm afraid I must insist that you give me the address. I
won't tell the police anything about your daughter. I feel
she has been punished enough. But I cannot allow this
ever to happen again.'
Sarah nodded. Opening her bag she gave the surgeon
the piece of paper the chemist had given Maura. He took
it. Patting Sarah's shoulder, he said, 'I know that sometimes the easy way out looks inviting. But it never works
out, you know. In the end it pays te do things properly.
Your daughter's being taken to Intensive Care if you
would like to see her.' He walked off with the paper
clutched in his hand.
When Sarah and Pat got to the Intensive Care Unit
Michael was already there. He had just arrived in the
hospital. Seeing him, Sarah forgot all the harsh words and
ran into his outstretched arms. Michael held his mother to
him, tears in his eyes. While all the staff looked at the big
206
handsome man comforting his mother, Terry Petherick
was being beaten mercilessly by two hired thugs. It would
be three months before he came out of hospital and nearly
a year before he went back to work.
Sitting his mother down, Michael asked one of the
nurses to get her a cup of tea. He wiped her eyes with his
handkerchief and then went into the little ward to see his
sister. He stared down at her, shocked by what he saw. The
years seemed to have been piled on her overnight. Her
high cheekbones stood out starkly against her white skin;
her cheeks had sunk into her face, leaving deep hollows. As he looked down at her he made a solemn vow to himself.
No matter what she did, or what happened, he would
always be there for her. He knew that if it had not been for him, she would not be lying there. That Petherick would
not have dumped her. Now she was hurting and it was his
fault. If it was left to him she would never know hurt
again. Petherick was being paid out for his part in it, even as he stood there. Paid muscle was beating him to a pulp.
And that was as it should be. As he had told Benny, you
looked after your womenfolk.
He took her hand gently in his and Maura regained
consciousness. She opened her eyes and looked up into
Michael's face. She ran her tongue across cracked lips,
trying to speak. He put his head nearer to her face and
what she said caused him to sob into her shoulder. 'My poor baby, Mickey. My poor innocent baby.'
He gently enfolded her in his arms, their tears mingling
together. If it cost him his life, she would never know
sadness again.
A week later the surgeon, Mr Bernard Frobisher, was told
by the police that the address he had given them had been
firebombed three days previously. The tenants of the flat,
Mr Ahman Patel, his wife Homina and eldest daughter
Naimah, had been killed.
The police thought it was probably a racial attack; they
had no idea who could have done it. Mr Frobisher wisely
kept his opinion to himself. He had no intention of
putting his own family in jeopardy. Especially not for a
back-street abortionist.
208
Maura had been out of hospital six weeks and the whole
family agreed that she was a changed girl. She had a
brittleness that sat uneasily on her now slim shoulders. She had lost so much weight that Benny playfully nicknamed
her 'Beanpole'. With her height and new svelteness she
looked like a fashion model. Except for her breasts.
Somehow, although they had shrunk with the rest of her
body, they were still large enough to make her feel 'top
heavy'. She had smiled at Benny's jokes about her body,
but deep inside felt she had paid a high price for her
newfound slimness.
She was sitting by her bedroom window looking out at
the children playing in the street. She remembered when
she had played the same games with Margaret. Tin Pan
Alley, Hopscotch, Five Jacks. She longed for that safe
world now, when the only worry she'd had was what time
she had to be in by. Maura's profile, as she looked down
on the children, showed the extent of the change in her..
Her nose was more sharply defined, a Roman nose, her
cheekbones looked as if they had been carved from ivory.
Her dark blue eyes were deeper set. Earlier, she had
creamed her face and hands, still unaware of how lovely
she really was. Although she saw herself in the glass, she
never really took any notice. It was as if the day she had
209
left the hospital, Maura Ryan as was had ceased to exist.
Now a beautiful outer shell, inside she felt nothing.
Nothing at all. Until today. Today she had the beginnings
of a plan forming in her mind, and she needed Michael's
help to fulfil it.
She smiled as one of the children below her screamed
and pointed to something on the pavement. She guessed,
rightly, that it was some kind of insect. It brought back a memory from her subconscious. She could smell the
dampness of the scullery, that cold dampness that seemed
to seep into the bones. Anthony had locked her in there
when she was a small child. Turning out the light, leaving
her in the darkness. She had been far too small to reach
the light switch. She had stood in the dank world he had
created, knowing that the army of cockroaches was scrambling beneath her feet. She shuddered as she thought of it.
The fear and panic it had created rose up inside her again, as it had on that day. She had imagined they were running
up her legs, into her knickers. Until she had felt the hot
wetness as the urine had run down her chubby legs,
soaking her socks and shoes. That's when the screams had
been forced from her throat, high piercing screams that
had brought her mother and father and Michael... a very
angry Michael who had taken off his belt and laid into
Anthony until his screams had matched her own.
Again the image of her baby in the washing up bowl
filled her head. She forced the picture away, shaking her
head as if it would help to make it disappear. She did not
blame anyone but herself for what had happened in that
tiny flat. She told herself that at least twenty times a day.
Not her mother or Michael. Not anyone but herself. And
Terry.
She blarfied him with all her heart and soul. From the
moment she had seen the body of her child, their child,
210
lying in that dirty bowl, hatred for him had entered her
body. A seed had been planted that day, and Maura had
nurtured it and cultivated it, until now it had grown tall, like a bedraggled beanstalk in a fairy tale. She had read
about his beating in the Daily Mirror and felt nothing for
him. No pity. No sorrow. Nothing. She was as empty
where he was concerned as she was about herself. As the
..seed of contempt had grown inside her, it had strangled
the memory of every nice thing he had ever said or done,
until she had forgotten his goodness. Forgotten the fun
they had had and the closeness they had shared. She knew
that if he had not dumped her that day, she would have
had the baby. Somehow she would have found a solution
to her problems. She chose to forget her fear of Michael. Her fear of having a baby alone. In Terry Petherick she had found the perfect scapegoat. She knew that the police
knew exactly who had ordered his beating but like so
many things that happened thanks to the Ryan family, they
could not prove it. She smiled to herself. Well, if everything went as she planned, she would soon be a real
member of the Ryans. An active working member . . .
She hoped that Terry was in agony. That he was so badly
hurt no one would ever look at his handsome face again.
That was her prayer. The only good thing to come out of
the whole sorry business was that Michael was back in her
mother's good books. Although he had not come back
home to live, he still visited frequently. It seemed that the day he had moved out had started the ball rolling for them
all. Geoffrey, Leslie, Lee and Garry had all moved out.
Only Benny and herself remained at home. Lee and Garry
shared a flat off the Edgware Road; Geoffrey had bought
himself a flat near Michael's, in Knightsbridge. The house
was quiet now, unlike the old days when they were all
young and it,was noisy from early morning to late at night.
In a funny way she missed the hustle and bustle of her
younger days.
She was roused from her reverie by a tap on the
bedroom door.
Michael walked in carrying a large box of chocolates.
She gazed at him affectionately. There was no doubt about
it, he was one hell of a good-looking man.
'You keep buying me chocolates, Mickey, and I don't
eat them.'
'No . . . but I do!' He grinned at her mischievously,
and then, throwing himself across the bed, rolled off on
to the floor, rolled again sideways and was kneeling in,
front of her, offering the box of chocolates in a gesture
of supplication. Arms outstretched, eyes raised to the
ceiling, like a Japanese Geisha girl.
'And all because the lady loves Milk Tray!'
Maura burst out laughing. 'I wouldn't mind but they're
Black Magic.'
'That's right, laugh at me after I risk life and limb for
you.'
He sat back on his heels and looked at her. 'How are
you feeling?' His voice was gentle.
Maura sighed. 'I feel OK. Though I would feel a damn'
sight better if everyone stopped asking me that, I just want; to forget it.' She slumped into her chair, her face closed again. She stared at him warily. 'Actually, Mickey, there is something I want to ask you.'
He shrugged. 'Ask away, Princess. Anything you want,
you can have.'
'Honestly, Mickey? Anything?'
He put his hand on his heart. 'I give you my word, as
they say on the telly.'
Maura leant forward in her chair and grinned at him. 'I
want you to give me a job!'
212
Michael stared, his face a study in dismay. 'I don't know
about that, Maws.'
'You promised me, Mickey.' Her voice was hard and
shrewish. 'You promised me anything. Anything!'
'Yeah. But I never expected this.'
'Look, Mickey.' Her voice was wheedling now, cajoling.
'I have been thinking about this for a while now... I
want to take over the ice cream and hot dogs.'
'You!' He sounded as if he had been poleaxed.
'Why not? I worked them often enough as a kid.'
He pushed her back into her seat. 'You don't understand,
Princess.'
She pushed herself forward again, her voice desperate.
'Oh, but I do understand, Mickey. That's just where
you're wrong. I know exactly how to run them. A bloody
kid could do that. If you're worried that I ain't got the
bottle then you can stop. I have got it, Mickey. More than
you would think. I've spent the best part of my life
listening to you lot plan and scheme. I could piss it,
Mickey, if you gave me the chance.'
'Look, Maws, it's a dangerous business for a bloke. Let
alone a bird.'
'I know that, Michael, but I'm your sister. Not some
nonsense bird out to make a few bob. I could do that on
me back like your hostesses. I know that if you give me the chance, I could make a go of it. At first I would be
respected because I'm your little sister, but I guarantee
you that within a few months I'd be respected for myself.'
'But you don't understand, Maws . . .'
'I do! That's just what I'm trying to tell you if you'd
listen to me. I know that if someone puts a van on one of
our pitches, licence or no licence, they get warned off. Or you try to buy them out, depending. If they won't play
your game, you petrol bomb them. They soon get the
message. If you happen to know the person and like them,
and the pitch isn't major, you arrange for a little percentage. Christ Almighty, Mickey, we're all from the same!
stable. If you can't trust me, who can you trust?'
Michael digested this bit of logic.
'I don't know, Maws.' She sensed that he was thawing
towards her, and pressed home her advantage.
'I swear to you, Mickey, that I will make you proud of me. I'll run those pitches better than they have ever been , run before!'
Seeing her face, so foil of hope and anticipation, Michael
couldn't deny her. After all she had been through, the pain and heartache, it seemed small compensation. He grinned.
'All right. You win.'
Maura threw herself into his arms, pulling them both to
the floor. She kissed him foil on the mouth.
'Oh, Mickey, thanks. Thanks! I'll work like a nigger for
you, I promise. You won't regret it.'
I've got the ice cream and hot dogs, she thought,
thrilled at the implications. If Terry Goody Two Shoes
Petherick wanted to catch criminals ... let him try to
catch her!
'I promise you, Mickey, you will never regret this.'
And he didn't.
Maura walked across the Yard towards the small crowd of
men. They were all staring at her. Some watched her with
hostility, others with curiosity. She was their boss, and like most workforces they were waiting to see the outcome of a
new regime. They were all aware that she was Michael
Ryan's sister. Just seventeen years old. Most were amazed
at the sheer size of her. She was taller than most of the
men there. She smiled at them all, hiding her nervousness
behind a facade of friendliness.
'Right, I expect you all know me, and over the next few
weeks I hope to get to know you. I'm new at this business,
I admit, and I will be open to any friendly advice you may
wish to give me. But I must stress this one fact... at the
end of the day it's my decision that counts. Now if any of
you gentlemen find that hard to accept, I suggest you see
me after I've finished the rotas. OK?'
She scanned the sea of faces before her, looking for any
hint of trouble. Everyone looked neutral. Not bad for
starters, she thought.
'Now if the runners would all stand aside, I would like
to see the actual drivers and workers.'
Most of the younger men in the crowd broke away and
made a smaller gang by themselves. The runners were the
young men who kept a look out for the police. They stood
at strategic points near the vans watching not only for beat policemen but also Panda cars. They also eyed up any
competition that came on to their patch, reporting all back to the drivers - the mainstay of the business. It was not
unusual to see an ice cream van wheelspin away, dragging a
runner into the service hatch as it went, especially on the police patches: Westminster, the Houses of Parliament,
Knightsbridge, outside Harrods, and Baker Street where
Madame Tussaud's brought so many tourists.
The drivers and servers stood quietly. They employed
and paid their own runners, the Ryans only paid these
men. Eventually, if the runners proved any good, they
were given new pitches as and when they came up. It was a close-knit community that these men lived in. If they were caught, and hauled into Bow Street court,
they gave 'moody' names and Michael paid their fines. It
was an arrangement that suited everyone. In the summer,
especially, there was an awful lot of money to be
made. And as with any lucrative business, many people
214
who wanted a piece of the action.
Maura coughed to clear her throat. 'I think that for the
time being, we stick to the usual rota. So you can all go to your usual pitch today. I will be looking over the takings
and popping along to see you now and then.' She smiled
again. 'I hope you will all bear with me on this.'
The men nodded at her, happier now they knew where
they were to be stationed. Most knew their pitches like the back of their hands. They knew every road, alleyway, and
escape route on their own particular manor.
'Off you go then. If you have any trouble, ring me. If
I'm not here, someone will find me.'
She turned away and walked to the caravan that served
as her office. Michael was watching her from the window.
He had been listening to her address the men and was
impressed. Against his better judgement, he began to
think that she might just be able to do the job after all.
The men all gravitated to their vans. Most were subdued.
None had ever worked for a woman before. All had
lived on the fringes of crime, were petty burglars, car
thieves or 'kiters' - people who bought stolen cheque
, books and then used them to buy goods that could be sold
. off to fences. Maura's advert into their masculine world
was a shock. But she was Michael Ryan's sister and so they
would afford her a trial period. If she didn't work out, and they were all sure she would not, Michael, being a
businessman first and foremost, would 'out' her and they
could all get back to normal!
Maura walked into the caravan feeling sick with apprehension.
It had gone much better than expected. Michael
laughed and shook his head slowly. 'Sure you want all this
hag, Princess?'
: 'Yes, Michael, I'm sure. Now, if you don't mind. I have
some books to look over.'
'Oh, well. Pardon me for breathing.'
Maura laughed. 'Have a quick coffee before you go.
There's still a few things I'm not sure of.'
'Okey doke. But I'll say this much to you now, Maws,
you did well out there. They're the scum of the earth but
they're good workers. But for Gawd's sake, watch them! If
they kiss your hand, count your fingers. And if any get a
bit too saucy, you let me know. Most of them would put
their granny on the streets if they thought she could pull a few bob. Start as you mean to go on, love. Be fair but
hard. That's the only law they know. Show that you're
stronger than them and you've got friends for life. Show a
chink of weakness and . . . well, to put it bluntly, you're fucked.'
'I'll remember that, Mickey. Now about these books?'
'You sort out the books, Maws. I know sod all about it.
I told Benny to get his arse down here this morning and
show you what he'd been doing. All I ever did was pick up
the overall total. How Benny got to it, I don't know. So
you'll have to sort that lot out yourself.'
'Well, Benny should be here soon. I'll ask him.'
'You do that. Now one last thing, Maws. In the drawer
of your desk, on the right hand side, is a gun.'
'A gun?'
'Yes, a gun. I told you this was a dangerous business.
But don't worry. I've left one of my best boys outside. No
one will bother you while he's there. But just in case,
that's where the gun is. If the filth come snooping about,
tell them that they're paid up to next month. If they see
you here they might try it on. On no account get rid of
that firearm. Right?'
Maura nodded. She looked troubled and Michael
laughed. 'Still think you can hack it?'
She straightened in her seat. 'Yes, I bloody well can.
216
Now do you want a coffee or not?'
As she went to put the kettle on she had a fleeting
feeling of being involved in something way over her head.
She pushed the thought and the feeling firmly from her
mind. This was her inauguration into the world of the
Ryans. This was to be her career and she would make her
name synonymous with villainy. Her brother Michael
wouldn't be in it once she got started!
Danny Forster had been a runner for nearly two years. He
worked for 'Big Bill' McEwan, a large extrovert Scotsman.
He was standing at Baker Street tube station, watching for
roving policemen and Panda cars. It was a bright spring
day and the tourists were just arriving in force. He saw a
strange van parking just down the road from him. It was a
Milano Bros ice cream van. He frowned. Within minutes
they were open for business. He walked quickly past the
van. Inside were four men. He could not see any runners
so he assumed that two of the men were breakers. He
walked slowly back to Madame Tussaud's and told the
Scotsman what he had seen.
Big Bill McEwan was not known for his quiet temperament.
He was once described by a judge as 'a most
obnoxious individual who should not be walking the
streets with innocent people'. Big Bill had taken this as a compliment. He saw himself as different from the average
person and was gratified that someone educated, as the
judge so obviously was, should agree with him. Getting his
considerable bulk out of the ice cream van he meandered
down to the rival camp. When he arrived he realised that
he had been expected. :
'This is my patch. I want you lot to piss off - and
sharpish!' His large stomach, hanging over his trousers,
quivered as he spoke.
A very good-looking Italian smiled at him, displaying
perfect teeth.
'We have a licence. Legally we are allowed to be here. I
think it is yourself who is maybe . . . how you say? ... in the wrong.'
Big Bill stared at the man through small piggy eyes. He
decided that the Italian was probably a simpleton. Everyone in the 'creaming' business knew who he was. That's
why he got to work 'The Sword', one of the best pitches
in London.
'Are you going to fuck off or not?' His voice brooked
no argument. By now a crowd had gathered to watch the
exchange. Tourists and Londoners alike sensed that a
battle was taking place and stood waiting to see who
would be the victor.
'No . . .'
Before the Italian could finish his sentence, Big Bill was
already walking away and hauling himself back into his
van, a bright pink and yellow affair with 'Dingle Dells Ice Cream' written in green letters along the sides. Without
speaking to his server he started up the van and reversed
out of his parking place. The server was still trying
frantically to get a lid on the hotplate, which was covered in chopped onions and half-cooked hamburgers. He
turned off the gas and the ice cream valves. He was not
taking any chances.
Big Bill drove his ice cream van straight at the Milano
Bros vehicle. The four men inside stood rooted to the spot
as they realised his intention. He hit the back of their van so hard a box of flakes that had been standing on one of
his own back shelves shot forward into the front seat,
crumbling its contents all over Big Bill's trousers. '?
He reversed back again and once more rammed the
Italians' van. They were hanging on to anything they
could grab. Then, pulling his van up beside the driver's
window. Big Bill shouted at the four men: Til be back
tomorrow with shooters and anything else it takes to shift
you. This is your one and only warning.'
Then he drove away at a leisurely pace. The Hot Dog
War of 1967 had started.
Maura listened to all that Big Bill had to say. In the few
weeks she had been doing the job she had begged for, she
had gained an insight into the world of the 'creamers'.
'So what are you going to do, Mrs?'
Maura sighed. If he called her 'Mrs' once more she
would strangle him.
'Well, Bill, I'm not sure exactly what action I'll take yet, but I promise you that I'll have it sorted in the next
twenty-four hours, OK?'
'You'd bloody well better have, Mrs. I've lost an awful
lot of money today.'
Maura cut him off. 'I'm quite well aware of that, Bill.
Now you shoot off home and leave this to me.' He turned
to go and she called him back. "
'One more thing. My name is either Maura or Miss
Ryan. I don't care which you use. But, please, don't call
me Mrs.' She smiled at him icily.
'Fair enough, Mrs. I'll let you know what I decide to
call you.'
Maura mentally chalked one up to Big Bill.
Left alone she pondered what he had told her. This was
the chance she had been waiting for. If she could successfully pull this off alone, without any help from her
brothers, she would be set. She called in her minder, a
large black man called Tony Dooley after his grandfather,
an Irishman who had taken a West Indian woman as his
wife. Tony stood in front of Maura as she outlined her
plan. When she had finished, he smiled. Maura took the
gun from the drawer and placed it in her shoulder bag. It
was time to go and see the Milano Brothers.
George Milano surveyed the young girl before him. He let
his gaze roam over her body. He decided she had good
tits. He was disappointed that Michael Ryan could make
such a bad decision. He had always understood that
Michael was an astute businessman. He had respected him.
Then this! It had hit the street that he had given his little sister the ice cream and hot dog business. Now she sat
here, in his office, making veiled threats. It was laughable!
He smiled at her.
'Listen, Miss Ryan, I appreciate you coming here today
to speak to me, but I'm afraid that you are wasting your
time. I have legitimate licences for all those vans of mine.
My advice to you is to go and see your big brother ... or
has he given control of the rest of his businesses to your
mother?' He spoke in a sarcastic manner, causing Maura to
grit her teeth.
'So you won't listen to what I have to say?' Her voice
was soft. He shook his head, still smiling that maddening
smile. Maura stood up. She noticed him looking at her
legs.
'Very well, Mr Milano. We shall have to come to some
other arrangement.'
She left the office with Tony Dooley following her, her
head held high. Milano might have won the first battle but
she was determined to win the actual war. She went from
the Milano Brothers' offices in Aldgate East to Brixton
where she had a meet with one of Tony Dooley's brothers.
Two hours later she left the meeting smiling.
Back in the caravan she had a telephone call from
Michael. She assured him that it was all under control. All
he had to do was wait. Tony made her a cup of coffee and
they sat together companionably. News came in all day of
different pitches that had been encroached on. Maura told
each driver the same thing. To go home and come back
the next day.
Geoffrey was annoyed and Michael knew it. 'She can't
cope with all this on her own!'
'Let's just see how she gets on, Geoff. I think she might
surprise us.'
'What if she gets hurt? Have you thought of that?'
Michael laughed. 'She won't. Why do you think I gave
her Tony Dooley? Just leave her be, Geoff. If she cocks it
up we can easily take over. If she gets a result, she's proved herself a worthy asset. Now let's forget it.'
Geoffrey was livid with Michael. How could a young
girl like Maura be expected to cope with the likes of the
Milano Brothers? 'Have you any idea how she's going to
sort it all out?'
Michael lost his temper. Sometimes Geoffrey was like an
old woman!
'No, I ain't! Now for fuck's sake give it a rest. She asked for twenty-four hours and she's gonna get it, all right?'
'All right... all right. Keep your hair on!'
They sat together in silence. Michael Jioped that Maura
did not let him down. He was well aware of the stir her
appointment as head of the creamers had created on the
street. He had been a laughing stock, not only among rival
villains but among his own workforce. Not that anyone
would ever say it to his face. In their world women were either wives or mistresses. They were not thought capable of running a 'moody' business, unless they were brasses;
then they sold the only asset they had, their bodies, and
nine times out of ten a man was behind that - either a
pimp or a boyfriend. He crossed his fingers as he thought
about what he had done. A lot lay on Maura's performance
in the next twenty-four hours. He just hoped that he
had not overestimated her.
George Milano was forty-five years old. His wife was
twenty-two. She had flown over from Palermo two years
earlier, a week before he married her. She had already
given him two sons, and was lying beneath him passively as
he puffed and panted on top of her when the telephone by
the bed rang. George glanced at the clock. It was two
o'clock in the morning. Not letting his stroke falter, he
answered the phone, still pumping away at her. She
watched his face, a detached expression in her eyes. She
had been quick to learn that if she lay quietly he was soon finished. Even though she felt nothing for this fat old man on top of her, it annoyed her female pride that he:
answered the phone while he made love to her.
'Yeah?' His voice was breathy and stilted.
'Is that George Milano?' It was Maura Ryan's voice! He
was so shocked he nearly missed his stroke.
'What do you want?'
'I just thought I'd let you know that your yard was
blown up five minutes ago. I happened to be there when it
went up.' The line went dead.
As did George's erection. He lay on top of his young
wife with his mouth hanging open, the telephone receiver
still in his hand.
Magdalena Milano brought up her long slender arms
and, putting a finger under her husband's chin, pushed his
mouth closed. She had to endure his nightly assaults, she
accepted that, but she did not have to look at his false
teeth and his yellow tongue.
TJje action spurred him back to life. He leapt from the
bed, his flaccid penis lost in the roll of fat that was his stomach. Screaming abuse in Italian, he began to dress
himself. Magdalena rolled over and closed her eyes, grateful to whoever was on the phone for cutting her husband's
sexual appetite short. When he left the house five minutes
later she was asleep. .
By the time George got to his yard in Aldgate East the
worst of the fires had been put out. He saw a police car
and went straight to the officers standing by it.
'I know who did this thing! It was the Ryans! They rang
me up to tell me . . .' His voice trailed off. Sitting in the police car was Maura Ryan.
She looked at him innocently. 'I beg your pardon?'
Suddenly George Milano realised exactly what he was
up against. His vision of usurping the Ryans' position in
London was replaced by one of his body floating in the
Thames. He heard the two officers laughing. Turning
from their grinning faces he went to what had once been
his yard. Nearly all his vans were destroyed. As Maura
watched the man's shoulders slump inside his suit she felt a moment of pity for him. She had just ruined his business.
Then her heart hardened as she reminded herself that if he
had had his way the boot would be on the other foot. She
got out of the police car. Her brother owned most of the
officers in this area. She went to George Milano and put
her hand on his shoulder.
'I did try to warn you, Mr Milano.'
He nodded imperceptibly. 'I know that.'
'I'm not sorry for what happened here tonight, but I am
sorry it had to come to this.'
He nodded again. She left him. Getting into her car
with Tony Dooley, she went to her own yard. She would
stay there for the rest of the night with Tony and a couple of his friends. If there were going to be any comebacks she
would sort that out herself as well.
Tony bought the Daily Mirror at five-thirty. The explosion
in the Milanos' yard had made the middle pages. It
said that following the ramming of rival ice cream vans in
Baker Street, a well-known Italian ice cream merchant's
yard had been firebombed. The police believed it was the
work of another Italian family. The Italians were known to
be the main distributors of ice cream in London and the
surrounding areas. The story went on to describe George
Milano's father's rise to riches. From an ice cream barrow
boy in the late eighteen hundreds, he had built up the
Milano Brothers business empire . . .
Maura, Tony and the other men laughed. They had
done it!
Michael took the call from George Milano at nine-fifteen.
'Hello, Michael. It is George . . . George Milano. How are
you?'
'I'm fine, Georgie. Which is more than I can say for
you, ain't it?'
'I did not realise your sister had your protection . . .'
His voice sounded desperate. Michael cut him off.
'My sister has my protection, Georgie, but only when
she asks for it. Whoever done that bit of business last night works for her, Georgie, not me. It's her you've got to
pacify.'
The line went quiet.
'I know what you was thinking, Georgie. Chatter always
gets back to the person being chattered about. I know
what the word was on the street. That I was a nutter for
allowing my sister to take over the creamers. But it paid
off, didn't it? She pissed all over your fireworks, didn't she?
Well, I'll tell you again. If you wanna bargain, you do it
with her.'
He replaced the telephone in its cradle, then laughed
out loud. He looked at Geoffrey, and, pointing to the
newspaper on his desk, said, 'She's a fucking girl ain't she?'
At six-thirty that morning Maura's workforce turned up
for work. They greeted her warmly. She had not only their
respect but their friendship. To Maura this was an added
bonus. As she watched them sorting out their vans and
stocking up, she felt a sudden pride in what she had done.
They drove from the site with her watching. Then, as if all of one mind, they began to play their jingles. The noise
was deafening. The Dingly Dell music was a clanging
rendition of the old music hall favourite: 'How much is
that doggy in the window?'
Maura laughed out loud as she placed her hands over
her ears to blot out the noise. All that day she found
herself humming the tune. It was a turning point in her
life. Within eighteen months she ran every site in London.
Thanks to her own natural friendliness, coupled with a
ruthless use of pickaxe handles and muscle men, Maura
Ryan was well and truly on her way.
Pecunia non olet
(Money has no smell) - Emperor Vespasian, AD 9-79
I fear the Greeks,
even when they bring gifts - Virgil 70-19 BE
in
Roy walked into the Lotus House Restaurant in Dagenham.
It was three-thirty in the morning, 1 December 1975. He
walked up to the tiny bar in the corner of the restaurant and banged on the counter. He frowned. Mr Wong was usually
there to greet him, offer him a complimentary drink and pay him his money. Instinctively, Roy's hand went into his
jacket, to the gun that he kept there. With his free hand he banged once more on the counter.
'Oi, anyone at home!'
He sensed rather than heard two men step from the
shadows of the dimly lit room. He turned to face them.
'Mr Ryan? Mr Roy Ryan?' A short swarthy man stood
there smiling at him - an oily smile that dripped from his
face. Looking at him, Roy knew that if he got close
enough the man would stink of garlic. His hand tightened
on his gun. 'You have no need of your firearm tonight, Mr
Ryan. I am intending to be very nice to you. .Very friendly.
I am a very generous man.'
He snapped his fingers at the large muscular young man
beside him. ,;:
'Dimitri, get Mr Ryan and myself a drink.' As the
younger man walked to the bar, the smaller one offered
Roy a seat.
'Who are you?' His voice was careful and controlled.
'I am Mr Dopolis. You may laugh if you want.' He
paused to allow Roy to chuckle. Roy ignored him.
'Normally you English hoot with laughter when you hear
it.' He shrugged. 'Unfortunately, that was my father's
name and his father's before him.' He smiled again. 'I
could not have changed it.' His voice was conversational,
as if they were old friends.
'Look, Mr Dopolpolis, or whatever your name is, what
do you want and how do you know who I am?'
Mr Dopolis shook his head sadly.
'You young men! Always in a hurry!'
He snapped his fingers again and the boy brought over
their drinks.
'Please, Mr Ryan. Sit down and have a drink with me.'
Roy sat down opposite the man. Up close he realised
that his first thought had been correct. Dopolis did stink
of garlic.
'Drink your whisky, Mr Ryan. We are going to have a
little chat.'
Dimitri stood between the two of them and Roy noticed
that he was carrying a gun. In his padded leather jacket it would have been virtually undetectable by anyone else.
However, Roy was unnerved to observe that it was no
ordinary handgun the youth was carrying. He would bet
his last pound that the thigh-length leather the boy was
wearing had a special 'long pocket' fitted inside it. That
meant only one thing. Young Dimitri was carrying a
sawn-off shotgun.
He glanced at the door, weighing up his chances of
escape. Mr Dopolis laughed out loud, bringing Roy's head
round to face him again. know what you are thinking, young man.' Dopolis held his hand up as if to stop Roy leaving. 'You are free to
go when you have heard what I have to say. You won't
need your gun. Not tonight anyway.'
The man's voice was cold and calculating, as if he took
great pains to pronounce his words properly.
Roy leant back in his chair nonchalantly and took a long
sip of the Chivas Regal Dimitri had placed in front of him.
He was well aware that he was not Brain of Britain. Roy
had never overestimated himself. He could work the
bookies, the hostess clubs, the minding. He was also first .
in line for any armed robberies that were in the offing.
Roy was the eternal heavy. That's why he was in the Lotus
House now. He was collecting the 'rents', the protection
money. What he did not know was that Dopolis had
picked him out for these very qualities. He wanted a
message taken to Michael Ryan and Roy seemed to be the
perfect messenger boy.
'I want you to tell your brother something for me, Roy.
May I call you Roy?' He did not wait for an answer, but
carried on as if taking everything he said for granted. 'I
want you to tell Michael that although he has run the West
End satisfactorily for many years, people are getting . . .
how shall we say? . . . upset at the way he has gradually
taken over East London and even parts of Essex!'
He laughed as if it was all a big misunderstanding. 'He
collects the "rents" on the restaurants and bookies, not to mention the pubs and the clubs. He owns all the cab
ranks. He even has the monopoly on the ice cream and hot
dogs. Not forgetting that he gets a percentage of any blags that take place on the manor. Now I ask you, is that fair?
My friends and I would like to know what is left for us? We want to earn a living as well. We have all joined forces, so to speak. We have only one avenue left for making money
- drugs - and the blacks have always had the edge where
they're concerned.'
230
His voice became low and conspiratorial, as if Roy was
his dearest and oldest friend. 'You must tell your brother what we have been discussing. Tell him that myself and many others have joined forces. We will fight him if needs
be. Tell him that we want the East End. The pubs, the
clubs, the restaurants. Everything. He must make do with
the West End, North London and South of the water.
Surely that is enough for him? Tell him that he has my
word we will not interfere with him.'
Roy burst out laughing. He sat and literally roared with
laughter. Great bursting gales of merriment that rendered
him incapable of talking. This man was some kind of
nutter. He had to be. Everyone in the East End who was
employed in a 'fringe' business, whether it was a jellied eel or a market stall, worked indirectly for Mickey. Even the
blaggers, and they were getting more and more as the
years went on, came and saw Mickey or one of his
intermediaries before nipping into their local Tescos waving their sawn-offs at everyone. Now this little Greek twat
wanted him to take a threatening message to Michael. He
bubbled over with laughter again, forgetting the youth
with his shotgun, forgetting everything except the crazy
man before him.
Dopolis stared at him icily.
'You can laugh, Mr Ryan, but I am afraid that I and my
friends are very serious. Very serious indeed. As you will
soon find out.'
Roy wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. 'Listen,
Cocker, Mickey has not, as you put it, muscled in on the
East End. We fought for this shitheap and we won it fair
and square.' ;
The little man sat straighter in his chair. 'Your brother -'
he pointed at Roy - 'firebombed a taxi rank belonging to
my cousin Stavros. Only two days after your brother's
232
funeral my cousin was crippled for life. He was so badly
hurt he could not control his armies.' Dopolis's face was
red with temper and he had flecks of spittle at the corners of his lips.
Roy interrupted him rudely.
'Armies! What fucking armies? He couldn't control a
bumper car. He had my brother murdered!' Roy was
losing his own temper now. The last shred of fear dissolved in the face of Dopolis's argument. Anthony's death was
still an open wound with all the Ryans.
Dopolis forced himself to remain calm. He smiled. 'That
famous Irish temper of yours ... it will be your downfall
one of these days. Remember this - when you are in a
temper you do not think straight. Michael should have
worked out an agreement with my cousin. Something that
would have been satisfactory to both parties. If he had
done that your brother would be alive today.'
'Bollocks!' Roy stood up. 'Let me tell you something,
Mr Oppodopolis or whatever your fucking name is ...
Mickey will rip your ears off and shove them up your arse.
And he'll smile while he's doing it. So do yourself a favour and piss off. I'm a very busy man.'
He pushed Dimitri out of the way. 'As for your Action
Man, if you're gonna use your weapon, do it now. You've
been standing there like the orphan of the storm . . . you
big prat!' -
The boy looked at Dopolis who shook his head slowly.
Roy walked through the service door into, the kitchen of
the restaurant.
Mr Wong was sitting in there with his wife and daughter
clutching him, frightened. His son was standing behind his
father. He had recent bruises around his face. They all
stared at him pathetically. Roy's blood was up now and
taking his gun from its holster he stormed back into the
Mnow.
Roy nodded. 'Never mind about that now. Look, I'll be
back at the weekend as usual. If they come to see you
before I get back here, phone me at this number.' He took
a small card out of his jacket pocket. 'Now don't worry.
This will all be sorted out in a few days.' He nodded to the women and walked out of the kitchen. He put his gun
back in its holster. Then taking a serviette from the
counter, carefully picked up the glass that Dopolis had
used. Now, he thought, we'll see how good our friends at
the Met are.
He left the restaurant and went to his car. Tessa, his
Doberman, was lying on the back seat asleep. She shot
into action as he unlocked his car, barking and growling.
Roy spoke to her gently until she calmed down. She had
been lying asleep on more than sixteen thousand pounds.
As the dog settled back down Roy smiled to himself. He
restaurant. These people paid protection money. The least
he could do was protect them. The restaurant was empty.
He walked back to the kitchen.
'What happened?'
All four started talking at once, the mother and daughter
in Cantonese. Roy put his hands over his ears and shouted:
'SHUT UP!' at the top of his voice. They all stopped speaking abruptly. Roy pointed to the son, Hap Ki, who spoke reasonable English, and said: 'You tell me what happened.'
'I tell you, Mr Ryan. The man took monry we had for
you. In future, he say, you pay monry to us. Get bugger! I
say we pay Mr Ryan. We always pay Mr Ryan. Nor anymore they say. If we no give monry, then place burned to ground by weekend. Still we not pay. My father tell
them that Mr Ryan good friend and will protect us ... So
they start to bash me in face.' He pointed to his swollen
eye. 'So my father gave them monry. We can't pay you
234
collected over sixty-four thousand a month. There was no
way Michael was going to let that go, especially not to a
relative of Stavros, the man who'd murdered Anthony.
Roy started up the car. That Dopolis had to be some kind
of head banger.
Michael Ryan was pacing up and down his office, a sure
sign he was agitated. He pulled on his cigarette and blew
the smoke out noisily from between his lips.
'Did he look familiar like? Have you ever seen him
about?'
Roy shook his head.
'Nah, never seen him in my life before. He was a saucy
fucker, though. The big bastard, Dimitri, was carrying a
sawn-off, I'm certain of it. They'd collected old Wong's
rent before I got there so they were definitely waiting for me.'
'What exactly did he say about Stavros?'
'Just that he was his cousin, that we had bombed him
out and while he was hurt. . .' Roy laughed again '. . . he couldn't control his "armies". Armies, I ask you! Then he
went on about you having the whole of London. Oh,
Mickey, I tell you. He was a right prat.'
Geoffrey got up from his seat and glanced at his watch.
'How about we let Roy get home and get some shuteye?
It's nearly half-past four.' He looked at Roy. 'I expect
you're dying to get home. The baby's due any day, isn't it?'
Roy nodded, a big grin on his face.
Michael rubbed his eyes with his fingers and leant
against the wall of the office.
'I'm sorry, Roy. You get off home, mate. Tell Janine that
she's got to phone the old woman as soon as she comes
into labour. The old Dutch is like a cat on a hot tin roof
over this baby.'
Roy laughed.
'If you could see the bloody stuff that they've got for it.
Cots and cribs and bleeding layettes. It's enough to drive a man to drink, I tell ya!'
Michael smiled. 'You love it, mate. Is Carla going home
when the baby's born?'
Roy's face dropped.
'I don't think so, Mickey. Maura's house is nearer her
college and that.'
There was an embarrassed silence. It was a well-known
fact that Janine could not stand her daughter around her.
Carla gravitated between her grandmother's house and
Maura's. Geoffrey coughed loudly.
'Anyway, mate, we'll see you later on. Give Janine our
best.' . . . :
'I will, Geoff.' He got up to go. Michael took a package
off his desk and passed it to Roy.
'One last thing, would you drop this off at Black Tony's
house? Tell him it's a pound bag and I want the money for
it by Saturday latest. Give it the big'un while you're there.
He's been getting a bit lairy lately.'
Roy took the package. 'Okey doke. See you later then.'
When he had left, Geoffrey poured out two brandies.
Giving one to Michael, he sat himself in the easy chair
opposite the desk. Michael sat at the desk rolling the
brandy in his glass.
'So, Mickey. What do you think? Trouble?'
Mickey sipped his drink. 'With a capital T, Bruv.'
He tossed back the rest of the brandy and stood up.
'Let's get off home, Geoffrey, I'm knackered. I can't think when I feel like this.'
Geoffrey gulped his own drink down. By the time he
had pulled on his overcoat, Michael had already turned off
the lights and made his way down the stairs. Outside the
club they stood on the pavement, both gulping in the cool
night air. Michael touched Geoffrey's shoulder before
getting into his car and driving off.
As Geoffrey watched Michael's Mercedes pulling away
he was aware of a feeling of annoyance. He walked slowly
to where his own car was parked. He knew in his heart
that Michael wanted Maura's opinion on the night's
aggravation and he resented it. Over the last few years she had gradually moved up in the firm, until now, at only
twenty-five, she practically ran the lot with Mickey. She
was his right hand, as he never tired of telling anyone who would listen. She was the only person who could openly
disagree with him and get away with it. This fact alone had earned her the respect not only of all her brothers but of
the entire workforce, every man Jack of them. She had also
masterminded a bank robbery that still had the police
baffled eighteen months after the event. Geoffrey was
beginning to hate her. Marvellous Fucking Maura . . . the
Woman of the Century. He unlocked his car and sat in it
for a few minutes, staring out into the night. His whole life had been built around Michael, and he was realising more
and more each day that his brother did not really need
him. It was a frightening thought. Without Michael,
Geoffrey was nothing and he knew it. He started the car
up. As he pulled away he turned on his radio. The
soothing sound of the Carpenters filled the car. Geoffrey
smiled to himself. Maura was like most women . . . give
them enough rope and they generally hanged themselves.
Eventually she would foul her nest and Michael would give
her the bad news. All he had to do was wait.
He relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and allowed
the strains of 'We've Only Just Begun' to wash over him.
236
237
Michael had driven from the club to Maura's house in
Rainham, Essex. He had to see her about the events of the
night. Maura had something that he would never have in a
million years: she had a calculating nature. She never let
her emotions interfere with her work. Michael respected
this trait in her. Where he would lose his temper. Maura
would calmly sort out a crisis. Her favourite expression
was, 'Think with your head, not your heart.'
He looked at the house. It was in darkness. He got out
of his car. When Maura had bought this house he had
laughed at her. It was a large Georgian monstrosity that
had seemed to be falling down. Now, a year later, it was
beautiful. She had put in new windows, new doors, and
the large overgrown frontage was now an in-and-out
driveway. She had bought the place for pennies and if she
sold it she would more than double her investment. In
Michael's eyes this was another of Maura's clever schemes.
Something that, until she had looked into and studied, he
would never have dreamt of investing in.
He crunched across the pea-shingled drive up to the
large double front door. He rang the bell. About five
minutes later a bedraggled Carla opened the front door to
him, her face lighting up as she smiled.
'Hello, Uncle Mickey. Auntie Maura's just getting
dressed!' Michael playfully slapped her behind. 'Don't you
let Maws catch you calling her "Auntie"! She'll skin you
alive!' They walked into the lounge.
'Don't worry, I won't.' Her voice was full of fun.
In fact, Carla was one big bundle of fun and laughter.
She was a natural mimic, and had the gift of making
people laugh. It always amazed Michael that her own
mother had so little time for her. Still, he reflected, she had Maura and his mother. They more than made up for
Janine's indifference.
238
'Shall I make a pot of tea?'
'Yeah. There's a good girl.'
He watched her as she left the room. At twenty she was
a lovely girl. She still had reddish-brown hair and freckles, but now had the grace that her mother had always had.
She walked like a cat, with a long-legged stride. As she was now, in a shortie nightdress, her legs looked impossibly
long. Michael sat himself on the Chesterfield and waited
for Maura. When she walked into the lounge she looked as
if she had never even been asleep. Her blonde hair was
now cut in a bob and it was immaculate. She wore a pink
silk robe that barely covered her full breasts, and high
heeled mules. She grinned at her brother.
'So what brings you here at daybreak?'
'There's been some trouble, Maws.'
'I guessed as much. Ah, here's Carla with some tea!'
She took the tray and placed it on the Edwardian table
to the left of the sofa. As she poured the tea Carla kept up a stream of chatter.
Michael smiled and answered Carla's seemingly endless
supply of questions, relaxing back into his seat. Maura
had good taste. The room was decorated in a mixture of
peach tones and pinks. The carpets and heavy drapes were
a deep burgundy. It was a cosy room. Even though it was
full of expensive furniture it was a room that looked lived in, from the magazines on the coffee table to the
Jacobean bookcase full of every title imaginable. Dickens
and Trollope rubbed shoulders with Harold Robbins and
Len Deighton. Maura's tastes in reading were as extreme
as everything else in her life.
Carla did not think it at all strange that her uncle should get them out of bed at six in the morning. It was like
everything else in her life with them. The unexpected was
the norm around here and you had better get used to it or
you were liable to go up the wall!
Michael and Maura allowed Carla to chatter to them.
She was like the family mascot. Loved by them all, as if
the rejection she had experienced when her mother had
literally handed her over to Sarah, had made her their
communal property. In their own ways, they tried to
make up to her for what her mother had done. Though
with Maura, Michael guessed, it went deeper. Carla was
the child she had had aborted from her body. She was
funding Carla through college. Maura made sure that
Carla had everything, from decent clothes to a small car.
Carla finished telling them about her latest boyfriend
and glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece of the
Louis XVI fireplace.
She squealed: 'Oh, no it's nearly seven o'clock! I'd
better get a move on. I've got to leave at eight!' She flitted from the room, all legs and hair. Michael laughed.
'She's a nice kid, Maws.' Even though Maura was only
five years older than Carla, no one ever alluded to that
fact. It was as if Maura had always been a woman. In
Michael's eyes anyway she had never been any different.
She had been a little sister for a long time, then she had
become the mainstay of his life. There had never been an
inbetween. Maura had never seemed to have that coltish
look that Carla had. That magical illusion that was the
turning point from adolescent to woman. Maura had
become a woman overnight and had been one ever since.
Maura Ryan had been a women from the age of
seventeen.
'She's a good kid, Mickey, as well as a nice one. I miss
her when she's at Mother's.'
'I bet you do. She's company in this great big rattling"'
drum of yours.'
Maura laughed. 'You leave my house out of it.
Your just gutted that you didn't buy it. Now what's all this about? What's happened?'
Michael explained to her. She sat curled up on the seat
beside him, chain smoking as she listened. She did not
interrupt him once. When he had finished, she smiled.
'So it's Stavros's cousin is it?
He smiled too.
'Well, we'll give the fat little bastard a run for his
money!'
Michael grinned at her. Maura had said the words that
he wanted to hear.
'That's exactly what I thought! Listen, Maws, I want
you to think over what I've said. Get a few ideas together
and then meet me later at the club. I'll get off home now
or Jonny will think that I've been topped by someone. I'll
see you later then.'
'All right, Mickey. What about the glass that Roy nicked? Shall I have it sent over to the Met? They might come up with a name ... a legitimate name and address.'
Michael slapped his hand on his forehead. 'Bugger me,
Maws. That went right out of me mind. I've left it in the
club.'
'Never mind, Mick. Just you get home and get a bit of
sleep. I'll sort that out.'
When Michael left, Maura went to her kitchen and
made herself some tea and toast. The more she thought
about what Michael had said, the more impossible it
seemed. Who would wait over fifteen years to regain a
territory? This bloke might be Stavros's cousin, but his
story did not ring true.
Carla breezed into the kitchen and pinched a slice of
toast from Maura's plate. 'I'll be late tonight, Maws. All
right?'
'All right, love. Drive carefully.'
240
'I will.'
Then she was gone. As always when Carla left the house,
it felt empty. She seemed to breathe life into it. Still
pondering what Michael had said, Maura went up for a
shower. She had a busy day ahead.
242
Maura walked into Le Buxom at ten-thirty-five. The
hostesses were, as always, pleased to see her, unlike some
of the men who worked for the Ryans who were wary of
Maura. She was regarded as a hard-hearted bitch by the
majority of them. Though if any one of them got hurt
during the course of their work, it was Maura who saw to
it that their wives were amply provided for. She half
guessed what was said about her and made a conscious
effort to keep the myth alive. Maura was happy enough
with their respect, she did not want their love. She wanted to be known as a hard bitch. It suited her. The only people she could not con into disliking her were the hostesses.
They loved her. She always made sure that the girls with
children got a good bonus around Christmas time, which
was much appreciated. Also, most hostess clubs left the girl to sort out her hostess fee with the punter. Maura had a
rule that the hostess fee, which was twenty-five pounds,
went on the overall bill. Then, if there was a row over it, which was what frequently happened in the clubs, the bouncer would ensure that the hostess fee also was paid. A girl who had sat all night with a punter and talked him into buying champagne at two hundred pounds a bottle and cigarettes in packs of fifty that cost three times their retail price, could help run up a bill of over seven hundred .
243 :
pounds. If there was a fight over the payment she was
hardly likely to be going on to a hotel with the punter.
Therefore all she had for her efforts was the hostess fee. At least in Maura's club they could guarantee that. It was not unusual for a customer to be taken to the back bar where
he was punched and threatened until the bill was paid.
Consequently, Le Buxom was known as the place to
work. Maura offered them a degree of protection that had
gradually wiped out pimping on their girls. For that they
respected and loved her. They also kept their ears to the
ground and let her in on anything that they heard. If they
got any kind of venereal disease they were out, that was
Maura's main stipulation, along with drugs and drinking.
She had seen the effect that these things had on the
prostitutes. It made them violent and aggressive. All
prostitutes looked on one another as rivals. Hostess clubs
were alive with gossip and back biting and trouble. Whores
would rip one another apart, yet defend a sworn enemy to
the police; would show a young 'greenie' the ropes, then
try and muscle in on her punter. They lied, cheated and
stole from one another.
All clubs had 'head girls', older, over the hill prostitutes who were as hard as nails. They were employed to keep
order among the girls and liaise between them and the
punters. In some clubs, if the head girl was offered a
'drink' - a percentage of the girls' 'case' fees - they would book these girls before their allotted time. (Hostesses
generally lived by the rule that first into work was the first to be booked at a table.) So if a girl was offering a 'drink'
she would be more likely to get a generous punter, either
Arab or Chinese, both races known to be well heeled and
unafraid of large fixed bills.
This form of hostessing had been gradually stamped out
in Maura's club and the girls were grateful for it. Maura's 244
club had waiting lists of girls who wanted to work for her.
She ran her club like she ran her cab ranks and her hot dog stalls - fair and square. She was always on the right side of the police and had never had so much as a parking ticket
herself. She was a very different person to the naive young girl that Terry Petherick had known. She was frightened of
no one. Even the large, hard-faced prostitutes, known
lesbians and violent streetwalkers, held no terror for her.
She walked the streets of Soho without a trace of fear. She had established her reputation long ago.
Tonight, an ex-hostess had brought in her baby and
every woman in the club was clustered around the tiny
bundle. Punters were left sitting alone while the child was duly praised and cuddled. The girl, Jenny Randle, had left
the club a year earlier to marry one of her regular
customers, a banker from Chiswick. She was radiantly
happy. Maura took the baby into her arms and breathed in
the smell of Johnson's baby powder and urine. The baby
was wrapped in a white shawl and all that was visible was a tiny heart-shaped face, still red and wrinkled. The child
opened its eyes and yawned, its tiny little rosebud mouth
making a perfect 'O'. Maura felt the familiar longing rising inside her, and was embarrassed to find tears in her eyes.
That was all she needed in front of the hostesses! Proof
that she was soft.
'Oh, Jenny, she's beautiful. . . Gorgeous.'
'Thanks, Miss Ryan. I'm so happy.'
Michael walked down the stairs and into the club. All he
saw was twenty-odd women huddled together at the
entrance to the meat seats.
'What's going on here? A bloody union meeting?' His
voice was annoyed. At his words the girls broke away from
Maura. Michael was astonished to see her standing there,
in a hundred-pound suit, holding a baby! As he looked
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into her face he saw the naked longing there, as did most
of the hostesses, and suddenly he could not be cross with
her. Maura treated the girls as if they were valued employees.
Sometimes it drove him mad. She listened to their
stupid quarrels, helped them when they were in trouble,
financial or otherwise, arranged abortions for them, even
paid for their baby-sitters if the woman was having a hard
time getting 'case'. He admitted, grudgingly, that the club ran smoothly, but this was the ultimate piss take. It was
like a secretary going into her office with new offspring.
The bird was a brass, for Christ's sake. Next thing they'd
be having Tupperware parties. Maura smiled at him.
'Jenny's new baby, Michael. Isn't she lovely?'
All the hostesses were on their guard, waiting for his
reaction. Maura gave him a penetrating look that begged
for his co-operation in front of the girls. He smiled to
himself. She had so much front! Only Maura would expect
him, Michael Ryan, the most feared man in London, to
make a fuss of an old tom's baby. With all the aggravation
they had at the moment with that nutty Greek, Maura
expected him to act like the benevolent uncle! He took
out his wallet, and pulling out a couple of ten-pound notes thrust them at Jenny. He smiled his most winning smile
that secretly melted all the women's hearts.
'Get the baby something from us, Jenny.'
She took the proffered money and grinned at him.
'Thank you, Mr Ryan. I will.'
Feeling embarrassed, he left the women to carry on
their inspection of the tiny scrap of humanity and went
upstairs to his office.
Maura grinned at the hostesses who were all smiling at
each other. It was at times like this that they were made
aware of how lucky they were to have Maura Ryan's
championship. She treated them as real people, not just
whores. Even though they sold their bodies for a living, a
fact that automatically made them second class citizens to
the legitimate section of the female community, Maura
made them feel like honest working girls. Like real people, doing a respectable job.
She handed the tiny baby back to Jenny and pulled
down the jacket of her pale gold silk suit.
'She's a diamond, Jenny. You're very lucky. Now then,
you lot!' She made her voice jocular. 'There's some
lonely-looking punters sitting at the tables! Back to
work!'
The girls who had left men sitting alone went meekly
back to their tables, glad of the change in their nightly
routine. Jenny's baby had been a little light relief.
Maura, leaving the other girls still cooing over the baby,
followed Michael upstairs. In the office she put her finger to her lips and laughed.
'Not one word, Michael Ryan!'
He sat behind his desk, scowling at her.
'Well, Maws! What next? National Insurance stamps and
baby showers?'
'Oh, shut up, you old bastard! What you seem to
forget is that those women down there . . .' she pointed a
perfectly manicured finger to the floor '. . . bring us in an awful lot of money. Jenny was one of the best hostesses in
the West End. She brought thousands into this club.'
Maura started to giggle. 'Not to mention a few highly
respectable customers. If you remember rightly she
worked the New Rockingham club before we poached
her . . . and she brought her customers with her. So
there!' She poked her tongue out at him saucily.
Michael ran his hands through his thick dark hair. There
was a little glint of malevolence in his dark blue eyes.
'Have you by any chance thought over the problems of
246
last night? Or was you out visiting the waifs and strays at Routen House?'
Maura walked behind her brother and slipped her arms
around his neck. She kissed his cheek lightly, breathing in the smell of Old Spice aftershave.
'I love you when you're angry, Mickey. And Routen
House was closed down years ago. They don't have
workhouses no more. They have to go to the Salvation
Army.'
Michael grabbed her hands and squeezed them. He
laughed. 'You've got an answer for everything. And that
Carla's getting just like you. Another trappy bird in the
family is all I need!'
Maura pulled away from him and got herself a drink.
She needed one. Holding Jenny's baby had unnerved her
more than she liked to admit to herself. As she had clasped it to her breast she had felt a squeezing sensation in the pit of her stomach, similar to the feeling that preceded driving fast over a large hill. Her tummy had turned over. What
she would not give to have a child of her own! She sipped
her whisky.
'Well, down to business. What do you think about all
that last night, Princess?'
Maura settled herself in the chair opposite her brother.
She crossed her silk-clad legs and leant her right arm on
the desk, staring at Michael.
'Well, it sounds to me like the bloke wants us to split
territories. Let's face it, we've got our fingers in a lot of pies, haven't we? I sent the glass over to the fingerprint
boys this morning.' She shook her head. 'I don't know,
Mickey. They make me laugh. They want their money for
their little flutters and bits of skirt, then when you want them to return the favour, their arsehole goes. Well, I
made a few go this morning, I can tell you! We should
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have a result late tonight. Realistically, Mickey, until this Dopolis makes his next move, or we find out something
about him, we can't do much anyway.
'As for the protection money, he obviously knew that
Wong's was Roy's last call, so taking the old boy's rent was just a token thing. A little bit of defiance. Roy had over
sixteen grand in his motor. Even though he had Tessa in
the car, if this Dopolis had wanted the money he could
have got it. If what Roy said was right, and the young
bloke had a sawn-off She shrugged. 'Well, they could
have taken the lot, couldn't they? No, I think we had
better wait until this Dopolis gets in touch. Then I bet if we offer him a little bit of action, he'll be as happy as
Larry. The fact that he's Stavros's cousin does put the
mockers on it a bit... it means we all hold grudges. But
for Christ's sake, Bruv, who would be mug enough to take
us lot on?' She waved her hand dismissively. 'We'll just
wait and see, I ain't too trashed about it all.
'Now then, what about those houses out in Essex? Have
you thought about them at all?'
Michael nodded. 'If you think they're worth it, it's up
to you.'
He was digesting all that Maura had said. It made sense.
'Well, the thing is, Mickey, they're all knockdown
rebuilds. And I've got a smashing little firm of NHBC
housebuilders who would love the work. We'll make a
fortune, Mickey. There's no doubt about it. Property is
the business to be in these days.'
'Like all the old "tut" you've bought around the old
docks?'
Maura smiled tolerantly.
'You crack me up, Maura. Imagine buying a load of old
warehouses and Dockers' Mansions! . . .'
'Those old Dockers' Mansions will be worth a fortune
one day, boy. You mark my words.'
'Oh, yeah, Maws! I can just see everyone dying to live in
a two up two down, with a carzey in the garden and a tin
bath in the front room. I bet you'll have queues of people
just dying to buy them!'
Maura laughed. She sat back in her chair. She had never
regained the weight she had lost after the abortion and
was fashionably thin. In her gold silk suit and matching
shoes and shirt she looked as if she had just stepped from
the pages of a fashion magazine. Her white-blonde hair
was freshly washed and framed her face like a platinum
halo. Her bright blue eyes were expertly made up. She
was, Michael reflected, a very beautiful and sophisticated
woman. Yet she had never, to his knowledge, had a
boyfriend. Not since the policeman. Michael guessed,
rightly, that she still held a torch for him. Though they had never, ever discussed it. It was the only taboo subject
between them. They discussed everything under the sun,
except Terry Petherick.
'Do you remember Auntie Nellie's house, Mickey? I
used to love staying there when I was a kid. I remember
one New Year . . . the old man was in the 'ville, I think,
and Mum dropped me off there for a couple of nights.',
Maura closed her eyes as she remembered it all. 'I was onlyi about six or seven, and as the clock chimed in the New"
Year Uncle Bertie opened the front door. It was foggy that
night. I can see it so clearly. All of a sudden all the ships'
hooters began to blast. It was as if all the boats were going to sail straight into their little front room. The noise was deafening. Uncle Bertie gave me a hot toddy to help me
sleep ... I loved that little house.'
Michael grimaced at her comically. 'Turn it up, Maws!
You'll have me crying in a minute!'
'You rotten sod! You've got no soul, that's your trouble'
For your information, Michael Ryan, those old places will
be worth the National Debt in a few years. There's talk of
them building a marina there, everything.'
'On the old docklands?' His voice was sceptical.
'On the old docklands.'
'Well, I still can't see it, Maws.'
She sobered as she looked at him. 'Property is the
money making scheme of the future. I'm telling you,
Mickey. Houses don't eat nothing and they make you a
fortune. You buy them cheap and you sit on them until
the prices rise.
'There's so much building going on in London at the
moment, soon there'll not be any building land left except
what can be reclaimed from the old dock areas: Wapping,
Woolwich, all up the Thames.' She smiled. 'You just wait
and see.'
'Do you know something, Maws?'
She looked at him, puzzled. 'No. What?'
'You are one clever bird. If you had been a bloke you
could have taken over the world.' His voice held genuine
admiration.
'Well, I've got you and the whole of London. That's all
I want, Mickey.'
'You'll always have me, darling.' Michael's voice was
soft. Maura smiled at him. As long as she had Mickey she
didn't need a husband, a lover - anything. As she looked
into his dark blue eyes she was aware of how much he had
changed over the years. At forty years old he was still a
handsome man but his body was more bulky now than it
had been. He was beginning to run to fat. Yet he was still
good-looking enough to gather glances wherever he went,
from men as well as women. His dark hair was touched
with grey. His face still had the high cheekbones and
deepset eyes of his youth, except now he had the crow's
feet and lines that denoted middle age. Like most handsome
men, his age suited him. Unlike women who tried to
keep young for as long as was physically possible, men like Michael wore their age with a panache that made it look
like a desirable attribute. Maura poured them both out a
whisky.
'Before I forget, Mickey. I had Mahoney on the bloweri
today. He wants some more hardware, mainly M16 rifles.
He said that Father McCormack would get them to Eire as
usual. Don't ask me how. Probably by boat. He wants
them by the end of the month and I said that was fine
provided he paid the money up front. I don't really like
dealing with them, Mickey. But as you say - if we don't,'
someone else will.'
He nodded. Father McCormack's predictions in Sarah's
front room all those years ago had proved startingly
accurate. Now they dealt with many aspects of the Irish
Republican Army's operations. Not only arms, but also
providing safe houses and, when possible, safe conduct for
its soldiers.
'How much are they willing to spend?'
'A lot. The arms from Libya have dried up since the
Arabs started fighting amongst themselves, but the
money from America is astronomical now. They can't
spend it quick enough. Shall I get in touch with Dixon
then?'
Michael sighed. 'Yeah. Use Billy Bootnose as I
go-between. I don't want you or me seen with them.'
'I will do. While you were sleeping the day away,
Michael, I -' she poked herself in the chest '- have been
sorting out the monthly accounts ... as well as sorting out the fingerprint men!' She laughed. 'We've had a few big
bets placed at the bookies, but no harm's been done. The
club's doing all right. Considering it's nearly Christmas,
the hot dogs are bringing in a small fortune. Especially on the new sites we took over.'
'You bought them out then?'
'Oh, yeah!' Her voice was indignant. 'It was all done legally and above board.'
'Except Roy had an axe in his hand when you went to
negotiate!'
Maura made a little moue with her lips.
'Well, I think that did help. But I gave them a good
price, Mickey. Well above the pitches' value. The cab ranks
are booming, thanks to the cold weather and armfuls of
Christmas presents. All in all, life is good. Once we sort
' the Greek prat out, we'll be laughing!'
'Thanks for sorting all that for me, Maws. What's the SP
on the family front?'
She frowned. 'Not too good actually, Mickey. I had
word today that Benny and Garry have been getting lairy
in pubs and clubs all over town. Shouting their mouths off
about you, me, and anything they can think of.'
'That don't sound like our Garry, Maws!'
'I know, but it's the truth. They haven't been working,
Mickey. Sammy Goldbaum said he hadn't seen either of
them for days. He's been running the ranks himself. I
think we should give him a drink for that. I thought we
could slip him a monkey as a Christmas box.'
Michael slammed his fist on to the desk.
'All right, do that. Fucking marvellous, ain't it! A
pissing front wheel skid running me businesses, and me
own brothers, who get paid a hefty portion, are doing fuck
all! Well, I've just about had it this time. If they don't pull their socks up, they're out on their arses. I can't afford to have lazy bastards on my team.'
'I know what you're saying, Mickey, and I'll get
Geoffrey to have a word with them. By the way, have
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you heard from any of the boys, today?'
He shook his head. 'No. Why?'
'Oh, nothing. It's just that I haven't seen hide nor hair
of any of them, that's all.'
She yawned.
'You get yourself off home, Maws.'
'I might just do that, Mickey. I'm shattered. Not
surprising considering I was woken out of my sleep this
morning. Six o'clock this morning, to be precise.'
Michael laughed.
'I'll wait here for the bloke from the Met. As you say, we
can't do anything until Dopolis makes a move or we find
out more about him. We've got to find out exactly what
we're dealing with.'
Maura walked around the desk and kissed his forehead.
'See you tomorrow, Mickey. Goodnight.'
'Goodnight, Princess.'
Maura left him and made her way to her car. As she
drove home she hoped that Carla would be in when she
arrived. She worried about her, especially with Janine
having another baby. Though Carla seemed happy enough
about the impending birth, Maura was worried that the
baby would further push her out of her parents' life. It was this overshadowing worry that made Maura shelve
thoughts of the trouble with Dopolis. She wasn't to find
out for a few days that he was a very dangerous man
indeed.
Benny sat at the kitchen table eating an enormous breakfast.
He insisted that his mother made him two eggs, five
pieces of bacon, black pudding, mushrooms, and three
giant sausages every morning. He ate this with five pieces
of toast and washed it down with a whole pot of tea. He
wiped the last of the toast around his plate and popped it
into his mouth. He sat back in his chair replete, holding
his stomach with both hands.
'That was handsome, Muwer.'
Sarah laughed. He was the last child to live at home and
she was dreading the day when he, too, flew the nest.
'I don't know where you put it all, Benny.' She picked
up his empty plate and placed it in the sink.
'I think I'll have a quick fag and then be on me way. It's
about time I showed my boatrace at the betting office.'
His voice sounded worried. Sarah turned to face him.
Benny was her baby. She was aware of all his faults and still she loved him.
'Michael won't put up with you skiving off, you know.
Or Maura.' Sarah's voice was tight when she spoke about
her daughter. She could never get used to the fact that
Maura ran the businesses with Michael. It bothered her
more than she cared to admit. In Sarah's mind women married and had c:hjldren. She admitted to herself,
254
grudgingly, that Maura could not do that. But she still
felt that no woman should live or work in what was to
her a man's world. The shady life of Soho and hostess
clubs was, to her, the lowest in the world, filled with the dregs of humanity.
Benny lit his Benson and Hedges cigarette and finished
his cup of tea. He glanced at the old kitchen clock. It was nearly eight-thirty.
'I'm off then, Muwer. I'll see you tonight, about sixish.'
He got up from the table and kissed his mother lightly on
the cheek. Sarah smiled at him and said what she said to
him every day.
'You be careful now, Benny. And do what our Michael
tells you.'
'I will. See you.' He went from the house. Sarah carried
on with her washing up. She'd had a bad feeling on her
since she had got out of bed - like a dragging pain in her
side. She wiped her hands and turned on her radio. Jimmy
Young would be on soon and she liked him. She began her
day's work. Janine would be around at about ten and they
were going to plan the Christmas celebrations.
She now looked on Janine as her daughter and Maura as
a distant relative. Sarah would never admit to herself or
anyone that she actively disliked Maura these days, it
seemed blasphemous somehow. She did not like Carla
living with her either. She wished she-could get Janine and Carla to become close, but she had resigned herself long
ago to the fact that Janine would never like her child. That she could not stand being in the same room as her.
She sighed. Children were a bind really. You loved them
but they never seemed to be out of your life. Wherever
they were they demanded your time and energy. She
consoled herself with the fact that at least there would be a new baby soon. If she waited on the other boys to make
256
her a grandmother she would be disappointed. None of
them seemed to want to settle down, Michael for obvious
reasons. She knew he had a man living with him. She
closed her eyes and shuddered. As for Geoffrey and the
rest of the boys - they gravitated from woman to woman.
Now here was Janine, in her thirties, having another baby
- though she had a sneaking suspicion that if Janine had
been able to get rid of this child she would have.
Sarah began to wipe the kitchen table with a damp
cloth. She'd better get a move on. She wanted to get the
house sorted before Benjamin decided to get out of bed.
He was another one. At fifty-nine he was like a man of
ninety, shuffling about the house waiting for the Bramley
Arms to open. She carried on cleaning, unaware that
before the day was out there would be trouble the like of
which she had never even dreamed of.
It was eleven o'clock and Michael and Maura were in the
small offices above Le Buxom. The glass had been sent
back late the night before from West End Central police
station. The prints on the glass were not known to them.
Whoever it was had no criminal record. Michael and
Maura were no nearer to finding out exactly who Dopolis
was and what he dealt in than they'd been at the
beginning.
'Well, we've had our people out on the street but this
Dopolis is an unknown face. I don't know, Maura. The
more I think about what went down in old Wong's, the
more shirty I get.'
The phone rang and Maura answered it. While she took
the call Michael lit himself a cigarette. There was something funny about all this and he could not put his finger
on it. No one was an unknown quantity. There had to be
someone who knew them, or of them. Yet this Dopolis
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seemed to have appeared out of thin air.
Maura put down the phone and stared at Michael. 'That
bloody Benny has gone on the missing list again. He ain't
turned up for work.'
Michael groaned.
'What about Garry the boy wonder? 'as he turned up?'
'Funnily enough, he has. And according to Sammy
Goldbaum, he was surprised that Benny hadn't turned in.'
'If I know Benny, Maws, he's got himself a new bird and
he can't keep away. Well, I'm gonna dock the sod's pay
this week. See how far he gets with the women then!' He
laughed. 'As much as he annoys me, I have to laugh at
him. He'd travel miles for a new conquest. He's like one of them wolves. He sniffs the air and can smell a bitch on
heat from ten miles away.'
'Sex and food . . . that's our Benny. His two main
occupations. Well, all joking aside, Mickey, he's got to be taught a lesson this time. He's twenty-nine, for Christ's
sake, and he follows his dick like a teenager.' She pointed across the desk at Michael. 'You've got to put the hard
word on him. He'll listen to you.'
'All right. When he finally turns up. Now, any more
business before I shoot off home?'
Maura shook her head. 'I did the main work yesterday.
There's just the usual today. Where's Geoffrey, by the way?
I ain't seen him.'
Michael chewed his bottom lip and Maura, seeing this,
sat back in her chair. She looked annoyed.
'Not again!'
'I'm afraid so, Maws. He thinks that I give you too
much of my time. I had another row with him this
morning.'
Maura lit herself a cigarette. She was fuming. 'What's it
this time then?'
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1
'He thinks you should be doing the cabs, not him.'
Maura pulled on her cigarette and stared at her brother.
Geoffrey was beginning to get on her nerves. Although he
was brought into everything that they did, was informed
of every transaction that was made and was generally
thought of as the main brother after Michael, he still kept up a petty coldness towards Maura. He acted as if she was
just there to be humoured. At first Maura had accepted
this. Now, nearly eight years later, he was getting on her
nerves. Geoffrey could not be made to see that she was an
asset to the businesses. That she was trying her hardest to make them more or less legal. Whatever she did he poured
cold water on it. If she told him to do something, he
nodded and smiled and then did exactly the opposite.
What Geoffrey did not realise was that Michael was getting
fed up with it all as well.
'Look, Mickey, can't you have a word with him?' Her
voice was desperate. 'I understand that he feels put out,
but if he would only try and work with me, instead of
against me ... I'll tell you something now that I was
going to keep to myself. He goes through all the files.'
Michael's eyebrows rose and Maura laughed. 'Honestly,
Mickey. He comes in here in the middle of the night and
checks over all that I've done.'
Michael grinned. 'Sometimes I think he's a few sandwiches
short of a picnic. Still, do me a favour and swallow.
I've got enough on me plate at the moment, without you
two going ten rounds.'
'You will have a word with him though?'
'Oh yeah, yeah, yeah.' He stood up, exasperated. 'Fuck
real, ain't it? What with him and Benny, it's a wonder
we ever get anything done!
'Well, I'm off, Princess. Unless there's anything else?'
'No, nothing, Mickey.'
'I'll be off then. See you.' He kissed her cheek. Maura
watched him pull on his overcoat.
'See you later then, Mickey.'
She sat at the desk chewing on her pen. Outside the window she could hear the steady hum of traffic. It had been a bitter cold morning, but inside the office it was
baking. She slipped off the suede shoes and wriggled her
toes. In her plain green suit and white silk blouse, she
looked very young and carefree. Like an office clerk. It
always amazed people when they met her that she was
Maura Ryan. Her name always preceded her, and though
they were prepared for her height and magnificent bosom,
they were always unprepared for her looks. They soon
found, though, that behind her pretty face was an analytical brain that could pick up and dissect whatever was being
said to her. She sat for a while thinking about Geoffrey.
She had tried so hard to work with him and he would not
play along. The jangling of the telephone broke into her
thoughts. .
'Hello.'
'Hello, Maws!' Margaret's nasal tones were instantly
recognisable.
'Hello, Marge! I was going to ring you tonight. How's
the kids?'
'Oh, they're all right, Maws. Looking forward to Christmas.
The twins have got their Nativity play next week,
that's why I was ringing you. They want you to come
down and see them both in it. Can you make it?'
'Tell them it's a date. I wouldn't miss it for the world.
I'll bring Carla. She should be on her holidays from
college by then. How's baby Dennis?'
Marge groaned. 'He's in his playpen now, but about ten
minutes ago he flushed the toilet roll down the loo.
Honestly, Maws, he's worse than the girls ever were. You
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need eyes in the back of your head!'
Both women laughed.
'I must see them soon. I really miss them.'
'Well, don't come and spoil them. The girls are already
too big for their boots.'
Maura's voice was cynical. 'Marge, girls can never be too
big for their boots - or anyone else's come to that! Now,
have you spotted any more houses?'
'Funnily enough, I have. Three. Two in Southend and
one in Shoebury. They all have knockdown rebuilds on
them.'
'Great. I'll have a look when I come over to see you.'
'How's your house coming along?'
'It's finished, Marge. You and Den must come to dinner
one night. You'll love it.'
'Oh, Ibet it's gorgeous. You're lucky, Maws.'
Maura went on the defensive. 'Luck don't enter into it,
Marge. I work bloody hard for what I've got.'
Marge's placating voice came over the line. 'I know, I
know. I didn't mean it like that and you know it. I meant
lucky to have a good job, a nice home, and a lovely bank
account! Especially the lovely bank account. Me and Den
seem to spend the money before the poor bugger's even
earned it!' Margaret was laughing.
'Listen, Marge, I'd swap everything I've got for a nice
bloke and a couple of kids.'
'I know that, Maws. I wish you would meet someone.'
'Oh, Margie, get real, will you? Blokes my age want to
settle down, have some babies. I can't give that to anyone
so it's not worth the aggro. I mean, I can't see me being
allowed'to adopt, can you? No, Marge, I accepted that a
long time ago. I'll have to make do with me wheeling and
dealing!'
'Well, you certainly seem to have a flair for it.'
261
'Long may it last, Margie! Look, I've got to go. I'll give
you a bell and let you know when I'll be over, all right?' ,
'Okey doke. See you.'
She hung up.
Maura lit herself another cigarette. What she wouldn't
give to be Marge! She smiled to herself at the thought of
little Dennis and his tricks. He was a case . . .
Geoffrey burst into the office.
'Where's Mickey?'
'He left a while ago. What's wrong?'
'We had a call at the cab rank in Manor Park. Some
nutty bastard reckons there's bombs in all the ranks we've
got. I've phoned around and had the places cleared, sent
all the drivers home.'
'You what!' Maura stubbed her cigarette out. 'On the
strength of one bloody crank call!'
Geoffrey lost his temper.
'It was a crank all right... a crank called Dopolis. Can't
you see this is the start? The prat wants war!'
Maura sat back in her chair, her face a study in disbelief.
She stared at Geoffrey blankly for a moment then she shot
into action. 'Get all the boys together at my warehouse in
Wapping. Tell them me and Mickey will meet them there.'
Geoffrey stood looking at her. He curled his lip in
contempt.
'I ain't your fucking messenger boy!'
Maura closed her eyes and said, through gritted teeth,
'It's bad enough we have this crisis with a nutty Greek.
The last thing we want is to be arguing amongst ourselves.
Now will you do as I ask . . . please?'
Geoffrey turned on his heel and stamped from the
room. Maura turned her attention to the telephone and
dialled Michael's number.
'Is that you, Jonny?' ;"
'Oh, hello, Maura. Mickey's not. . .'
'Shut up and listen to me. Mickey will be home at any
moment. You tell him that I am on my way over. Do not
open the door to anyone except Michael or myself. Do
you understand?'
The urgency in her voice communicated itself to him.
'What's going on!' His voice was high and frightened.
Maura slammed the phone down on him. She was in no
mood to console that little faggot. She took a deep breath
to control her heartbeat which was hammering in her ears,
feeling a wave of apprehension wash over her. Slipping her
shoes back on, she quickly left the office.
Michael and Maura walked into the club at eleven o'clock.
It was a freezing night and a fine covering of snow was
glistening in the light from the doorway. A surge of hot air hit them as they entered the club. Gerry Jackson took their damp coats from them.
'Brass monkey weather, ain't it?'
Michael nodded. 'Any news from Benny?' Everyone else
had turned up at the warehouse meeting. Benny was the
only exception. No one seemed to know where he was.
Gerry Jackson smiled.
'If I know your Benny, he's shacked up with some old
bird somewhere!'
'Maybe, Gerry. Tell Geoff to come straight up when he
gets here, OK? And get one of the hostesses out on
reception.' Michael gave Gerry a small green address
book. 'Tell them to try all these numbers. They'll get a ton if he's located. All right?'
Gerry took the battered address book. 'Will do. Shall I
have some coffee sent up?'
Maura rubbed her hands together. 'That'll be just the
thing, Gerry. How's Anne and the boys?'
262
He smiled sheepishly. 'She's pregnant again.'
'So I heard. I reckon she'll be like my mum. She won't
get a girl for years!'
Gerry rolled his eyes at the ceiling.
'Oh, don't dare say that, Maura! We've got five boys
already.'
Maura smiled at him. 'You shouldn't have married a
good Catholic girl then.'
She followed Michael upstairs to the offices. As she
entered behind him the telephone rang. Maura picked it
up, hoping that it was Benny.
'May I speak to Michael Ryan, please?'
'Who's calling?'
'Tell him it's concerning his younger brother.'
Maura handed the phone to Michael and gently picked
up the extension. She listened to a man's voice.
'Mr Ryan, I imagine you are missing one brother by
now. Correct?'
Maura looked at Michael's set face and implored him
with her eyes not to lose his temper.
'I have not missed my brother at all actually. . . Mr
Dopolis. This is Mr Dopolis, I take it?'
The man laughed gently. 'How very astute of you, Mr
Ryan.'
'Well, it wouldn't take a fucking contender for Mastermind
to sus that much out, would it?'
'I hear from your voice that you are worried. I notice
that you English always resort to bad language when you
are in a tight corner . . . But I promise you that if it rests with me, no harm will come to your brother whatsoever.'
The words were spoken sincerely, but with a small
underlying threat.
'Well, Mr Dopolis, what have you got my brother for?
The rents and rates are fuck all to do with him.'
'I understand that, Mr Ryan. We want to use him to
bargain with you. I know that you are a ... how shall we
say? . . - temperamental fellow. I want you to realise that we mean business. I knew that you would guess that the
bomb threat was a hoax. I was just showing you my power,
if you like. I know, for example, that you had a meeting at the warehouse today. I know everything that you do.' His
voice was smug. He was obviously enjoying himself.
'Perhaps we could meet at your warehouse tomorrow?'
Maura and Michael were astounded. How could he have
got that kind of information?
'When do you want to meet?'
'Tomorrow at six-thirty. It will be nice and dark by then.
Also, I want you to have plenty of time to think over my
terms. I must stress to you here and now, Mr Ryan, that I
am open to negotiation, providing it is in my favour . . .'
'And just what are your terms?' Michael was having
trouble controlling his temper.
'Firstly, I want the East End of London for myself and
my family. We have a few legitimate businesses there but it is not enough for us. We are not happy being such little
fish. We are willing to make you a payment of half a
million pounds for all your businesses there. A reasonable
offer, I think.' He waited a few seconds before continuing.
'Secondly, I want your word that there will not be a
gang war. Very sordid in this day and age, don't you think?
We are both reasonable men. And, lastly, I will give you
my word that we will never, ever, try and muscle in on the
West End. That would remain wholly your domain.'
Michael chuckled, a grating phlegmy chuckle that
should have warned Dopolis that he was not really
amused.
'You don't want much, do you, cocker?'
The man's voice went cold.
'I want what I am entitled to, Mr Ryan. My cousin
Stavros was willing to negotiate with you but you were
young and hot-headed. You did not have the wisdom to
talk things out. Sadly, you lost your brother and my cousin was crippled for life. I do not want a repeat of all that. But I am warning you now, I will fight if necessary. I have
taken your young brother as a token, to show you that I
know all that you do. I could have picked you all off one
by one, your sister included, and have had the lot. The
East and the West. But I am not a greedy man. No one
can have everything. It just causes greed and envy, Mr
Ryan.'
Michael listened to the man's voice as if fascinated by it.
His eyes held the malevolent gleam that heralded one of
his tempers.
'Yeah, well, the only thing you're causing right now, Mr
Dopolis, is my blood pressure to rise! If anything should
happen to my brother, either accidentally or deliberately,
you will pay. Believe me, mate, that is a solemn promise.'
'Nothing will happen to your brother, Mr Ryan.
Provided you do what I ask of you. I will see you
tomorrow at six-thirty.'
The line went dead.
As Michael and Maura replaced their receivers, Gerry Jackson came into the office with a tray of coffee.
'Any news, Mickey?'
'Tell the hostess who's ringing around not to bother.
We've found him.'
'Where?'
Before Michael could answer, Maura spoke.
'We'll tell you later, Gerry, OK? Now if you don't mind
I want to speak to Michael alone.'
Offended, Gerry placed the tray on the desk and walked
out. Michael was annoyed.
266
""
'Here, hold up, Maws. Gerry is like family. You can't
just dismiss him like that.'
Maura walked to the desk and began to pour the coffee.
'Mickey, that Dopolis just said that he knew where we all
were today, right? He also said that he could have picked
us off one by one, right? Now doesn't that tell you
anything?' Her voice was peeved.
'Obviously someone in the firm is grassing.'
'Precisely.'
Michael banged his fist on the desk, causing the coffee
to slop over the rim of the cups.
'Listen, you, Gerry would no more grass me than he
would cut his own throat! You're out of order, Maura.'
She banged her own fist on the desk. :?i
'Look, Mickey, I don't want to argue with you. All I'm
thinking of is the fact that these people have got our
Benny and I ain't taking any chances where his safety is
concerned. We must play this one very close to our chests.'
Michael sighed and ran his hands through his hair. He
looked old suddenly.
'Maybe you're right, Maws.'
She went to him and put her arms around his waist.
'We'll beat the buggers at their own game. With all the
feelers we've got out in the street, something's bound to
come up. It always does.'
'And what about his "terms", as he put it?'
'What about them?'
'Well, what are we going to do?'
'We play along with him, Mickey. To be honest, I
wouldn't care if we let the East End go. It's pennies and
halfpennies to what we can make once the building begins
in London.'
Michael clenched his fists. 'Docklands . . . docklands,
always the bloody docklands! Your brother is being held
captive by a fucking nutter and that's all that you can think about. It's like a cancer with you!'
Maura was stunned. She looked up into Michael's face
and what she saw there made her flinch. He was really
worried about Dopolis.
She lost her temper again, this time deciding to tell him
what she had been putting off for months.
'Can't you see further than that big hooter of yours?.
Sometimes you bloody well amaze me, Mickey. We are
paper millionaires. We should take his money and get
Benny back. Whoever controls the West End, controls the
whole of London. It's always worked like that. Let the silly old bastard have it if he wants it so bad. He'll only be
working for us anyway. Think about it, Mickey. We'll still
get a pull off any blags that go down. We'll just be shifting the aggro, that's all. Then once the building starts, we'll be laughing all the way to the bank. Legally.'
'I ain't so sure about that. . .'
Maura clenched her fists. This was like a gift from the
gods if he could only see it! She had wanted to lease out
the East End anyway. Get rid of it. Now she had the
perfect opportunity.
'Mickey, all that talk about luxury flats and the marina is, true. I know for a fact that certain people have been
buying up the place. They've been collecting money to
fund the project for years. Oh, forGod's sake, Michael.
Do you want to be a hoodlum all your life? Well, do you?
Answer me!' She pushed him in the chest.
Michael grabbed her hand and pushed her away from
him. 'Why not? I ain't done too badly, and neither have'
you.'
Maura had tears in her eyes. If only he could be made to
see. 'So you want to duck and dive all your life, is that it?, This is a chance for us to be somebody in our own right.
268
legitimate way to spend our cash. I know that to the likes
of you and me, living in the old dock areas would be
anathema. We grew up in post-war slums, no better or
worse than Tobacco Road or the Isle of Dogs. To us, you
ain't made it unless your address has West One on it. But
things are changing, Mickey . . . this country is going
building mad at the moment. Everywhere you look, new
housing estates are going up. People are even buying their
council houses. We're cultivating a nation of home owners,
and you can't see it! Soon all the sites will be played
out, except for the old dock areas. And I want to be in on
it. I want that and the West End.' Her voice trailed off.
She could have cried her eyes out, but her pride stopped
her.
Michael poured them both a large brandy. He passed
Maura her glass and shook his head slowly. 'All right,
Maws, you win. I'll take the half a mil. When Benny's back
home I want to see all you've got on this docklands scam.
I just hope that Dopolis hasn't roughed Benny up. For his
sake ... As you say, indirectly Dopolis would be working
for us anyway.'
Maura put her glass on the filing cabinet beside her and
ran into his arms.
'Oh, Mickey, Mickey. . . you little darling! I promise
you won't regret it. I'll get on to our solicitor now and get him to draw up an agreement to take to the Greek
bastard's meet. We'll show them! Just you wait and see.
The name Ryan will be known the length and breadth of
England. Just like Wimpey's!'
Michael laughed at her.
'What about Fitzpatrick's? Let's at least keep this thing
Irish.'
Maura did a little dance of happiness. Michael smiled at
her. She was right. They should let the East End go. Get
Benny back safely. His dad had always said it was hard to
own the two. That's what had happened to the Krays. He
would let Dopolis have it, take his money, then pay him
back one hundredfold for poaching his little brother.
Dopolis would be made painfully aware of the fact that he
worked for the Ryans.
He took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. A thought
had occurred to him. The only outsider to know about the
meet today was Jonny. He made a mental note to have a
word with his boyfriend. He was sick to death of him
anyway. This had given him just the push he needed to out
Jonny.
Michael drank his brandy and the two of them made
their plans. When Geoffrey arrived the excitement was
over. He realised that he had been too late. Again.
Downstairs, Roy, Leslie, Lee and Garry watched the
strippers. When they were finally called upstairs into the
office they were all glad to hear that their brother had
been located, especially Garry. As Michael gave them their
orders none of them realised that the real trouble was only just beginning. That events were being put into motion
that would smash their world apart.
270
Benny watched as the man came into the room. It was the
same man who had brought him some food earlier in the
day. Benny smiled painfully, trying to get some response.
In the fight that had occurred during Benny's kidnapping,
he had lost two teeth and acquired a large black eye. The
man was also sporting a black eye so Benny thought that
evened things up. The man ignored Benny's smile and
picked up the empty plate and cup. He checked that the
handcuff which held Benny's right hand to the bed post
was secure. Then he left the room, banging the door
behind him.
Benny tried to get comfortable on the bed. The muscles
in his right shoulder were screaming. He reckoned that he
had been in the room twenty-four hours. He could smell
the urine that was in a bucket by his bed. He had just
enough space to kneel up and urinate into the bucket. As
yet he had not been allowed to open his bowels. Not that
he fancied going in front of an audience, and he had a
sneaking suspicion that was what would happen. He
rubbed his shoulder with his free hand.
The room he was in was some kind of office, he was sure
of that. It had the hollow feel that was peculiar to
Portakabins and the like. It was definitely not a house that he was being kept in. He felt the giant swelling above his ,
eye and grinned - he had given them a run for their
money. If they had not had the element of surprise he
would have won the fight hands down. Now all he had to
do was wait. He had been told briefly by his captors that
he was being held until an agreement had been reached
with Michael. He wasn't too worried about it. He knew
that he was worth more to his captors alive than dead. He
just hoped that someone had had the savvy to tell his mum
that he was not coming home for a few days. She would be
worried.
He tried to settle himself back against the bedpost. His
round boyish face had a dark stubble around the jaw; he
looked terrible. He ran his tongue over his teeth. He
wished they would let him have a wash and brush up. He
hated this dirty feeling. The bed was filthy and it stank. It was also damp. In the corner of the room was a paraffin
heater which gave out a sickly smell as well as a sticky
cloying heat.
He decided then and there that when he got home he
would find out the names of the people who had held him
here and would personally give each one a good hiding.
This place was a dump. He wouldn't keep his dog, Driver,
in conditions like this ...
It never occurred to Benny that he was in any danger or
that there was a good chance that he would never leave the
room alive.
Maura and Michael walked into the warehouse at six-fifteen.
Geoffrey, Roy and Leslie were already there. Garry and Lee
arrived at six-twenty. Geoffrey had put up a set of spotlights.
From outside the warehouse still looked empty. Dopolis
arrived, accompanied by two big men, at six-thirty-five.
The two men with him were, Michael guessed, just
brawn merchants. He also noted, as did his brothers, that
272
they were both armed. Dopolis looked like a dark-skinned
dwarf standing between them. The Greek nodded to them
all, giving a half bow towards Maura.
It was freezing inside the warehouse. It seemed colder
in there than it did outside. The snow was coming down
harder and had decided to settle. In the bright glare from
the spotlights they looked like characters rehearsing for a play. Dopolis was the first to speak. He cleared his throat theatrically. Dopolis had a taste for drama that spilled over into everything he did.
'I am so glad that we could have this little chat. I hope
that you have thought over my proposition.'
'Where's Benny?' Michael's voice was flat.
Dopolis laughed and Maura saw the tendons stand out
in Michael's neck. She touched his arm lightly to remind
him that he was not to lose his temper.
'Surely, Mr Ryan, you do not think that I would be so
foolish as to bring him here? I must first find out how the land lies.'
Garry was staring at the three men in front of him. He
stifled an urge to open his coat and blow them away with
his shotgun. He could feel the sweat slippery on his palms.
Maura could sense the mounting tension. Her voice
seemed to echo around the building. 'We have decided
that we like your offer, Mr Dopolis.'
The three Greeks stared at her in amazement. Surely
Michael Ryan was not going to allow a woman to
negotiate for him? ' v,
'Young lady,' Dopolis's voice was gentle,-'! have come
here to do serious business.'
Maura's voice was brisk. 'I am well aware of that fact,
Mr Dopolis. My brother has every faith in me as I am sure
you will soon realise.' She smiled. 'Now, shall we get down to business?'
Mr Dopolis was nonplussed. That much was clear to
everyone watching. Never in his wildest imaginings had he
envisaged discussing business with a woman. He had heard
that Maura Ryan was a very astute business woman but
nevertheless, he was a Greek and Greeks did not allow
their women to interfere in men's business. It crossed his
mind that this may be Michael Ryan's idea of an insult.
Women were for pleasure or for childbearing as far as he
was concerned. Maura could read the expressions on his
face as if they were written on his forehead in indelible ink.
She began to talk in her best no-nonsense voice.
'You have offered to buy out our holdings in the East
End for half a million pounds. We shall accept that offer
with good grace. But only with the proviso that you work,
indirectly of course, for us.
'We would only expect to be consulted on major issues.
Everything else would be down to yourself. We shall keep
our interests in the warehouses and the property . . .'
Dopolis seemed to have gathered his wits together.
'My dear girl, the half a million includes all this.' He
gestured around the warehouse with his arms. 'I have a
pressing need for these old warehouses myself. I want -'
he paused for effect, 'everything you own from Dagenham
to Tower Bridge. I want everything you have in Katherine
Dock, East Dock. Around London Dock. I want all you
possess on the Wapping Road, in, Whitechapel and
Shoreditch. I want Bethnal Green. In short, I want it all.'
Maura, Michael and Geoffrey were flabbergasted.
Dopolis smiled coldly. 'Do not insult me by trying to
negotiate with me. I have given you my terms. I would
never work for you!' He spat out the words like bullets
from a gun. 'I want it do you hear me? Every little bit,
lock, stock and barrel. And if we can't settle this amicably then we will fight you. Will fight you to the death.'
274
He put a pudgy hand to his breast. 'I came here for an
answer to my terms, that's all. Nothing else.'
'What about Benny?' This from Leslie, who was dying
to start a fight.
'What about him?' Dopolis shrugged. 'He is my bargaining
point. While I have him, I also have you.'
Michael stepped towards him, causing Dopolis to
retreat; a fleeting expression of fear crossed his sallow face.
Michael pointed at him. 'You can't just demand, mate.'
'Oh, Mr Ryan, that's where you're wrong. While I have
your brother I can demand all I want. And I will tell you
something, Mr Ryan ... I have a man behind me who is
so big that he would scare even you. Yes, even you! I am a
trusted friend of this man and I can tell you now that he
has much money and arms to fight you with. I know you
are a force to be reckoned with but I have at my disposal a larger, more dangerous force. Do you understand what I
am saying?'
Dopolis had a demonic look on his ugly face. In his
temper he had spoken so forcefully that long strands of
spit hung from his lower lip.
'Listen, mate.' Michael went to him. As he walked he
clicked his fingers and Geoffrey, Roy, Leslie, Garry and
Lee brought out their shotguns from beneath their coats.
Maura stepped back from them. Despite herself she was
getting frightened. She had never thought it would get
this far.
Michael picked Dopolis up by his camel hair overcoat,
lifting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing at all.
'You are beginning to get on my wick. Comprendez? Or
whatever it is you bubbles say.' He threw Dopolis on to
the filthy floor and turned to the minders. He could see
they were frightened. 'Don't even think about getting
your little pop-pops out. You'd never walk out of here. So
just button your mutton while I tell your short-arse little mate here the score.' He went to where Dopolis was
sprawling on the cold floor, his face like thunder. Grabbing him by the lapels of his coat, Michael dragged him upright
and pushed his face down to his.
'You tell your Mr Big that if my brother ain't home by
ten o'clock tonight, I am coming after him. If as much as
one hair is harmed on Benny's pretty little head, I will kill you all. Slowly and painfully.'
He punched the Greek to the ground again. Dopolis
watched as Michael took a length of lead piping from his
pocket. He tried to scramble away. Michael brought the
piping down on his legs.
'You want everything, do you? All that I've got? Don't
want much do you, you wanker?' He brought the lead
down on Dopolis's elbow and a powerful crack echoed
around the warehouse. The two minders were staring,
fascinated, at Michael Ryan in action. Leslie and Lee
giggled as they heard Dopolis try to stifle a scream.
'Well, you'll get nothing, mate. Not a brass razoo, as the
Aussies say. You've got more chance of getting a dose of
clap off the fucking Pope than you've got of getting a job
off me cleaning out toilets. You made a fatal mistake, Mr
Dopolis. You were stupid enough to annoy me. I want me
little brother and then I'm coming after you and your Mr
Fucking Big. So you had better start saying your prayers,
OK?'
He smashed the lead piping into the man's face, felt
Dopolis's nose collapse and smiled. The Greek was a
bloody mess.
He looked to where the two minders were standing and
said calmly, 'Pick up him and take him home. He's
annoying me.'
The two men stood paralysed with fear. They had never
276
seen a look the like of which was on Michael Ryan's face
now. He had enjoyed every second.
Mickey shouted at them: 'PICK HIM UP AND PISS OFF!'
They did as they were told, their movements jerky and
awkward in their fright. Carrying Dopolis between them,
his legs hanging uselessly, they began to drag him from the warehouse. Michael called to them, and then standing in
front of them pushed his finger into Dopolis's broken
nose. The bone and gristle were open to the freezing air.
'This is just for starters. You wait until I really lose me rag. I want me brother. And I want him tonight.' He
jerked his head at the two men and they dragged Dopolis
from the warehouse as fast as they possibly could. Michael
pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the blood
from his finger.
'Coo, Mickey . . . you scared me.'
'Listen, Princess, I might rant and rave but I would
never hurt me own.'
'What about if they grassed you up?' This from Leslie,
who always asked the wrong thing at the wrong time.
Michael stared at him nastily. 'Why? Are you thinking of
trying it?'
Leslie blanched. He dropped his gun in fright and
Michael laughed.
'No . . . No, Mickey. Not me. N-never!'
'I was only joking, you nonce.'
Michael was on a high. He was always the same after a
bout of violence. 'Well, Maws, it seems your ideas about
the docks are spot on.'
Geoffrey nodded. 'This Mr Big, whoever he is, must
want all this. It's got to be something to do with all this chat about redevelopment. Why else would anyone want
this heap of shit?'
Michael shrugged.
'Once our Benny's home we'll rip this town apart. No
one can hide from us. Not for long anyway. This has
taught me one thing, though. If we're going to keep any
sort of order we must rent out the East End in little pieces.
Geoffrey, I want you to keep your ear to the ground. See if any old wags are out and about looking for a bit of action.
I'm getting sick of the lot of it. What's it the Yanks call it?'
He laughed out loud. 'A conglomerate. That's what we'll
become - a conglomerate! Take a leaf out of the big
knobs' books. Get loads of little firms to do the shitty
work. Only there won't be any golden handshakes floating
around!'
Maura was unnerved by how quickly Michael could
forget what had just taken place. It was as if Dopolis had
never existed. As if he had not been beaten to a pulp. She
shuddered, and Lee put his arm around her.
'You cold, Maws?'
Michael carried on talking. 'I should have listened to
you ages ago, Princess. We're going legal at last. Should
please Mother anyway. Let's get back to the club. This
place gives me the heebie jeebies.'
Ten minutes later they were all on their way to Dean
Street. Maura and Michael travelled together and he talked
to her all the time, not seeming to notice how quiet she
was. They parked the Mercedes in Old Compton Street.
For some reason Dean Street was xordoned off. There
were people milling around everywhere. Maura and
Michael saw that Geoffrey and the others had arrived
before them. Maura walked up to Geoffrey. His skin
looked grey in the twilight. She noticed police were
everywhere. She heard the high screeching of an ambulance
as it travelled along Shaftesbury Avenue. A large
crowd had gathered, mainly bouncers and hostesses, a few
punters and sightseers mixed in with them.
278
She felt Michael's breath on her neck as he spoke to
Geoffrey. 'What's going on here?'
'It's the club, Michael. It was firebombed.' Geoffrey's
voice was dead. As if he could not really comprehend what
had happened.
'What!' Michael and Maura spoke in unison.
'I said it's been firebombed.'
'Is anyone hurt, Geoff?'
He shook his head. 'I don't know, Maura.'
She pushed her way through the crowd and stared at
what had once been the entrance to Le Buxom. The wind
was picking up and little flakes of snow were stinging her
face. She could smell the burning.
Then her heart seemed to explode inside her chest. She
felt her hands clench into fists and a breathlessness as if she had run for miles. Walking towards her, from the entrance
of the club, was Terry Petherick. Even in the freezing cold she felt a wave of heat sweep through her body. He still
had the same long-legged stride. The same dirty blond
hair. The same lopsided grin. She was aware of her rapid
heartbeat crashing through her body. For the first time in
eight years she was seeing the man she hated. Only she did
not hate him. She realised that she loved him . . . loved
him with every ounce of her being.
The sights and sounds around her were blocked from
her mind. All she was aware of was a feeling of being alive.
Really alive. For the first time since she'd had the abortion she felt an overpowering urge to throw herself into his
arms. Beg him to forgive her for what she had done to
their child. He was getting closer to her. She could feel the heat creeping along her flesh . . .
'Hello, Maura. Long time no see.' His words were a
vocal caress and she felt herself tremble. Her throat was
dry and she knew that if she tried to speak to him she
would begin to cry. The tears were already there, hot and
aching behind her eyes. She bit down hard on her lip.
Terry Petherick was looking at her with his penetrating
stare. He thought of the Maura he had known, the
vulnerable young girl, and felt ashamed of what he had
done to her. Through her sophisticated hair style and
expensive clothes he could still see the girl she had been.
The young woman he had made love to and whom he had
nearly died for. She was still there, inside the new shell, looking at him through the blue stillness of her eyes. They would never change. When he had been beaten up he had
lain in the hospital bed thinking about her. He had never
held any grudge about what had happened to him. He had
felt at the time that he deserved it. He deserved to feel the pain. He still felt that, especially now, looking at the face that had haunted him for eight long years.
Michael's voice broke into their private thoughts and
snapped them both back to reality.
'Well, well, well. If it ain't the Casanova of Vine Street.'
Maura felt a flush come over her face and neck.
'Hello, Mr Ryan. I suppose you know that your club
was firebombed?' Terry's voice was quiet and controlled.
'Your doorman, Gerry Jackson, was badly hurt, and a
young lass, a young blonde girl called . . .' he looked at his notebook '. . . Sheree. No one seemed to know her surname.'
'Well, anything you want to ask you talk to my brother
Geoffrey. He's over there.' Michael pointed to where
Geoffrey was standing with Lee and Garry and Leslie. 'I
want to get my sister home. This ain't no place for her.
Especially now.'
'Quite.' Terry's voice was smooth. Maura noticed that
he still had his baby soft skin. She wanted to reach up and touch his face. Feel his flesh beneath her fingers again. She
280
closed her eyes and felt Michael's arm go around her.
'Come on, Maws. There's nothing we can do here.'
She wanted to throw Michael from her. She couldn't
walk away from Terry now. Not when she had found him
again. She felt Michael pulling her gently away and still she watched Terry, turning her head as Michael steered her
through the crowd back to the car. And she knew in her
heart that Terry felt the same as she did. It was written in his eyes and face. Suddenly all the noise and bustle around her became real once more. She came back to earth with a
jolt that made her want to cry out in anguish.
'Come on, Princess. In the car, love.' Michael's voice
was caressing, like a lover's. Only this time it was not
enough for her.
In the space of a few minutes all the old longings had
come back to haunt her. Long suppressed sights and
sounds were rushing back. The little flat in Islington.
Their favourite restaurant. The smell of his body as he
slipped his maleness inside her. It was like a strong heady potion that had miraculously brought her back to life.
'Come on, Maws. Get in the car.'
She opened the door and sat in the car obediently. Leslie
and Lee were already in the back, Garry squeezed in with
them. For Maura the whole day's events had been wiped
out by that one chance meeting.
Michael got into the driving seat and put the key in the
ignition. He started up the car and pulled away. When they
were driving along Shaftesbury Avenue, he spoke.
'I suppose you all realise what's happened, don't you?'
Nobody answered him. 'The bombing of the club had
already been arranged, well in advance. From five minutes
after me belting Dopolis, the word had been sent out. It
was a foregone conclusion. Whoever threw the petrol
bomb was ready and waiting for word.'
Gradually, what Michael was saying penetrated Maura's
brain.
'Benny ain't coming home, is he, Mickey?' Garry
sounded as if he was going to cry.
'I doubt that very much, Gal. I doubt that very much
indeed.'
'The dirty bastards! The filthy rotten dirty bastards . . .'
Leslie and Lee were both in shock.
'Well, I have an idea where some of Dopolis's information
came from. And that's where we're all going now.'
They drove on in silence. Everyone was thinking about
Benny. Michael gripped the steering wheel. Mr Big had
better watch out. He was coming to get him.
The enormity of what had happened hit Maura like a
bucket of icy water. Benny was probably dead already . . .
She felt the shaking in her hands and legs that was caused
by shock. As she looked out of the window of the car she
saw that they were in Knightsbridge. Harrods had its
Christmas decorations that brought people from miles
around. Everywhere she looked were lights and Christmas
messages, in the shops and the restaurants. And Benny was
dead. Or about to die. She closed her eyes and saw his
face. Then Terry's face.
Garry was sitting hunched up in the back, racking his
brains like Michael, trying to come up with a name.
Someone who would have the guts to take on Michael
Ryan. Someone who held a grudge . . .
Michael parked the car outside his flat. They all followed
him inside. Maura realised that Roy was missing and asked
Mickey where he was. He put his key into the lock of his
front door.
'I sent him home, Maws. He's the only family man
among us. After what happened at the club, I sent him
home.'
282
She nodded as he opened the door. They all followed
him into his lounge.
Jonny was sitting on the couch. He was wearing his
straight gear: grey polo-necked sweater and black Staprest
trousers. He was very white. His blond curly hair had been
freshly washed. It was still damp. He stared up at Michael
and smiled. Maura noticed that he was a bundle of nerves.
'Get us all a stiff drink, Jonny. . . now!' Michael
sounded ferocious. Jonny leapt out of his seat to do his
bidding. He was shaking so much he nearly dropped the
decanter of whisky. Everyone sat down on Michael's deep
green Habitat settee. Jonny brought them all a drink.
Michael stood at the fireplace and, as Jonny handed him
his drink, said: 'How much did they pay you?'
Jonny tried to bluff his way out of it. He knew that his
life depended on it.
'I don't know what you're talking about, Mickey!'
Michael threw the contents of his glass into Jonny's
face. Then, grabbing his blond curls, cried: 'Tell me,
Jonny. Answer my question.'
'I swear to you, I don't know what you're talking about.
Please!'
Michael brought his knee up into Jonny's groin, using
such force that the boy's whole body was lifted from the
ground. Michael let him drop on to the carpet in front of
him. Then, taking out the lead piping he had used on
Dopolis, he waved it in Jonny's face.
'You can make this hard for yourself or easy, Jonny.
Either way you will answer my questions. Now, I ask you
again, how much did they pay you?'
Jonny lay on the floor, heaving. His hands were holding
his testicles, which felt as if they had been forced from
their protective sac. He was in agony. Michael had
dropped his glass and Jonny had a fleeting image of him
smashing it into his face. Michael kicked the glass at him as , if he had read the boy's mind.
Jonny hunched his shoulders up and held his testicles
tighter. 'Five . . . five gr-grand.'
Michael laughed a bitter laugh.
'Five lousy grand? You let my brother die for five lousy
grand? I'd have given you that if you'd asked me. You
fucking scum queen!'
He brought the lead piping down on Jonny, busting his
head open with the first blow.
Maura jumped from her seat and grabbed Michael's
arm.
'Not here, Mickey. Don't kill him here. Find out who
approached him. Then let them have him.' She poked her
head in her brothers' direction. They were all sitting on
Michael's giant settee watching him.
Maura stared down into Jonny's face.
'Who bought you off, Jonny? You may as well tell me.
You're a dead man anyway. If you don't start talking, I'll
let Michael and Garry torture you. I mean it, Jonny.'
He was crying, his tears mingling with the blood that
was dripping down his face from his head.
'Maura ... I... I swear I didn't mean any. . . harm.
He made me do it! He said . . . you . . . was all finished.
That I'd better get away . . .'
'Who was it, Jonny? Tell me who it was.'
'It... was . . . Sam. Sammy Goldbaum.'
Michael spat in Jonny's face.
'Not Sammy. Never! You poxy little shit stabber . . .'
'I swear to you, Mickey. Please believe me.' Jonny was
crying hard now. 'I loved you, Mickey. I did. I'm so
sorry. . .'
Michael kicked him in the legs. 'Yeah, you loved me all
right. You ponce! You loved me so much you done a deal
284
for money. Five shitty grand you sold me and my brother
for. Wanker!'
He nodded his head and Garry and Leslie picked Jonny
up from the floor between them. They did not need to be
told that Jonny was not to come home. They would enjoy
putting him away, for Benny's sake.
Jonny screamed out in fear. 'Please, Mickey! Please . . .'
Tears were rolling down his face and mingling with blood
and the mucus from his nose. 'I only told him things
because I thought you wouldn't be there any more to
protect me. I'm begging you, Mickey . . . please!'
Michael raised the lead piping above his head and
smashed it down with all his might across Jonny's head.
Jonny was suddenly quiet. He would never utter another
word.
Garry, Leslie and Lee carried him from the flat.
Michael sat on his giant sofa and put his head in his
hands. 'Benny's dead, Maws. Because that slag sold him
for a lousy five grand. I want Goldbaum next. Sammy, my
friend. Well, from now on, it's family always.' He wiped
his streaming eyes.
'Come on, Mickey. Me and you will sort out Sammy
together.'
They left the flat. As they got into the car, Maura
heard the high piping voices of a group of carol singers.
They were singing for charity outside the restaurants in
Beauchamp Place. Maura could have wept herself. This
had been one of the worst days of her life. Instead she lit them both a cigarette and braced herself for the night
ahead. She knew that tonight she was going to commit a
murder, and instead of being frightened felt a deadness in
all her limbs. Thoughts of Terry Petherick were a luxury
she could not afford. She had come too far with Mickey
ever to be able to live a normal life again. Together they
would pay back everyone responsible for Benny's death.
The familiar hardness crept back into her deep blue eyes
and she put away her childish dreams forever.
Terry was like the expensive present that all poor
children wanted but could never hope to attain. She had
felt for a few moments the agonising pleasure that he had
always created in her, and she would have to make do with
that for the rest of her life. She would think about it in her lonely bed when all this was over, but tonight they had a
job to do.
As Michael's Mercedes sped through the streets of
London Maura saw in her mind's eye the little baby in the
washing up bowl and finally laid that ghost to rest.
She opened the window of the car and let the cold night
air whip at her face. Benny was dead, love his heart. Big
lovable Benny was dead. Her mother and father would be
devastated.
As they drove past the Giorgiou used car lot in Bethnal
Green, they were completely unaware that Benny was
lying not twenty yards from where their car stopped at the
junction with Roman Road. He had died at seven-ten
precisely.
286
Sammy Goldbaum was sitting at his kitchen table, looking
around the familiar room, breathing in the same old smells: gefilte fish and kanadelach soup. His wife Noola made the
best Matzo balls he had ever tasted. On the wall to the right of his chair was a photograph of his three daughters. The
eldest, Rebekka, had his large bulbous nose - the only one
to inherit his Jewish legacy. The other two, Beatrice and
Rudi, both had the blonde prettiness of his wife. He wiped
his forehead again with a large handkerchief. He had been
sweating profusely since he had heard the news. He was
aware that Michael would be coming for him and so he
waited, patiently but feeling very frightened.
His wife Noola sat opposite him. She was more than
worried by the look of her husband. He looked terrible.
You did not live with a man for over thirty years without
knowing his every thought and action.
'Tell me, Sammy, what is ailing you? You sit there like a
statue, staring into space. Is it the police you are frightened of? Have you got into trouble again?'
'Noola!' Sammy's deep voice was exasperated. 'Keep
Your nose out of my affairs. Always you must know
everything. I tell you, Noola, it's not always healthy to
know too much. Go to bed. God knows, you could do
with the beauty sleep.'
He tried to smile at her but it did not quite work. She
reached across the table and gripped his arm.
'Sammy, in all the years we've been married I've always
stood by you. I've lied to the police. Even to the Rabbi,
may God forgive me. But I did it for love. Now I see you
scared out of your wits. You've sent the girls over to my
mother's house for the night, and all you can say to me is: "Go to bed, Noola." Do you think I am a fool?'
He shook his head. Trust her to begin one of her
arguments, tonight of all nights. She had been a good wife
to him, an exemplary wife. Over the years he had grown to
love her more than he had thought possible.
'No, Noola, my darling. I would never think that you
were a fool. But I tell you, you should have gone to your
mother's with the girls. It could be very dangerous here
tonight.'
'But why, Sammy? Tell me why?' Her voice was desperate.
He looked into her faded eyes. Her grey hair was, as
usual, rolled up in enormous curlers with a bright green
chiffon scarf tied around them. Suddenly he saw her as she
had been thirty-five years ago: a small thin young Jewish
girl, with a trim figure and a bubbling, overpowering
personality. She had made him laugh. Being a big man, he
had wanted to protect the tiny scrap that was to become
his wife; instead she had taken him over. But he had never
once resented her for it. She would always be quicker than
he to see the point of a debate or the way out of any trouble. He had begun to rely on her early in their marriage and it had never changed. Until tonight. No one
could help him now. No one at all.
He took a deep breath. She deserved to know the truth.
'I sold out Michael Ryan, Noola.'
Noola's hand flew to her mouth. Her grey eyes screwed
up into tiny slits until they finally closed, as if trying to
blot out what her husband had said to her. She took her
hand from her mouth and put it to her heart as if trying to stop its beat.
'Oh my God, Sammy! He will kill you.' Her voice
cracked with emotion.
'I know that, Noola. I am waiting for him now. That's
why I sent the girls away. I am sure he would not hurt
them or you. But I think it would be better for all
concerned if I was alone when he came.'
'But why, Sammy? Why?' Her voice was stronger now,
truculent. 'He has always been a good friend to you,
looked after you.'
Sammy wiped his forehead again.
'I know that. You think I don't know that?'
Noola sat back in her chair and stared at her husband. It
all became as plain as day to her.
'Gold help you, Sammy Goldbaum. You've been gambling
again. That's it, isn't it?'
He nodded his head.
'So, like Judas Iscariot, you betrayed your friend. Your
very good friend.'
'I did not think that anyone would get hurt.' His voice
was self-righteous. 'I swear, Noola. Then tonight I heard
on the radio that his club, Le Buxom, had been firebombed.
And I realised I had caused a lot of trouble. Now
all I can do is sit and wait for my punishment. It is
pointless trying to get away from him.'
Noola got up from her seat and went to her husband.
She kissed his hot dry lips and sweaty forehead and she
went to bed. She knew that she would never see her
husband alive again. She took three Mogadon sleeping
tablets, and when Maura and Michael arrived was out cold.
As Sammy said, sometimes it was best not to know
anything.
288
Janine looked at her husband Roy. He was eating his
breakfast and it seemed to her that every mouthful was a
trial to him. 'What's going on, Roy? I've already heard on
the news about the bombing.'
He stopped chewing and glanced at his heavily pregnant
wife. Then, putting down his knife and fork, he got up
from the table and went to her, pulling her into his arms.
'Bombed!' He tried to make his voice light. 'It was a gas
leak. You know what it's like if anything happens in Soho.
The press always has a field day.'
'But a young girl died, and Gerry Jackson is seriously
ill.'
'I know that, love. It was burns. Honestly, Jan, it was a
gas leak from the building next door.' He caressed her
swollen belly. 'You just worry about Junior here. I'll take care of everything else.'
'If it's trouble, Roy, I want to know.'
He turned her back towards the cooker and patted her
behind. 'You just worry about making me a nice cup of
Rosie Lee. Then I'd better be off
Janine filled the kettle and plugged it in. Then she
turned the radio up. It was the eight-thirty news. The announcer's voice crackled around the kitchen as if unaccustomed to being listened to in this household.
'The bombing of the West End nightclub, Le Buxom,
was this morning said to be a terrorist attack. The owner
of the nightclub, Mr Michael Ryan, has been seen over the
years with various IRA sympathisers. Mr Ryan is a known
gangland figure, though attempts to bring charges against
him have always failed. He was not available for comment
this morning. Mr Heath . . .'
The voice droned on and Roy carried on eating his
breakfast. Janine placed his cup of tea in front of him. She
did not know what to do. She felt the baby kick and her
hands went to her swollen belly protectively. She thought
of ringing Carla and dismissed it. She would wait for him
to leave then she would phone her mother-in-law.
Sarah Ryan looked terrible. She had not slept all night.
Her straggly grey hair had escaped from its usual bun and
her round open face looked more wrinkled than usual.
Her body had grown fatter over the years and now
everything about her seemed to sag - her breasts, her
stomach, even the folds of skin under her neck. She had
always looked older than her years, but in the last twenty
four hours had become positively decrepit-looking. She
was just fifty-nine. Her eyes, though, were alert and filled with a bright intelligence that seemed to glow out of her
wrinkled face. She was worried out of her mind about her
youngest son. She had not seen him for over forty-eight
hours, not since he had devoured one of his Olympian
breakfasts. She knew that something had happened to him.
She had tried unsuccessfully to contact Michael and
Maura. Both were nowhere to be found. Carla had told
her that she had not seen Maura for a couple of days. She
had not seemed too bothered about it, but Sarah knew
that her nervousness had communicated itself to the girl
and now she too was worried.
Since the news about the bombing of the nightclub she had had a sick feeling in her guts. She had spoken to Roy late the night before but he was closemouthed about
everything she had asked him. Protecting himself and the
others, she guessed. She poured out a large mug of tea and
took it up to her husband, who as usual had drunk himself
into a stupor and gone to bed. She placed the tea on the
bedside table and shook him roughly, the sour smell of his
breath adding to her feeling of nausea.
290
'What? What do you want?'
She stared down at his sunken face. He had not shaved
for nearly a week. He looked what he was . . . like dirty
Irish scum. She had to stifle an overpowering urge to
throw the mug of steaming hot tea into his face.
'Benjamin ... he still hasn't come home.' She tried to
get some response. Benjamin opened his eyes and stared
around him blearily.
'Oh, piss off, Sar. Benny's a grown man. He's probably
out shagging. You know what he's like.'
He sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was just
after nine.
'Jumping Jesus Christ! What you woke me up for?'
Sarah sat on the bed and gripped his arm.. 'I think
something terrible's happened. Michael's club was
bombed last night.'
'What!'
'It was on the news. Roy said it was a gas leak but the
man on the news said it was a terrorist attack.'
She watched the different expressions flicker over Benjamin's face and sighed. In his state he would have
difficulty even working out what day it was, let alone
following all this. It had always been the same. She could
never rely on him to be of help in any way, shape or form.
It was beyond him. For the first time in years she needed
him and he was going to let her down. She heard the
telephone ringing in the hallway and rushed off to answer
it, hoping against hope that it was young Benny. It was
Janine. Sarah felt the hope seep from her body as she
heard her daughter-in-law's voice.
'Can you come over to me, Sarah? Please.'
'Yes, Janine, I'll come to you. Give me an hour.'
When she replaced the receiver she rang Carla. By
ten-thirty the three women were closeted together in
292
Janine's house. For once the atmosphere between mother
and daughter was forged by a common bond. They were
all frightened, but as yet did not really know what exactly they were frightened of.
Mr Desmond Buckingham Gooch walked his dog across
Hampstead Heath every morning. He rose at five precisely
and breakfasted on a soft boiled egg and one slice of toast.
He then walked his dog Victory across the Heath. He was
there by six o'clock every morning, come rain or shine.
His neighbours called him 'Colonel Blimp', though never
to his face. Victory was a cocker spaniel, a splendid animal, though scatty. She never came when he called her and
completely disregarded his orders, and he loved her with
all his heart. She was his sole companion.
This morning she had stopped by a litter bin attached to
a lamp post. He called her in his most commanding voice.
She ignored him as usual and stayed exactly where she was.
She began to whine. She got up to her hind legs and tried
to scratch the metal bin. The lamp post was giving out an
eerie light. It was just becoming day in the cold twilight
world of a winter's morning. A fine covering of snow had
settled during the night and in the gloomy light of the
breaking dawn the lamp post seemed to be radiating a
burnt orange glow that barely illuminated itself. For a few seconds Desmond Buckingham Gooch felt a prickle of
fear. Then, his natural common sense coming to the fore,
he walked purposefully to the bin. Victory could probably
smell one of those damned hamburgers that young people
these days seemed to live on. If he had his way he would
bring back the days of powdered egg and rationing.
Youngsters today had it too easy, far too easy in his
opinion. He looked into the bin.
A head stared up at him, covered with a layer of early
morning frost. He staggered backwards, his hand going
instinctively to his chest. He felt the vomit in his mouth, his boiled egg and toast mixed with bile burning his
tongue and gums. He threw up on to the pavement.
Taking deep breaths, he dragged Victory roughly away
from the bin and put on her lead, then he half pulled and
half kicked his beloved dog back to his flat. Inside his
hallway he leant against the front door, trying to calm his heartbeat. He made his way into his bedroom and, sitting
on his bed, opened his beside cabinet and took out the
pills the doctor had given him for his heart. He placed one under his tongue with a trembling hand. Victory sat
staring at him, her bright red coat glistening with snow.
When he felt the life coming back to his limbs, he picked
up the phone by his bed and called the police.
The news of the finding of the head did not hit the
streets until twelve-thirty.
It was Benny Ryan's.
Mrs Carmen De'Sousa, a West Indian woman, was coming
home from a nightshift at Ford's in Dagenham. She
walked slowly up Lower Mardyke Avenue towards her
block of maisonettes. She had had a bad night. Their
union representative had wanted to call them all out. She
shook her head in its large woolly hat. This country
amazed her.
She heard the rubbery screech of car tyres as somebody
attempted a wheelspin in the frosty morning. She ignored
it. Cars came and went at all hours of the day and night.
You became immune to the sound, as you became
immune to the noise of radios, record players and ghetto
blasters. If you were sensible on the Mardyke Estate, you
kept your nose out of other people's business.
She started to walk up the steps that led to her landing,
294
gripping the rail that ran parallel with the steps. It was very icy, the snow had settled, and all around her the world was blanketed in a white layer that made even the Mardyke
Estate look pleasant. As she reached the top step she
stopped. She could hear a faint mewling. She walked past
the entrance to her landing and began to walk down the
flight of steps that led to the garages that ran the whole
length of the block of maisonettes. No one in their right
mind kept their cars there these days. They were full of
junk, old furniture, old bikes, mattresses and general
rubbish.
She heard the soft mewling again and called out in the
darkness, 'Marley? Id that you, boy?'
She reached the bottom of the steps and felt rather than
saw that there was something lying sprawled out in front
of her. She squinted and peered at the ground. The lights
had been broken down here for over five years. She felt in
the pocket of her heavy blanket coat and took out a box of
Swan Vestas. She lit one and held it in front of her. It was to be an action she would regret all her life.
Lying on the floor in front of her was the body of a
young man. A young blond man. She stared at the body
for what seemed ages, a scream stuck in her throat. Then
the match burnt her fingers and pain spurred her into
action. She began to scream and wail at the top of her
voice. Within five minutes nearly every resident from her
block of maisonettes was with her.
Jonny's body had been found.
. . A
Denise and Carol McBridge walked to the bus stop
together. Both girls worked at Van Den Bergh and Jur
gen's in West Thurrock. Their bus came at five minutes to
seven. Two stops later they alighted and made their way
from the London Road to the dirt track that had always
been used as a short cut to their factory. As usual they
were joking around, barely able to see in the winter
half-light. Carol tripped over something and swore softly.
It was a large rolled-up canvas. Nothing unusual about
that. This was a known dumping ground. What was
unusual was what was poking out of the bottom end of it.
On closer inspection, the girls found that it was a pair of feet. Rather large feet. As if of one mind they scrambled
over the bundle and ran as fast as they could to work, fear giving their feet wings.
Sammy Goldbaum's body had been found.
Denise's and Carol's manager was very good. He gave
them the rest of the week off on full pay.
. '!
Maura sat in the interview room at Vine Street police
station. She lit another cigarette and pulled on it hard. She was frightened, very frightened. But outwardly she looked
as if she did not have a care in the world.
The WPC who had been assigned to stay with her
looked her over critically. She approved of the pale grey
suit Maura wore. It was plain but, with the single strand of pearls and the pearl earrings, it looked what it was:
exclusive and expensive. WPC Cotter approved of everything
about Maura Ryan, from her shiny white-blonde
hair to her crocodile skin shoes and bag. It was common
knowledge that this was the woman who had nearly ruined
DS Petherick's career. It was an old story that had been
embellished over the years until now it was part of Vine
Street folklore.
DI Dobin came into the room. He smiled at Maura and
she smiled back. She had been here for hours and they still had not charged her. She had called her brief and he was
on his way from Cambridge. All she had to do was keep a
clear head. They had nothing on her.
She forced the events of the night before from her
mind. Sammy Goldbaum had deserved everything he got.
Sammy was to become another blank spot in Maura's
mind, along with everything else she had ever done that
was decidedly wrong. DI Dobin and the WPC and everyone
who touched Maura's life in some way, however
trivial, were never in any way aware that she was like a time bomb: a dangerous time bomb that would eventually
explode. Her outer veneer of calm and friendliness hid a
mass of emotions and feelings that would one day spew
out like a festering cancer.
'Am I going to be charged with anything?' Her voice
was calm and controlled.
DI Dobin cleared his throat. Against his will he had taken a liking to this girl. Which was more than could be said of his feelings for her elder brother. The sad part was they both had perfect alibis and not even an outstanding
parking ticket between them.
'I am afraid, Miss Ryan, that I have some bad news for
you.'
Maura's face remained neutral. She took a long drag on
her cigarette.
'Oh? And what's that?' She braced herself for what she
knew was coming.
'A head was found earlier today in a litter bin in East
Heath Road, just off Hampstead Heath. It was your
brother Benjamin's.'
He watched her face blanch. The corner of her mouth
began to twitch upwards. It was the only outward sign
that she felt anything.
'Now, Miss Ryan, I ask you again - have you anything
to tell me about the death of Jonny Fenwick or Samuel
Goldbaum?'
Maura stared at him blankly. She put out her cigarette
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and immediately lit another. She shook her head. DI
Dobin watched the tears begin to gather in her lovely
eyes. He could see what had attracted young Petherick to her. Even with her height and her woman's body, she still had a naivete about her that made men want to
protect her.
He knew as sure as eggs was eggs that if this lovely
creature sitting in front of him had not actually committed the murders herself, she, along with her brother Michael,
had ordered them. And he also knew that they would walk
out of this police station because there was no evidence to go on. Michael had been with a 'friend', a young barrister
who had already been in and given a sworn statement, and
this young woman had been with Timothy Repton, a
well-known actor who starred in a twice-weekly soap opera
called 'Crossways'. Mr Repton had also been in and given
a sworn statement. Both the witnesses to their whereabouts
were beyond reproach and both were, in DI
Dobin's opinion, lying bastards.
It was always the same with the Ryans. They were more
slippery than a greased eel. Also, the Chief Super had been running around like a blue-arsed fly. He had received word
from a big wig somewhere along the line, and now the
Ryans were to be 'courteously' escorted off the premises.
He sighed.
'Well, Miss Ryan, thank you very much for your time.
You can go now.'
Maura stood up. She slipped her crocodile skin clutch
bag underneath her arm and held out her free hand.
Dobin shook it gently.
'Is my brother being released?'
'Yes, Miss Ryan, he's waiting for you at the reception
desk.'
'Thank you. Thank you very much. Have you any idea
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who could have hurt. . . murdered my brother Benny?'
Her voice was low.
'No, Miss. But rest assured we will do all that we can. As
we will to investigate the bombing of your brother's club.'
Maura bowed her head and followed him from the
room. Unlike her, Michael was making himself heard.
Maura could hear him before she saw him.
As she turned the corner and walked to him, he pointed
at her. 'Don't you worry, girl. These bastards will pay for this day's work. My little brother's dead and you arrest mer His voice was indignant. 'And my little sister! My club's been bombed and you lot don't give a toss about it.
I'm a taxpayer and I want me rights!'
The Chief Superintendent was nearly in tears. 'Please,
Mr Ryan. We must follow every lead.'
'Why ain't you out looking for the real criminals, eh?
The rapists and the child molesters. Why ain't you out
looking for whoever murdered my little brother?'
Maura slipped her arm into his. 'Come on, Michael.
Calm down, love. Let's just get out of here.' She led him
out into the afternoon air. 'Please, Mickey, let's get home.
I think I'm going to be sick.'
Michael put his arms around her and cuddled her to
him. 'Don't worry, Dopolis will pay for what he's done,
darlin', and he'll pay bloody dearly.'
At this moment Maura did not want anyone to pay for
anything. She just wanted to run away from it all. Instead
she smiled wanly. The worst was yet to come. They had to
face their mother.
Sarah had been sitting in the darkness of her front room
for hours. When the police brought her the news about
Benny she had walked into the room, pulled the heavy
curtains and sat in the chair by the fire. She felt nothing.
Nothing at all. But she would. Oh, she knew that much.
She would. It was like Anthony all over again. She had
made Benjamin go with the policeman to identify young
Benny's remains. Let him do some of the dirty work for a
change.
In the flickering firelight her religious statues looked
lifelike. Getting out of the seat, she went to the large
sideboard that held them all. She opened one of the
drawers and took out her wooden rosary. She went back to
her seat. Kissing the Cross of Christ, she began to pray.
She could hear Carla's sobs coming from the bedroom,
above her, but did not really care. It would do the child
good to find out just what her Auntie Maura and Uncle
Michael had caused. It might take some of the shine off
them for her. She had already refused to see Geoffrey. He
had arrived just after the police and she had told him to
bugger off out of it. She did not want to see any of her
children except Maura and Michael. Oh, she wanted to see
them all right! She wanted to throw them out of her house
and her life. They were filthy . . . putrid.
She heard the click of the front room door opening and
glanced towards it. In the light from the hall she could
make out Maura and Michael's silhouettes. She said nothing.
They walked into the room quietly, shutting the door
behind them. Sarah carried on praying.
' "Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou amongst sinners and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus . . .
Michael watched his mother. She was so short that her
feet did not touch the floor properly as she sat on the large horsehair chair. The room had its own distinctive cloying
stuffiness, a sickly sweet smell of lavender polish and dusty velvet.
'Mum? Shall I turn the light on?'
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' "Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now
and at the hour of our death, Amen."
' "Hail Mary, full of grace
'Come on, Michael. Let's leave her.'
Maura's voice sounded something in Sarah's head. It
was as if her daughter's voice triggered an explosion.
Sarah's voice came to them from the semidarkness.
'So you want to leave, Maura Ryan, do you?' Her voice
was low, conversational. As if they were having a friendly
chat about the weather. 'Did you know that your brother's
head was found this morning? In a litter bin, of all places.'
She was amazed to hear herself laugh. 'Yes, a litter bin.
Just the place to put rubbish, isn't it? In a dustbin. Where will they put you two, I wonder, when you're dead? Down
in the sewers, I expect, with the rest of the shit and the
effluent. Oh, yes. That will very likely be where you two
will end up. In the filth and stink of the sewers!'
'Mum! For God's sake.' Michael's voice was shocked.
'Don't you "God" me, Michael Ryan. Because I'm
finished with you ... I should never have, forgiven you
over my Anthony.'
Maura listened to their mother's voice. She knew that
what Sarah was saying would break Michael's heart.
'And what about me, Mum? What about me?'
Maura's voice was hard. Sarah felt its iciness and shivered in her seat.
'You filthy whore! I know all about you, Maura Ryan.
You and him.' She poked her head towards Michael. 'Do
you know what people say? That you two sleep together.
Did you know that? Only I know that's not true because
he's as queer as a fish and you're a neuter. You're not
capable of sleeping with any man, Maura Ryan.'
Maura felt a hot flush creep over her body. She went to
the lightswitch and flipped it. The room was filled with the
glaring brightness of a one hundred watt bulb.
Maura walked to her mother, her lovely face twisted into
a mask of hatred.
'So I'm a neuter, am I? And whose bloody fault was
that? Yours! Call yourself a mother? You took me to the
abortionist. And you held me down on the bloody table
while that Paki bastard ripped my baby from inside me.
You turned us all into what we are, Mother. Even poor
Benny. Another Mummy's boy, still at home at twenty
nine years old! You made it impossible for any of your
children to lead a normal life. You drove your husband to
drink and your kids into being neuters.
'I may end up in the gutter or the sewers. Who knows?
But at least if I go there I'll have finally told you what I think of you. You're a nasty vindictive old bitch! You're
even jealous of me and Carla, ain't you? Go on ... admit
it!'
Sarah stared at her daughter, mesmerised. Of all the
things she had envisaged at this meeting with Maura and
Michael, this was not one of them. She had expected
silence as she read them the riot act. Not this.
'Sitting in the bloody dark saying the Rosary! You old
hypocrite. Well, let me tell you something. Your old
darling Father McCormack is an active IRA member.
That's how we all got involved. When you sent him to talk
some sense into Michael, the priest dragged him into it all.
He was laughing at you, you stupid old cow!'
'No! I won't have you say that about the priest. You're a
dirty liar!
'SHUT YOUR BLOODY MOUTH up!' Maura's voice"
bounced off the walls. 'Do you hear me? Shut up for once
in your life. We may not be pillars of the church but we
ain't got anything on our conscience where you're concerned, Mother. Everything you ever had come from
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Mickey, later on from me and the other boys. You had
nothing . . . NOTHING!'
Maura ran to where the religious statues stood bearing
witness to their fight. Picking up the statue of Saint
Sebastian, she threw it to the ground.
'Not even the money to buy this shower of shite!'
She stopped abruptly, gasping for breath. She saw her
mother sitting in the chair. She looked like a very old
woman. All the fight left Maura and she went to Michael.
'Come on, Mickey. Let's go.'
'Mum . . . You didn't mean what you said, did you,
Maws? Mum, look at me.'
Sarah sighed heavily.
'Get him out of me sight, Maura, and take yourself with
him. You both disgust me.'
Maura turned round to face the woman she had alternately
loved and hated all her life.
'Not half as much as you disgust me, Mother.'
As Maura spoke, Michael seemed to snap out of his,"
reverie. 'I worshipped you, Mother.' His voice was dangerously low. 'All my life it's been, "Michael, get me this,
son." Or help with that. But you never really cared about
me, did you? I was just a pair of hands as far as you were
concerned.'
His eyes were moist and Maura felt her heart breaking
as she watched him confront the most important person in
his life. 'I helped you with the kids as they came along. I fetched and carried while you had your long . . . painfully long . . pregnancies. Then as soon as you were delivered of yet another child, you allowed the old man back into your bed, didn't you? Even after the dead babies you were
both back at it like a pair of dogs copulating.
'You wonder why I turned out like I did? Well, I'll tell
you why. I never wanted a woman and all that it entailed. I
never wanted an emotional leech sucking out my entrails
like you did to all us. Anthony's dead, and our Benny and
I'd give anything to be with them! Away from this
house and this family and you . . . especially you.
'Come on, Maws. Let's leave her to her prayers and her
religious mania. It's all she's fit for.'
Sarah felt as if she had been stabbed to the heart. She'd
never realised just how much she had come to rely on
Michael's unquestioning support.
She sat still in her chair, trying to control her breathing, As Michael pulled Maura from the room they came face to
face with Carla. She was standing in the hallway, her lovely face twisted in pain, arms hugging her slim body.
'Get your stuff together, Carla, we're leaving.'
She shook her head. Her long red-brown hair swirled
about her face.
'I'm not going anywhere with you, Maura. I'm staying
here with Nana.'
'I said, get your stuff together.' Maura's voice brooked
no argument.
'No. I'm not going.'
Maura sighed. 'You do what you like, Carla. You know
where I am when you want me.'
Carla curled her lips in contempt. 'I'll never want you.
Never! You're nothing but murderers.'
Maura brought her hand back and slapped Carla a
stinging blow across her face.
'You stay here with your precious Nana then ... I don't
give a toss any more. You can do what you like. Come on,
Mickey. Let's go.'
As they left the house Benny's Alsatian, Driver, ran from
the kitchen down the front steps. He leapt about in the
snow, ecstatic to be out in the air.
Michael opened the door to his Mercedes and the dog)
jumped into the front seats then dived over into the back.
He sat there with his tongue hanging out, his heavy tail
thumping the seat as it wagged.
'I'll take him home with me, Mickey.'
They got into the car and Michael pulled away from the
kerb with a heavy heart.
Inside the house Sarah and Carla held on to each other
tightly.
Michael finally spoke as they drove along the Bayswater
Road. 'When we get to your drum, Maws, we've got to
round up the boys. The old Bill ain't got nothing on us
but we have to plan our next moves cautiously.'
Maura did not answer him. He took one hand off the
steering wheel and patted her leg.
'Listen, Maws, I ain't learnt much in this life but I have
learnt this. When you hit a major setback you put it behind you as quick as possible. Benny's dead. Nothing will ever
bring him back again. What we do now is decide when and
how we retaliate.'
Maura nodded her head wearily. Her mum was right.
Mickey was mad . . . and she had a sneaky feeling that she
was as well.
Driver put his head on Maura's shoulder. She could feel
his hot dog breath on her cheek and lifted her arm and
caressed the dog's soft fur. Benny had loved his dog as he
had loved his life - wholeheartedly. She realised with a
curious insight that Benny had probably not even realised
he was in danger. That fact would never have occurred to
him.
She closed her eyes tightly and instead of the tears she
had been expecting, began to laugh. A slight giggle at first that gradually built up into a deep rollicking belly laugh. A laugh that made her shoulders shake and her tummy hurt.
Somewhere in the distance, far off, she heard the dog
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begin to whine, and for some reason this just made her
laugh harder.
Michael stopped the car and pulled her towards him.
She could smell the dank dampness of the material of his
coat. Then the tears came at last. She saw Terry Petherick, Anthony and Benny, as clear as a photograph in her mind.
Then she saw her mother's face, old and wrinkled... a
feeling of panic welled up in her and for a few minutes she thought she really had gone mad.
How had this happened to her? And, more importantly,
how had she allowed it to happen? Both questions were to
remain unanswered for many years, but as she sat in the car with Michael and Driver that night, she realised for the
first time just how lonely and unhappy she really was.
'All right, Maws. All right, my love. I'll look after you.
Don't you worry.' Michael's voice was soft and husky.
She did not want Michael to look after her. She wanted
Terry Petherick to put his arms around her and whisper his
words of love, as he had done before. Long ago. Before
she had become bad. But, like many other bad things in
her life, she forced the thoughts away. Where they waited
patiently for the day they would all creep out into the open and torture her, like the long forgotten nightmares of her
childhood.
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'Merry Christmas, Auntie Maura!'
Margaret's twin daughters jumped on to the little bed
where Maura was sleeping. She opened her eyes, not sure
for a few seconds where she was. Then seeing the two
bright faces, she tried to smile.
She was at Margaret's. She sat up in bed and hugged
Patricia and Penelope. The sleeping tablets she had taken
the night before made her feel groggy. She yawned.
'Merry Christmas, my lovelies.'
'Thank you for our Christmas presents, Auntie Maura.
They were lovely.'
The two identical little faces beamed at her and she felt
the familiar tightening in her guts. What she wouldn't give to be the mother of these two! She hugged them both to
her tightly.
Margaret came into the bedroom carrying a tray. Maura
could smell eggs and bacon.
'Oh, Marge. Don't be silly. I can get up.'
Margaret pursed her lips and shook her head. 'Oh no
you won't, Maws. Oi, you two! Dad's got your breakfast
waiting for you downstairs.'
The two girls got off the bed, their bright ginger hair
telling anyone who looked at them who their mother was.
Patricia, the elder of the two by five minutes, grimaced.
'Oh, can't we stay up here, Mum?' Her voice had the
whine that made Margaret feel like murdering her.
'N.O. spells no. Now hop it, the pair of you.'
The two girls ran from the room.
'Honest, Marge, I couldn't eat a thing.'
The greasy smell of the bacon and eggs was beginning"
to make her feel sick.
'You will bloody eat it. After all you've been through
this last few weeks!' Margaret's voice was scandalised,
'You'll end up ill if you're not careful. Smoke, smoke,
smoke! Drink, drink. And then sleeping pills to blot out
the world.'
'Oh, give it a rest, Marge, for Christ's sake.'
Margaret put the tray across Maura's legs as if to trap
her in the bed.
'No I won't give it a rest! You're my best friend and I
feel that it's down to me to tell you a few home truths.' 'Such as?' Maura's voice was sarcastic.
'For a start, you look old and haggard. You're drinking'
too much. It's impossible to get a civil word out of you.,
You're moody, sarcastic, and to be honest, Maws, you're;
beginning to get on my tits!'
Maura closed her eyes and yawned again.
'Margie, just in case it's escaped your notice, I recently had a brother murdered. He was spread all over London like a paper chase. His left foot and various other parts of his anatomy are still unaccounted for. I had a big fight
with my mother and Carla who are under the impression '
that me and Mickey were to blame for Benny's murder. I
was arrested by the police and kept for over three hours on suspicion of two other murders. And you have the nerve to
sit there and tell me that I am not my old self!' Maura's
voice rose. 'It's enough to make the Queen feel
depressed.' -
Margaret sighed. She loved Maura wholeheartedly.
'Look, Maws, all I'm trying to say is, pull yourself,
together. If not for my sake then for the kids. I can't stand them seeing you like this. Last night you was so pissed
Dennis had to carry you up to bed.'
'I know. Marge, I'm sorry. It's just that with all that's
happened, I feel responsible . . .'
That's crap and you know it! I can swallow a lot. Maws,
but not self-pity. That's a luxury none of us can afford.'
Maura looked at Margaret as if for the first time. Since
having the kids she had become huge. In her pink
candlewick dressing gown she looked like a little pink
Buddha. Her red hair was pinned up untidily and her face
had the harassed look that seems to be worn only by
mothers of young children. It was only her eyes, the deep
sea-green eyes, that still held the image of the girl she had been. They were as sparkling and mischievous as ever.
Cutting off a small piece of bacon, Margaret held it to
Maura's mouth. Reluctantly she ate it. Slowly Margaret
fed her the whole breakfast. When the last piece of food
had been eaten she placed a mug of tea in Maura's hands.
Then, picking up the tray, she made her way out of the
room. As she opened the bedroom door, holding the tray
against her side with one hand, she looked back over her
shoulder at Maura.
'You can't plan and scheme on an empty stomach, you
know!'
'And just what do you mean by that?'
Marge smiled at her cheekily. 'I'm not as silly as I look, you know, Maura Ryan. So I'll " thank you not to act as if I am.' She lowered her voice.
'What I know and what I've guessed will go to my grave
with me. Now, you need your wits about you at this time, '
and I intend to see that you have them.'
She walked from the room and let the door slam shut
behind her.
Maura leant back against the pillows and sighed. Good
old Marge. The only real friend she had. She sat up in bed, and, putting the tea on the night table, picked up her
packet of cigarettes. She lit one, drawing the smoke into
her lungs. Margaret was right. She did need her wits about
her. If only Carla would talk to her she would feel better.
Every time she tried to get through to her, the phone was
slammed down. She had even tried ringing Carla's friends.
But nothing. She had not answered any of Maura's
messages. Maura could imagine her mother, in her element, poisoning Carla against her. Oh, she had guessed her mother's game all right. . .
She took another pull on the cigarette and felt a wave of
nausea sweep over her. The combination of fried food,
cigarette smoke and acute hangover was suddenly too
much for her stomach. With her hand pressed tightly to
her mouth, she ran from the bedroom into the bathroom.
Dropping her cigarette into the toilet pan she retched. She heaved until she thought her insides were going to come
up. A cold sweat broke out all over her body. She leaned
against the wall, trying to gather her wits about her.
Turning on the shower, she slipped her nightie over her
head and stood underneath the shower head. She shivered as ice cold water ran over her body, making her teeth chatter. Still she stood there, trying to bring some kind of life back into her limbs.
After a few minutes she felt the delicious sensation of
warmth that only cold water can bring. She felt the
tightening of her skin as the blood vessels beneath the
surface tried desperately to pump warm blood around her
aching body. Her nipples were rock hard and as she turned
the water on to hot she savoured the exquisite sensation of
310
the heat gradually invading her bones. She put her face up
to let the water cleanse her from head to toe. Gradually
she felt the life begin to come back to her. For the first
time in days she actually felt something that was real and
tangible.
Then the tears came. A torrent of salty rivulets that
mixed with the heavy water from the shower and ran away,
down her breasts, over her empty stomach, on to her feet
and into the shower tray.
In her mind she saw the loathing on her mother's face.
The handsome carefree face of Benny, the young boy who
had always been in some kind of prank. She saw the face of
Terry Petherick, as it had been the night of the club
bombing. She had known then that he still cared for her,
that if she had not been Maura Ryan they would have
married. She would have been like Margie, juggling the
bills, looking after the kids and just being loved. As Dennis loved Marge, even with her large mauve and silver stretch
marks and empty breasts. And she, Maura, would have
loved it. Every second of it.
Instead she had more money than she knew what to do
with. She ran a business that was more crooked than the
Government of Cuba, and had a brother who was at this
time almost totally dependent on her. As for the younger
boys, they blamed her for Benny's death. Not Michael but
her. They believed that if she had not wanted her dock
properties so badly, and had given them to Dopolis, Benny
would still be alive. And she had to be honest and admit to herself that they were right. She cried harder.Whoever
said that money made you happy was a liar. A dirty rotten
stinking liar! She would give every penny she had at this
moment to be just plain ordinary Mrs Terry Petherick. He
was the only man she would ever want, even if she lived to
be a hundred. If only she had kept that little baby! If she
had nothing else now she would have had that. She would
never have taken over the ice cream and hot dogs. She
would never have become the person she was now. The
person who had watched her brother murder an old man,
Sammy Goldbaum, who had been waiting patiently for
them to arrive. He had walked so meekly to the car. And
now she had his blood on her hands and could never
escape from any of it.
She had always thought that if she ever came face to face
with Terry Petherick she would spit in his eye. Instead she had felt an urge to tell him all that happened to her. About the baby and her life with Michael. . . everything. She had wanted to be like it had been once before. When she was young and free. She was still young, but too much had
happened over the years ever to allow her to be the girl
that she once had been.
She turned off the tap and stood in the confined space
of the shower cubicle. The sudden silence was startling
and broke her out of her reverie. Her tears were gone now
and all they had left in their wake was a heavy tiredness.
Stepping from the shower, she wrapped a large towel
around her body. As she dried her hair she thought about
what she was going to do next. Then she made a decision.
All that she could do now was go forward into the future.
No matter how exciting the past may have been you could
never recapture it. What Margaret had said earlier was
right. Self-pity was a destructive force. She would have to make herself stronger. Much stronger. What she really
needed was to get laid!
She smiled to herself. That was what Marge had been
telling her for years! She shrugged aggressively, as if
throwing off all her previous worries and cares. She wiped
the steam from the mirror on the wall opposite the shower
and stared at her face. Her hair hung in limp, damp strands
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around her face which was puffy from crying. She smiled
to herself. She was going to pick herself up and slowly
mend all the broken pieces. She and Michael could take on
the world. She had absolutely no one else now. She had
lost them all, one by one. But she knew that she would
always have Michael and Margie. Good old Margie.
She remembered that it was Christmas Day. Back at her
own house she had the mother-of-pearl jewellery box that
she had bought for Carla . . . She forced the thought from
her mind. Let the ungrateful little bitch stay with her
mother! Maura did not need her. She did not need
anyone.
She ran her hands through her hair, feeling the silky
softness of it. Letting the towel fall from her body, she ran her hands down her neck and over her breasts, travelling
down her tight stomach to her pubic hair, enjoying the
sensation. Picking up her nightie from the floor she put it back on, then went back into the bedroom where her
overnight bag was. She felt a lot better. Much better, in
fact. As she plugged in her hair dryer she was actually
humming a little tune. Margie was right. Self-pity was a
bummer. All that she could do now was go forward.
When she finally went downstairs she had her make-up on
and her hair done to perfection. She was wearing a dress
that would have cost Marge two months' housekeeping
and was gratified to hear the long low whistle that came
from Dennis.
'If I wasn't so happy with my old Margie I'd be after
you myself, Maws!'
Marge laughed. 'Listen here, Dennis Dawson. You
couldn't pull a ligament these days, let alone a beauty like Maura. Especially not since you lost your hair.' She smiled at Maura. 'All he's got these days is six hairs and a nit!'
Maura laughed with her. Dennis had lost his hair early,
and Maura knew that it was a sore point with him.
'Come out here and have a cuppa. You look much
better.'
Maura followed her out into her little kitchen. 'I feel a lot better, Marge. Thanks for letting me come.'
Margaret plugged in the electric kettle. 'What you on
about, you silly cow? This is your home for as long as you
want to be here.' She opened her arms wide and Maura
walked into them. Margaret's tiny plump body held on to
Maura's tall thin frame. Maura got upset again at the show
of emotion.
'If you knew what I'd done, Marge!'
'Shh.' Margaret stepped back from Maura and raised her
finger to her lips. 'Look, Maws, I know that you and
Michael ain't strictly kosher. I've always known and I don't care. You're me mate and that's all I'm interested in.'
Maura looked at her and frowned. 'Sometimes, Marge, I
don't think that I'm all the ticket. I get so moody and I
think really weird things.'
'Maws love, you've been through an awful lot, you
know. Just let yourself heal naturally. Benny's death would make anyone feel rotten. It was horrific. You need time to
get over it, that's all.'
'Maybe you're right, Marge.'
She wanted to tell Margaret what Mickey had done to
Sammy Goldbaum and Jonny Fenwick. She wanted to tell
her that she had helped him. She was experiencing that
feeling again - as if she was on the outside of her body looking in. She had always known that Michael enjoyed inflicting pain on people. And until the night with Jonny Fenwick and Sammy Goldbaum it had not bothered her.
'Maura!' Margaret's voice broke into her thoughts.
'Mickey's on the phone for you.'
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Maura stared around the kitchen blankly. Margaret
looked at her curiously. 'You all right, girl?'
Maura nodded and walked out of the kitchen into the
lounge. The twins were watching Mary Poppins on television
and baby Dennis was now sitting on his dad's lap.
Maura's mind registered the fact that the Christmas tree
was falling to one side where the kids had been playing
underneath it. She walked out into the hallway and picked
up the receiver lying on the telephone table.
'Oh, darling. You'll never guess what?'
His voice was bubbling over with excitement.
'What?' Maura's voice was flat.
'I just had a visit from Sammy Goldbaum's daughter.
You know her . . . the one with the big hooter?'
'Rebekka.'
'Yeah, that's it. Rebekka. Anyway, she said she had come
to see me on Christmas Day to show that she bore me no
ill will. Not that I give a toss anyway. Those front wheels are like the eye ties, full of crap. Anyway, the bottom line is she brought me some documents that belonged to
Sammy. I've just been through them, and have a guess
what I found along with a load of old betting slips?'
'What?'
'The name of the property developer we've been looking
for. The mastermind behind Dopolis.'
'But Sammy said he had no idea who he was . . .'
'I don't think Sammy realised just what he had. You see,
I found an old cutting from a newspaper. The Daily
Mirror in fact. It was from the racing section and it had a picture of Dopolis. And get this bit, Maws. He's in the
Royal Enclosure at Ascot! Now what, I asked myself, was
he doing in there? Then I realised that he was standing
with none other than William Templeton! That's when it
hit me. He's the Mr Big that Dopolis was talking about.'
Maura was stunned. 'But he's a peer of the Realm!'
Mickey laughed. 'I know. Saucy bastard! I bet he's even
in You Know Who ... or whatever that book's called.'
Maura laughed despite herself. 'It's Who's Who, you
wally. Christ Almighty, Mickey, if you're right. . .'
'I know I'm right. I've got a gut feeling about it. Look,
can you get over to me now?'
'I can't, Mickey. I promised Marge and Den I'd have
Christmas dinner with them.'
'All right then, Princess. But get your arse over here as
soon as you can. All right?'
'All right then, Mickey. Merry Christmas.' Her voice
was sad.
Michael's voice lost its excitement. 'I know it's been a
bad time, the last few weeks, but I promise you, Maws -
I'll make it up to you somehow. Merry Christmas, my
darling.'
Maura put the phone down gently. The implications of
what Mickey had just said were phenomenal. She went
back into the lounge and started to play with the children.
She held them to the floor and tickled them till they
screamed with laughter. Marge and Dennis watched her
with amused expressions on their faces. This was more like
it. This was the old Maura.
It wasn't until she was sitting at the dining table eating
her enormous Christmas dinner that-the excitement hit
her. Lord William Templeton . . . Suddenly she could not
wait to get started on him. Together Michael and she
would eat him alive.
She picked up a bright blue cracker and pointed it at
Patricia. 'Come on, Patty. Let's see who wins the paper
hat!'
Lord Templeton was also sitting at his dinner table in his
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large rambling house in Kent. The house dated back to the
fifteenth century and over the large inglenook fireplace
was a painting of one of his ancestors. It had been
executed by Holbein, one of Henry VIII's favourite
painters. There was an old story in his family that it was
this ancestor who had actually ordered the death of Sir
Thomas More. William liked to think that the story was
true.
At forty-five, he was a somewhat jaded man. Over the
years he had used his vast wealth to engage in many
pastimes, both sexual and otherwise. He had hunted big
game in South Africa and had smoked hashish in Turkey.
He had travelled to the Himalayas and had seen the Manta
Rays leap from the sea in the Maldives. He had experimented with drugs, and did not think there was any
country in the world that he had not visited. He had
married once, when he was very young, a large voluptuous
woman, years older than himself. She had left him after
one year, taking with her a large amount of money and his
good wishes. She had taught him much: that there was no
pleasure without pain; that a man, especially a rich man,
needs to use his wealth wisely. He had never, as far as he
knew, fathered a child. Unlike most men. William Temple
ton did not have the urge to reproduce. He rather like his
solitary life. If he wanted a woman they were easy enough
to find.
He picked at his expertly cooked Christmas dinner. At
this moment he was a very worried man. He was regretting
getting involved with the Greek, Dopolis. For a start
it had not achieved his objective - the warehouses that the Ryans owned in the old docklands. Dopolis had turned
out to be a penny ante type villain. Not at all the hard man he had said he was. The Ryans had completely obliterated
him. If only he had had the sense to keep his eye on the
his businesses. His main buyers were North African
countries; Iran, Iraq, Libya - the list was endless. He
also supplied Romania and the Czechs. All in all,
Templeton seemed like their kind of guy!
Michael was jubilant! The only cloud on their horizon
was Dopolis. Although they now had just about everything
they wanted to know about him, plans for his demise
were put on hold for the time being. He was the bait with
which they were going to lure William Templeton. As
Michael had playfully remarked to Maura, 'Let him get
over his injuries first. He can pay for Benny when he's
better!'
Sarah Ryan had still not acknowledged either of them.
This had cut Michael deeply. His mother had been his life.
But the estrangement from her had brought brother and
sister closer together. They spent every available minute in each other's company. Maura now needed Michael more
than ever. When she was with him he could convince her
that Sammy Goldbaum's and Jonny Fenwick's deaths were
just the paying of a debt. While she was with him she
could accept that. Away from him, she was frightened and
lonely. Every day that passed was making her more bitter
and confused. They had spent the days since Christmas
following up their leads on Templeton, and decided they;
would pay him a visit on New Year's Day. Until then they
would bide their time.
On the 29 December 1975 Roy's son was born. He
rang the news through to Michael at seven in the evening.
Maura and Michael arrived at St Mary's Hospital at
eight-thirty. After looking at the new baby fleetingly,
Michael and the rest of the boys took Roy out to celebrate, all feeling the loss of Benny more than ever.
Maura was left with Janine. She noticed that her mother
was nowhere to be seen.
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She held the baby, Benny Anthony, in her arms. 'He's
beautiful, Janine. I hope you realise just how lucky you
are?'
Janine smiled wearily. 'I'm a bit sore, Maws, but he was
worth it.'
Maura nodded. She was staring at the baby so intently
that Janine felt a prickle of fear.
'I nearly had a baby once, Janine. A long time ago.'
Maura's voice was sad. For the first time ever Janine pitied her.
'I know, Maura. Roy told me.'
She held the baby tighter to her chest.
'It was a lovely gesture, naming the baby after Benny
and Anthony. It brings them back somehow.' She kissed
the baby's downy head. 'I think that if they'd at least let us bury Benny, half the battle would be over. I can't stand to think of him on ice.'
'Please, Maura. Don't talk about it.' Janine was nearly in
tears.
Maura's sing-song voice as she spoke about her brother
made Janine feel frightened. She had always been a little in awe of Maura. Now she was terrified. " Maura smiled radiantly at her. '
'I'm sorry, Jan. I'm getting a bit morbid!' She kissed the
baby's head again and squeezed him to her breast. It took
all Janine's willpower not to snatch her baby away. Janine
was sensitive and felt things very deeply. She did not want this woman anywhere near her child.
Roy had said recently that he did not think that Maura was right in the head. Looking at her now, Janine was sure that she was capable of anything. She had a terrible feeling that Maura would even kill a baby if it would get her what she wanted. Janine shivered.
'You cold?'
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kill
'No, Maura, just tired. It takes a lot out of you, having a baby.'
'Like shitting a football, is how Marge described it!' ji
Janine pursed her lips. She had never understood the
Ryans' use of bad language. They swore in much the same
way as her mother said 'God bless you'.
Janine took all her courage into her hands and decided
to approach Maura with an idea that had been floating around inside her head for months. I
'Maura?'
'What?' She was rocking the baby in her arms, completely
engrossed in his little face. He was looking up at
her with the dark blue Ryan eyes.
Janine picked at her bedsheet, watching her sister-in-law
warily.
'It's about Roy.'
Maura laughed gently. 'He's like a dog with three lamp
posts! I've never seen him like this. All the boys are ribbing him terrible. You'd think this was the first baby ever born!'
'I know ... I know.' Janine was finding it difficult to
find the appropriate words.
Maura sensed that there was something going on and
looked Janine in the face.
'What's on your mind? Come on, spit it out. I'm not
really an ogre, whatever my Mum might say.' Her voice
was bitter.
'I was wondering if you would help Roy set up a little
business . . .'
Her voice trailed off as she saw the look of shock on
Maura's face.
'You what! Roy work outside the family? You must be
joking.'
Janine started to cry. 'Oh, Maura, I'm so frightened.'
She put her face into her hands. 'I feel like a policeman's
wife, wondering if he's going to come home. Then after
what happened to Benny . . .'
Maura pulled her hands away from her face. 'You're just
overwrought, that's all. Having a baby makes you go
funny.'
'NO! It's not that!' Janine lost all caution. 'I don't want to be left a widow, bringing up the baby on my own. I
want us to be a normal family. A real family. Roy's not
meant to be a thug.'
Maura put the baby into the cot by the bed. Her face
was set. She loomed over Janine and began to speak to her
in a low and menacing voice.
'Shall I tell you something, Janine? In case it has escaped your notice. Roy, as much as I love him, is as thick as two short planks. He can barely count over fifty. He still reads Marvel comics, for Christ's sake! The best he could ever have expected out of life was a job on the council or with
the Water Board. Either way, you'd not be spending the
kind of hefty wedge you're used to now. Your father tried
to turn him into a butcher and look where that got him. If
Roy knew what you'd said here tonight he'd give you a
well-deserved slap. Now about the other load of shit you
was spouting . . .'
She pushed Janine back against the pillows hard and
poked her in the chest. 'You want to be a real family, do
you? You dumped your daughter on my mother if you
remember rightly, love. If push ever comes to shove, you
can dump your new arrival on her and all, can't you?
Don't you ever try and bullshit me again. DO you HEAR
ME?'
Maura's loud voice made the baby whimper in his cot.
'I'm going to forget what you've said in here tonight,
Janine, because I know that having a baby can make you a
bit distraught. I'm warning you, though, if I ever get wind
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that you've said this to anyone else, I'll come and sort you out myself. Get it?'
Janine nodded, her lips trembling. She realised that she had just made an enemy for life.
Maura watched her closely. Then she smiled a soft little
smile that did not reach her eyes. Picking up her bag from
the floor, she opened it, took out a blue velvet box and
handed it to Janine.
'Well, open it then.' She snapped.
Janine was shaking so badly that Maura had to place her
own hands on top of hers to help her open the box. Inside
was a gold and platinum identity bracelet.
'I'll have his name put on it for you.'
Janine swallowed heavily. She did not want it. 'Tha . . .
thanks. It's lovely. Beautiful.' A stray tear slid down her face. Maura wiped it away gently with her fingers.
'Cheer up, love. You just had a lovely little boy. You
should be laughing, not crying.'
Janine forced a smile she did not think she had in her.
'As you say . . . it's my hormones or something.'
Maura laughed. 'That's the ticket. Now, I'm off to the
Crown and Two Chairmen. If that lot are left on their
own with Roy, he'll end up legless.' She put her bag under
her arm and kissed Janine on the cheek.
'I heard a little saying the other day, Janine. It might
give you something to think about. -It was on a wall in
some public toilets and Mickey read it. It said: "Life is like a shit sandwich. The more bread you've got, the less shit
you have to eat." I'd think about that if I was you.'
With one last glance at the baby, Maura left the room.
Janine was convinced that she was fuming inside and she
was right. She sat in the bed staring at the identity
bracelet. The tears came in a red hot rush. She felt like a trapped animal.
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Her mother-in-law had been right. They would never let
Roy go.
A while later a nurse came in and gave her a little talking to. And Janine sat in the bed silently as she was told all about 'the baby blues'. She was still crying when the nurse finally gave up and left her.
Maura drove to the Crown and Two Chairmen feeling
better than she had for weeks. It had taken Janine's
smugness and petty strivings for respectability to bring her out of her depression.
She was honest with herself, though. Holding the new
baby had brought back all her maternal feelings and she
had resented the fact that the baby was Janine's. Had she
but known, Janine could not have picked a worse time to
ask Maura for a favour.
Maura walked into the Crown and Two Chairmen pub in
Dean Street. As usual it was packed. She pushed her way
through the throng of people and finally located the boys
in the corner. Roy was already very drunk. The air was
thick with cigarette smoke and camaraderie. Leslie saw
Maura first and raised himself from his seat unsteadily. He was as drunk as a lord. Maura smiled at him.
'Hello, Mawsh.' His voice was slurred.
'Sit down, Les, before you fall down.' She looked
around the table. Her six remaining brothers were all
sitting, looking like clones of one another, all in different states of inebriation. Only Michael was even remotely
sober. He stood up and offered her his seat.
'Sit down, Maws, and I'll get you a drink. What'll it be?
Scotch?'
Maura sat down and nodded at him. He went to the
bar.
'Well, you lot seem to be enjoying yourselves.' She made
her voice sound jovial. Five pairs of eyes 'stared at her
blankly. Maura felt for the first time the impact of their
combined wariness and it hurt her. Only Geoffrey looked
different and she realised that he looked smug. Smug and
very, very sure of himself. Maura mentally chalked one up
to him.
'Well, Roy, you got a son at last.'
He nodded at her, a silly grin on his drunken face.
Maura began to search in her bag for her cigarettes. It was obvious that she was not welcome. In her present state of
mind she was not sure if it was over Benny or because it
was a boys' night out. Michael came back with a tray of
drinks and she took the double Scotch he gave her and
drank it straight down.
'That bad, Maws?' Michael's voice was soft.
'No. Actually it's worse. If you boys will excuse me, I
have got some work to do in the club. OK?'
She picked up her bag and left as quickly as possible.
Outside in the freezing night she breathed a deep sigh. It
was still snowy, though most of it had turned to slush and
black ice. She walked carefully up Dean Street to Le
Buxom. The main damage to the club had been in the
foyer. The little reception desk where Sheree Davidson had
been sitting on the night of the bombing had taken most
of the blast from the petrol bomb. The damage to the club
had turned out to be minimal. Mainly cosmetic. But as
Maura walked inside she was acutely aware of the fact that
Sheree would never again walk in there with her tall stories and deep braying laugh. She had been popular with both
punters and the other hostesses. She had left two children, who were now in the care of the courts. Their father, or
fathers, no one was sure, were nowhere to be found. If
indeed Sheree ever knew who they were.
As for Gerry Jackson, he had been taken to a Burns Unit
in Billericay. His wife had already been made an interim
payment of two thousand pounds to get her over Christmas
and the New Year. She would receive a substantial
weekly amount until it was decided by the doctors what
would happen to Gerry. If he never worked again he
would be more than amply provided for.
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The club was once more up and running. It had been
reopened less than a week after the 'trouble'. As Maura
walked into the familiar blast of warm air she could hear
'My Eyes Adored You'. Her mind registered that Louise
Barton was doing her act. Maura looked at her watch. It
was nearly eleven and she was surprised that it was so late.
She slipped off her fur coat and locked it in the little
cloakroom just inside the entrance to the club.
Picking her bag up off the floor she went over to the
meat seats and started her night's work. A new girl called
Monique, for once a real Frenchwoman and not a phony,
had started a few weeks previously. She was a very very
beautiful girl, very intelligent, and not at all the usual class of tom. There was just one thing that had puzzled Maura:
she would take literally any punter. And another of the
girls had told Maura that she would 'go case' for as little as fifty pounds. The minimum that her girls usually worked
for was one hundred pounds plus their hostess fee. That
told Maura one thing: Monique either had a violent pimp
who insisted on a night 'quota', or she had a drugs
problem.
Maura guessed it was the latter, and if it was, then it
would not be long before they were busted. The busts
were well staged. They were told at least a week in advance when one was going to occur so they could put off any
well-known citizens, such as judges or more rarely politicians.
The police had no qualms about arresting any of the
girls that were taking, or happened to possess, drugs. It
gave the so-called raid credibility. But Maura did not work like that. She would not, like some club owners, employ 'stooges' to give their busts a veneer of realism.
Monique was sitting with two black girls. They were
chatting together amicably, which was unusual in itself.
There was a fierce rivalry between the black and white
329
toms, but Monique seemed to be liked by everyone.
Maura went to where they were sitting, and smiled.
'Hello.' She nodded at the three girls. 'I wonder,
Monique, could I see you upstairs for a few minutes?'
Maura's voice was friendly. The other girls would assume
that Maura had a 'homebird', a regular punter who had
arranged to pay for the girl over the phone. That entailed
stumping up for two bottles of champagne, fifty cigarettes, and a small administration fee. The girl would then be
cabbed to the man's address.
Monique stood up and Maura noticed that she was very
bright-eyed. Her pupils were dilated. She followed Maura
upstairs to the office. Maura turned on the lights and,
walking to the window, shut the Venetian blinds. She
turned back to face Monique and, smiling still, offered her a chair. The girl sat down. Instead of walking around the
desk and sitting in her own chair, Maura stood in front of
Monique, leaning on the edge of the desk.
'Monique, hold out your arms, please.'
'But why?'
Maura cleared her throat. She hated this. 'Would you
please hold out your arms? You know why.'
Monique had long black hair and dark hazel eyes. In the
bright light of the office Maura was surprised at how
hard-faced she really was. In the muted light of the club
she looked much younger. Maura had thought she was in
her twenties. Looking at her now, though, she put her
much nearer forty.
'Please, Monique. Don't make this any harder than it
already is.'
Monique held out her arms. Maura checked them for
track marks. There was nothing.
Monique looked at her triumphantly. 'You see, Miss
Ryan. Nothing.'
330
Maura smiled apologetically. 'Take your stockings off,
please.'
Monique's faced dropped. 'I beg your . . . how you say?'
Maura finished her sentence for her. 'Pardon. I beg your
pardon. Now, if you don't mind, take your stockings off. I
want a quick shufti at your calves and your shins, OK?'
Monique's eyes glittered with malevolence. She
reminded Maura of a cornered rat.
'Take your stockings off, Monique. Either you do as I
ask or I'll call one of the bouncers up here to have them
forcibly removed. It's your choice.' She saw Monique's
eyes go to the beaded bag on her lap. 'And don't even
think about trying to shiv me, darling. It would only end
in tears. And they wouldn't be mine.'
Maura's voice was as hard as concrete now. Monique
surveyed her, weighing up the pros and cons. After a few
seconds she dragged her tight black velour dress over her
thighs. Slowly she began to undo the suspender belt.
Monique rolled the stocking down to below her knee and
held her leg out for inspection. Maura grinned. She was
used to every ploy in the book. She took off the black
patent leather shoe that Monique was wearing and pulled
the stocking off completely. The bottom of her leg was a
mass of needle marks. Even between her toes. Maura
threw the stocking back at her and sighed.
'You're a bloody mug to yourself. You know that, don't
you, Monique?'
The woman shrugged. She began to put her stocking
back on.
Maura carried on talking. 'I know for a fact that you can
speak German, Arabic, and even a smattering of Japanese.
You're not a fool. Why do you take drugs?'
Monique slipped her shoe back on and took the cigarette
that Maura offered her. Maura offered her a light.
Monique puffed on the cigarette.
'You people make me laugh. Oh, don't look so ... how
you say? . . . shocked. I come here night after night and I sleep with strange men. Some of them are very nice men.
Very kind. Some, they are rough and they want to hurt
you.'
She saw Maura's face change and laughed. 'You are a
very funny girl. You do not want me in your club because
I take drugs. Well, let me tell you, I have been a prostitute since I was seventeen. Over twenty years. I have to have
something to give me a bit of happiness and I find it in
drugs. I have slept with thousands of different men and
while I work for people like you, I make you very much
money. How many of my men have refused to pay their
bills, eh? None. I can sweet talk any man I want. So please don't lecture me!
'I will leave your club. It's shit anyway since the bomb
was thrown in here. All the girls are nervous.' She stood
up and put her cigarette out in the ashtray on the desk. 'I will say one thing before I go. Who is worse, eh? Me
because I sell my body, or you for earning good money off
that fact?'
'I give all the girls a good deal here. I offer them a
degree of protection that they would not get anywhere
else in London.' Maura's voice was defensive.
Monique laughed. 'True. True. But you are still a
pimp in my eyes and theirs.' She gave her Gallic shrug.
'Goodbye.'
Monique walked from the room and Maura suddenly
felt flat. It seemed that she was not 'Miss Popular' these
days. Even her own brothers were wary of her. Except for
Michael, of course.
She laid her arms on the top of the desk and rested her
head on them. What she would really like to do now was
332
walk out of this office, out of this club, and in to her car.
Then she would like to drive and drive and drive until she
arrived somewhere where no one knew her and she could
be exactly what she really was - a twenty-five-year-old girl.
Not woman . . . girl.
She was startled to hear the door opening. It was
another of the hostesses, a very young girl by the name of
Candy. Whether or not that was her real name was
debatable. She was carrying a cup of coffee. Maura sat up
in her chair and tried to smile at her.
'I thought you looked as if you could do with this, Miss
Ryan.' She placed the coffee on Maura's desk. Maura
could smell the aroma of whisky. As if reading her mind,
Candy smiled.
'It's an Irish coffee. A very strong Irish coffee.'
Maura smiled, her first real smile for days. 'Thanks,
Candy.'
Candy sat in the chair vacated by Monique. She was a
natural blonde, her hair lighter than Maura's which was
unusual as Maura's was nearly white. Candy's was a silver
blond and she had the most amazing brown eyes. It was a
startling combination. A few weeks earlier, all the hostesses had put in five pounds each and Candy had shown every
one of them her pubic hair. It was exactly the same colour
as the hair on her head. She had stopped all the arguments
about herself, and made herself nearly a hundred pounds
richer.
The girl hitched up her strapless dress. The movement
seemed to accentuate her childishness.
'You look right done in, Miss Ryan.'
'I feel it actually, Candy.'
The girl sniffed loudly. 'I wanted to see you about
something personal.'
Maura sipped the steaming and fragrant coffee and lifted
her eyebrows in an invitation for the girl to continue.
'A bloke was hanging around outside the club earlier.'
'What was he - a pimp?' Maura sounded bored. This
was the last thing she wanted even to think about. Let
alone do something about.
Candy shook her head. 'Oh, no. He was nothing like
that. He was a policeman.'
'A what!'
'An old Bill. You know, lily law.' Candy laughed.
'What was he asking about? The night of the bombing?
What?' Her voice was anxious.
Candy relaxed into her seat. 'No, nothing like that, Miss
Ryan. He was asking about you.'
Maura's mouth dropped open. me?'
'Yes, you. He gave me this to give to you.' Candy took a
slip of paper from between her boobs. 'He asked me if you
would be in tonight. I said I didn't know and then he
offered me twenty quid to deliver that to you. So I did. I
hope I haven't done anything wrong?'
Maura's eyes were devouring the words on the piece of
paper. 'No . . . No, Candy. You were right to take the
message.'
She got up from her desk and, picking up her bag,
slipped the note inside. Then she took out her purse and
gave Candy three twenty-pound notes.
'Oh no, Miss Ryan, I couldn't. The bloke gave me a
score.'
Maura pushed the notes into the girl's hands. 'You take
it, Candy. You did very well tonight.'
Candy took the proffered money and smiled craftily.
'Well, if you're sure . . .'
Maura laughed out loud. She could feel the adrenaline
pulsing through her body.
Candy stood up too and Maura did something that
would make her a friend for life. She hugged the girl.
'Candy, can I trust you never to tell anyone about this?'
She put her hand gently on Maura's arm. 'Look, Miss
Ryan, I don't know what was in that note. I didn't read it.
And I'm not a grass. You've been good to me and if I can
repay you somehow, I will.'
'Thanks, Candy. I appreciate it.'
Candy smiled and went back downstairs. She liked
Maura Ryan. Whatever anyone said about her, she looked
after the girls. And Candy, being honest in her own way,
admitted that she would not get very far without her. It
would be back to a pimp and either Park Lane or, when
her looks went, King's Cross. At least she
had the chance to get herself a little stake. And for that she would be eternally grateful.
When Candy left the room Maura snatched the note
from her bag. It was from Terry Petherick! She could not
believe it! She read it again.
'IF EVER YOU NEED ME, CALL THIS NUMBER. LOVE,
TERRY.'
Underneath was his phone number. Maura was
ecstatic. He did still want her. Otherwise why would he
bother to send her a note? She hugged the scrap of
paper to her. Terry had put himself on the line to get
this message to her. It crossed her mind that it was
some kind of frame up but she had felt the attraction
between them. And if nothing could ever come of it, at
least she would always have the satisfaction of knowing
that he had still wanted her, whatever she had done,
because he must know everything that had transpired
over the last few weeks. She sat back in her seat and
drank the now stone cold coffee. The whisky bit into
her taste buds and suddenly she realised that she was
starving. She'd pack up here for the night and go home.
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Home to her own house. Not Michael's flat.
She felt as if she was on a high. Monique, the reaction of
her brothers to her in the Crown and Two Chairmen pub,
Benny, Sammy, Jonny, Janine - all was wiped from her
mind for a few precious moments as she thought about
Terry. She wrote a note to Michael saying she would see
him in the morning and, humming to herself, got her stuff
ready to go home.
She sat on the edge of her desk and stared at the"
telephone. She glanced at her watch. It was twelve-fifteen.
Was it too late to ring? She opened up the slip of paper
and stated at the words. 'Love, Terry' seemed to leap off
the paper. Love . . . She picked up the phone and dialled
the number. Her mouth was dry and she felt lightheaded.
Supposing he was asleep Or had company? Her heart
dropped a little at that thought. Then, before she knew it, she could hear his voice.
'Hello? Who is this? Is that you, Maura?'
His voice was soft and as he said her name she could
hear the yearning that she was experiencing herself.
She breathed heavily.
'Terry.'
She heard the relief in his voice. 'It was you.'
The line went quiet as each tried to think what to say.
'I want to see you, Maura.' Terry sounded unsure of
himself. if you want to see me, of course.'
'I was just going home. To my house. I just got the
message.'
Can I come to your house, Maura?' His voice was
pleading.
'I'll give you the address.' She could barely talk.
I know the address. I'll meet you there soon!' His voice
had a jubilant ring to it that made her heart lurch in her
chest.
She laughed. The ice had broken into a thousand pieces.
'Of course. You're a policeman - you would know my
address.'
'Naturally.' She could practically see his little lopsided
grin, could hear it in his voice.
'See you soon then.' She replaced the receiver and
shivered with delight. She was hungry again. Only this
time it wasn't for food.
Terry Petherick was staring at the telephone in his hand.
She had rung! He wasn't wrong. She still wanted him as
much as he still wanted her! He picked up his car keys and
jacket and literally ran from his flat. He leapt into his car, a Ford Escort, and began the journey to Rainham. To
Maura's house. '"'.
He had found himself driving to Dean Street earlier that
evening, hoping for a glimpse of Maura. That was all. He
had experienced an all-consuming passion for weeks just to
look at her. Ever since he had seen her the night of the
bombing, it had been like stepping back through a doorway,
into another world. There had been women over the
years but never any who affected him like Maura Ryan.
Every warning bell in his body was clanging and jangling
at this moment, but he did not care. All he was really
sure of was the fact that he had to see her. Touch her. Feel her. Even knowing what she had done - that she had been
an accessory to murder. The attraction that had been
between them from the start was still there like a shining
beacon. He put his foot on the accelerator arid whizzed
through the icy streets towards her and all that she
promised. For once in his life he was acting on impulse,
and he was loving every moment of it. He felt alive. Really alive. And it felt good.
336
Maura pulled into her drive and sat in the car for a few
minutes. She could feel her own nervousness and savoured
every second of it. She looked at the large house sitting in ghostly darkness and for the very first time was glad to be home . . . and glad that Carla was not there. She had never been with a man since Terry, had gradually suppressed all
her feelings, both sexual and romantic, concentrating on
her work and Carla. And now her senses were filling her
up, overflowing from her body, like the bursting of a great dam.
She got out of her car and went into her house. Her -
daily woman, Mrs MacMullen, had been in and as usual had left the central heating on low. The house was warm and inviting. Maura ran up the stairs like a young schoolgirl getting ready for her first date. She threw off her
clothes and stepped into the shower, scrubbing her body
until it glowed pink.
When she finally heard Terry's car she was in her lounge
in a white silk dressing gown, sipping a glass of red wine.
As she heard his footsteps crunch on the gravelled driveway she felt an intense euphoria flood her body. He had
come. He had really come for her. She went into her hall s and opened the front door.
She noticed that he was breathing as heavily as she. And
then, without a word spoken, she was being kissed. And it
was all so natural, as it should have been. How it once had been. He was kissing her face, her eyes, her neck. Taking i his hand, she led him slowly up the stairs and into her-1
bedroom. ;.
They faced one another in the soft light from bedside
lamps. She stared deeply into his eyes and saw mirrored in
them her own feelings of love and desire. She began to
unbutton his shirt and as she pulled it from him saw the
broad shoulders, the tightly muscled arms, and felt new
again, as she had the first time they had made love. He
opened his trousers and showed her he was hard. She
traced the outline of his erection with her fingers, softly and tantalisingly. She was feeling the woman heat between
her legs and the tightening of her nipples. He was naked
and she watched him, fascinated, as he stood before her,
proud and strong. He opened the cord of her dressing
gown and she stood, quivering with excitement and longing.
She saw his eyes roaming over her body and wanted him
then, more than she had ever wanted anyone or anything
in her life. He pushed her backwards gently on to the bed
and kissed her body, little biting kisses that were hurtful and so erotic. He tasted the muskiness of her and felt the
heady delight that he had thought was gone forever. He
pushed her legs up to her shoulders until she was full open to him - like a ripe pink peach. She watched him enter her
with one deep thrust, and she groaned like an animal.
Together they moved in perfect unison.
She matched his strokes with hard thrusts of her hips
against him. She could feel the mounting excitement as
she reached her orgasm and heard herself moaning and
panting, begging him to thrust deeper. She could feel the
droplets of sweat from his body dripping on to hers and
gripped him with her legs, drawing him inside her, deeper
and deeper, until she thought that she would die of
pleasure. Their slippery bodies thrashed wildly as they
reached orgasm. She could feel his hand squeezing her,!.
breast so hard that she cried out.
Then they lay, spent and replete, their hearts thudding
against each other's chests. They lay tangled together for
long quiet minutes, savouring the familiar feel of one
another after so long an absence. Finally Terry leant on his elbow and kissed her gently on her swollen lips, and she
looked at his face - the face that had alternately haunted
and drawn her for nearly nine years - and smiled.
'It's been so long.' Her voice was so low as to be
virtually inaudible.
'Too long, Maura. Much too long.'
They lay together until their bodies became still and the
passion that had encompassed them had drained away. He
kissed her again, staring down at her as if he wanted to
devour her. His eyes drank in every feature and his brain
filed them away, never to be forgotten. And she did the
same, lying there. They were both aware that it was only a
temporary love affair. That in the cold light of day they
would have to part, each going back to their different
world which neither would ever be able to leave. But this
was never said. What they had at this moment was enough
for them. And if they had to part, they would at least have had this night.
Terry gathered her to him and locked her into his
embrace. 'I never meant to hurt you, you know. I swear.'
Maura spoke softly. 'I know, Terry.' She should tell him
about the baby now. It was the perfect opening. But she
could not. She would never, ever tell him about it. A lone
tear slipped from her eye as she looked at him and he
licked it away with his tongue. She would not tell him
about their child as he would not talk about what Michael
had had done to him. It was like a silent agreement, an
unspoken treaty. So they lay together, speaking the love
words that came so naturally to their lips. And then they
loved again. Not the wild thrashings of before but a long,
slow, leisurely loving that left them both breathless and
satiated. Then all too soOn it was the morning and they
could delay their parting no longer.
'Come on. I'll make you some breakfast.' She pulled on
her dressing gown and went to the kitchen. The birds
were singing in the early morning light and Maura wished
that the day would never come. That they could keep the
night forever. She heard him whistling as he showered and
felt an urge to cry out. Against God. Against fate. And
against injustice.
She took a loaf of bread from her freezer and made
toast. She had just finished scrambling the eggs when he
came into the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower.
She gave him a cup of coffee and placed his breakfast in
front of him.
'You never cooked me breakfast before.'
'I was never allowed to stay out all night in those days.'
She made her voice light.
He smiled. 'What are we going to do, Maura?' The
words were like a physical blow. They both knew that
there was nothing they could do.
She sat at the table opposite him.
'What happened last night was beautiful, Terry, but we
must accept it for what it was - a beautiful interlude from our lives. Our real lives. Tomorrow is a new year . . .
1976 . . . and you will go back to your policing while I will go back to being Maura Ryan.' She smiled sadly. 'Please
don't let's spoil it with might have beens and halfhearted
promises. We live in different worlds, you and I. Worlds
that can never be united.' Her voice broke.
Terry knew that she was right, and he loved her all the more for her honesty. Too much had happened over the
years. And she was more of a woman in his eyes for what
had just said than any so-called Earth Mother would ever
be.
They ate breakfast together, both acutely aware of the
sky gradually becoming lighter outside the kitchen window.
They chatted about nothing, little inconsequential
things that stopped them thinking or talking about the big
things. The real things. The real world. Finally Terry got
up from his chair, and Maura knew that the parting had
come.
'Can't we meet sometimes, Maura?'
She shook her head sadly. 'No, Terry. It's best we leave
things as they are. There's no future for us.'
'Will you come to the door with me?' She could hear
the tears in his voice. She shook her head.
'No. You go. I'll sit here. I don't want to see you
driving away from me.'
'Oh, Maws.' He was kneeling in front of her, holding
her so tight she could barely breathe. 'I can't go, Maura. I can't leave you like this.'
She kissed the top of his head. 'Go. Go on. Don't make
this harder than it already is.' She cupped his face in her hands for the last time.
'I love you, Terry Petherick. God help me, I'll always
love you.'
'I know. I love you too.'
She pushed him away from her. She had read so many
times the phrase 'their hearts were breaking', and now she
found out that it was true. Your heart could break and it
was an intense physical pain that made you want to scream
out, a deep roaring scream, from the depths of your body.
She sat at the table and it was as if her senses had been
magnified a thousand million times, She heard his footfalls on the thick carpet. The sound of the front door closing
behind him was like a deafening crash. And finally she
heard his car start up. Then she listened to it driving away.
Away from her . . . and back to his real life.
It was over. The night was finished and real life had
begun again. But she would carry the memory of it with
her to her grave. She cried, a loud, noisy cry that was all the more wrenching because it sounded so lonely.
Terry drove home to his flat in Hampstead. He drove
slowly, not in the reckless way he had driven the night
before. Leaving Maura had been the hardest thing he had
ever done in his life, but he knew that she was right. That she was stronger than him. Much stronger. And he
guessed, correctly, that she was much lonelier. But whatever she was, he loved her.
It was the third of January and.Maura and Michael were
driving to Lord Templeton's office. Maura still had the
glow of lovemaking on her, despite the tears afterwards. In the last few days she had somehow resigned herself to
being without Terry, to being without any man, though
the thrill of the sexual encounter was still vivid in her mind and body. Michael was discussing what had happened
between Maura and Janine.
'Calm down, Maws, for Christ's sake. After what happened
to Benny, you can't blame her for getting a bit
shirty. Janine's what's known as a shitter. And there's
plenty of them about, believe me.'
'It's not that, Mickey. But the fact that Roy was a Ryan
is what attracted her in the first place. She was after a bit of rough and then she came unstuck. Look at how she
dumped Carla! Now Roy, who's turned out to be a bloody
good provider, is in a bit of schtuck, she wants him to
become a bloody bank clerk or something! It,'s laughable.'
'Then laugh! I know that our Roy would no more leave
this firm than he would cut his own throat. Stick him back
in the bookies, that should shut Madam up for a while.'
He grinned. 'I wonder what she'll say when she finds our
Roy wants us to be godparents? That should go down
about as well as a pork chop in a synagogue!'
Maura laughed, a harsh bitter laugh.
'What a start to the New Year. Benny dead. Mother
treating us as if we've contracted bubonic plague, the old
man permanently pissed . . .'
'Stop talking crap, Maura.' Michael's voice was sharp as
glass. 'What happened to Benny was an occupational
hazard. It could have been any of us. You, me, any of us.
That's the chance we take in our line of. . .'
He paused as if looking for a word. Maura finished the
sentence for him.
'Business!'
He grinned. 'That's it, Maws! Business. All we can do
now is go on from here. We can't bring Benny back no
more than we could Antney. Concentrate on Templeton.
He's the goose that's gonna lay our golden eggs. Only he
don't know that yet!' He laughed again.
'You were dead right about the docklands, I can see that
now, Maws. He offered Dopolis the East End bait. What
Lord Wily was after was the warehouses and the old
Dockers' Mansions.
'I know this much, girl. He's gonna need muscle. Plenty
of muscle. And we have that in abundance. That's our
strength.'
She nodded absently.
' 'I'm telling you, Maura, 1976 is going to be our year.'
She looked out at the cold, dirty London streets and
sighed. 'I hope so. God, I hope so.'
Lord Templeton stepped out of his limousine. His
chauffeur held the door open for him and Templeton
walked past him as if he was invisible, as he did every day.
He walked with his confident stride up the flight of steps
that led into the main reception area of his building in
Park Lane. His liveried doorman saluted him and he
346
acknowledged the man with a minute nod of his head.
His personal secretary, David Manners, followed him,
practically running to keep up. He had a detailed list of
Templeton's appointments for the day.
Templeton strode purposefully into the large reception
area and, just for a second, his step faltered. Standing
beside his personal lift were Michael and Maura Ryan.
Swallowing deeply, he glanced around him. The staff
milling about were staring at him curiously. Pulling himself together, he plastered a broad smile on to his face and
carried on walking to his lift.
He concentrated his attention on Maura. He was surprised
at how lovely she was. She looked like a deb in her
light beige Chanel suit with its black piping. Her hair,
freshly washed, glistened in the artificial light. He took in everything about her from the kidskin boots to the silk
scarf wrapped carelessly across her shoulders and held
there with a gold and diamond tiger brooch. Against his
will he was impressed. She was exquisite.
As for the man standing beside her, he was probably the
most outstandingly handsome man Templeton was ever
likely to see. Michael also was dressed in impeccable taste.
Templeton felt that sickening feeling that precedes a fall
from a high place. Never in all his life had he been
intimidated. Now that he was experiencing it, he decided he did not like it one bit. He carried on walking towards them, and with every step that took him closer felt more
scared, more nervous.
Maura smiled as he approached them and held out her
hand. 'So pleased to meet you at last, Lord William. My
brother and I have been so looking forward to it.' Her
voice held no trace of its usual cockney accent.
Her words reassured Templeton slightly and he smiled
back at her, showing perfect white teeth.
'Delighted, my dear. If I had known how lovely you
were, I would have made sure we met much sooner.'
He turned his attention to Michael, amazed at just how
big he was - almost a foot taller than himself. Michael
shook his hand without speaking, his hard eyes telling
Templeton exactly how the land lay.
His lift door opened and he ushered them both inside,
waving David Manners away imperiously.
'I'll send for you, David, when I need you.'
Manners nodded. There was something funny going on
here, he knew that much.
The old man who worked the lift gave Maura an
appraising stare.
They made their brief journey in silence. Maura watched
Templeton's face. She knew that he was frightened but
had to admit to herself that for all that she liked the look of him. He was angular-looking: pointed nose, pointed
cheekbones, and even pointed ears. He had a mass of
sandy brown hair that, she guessed, was difficult to tame.
It seemed to give him a slight air of vulnerability. He had very deep brown eyes, and thin sparse eyebrows like most
sandy-haired people. It was his mouth that attracted her. It was not very big for a man, but it was strong. It could have been due to his very angular jawline. Whatever it was, she
liked it. She only hoped they could all come out of, this
place today with a degree of accord.
The lift doors opened and they all Stepped out into a
wealth of mahogany. The walls were panelled, the only
furniture a large mahogany desk and two leather-covered
wing chairs. Behind the desk sat a young woman, the
standard secretary to a rich man. She was very attractive in a subdued way. Maura could picture her unpinning her
luxuriant black hair one day and turning into a femme
fatale. She put her hand to her mouth to stop herself
348
giggling. She had to try to control the weird things that
kept invading her mind.
By the secretary's desk were two large double doors.
Templeton opened these and led them into his office.
Michael looked around him contemptuously. Like the
room outside this also was a shrine to wood. Once more it
had panelled walls, but in here they were adorned with a
few well-chosen and, Michael guessed, very expensive
sporting paintings. He was not aware that the largest, of a beautiful dark horse, was in fact a Stubbs. The floor was
covered in the same deep grey carpet as the ante room.
There was another, much larger mahogany desk. Along
the right-and left-hand walls were two large Chesterfields, black and gleaming, as if just taken from their protective
wrappings and never yet sat upon. In front of the desk
were two more wing armchairs. Maura sat in one and
Michael in the other.
Templeton went to the double doors and told his
secretary to bring in some refreshments. He then walked
nervously to his own chair behind the desk. As he reached
it he stumbled and had to grab the desk to right himself.
Eventually he sat down. His chair was much higher than
the two opposite; an American designer had once told him
that it would give him a psychological advantage. Obviously the designer had never met anyone like the Ryans.
He put his hands together as if in prayer.
'What can I do for you?' He was embarrassed to find
that his voice sounded cracked and high. It was Maura
who answered him.
'I think you already know the answer to that, Lord
William.' She made his name sound ridiculous. Her voice
had hardened now they were alone and once again he
was reminded of how dangerous these people were. He
was saved from answering by his secretary who came in
wheeling a trolley, also mahogany. Michael was beginning
to wonder if the man was a wood fetishist. The trolley
held not only coffee and tea but also toast, muffins, jam
and honey.
'Would you like me to serve, sir?' The girl smiled,
watching Michael from the corner of her eye.
'Just leave it, Marie.' Templeton's voice was brisk. The
girl nodded and slowly left the room, shutting the double
doors behind her.
Maura pulled off her kidskin gloves and placed them on
the floor with her bag.
'Fancy a cuppa, Mickey?'
Michael nodded and Maura poured three cups of tea, as
if they were at a tea party. She handed one to Michael who
spoke for the first time, his voice as rough as concrete.
'Well, this is nice, I must say. My little brother Benny
used to love a cup of Rosie in the mornings. Said it made
him crap.' He looked directly at Templeton, causing the
hairs on the back of his neck to rise. s
'Crapped regular did our Benny. Seven o'clock every
morning. Did he crap himself while he was being murdered?
I understand you know all about it.' Michael's
voice was matter-of-fact.
William Templeton felt sick. The cup of tea that Maura
had handed him was rattling in its saucer. He was shaking
from head to foot. Maura put dowp her own cup and,
going to him, removed the cup and saucer from his grasp.
'What do you want?'
Michael sipped his tea and said: 'What we want is a little
bastard called Dopolis. I think that you know where we
can find him. I want to question him personally about my
brother's death.' He smiled at Templeton. 'The police are looking for Benny's murderer as well, you know. Why don't you give them a ring? Ask them about me, Michael
350
Ryan. Ask them about my temper.' He was talking in a
conversational way, and somehow it made his words more
frightening. 'My temper's a legend in London, ain't it,
Maws?' She nodded. 'I once rammed a Rolls-Royce
because I thought the driver had given me a dirty look.
Wrote off a brand new Merc doing it. But, you see, my
temper is atrocious.' He leant towards Templeton. 'It's
just like the wrath of God. Only in London, I am God.'
'I had nothing to do with your brother's death. I swear
it!' Templeton was aware that he was babbling.
'Then you won't mind telling us where Dopolis is, will
you?' ;
'I have no idea.'
Maura shook her head as if looking at a naughty child. 'I
don't think you realise what you're dealing with here.
We . . .' she gestured with her hand towards Michael
'. . . are like terminal cancer. We'll get you in the end, so you might as well save yourself unnecessary grief. You've
already made us very angry and that's dangerous. Now, I'll
give you one last chance. Where can we find Dopolis?'
Templeton was rooted to his chair. His eyes darted
around the room as if looking for some kind of divine
intervention from behind the panelling. He had thought
he was dealing with illiterate fools. But no. The so-called fools had tracked him down and cornered him on his own
territory. All he could do now was extricate himself as best he could.
'He lives in Surrey.' He scribbled the address on to the
pad in front of him and practically threw it across the table at Michael. Please God, he prayed, make them go away
now. If you do this for me, I swear that I will be a good
man from now on. Like many a man before him, he was
praying as a last resort.
Michael picked up the scrap of paper and stood up.
'Right then, I'm off. I'll leave you in my sister's capable hands. She can explain to you all about the partnership.'
'Partnership?' Templeton was flabbergasted.
Michael laughed. 'Catches on quick, does old Willy. The
partnership between us. Me, her, and lastly you.' He
pointed towards Templeton. 'Oh, and before I forget, I'll
be calling you Willy. Lord William's a bit too much of a
gobful, ain't it? You, though, will call me Mr Ryan. If -
but only if, mind - I get to like you, I might let you call me Mickey.' He laughed again. 'Give you something to look forward to, won't it?'
'There's just one last thing before I go. Don't get Harry
Dash - that's flash to you - with my sister here. Whatever
she says, you do it. Get that?'
Templeton stared at him.
Michael shouted: 'I said, GET IT?'
'Yes!'
'There's a good boy. Well, cheery bye, or whatever you
big nobs say.'
Kissing Maura on the cheek, he left the room. Templeton
stared at the doorway as if he had never seen it before.
Maura poured herself another cup of tea. 'Right then,
shall we get down to business?'
She felt a bit sorry for the man in front of her. After her night with Terry and the hurt she felt at their parting, she found room in her heart for pity. She took a deep breath
and started on what had long been her favourite subject:
docklands.
'We know you were really after our properties in
Tobacco Dock and similar areas. I happen to know you
also have properties there. The idea is that we pool
resources. I realise that you have more of an insider's
knowledge of what's going on there. Between us we could
sew that place up. Once the work starts, we can guarantee
352
the labour and that there will be no delays of any kind. We "own" just about every major contractor in the South
East. If push ever came to shove we could stop work there
from ever beginning, and I know you wouldn't want that
to happen. We're willing to let our brother's death go as
far as you are concerned. Dopolis will pay for that. You can either come in with us or sink. It's your choice.'
She picked up her cup and drank her tea. William
Templeton was dumbfounded. He was being threatened
by a woman! And a working-class woman at that. And
these yobs wanted to go into partnership with himl If it
wasn't so scary he would laugh. He was all for cads and bounders - as long as one kept to one's own class. But to be associated with Michael Ryan! It was-unbelievable.
Dopolis had turned out to be a bigger mistake than he
had first thought. Now he would have to get involved with
the Ryans, whether he liked it or not. His idea of getting
the Greek to start a gang war seemed stupid now that he
had met the real McCoy. He admitted to himself that he
had been a damn' fool. His belief that the working class
was a bunch of mindless dunderheads had proved fatally
wrong. It seemed he was the dunderhead at this moment.
'Well, what's it to be? I haven't got all day.'
Templeton grimaced. 'I don't really seem to have much
choice, do I?'
Maura smiled at him. A real smile that made her look
very young and very pretty.
'Believe me, Lord William, when I say that you saw the
nice side of Michael today. Unless you'd lived our kind of
life, you could not hope for one minute to be able to
understand us. I would ask you, though, to treat us with
the same respect as you would any business associates. You
will find that you deal mainly with me. I run the property
side of our businesses. What I'm hoping to learn from you
is the redevelopment business. It is my fervent wish that
my family should find a good respectable outlet to channel
money into.'
Grudgingly, Templeton admitted that he could like this
girl. She was at least sincere. He shrugged his shoulders at the inevitable. He knew that he had to deal with the Ryans
whether he liked it or not. There was no way out. He was
caught up in a spider's web, and like the fly knew he would eventually give up struggling.
'The development business is not really respectable,
Miss Ryan. In fact, it can be very dirty.'
Maura interrupted him, laughing.
'I think you misunderstand me, Lord William! What I
mean by respectable is that, although it may be illegal and at times dirty, it is socially acceptable. Like adultery. If you want my honest opinion, I think you and your kind are the
biggest bunch of hypocrites I have ever had the misfortune
to come across.' She took a cigarette from the packet she
had placed in front of her and lit it, blowing the smoke
across the desk into his face.
'You frown on Mr Working Class for having a little
flutter. Yet the Stock Exchange gambles daily with millions of pounds. Banks do it, and building societies. And let's
face it, it's not even their money they're using. But there you are. The double standard prevails. One set of rules for the Hooray Henrys and another for, Mr Joe Public. Well,
let me tell you something. I may not have a family tree like yours, or be that articulate in my grammar, but there's one thing I have got going for me - I have money. Plenty of it.
And with the kind of money I have, every door can be
opened. Even the Royal Enclosure at Ascot. That's how
we found you out. You broke the golden rule of villainy,
Lord William. You let the world in on what you were
doing. A fatal mistake.'
354
A light seemed to go on behind Templeton's eyes and
Maura could not help grinning at him.
'Let me guess. You couldn't resist showing off to him,
am I right? Well, that little faux pas on your part led us
straight to your door. Whereas me and my brothers -
Michael especially - our faces are slapped across the News
of the World at least once a month, but they can't prove
anything. It's all supposition. Now you,' she pointed at
him with her cigarette, 'are going to be our Mr Legit. I
want you to tell me exactly what's going to happen to the
old docks.'
Templeton stared at Maura for a few seconds. He knew
that all she had said was right.
'Maura . . . may I call you Maura?'
'Of course.'
'I think that you and I could do business together. I
have a feeling we could even be friends.'
She smiled at him and breathed a sigh of relief. She
made a conscious decision to prove to him that she was as
good as, if not better than, anyone he had done business
with before.
'Seeing as we have you by the bollocks, as my brother
would term it, I don't see why we can't be friends. Now,
about the docks.'
She was being deliberately crude. She wanted his friendship, but she also wanted his co-operation and until she
was certain she had that, she would continue to remind
him just who he was dealing with.
Templeton pressed the button of the intercom on his
desk.
'Yes, sir?' The sweet voice of Marie crackled into the
room.
'Hold all my calls and bring in some fresh tea.'
'But, sir! You have an appointment in ten minutes to see
the Secretary of State for the Environment!'
'Then you'll just have to tell him that I am in an urgent
meeting.'He cut off the connection.
Maura raised her eyebrows at him and he was amazed to
hear himself laugh. He had taken rather a fancy to the girl.
Opening a drawer in his desk, he brought out a folder. He
opened it and took out some papers and a map. He passed
this to Maura. While she studied it, Marie brought in some
more tea and removed the large trolley. Her face was set in a frown. This time she banged the door shut behind her.
'Well, Maura, I will tell you all that I know. This,' he
swept his hand across the papers in front of him, 'has been discussed behind closed doors for some time. As you so
astutely pointed out, there's a lot of money to be made
there. In 1967 the East India Dock closed. In '68 the
London Docks. In '69 Katherine Dock, and in '70 Surrey
Docks. All we are waiting for is the eventual closure of
Millwall, and the Royal Victoria and Albert. That is when
it will all start to happen.'
'So the other docks will eventually close?' Maura kept
her voice neutral. In fact, she was flabbergasted.
'Oh, yes. Within the next five years. That's why no
money's going in there. The more rundown and
depressed the area gets, the more we can justify reclaiming the land. Job creation et cetera.' He smiled at her. 'I
am afraid that we live in a world where the masses are
spoonfed bullshit, if you will forgive the expression. The
average man on the street buys the Sun to look at a pair
of breasts. In reality, he's reading Tory propaganda.
Whoever is in office at the time all this begins, be it Tory, Labour or, God help us, Screaming Lord Sutch, will be
jumping on the bandwagon. Funding it, giving out
grants. "We'll give you money to make money" . . . that's
every government's policy. Personally, I think it will be
356
the Conservatives, but I'm not worried either way. This
has been sewn up for a long time. Now, drink your tea
while it's hot and I'll explain to you more fully. I think
you will find it fascinating.'
She and William Templeton smiled at one another.
Maura shook her head slowly and said, 'And they have the
nerve to call us villains!'
In 1976 the Docklands Joint Committee published the
London Dockland Strategic Plan. The Ryans and Lord
Templeton were on their way.
It is a strange desire to seek power and to lose liberty
- Francis Bacon, 1561-1626
What will you give me, and I will deliver him unto you?
And they covenanted with him for thirty pieces of silver
Mathew, xxvi, 15
Geoffrey Ryan parked outside Le Buxom. It was not yet
nine o'clock in the morning. He picked up his briefcase
from the passenger seat of his dark blue BMW, locked up
his car and went into the club. The cleaners all greeted
him. In 1980, a restaurant had been opened in what had
been the basement. This meant that the club was open
nearly twenty-four hours of the day. He went down there
to discuss the day's menu with Peter Petrillo, the head
chef, who had finished a ten-year stretch in Parkhurst then been given the job by Michael Ryan.
Geoffrey looked over the menu briefly and nodded his
head, as he did every day. Then he ordered coffee and
went up to his offices. He lit a cigarette and, settling
himself into his chair, began his work for the day, going
over the figures for the clubs and wine bars - a new
acquisition of Maura's to cash in on the yuppie boom.
When he opened a drawer to get his calculator, he saw it
was missing: Michael had been in and taken it again.
Putting his cigarette out, he pulled himself from his seat
and made his way to Michael's office next door.
Although Geoffrey had the larger office, most of the
business was done by Michael and Maura from the smaller
office. He knew deep inside that they had given him the
larger office to placate him. Also, the smaller office was
always referred to as Michael's office when in reality it was Michael's and Maura's.
He frowned as he walked through the door. He never
came in here unless he absolutely had to. The room was
empty. He looked on the large desk for his calculator,
moving papers and files haphazardly. As he turned away he
noticed that the small filing cabinet was unlocked, the keys still in the lock but the top drawer slightly open. He shook his head. Walking to it he pushed the drawer shut and was
about to lock it when he stopped dead. Biting his lip he
pulled the drawer back open. This was the one place he
and the others were barred from. Only Michael and Maura
had access to it. Now by some twist of fate it was open to
him and he was torn between a desire to know what was in
there that was so private and fear that he'd be caught
looking. He decided to take his chances. Checking the
corridor outside, he shut the door quietly and went back
to the filing cabinet. He pulled out one of the files and
began to read it. After a few minutes he forgot his fear of Michael and Maura, and took the file back to his office. A
deep rage grew inside him as he realised just what he had
stumbled across.
Maura and Leslie were in Brixton. They pulled up outside
a block of flats. Leslie got out of the car and opened the
door to let Maura out. Having locked the car, he followed
her up the filthy stairs that led into the block of flats. They were low rise flats, only two storeys. Maura walked along
the balcony until she came to No. 28. She knocked on the
front door, which was opened by a little girl of about
eight. The child was half caste and, Maura noticed,
extremely thin and emaciated.
'We're looking for Jackie Traverna's house. Is this it?'
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Maura's voice was friendly and kind.
'Yeah. But she's in bed.'
'I think she will see me. Just take me to her, my love.'
Maura's voice sounded false, even to her own ears. She
had lost the knack of talking to children.
The child shrugged her skinny shoulders. As if to say,
who cares? Maura followed her up a dark narrow hallway
and into a small bedroom. The place was messy, the
bedroom entirely taken up by a large double bed, though
Maura guessed that when Jackie was on her feet she kept it
clean and tidy. In the giant bed lay Jackie herself. Her
coffee-coloured skin was shining with a film of sweat.
Maura gasped when she saw her. 'Leslie! Get in here.'
He ran in the room thinking that Maura had come
across some kind of trouble.
'Fucking hell!' His voice was shocked.
In the bed lay Jackie, recognisable only by her wiry Afro
hair. Her face was so swollen she looked as if she had been attacked by bees. On each of her cheeks was a large stripe
which went from the corner of her mouth to rise up until
it disappeared into her hairline. Jackie looked up with sad eyes.
'Maura.' Her voice was muffled.
'All right, Jackie. All right, mate. Who did this? Was it
Rubens . . . Danny Rubens?'
Jackie nodded her head, fear in her eyes.
'Don't worry now. I'm going to see you're looked
after.'
'Thanks. Can't. . . speak.' The woman 'could barely
move. ,.,.
'I know. I know. I'll be back later. All right?'
She smiled at Jackie, but inside she was fuming. 'Come
on, Leslie. Get your arse in gear.'
Once they were back inside the car, Maura lit herself a
cigarette and said, 'Pick up Lee and Garry. We're going to
pay Rubens a little visit.'
Geoffrey had been reading the file for about an hour. He
was still reading it when Michael came into his office.
Geoffrey looked up at him, the hurt in his eyes almost a
tangible thing. Michael saw the green folder and tried to
play for time.
'Any more coffee going, Geoff?'
Geoffrey ignored him. Picking up the folder, he threw it
across the desk.
'Thanks a lot, Bruv.' His voice was flat.
Michael sighed. 'For Christ's sake, Geoff. You're not my
keeper, you know'
Geoffrey lit another cigarette, his hands trembling.
'That's just it, though, ain't it, Mickey? I ain't nothing.'
'Look, Geoff, you know what they say. What you don't
know, don't hurt you.'
Geoffrey pulled on his cigarette and let out the smoke
through his nose, looking like a belligerent bull.
'You've mugged me off, ain't you?'
Mickey laughed. 'Come on, Geoff. I would have told
you eventually. Why are you making such a big deal?'
Michael's voice was getting tight. He did not feel like all this today. ,i
'I'll tell you why I'm making such a big deal, shall I?
I've just read this crap.' He pointed to the green folder.
'And I realise just what I am in this firm. I run the clubs, sort of. I run the wine bars, sort of. I watch over the
bookies and the cab ranks. While you and Maura -
marvellous fucking Maura - do the real work.'
'Leave her out of this.' Michael's voice was hard and
low.
Geoffrey stubbed out his cigarette. 'No, I won't leave
her out of all this. She's the cause of it all. Since the day she came into this firm you've pushed me out.'
Geoffrey's voice was high and he knew it sounded
hysterical, but he did not care. He had to get this thing
sorted out, once and for all.
'You're talking crap and you know it, Geoffrey. Now
give it a rest, for fuck's sake.'
Geoffrey began shouting, all caution gone now. 'No, I
will not give it a rest! I read, by accident, that you are
about to embark on the biggest gold robbery this country's
ever known, and you have the nerve to stand there
and tell me I would have been told eventually! And when
was that gonna be? When it was in the papers or on the
news? Just what kind of cunt do you take me for? What
else has been going on behind my back, eh? Well, answer
me then.'
Geoffrey had risen from his seat and stood in front of
Michael who was a good three inches taller and at least
two stone heavier. Both knew that if it came to blows,
Michael would win hands down. Geoffrey did not care.
Michael tried once more to pacify him. 'Keep your voice
down, Geoff. There's ,no need to let everyone know, is
there?'
'I bet everyone does bloody know! Everyone except me,
that is.' He prodded his chest. 'I've stood by you through
thick and thin, from day one. But since that fucking leech
Maura came on the scene, I've been pushed out. It's been
you and Maura . . . Maura and Michael. . . the dynamic
duo. Batman and Robin's got nothing on you two. She
was shagging an old Bill and yet you treat her like visiting royalty.'
Michael's hand went up to Geoffrey's throat. He slipped
his other hand around his brother's neck and squeezed.
'Let's get the violins out, shall we? Geoffrey's little heart
364
is broken! You ponce! You disgust me.'
He hurled Geoffrey away from him and went to the
window, running his hands through his hair.
Turning back, he thrust out a finger. 'I'll tell you why
Maura has taken your so-called place, shall I? Because she's got more bollocks than you will ever have! You've been
like a bloody albatross hanging around my neck all my life.
I've had to carry you ever since we were kids.' Michael
wiped his hand across his face, agitated and annoyed. 'If
you'd been left to your own devices, you'd have been
banged up years ago. And you're jealous of your own
bloody sister because she has what it takes. She sussed all this out.' He gestured around him wildly. 'You couldn't
organise the proverbial piss up, mate. You could never
have figured half of what she has. You fucking wind me
up! You always have done.'
He pointed at Geoffrey again, his face contorted with
temper. 'Shall I tell you something? You're working here
because Maura suggested it. If it had been left to me, I'd
have had Gerry Jackson running this show, mate. I'd have
dumped you years ago. But, no, Maura said: "Family
first." I swallowed, but deep down in my heart I didn't
give a toss.
'Now if you don't like it, you can piss off. But I tell you this now. If you ever . . . ever . . . speak about her like that again, I'll bury you. Now do me a favour and fuck off
before I really lose me rag.'
Geoffrey stared at Michael, dumbstruck. He could feel
the waves of resentment coming out of every pore in
Michael's body. He realised something he had known
secretly for years, something he had never dared admit to
himself before: he irritated Mickey. And yet he would have
died for him. He was the only brother left who was not
married or living with a girl. Even Michael had a regular
366
boyfriend. He had lived his life for Michael.
He straightened himself up slowly and, picking up his
jacket and car keys, walked from the office. As he came
down the stairs into the foyer he realised that the cleaners had all stopped work. They had been listening to everything.
He could feel his face burning with humiliation. He
left the club and got into his car as if in a daze. That
Michael could have spoken like that to him! He felt sick
with the realisation of what had just happened. And with
the fact that nothing could ever be the same between them
again.
Maura and the three boys were at Danny Rubens' gaff, a
terraced house in Tulse Hill. Lee banged on the front door
hard. It was opened by a young girl who looked about
seventeen. Though knowing Ruben's taste, Maura
thought she was probably about fifteen, top whack.
'Is Danny about?' They pushed past the girl into the
house.
'He ain't up yet. He don't get up before twelve.'
Garry smiled at her. 'Well, it'll be a nice change for him
then, won't it?' They all began to walk up the stairs.
'Who is it, Estelle?' A deep brown voice bellowed the
words down the stairs. The four walked in its direction.
Maura and her brothers noticed that the house was very
well decorated and very clean. Inside Danny's bedroom,
Maura smiled at him.
'Well, well. You are a big boy, aren't you?' Danny
Rubens was lying in bed naked. He pulled the duvet over
himself. He was still half stoned from the previous evening but alert enough to know he had invited big trouble to his
house.
'Shut the door, Garry. We don't want everyone hearing
Danny's screams.'
Danny's big black face was sweating and his eyes were
like dark brown pools in his head. His head was shaved
and Maura could see a vein pulsing, just below his right
eyebrow. He was scared, very scared, and that was just
what she wanted. Danny Rubens had taken to body
building while doing a three-year stretch for aggravated
assault. He was enormous and that usually gave him the
edge.
'What you want?'
Maura laughed. 'Cut the coon talk, Rubens, you've
never been out of London in your life.'
Garry, Leslie and Lee guffawed at this. They knew how
to play the game. Maura pulled the duvet from his body,
leaving him naked and exposed.
'I'm here about a girl of mine - Jackie Traverna.'
'Ain't never heard of her.'
Maura opened her bag and lit one of her cigarettes.
Every action was watched closely by Rubens. She puffed
on her cigarette until the end glowed.
'I've been hearing stories about you, Rubens.' Maura
pointed to her brothers. 'Hold him.'
Leslie and Lee went to the bed and, after a struggle,
held Danny Rubens down on it. Maura gestured to Garry.
'Hold his legs open for me.'
She drew the cigarette smoke into her lungs and
watched impassively as Rubens tried to fight his way out of the situation. Finally he was lying spreadeagled on the bed.
'Now I want you to tell me why you striped up one of my
girls.'
Rubens was absolutely terrified. His eyes were stretched
to their utmost, showing all the yellow whiteness.
'I tell you, sis, I ain't never done no harm to no black
chick.'
Garry punched him in the face.
368
'If you ain't never heard of her, how do you know what
colour she is?'
'I guessed, man. I guessed.'
'Oh, shut up, you black ponce.' This was Leslie. 'Let my
sister speak.' His voice was slow and bored-sounding.
Rubens thought he would wet himself with fright.
'I have heard, Mr Rubens,' Maura stressed the Mr, 'that
you have some rather big ambitions. One being to become
the Pimp Extraordinaire of the West End. I also hear that
you are after some of my girls.'
She sat on the bed and opened her bag. Rubens was
holding his head off the bed, straining his neck to see what was going on. He was naked and vulnerable and did not
like it.
Maura took a snub-nosed .38 special from her handbag.
Rubens' eyes were now like flying saucers.
'What you want with that!' He was nearly crying.
'My sister is going to blow your balls off, Danny. One
by one.'
Leslie's voice was jocular.
Maura held the gun against Rubens' genitals. He could
feel the hard coldness of the steel against his skin. She
rubbed it gently along the length of his penis and under
his testicles. Rubbed it slowly, dreamily, as if she was
enjoying it. Then she took another long drag of her
cigarette. Rubens, who had been 'The Daddy' while he
was in Durham jail, who had been working the streets
nearly all his adult life and who could instil fear into most people, burst into tears. They ran from his eyes'and down
his face. Great bubbles of snot billowed out of his nose
and his gigantic shoulders heaved.
'Please . . . don't shoot my cock off!' He sounded like a
small boy. -
Garry, Leslie and Lee were laughing again.
Maura put her cigarette butt on Rubens' stomach. He
felt the burning through his tears. Maura left the cigarette on his belly, so the embers would scorch the skin slowly
and painfully. He was howling in pain.
'Where's your Stanley knife, Danny?' Maura's voice was
soft and gentle, as if they were lovers on a picnic.
'I swear ... I swear to you I ain't got no Stanley knife.'
'Pain is a terrible thing, isn't it? Jackie Traverna was in pain, Danny, she was in such terrible pain.' Her voice
hardened. 'Now it's your turn.' She nodded at Leslie who
took a Stanley knife from the pocket of his jacket. He held it glinting over the man's face.
'What's it to be, Danny boy? Cheek or cock? It's up to
you. But make your mind up quickly or I might just do'
both.'
Danny was staring at Leslie's face and knew he was not
joking. He saw, even through his fear and his tears, that he had met with a will much stronger than his own.
'Please, man. Please.' His voice was just a croaky whisper.
'Face it is then!' Leslie grinned and pulled the Stanley
knife from Danny's eye down to his mouth. He cut deeply
and confidently. The blood came out slowly, as if not sure
what it wanted to do as the layers of skin gradually
unfolded. By the time he had repeated the action on the
other side of the man's face, the blood was pumping out
with each of his heartbeats. They all stood up as if of one mind. As his hands were released, Danny brought them up to his face. When he took them away, his palms were
stained with deep crimson blood.
He screamed loudly, painfully, like a hare caught in a
trap.
'Don't ever get ambitious for anything or anyone that
belongs to me, Danny. Next time you might not be so:
lucky'
'Oh, God, I'm bleeding! Help me somebody!' The
white satin sheets on his bed were slowly being dyed red.
'Come on, boys. We've got a lot of work to do.'
As they left the room the young girl Estelle ran inside.
When they left the house, her screams were even louder
than Danny's.
Geoffrey was sitting in his flat. He had poured himself a
large Scotch and was sitting on the sofa remembering
every detail of his life with Michael. One memory stood
out like a shining beacon. He gulped his Scotch as he
remembered a day almost forty years earlier.
He had been just coming up eight, Michael nearly ten. It
was during the war, and their father had dropped them
both through a hole in the remains of a bombed-out house.
Mickey, as usual, had no fear. He just put his torch on and shone it around the debris-strewn cellar. The occupants of
the house were lying around like lumps of bloody red meat.
The stench had been unbearable. Geoffrey could still
remember the way he'd felt that day, rooted to the spot
with fear. His father's voice had been coming from above,
urging them to hurry up. Looting bombed houses was a
serious criminal offence.
Michael dragged the body of a little girl off a tin petty
cash box. She had been blown across it in the blast. He
then passed this up to their father and quickly began
collecting up anything that was useful, edible or saleable.
He had gone about his work silently and quickly, calling
softly to Geoffrey to help him move the body of a man.
He had known it was a man by the clothes. The face had
completely gone.
Geoffrey had found it impossible to move. Michael had
gone to him and punched him in the stomach, winding
him, urging him to hurry up and help him. Between them
370
they dragged the man's heavy body on to the floor.
Geoffrey had been crying by this time. Michael had
stripped the man of his wallet and watch. Then he had
gone to the woman who had been grotesquely thrown to
the floor. Her legs were wide open and her arms and neck
lay in positions that would have been impossible had she
been alive. Michael took her brooch and her wedding ring.
Geoffrey had heard the crunching click of her bone as he
had broken her bent finger to remove it. Then their father
had pulled them both out of the hole. He could still feel
the sting of his father's belt later that night as he had been strapped for 'being a baby'.
From that day on he had tried to emulate his brother.
He had joined him in beating people, robbing the bomb
sites, everything. In all truth, Geoffrey admitted to himself, he had hated every minute of it. And it dawned on
him now that Michael knew this, had always known it, and
that's why he despised him. In Maura, Michael had found
a kindred spirit. Another loner. Another warped version of
their father. He finished his glass of Scotch and sat back in his seat.
He couldn't join Mickey now, that much was obvious,
but he would sure as hell beat him. And that bitch of a
sister! He had the knowledge and he would sit and wait,
and then one day he would use it. He saw once more the
looks that had been on the cleaners' faces, and felt an urge to murder the pair of them.
Still, as his old dad used to say when they were small:
'Don't get mad. Get even.' That's just what he intended
to do.
Maura and Michael were eating a late dinner in The Greek
Revolution in Beauchamp Place. They had been discussing their day. They made a stunning pair. Even at thirty-five
372
Maura was still as young-looking as ever. She dressed
down, never wearing clothes that were in fashion but
choosing plain and expensive classics, as only the very rich can. Her blonde hair was longer now, cut into a long bob.
It hung just below her jawline, framing her finely boned
face. With her lightness, and Michael's dark good looks,
they were the perfect foil for one another.
Even in his fifties, Michael was still a very attractive man.
He dressed conservatively but well, sticking as he had
always done to greys and blacks. Occasionally he wore
something he termed 'ostentatious', but those times were
few and far between.
'Well, I think Geoffrey's probably over his tantrum by
now.' Maura sounded worried.
'Quite frankly, Maws, I don't give a shit. He winds me
up.'
Maura was quiet for a moment. She had felt the tension
building up between them for months. It truly amazed her
that Michael, who was usually so perceptive about everything, failed to notice what was in front of his eyes.
Geoffrey was jealous of her and she knew it. But now he
was also jealous of Michael, and she had a gut feeling that Geoffrey could turn out to be quite dangerous. 4:--
Michael wiped his pitta bread around the plate, picking!
up the last of the tsatsiki, and popped the bread into his
mouth. 'So, tell me. What are you going to do for Jackie
Traverna?'
'Oh, I don't know, Michael. The poor bitch is in a
terrible state. Give her some money, I suppose.'
Michael laughed. 'You're like a fucking social worker!
I'd better keep a close eye on you, girl. Next thing I know you'll be giving all our cash away to the starving millions!'
Maura smiled, knowing that Michael was deliberately
steering the conversation away from Geoffrey.
'Before I forget, Maws. Willy Templeton wants in on
the gold plan. I said yeah. What do you reckon?'
'Why not?' She shrugged. 'He seems to be in on
everything else.'
She picked up a prawn and pulled its head off. 'If that's
what you want, Mickey. I'm easy.'
'He's doing a great job down at St Martin's Wharf. It's
a funny thing, Maws, but having a lord on your side
certainly helps matters along. Don't you think?'
His voice was cold and calculating.
'Of course it helps. It's like going to parties with famous people. Everyone's a starfucker at heart. Stars included.
They love us because we're rough diamonds. Personally, I
don't give a monkey's either way. I like Willy, though.'
And she did. She liked him very much and it was
strange, because she knew that without him Benny would
still be alive. Even knowing that, she still could not help liking and admiring him. He was what she had learned to
term an 'educated villain'. Through William Templeton
she had met many more like him - rich, educated men
who pulled off brilliant scams. Scams that were never
allowed to get into the newspapers or come to prosecution
because the firms involved would lose their credibility on
the Stock Market with disastrous economic and political
results. Instead the wrongdoers were given enormous
golden handshakes and a big party as a leaving present.
And their pictures appeared in the papers with the sob
story: 'ill health brings the head of So and So corporation's career to an end.' 'I want to spend more time with
my wife and family' was another favourite excuse. It was
not only the big businessmen who were involved in these
things, but politicians, judges . . . just about every profession had its fair share of con men. Gradually, through
William Templeton, Maura and Michael were finding out
374
exactly who they were. And they were learning a whole
new ballgame.
The waiter brought their main course, kleftiko, and
refilled their wine glasses. When he left them, Maura
spoke.
'I want an early start tomorrow. I've finally sorted out
the last few wrinkles in the gold plan. If everything looks OK to you, we can begin to set it all up.'
'I'll drink to that, Maws.' Michael picked up his glass of
Chablis.
'Cheers.'
They touched glasses. If you did not know them you
would think they were planning a party, not the biggest
bullion robbery England had ever known.
While they were sitting in the restaurant, Danny Rubens
was lying in hospital. He had been sedated heavily, but one of the nurses was intrigued. Because, although he was in a deep, drug-induced sleep, his hand was still holding on tightly to his genitals.
Maura knocked on the door of Geoffrey's flat. He lived
not far from Michael in Knightsbridge. She had been there
only twice before. Even though they had worked together
and were brother and sister, they had an accepted and
unspoken agreement: I don't like you, so keep your
distance. Up till now Maura had respected this.
Geoffrey opened the door. He seemed surprised to see
her standing there. He looked terrible. He had not shaved
for a couple of days, and being so dark-haired now had
dark stubble around his jaw. Maura was shocked to see
that it was tinged with grey.
He and Michael had been so alike all their lives,
Geoffrey was like a watered-down version of his brother.
He looked great, he was handsome, but when people saw
Michael they seemed to overlook Geoffrey afterwards.
Today he looked old and ill and Maura felt sorry for him.
The lines around his eyes, so sexy on Michael, made
Geoffrey look jaded and debauched. His dark hair, normally
washed and gleaming, was greasy and lank. She
watched him look her over from head to toe. It was a
sneering look as if she was so much dirt.
'And what do you want?' His voice was belligerent. His
face was close to hers and she could smell the sourness of
the vast amount of Scotch he had been consuming since
his fight with Michael.
'May I come in?' Her voice was neutral.
He held the door open and watched her pass. For the
first time in her life she was a bit frightened of him. He
slammed the door shut behind her and walked into his
lounge. Maura followed, unsure if she was doing the right
thing. The room was in a state of chaos. The curtains were
still pulled even though it was nearly lunchtime. She went
to his oak bookcase and studied the titles for something to do. Her mind was trying to think of a way to defuse the
situation.
Geoffrey pulled open the heavy curtains and the weak
February sunshine lit the room. She carried on looking at
the books, waiting for him to open the conversation. Give
her some kind of inkling of how to go about pacifying him
over what had happened.
'Thinking of taking up reading? How about Crime and
Punishment? You can borrow it if you like.' His voice was
sarcastic.
She faced him.
'Why didn't you turn in for work yesterday?' She tried
to sound ignorant of what had taken place between the
two brothers, but as soon as she spoke knew she had said
the wrong thing.
Geoffrey laughed.
'Are you telling me that Big Brother didn't tell you all
about our little fight? Mickey even tells you when he gives his boyfriend one up the jacksey. I'm sure a good row with
his brother would have been worth mentioning.'
Maura stared at Geoffrey for a few seconds before
answering him. She decided to come clean with him. It
was obvious that he was not going to make this easy.
'Look, Geoff, he did tell me about it. And he really is
378
cut up about it. You took it too much to heart.
Geoffrey sat in a chair and began to laugh at her.
'Oh, get stuffed, Maura. Cut up? He'd be more cut up
if that mangy old dog of Benny's died. He don't give a
toss about me, and from now on I ain't gonna give a toss
about him.'
'But where will you work? What will you do?' She went
to him and knelt in front of his chair.
'Oh, don't you worry, I'll still be working for you all.'
He stressed the you. 'But I tell you now, and you can tell
Mickey this if you like, I'll not be at his beck and call
twenty-four hours a day. When I've done my stint of work
I'm off. And I won't do any "heavy" work. If you or him
want anyone roughed up or threatened, then you'll have
to get one of the others to do it.'
'That's fair enough, Geoff. I was thinking, how about
you take over the docklands? I think you and Willy would
work well together, and me and Mickey . . . well, we have
other irons in the fire.'
Geoffrey grinned, a horrible smelly grin that made her
feel sick.
'So little sister has come to pour oil on troubled waters?
You're offering me the docklands because you think that it
will make me toe the line. Be a good boy.' .-
'No, Geoffrey. You could have had it before.'
He cut her off, his voice low and serious. 'Do you
realise that I am over fifty years old? I have never married or even lived with a woman. I just worked that business
with Michael. And then you came and you took it all
from me. You inveigled your way into his pocket and
you've been resident there ever since.' He was looking at
her with a hatred that was tangible. Maura sat back on
her heels and stared into a wrinkled, hate-filled face. In
the grey sunlight he looked like a gargoyle come to life.
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But he had hurt her. Hurt and annoyed her.
'Do you know your trouble, Geoffrey? You don't know
how to live a life. You act like a leech sucking everyone
else's glory. You lived in Mickey's shadow, mate. You
didn't have to, it was your own choice. You could have
married if you'd wanted to, but you didn't. Not because of
Michael, but because you knew deep in your boots that
you weren't fit to mate with anyone. Mother called me
and Michael neuters years ago, and maybe she was right,
but I think that you're one as well.'
'You bitch! How dare you come here spouting your crap?'
Maura stood up and smoothed out the creases in her
skirt. Slowly and deliberately, she leaned towards him.
'Just because you've read a few books don't make you
Magnus fucking Magnusson you know. You're full of old
shit, mate. You want to put down Herman Hesse and
Tolstoy and go out of this flat and get yourself a bird. A
real bird, not one of the high-heeled call girls you normally knock around with. A real woman, with a mind of
her own.
'You make me sick, Geoff. You're always moaning about
something. Everything in your life is analysed and picked
over until you find a slight to you somewhere in it.
Whether it's a chance remark or a frigging so-called
conspiracy, like the folder you read the other day. You're
paranoid, that's your trouble. Now if'you want to come
back to work tomorrow, go to the offices at St Martin's
Wharf. If not, then that's up to you.'
She started to walk from the room. His voice stayed her.
'I hate you, Maura. I hate you so much I can taste it in my mouth. It's like gall. Mother said to me once you weren't
like a normal woman. You didn't have the normal feelings
any woman has. And now I know it's true. You even killed
your own baby.'
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She turned on him like a tiger. Her voice bitter, she said, 'That's Mother's opinion, is it? Well, next time you two
are chatting about me ask her this. Ask her who held me
down on the table that day when a dirty old man scraped
my baby away. Ask her that. And while you're about it, ask
her why she accepts money from Michael every week, yet
won't even acknowledge his existence. Ask her why she
drove poor Carla into marrying that bloody Malcolm.
Why she kept her and never tried to reunite her with her
mother. I know what everyone thinks about Janine but I'll
tell you this much . . . once Mother got Carla into her
house and had another little girl to dress up and take to
mass, she would never let her go back home. You an'
Mother are like two peas in a pod. You're both manipulators but neither of you could ever manipulate me or
Michael. That's what gets up your noses!'
Before he could speak again she had left the flat,
slamming the door behind her.
Geoffrey sat in the chair for a while, thinking. All his
instincts told him to forget Maura and Michael forever.
But his devious brain told him that if he did not work for
them he could not gather his information. And he would
gather it. And he would use it. He would swallow his pride
and go into work in the morning. But he would be biding
his time . . .
Maura drove to Jackie Traverna's house. She was fuming
inside. Geoffrey was a pain in the neck. He always had
been, and she had a feeling he always would be. She
parked her Mercedes Sports outside Jackie's block of flats.
Locking it carefully, she went up the small flight of stairs.
As she walked along the landing towards Jackie's flat she
was aware of the attention she commanded. Women were
standing on the landing chatting, children of all colours
and creeds were playing both on the landing and on the
concrete forecourt of the flats. Everywhere was the flaking paint and crumbling brickwork that denoted the conditions
of poverty these people lived in. The women who
were chatting looked at her burgundy Jasper Conran dress
and quite obviously real far coat, and were quiet and
hostile. Maura had to turn her body sideways to pass
them.
In their crumpled velour tracksuits and shapeless dresses
they looked like old women, yet Maura could see from the
tight skin on their faces that they were much younger than
her. If her life had been different she could quite easily
have been one of them. Then her mind rebelled against
that thought.
No. She would never have allowed herself to look like
these women. Most of them had given up hope at a very
early age. No matter what had happened to her, she knew
she would always have kept her self-respect.
Jackie's front door was ajar and she walked inside,
hesitantly. If those women who had looked at her with
naked envy knew that she carried a gun in her bag, they
might have had different feelings.
'Jackie? Jackie love?' Her voice was soft. She heard a
noise from the bedroom and went inside. Jackie was lying
on the bed. Her face had lost some of its puffiness and she looked better. Not much better but better than she had on
Maura's last visit.
'Oh, Maura . . .' Jackie tried to speak.
Maura sat on her bed. 'I just popped by to see you,
Jackie. Shall I make you a cup of tea?'
Jackie's deep brown eyes opened in surprise. Maura
Ryan making her tea? It was like expecting the Queen to
wash your kitchen floor.
Maura smiled at her, guessing her thoughts. She found
382
the kitchen and made a pot of tea. The room was tiny but
relatively tidy. She noticed that there was hardly anything in the cupboards. Leaving the tea to draw she walked back
out on to the landing. The women were still there and
Maura guessed that they had been discussing her arrival.
She strode purposefully towards them.
'Do any of you happen to be friends with Jackie
Traverna?'
A fat woman with long straggly brown hair answered
her. 'I am. Why?' Her voice was hard and flat.
'I suppose you know that she's had an accident.'
The fat woman sighed loudly. 'I've been taking her
Debbie to school for her. Why?'
'If I gave you the money, would you get her in some
shopping?' Maura saw the women exchange looks. 'I'll pay
you to do it, of course.'
The fat woman shrugged. 'All right.'
She followed Maura back into the flat. Maura was
gratified at the friendly way in which she went into Jackie's room. Maura picked her bag up from where she had
placed it on the bed. Opening it, she took out five
twenty-pound notes. 'Do you have a freezer, Jackie?' The
woman nodded her head.
'Good. There's a hundred pounds there and I want you
to fill her freezer and cupboards up. I'll give you a score for your trouble. OK?'
The fat woman stared at the money in astonishment.
Then she took it from Maura. She guessed from Maura's
voice that she was not Social Services or Probation. When
the woman went she would find out about her from
Jackie.
When the neighbour was gone, Maura poured Jackie
and herself out some tea. Taking it into the bedroom, she
placed Jackie's cup into her hands. She had managed to
pull herself up in the bed and Maura could see the purple
bruises on her arms and shoulders. Damn Danny Rubens!
Opening her bag again, she lit two cigarettes and gave
one to Jackie. Maura studied her face. She had about thirty stitches in each cheek and would carry the scars for the rest of her life. She pulled out a building society book and gave it to the woman.
'Inside there is five thousand pounds, Jackie. I want you
to use it for a holiday or whatever. When you're feeling
better I want you to take over the job of head girl at the
Crackerjack, our new club.'
It took Maura a minute to realise that Jackie was crying.
She took the tea from her and placed it on the floor by the bed. Then she put an arm around her shoulders.
'Hey . . . hey. Calm down, Jackie.'
She spoke with difficulty. 'You've been so good. I was so
worried. I thought I'd end up at King's Cross with the
pervies.'
Maura looked into her eyes. 'No way. You're a good
girl, Jackie. And the head girl's job is a bloody good
earner. You'll be fine. Absolutely fine.'
She picked Jackie's tea up from the floor and passed it to
her. 'Now you drink this while I get you and me an
ashtray!'
When the fat woman got back from shopping she was
amazed to find the 'rich bird', as she had termed Maura in
her head, washing the kitchen floor. When Maura left a
little later she was sure she had pushed up Jackie Traverna's street credibility a hundredfold, and only wished Jackie had not had to go through all that pain and suffering to achieve it.
When Maura got to her own house a bunch of white
roses had been left in the glass porch. Intrigued, she
opened the card. It said: 'Happy Valentine's Day. Mickey.'
She smiled to herself, but deep inside a little voice was
asking her why she never got flowers from any 'real' men.
Men who were not related to her. Inside the front door
was a pile of letters. Picking them up, she went through to her kitchen. She placed the roses on the draining board
and flicked through the letters. Bills and circulars. Then
she noticed a thick cream-coloured envelope. Opening it,
she brought out a beautiful card. It had real velvet flowers on it, arranged in a basket made of gold thread. This was
definitely not a Woolworth's special. She smiled. Michael
again. She opened the card and nearly died of shock.
'Will you be my Valentine? Have dinner with me
tonight. 7.30 at the Savoy. Willy.'
For a few sweet seconds she felt that powerful excitement
that a new love affair can bring. Then she glanced at
her watch. It was past five now! She ran up the stairs to get ready. She was gonna knock his eyes out!
William Templeton sat at his table. He sneaked a glance at
his watch. It was twenty to eight. She wasn't coming. He
felt his heart sink. Maybe he should have rung her. Then she could have cold-shouldered him over the phone and that
would have been the end of it. But he had seen that card in Harrods and had felt a foolish urge to buy it for her. He
almost laughed. At his age? On the wrong side of fifty . . .
He had that terrible feeling people get when they have
been stood up. That feeling that makes them think that
everyone knows what's happened to them. That everyone
is smiling at them behind their hands. He felt a shadow fall across him as he stared at the menu for the hundredth
time and waved his hand imperiously.
'I'm not ready to order yet, thank you.'
'I should hope not. The least I'd expect is that you
would wait for me to arrive!'
384
His eyes lifted and she was standing there, looking
lovelier than he had ever seen her before. She had on a
grey fitted dress of watered silk. As with all her clothes, it was perfectly plain. But with her breasts and slim waist, she did not need any of the frippery that most women wore.
In her ears she had perfect pearl earrings and around her
neck a small single strand of the same grade. Her pale
white skin brought them to shining life. Her silky white
blonde hair looked immaculate, as always. William took
pleasure in the admiring glances that were coming their
way.
He stood up awkwardly. 'I thought you weren't going
to come.'
Maura sat down and smiled at the waiter who held her
chair.
'Well, I didn't get your card until after five o'clock so I had to rush a bit.'
'You look exquisite, my dear, like a very beautiful
painting. Now then, some champagne, I think.' He
smiled. 'Real champagne, not the dishwater that's served
in your clubs!'
Maura laughed. Really laughed, for the first time in
years. It felt good to be pursued. Wanted. And this man
certainly wanted her . . . She relaxed back into her chair
and let good feelings wash over her.
386
'Where did you get the number plates from?' Michael was
keyed up.
Leslie grinned. 'I got the numbers from a motorway
service station car park. I had the actual plates made up by Jimmy Charlton. He owes us a favour.' '
'Good. Are the Range Rovers ready to go? And the bikes?'
Leslie nodded. 'Yep. They've been serviced and valeted.
They're as clean as a nun's knickers.'
Garry grinned. 'I've sorted out all the guns. They're
cleaned and ready to go.'
'Good. Very good. You realise this is a big undertaking,
don't you? This ain't like a normal blag. Every filth in the country is going to be looking for that gold. It will be the biggest chance of promotion since Ronnie Biggs had it on
his toes.'
'Well, they ain't caught him yet.' Maura's voice was
jocular. Everyone laughed except Mickey.
'There's still time for that. Whatever happens, don't get
too cocky, lads. Just keep to the ground rules I laid down
and we'll be OK.'
Maura stood up and looked around at her brothers'
faces. 'What about the hole?'
'All done. Ready and waiting.' This from Lee.
'Then all that's left is to sort out the alibis. I'll leave that to you lot. Whatever it is, make sure it's tighter than a
duck's behind. OK?'
Everyone nodded.
'See you in the morning then.' Michael smiled at the
faces around him. 'Unless there's any questions?'
'I've got a question.'
'It would be you, wouldn't it, brain box?' Maura's voice
was light.
The chances were that if Garry asked a question it
would be a good one.
He adjusted his glasses. 'What happens to the filth?'
Michael and Maura had been half expecting someone to
ask this.
Michael answered. 'I wasn't going to tell you till the
morning. But as you ask . . .'
He paused for effect and swept his gaze around all his
brothers.
'You waste them. Every one of them. The fewer people
to identify us, the better.'
Roy coughed. 'What about the old Bill though, Mickey?
They're in on it, ain't they?'
'Yep. Right up to their shitty little necks. All the more
reason to get rid of them. People get jumpy.' He shrugged
his shoulders as if to finish his sentence.
'Righty ho. Now who fancies a few pints?'
The four younger brothers all got up from their seats.
'No pissing it up tonight!' Michael's voice was stern.
'And, Garry, contact lenses tomorrow.'
'Don't worry, Mickey. Everything will be fine. As sweet
as a nut.'
When the boys left, Maura turned to Michael. 'I ain't
happy about knocking everyone off, Mickey.'
388
Michael sighed heavily. In his dark handmade suit and
pristine white shirt he looked like a banker. Which was
exactly the impression he wanted to create. In the small
Portakabin they both looked out of place.
'Look, Maws, you can never leave anything to chance.'
He went to her and put his arm around her shoulder,
pulling her so close she could feel his breath fan her face.
'You just let me do all the worrying now. You've done
your bit.' '
'Once the killing starts, Mickey, we lose the protection
of all our plants. You realise that, don't you?'
'Yeah, I realise that, Maws. But that Tory MP, the one
soliciting in King's Cross . . . well, he's gonna be our
scapegoat. The day after tomorrow the pictures we've got
of him will be on their way to the gutter press. That
should take most people's minds off the actual robbery for
a while. Until the main shock wears off anyway.'
Maura was quiet and he took it as a sign of acquiescence.
'Come on, girl, let's get off home. We're all a bit
jumpy.'
Driving home Maura was more than jumpy. She was
positively terror-stricken. As she drove into her driveway
she saw that all the lights were on and her heart lifted a
little. Carla was here. She jumped out of the car with
delight. That meant that little Joey was with her as well.
She let herself into the house.
'Auntie Maura! Auntie Maura!' Four-year-old Joey ran
towards her, his chubby arms outstretched.
Maura picked him up in a big hug.
'Hello, Tiger.'
She saw Carla watching them from the kitchen doorway.
As always when she saw her she was overwhelmed with a
feeling of love and affection. Carla looked like a young
Janine, with her red-brown hair and slim figure, except
Carla had something more - she had a womanly aura that
Janine had never had.
'I've just made some dinner. You couldn't have timed it
better.'
'What brought you here? I didn't expect you until the
weekend. Not that I mind. You could move in if you
wanted to, you know that.' Maura sounded almost her old
self. She could kiss Carla for taking her mind off what was happening tomorrow.
Carla went quiet. Her face closed up in the way that
Maura knew so well. Something wasn't right.
'What's happened?'
Carla ran her hands through her long hair in her old
familiar gesture. -M
'Come and have dinner, Maws. I'll tell you while we
eat.'
Maura followed her into the kitchen. She was frowning
now. Joey was holding her tightly around the neck. In the
kitchen she could smell a chicken casserole, and realised
that she was in fact quite hungry. She sat at the large
kitchen table and watched Carla while she worked. This
was Carla all over. She would not tell Maura anything until she was good and ready. She guessed that the trouble was
with Malcolm, Carla's husband. After Benny's death and
Carla's rejection of Maura and Michael, they had not seen
her for nearly a year. Then one day Maura had come home
to find Carla sitting on her doorstep. She had had a big
row with her Nana, as she called Maura's mother. Maura
had immediately installed her back in her own room and
all had been forgiven between them.
Then, six years ago, Carla had married Malcolm Spencer.
He had been two years older than Carla at twenty-six, and
for Maura at least it had been loathing on first sight. He was an architect, he was middle-class, and he was the most
390
pompous ass that Maura had ever come across. But Carla
had loved him, so she had swallowed her own reservations
and countenanced the match. When Joey had been born
she had nearly liked the man who was married to the most
important girl in her life. She could see how pleased he was with his son and it had made him seem humari somehow.
Until the christening.
This had been a strained affair as her mother was there,
naturally. Sarah had studiously ignored her eldest son and
only daughter. That was bad enough, but then Malcolm
had upset everyone there. Carla was holding the baby next
to the font, everyone standing respectfully around. Carla
had handed the infant to the priest and had lost her grip,
only slightly. The priest had instantly taken a firm hold on the child and no harm was done. It was the kind of thing
that in most families would have been considered an
excuse for a joke. Brought up every now and then in
family gatherings with a bit added on.
Instead, Malcolm had snatched the child from his wife,
causing Carla to lose her own balance. Maura and all her
brothers had stood tight-lipped until the service was finally over. There had been no enjoyment after that. Everyone had just stood patiently waiting for it to end. After the service, outside the church, there had been murder.
Michael had told Malcolm in no uncertain terms that if he
ever as much raised his voice to his niece, or dragged her
over again, he would bury him underneath the new
motorway currently being built.
Maura was sure that the incident had finally shown
Malcolm what he had inadvertently married into. Since
then there had been a strained truce between all parties
concerned. Now here was Carla and little Joey and she
would bet her last pound there was something seriously
up. 'I
She played with Joey, who had recently learnt to sing
'The Wheels on the Bus', until such time as Carla finished
preparing the meal. Finally, they were all seated and eating the chicken casserole. Carla had also made duchesse potatoes and broccoli and Maura was enjoying it until Carla
started telling her what had happened.
Carla and Joey were supposed to be going to the zoo with
his playgroup. When Carla had driven him there, with a
packed lunch and his mackintosh because the spring
weather had been so uncertain, she had been told that one
of the minibus drivers was ill so the trip had been
cancelled. Joey was heartbroken and had refused to stay at
the playgroup. So Carla had put him back in the car and
instead of going to the zoo as planned, decided to take
him home with her and catch up on some household
chores. She guessed that Malcolm would not be too happy
as he worked from home the days that Joey went to the
playgroup, especially today as they were not due to come
home until five o'clock.
When she had reached her house she had noticed a pink
Fiesta in the drive. She had parked her own car outside on
the road, thinking that someone from Malcolm's work had
come round to see him. Getting Joey out of the car, she
had gone around the side of the house and in the back
door, reasoning that if she opened the porch door, and
then the front door, she would more than likely disturb
Malcolm and his guest. Inside the kitchen, she pulled off
Joey's coat and Wellingtons and made him a drink of orange. He sat at the table drinking it, for once quiet and still.
Putting on the kettle Carla decided to ask Malcolm and
his visitor if they wanted a cup of tea. She left the kitchen, crossed the large entrance hall and went to the door of the
392
room that was Malcolm's office when he was home. She
tapped on it and walked inside. Her mind registered the
fact that the heavy brocade curtains were drawn. She had
not noticed this from the front of the house as this room
backed on to the rear garden. Although the room was
quite dark she could see well enough. She could see that
Malcolm was sitting on his office chair, and that sitting on top of him, with her blouse open exposing her breasts and
her skirt pulled up to her waist, showing anyone who
cared to look that she was knickerless, was Miss BradleyHume, Malcolm's secretary. They were unaware of her for
a few seconds and Carla stood rooted to the spot watching
the rise and fall of Miss BradleyHume's buttocks. Then
Malcolm had put his head forward to kiss the woman and
had seen Carla standing there. In his fright he stood
upright, dropping the prim and proper Miss BradleyHume
on to the floor. Carla was mainly aware of the fact
that Miss BradleyHume had large, rather baggy breasts.
Then she had the woman's long mousy hair and was
pulling her by it across the carpet. She could see the
woman trying to free herself, clawing at Carla's hands that had her hair in a vicelike grip. Malcolm was staring at
Carla absolutely shell shocked.
Giving Miss BradleyHume a hard kick in her stomach,
she turned her attention to her husband. Seeing him standing as he was with his underpants and jeans (his designer
jeans that he thought made him look so macho) around his
ankles, she was finally convinced that she had married a
complete and utter fool. His little skinny legs with their
sparse hairs looked like a chicken's. She noticed that his
member, which had never been that big to begin with, had
now shrunk into a small wrinkled sausage and she had the
urge to laugh. If only he could see himself! Mr Important!
Miss BradleyHume had picked herself up off the floor
393t
and retrieved her knickers, which were on the drawing
board. She stood now, fully attired, in front of Carla.
'This is not what it looks like.' Her refined twang sent
shivers of diabolical hatred through Carla's body.
'Get out of my house, you slut. You fucking filthy dirty
slut!'
Miss BradleyHume's long horsey face dropped with
shock. Carla laughed, her eyes wild.
'Oh, have I shocked you with a naughty word?
Fuck . . . don't you like that word? Well, that's what you
were doing, you upper-class whore. You were fucking my
husband. Fucking, rucking, fucking . . .'
Malcolm shuffled across to her as quickly as his trousers
would allow. She felt the stinging blow as he slapped her
across the face. Then she was calm. She watched Malcolm
pull up his ridiculous jeans.
'Get out of my house now. Both of you.'
Miss BradleyHume went quickly. The change in Carla's voice was enough to send her running to her car. On her way out of the door she knocked Joey to the floor. His
shocked crying penetrated Carla's rage. Going to him, she
picked him up.
'All right, baby. It's nothing. Just a little accident, that's all.'
She turned back to her husband. 'I meant what I said,
Malcolm. I want you out of my home".'
He tried to bluff his way out, his domineering personality
coming to the fore.
'I will not leave this house. You're overwrought. I admit
I've been a naughty boy . .-.'
'Naughty boy!' Carla's voice was incredulous. 'You're a
fucking cretin, Malcolm, that's what you are. And you're
getting out of this house, or I'll get my uncles to move
you for me!' -
394
It was the first time she had ever threatened him with
anything, let alone her uncles. Malcolm was aware that his
hold over Carla was not as tight as usual. He tried a
different tack.
'Will you stop using that F word! You really are showing
your working-class lineage today, aren't you?'
Carla was patting Joey's back. His sobs were quieting
now as he listened to his parents' quarrel.
'I am going to Maura's, Malcolm, and when I get back
from there in a few days I want you out.' Her words had a
finality about them that frightened him.
'Oh, baby, I know what I've done is wrong. But she was
asking for it.' His voice was wheedling. Cajoling. He
needed her.
Carla laughed harshly. 'I should think she was asking for
it. No one else but you would fuck something so ugly.
Only you. We're finished, Malcolm. Finished.'
'What about Joey? I'm his father!' Malcolm was self
righteous now.
'If you do what I tell you, and get out of my life and my house, I may let you see him from time to time.' She was enjoying herself. Now that the initial shock had worn off,
she realised that she finally had a bona ride reason to get rid of him.
'Carla, please. For all the love we've shared . . .'
'Drop dead, Malcolm.' Her voice was flat and hard.
'Come on, Joey, let's go to Auntie Maura's, shall we?'
She went from the room, across the large entrance hall
and finally out of the house. Settling Joey into his car seat, she went back into the house and collected her bag and a
few things. As she left for the last time Malcolm tried
again.
'Please, Carla.' His voice was desperate now.
.... Standing on the driveway, she placed the middle finger
of her right hand in the air then, gathering as much air
into her lungs as possible, shouted at him: 'Rotate on it
gently, arsehole!'
Then, getting into the car, she drove to Maura's.
Maura listened to Carla in amazement. She could not help
picturing her dragging the woman across the carpet by her
hair.
'Oh, Carla love, I'm so sorry. It must have been
terrible.'
Carla smiled sheepishly.
'Stop spitting the meat out, Joey.' She looked back at
Maura. 'Actually, Maws, I enjoyed every minute of it! I
think I finally saw him as you all see him.'
'We've never seen him with his cacks down!'
Both women laughed. 'You know what I mean. He's a
prat, Maws. A prize prat.'
Maura was serious. 'But you did love him, didn't you?'
Carla looked at little Joey. 'Yeah. I did love him in the
beginning. But not any more.'
Maura carried on eating. The food was tasteless now.
She was consumed with a feeling of hatred for Malcolm
that made her want to go and kill him.
'Can you imagine Nana's face when she finds out I've
left my lawful husband?'
Maura was cavalier. 'Oh, sod her, Carla. Let her think
what she likes. You can stay here with me until we get you
sorted out.'
Carla put her hand gently over Maura's.
'I know that. I'm like a bad penny, ain't I? Always
turning up. My mum didn't want me. Nor my dad. And
now even my husband's done the dirty on me. Maybe I do
something wrong.'
'Don't be so silly!' Maura's voice was sharp. 'I'll tell you
396
something, shall I? Once, a long time ago, I was in a
similar state to you. I went to Marge's. Well, she said
something that I'll never forget. She said that self-pity was a luxury none of us could afford. Those weren't her exact
words, but that was what she meant. You must pick
yourself up, brush yourself down . . .'
'And start all over again.' Carla sang the last sentence
and they both laughed again.
'Yeah, well. That's about the strength of it.'
'In a funny way I feel free. Like I've been let out of
prison after a long stretch.'
'That's good, Carla. Try to keep that feeling. It will help you over the next few weeks. And there's one other good
thing. My mother won't ring you here so you can put off
talking to her for as long as you want.'
Joey upset his beaker of milk and both women jumped
up to get a cloth. Even though Carla's being there was
because of trouble, Maura was glad to have her and Joey
anyway. It took her mind off what was going to happen
the next day. And she could not rule out the fact that it
would give her a cast-iron alibi if, by any chance, the police did decide to interview her.
It was 4am on 20 March 1985. Maura and Michael were
sitting in a Portakabin in a yard owned by Michael's
friend, Jim Dickenson. Jim was an old lag. Throughout his
life he had been put into prison for various offences,
ranging from bank robbery (he got only eight years
because his gun was not loaded) to extortion. He had tried
to blackmail a high-powered executive who was a transvestite.
On leaving jail he had approached Michael. They were
friends from the Notting Hill days of Joe the Fish. He was
a big powerful man and Michael had set him up in a plant
hire business in Cranford. He had bought the business as a
going concern and it had been put into Jim Dickenson's
name. To all intents and purposes, Michael Ryan had
nothing whatsoever to do with it.
The yard consisted of over four acres of land, surrounded
by ten-foot fence panels and guarded by three
Dobermans and a Rottweiler. This morning, though, it
was empty of any life other than Michael and Maura. The
dogs were shut into a pen kept especially for them. Their
barking and howling was already getting on Maura's
nerves.
Michael glanced at his watch. It was four minutes past
the hour.
'Another ten minutes, Maws, and it will all be over.'
Maura lit yet another cigarette and tried to concentrate
her mind on Carla and Joey.
Roy and Gerry were waiting at the roundabout on the
Bath Road. Both were on 650cc Kawasaki motorbikes.
They were dressed in black from head to foot. Gerry could
feel the sweat pouring from his forehead. He was frightened, really frightened. He wished he had the guts just to
start the engine and go ... go anywhere away from here.
Roy was thinking about Janine, and Benny who was
nearly ten. Where his wife had completely disowned Carla,
she tried to possess the boy. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on the job in hand. If they went wrong now,
that would be the end of them. Banged up good and
proper. He felt the loose feeling in his bowels and hoped
that he would not have to empty them at the roadside. He
reassured himself with the fact that this robbery had been
planned down to the minutest detail. What he would not
give for a fag! Just to be doing something other than
waiting for the lights of the articulated lorry. He could
sense the nervousness of Gerry Jackson and it made him
feel worse. He breathed deeply, trying to control his
heartbeats.
Garry, Leslie and Lee were in a dark blue Range Rover. All
three were already wearing black balaclavas with just slits for eyeholes. Garry kept up a stream of low chatter. Leslie and Lee just grunted replies. All were nervous. Garry
caressed the shotgun that he was holding. At four minutes
past four they all started counting down.
These were just ten minutes until the off.
Davie Muldoon drove the container lorry with its cargo of
gold towards Heathrow airport. His mind was miles away
on an argument that he'd had with his wife the night
before. She was a pain in the bloody neck. First she
informs him that her mother's coming, yet again. Then
she drops the real bombshell. She's pregnant again. Four
bloody kids in five years.
She looked like something from a Hammer horror film
already. She tipped the scales at just over sixteen stone!
When he had first met her she had been eight stone with
the best set of bristols he had ever seen. Nowadays, what
with the rolls of fat and the stretch marks, it was like
mounting Red Rum. But true to form she went by her old
ruse. Attack was the best form of defence. Before he could
comment on the fact that they could barely meet the
mortgage payments as it was, without another baby to
feed and clothe, she had started on about his drinking.
Well, if she had a good look in the mirror she might get an inkling as to why he drank so much.
He needed at least eight pints of Hurlimans even to
consider kissing the ugly bitch. He shook his head sadly as he drove along. He had been well and truly caught there.
All his mates had warned him: 'Look at the mother and
see the daughter, twenty years on.' He was well gutted.
The house looked like a council tip. She never cleaned
up. Last night she had stood before him in all her glory.
With her bleached yellow hair with the roots grown out
nearly two inches she looked like a candidate for the black and white minstrel show. He grinned to himself. Her
outsize nightdress had been stained with everything from
baby puke to tea. Even her teeth were going rotten in her
head. She said it was because of having the kids so quick,
but he had already made a shrewd guess that not cleaning
them was also a large contributory factor. The dirty bitch!
He shuddered. She was only twenty-four! What would she
be like in another five years?
400
Joey Granger had been watching the changing expressions
on his friend's face with fascination. He also had an
idea what had put them there. He had met Davie's wife
Leona only once and that had been enough. She had
reminded him of a Rottweiler in drag. Poor old Davie, he
had to be the most easy-going bloke in the world. Which
was probably why she got away with so much. If she had
been his wife he would have given her a good slap a long
time ago. .
'Light me a fag, Joey?' Davie's voice was soft.
'We're not really supposed to, you know.'
'Of course I know, but it's never stopped us before!'
Joey lit two cigarettes and passed one to Davie.
'I hate these big pulls, they make me nervous.'
Joey laughed lightly.
'Smoke your fag and calm down. There's more old Bill
out there than on the Masonic Lodge's annual beano!'
Davie smiled despite himself.
In front of the articulated lorry was a white Granada.
Inside were Detective Inspector Tomlinson and three
younger men, DS Milton, DC Johns and DC Llewelyn.
DC Johns was what was commonly termed a chatterbox.
'So, sir, if no one knows that this gold is going to
Heathrow, why so many police?' His voice was very young
and very naive and DI Tomlinson was sorry for him. Just
for a second though. He had too much else on his mind.
'DC Johns?' His voice was stern.
'Yes, sir?'
'Shut your bloody trap for five minutes, and give your
arse a chance!'
Llewelyn and Milton laughed softly. Johns sat silent and
embarrassed. How were you to find out anything if you
never asked? he reasoned.
Tomlinson was nervous, very nervous, and the younger
men put it down to the seriousness of what they were
doing. In fact, he was more aware of what was going on
than they were or even than the Bank of England was. He
had always had a passion for the horses. Over the last few
years it had become an expensive passion. A passion that
Michael Ryan had encouraged wholeheartedly. At this
moment he could not make his mortgage payments, his
car payments or, God help him, his maintenance. He was
also into Michael Ryan for so much money he felt faint if
he thought about the actual amount. It was his job to see
that these three imbeciles bodged their job. Then he was
home and dry, with all his debts paid.
The guns were still locked in the special armouries built
into the dashboard in the front of the armrest in the back.
He had the keys, and would take as long as he could
before arming the three young cowboys in the car with
him. He sneaked a look at his watch. Four minutes till the
off. He was surprised to find that he was not even
sweating.
Behind the articulated lorry was another unmarked car.
This time it was a Sierra. A dirty brown-coloured Sierra
1600E.
Inside were DI Becton and another three young plainclothes, DS Bronte, DS Marker and WDC Williams.
Becton was annoyed. He did not like the thought of a
WDC in this thing at all. He also held the magic keys that
would arm what were in effect little more than children.
Becton, too, had to make sure that his end of the
operation went wrong.
After twenty years in the police force he had finally been
found out. He was married with three teenage children, a
lovely wife Jeanette whom he honestly loved with all his
402
heart, and a nice detached house in Chiswick, nearly paid
for. He had only one problem and it was a big one. He
had discovered many years ago that he had a penchant for
very young boys. Up until now it had never interfered
with what he termed his 'real life', his family and his
career. Then a week ago he had been sent certain pictures
of himself through the post in a plain brown envelope.
There was no mistaking that it was him in the pictures.
They were in glorious colour. They were also very explicit.
He had been standing in the hallway, clutching the
pictures to his chest, when Jeanette had walked out there.
She had looked as pretty as a picture in the early morning
light, not at all like the mother of three teenaged children or like the wife of a sexual pervert, because when he had
seen himself in those pictures he had realised exactly what he was. And the thought of her knowing and his children
knowing had nearly brought on a heart attack.
He had telephoned the number enclosed with the
picture and now sat in this car, with two young men and a
lovely young lady, waiting to do something that would be a blot on their career files all their life. He glanced in the mirror and saw the meatwagon full of uniforms driving
behind him. He looked at the clock on the dashboard of
the Sierra. Three minutes to the off. He was trembling.
As the meatwagon passed them, Gerry and Roy started up
their bikes. Gerry's took three good kicks before it roared into life. They pulled their visors down on their helmets
and nodded to one another, then they roared off behind
the meatwagon. It was about two hundred yards from the
roundabout. Inside the meatwagon were ten armed officers,
most of them dozing. Only two were alert. One was
the driver, DS Raymond Paine, and the other the controller
of the radio, DS Martin Fuller. Both were unaware that
they were going to be blown off the road within seconds.
Outside the window, Paine could hear the dull drone of
the police helicopter that was following them above. He
yawned. He hated these special assignments.
Roy had already cocked his .357 Magnum. He drove
parallel with the meatwagon and with one shot completely
disabled the vehicle. The back tyre blew out with a
ferocious bang that woke up all the sleeping officers. They woke up just in time to feel the van mounting the grass
verge at the side of the road and then turn over twice
before it finally came to rest on its right side, on the
opposite side of the carriageway.
'Jesus Christ! Did you see that?'
Up above in the helicopter Officer Watts and Officer
Harper had seen in the dim light a bright blue flash.
'Calling all units in the vicinity of the roundabout on
the Bath Road. We have reason to believe a robbery is in
progress . . .'
As the helicopter message came over the radio in Becton's
car, WDC Williams answered the call. Becton and the two
young men were already out of the car and going to the
aid of their colleagues. WDC Williams was aware in the
pandemonium that Becton had not unlocked the small
arms cache. She punched the dashboard in frustration.
There had been the definite sound of a shot, officers were
undoubtedly injured, and they did not have so much as a
lolly stick between them. It was pathetic!
She picked up the radio handset and began to call for
the fire brigade and ambulances.
DI Tomlinson had done his job properly. At least from the
Cyans' point of view. As soon as the shot had been fired he had pulled the white Granada on to the side of the road. The articulated lorry had had to swerve to avoid him. It had
wheezed to a stop, only to find its way immediately blocked by a Range Rover that seemed to appear from thin air.
'It's a robbery!' DC Johns' voice was incredulous. Before they had even had time to answer him, two;l sawn-off shotguns had been pointed at the windows of the
car. Within seconds, the doors had been opened and they)
were all lying on the damp road with their hands hand- (
cuffed behind their backs.
Davie and Joey were sitting in the articulated lorry, ." dumbstruck. Then a big man in a black balaclava motioned with a large gun for them to open their doors.
Before the trip they had been told not to open the
specially constructed doors even if Jesus himself appeared
and asked for a lift. This was all forgotten in their panic.
They opened the doors and jumped from the cab.
Davie watched his lorry being driven away by two
masked men.
Gerry, Leslie and Lee jumped into the Range Rover and as
they screeched off saw that the police helicopter was
hovering just above their heads. Leaning dangerously out
of the front window, Garry, always the most adventurous
of the boys, opened fire on it with his Ml6 rifle. He had
brought it with him deliberately for this job. In the
distance, on the M4, they could hear the wailing of the
police and ambulance sirens. Garry's hair caught fire
beneath his balaclava as the helicopter exploded. Leslie
dragged him back inside the window, then helped him to
put his hair out. They were laughing hysterically now. It
was all over.
406
Back at the yard, Maura and Michael were in a state of
nervous agitation. It was four-twenty-five. As if of one
mind, they both left the Portakabin and stood in the
yard. Just to the right of them was an enormous black
hole. It was twenty-five feet deep and almost forty long.
It had been dug vertically as if it was a sloping runway,
which in effect it was. It was fifteen feet wide. Brother
and sister walked across the gravel and opened the large
iron gates.
'Mickey, I'm so scared.' Maura's voice was barely a
croak.
'Ain't we all, darling?'
He smiled at her in the darkness. She could not see it
but she could hear it in his voice.
Fifteen minutes later the articulated lorry drove through
the gates followed by the Range Rover. The bikes had
been left at the scene of the robbery.
Roy drove the lorry straight into the hole. Getting out,
he and Gerry scrambled up the sloping floor.
On either side of the hole were gigantic mounds of dirt.
The hole itself had been dug by a large drag line crane. It had taken nearly five hours.
Leslie, Lee, Garry and Roy all got into giant Caterpillar
'dozers. In less than an hour, they had filled the hole back in. The lorry was gone. It had disappeared off the face of
the earth. It would sit under the ground for a few years
until it was safe to try to shift the gold. Michael watched his brothers parking different types of plant over the burial place. It was covered with everything from dumper trucks,
low loaders for cranes and the Caterpillar 'dozers.
At the scene of the robbery, pandemonium was breaking
out. Becton and Tomlinson were both receiving the sharp
edge -of Chief Superintendent Liversey's tongue. He was
absolutely fuming.
'The bloody lorry has disappeared off the face of the
earth. You two didn't even have the sense to arm your
men!' He was spitting with temper as he spoke. 'How the
hell am I supposed to explain this one away? That's what
I'd like to know. If I didn't know better I'd think you were communists! You bloody fools!'
He was interrupted by an ambulanceman. 'Excuse me,
sir, but there were no fatalities. I thought you would like to know. Only one major casualty and that was a gunshot
wound. I gather that in the course of the van crashing, one of the men in the back inadvertently shot the fellow sitting opposite.'
'What about the helicopter pilots?'
'Burnt to death, I'm afraid.'
'Then how can you say there were no fatalities? You're
all bloody fools!'
Liversey stomped away from the men. He knew this
much - heads were going to roll over this and he had a
feeling that his would be one of them. He would have
been even more galled if he'd known that the articulated
lorry that had been carrying nearly twenty million in gold
bullion was buried, with the engine still hot, not two miles away. At eight o'clock that morning, Jim Dickenson opened his yard. By eight-fifteen it was a hive of activity. He loved hisf plant hire firm. He loved Michael Ryan for letting him
have it. By five that afternoon the newly filled-in hole was just part of the usual landscape. Not one of the men who
worked there even guessed that they were walking and driving over twenty million pounds' worth of gold. Yet the robbery was to be their only topic of conversation for ages.
At six-fifteen, Maura and Michael were driving along the
M4 back into London. Leslie and Garry had driven off
earlier, as had Roy. Lee was to dump the Range Rover in
Langley, Slough, where he had left his car. Everyone
agreed it had been a good night's work. Gerry Jackson had left earlier than everyone else as he had to open the main betting shop in Wandsworth. After all, life had to go on.
Maura walked into her house in Rainham at nearly nine
in the morning. She was tired out. Little Joey was there to greet her and she kissed and cuddled him for a while
before going up to bed. She noticed that Carla did not
enquire where she had been all night. After a warm bath,
she slipped naked into her bed. The coolness of the sheets
was reassuring to her somehow. She had managed to talk
Michael out of a killing spree, but he had still allowed
Garry to shoot at the helicopter. She burrowed into her
pillow. She had heard on the news that the men had been
burnt to death. Both were married with children. The
radio announcer's voice had been so matter-of-fact about
it.
She turned over again in bed and attempted once more
to get comfortable and empty her mind of all the bad
things. She had too many bad things filed away. She heard
Joey's joyful laughter float up the stairs and into her
bedroom and the thought of the helicopter pilots' children
rose up in front of her. They were small and helpless in her mind's eye. And faceless. Like her own baby which still
wandered into her thinking sometimes, especially when
she was done like now. The robbery itself bothered her not
one iota. It was the killing. She did not think for a
moment that what she had told Leslie to do to Danny
Rubens counted. He was scum. He had cut up one of the
girls who worked for them and he had paid the price. She
could not look on the police as her brothers did, as the
enemy. An omnipotent force that had to be thwarted at
every turn. She did not really care about the police much,
one way or the other.
Except for Terry Petherick . . . She sat up in bed and
rearranged her pillows, sinking back into their coolness. If she started to think about him she would never get any
sleep. She heard the bedroom door creak open.
'Are you asleep?'
Carla's voice was soft.
'No, love. Come on in.'
Carla walked into the bedroom with a glass of brandy.
She went to Maura and put it on the bedside table. 'I
thought you could possibly do with this. I left Joey
watching a Postman Pat video, so I have a few minutes to
myself.'
Maura sat up in the bed. She knew that Carla was
offering her an opening, if she wanted to talk to her. And
she did want to talk; she wanted to tell her how unhappy
she was about all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. But she couldn't. She picked up the glass of brandy
and sipped it. Carla tried again.
'William Templeton rang last night. He wants you to
call him as soon as you can. I forgot to tell you.'
'Thanks. I'll ring him later.'
'I was listening to the news just now. It seems that two
of the policemen who were guarding some gold that got
stolen were shot dead about half an hour ago. The police
think that the raiders may have thought they could identify them.'
She watched Maura's face closely and was not surprised
to see her blanch.
'A Vecton I think it was, and a Tomlinson.' Her voice
trailed off as she watched Maura's features. Her aunt's
410
mouth was moving but she seemed unable to speak.
Maura's mind was whirling. Not Vecton . . . Becton and
Tomlinson. The two who were being blackmailed. She put
the brandy on the bedside table and, pushing Carla away
roughly, jumped out of the bed.
She practically ran to the wardrobes that covered one
entire wall. They were mirrored and Maura could see the
reflection of her breasts, bouncing as she ran to them.
Pulling one of the doors open she started to dress herself, dragging the clothes on to her body in her haste. She
pulled on a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, and then, pushing her bare feet into some leather moccasins, ran out
of the room and down the stairs, Carla following her.
'For goodness' sake, Maura. What's up?' Carla's voice
was troubled. She knew that Maura was upset over what
she had said. She felt responsible.
'Nothing. I just have to see Michael, that's all.' She
picked up her car keys and ran from the house to her car.
Carla went into the lounge where Joey was sitting in
front of the television set, watching Postman Pat and Jess.
She sat on the sofa and stared at the screen, wishing that
she had kept her mouth shut.
Michael was asleep when he heard the pounding on his
door. He immediately thought it was the police, and
jumped out of his bed naked. Then he heard Maura calling
through the letterbox.
'It's me. Let me in now!'
Thinking that something had happened he rushed to
the front door and let her in. As he opened up she almost
fell into his hall. Her hair was dishevelled, her face streaked with mascara. He shut the door quickly and tried to grasp
hold of her. She pushed him away roughly.
'You bastard! You rotten stinking bastard!'
Michael's mouth dropped open with shock. 'What?
What have I done?'
'You had those two policemen shot after you promised
me . . .'
Michael yawned. 'Oh, is that all? I thought it was
something important.'
His voice was low and full of sleep.
Maura stared at him in astonishment. Is that all? she
thought. That is the extent of his morality. "A
'I thought something had happened. Something terrible.'
He walked into his bedroom and pulled on a dressing gown.
She followed him and, as he turned to face her, tying the
belt, launched herself at him, hair and nails flying. Her right hand dug into his face and she felt the skin tear as she
scratched him deeply.
'You rotten bastard! You stinking lousy bastard!'
Within seconds he had grabbed her arms and thrown
her on the bed. He held her there, with her arms pinned
to her sides, while she fought him like a wildcat. Using
every ounce of her strength she tried to get away from
him, so she could carry on her fighting. She could hear
herself spitting obscenities at him, all the bad things that she had carefully locked away over the years bubbling out
of her body. Spewing out from between her lips. And still
Michael held her down on the bed, his face placid and
closed. Finally, after what seemed to Maura to be an
eternity but was only about five minutes, the tears came.
Hot gushing tears that soaked her face and hair in seconds
with their salty residue. She felt the fight leave her body as if it had been exorcised.
Then Michael had her in his arms. He was stroking her
hair and murmuring calming words and phrases. And
Maura was aware that she was letting him. She needed
him. His arms were circling her like steel bands and she
412
knew she would forgive him anything. Had, in fact,
already forgiven him for what he had done. It was herself,
Maura Ryan, she would never forgive.
Michael held her until she was calm again and her crying
just little hiccups. Then, pushing her away from him so he
could see into her face, he spoke.
'Listen, Maws. Those police were on the take. One was
a child molester. He hung around the train stations
looking for little rent boys. Now I'm queer, Maws. Or gay,
whatever you want to call it. But most gay men would no
more touch them little boys than they would cut their own
arms off. That's pervert country, Maws, where all the nice
Mr Respectables in their city suits and briefcases get a
quick blow job off some poor little bugger, before going
home to the wife and kids and their dinner.' His voice was
low and sure and hypnotic.
'As for the other one, he was more bent than a nine-bob
note. His wife suffered because he was a violent wife
beater. And when he began to take his temper out on the
kids, she went on the trot and divorced him. He still had
an injunction order out on him, to stop him going around
her house and belting her.' He watched her face for any
sign that she was weakening. He did not like this Maura. A
frightened, beaten Maura. She sniffed loudly and looked
into his eyes.
'What. . . what. . . about the heli-helicopter pilots?'
She still could not control the little heaving sobs.
'They were nothing to do with you, Maws. That was
down to me and the others. All you did was help us plan it.
Don't go to pieces on me, Maws. Not you. Think of them
as you would a scumbag like Danny Rubens. It's Us and
Them, girl, and up until now you've lived by that rule.
Don't go soft on me now. You've run this firm with me for
years. You've been the mainstay of it. But I could do
without you, Maws, if you really wanted out.'
His soft voice had an underlying threat in it that did not
go unnoticed. She swallowed deeply.
'I don't want out, Mickey.' And she didn't. It was all
that she knew.
He smiled. One of his best smiles that seemed to light
his face up from within.
'That's my girl.' He enfolded her in his arms again and
she relaxed against him. Michael was right. In all the years she had worked for him and with him it had never seemed
to bother her before. But deep, deep down in the bottom
of her being she knew that the killing had always bothered
her. She still woke up at nights with her body bathed in
sweat, thinking about Sammy Goldbaum. She opened the
.; little filing cabinet in her brain and once more filed all the bad things away. Until the next time she broke down.
Michael held her close and stared at the wall over her
shoulder. Of all the things he had expected to come from
the gold robbery, this was not one of them. He had only
seen her like this once before, after Benny's death, when
Sammy and Jonny had been put away. Well, he would do
now what he had done then. Keep her by him. Watch over
her. And hopefully snap her out of it. He kissed the top of her white-blonde head. He did love her. He loved her very
much.
The Gold Bullion Robbery hit every front page, as did the
killing of the policemen. Everyone was blamed from the
IRA to an Italian terrorist organisation, the latter in the Sun's leader, three days after the robbery. The Guardian called for a Government Inquiry into how such a top secret operation could have been leaked to a person or.
persons unknown.
The police kept a low profile. They had their suspicions
as usual, but no solid evidence of any kind. Chief Superintendent Liversey was given early retirement, as were two
prominent members of the board at the Bank of England.
If the police had held an Internal Inquiry they might have
been given to wonder how so many high-ranking officers
could afford holidays in the Seychelles and the Bahamas.
The robbery was finally knocked off the front pages by a
Member of Parliament. He had been secretly photographed
propositioning a prostitute who worked King's
Cross 'rough trade'. As usual the British public much
preferred to read about a good sex scandal rather than a
robbery with violence and murder. The Daily Mirror called for another Government Inquiry, this time into the sex lives of prominent Tory MPs. The particular MP
involved remained a favourite of Michael Ryan's for some
time.
Geoffrey Ryan wrote out all he had read about the
robbery in the green folder. He then placed it with the file he was gathering on Maura and Michael. One day, though he did not know when that day would be, he would use it against them.
414
October 1986.
Michael Ryan walked along the Embankment. He turned up his coat collar to try to warm himself. People were hurrying by. A man walked up behind him and fell into step with him.
'Mr Ryan, you're very late.' He had the soft Southern Irish drawl.
'I know. I was caught up in some last-minute work. You
know how it is.'
The man, although a full head shorter than Michael, was
very powerfully built. His small dark eyes continuously
scanned the crowds of people as if on the look out for
something or someone.
'We need to know if you can deliver, Mr Ryan. We have
been waiting this last two weeks for work That's why I
arranged this meet today. Every Garda from Belfast to Liverpool is looking for me. It's only for yourself that I came out of me hiding.'
Michael took a deep breath. He was as good looking as
ever and more than one woman gave him an admiring
glance as they passed.
'Look, Mr O'Loughlin, these things take time. Especially
now. As you just said yourself, everyone is looking
for you, and the people you are likely to be dealing with as well. Christ Almighty, I'm taking as big a chance as you
are! All I can tell you is what I have been telling you for days. I am doing the best that I can. Everything is shitting hot bricks at the moment.'
Patrick O'Loughlin's face hardened and he grabbed
Michael's arm.
'Look here, Ryan, you have more than enough police
and judges in your pocket. Rumour has it that you have
more than your fair share of politicians as well. All I want is a few passports, that's all. Jesus knows, we have
enough guns and Semtex to rearm the bloody British
Army. But it's not guns or Semtex we're after these days.
It's passports.'
'Give me another couple of days. I have a big job going
on in St Martin's Wharf. I have Germans, Micks, the lot
on it. I'll get you passports and perfect watertight covers.
Now let's leave it there, shall we? I'll be in touch in a few days. OK?'
'I don't seem to have much choice, do I?'
O'Loughlin nodded at Michael and, turning away from
him, disappeared back into the crowd. As he walked away
from Michael two men approached on either side of him.
Too late he realised their intent. As his hand went inside
his jacket for his weapon, he felt a gun being pushed into
his side.
'If you try anything, Pat, I'll drop you here in the
street.'
Then he was bundled into a waiting Daimler at the
kerbside. As he was relieved of his gun one of the men
spoke to him.
'You've been grassed, Pat, me old mate. Well and truly
grassed.'
Pat O'Loughlin sat back in the seat with a show of
careless indifference. Inside he was like a seething
cauldron. He stared out' at the passing buildings.
Michael Ryan had double crossed him. Only he could
have fingered him. Involuntarily he clenched his fists.
Michael Ryan would pay.
Maura got out of bed still half asleep. The low buzzing of
her alarm had woken her too early, or at least that was how it felt. She stood by her bed and stretched. Pulling on a
robe she went downstairs to her kitchen, picking up her
mail and the daily paper as she went through her hall.
She made a pot of tea and, lighting one of the sixty
cigarettes she would smoke that day, unfolded the paper.
Staring out at her from the front page of the Daily Mail was Patrick O'Loughlin. She studied the picture, stunned.
Then she looked at the headlines: IRA KILLER ARRESTED.
Forcing her mind to work, she read the story.
'Due to information received, Patrick O'Loughlin,
wanted for the bombing of a military base in Surrey where
four soldiers died, was picked up by the police as he
walked on the Embankment yesterday. He is also an
escaped prisoner. He was given four life sentences for
sectarian killings in Belfast. The man he was seen with
yesterday is still being sought by the police . . .'
Maura's mind was racing. O'Loughlin had met Mickey
yesterday and any policeman worth his salt would have
recognised Michael Ryan. The ones who were not in their
pay tried to make their careers by nicking him. She pulled
deeply on her cigarette, got up from her seat and went to
the telephone on the kitchen wall. She rang Michael's
number. It was answered almost immediately by his
boyfriend. '
'Get Mickey, now!'
'But he's in the shower . . .'
'Well, get him out then!' Her voice was harsh.
Richard Salter pursed his lips. He did not like Maura
and she did not like him. Placing the receiver on the small coffee table he went into the bathroom. Michael waved
him away, soap running down his body as he washed his
hair.
'Mickey love, your sister's on the phone. She says she
must speak to you now.'
Michael stood under the water for a couple of seconds
to get rid of most of the soap. Then pulling a towel from;
the rail he put it around his waist, knocking Richard flying as he hurried out of the bathroom. He picked up the . phone, dripping water everywhere.
'What is it, Maws?'
Richard watched as Michael's face changed from undisguised shock to seething rage. He ran back to the kitchen , to finish making the breakfast. Whatever that sister of his was saying had certainly given Michael the hump! Still, he
reflected as he scrambled eggs, at least he had not done
Ten minutes later, as he placed breakfast on the table, he! heard the front door slam. Michael had gone without even s kissing him goodbye! Richard sat at the table with his face set in a frown. Damn that bloody bitch! He looked at
Michael's fluffy scrambled eggs and, smiling, picked it up
and scraped it on to this own plate. Waste not, want not,
that was his motto.
Michael got into his car, his mind working overtime. As
he made his way through the busy morning traffic his rage
subsided. Maura had said that they had to think this thing
through calmly, and she was right. He had a niggling
suspicion in the back of his mind about who had grassed
him up. His face set into a hard frown. From what Maura
had told him the paper had more or less said that whoever
had been with O'Loughlin had been responsible for his
being picked up. Joe Public didn't know who that was but
the IRA did. And that could mean big trouble. He had
been dealing with them for years.
He carried on driving out of London towards Essex. He
could not understand why Maura lived in that great big
house out in the sticks. He pulled into her drive and got
out of the car. She already had the front door open. He
kissed her on the cheek. She put her finger to her lips and he followed her through the house to her kitchen, where
her daily woman, Mrs MacMullen, was pulling on her
coat.
'You'll be paid for today, Mrs Mac, but I need the house
to myself.'
'Oh, that's all right, lovie. I don't mind.' She smiled at
the pair of them and walked out of the kitchen. They both
stood silently until they heard the front door slam.
'She let herself in while I was in the shower. Sorry about
that. Coffee?'
Michael nodded.
'Look, Maws, whoever fingered me was very close to
home. The only ones who knew about the meet were me,
you and Geoffrey.'
Maura shrugged, not taking in what he was saying. 'It
could have been someone from O'Loughlin's end.'
Michael sat at the table. 'Why would one of the Micks
want to set me up?' .
She turned to face him. 'Well, it certainly wasn't me!'
Her voice was cold.
'I know that, Princess. That leaves only one other
person . . .'
When Maura realised what he was saying she began to
shake her head in disbelief.
'No. Not Geoffrey. For Christ's sake, Mickey, he's our
brother.' " .
420
She poured out the coffee with trembling hands.
'I think that Geoffrey has tucked me up, Maws. It's a
gut feeling. He ain't been right for a long time now.
Whoever grassed to the old Bill knew exactly where we
were meeting, everything. I only knew an hour beforehand
myself. You know I have the phones swept once a
month. They're cleaner than the Russian Embassy's. No,
whoever it was, was close to home. There's no doubt
about that.'
'It could have come from O'Loughlin's end.' Her voice
was sad. Even as she spoke she knew that Michael was
right. She sat down heavily, as if very weary. 'So, Mickey, what are you going to do?'
He sipped his tea. 'What do you think? I can't let this
go.'
Maura bit on her thumbnail. 'You don't know for sure
yet, Mickey.'
'Listen, Maws, there's a few things that have been
bothering me for a while. He asked to be put back into the
clubs, didn't he? He didn't want to work with William any
more. Right?'
Maura nodded her head slowly.
'Well, the takings were right down. I asked him about it
and he said that all the clubs were in the same boat. Then
I find out that the New Rockingham Club and the Pink
Pussycat have nearly doubled their takings. So I know that
he has his hand in the till. He was also seen with Old Billy Bootnose, a known nark. Richard saw them.'
Maura flapped her hand at him. 'I'm sorry, Mickey. For
all Geoff's faults he ain't a grass. As for your Richard . . .'
Michael bellowed at her, 'Oh, Maws, grow up for fuck's
sake! It's staring us in the face. Richard works in and
around London, picking up garbage for the gossip columns.
There ain't nothing that he don't know or can't
find out. You might not like him but that don't alter the
facts. Geoff is selling us out. Not just me. I bet you any
money you like, it's you as well.'
'So what's the next step?' Her voice was small.
'Let's just say he won't be going home to dinner with
that snot-nosed bird he's got himself
Maura gave Michael a level stare, then shook her head,
'No, Mickey. You can't! Not your own flesh and blood.
For me, Mickey. For Mum. Don't do it.'
Michael placed his hand over her smaller soft one and
squeezed it.
'I can't let this go, Maws.' His voice was quiet now.
Final. Maura looked at him wildly, trying to think of a
solution to the problem.
'Mickey, please. I'll sort this out.' She forced conviction into her voice. 'I'll get rid of him to another country. He can go to Spain, look after our holdings there. I'll sort it out with him, I swear. He'll toe the line. He must know
that you've tumbled him. I'll be responsible for him.'
'All right. All right.' Michael's voice was annoyed.
'You've got twenty-four hours to get rid of him. If he's
still around after that, then he's dead. You can tell him that from me. Now I have got to go and square it all with
Kelly. You can bet your life they all think it was me
fingered O'Loughlin.'
He stood up abruptly and Maura was reminded just
how big and dangerous he could be. He kissed her on the
forehead and left the house. She sat for a few minutes
letting all he had said sink in. Then, lighting another
cigarette, she went to the phone and called Geoffrey. Her
heart was so heavy, she felt physically sick at the turn of events. If Geoffrey refused to leave the country he was a
dead man.
Michael drove to Le Buxom. Although they had offices all
over London, the club would always be his favourite place.
He had built an empire from these tiny offices and always
felt safe here. He had never enjoyed working on the
building projects, always feeling more at home with the
seedier businesses. To all intents and purposes they were
legitimate, valid excuses for spending money. They paid
tax, they paid VAT. But deep in Michael's heart it would
always be the clubs, the betting offices and the robberies
that were his forte. Unlike Maura, he had never lost touch
with his poverty-stricken roots. He only had to close his;
eyes to see once more the cockroaches, the bare floors,
and his mother's ever-swollen belly.
Michael wanted money that would astound the senses,
money that would be a never ending pit to draw from. He
wanted to be like the educated villains he had met through
Templeton. He wanted to wear his riches like a cloak, he
wanted to be able to buy anyone and anything that he
desired. And with the gold heist and the docklands'
holdings he would be able to do that. He knew that they
had pulled off one of the biggest scams in the history of
English crime. That the police were no nearer solving the
case of the stolen gold than they were to solving the
murders of Jack the Ripper. He had been secretly pleased
with himself. Now Geoffrey was going to ruin that.
He had an insight into himself that would have amazed
and confused his sister. He knew in his heart that Geoffrey was his Achilles heel. If he ever got caught or called in for questioning, he knew that it would be because of Geoffrey.
None of the other boys would ever dream of trying to
implicate him or Maura. But Geoffrey would.
In 1980 Garry had been identified at the scene of a
robbery. He had appeared at the Old Bailey, accused of
armed robbery. Michael had retained the best barrister in
London, Douglas Denby QC. Garry had walked free, but
Michael knew that if he could have been persuaded to
chat to the police about his eldest brother, the boy would
never even have had to go to court. Yet Michael had not
been worried. He knew that even if Garry got fifteen
years, he still would not open his mouth to anyone. Not
so Geoffrey. Geoffrey reminded him of a snake, fooling its
quarry into a false sense of security, before pouncing on it and destroying it. He had a viper in his camp and his
sister could not see it. And the sad part was, Geoffrey
wanted to destroy her more than he did Michael.
He parked his car. After carefully scanning the road for
anything suspicious, he got out and went into the club.
Gerry Jackson was there.
'Hello, Mickey!' Michael heard the pleasure in his
friend's voice and was gratified. Gerry was wearing his
toupee. On the night of the club bombing his hair had
been burnt off and it had never grown back. During the
day Gerry wore his hairpiece. He had also lost an ear, and
part of his face and neck was still raised and mauve all these years later. Michael cared for Gerry as much as he did his
younger brothers.
'All right, Gerry? Anyone been asking for me?' He kept
his voice light.
Gerry shook his head.
'The Irish looks better. Is it a new one?' Gerry laughed
at the reference to his wig. He was very good-natured
despite his ferocious looks.
'Yeah. Cost me nearly two hundred quid. Real hair, see.'
He took the toupee off his head and handed it to Michael
who took it from him. He did not know what else to do.
'Yeah. It's lovely.' They both laughed together. For the
first time in years Michael remembered them as children,
playing together. Gerry's dad had been killed in the war
and his mum had worked the Bayswater Road. She had
brought up her six children on the proceeds of the game
and National Assistance. She lived out in Enfield now, a
respectable old lady who doted on her grandchildren.
Michael had a terrible feeling of foreboding as he stood
with Gerry. He threw the wig back to his friend and,
smiling, went up to the offices.
It took him a while to get through to Kelly. When he
finally did he was not surprised to find that he was treated with the utmost suspicion.
'Look, Kelly, I was set up. I take oath on that.'
Kelly's thick Northern Irish accent crackled over the
wire. 'Pat O'Loughlin was a bad man to cross, Ryan. Once
they ship him back to the Maze he'll be back in the driving seat. You're a dead man.'
Kelly's voice was matter-of-fact, as if he was discussing
the weather.
Michael was having difficulty in controlling his temper.
The famous temper that could instil fear into the most
hardened of criminals.
'I told you, it was a set up. What more do you want
from me? I've been associated with your bloody organisation for nearly thirty years, mate. I was giving contributions
before you was even born.' If he told them about Geoffrey they would never trust him again, and then his brother would be dead and his
mother would be heartbroken.
Kelly broke into his racing thoughts. '."
'We think, Mr Ryan, that you have done a deal. An hour
ago Sean Murphy and Liam McNamara were picked up at
another of your so-called safe houses. You're a dead man,
Ryan.'
The phone went dead. -' ,
Michael sat staring at it in amazement. Murphy and
426
McNamara! He put the phone back in its cradle. A cold
sweat had broken out on his forehead. He got up from his
chair and went to the drinks cabinet in the corner of the
room. He poured himself a large brandy and drank it
straight back. Geoffrey had done him up like a kipper.
Well, he would wipe Geoffrey Ryan off the face of the
earth. Sod Maura, and sod his bloody mother! He would
get the word out that Geoffrey had grassed the Irishman
up. That way, if the IRA got to him first, all well and good.
If not, then Michael himself would blast the bastard
through his guts. He could do without the Irish anyway.
He phoned Maura's house. He had to let her know what
was going on.
Templeton answered the phone.
'Willy?'
'Why, hello, Michael.' His voice was warm.
'Is Maws there?'
'No. She's gone to your mother's to see Geoffrey. Can I
help? I said I would man the phones for her. I wanted to
take her out to lunch, but you know your sister. Business
first!' His tone was jocular and friendly.
Michael forced himself to laugh.
'If she comes back before I see her, will you give her a
message for me? Tell her that I must, absolutely must, get
rid of the employee we were discussing. Tell her that Kelly insisted. Got that?'
'Yes. Don't worry, I've written it down.'
'See you later then, Willy.'
"Bye, Mickey.'
So Maura had swallowed her pride and gone to their
mother's house. Obviously that was where she'd tracked
the little bastard down to. He must think he was safe
there. The slag!
Michael pulled on his coat and left the club. It was now
early afternoon and the traffic was thick. He finally drove into Lancaster Road, seething with anger. Geoffrey had
tucked him up and Geoffrey would pay. He would try to
get his brother to leave his mother's house, but if he
wouldn't then he would drag the bastard out if need be.
Fuck his mother! Fuck the lot of them! He wasn't going
under for the toe rag. In his temper Michael did not notice the black Granada Scorpio that was parked opposite.
Maura had finally located Geoffrey at their mother's
house. Garry had answered the telephone and she had told
him not to say she had called. She had a feeling that if
Geoffrey knew, he would try and get away. She had to see
him before Michael did. She told Garry to keep him there
until she arrived. She had parked her car in Bletchedon
Street and walked around to her mother's house, in case
Geoffrey had been scanning the road from the window. As
she had walked up the familiar steps her heart had been
hammering dangerously. She had not been to this house in
over ten years. Not since the fight after Benny had been
murdered. She shuddered. She did not want to see her
mother and open all the old wounds, but she had to. She
only hoped Geoffrey would realise that she was trying to
help him.
She plucked up her courage and knocked on the door.
She could hear the dull taps of her mother's shoes across
the linoleum and guessed that she had come from the
kitchen. The door opened and the two women came face
to face for the first time in eleven years.
Maura was shocked at the sight before her. Her mother
was nothing more than a fat little old lady Her face was
wrinkled up like a walnut and her hair, still in the scraped bun of old, was completely grey. Only the eyes were as she
remembered them, alive with malice, and triumph.
Maura realised her mother thought that she had come
to beg some kind of forgiveness. Well, that was all right
with her. She would play any kind of game she had to
today. She knew, though, that seeing her mother meant
nothing to her now.
'Hello, Mum.' She was amazed to find that her voice
was normal.
Sarah's eyes swept her from head to foot. Maura was
wearing a black trouser suit with a white cashmere
jumper underneath. She could practically hear her mother
counting up the cost in her head.
'What do you want?' Sarah's voice was flat. It was
obvious to Maura that she was going to make it as hard as
possible for her.
Maura walked into the house without being asked. She
had to push past her mother, and was made aware of just
how tiny she was.
'Is our Geoffrey here?'
As Maura spoke she walked through to the kitchen.
Sarah followed her. Her mettle was up but she kept silent.
There was something funny going on here. Geoffrey was
like a scalded cat. Every time the phone rang or someone
knocked, he nearly had a seizure. Well, she had a feeling
that her daughter held the key to a mystery and for that
reason, and that reason only, would stomach her presence
in her house.
Maura entered the kitchen. Geoffrey and Garry were
sitting at the kitchen table. Garry smiled at her, but
Geoffrey looked as if he had been struck by a thunderbolt.
'Hello, Geoffrey.' She looked straight at him. The
kitchen looked and felt familiar. It had not changed one
iota in the last ten years.
'Can I speak to you? Alone, please.'
She saw Geoffrey's eyes go to his mother who was
standing behind her. Maura nodded at Garry. Getting up
from the table, he went to where his mother was standing.
'Come on, Muwer. Let's leave the lovebirds alone for
minute.'
Sarah pushed at him roughly. 'Get your bleeding hands
off me! What's going on here?'
Maura turned to her mother and, grabbing her shoulders, bundled her none too gently out of the kitchen door.
'Let go of me, you bloody lanky bitch!'
'Garry, take her into the front room. Her statues arel
probably lonely.' Maura's voice was sarcastic. She looked
closely into her mother's face. 'Keep your nose out, Mum.
It doesn't concern you.'
She shut the kitchen door firmly, blocking out her
mother's raised voice. She could hear Garry trying to
pacify her. Geoffrey was watching her warily. Maura could
feel the fear emanating from him.
'Michael knows everything.'
Geoffrey dropped his gaze. m
'Let's face it, Geoff, it wouldn't take long to sniff out
something so putrid, would it? I've come to help you,
though looking at you, I don't know why I bothered.
You've got twenty-four hours to get out of the country.'
Geoffrey's head shot up. There was a peculiar light in
his eyes, as scared as he was.
'I ain't going nowhere. You don't scare me.'
Maura laughed out loud. 'Oh, but I do. I scare you
shitless, and so does Michael. And the mood I left him in,
he'd scare the devil.'
As she spoke, she heard four loud bangs, then Geoffrey
began to laugh hysterically. Michael screeched to a halt outside his mother's house.
Fiona Dalgleesh was walking her young son to the shops
and was startled by the squealing of wheels. She grabbed
her son's hand. Bloody lunatic drivers! She saw a large,
good-looking man get out of the offending car. It was
about fifteen feet away. Then, in the weak October sunshine, she saw a distinct gleam. She looked across the road
to where a black car was parked and opened her eyes wide
with shock. A man was sitting in the passenger seat of the
car, and he had a gun! Without thinking she threw her son
to the pavement and lay on top of him. A piercing cry
escaped from her lips.
Michael got out of the car still seething with rage. He
heard the girl scream and looked in her direction. He saw
her throw herself on top of a little boy. It was the last thing he was to see. A moment later a bullet entered the side of
his head and splattered his brains all over the pavement.
The girl saw him crumple and fall, a bewildered
expression on his face. The man with the gun then got
out of his car and shot the victim three more times. Even
in her shock and fear, Fiona Dalgleesh knew that those
shots were unnecessary. The big, good-looking man was
already dead.
As the car drove away, the road became once more quiet
and residential. Only Michael's blood, running along the
pavement in crimson rivulets, showed that anything was
wrong. When Maura and Garry heard the shots they both rushed from the house. Sarah followed them. Geoffrey stayed in
the kitchen alone.
Suddenly the street was full of people, emerging from all
the houses like ghouls. Maura ran down the steps to the
pavement. She raised Michael's head and cradled it in her
arms, too shocked even to cry.
Geoffrey, her mother, her brothers . . . everything was
430
wiped from her mind. When the police and ambulance
arrived they had forcibly to pull Maura from her brother's
body. Her white cashmere jumper was stained with blood
and particles of brain and skull. Garry stood beside her,
silent and shocked. Sarah had taken one look at her eldest
son lying sprawled across her daughter's lap and walked
back into her house. She felt nothing.
: ; '
Maura and Garry were taken to hospital suffering from
shock. Maura had to be sedated. The next morning she!
left the hospital with William Templeton. The newspapers
were in attendance. All the nationals had pictures of Maura with Templeton's arms around her. She was aware, even in
her grief, that he had burnt his boats for her and she was grateful to him. He took her to her house and kept the I world away from her.
She refused to speak to anyone, not even Carla or Marge; or her brothers. Roy took over the reins of the business, and though nothing was ever said, all the brothers wondered what had happened with Geoffrey and why, as the
eldest after Michael, he had not taken over the businesses
himself.
Maura had three separate interviews with the police. She
told each of them the same thing. She had no idea who had been behind her brother's murder.
But she did know and she concentrated all her energy
into that fact. After two weeks of seclusion Maura felt
ready to face the world again. She emerged from her grief,
tougher and harder than ever before. She had hatred inside
her now, a great big sour-smelling hatred. And she was
going to use it to her advantage. Michael was dead, but
the Ryans would go on. She owed him that much.
Maura walked into the club at nine-thirty, exactly fourteen days after Michael was murdered. Gerry Jackson went to
her and put his hand on her shoulder gently.
'If you need me, Maura, just call.'
She nodded at him and walked up the stairs into the
offices. The music in the club was loud and harsh. She
could hear the chatter of the customers and the clink of
glasses above the din.
Roy was obviously shocked to see her.
'Maws?'
'I had to get back into the world, mate. Thanks for
taking over everything. I promise you won't lose by it.'
He got up from the desk, embarrassed to be caught
sitting in what had been Michael's seat.
Maura waved him back. 'You don't have to move, Roy.'
He sat down again. He was shocked at the change in
her. She looked old. The years had piled on her in the
short time since Mickey's death. She also had a steely glint in her eyes that had not been there before. If he did not
know better he would think it was Michael come back in
female form.
'I've kept everything going here as best I can, like. I
know that's what Mickey would have wanted.'
Maura could hear the sadness and loss in his voice.
432
Going to where he sat, she slipped her arms around his
neck.
'I miss him, Roy. It's like a physical pain at times. As if a crucial part of me is missing.'
'I know, Maws. I know.' He held her hands in his own
surprised at the gentleness in her. 'We'll find out who set him up, Maws. Don't you worry, girl.'
She sighed. She knew exactly who had set him up. She
straightened up, running her hands through her hair.
'What's been happening here?'
'Oh, nothing for you to worry about, Maws.' Although she could not see Roy's face, she knew that something was up by the sound of his voice. She walked around to face
him and sat opposite him on the chair by the desk.
'What's up?' Her voice was hard.
'Look, I'll tell you about it another time. You're in no
fit state . . .'
'Cut the crap, Roy. I'm a big girl now, in case you
haven't noticed. I also run this firm. I have done for nearly twenty years.' Her voice softened at the look on his face.
'You have no need to try to protect me, Roy. I can do that
myself.'
'We've had aggro out on the streets. Every firm with
dreams of the big time has been showing its face.'
Maura sighed heavily.
'I should have guessed that the tomb robbers would be
out in force.'
'Look, Maws, it's nothing I can't handle.'
She picked up the pack of Benson and Hedges from the
desk and lit one.
'I want to know what's been going on, and I want to
know NOW!'
Roy just sat staring at her. Maura knew that he wanted
to help her, that he wanted to do what Michael would
have done. But he would never be Michael in a million
years. She was the nearest thing to Michael Ryan. In fact,
she felt as if he had entered her body and was looking out
of her eyes, so strongly did she feel his presence at this
moment.
'Look, Roy, I need to get back to normal. I know you
all loved him, but me and Mickey ... it was special.' Her
voice was low and charged with emotion.
Roy felt choked. He looked into her ravaged face, so
skilfully made up, and knew that all that she said was true.
Maura and Michael had been closer than any two people
he had ever known. He spoke and his words had the effect
of a bomb blast on her, so great was her rage when she
heard them.
'A black crew have been muscling in on the hot dogs.
Yardies. They swooped on three prime sites the night
Mickey died.'
Maura's voice when she finally spoke was dripping with
malevolence.
'Yardies? YARDIES? I ain't trashed at the Scotland Yardies
so a bunch of bloody coons won't give me any grief. I'll
sort the buggers out myself. Get Gerry from downstairs
and get on the phone to the other boys. We're going to
have a sort out on the street. Starting with the bloody
"macaroons". Now tell me everything that's been going
on since Mickey died.'
Roy began to speak, glad in his heart that Maura had
come to take over the reins. He had not done,a very
good job, he knew. He had wanted to but had no idea
how everything was run. Maura, Mickey and Geoffrey
had always been the thinkers of the family. The rest of
the boys had been the heavies. He had been impressed
with Maura's acumen in the past, now he was impressed
by her dogged determination to sort out all the trouble
that Michael's passing had created.
Barrington Dennison was thirty years old. He stood five
foot ten and, as a body builder, his shoulders and arms
were huge. His biceps measured over twenty-eight inches.
Barrington Dennison was proud of his physique and proud
to be black. His hair, which was grown into long, fat,
spiralling dreadlocks, was tied in a pony tail with a piece of
spearmint green leather. The leather was the same shade at
his tracksuit.
He walked with a strutting cockiness away from his
BMW car. In Brixton, where he was born, the letters stood'
for 'Black Man's Wheels'. His current girlfriend, an
eighteen-year-old blonde, was sitting in the car, smoking a
joint. She was waiting for Barrington to conclude
business.
Barrington was a Yardie. He told everyone who asked
that he was one. He loved it. Within hours of the news of
Michael Ryan's death hitting the streets, he had taken over three sites that he had been after for a long time, believing, as many people did, that with Michael's death the streets;
were once more open territory. He also dealt in grass and
ecstasy. And lately crack.
He looked at his watch, a brand new Rolex. It was just
on eleven-fifteen and time for a pull. A 'pull' was the term used for clearing the tills on the pitches. This was done
every few hours. That way, if the pitch was robbed,
whoever did it would not get too big a 'wallet'.
He was unaware as he walked towards the busy pitch
that he was being watched.
Maura called to him: 'Are you Barrington Dennison?'
Her voice was friendly and soft.
Barrington glanced in the direction of the voice and saw
a good-looking white woman standing by a Mercedes
Sports. He smiled at her and was pleased to see her smiling back. 'Yo, Momma. You wantin' me, baby?'
He walked over to her, his strut even more emphasised
as he realised that all the people on the hot dog pitch were watching him. A rich white bitch could only do his street
credibility good. He stood in front of her, pleased as
punch that he was in full view of the people on his pitch.
He watched her lick her lips.
He grinned at her, showing perfect white teeth.
I have something for you, Barrington.' Her voice was
caressing.
She was opening her bag, a large leather shoulderbag.
'Do I know you? You sure look familiar.' He stopped
talking as he saw her take a length of lead piping from the enormous white leather bag. He heard her laugh.
'I'm Maura Ryan, you big, fat, bastard.'
As his mind registered her words he was held from
behind. He could feel himself being dragged on to the
dirty pavement, and for a second wondered if he could still be seen. Then he was being held by two large white men,
and suddenly he was frightened. It had all happened too
fast for his brain to react. They had got him exactly where they wanted him. He could have wept.
He saw Maura Ryan raise the piping over her head and
bring it down with considerable force on his knees. The
piping was twelve inches long and three inches thick. It
shattered his kneecaps. He screamed. Then he felt the
piping come down again and shrieked again. White hot
pain was flashing behind his eyes, coming in sickening
waves. He felt the arms that held him loosen their grip.
Then Maura was kneeling beside him. She pulled his head UP by its dreadlocks and stared into his face.
'Don't ever get ambitions again, prick. Do you hear me?
Next time I'll leave you in the same state I left Danny
436
Rubens in. Michael Ryan is dead, but I am alive and
kicking and don't you ever forget that. You pass the
message on to your Yardie friends.'
Harrington nodded through his agony.
Maura and the men stood up and he watched through a
haze of pain as they approached the pitch. It was deserted. - The two young black boys working it had run off. They-; had no intentions of getting involved with that type of
violence. Maura and Roy secured it and left.
As Maura went to her Mercedes she passed Harrington;
Dennison again. She looked at his twisted legs and
pain-ravaged face, and felt herself begin to buzz with'
excitement. She had handled that exactly as Michael
would have done. He would be proud of her!
When they arrived at the other pitches, they were?
already deserted. Bad news travels fast on the streets.
Barrington's girlfriend was so stoned she did not even realise that anything out of the ordinary had happened until the ambulance arrived. She had been too busy; listening to Bob Marley singing 'Redemption Song'.
Back at the club, Maura and the boys discussed the
measures they would have to take to re-establish their
superiority in London. Within a week it was done. Maura
had proved herself a shrewd woman and slipped on
Michael's mantle easily. When she was sure she was firmly
entrenched, she turned her attention to the Irish problem
and her brother Geoffrey.
"
Kelly was waiting for Maura in a small bedsit in Kilburn.
The owner of the house was a sympathiser. There were
many of them in London.
Kelly heard a car drive into the deserted street and
glanced at his watch. It was just after two-fifteen. This
438
must be Maura Ryan. He got up from his seat and went to
the window. Pulling back a grubby net curtain, he watched
her as she locked up her car and walked into the house.
The front door was already open. He could hear her soft
steps on the stairs.
He carried on looking out of the window to make
certain there was no one else about. He was still not sure
exactly what kind of meet this was going to be. The death of Michael Ryan must have hit her badly; he knew himself how close they had been. For his own part, Kelly had
always liked and respected Maura, and enjoyed doing
business with her. In the IRA there was no discrimination;
women were blooded along with the men. He had met
women in the cause who were much, much harder and
shrewder than many of the men. He knew women who
would not think twice about blowing up a school bus or
shooting a pregnant woman, something that most of the
so-called hard men would baulk at. But above everything
else he trusted Maura Ryan, and it was for that reason, and that reason only, that he had agreed to meet her tonight.
He turned from the window as she tapped lightly on the
door of the room, and let her in.
'Hello, Kelly.' Her voice was neutral.
'Maura. Please take a seat.'
As always, he was courteous. It came naturally to him
where women were concerned.
Maura sat on the tiny PVC sofa and took the glass of
Bushmills that Kelly offered her. He sat opposite her and
smiled. He was quick to notice in the light of the naked
light bulb that she smiled with her mouth but not her eyes. She was obviously still grieving. As she opened her black bag to get her cigarettes, Kelly felt a small twinge of uneasiness. Maura sensed it.
'Don't worry, Kelly, this isn't revenge time. I know
exactly what happened and I want to explain it to you.'
He picked up a book of matches from the small coffee table between them and lit her cigarette for her.
'Go ahead. I'm listening.'
Maura pulled on the cigarette and blew the smoke out
through her nose.
Kelly grimaced. He could stomach many things from
women, but smoking was not one of them.
Maura breathed in deeply. When she spoke her words : -were hesitant and sad.
'It wasn't Mickey who grassed up O'Loughlin and the
others.'
'Well, who was it then?' His voice was brisk.
Maura took a gulp of the Bushmills, its peaty tang
giving her courage.
'It was my brother Geoffrey.'
Kelly digested this bit of information.
'Mickey was good to you over the years.' Her voice was
full of the pain of losing him.
'Listen, Maura.' Kelly's voice was gentle. 'There was one
thing Michael could never understand. In London, the
Ryans are big. You own the majority of the police force.
You run the main clubs. Your businesses include gambling,
drinking, sex, all the things that are big money spinners.
You're also involved in the building and construction
games. But, you see, to us and the likes of us, you're small fry really. We're an international organisation, known and
feared all over the world. We're given money by Gadaffi,
Baader Meinhof, the PLO. The list is endless. All we ever gave you was our trust. And that trust was broken.'
Maura was angry. 'For God's sake, Kelly, why do you
think that I'm here tonight? I want to clear Michael's
name. He'd been paying into your cause since 1960. He
helped you over the years more than he had to. He hid
440
people. Got arms, Semtex. He gathered information on
Members of Parliament and members of the armed forces.
People whom you then blew up and killed or maimed.'
Kelly interrupted her.
'I'm not disputing all that. Michael was a good business
asset over the years. Holy Jesus, we never wanted to harm
him but it was the logical step to take after what happened.
'What exactly do you want here tonight? Tell me that,
Maura. Michael's death is done, over with. I'm sorry we
got the wrong man though that can soon be remedied.
But I think that you came here tonight to ask for
something. Not just to tell me that your brother Geoffrey
is for the chop.'
'What I want is us all back on our old footing.'
Kelly laughed. Really laughed.
'Sure, you're a funny lass. Three of our best men are on
their way to the Maze and you want us to forget all about
it! Are you demented, woman?' He laughed again, wiping
his eyes with the back of his hand.
Maura lit another cigarette from the butt of the previous
one. She looked solemn and annoyed.
'I'm glad to think that you had such a high regard for
Michael.' Her voice dripped sarcasm. 'That he was so
indispensable to you. But you see, Kelly, Michael meant
everything to me. Everything. His death was not a
"logical step" in my eyes. It was a brutal killing that was unnecessary. If you had waited and let us inform you of
the circumstances, it could have been avoided.'
Kelly was sorry for his laughter. In his first'flush of
joviality he had forgotten that he was talking about this
woman's kin. In the IRA you had no allegiance to family
or friends. Only to the cause.
'I'm sorry. Sorry to the heart for laughing. But you do
understand what I was saying?' He looked into her sad
white face and was sad himself. There were many women
like her who had lost their loved ones to the cause.
Husbands and sons who would never be coming home
again, or were rotting in the bloody Maze. He tried again.
'You realise that Geoffrey is a dead man now, don't
you?'
She nodded.
'Look, Maura, I'll tell you what I'll try to do, but I can't promise anything. I'll talk to a few people for you . ..
explain the situation like . . . put them straight. The fact that you sacrificed Geoffrey should tell them that you're
trying to re-establish your old footing. But that's all I can do. I can't personally guarantee anything. You must
understand that.'
It was all she had expected. She had at least seen the
back of Geoffrey. That was her main reason for coming
here. She smiled at Kelly wistfully.
'Well, I for one won't hold a grudge. I remember when
my brother Benny was murdered, Michael said it was an
occupational hazard. He said it could have been any one of
us, and he was right. It's the price we pay for the life we lead, I suppose.'
'It's the same with us, Maura. Sure, isn't that fecking
Geoffrey the foolish one? Biting the hand that feeds him.
Well, in a family the size of yours, there has to be one bad
apple. It's the law of averages.' ,
Maura shrugged.
'I suppose so. Still, he won't be around much longer.'
Kelly smiled and poured them both out another drink.
'I can guarantee that. Now drink up. You look as if you
need it.'
Michael's body was being lowered into the ground. It was
a freezing cold day. A fine rain had been falling all
morning and overhead dark clouds were gathering for the
storm that would erupt later in the afternoon. Maura was
not crying. Her eyes scanned the crowd of people; over a
hundred had turned out for Michael's funeral. She noticed
that the hostesses were out in force. Some of them had
stopped working over twenty years previously but stood
now with their younger counterparts, in their smart coats
and brightly made-up faces, looking genuinely sad. It
pleased Maura to see them there. They remembered the
strong, vibrant Michael of his youth.
Her eyes wandered to Geoffrey who was standing to the
right of the grave. Maura could see he was crying, tears
streaming down his face. He stood beside their mother,
who was stony-faced and dry-eyed. Maura felt an urge to
walk around the open grave and throw him in on top of
the brother he had helped to murder. If it had not been for him, no one need be here today. Michael would be in his office as he always was, bright and early, no matter
what time he had got to bed the night before. She only
hoped that wherever Michael was he would see Geoffrey's
death. She smiled to herself. It was to be the typical IRA.
442
assassination for informers. Kneecapped first and then a
single shot to the back of the head. Ten days after the
funeral, Kelly had said.
Geoffrey raised his gaze from his brother's coffin and
locked eyes with his sister. He thought for one moment
that she was smiling at him and smiled back at her
tremulously. Then, when she dropped her eyes, he realised
that the breach with Maura would never be healed.
Geoffrey knew that he had opened up a can of worms that
was going to be the finish of him. All his years of planning'
and watching and listening had been to no avail. When he
had set the ball rolling for Michael's death he had regretted it almost immediately. He would give his own life now to have him back.
Maura stared into the gaping hole. Michael was down
there in a wooden box and he would never be coming!
home. She hated Geoffrey with a vengeance now. If she'
had let Michael finish him when he had wanted to, maybe
it could all have been avoided. If someone had told her a
month ago that she would be the instigator of one of her
own brothers' deaths, she would have protested vehemently. Now she could not wait for it to happen.
She saw that people were watching Geoffrey pityingly as
he cried and that only made her anger more intense. She
was disgusted. She turned her face away and buried it in
William Templeton's coat. He held her tightly to him,
murmuring into her hair.
'It's all right. Everything will be all right.'
Sarah Ryan was watching her daughter. She noticed that
Carla was as usual close by her. Sarah herself had Geoffrey on the left of her and her grandson Benny on her right.
She reached out her arm and placed it across her grandson's shoulders. He shrugged her off. At almost eleven
years of age he thought that he was too old to be cuddled,
thought that he was a man. He wished he had been
allowed to stand with his father and his uncles. He had
loved his Uncle Michael, and although he did not know it,
was the double of him as a child. He had the same
features, expressions, everything. He also had the same
quirk to his nature that Michael had had. Sarah and Janine
both doted on him and did not realise that he was turning
into a greater misogynist by the day.
Sarah concentrated on her only daughter. She wished
that she was burying her today. As bad as Michael had
been she had preferred him to her daughter. In Sarah's
mind men were a violent breed. It was a fact of life. While women should be strong but never violent.
She'd watched women brawling in the street - 'old
shawlies' as the olden day Irish women had been called.
Her own mother had been known as the most argumentative
woman in Shepherd's Bush. But Sarah could never
condone her daughter's way of life. She could not see what
should have been staring her in the face: that Michael and
Maura were as one, twins born years apart. She could not
see that her daughter had loved her brother wholly and
desperately. She could not see that Maura had been slowly
dying inside since she was sixteen and had experienced the
pain of rejection by Terry Petherick and the agony of
having her baby scraped from her body. That all the pain
and hurt had had to come out at some time. In some way
Sarah herself had pushed the memory of the abortion into
the back of her mind. If she ever did think about it she
soothed her own guilt by telling herself that a child from
her daughter's body should never have been allowed to
walk the earth.
Terry Petherick and two other policemen were sitting in
an unmarked car by the funeral cortege, jotting down the
444
names and car numbers of everyone at the funeral that
they recognised or were unsure of. From another car a
police photographer was taking photos. In spite of everything, all the policemen were impressed by the number of
influential people who had turned up to pay their last
respects. It showed them also that Michael Ryan had had a
lot of pull to get such a turn out.
The Shakespeare Set, also known as the Dear and
Dahling Brigade, were all there: so-called respectable
actors and actresses who lived on the fringes of the
London gangster scene. There was the usual smattering of
over-the-hill models, hoping to get their faces into the
nationals once more and then sell their 'my nights of love
with gangland murderer' story to the News of the World. Even though Michael Ryan was the best-known shirtlifter in the South East! Even after his death the sycophants and
hangers-on were still after a little bit of reflected glory.
Terry Petherick smiled to himself. He had noticed a few
back-benchers looking solemn and nervous. I wonder how much they owe? he thought to himself, and carried on scanning the mourners. A good few boxers and sports
promoters were there along with some big name gangsters
from Liverpool and Birmingham. They had travelled down
to show their faces and offer their condolences, and also to see how the land lay. Whether there would be an opening
for them now. See if the Ryan family was as strong as
before. Terry counted three QCs and two judges, one of
whom had been drummed out of his profession because of
a penchant for rent boys and child pornography. Quite a
little cache, he mused. There were the usual blaggers,
mainly small-time, in catalogue suits and nervous twitches, who would relive Michael's funeral for years as the highlight of their criminal career. Give them a bit of pull if they
ever got banged up again. .
"I
446
Then Terry saw that the funeral was now over and
people were making their way to their cars. That's when
he saw Maura. He felt the familiar tightening in his guts
that she caused whenever he laid eyes on her. She was as
lovely as ever and he relived in his mind the last night
they had spent together. He was still unmarried, and it
was because of this tall, stately, and utterly unscrupulous woman. He wound down the window of the car and the
damp cold whipped at his face. He knew that she had
seen him.
Maura was walking towards her funeral car when she
saw the face of the man she had alternately loved and
hated watching her. William had his arm round her waist
and felt her body stiffen. He held her tighter but she
pulled away from him and walked to Terry's car.
'Bloody hell! They won't do nothing to us, will they?'
Terry could have laughed at the fear in the young PC's
voice, but was too busy watching Maura approach him.
She spoke and her husky voice sent his pulses racing.
'Hello, Terry. It's been a long time.'
'Hello, Maura. Too long.' They stared at each other as if
devouring one another with their eyes. The policemen and
William Templeton were well aware of the spark that was
flaring between them.
'I'm sorry about your brother's death.'
As Terry spoke, Garry and Leslie came over to the car,
accompanied by a drunken Lee. They were all incensed at
the police and press being there. Outside the graveyard
was a film crew who were recording all the famous people
who had turned up. Michael dead was as newsworthy as he
had been alive.
Garry leaned in at Terry's open window.
'Why don't you fuck off? Mickey's dead and you lot still
won't leave him alone.'
Leslie and Lee stood aggressively behind him. The
atmosphere was charged with malice.
'Leave it, Garry!' Maura's voice was clipped and as hard
as steel.
He faced her angrily Jg
'They're plainclothes filth, Maws.'
'Just shut it. I won't have any aggravation today. Now1 get moving. People are beginning to stare at us.'
Her voice dripped ice and Garry, Leslie and Lee were
nonplussed for a moment. Lee, who was well away, did not
grasp the warning in her voice. He lurched towards the
car, belching loudly.
'You wankers!'
Maura grabbed his arm. Her hand was like a steel band
She spoke through gritted teeth. .:.(
'Garry, you'd better take him away from me before I get
really annoyed.' She shoved Lee towards Garry and Leslie.
'I'll deal with you lot later. Now, take him and get out of my sight.'
The two men took Lee away from the car hurriedly.
Maura was watching the people around her. She knew that
the confrontation had not gone unnoticed. She nodded
her head to Terry and walked to her own car. She was
fuming inside at Lee and Garry but her own brain was
telling her that she had been a fool to stop and talk to
Terry in the first place. But she could not help herself.
Seeing him sitting there had brought it all back, the
longing and the wanting that she had suppressed for nearly
all her adult life.
Sarah had witnessed Maura's talk with the police and
had taken a long hard look at Terry Petherick.
He sat in the car watching Maura walk away from him
The other two policemen were terrified.
'I thought we was all gonners there, sir.'
Terry dragged his eyes from Maura's retreating back and
looked at the younger man.
'No. You were quite safe, son. Even the Ryans wouldn't
murder in broad daylight.'
His friend, DS Cranmer, walked over from the other
police car. Opening the back door of Terry's Sierra, he got inside. 'I see your old bird stopped for a chat then?'
Terry laughed. 'Get stuffed, Cranmer.'
As Cranmer chatted on Terry was wondering if he
would ever live it down. It was the first time any new
officer was told when he came to Vine Street. And the
funny thing was, nearly all of them were impressed by it.'
He shook his head at the double standards in his world.
Maura reached her waiting car amid condolences and
offers of help for the future. She noticed that William had disappeared somewhere in the crowd. When she finally
stepped into her car Roy was waiting inside for her as she
had asked him. She settled herself and tapped on the glass
screen that separated them from the driver.
He spoke to her over a microphone.
'Yes, madam.'
'Could you please take me to the Bramley Arms? We will
not be going back to the house just yet.'
The driver nodded and started up the limousine, leaving
St Mary's RC cemetery behind. When they arrived at the
Bramley Arms a few minutes later they got out of the car
and went straight into the back bar.
On the table was a bottle of Remy Martin and two
glasses. Maura slipped off her black coat and gloves.
Sitting at the table, she poured out two stiff drinks.
Roy sat beside her. He accepted the proffered drink and
waited for her to speak.
Maura gulped at the brandy. Getting out her ever-present
cigarettes she lit one, drawing the smoke deep into her
lungs. Roy noticed that her hands were trembling.
'Did you notice Anthony's and Benny's graves? They
look tatty. Remind me to get on to the cemetery officials.'
Roy nodded at her. He could see that she was wound up '
to fever pitch. M
Maura looked into Roy's open face. She realised how
like Michael he looked. How all the boys looked likei
Michael. She felt an urge to cry. Really cry. She gulped at her drink again. Seeing Terry had reopened old wounds.!
'I wanted to talk to you, Roy, as the next in line in age.':
He looked shocked. 'What about our Geoff?' ',
Maura took a deep breath and slowly and precisely told5 Roy everything, glad of something to take her mind off Terry Petherick. Glad to be able to share her problem with
someone ... to be planning ahead. When she finished
telling him he was white-faced and tight-lipped.
'He tucked Mickey up? That's what you're telling me,!
ain't it?'
Maura nodded.
'I'll kill him, Maws! I'll kill the bastard!' He raised
himself out of his seat as if he was going to do it
immediately. Maura grabbed his arm.
'Don't worry. As I told you just now Kelly's going to
sort it out. He owes Michael that much.'
Roy sat back in his seat and wiped'his hand over his face.
'I knew that something wasn't right, Maws, but I could
never find out what it was. To think that Geoffrey's been
waiting and planning this for years. The dirty sod!'
'Well, the only people who know about it, Roy, are you
and me. And it's got to stay that way. Especially now with
Mickey dying. We're going to be in the frontline.'
Roy nodded slowly.
'Why did you never tell me this before?'
450
Maura sighed heavily. 'When Mickey was alive we
thought we had it all under control. Geoff was working for
us. The friction that had occurred over the years seemed to have died down. Oh, there's lots of reasons. I never
wanted Geoffrey dead. Never. Not until Michael was
murdered. Christ, I even tried to save him!' Her voice
broke.
Roy poured out another stiff brandy and put the glass
into her hands. She took a large swallow to steady her
nerves.
'So what's going to happen with the businesses now?'
'Firstly I'm going to hand over the docklands to Willy
and the accountants. Willy's a partner and he's trustworthy.
Then I'm going to extend all our other operations. I'm
going to try to get rid of the gold bullion as well. Michael and I had a contact in the Channel Islands. He can offload
the majority of it. But I'll need a number two, Roy, and
that's why I am asking you. What do you say?'
'You know the answer to that, Maws.' He took her hand
gently in his. 'I'll do whatever you say. I know you're the brainy one. Janine's always calling me a thicko.' He
grinned.
Maura was annoyed.
'Listen, Roy, you might not have a degree but you're
cute enough. Janine should watch her trap. She's got too
bloody much of it.'
'Don't worry, Maws. She don't get it all her own way.
She just thinks she does.' He raised his thick black
eyebrows and smiled. Maura found herself smiling with
him.
Roy picked up his glass. 'Well then, girl. Here's to us!'
'To the Ryans!'
They both drank deeply, then Maura stood up unsteadily.
'We'd better get to the wake. Good grief, I'm pissed!'
'On a day like today, Maws, it's the only way to be.'
They laughed softly together. Except Maura's laughter
was tinged with hysteria.
Back at Michael's flat the atmosphere was tense. Michael's
boyfriend Richard was red-eyed and nervous. He had
taken the death badly. About forty people had been invited
back to the flat, mostly family and close friends. When
Maura and Roy arrived, the first person she saw was Gerry
Jackson. She went to him, the brandy making her more
open than she usually was.
'You'll miss him more than anyone, Gerry. You went
back a long time.'
He nodded sadly.
'Yeah, Maws. I will. You know that me mum's here? She
always liked Mickey. Say hello to her for me. It would
mean a lot to her.'
'I will, Gerry. She's a good woman.'
'I remember once when we was all small. . . you
weren't even born then . . . me and Mickey was only about
twelve. Just after the war. Well, me mum was on the
"bash" then, down the Bayswater Road. I'm not ashamed
of it. She fed and clothed the lot of us from her earnings.
Anyway, me and Mickey was out playing and this gang of
older boys came into Kensington Gardens and started
taunting me about me mum. They were, about sixteen and
I was scared, Maws. Bloody terrified! And then Mickey
started to punch the biggest one. He went garrity. And the
other boys, they were frightened, see. Because even then
Michael had something about him that scared people.'
His voice was low and charged with emotion. 'Did you
know that he sent my old mum a ton every Christmas?
Never forgot her once. A nice card and a hundred quid. I
loved that man, Maura. Loved the bones of him. Whatever
people might say about him.'
Maura was touched by his devotion. 'He loved you,
Gerry. I know he did.'
Gerry brought out a large white handkerchief and blew
his nose. His scarred face and missing ear were more
noticeable than usual.
'He loved you, Maws. Loved you to death.'
She felt the large ball of tears in her throat and hurriedly excused herself. She made her way to the kitchen and got
herself a drink. The kitchen worktops were piled with
alcohol of every kind. Michael's boyfriend followed her in
there. Looking at his white face, Maura felt sorry for him.
She had never liked Richard, had never liked any of
Michael's boyfriends, but seeing the grief on the man's
face, she was sorry for him.
'I'll miss him, Maura. I know that people frowned on us
but we loved each other in our own way.' She could see
the tears shining in his eyes and suddenly wanted to escape from the flat. Run away somewhere where Michael was
unknown. She fought down the feeling of panic. She was
drunk, that's what was wrong with her. From the lounge
she heard her father's voice starting to sing.
She patted Richard's shoulder and walked back into the
lounge, holding on to her glass of brandy tightly. Her
father was singing an old Irish ballad and it sounded funny with his cockney accent. She leaned against the wall and
listened to the words of'The Wild Colonial Boy'.
Maura studied her father's shrunken form. Thanks to
her mother's dominance, she had hardly seen hint over the
years, and, looking at him as he sang, she was suddenly
lonely for him. For his cuddles and his kind words.
Everyone in the packed room, full of cigarette smoke and
perfume, stood silently while he sang an ode to his dead
boys.
Maura, along with many people in that room, blinked
away tears. She decided that Michael would have approved
of his father singing. Would have enjoyed it, had he been
here. She sipped at her drink.
When Benjamin finished singing everyone called for
another and Maura's voice was the loudest. Drinking his
beer and clearing his throat, Benjamin began singing once
more.
Down in the valley, the valley so blue,
Hang your head over ...
Maura listened to the sad words and felt the grief inside
her gradually ebbing away.
Send it by letter, send it by mail,
Send it by care of the Birmingham jail. . .
She knew the songs back to front. They were songs that
had been sung at countless funerals over the years. Then
her Auntie Nellie, an old lady now, began to sing a song
that had all the older people joining in. It was an old Irish rebel song and it made Maura feel sick.
The people they were singing about had murdered thes man they had all come to bury, if only they knew it.
Oh, I am a merry ploughboy,
And I plough the fields by day,
But I'm leaving home tomorrow morn
To join the IRA.
Maura looked at Geoffrey, standing by their mother, and
knew by his face that he was thinking the same thing as
herself. Well, the same people would be getting rid of him
454
soon and she thanked God for it.
She swallowed back the rest of the brandy, then made a
decision. She was going to get Willy Templeton and she
was going to take him to her house. Then she was going
to have mad and passionate sex. It was the only way, to her mind, to end a day like today.
She lurched away from the wall and went to find him.
I Chapter Twenty-nine
Maura had been teaching Roy the ropes slowly over the
last few months, until now, in January, he was finally
getting an understanding of all the different aspects of
the businesses. She had handed the docklands over the
William Templeton. All she had to do there now was
turn up for monthly meetings. She had found herself
concentrating more and more on the family businesses as
time went on - the clubs, betting shops, and the newer
borderline businesses, such as the Mortgage and Investment
Corporation that Michael had set up in 1984.
Today she was trying to explain all this to Roy, as she
wanted him to come in and take a large amount of the
donkey work from her.
'The rub is, Roy, we give mortgages through our own
lending company. Now the company itself has no actual
investors, so we sell our clients to other companies, such as the Bank of Kuwait, et cetera. It's pretty simple really. That Way we make a quick profit, and if the client gets into
difficulties with their payments, then they can foreclose.
That way we never have to take anyone to court. It's all
°ut of our hands.'
'Sounds simple enough.' Roy's voice was worried and
Maura guessed that he had not really grasped what she was
saying.
'It is. That's the beauty of it. We advertise in the lo
papers, offering everything from small personal loans to!
remortgages. You'd be surprised at the number of peoples
out there who want to "unlock their capital", as the
advertisers put it. We offer from five to a hundred grand)
secured against their properties. Even bought council
houses. Literally anything. Our main aim, though, is to get the first-time buyers. We're already renting office space
with a series of estate agents. That way, when people see
the property they want, we're there waiting for the poor
buggers. It's a doddle, Roy. You'll soon pick it up, mate.'
Roy frowned as he listened to her speak. ";"
'And this is legal, Maws?'
His voice was sceptical and she laughed. 'Yeah, it's legal, all right. Hard as that is to believe.'
'What if they can't afford the place they want?'
'That's easily remedied. You can borrow three times
your earnings, so if a youngster comes in and he earns,
say, twelve grand a year, for argument's sake, then the
borrower will tell him to bring in some "moody" pay
slips, say one for a week when he did a load of overtime,
so it looks like he earns sixteen grand a year. So instead
of giving him a mortgage for thirty-six grand he gets one
for forty-eight grand. I know it sounds bent, but believe
me, Roy, banks and building societies do it all the time.'
- 'I see.'
Maura lit a cigarette and continued. 'Now about the
council estates. I've extended the areas for the tally men
And that's another misnomer. The way that the law works,
you can lend people money providing they buy goods
from you. You can't under any circumstances offer them
money straight off. What the tally men do is, they knock
on someone's door and then offer them a continental quilt
set at, say, two quid a week. The quilt set costs a score so
458
you know that you have five weeks to get them to borrow
off you.
'After a few weeks, the tally man then offers them a loan
of maybe fifty quid, to be paid back at a fiver a week. The person takes up the offer and they get the money on the
spot. They then pay back eighty quid. A clear profit of
thirty quid. I know it doesn't sound much like that, but
when you consider we make about three thousand loans a
week it soon mounts up. Then they're offered a ton. The
tally man holds out the hundred pounds and nine times out often the temptation is too strong. They go for it.'
'But what if they can't afford to pay the money back,
Maws?'
'Then we send the big boys round. Some of the larger
council estates are into us for a small fortune. And before you ask, it's perfectly legal. Getting into debt is now
socially acceptable. You want that TV or video, you get it
on the never-never. Big stores offer credit, everyone offers credit, it's like a public service these days. Even the social security has jumped on the band wagon. They borrow
money now as well!'
Roy grinned but his big moon face was bewildered by it
all. 'Can I take these files home and study them?'
'Of course you can. The sooner you learn the better.'
He picked up the files and put them into his briefcase.
'The bloke from Jersey is just about ready to shift the
gold.'
'Don't you think that it's a bit quick, Maws? Michael
was looking at leaving it for five or six years.'
'Well, Michael ain't here now, is he? I make the decisions
and I want shot of it. The bloke's popping over at
the weekend. I want you at the meet with me, OK?'
'Sure, Maws. Whatever you say.'
She went to the coffee percolator and replenished their
cups. Passing one to Roy, she smiled at him sadly.
'Have you seen anything of Mother?'
Roy sipped the lukewarm liquid and shrugged.
'She was pretty cut up about Geoffrey.'
'I guessed as much.'
'Why didn't you go to the funeral, Maws?'
'Because I'm not a hypocrite, that's why. I would have
spat on his grave.'
'Have the old Bill been in touch?'
Maura shook her head vigorously, sending her hair
rioting around her face.
'Not so much as a hello, kiss me arse or anything. And
that's just how I like it!' i
'But don't you think that's strange?
'Not really. They know that we do business with the
Irish. They probably think he double crossed them or
something. To be honest, I don't give a damn. If they had
anything they'd be battering the door down, but I'm too
wily for the old Bill. I have more plants in the police
stations in London than there are in the Royal Botanical
Gardens! If they walked in here now they'd find nothing.
Nothing that they could nick me for. Me and Mickey only
ever made one mistake and that was Geoffrey. Only you
and I know the score now. Without one of us talking they
ain't got nothing. So relax.'
'Well, you ain't got any worries where I'm concerned.'
'I know that, Bruv. That's why I'm trusting you with all
this.' 1
Roy smiled at her, pleased to be so well thought of.
'Right then, Roy.' Maura checked her watch. 'I've got a
meet with a firm of 'blaggers" from Liverpool. I'd better
get on me way. It's ten-thirty now. If I don't leave soon
I'll catch the lunchtime traffic.'
Roy stood up and stretched. 'Okey doke. Sure you
460
don't want me to come with you?'
'No, thanks. I've been dealing with this little firm for
about eight years now. They're kosher. See you later,
mate.'
Roy left the house and Maura lit herself another
cigarette. Roy was working out all right. He couldn't
express himself very well, but he was shrewd enough. He
was getting the hang of everything. She had given Leslie
the betting shops for a while. He was doing a good job.
Garry and Lee were finally getting their act together.
They had got a bit lairy after Michael's funeral but she
had nipped that in the bud. All in all, considering what
had happened, things were going quite well.
She finished her cigarette and got ready for the meet
with Tommy Rifkind. It would be the first with him since
Michael's death. He had come to the funeral to pay his
respects, but now Maura had to deal with him alone. For a
few seconds she wondered if it was all worth it. But as
usual she pushed the thought away. The least she could do
was carry on, for Michael's sake. He had built this little
empire up from nothing, from being a bookie's runner at
barely ten to a breaker in his teens. She owed her brother
this. As she owed him everything. And if he was watching
over her, as she sometimes fancied that he was, she hoped
that he was pleased with how she was carrying on widiout
him.
When Maura got to the club in Dean Street, Tommy
Rifkind was already inside waiting for her. She showed him UP to her office immediately. Like herself he was a busy Person. He had his number two with him, Joss Campion, a
six feet six inch rugby player with the ugliest face Maura
had ever seen. Tommy, on the other hand, was five foot eight with a slim, lithe build. He also had the darkest brown eyes that Maura had ever seen on a light-skinned
man. Michael had always said that he had a touch of the
tarbrush in him. Inside the office the men sat down and
Maura smiled at them.
'Sorry to keep you. Get yourselves comfortable and I'll
organise some coffee.'
A little while later they were all drinking hot coffee lac
with brandy, Tommy's favourite. Joss Campion had
poured his into his saucer and after blowing on the hot
liquid loudly was now slurping it from the saucer. He was
completely unaware of all the noise he was making. Maura
had to bite her lip as Tommy rolled his eyes at her.
'Joss, would you rather I put the saucer on the floor for
you?'
Joss hung his enormous head like a child.
'Sorry.'
'I apologise, Maura. Joss's mother never quite managea
to get him completely house trained, you see.'
She laughed. 'That's all right. My brother Benny was
much the same.'
'I'm glad you understand. My wife won't have him in
the house.' Tommy smiled. 'Well, Maura, down to business.
I have a little proposition to put to you.' She
nodded. 'I've acquired some information on a bank in
South London. The pull from it will be around two
hundred thousand. As usual we'll give you twenty per
cent, on the usual terms.'
Maura licked her lips as she thought.
'How many cars would you want?'
'Two. One a high-powered vehicle, the other a nondescript
Volvo estate. You know the type of thing, a family
car.'
Maura nodded. 'OK. I'll put the word out on the street.
I can supply "shooters" if you need them.' Tommy shook
462
his head. 'In that case, all I'll need is the times and the date. And I do ask that you keep the violence to a
minimum. It's not just you, Tommy. I tell all "blaggers"
the same thing.'
He smiled.
'This will be as sweet as a nut, as you cockneys say.
You'll be given the information seven days before the
off.'
'Great. That was short and sweet!'
'I try to please. By the way, I'm so sorry about Geoffrey,
Maura. So soon after Michael.' He opened his arms in a
gesture of helplessness.
'Yeah, well. These things happen. I'm in full control
now and nothing has changed really. I'll run the streets as they've always been run. I won't take any nonsense.'
Tommy was quite aware of the underlying threat and nodded as if he was answering a question.
'I respect that, Maura, and you have nothing to worry
about from me and mine.'
She laughed heartily, but when she spoke, her voice was
icy cold.
'I know.'
Tommy felt a prickle of fear on the back of his neck. In
Liverpool he was the Daddy. What he said invariably went.
He prided himself on not being frightened of any man, yet
this tall, beautiful and intelligent woman sitting opposite scared the life out of him.
He had never wondered, like many people, why Maura
was not married. There were rumours that she was a
lesbian, but he knew different. It was simply that the man
who would take her on, her and all that she entailed, had
not been born yet. . He
cleared his throat. -
'Did you receive the wreaths I sent?'
'Yes. Michael would have appreciated it. He always likedi
you, Tommy.'
'I expect you miss him.' " M
'Oh, yeah, I miss him.' She stood up abruptly to let him know that the meeting was over. She held out her hand!
and he shook it gently.
'I'll be in touch then.'
'OK.'
Joss smiled at Maura as he left and she forced herself to
smile back. When they had left the office she lit herself at cigarette and, opening the drawer in her desk, took out a
photo of Michael and herself. They had been having a
drink in the club downstairs and Leslie had snapped them
laughing together. It turned out to be a beautiful photograph and she had had it enlarged. She sat staring at
Michael's handsome face. Oh, she missed him all right.
Desperately. ,"
m
Sarah Ryan sat at her kitchen table sipping a cup of
steaming hot tea. In front of her, spread out on the
table, were the papers from a file she had found in
Geoffrey's old bedroom. He must have hidden them
there at some point before he died. She knew that she
had been meant to find them. Written in them, in
Geoffrey's large bold script, was all the information he
had gathered about Michael and Maura over the years.
As Sarah read them a seething rage gathered inside her.
Now she knew why Geoffrey was dead. Four sons she
had buried, Anthony when he was no more than a baby.
What was she to do with the information in front of her?
She could take it to the police now and get it over with,
but it incriminated all her sons, both living and dead.
She had heard through the grapevine that Roy was now
Maura's number two, whatever that meant. Janine ha
464
told her all about it a few days ago. She sighed. If she
did take this little lot to the police, the whole family
would be put behind bars.
She picked up the papers and took them upstairs to her
bedroom. She hid them in her wardrobe. She would leave
it for a while until she had thought it all through.
She looked out of her bedroom window and down on
to the street. She saw Margaret walking along with her
mother. If only Maura had turned out like her, Sarah
would be a happy woman. If only she had not met up with
that bloody policeman, that Terry Petherick. If she had
got herself pregnant by anyone else, it would all have
blown over. Then a thought struck her. That's who she
could take the papers to if the day ever came when she
decided to make them known to someone. She smiled to
herself nastily. That would keep it in the family, so to
speak. If she was going to expose her daughter, then that's who she would expose her to!
She clasped her hands together in a gesture of prayer
and whispered: 'Oh, Jesus in Heaven, in the Kingdom of
goodness and light, help me to make the right decision.'
There was one thing that Sarah was sure of: Maura was
capable of anything, even capable of hurting her own
mother if she had to ...
Janine was sitting drinking coffee with Roy. The years had
not been kind to her. She looked much older than
forty-eight and her face held a permanent frowrj. Benny
Anthony burst into the kitchen.
'Hello, Dad!' He was surprised to find his father at
home and it showed in his voice.
'Hello, son.' Roy's voice was warm. 'No school then?'
'Nah. There's a teachers' strike on.'
Janine butted in to their conversation.
'Get upstairs and do some of your homework. Your
dad's busy.'
Benny's face dropped.
'Oh, Mum!' He was whining. 'I hardly ever see me
dad.'
Janine's voice rose in a screech. 'You do what I tell you!'
Roy cut her off. 'For crying out loud, Janine! Keep your
hair on.'
She leapt from her seat. 'Oh, that's right! Shout at me in
front of Benny. Go on, Roy. Turn him into an animal like
you and that stinking sister of yours.'
He sighed. 'You're beginning to sound like a broken
record. Do you know that? The same old shit is dug up
and pulled out, day after day.'
Janine was standing in front of him. Her face was a mask
of hatred.
'You won't get your claws into him.' She pointed to
where Benny was standing watching the fight between his
parents. 'Oh, no. Not you or that whore of a sister of
yours. She's already turned my Carla against me. I'lljee
you both dead first!' She ended on another screech.
'Calm yourself down, you dozy bitch. You're frightening the boy.'
Janine began to laugh.
TheI Me frighten him? That's a laugh. His father's
working for the biggest whoremonger and murderess in
London and you accuse me of frightening the boy! Are
you sleeping with her, Roy? I heard that Mickey was.'
He got up from his seat and slapped her across the
kitchen. She fell to the floor, a large red mark already
appearing on her face. She put her hand to her cheek
silently, afraid now of a Roy she did not know.
'You stinking bitch! That's the last time you badmouth
rrie or my family. Do you hear me? How the hell have I
466
:i
stood you all these years, with your miserable face and
your slutty ways? Well, you've ballsed yourself right up
now because I'm going. I'm gonna leave you to pickle in
your own juices, Janine, and I'm taking the boy with me.
'As for our Carla . . . you dumped her, darling. You
dumped her on me mother. So where you got your information
from I don't know. And Carla left my mother's because
my mother is like you. She wants to own people and Carla
won't be owned.-Neither will I from now on.'
Janine slowly pulled herself up from the floor.
'You'll take my son nowhere, Roy. I mean it. I'll go to
the police ... I swear it, Roy. I'll do for you.'
He stared at her, disgusted.
'You would and all, wouldn't you?' His voice was quiet.
'Yes, I would. You'll never turn my son into a Ryan. Not
in a million years. I'd see you dead first.'
Roy picked up his briefcase and walked to his son.
'Don't worry. I'll be back to see you in a few days.'
Benny was crying and threw himself at his father. 'Oh,
please don't go, Dad! Don't leave me here with Mum and
Nanny Ryan. I hate them ... I hate them!'
Roy pulled the boy close and looked at his wife. 'See
what you've caused, you bitch. SEE WHAT YOU'VE
caused!'
Janine was staring at her son as if he had grown another
head. Then, forcing herself to move, she went to him and
tried to pull him from his father's arms.
'No, Dad. Please! Don't leave me here with her. I want
to go with you. Please, Dad. Please don't leave me here.'
As Janine tried to pull her son away from his father, Roy
turned and punched her as hard as he could in the face.
'Get your bloody hands off him!' Roy was shouting
again.
Janine had been knocked backwards by the force of the
blow, grabbing the edge of the kitchen table to save herself from falling. Her nose was bleeding profusely and she
could feel her eye beginning to swell.
'Son.' Roy shook the hysterical boy. 'I promise you that
I'm not going to go anywhere. I'm gonna stay.'
Janine opened her mouth and Roy pointed at her. 'One
more word out of you and I'll commit a fucking murder.
Yours! I'm staying here. This is MY house! Get it? I can't
leave this boy here alone with you, he hates you as much as I do. You're nothing but a silly, vindictive bitch. You move to the spare room as from tonight, and if I ever get wind
that you've tried to take this boy away from me, or this
house, I'll bury you.
'I should have put a stop to your gallop years ago, with
your sluttish ways and your delusions of grandeur. I'm sick to death of you! So now you know.'
Roy held his son tightly. He should have put his foot
down years ago. Instead he had let her have it all her own
way, just to keep the peace. Well, no more.
'Come on, son. We'll go and get a McDonald's, shall
we?'
Roy knew that Benny lived for McDonald's. At this
moment he would have given his son anything to stop the
racking sobs that were shaking his body.
He put his arm across his son's shoulders and walked
from the room. Janine's face hardened. If it took her the
rest of her life she would get even with him for this.
In the car, Roy let Benny's sobs subside before he spoke
to him.
'I'm sorry that I hit your mum, son. I lost me temper.'
'I ha ... hate her. I hate . . . her and Nanny Ryan.'
Roy sighed. What a state of affairs! That would teach
him to break his usual habits. He had gone home for a
quick coffee and five minutes' peace. Instead he had
468
opened up a complete hornets' nest. His son hated not
only his mother but his grandmother as well.
Benny sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. 'I do,
Dad. They never leave me alone. You're never there so you
don't see them. They're both at me all the time.'
'Well, I can promise you this much, son. I'll be there for
you in the future.'
Benny tried to smile. 'When I grow up, I want to be just
like you, Dad.'
Roy bit his lip. Good job Janine couldn't hear him. He
grinned.
'We'll see, son. We'll see.'
'I'm telling you, Sarah, that's what happened.' Janine wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'He walked out with little Benny and they didn't come in till late.'
'And Roy actually raised his hand to you?'
'Yeah. Look at my face. Then when they finally came in
he said that if I didn't toe the line he would take Benny
and move into Maura's.' Janine was crying again.
Sarah put her arm around her shoulders. 'He didn't
mean it, love.'
Janine pushed her away. 'Oh yes he did! I know he did.'
She put her face into her hands. 'I have to get my Benny
away from him otherwise Maura will get her claws into
him and that will be that. Benny already thinks that the
sun shines out of her . . .'
'Listen, Janine. For all Maura's faults, and God knows
there are many, she wouldn't harm the child.'
'Not now maybe. But in the years to come, she will,
She'll have him in the family business. And I couldn't
stand that, Sarah. Not my Benny. My baby. He's eleven
now, but what about when he's seventeen or eighteen?
That's not far away, is it? First he'll go on the protection rackets. Then she'll have him in the betting shops. Then
tile hostess clubs. Where will it all end? I don't want my
son shot like yours. Can't you see that? I don't want to be
taken to the morgue to identify my son's remains.'
'Calm yourself down, Janine, that's not going to happen,
'How do you know? You've already buried four sons!'
Sarah was silent as she digested the logic of Janine'si
argument. And she had to admit to herself that the girl
was right. If little Benny went the same way as his father
and uncles . . . And aunt. Oh, yes, she mustn't forget her
aunt. . . that is what would happen.
The other boys were all living with girls. Only Leslie has
married his. They would all have children, the Lord
willing, and what would be the end result? They would
eventually take over where their fathers left off.
'Listen, Janine. I promise you now that that will never
happen to Benny. Not if I have anything to do with it.'
She made another of her famous pots of tea and finally,
after calming Janine down, sent her back to her own
house. Alone, Sarah thought about what Janine had said
It was odds on that Benny would eventually go into the
so-called 'business'. All the grandchildren would, unless
Maura and the others were stopped. It
Her husband had had control of the boys when they
were younger. He had taught them how to lie, cheat and
steal. How to be 'hard men'. Now look where it had got
them. Four of her sons had been brutally murdered. Not
day went by but she thought of them all. Even Michael, as
a small boy. In her mind's eye she saw him when he was "
child, when Benjamin used to take him to the bombed-out
houses.
She looked around her kitchen. It was nice. Nice ao" clean and modern. A far cry from the days of cockroaches and squalor, when they had coats on the bed to keep them warm and only a thin stew to fill up their ever-empty bellieS'
Oh, they had come a long way since then, and in her own
fashion she had been proud of Michael's determination
472
lift himself out of the slums. Until the killing had started.
When Anthony had died, she had died a little bit herself.
And Benny's death, her lovely, good-natured Benny who
was always in trouble of some kind but always laughing . . .
his death had broken her more than any of them. Then
Michael, then Geoffrey. She could never allow that to
happen to any of her children again. Or her grandchildren.
She got up from the table and glanced at the clock. It
was just on one. She had plenty of time. Benjamin was
drinking in the Kensington Park Hotel and would not be
back for hours. She went to the phone in her hall and
dialled the number she had taken down after Michael's
funeral. She had got the number from Directory Inquiries,
and now she knew why. She had taken it down for just
such an occasion as this. It was the number of Vine Street
Police Station.
'Good afternoon, Vine Street.' The clipped impersonal
voice crackled in her ears.
'Can I speak to Detective Inspector Terry Petherick,
please?' Sarah's voice was quavery and nervous.
'Who's calling?'
'I... I would rather not say. I... I have some information
for him.'
'Hold the line, madam, and I'll see if he can take your
call.'
The line went silent, and Sarah was beginning to
wonder if she was doing the right thing when a deep male v°ice asked how he could help her. ",;.
-to.
lerry Petherick was putting on his sports jacket, ready to
8° to lunch. His friend and colleague Cranmer called to hlm as he was leaving the office.
Wang on, Tel. There's a call for you. Some woman. She W°"'t leave her name.'
I
Cranmer held the phone out. Terry walked across the
crowded office, his heart beating fast. Surely it could not be Maura? The sensible part of his brain pooh-poohed
such an idea but the illogical part hoped and prayed that it was her.
'Hello, Petherick here.'
This is Sarah Ryan.' The second name was barely
audible.
'Who?'
'Maura Ryan's mother.'
It was a Ryan but not the one he wanted.
'What can I do for you?'
'I want to see you, in private like. I have some information.
You must keep this secret, though. Some of your
men are on my daughter's payroll.'
Terry frowned.
'That's a very serious allegation.'
Sarah swallowed deeply and closed her eyes.
'I have certain papers in my possession that I think you
would be interested in.'
'I see. So you want to meet me, is that it?'
'Yes, that's it. But you mustn't let anyone know what
you're doing. Believe me when I tell you these papers
could incriminate a lot of people. Do you know Regent's
Park?'
'Of course.'
'I'll meet you there Saturday. In the Zoological
Gardens, outside the cafeteria, at three.' Sarah replaced
the receiver before he could answer. She was sweating
profusely. H
Terry stared at the telephone.
'Who was it?'
'Mind your own business, Cranmer!' He tried to make
his voice jocular. 'I'm off for my lunch. See you later'
474
As Terry left the police station and went to his car he
was intrigued. What could Sarah Ryan, the well-known
matriarch of the Ryan family, want with him? He knew
that Geoffrey Ryan's murder was not even really under
investigation. How they managed to get away with all they
did was a mystery in itself. . . or was it? He had often
thought that one or two of his colleagues were on the
take. Not just because they had plenty of money, though
that was one sign, but because the Ryans always seemed to
be one step ahead of the police. He knew from experience
that knowing someone was guilty was one thing, proving
it a different thing altogether. He was sure that the Ryans had inside information. Well, he would know when he met
Sarah Ryan . . .
If only he was meeting Maura! But she had come a long,
long way since the last time they had met. She was into the Ryan businesses up to her pretty little neck. They were
further apart now than ever before. The word on the street
was that Maura had taken over from Mickey with all guns
blazing.
Suddenly he was not very hungry. All he really wanted
was something that he had tasted many years ago. Like
Adam and Eve, he preferred forbidden fruit.
Sarah put down the telephone and went back to her
kitchen. Her heart was beating a tattoo inside her body.
She had started the ball rolling, and she was glad. She
would end her daughter's reign of terror. As she set about
making her husband a meal, she thought again about what
Janine had said and hardened her resolve. She would
sacrifice her sons and her daughter if it saved at least one Person from being destroyed. And if little Benny was to be
saved, then she was the only one to do it.
It wasn't until much later that she remembered that the
reading of Michael's will was to take place the next day,
Friday.
Sarah sat in the solicitor's office with her husband. She sat well away from her only daughter and four remaining
sons, as if they carried a fatal disease.
The solicitor, Derek Hattersley, was more nervous than
the people in front of him. He kept having to blow his
nose. This was a very difficult will. In his experience each member of a family regarded himself as the rightful chief
beneficiary. He cleared his throat and began to speak.
'I must tell you all beforehand that the bulk of Mr
Ryan's estate goes to just one person. He had, however,
made some very substantial bequests to you all.' He
smiled, trying to bring a note of lightness to the occasion.
The only person to smile back was Benjamin Ryan and
Derek Hattersley was aware that the man was slightly
drunk.
'I'll start then.' He cleared his throat again noisily and
began to read. ' "I, Michael David Ryan, being of sound
mind, leave everything I own, other than the few bequests
I have detailed, to my sister, Maura Ryan." '
Derek Hattersley glanced around the assembled family
and was surprised to find that not one person had changed
expression. All were as blank-faced as they had been when
they arrived. But he reminded himself that these people
were also criminals. They would not be the type to show
their emotions anyway. He took a deep breath. If they
wanted to fight about it, they could do it amongst
themselves. He would not get involved.
' "I leave her all my properties and holdings. I also leave her two thirds of the monies in my bank account. The rest
is to be shared between my mother and father and my
brothers. I leave twenty thousand pounds each to my niece
476
r
Carla Ryan and my nephew Benjamin Anthony Ryan. This
is to be put in trust for Benjamin Anthony until he is
twenty-one. Carla Ryan may have access to her money
'immediately. I also leave fifteen thousand pounds to my
great-nephew Joseph Michael Spencer, also to be held in
trust until he is twenty-one, and twenty thousand pounds
to Gerry Jackson my closest friend." ' Derek Hattersley
blew his nose again and looked at the people in his office.,
'Mr Ryan was adamant that the will be as short as
possible and in his own words. He wrote the will himself
and I drafted it for him. He also left two letters to be given out on this day. I have no knowledge whatsoever of their
contents.' He relaxed, feeling he had extricated himself
from any tricky situation that might arise. 'The letters are addressed to his mother and his sister.' He nodded at each
woman as he spoke.
Still nobody said a word. Then Sarah asked in a shaky
voice, 'Where's my letter?'
'I have it here, Mrs Ryan.' He passed the long white
envelope to her, and Sarah stared at her dead son's small
close-knit writing.
'I want my share of his money to go to the police
widows' fund.'
Roy was stunned.
'You can't do that!'
'Oh yes I can, Roy Ryan. I want none of his blood
money.' She picked up her handbag and, jerking her head
at her husband to follow, left the office.
Derek Hattersley blew his nose again. It was now red
and shiny. He passed Maura's letter to her and she thanked
him politely.
'If you would be so kind as to sign some documents . . .'
'Certainly.' Maura smiled at him.
Twenty minutes later they all left the office.
'Well, that's that then, Maws. Mickey's last will and
testament.'
'Yeah, Garry. It's the final parting, ain't it?'
Leslie put his arm around her. 'Cheer up, girl. Mickey
wouldn't want you moping.'
Maura tried to laugh. Leslie trying to be tactful was no!
a very pretty sight.
'Let's all go and have a good drink!' This from Lee. 'Sounds good to me. What about you, Maws?'
'All right then, Roy. Let's go back to the club. There we
can drink for free!'
Sarah and Benjamin were in the back of a black cab. k Benjamin was annoyed.
'You've got too bloody much of it, Sarah. They're your
own flesh and blood, yet thanks to you I hardly ever see
them nowadays.' m
She crossed her arms over her chest. Ji
'You should think yourself lucky! They're nothing but
bloody criminals. Mind you, that shouldn't worry you,
should it?' Her voice was sarcastic. 'You're no better. I've been on this earth for seventy years, and I've spent over
fifty of them years with you. Eighteen I was when you got
me pregnant, Benjamin Ryan. Eighteen! And I stuck by
you, no matter what you did. I stuck by you. And for
what? What? To bring a crowd of bloody hooligans into
the world, that's all.'
She looked out of the taxi window at the passing people,
all living lives that did not touch hers.
Benjamin scowled, his leathery old face more wrinkled
than usual.
'You make me laugh with all your "holy joeing". When
you was eighteen, Sarah Ryan, you was what would be
termed today "a right little raver"!'
478
'I was not!' Sarah's voice was incredulous.
The London cabbie was listening avidly to the old
people in the back of his taxi and had difficulty in keeping his face straight.
'Were so!' Benjamin's voice had the truculent note that
grated on Sarah's nerves.
'Oi, mate!'
'Yeah.' The cabbie's voice was full of laughter.
'Do you know the Bramley Arms?'
'You hum it, son, and I'll play it.'
Benjamin scowled deeply at the cabbie. 'None of your
sauce. Just drop me off there. You can dump her where
you like.' He pointed at Sarah with his thumb, leaving her
silent and tight-lipped all the way back to Netting Hill.
Once back inside her house Sarah made herself a pot of
tea. Taking it into the lounge, as she now called her front room, she poured herself out a cup. Then sitting in her
chair by the fire, she opened Michael's letter. Trust
Benjamin not to be interested in his eldest son's last
communication. All he was interested in was the money
the boy left. She began to read.
Dear Mum,
I am writing this letter to you because I feel that
there are many things that have to be said. I know
that my life was not what you wanted for me, but it
was the path that I chose and I do not regret one day.
The only regret I have is that I loved you, Mum, and
it hurt me when we fell out with one another. I
understood how you felt about Benny, as I loved him
as well. If you are reading this then I am with him and
Anthony, and gone from your world. I want you to
know that I will miss you more than anyone.
I want to ask you something, Mum. I want you to
look out for our Maura. She needs you. She always
has done. Since that trouble with the policeman, she
has been hurting inside. I know this is true, Mum,
because I have watched her. I have done all that I can
for her. I now ask you to try and take her back into
the arms that held her as a baby. Maura needs her
mother. Please tell Dad that I loved him very much.
I will always love you, Mum, no matter what.
Michael :, "I
Sarah felt the scalding tears behind her eyelids and
squeezed her eyes tightly shut to block them out. The
letter in front of her was from the old Michael, the young
tearaway, not the hard, embittered, bloodthirsty man that
he became. She saw him as he had been the night that
Maura was born, tall and strong and with his whole life in
front of him.
'Oh, God. Oh, son.' She put her hand to her mouth and
held it there tightly. Now the tears did break through, like a damn bursting. . M
'My beautiful son. Oh, God help me, I loved him so
much.'
In the club Maura and her brothers were getting drunk.
Good and drunk. Maura could feel the first waves of
euphoria coursing through her veins, knowing that it
would soon turn to maudlin sentiment.
It was a 'Michael' day. He was in the forefront of
everyone's mind. Gerry Jackson had joined them and Lee
was acting as bartender. Sitting in the meat seats they all drank steadily and seriously, as if by the sheer act of getting drunk they would all feel the pain of Michael's death less.
'I can remember when Mickey was working for Joe the,
Fish. Handsome bleeder he was then and all.'
480
'That's a long time ago, Gerry.' Roy's voice was
unsteady.
Gerry gulped at his gin and tonic. 'Your old mum used
to be really hard up them days. Everyone was. All the birds was after him but he never spent his money on them. Took
it straight home to his muwer. Do you know, Maura, that
he bought your communion dress from the proceeds of a
robbery?'
'No, Gerry.' She smiled at him, glad to be talking about
her brother.
'Oh, yeah. I remember it as clear as day. Me and him
ripped off a betting shop. He was a crafty sod! Even then
he was streets ahead of everyone. Joe the Fish tried to keep him in line but he couldn't. He was "ducking and diving"
all the time he worked for the old git.' Gerry's voice was
hard now. 'I hated that old bastard.'
'Well, Mickey didn't, did he?' Leslie was well and truly
drunk otherwise he would have chosen his words more
carefully. 'Mickey was knocking him off, weren't he?'
Garry turned on him. 'Shut your bloody gob!'
'Well, Mickey was queer. Mickey was as queer as a
nine-bob note. As for Joe the Fish . . . that's where he got the bloody nickname! From "queer as a fish" . . .'
Leslie didn't finish because Garry punched him in the
fece, knocking him off his chair.
'You just shut your bloody trap up!'
'All right. Calm down.' Lee tried to pour oil on
troubled waters.
'Bollocks, you! You're always sticking up for him.' Garry was belligerent when he was sober. Drunk he would fight his own fingernails.
'Shut up.' Maura's voice was low. She could not get up
the enthusiasm to stop the argument.
'Look, Garry, we're here to honour Michael's name. So
sit down and wrap up. If you can't take your drink, you
shouldn't get drunk.'
Roy's voice was stern and authoritative. Everyone stared
at him in awe. Leslie pulled himself from the floor and
slumped back into his seat. Maura, through her drink
hazed mind, realised that Roy had really begun to get
confidence in himself. He would be a good number two.
'When you gonna read your letter, Maws?' This from
Lee, trying to change the subject.
'When I feel up to it.' She got up from her seat and
made her way out to the reception area. Picking up the
phone, she rang Willy at his office on St Martin's Wharf.
He answered himself, which was a godsend as Maura was
aware that she was having difficulty forming her words.
'Ish that you, Willy?'
'Hello, Maura.' His tone was cool. She had been seeing
him less and less since the night of Michael's funeral and
he didn't like it one bit. In spite of himself he thought a lot of her and it galled him that she could take him or
leave him as the fancy took her.
'I'm pissed.' Jl
'What do you want me for? I'm very busy . . .'
'I've just been to the reading of Michael's will and I'm
lonely and depressed.' And drunk, she thought.
'Really? So you want to see me, I take it?' H
'Yeah . . . What I need at this moment is a good hard
shag!'
William smiled. She certainly had a way with words. But
if he went running now she would just carry on using him
On the other hand, he had finished most of his business
for today and she did sound lonely and desolate. He
couldn't bring himself to say 'desperate' but that's what he really meant, and deep inside he wanted Maura on any
terms.
482
I
'Where can I meet you?'
'Come and get me from the club. I'll he waiting for
you.'
She replaced the receiver and went back to the meat
seats. The men were all friends again, talking about
Michael, each trying to outdo the others with funny
anecdotes. Maura sat back in her seat and picked up her
replenished glass. She raised it in a silent toast to her
brother.
Her last thought before she passed out was that Michael
would have approved of this drinking session in his
honour. When William turned up an hour later he had
practically to carry her to his car.
He took her home, silently annoyed at the condition she
was in. She lay across the back seat of his car snoring softly, her large breasts straining against the thin silk blouse she was wearing. He had to admit that even drunk and
dishevelled she was still the sexiest woman he had ever
known.
Maura woke at eleven-thirty that evening with a violent
headache. She noticed that she was naked in her own bed.
Slowly the events of earlier in the day came into her mind.
She turned over in bed and felt someone lying beside her.
It was William. She could feel that her body had been
roughly mauled and guessed that he had taken advantage
of her drunken state. Well, she had asked for it really. She lifted herself up gently and felt the waves of sickness assail her. She stepped gingerly from the bed, placing one foot
firmly on the floor before attempting to walk in the
semidarkness to the bathroom. She could hear William's
loud snores coming from the bed. '
In the bathroom she looked into the mirror above the
Wash basin. She looked terrible. Her make-up was all over
her face and her eyes were more lined than usual. She
looked old. Older than her thirty-six years. She washed her face, splashing the cold liquid over her face and neck to try and bring some life back to her brain. Then she remembered
the letter, -ill
She pulled on an old bathrobe that was hanging
behind the bathroom door and went down to the
lounge. Her bag was on the coffee table where Willy had
obviously left it. Picking it up, she turned on one of the
lamps by her reading chair. She settled herself down with
her feet tucked up underneath her, opened the bag and
took out the white envelope. She stared at Michael's
closely written script for a while before she carefully
ripped open the envelope and took out a single page of
writing.
Hello, Maws,
If you're reading this then I'm brown bread! He
had drawn a little smiley to let her know that it was a
joke. You will already know I have left everything to
you. You deserve it. It amounts to well over a million
pounds. The docklands will bring in much more
eventually. You have it all now. Everything.
lam writing this letter as I wanted to tell you some things that I may never have told you while I lived.
Firstly, I am heartily sorry for what happened all
those years ago. I know that you loved that old Bill
with all your heart and I ballsed it all up for you. I
have tried to repay you for that, Maura.
Secondly, I think that you should try and marry old
Templeton. If you did you would become a lady.
Though you always have been in my eyes.
I love you more than you would ever think. Don't
end up like me, Maws, with no home life to speak of
484
I admit that is the price I pay for being a homosexual.
Thirdly, try and make it up with Mother. You were
very close once, and I think that deep down you both
miss one another. Try and heal the breach, that's all I
ask of you.
Lastly, I don't trust our Geoffrey as far as I can
chuck him. He's not kosher, Maws. Put our Roy in as
your number two. He's got more savvy than people
give him credit for. Also try and keep an eye on the
old man. Whatever happens with Mother, you was
always his favourite and I know from talking to the
boys that he misses you very much.
Well, that's about it, my darling. Keep this letter
private as I don't want everyone knowing that I am
really as soft as shit! [Another smiley.]
Look after the boys for me, and look after yourself.
There's a codicil to my will that I asked old Hattersley
to keep private. I have left my flat and personal
belongings to Richard. We have a good relationship
and I want to leave him provided for. i?
I also left fifty grand to Save the Children. That is
not to be made public in any way. I have a feeling,
Maws, that I will never make 'Old Bones', as Auntie
Nellie used to say, so I write new letters every year to
be on the safe side.
Look after yourself, Maws.
Your loving brother,
Michael
PS. Hattersley is as bent as a two-bob clock. I have left some papers for you that he will be holding until
you have read this letter. Go and see him on the sly.
It's stocks, bonds and other papers. There's also the
number of my Swiss bank. They will be notified on
my death that you are the new executor.
Maura stared at the letter. Trust Michael to cover all his
bets. Only he would leave letters that were updated every
year. She looked at the date at the top. It was written on
5 August 1986, before all the trouble with Geoffrey. She
sighed. Fifty grand to Save the Children. Her eyes were
misty. When they had seen pictures of the starving children on the news he had not said a word about it. Yet it had
moved him enough for him to leave them fifty grand. That
was the kind of gesture he would make. The papers always
had him as a shady, murdering villain, and that was just
how he liked it.
He knew about Geoffrey, had always known. If only she
had let Michael sack him when he had wanted to maybe all
this would have been avoided. She closed her eyes to stop
the tears. She had done enough crying and it would not
bring him back.
She opened her eyes and saw William standing in the
doorway.
'My dear girl, you look absolutely scrumptious.'
She put the letter into her bag and smiled at him, a hard
cynical smile that did not reach her eyes. She let her gaze roam over his body.
'You took advantage of me earlier, didn't you?' Her
voice was low and husky. He nodded. 'Well, now I'm
going to take advantage of you!'
William laughed, trying to imitate a cockney accent.
'Does that mean I'm gonna get a good hard shag?'
Maura placed her bag on the floor and stood up. 'Only
if you're a very good boy.'
As they went back to bed together Maura prayed that
William would be enough to take her mind off her
troubles. Even as she thought it she knew it wouldn't
happen. There was only one person who could do that,
and he was as far from her grasp as the Milky Way.
486
Saturday was cold and bleak, with a flurry of snow in the
air. While Maura and William were eating a leisurely late
lunch together, Sarah was sitting on a bench waiting for
Terry Petherick. He arrived just after three. He smiled at
her as she sat stony-faced and silent. Looking at him, she
was reminded that he had fathered her first grandchild and
was made aware of just how beautiful that child would
have been.
'Mrs Ryan?'
Sarah nodded and he sat down beside her.
'It's cold today, isn't it?'
She nodded again.
'Would you rather we went and got a cup of coffee?
Had our little chat in the warm?'
Yes. That would be better. I'm frozen to the marrow.'
Terry took her arm and led her into the cafeteria. Sitting
n the warm drinking a cup of hot sweet tea, Sarah was
Plagued by doubts. She knew that what she was about to
do would cause no end of trouble, not only for Maura but
her children.
She took a deep breath. 'If I give you the information, could you make it easier on my sons?'
'The information is mostly about Maura, I take it?'
Sarah nodded her head.
'Well, I could try. It really depends on what kind of
information you give to me.'
Looking at Sarah, Terry felt like a snake in the grass. She was an old woman. She was Maura's mother. If things had
worked out differently, she could have been his mother-in
law. He sipped his coffee. Her sons had beaten him nearly
to death. He wondered if she knew that.
iiau
1
'I know many things about my daughter. My son
Geoffrey, he kept names, dates, papers, that sort of thing..
Going back years. I think that it was Maura who had
him . . .' Her voice trailed off.
'Is that why you wanted to see me?'
Sarah gazed deeply into his eyes.
'You knew my daughter before . . . Well, before shef
went into the business with Michael.' I
'You know about that then?' I
" 'I knew everything. Maura was pregnant.'
Terry's eyes opened wide.
'That's impossible!'
'No, son. She was pregnant all right. That's why
Michael had you so badly beaten. I took her to a
back-street abortionist. She nearly died from what that
bastard did to her. She was ill for a long time. It was
because of the abortion that they sterilised her.' Sarah
had no idea why she was telling him all this. Perhaps in
her own way she wanted to make some sort of allowance
for her daughter's actions. Give him some of the
blame.
'I never knew. I swear to you that I never knew.'
'Oh, I know that, son. Maura told me that herself. She
had gone to your flat to tell you when you finished with
her. By then Michael had found out about the two of you,
and the rest's history.'
Terry was reeling. Maura pregnant by him!
488
Sarah sipped her tea and began to talk again. Telling
him everything.
'She changed then. I'm not saying it was all your fault
but when she came out of the hospital she was hard. As
the years went on she seemed to get harder. As if she was
taking all her hurt out on the world. Whatever she may be
now, before that happened to her she was a good girl. A
kind girl.'
'I don't know if this will make any difference, Mrs Ryan,
but I loved her.'
'I believe you did.'
'I just can't take it all in. If I had known, I would have
stood by her.'
Sarah shook her head.
'You wouldn't have, son. Michael would never have let
you. Even if you had left the police force, he would have
hated you until the day you died. That's why I wanted to
see you. In a way you're caught up in this as well. I want
my grandchildren to grow up away from the taint of the
Ryan name. I want them to be factory workers, road
sweepers, anything! Anything but villains.'
'I understand. But you must realise that once you start
something like this, it can't be stopped. There'll be no
going back.'
'I know that. I've made up me mind. My children have
got to be put right. Only I can do that. I made them, now
I must destroy them. It's simple really. I want your help. If needs be, I'll go in the witness box.'
'No! That won't be necessary.'
'Listen, you, if you're worried that something might
happen to me - don't be. I'm seventy years old and in all
those years I've never been frightened of anything that
came out of me own body.'
Sarah opened her bag and took out the file of papers
that Geoffrey had left. She handed them to Terry.
'These are all that Geoffrey left. My phone number is on
the outside of the file. Get in touch whenever you need
me. The only thing I ask is, please try and help my boys. I know they must go away but the main one you should be
after is Maura.'
She got up from her chair. Holding out her hand, she
shook his. Then, nodding at him, she left.
Terry sat alone, thinking about all that had been said.
Maura pregnant with his baby. He saw her as she had been
that first night they had made love. Her willingness to
learn from him. Her trusting eyes and soft body. He felt
the burning of tears in his throat. She had been so soft
then. He realised that having an abortion must have
destroyed her. She loved children, they had discussed them
enough times. Then he thought of the last night he had
spent with her. That coming together of adults. The
frenzied thrashing of their bodies. The cool musky smell of her. And she had not told him even then about the baby.
Neither of them had married. Both were put on this
earth for one another, and one another only. He knew that
now. He put his head into his hands.
A voice broke into his thoughts. 'Are you all right?'A
short dumpy waitress stood beside him.
'Yes, thank you.'
She looked concerned about him. 'You look terrible.'
Terry stood up and threw three pound coins on to the
'It's nothing. Just a bit of bad news, that's all.' H
He walked out into the freezing air, putting the file that
Sarah had given him under his arm. He would read it later
At the moment all he wanted to do was walk and think.
Maura and William had gone back to bed. They were
490
snuggled up together. Maura smiled at him, her first real
smile for days. At last she had found someone to care for
her. And he did care for her, she knew that. She would put
all the bad behind her and just concentrate on the good.
She was still quite young and Michael's letter had shown
her that time could run out quickly. She thought fleetingly of Terry Petherick, as she always did when she was feeling
solemn. Terry Petherick was standing in Regent's Park
thinking about her at the same moment.
Both began to make plans. And although Maura did not
know it, both her plans and his would one day merge with
explosive consequences. . .
Terry was in a quandary. A week had passed since Sarah
had given him the papers. He had no doubt that what
Geoffrey had recorded was true. The names and dates
coincided perfectly. What was worrying him was that not
only were most of his colleagues on Maura's payroll, but a
few of the higher ups too. His Chief Inspector for one.
Armed with all this information, he was not sure who to
confide in. This wasn't a case of a few bent coppers. This
was more a case of a few honest men against a veritable
army of policemen on the take! Whatever happened, it
would burst wide open not only his friends but the whole
of London's police force.
He now had documented evidence that Maura and
Michael Ryan were behind the bullion robbery of '85.
Geoffrey Ryan had even procured the route map that had
been used. Terry was in no doubt that it was probably full
°f prints. He even knew who was warehousing the gold.
AH well and good, except how in all honesty could he
break this news without letting on that the police were
also involved right up to their shitty little necks?
He could have cried. In the last seven days he had
looked at his friends with new eyes. Had listened to their
accounts of arrests made and known deep in his heart that
they were deliberately looking the other way where the
Ryans were concerned. No wonder Mickey and Maura had
got away with so much. They owned not only Vine Street
but West End Central as well. He couldn't believe it. They
had 'tags' in Brixton, Kilburn, Barking. In fact, there was
not one station where they didn't have an 'ear' on the
payroll.
Now he, Terry Petherick, had all the information he
needed to put them away. Even the full co-operation of
their mother. And his hands were tied because when the
Ryan ship finally went down it would take the police force
with it. It was bloody laughable! As for this Templeton ...
he was up to his neck in skulduggery of one sort or
another and his family connections had kept him out of jail
for years! Terry wasn't up against a few big villains, he was
up against the whole bloody establishment.
He picked up the phone on his desk and dialled the
number of the Special Investigations team. He would give
the lot over to them. Let them have the honour of sorting
it all out. He was sick to the stomach with the lot of it.
While the phone rang he doodled on his pad. It wasn't
till later in the day he saw that he had drawn a heart with a dagger in it.
- , . "'-"5 "'"
Superintendent Marsh was sitting staring out at the city
skyline. It was dark and the lights were shining the beacons across the Thames. He had been sitting like that for nearly three hours. The information that the young DC
had brought in had completely destroyed his equilibrium
He had been waiting for something like this for ten year8 Now it was dropped, literally, into his lap he wasn't sure exactly what to do with it. He was waiting for his superior
:!
492 '?'.
who thankfully was not on the bent list, to come and talk
with him. If all this information was true, and he had a
sneaking suspicion that it was, all hell would be let loose and the West End police would be running on a skeleton
crew. He shook his head at the enormity of what he was
about to unleash, the sad part being that DI Petherick had
unwittingly dug his own grave. If this hit the tabloids, no one would work with him ever again. Policemen were like
doctors. They never shit on their own, no matter who the
patients might be.
Terry was called at home at midnight. He was told to get
dressed and meet Marsh at twelve-forty-five. As he got in
his car he realised that he had started something that
would have repercussions for years to come. Maura Ryan
would finally be put away, but he wasn't sure it was a fair price to pay for all the trouble it was going to cause. He
was even less sure an hour later when he found out exactly
what was to happen.
He was sitting in a small back room in a terraced house
in Wimbledon. Superintendent Marsh had been talking
steadily for nearly an hour, While Marsh paused to light his cigar, Terry jumped in.
What you're trying to say is that the people in authority
be getting off scot free?'
Marsh inhaled smoke into his lungs and coughed,
folding his hand across his mouth, he tried to explain.
Look, son, I know how it must seem. The thing is,
°nie of these men have been with the force for twenty
years. They will retire quietly
And get their pensions and their early retirement
bonuses!' Terry's voice was disgusted. 'I can't believe my
so Marsh. I bring you evidence of corruption on a
scale than anyone could ever dream of and you have
the gall to sit there and tell me that the majority will be walking away completely exonerated.'
Marsh nodded.
'I know how you feel, son.' ;
'No, you don't! You have no idea what I am feeling at
this moment. I am bitter and disgusted. These people have
been collecting money from known criminals for years and
they are not going to be brought to account. Whereas the
little fish like Dobin will be crucified for them.'
'Listen, son . . .'
'Stop calling me fucking SON!' Terry smashed his fist on
to the table in front of him. 'We're creeping around in the middle of the night like burglars. I can't believe this is
happening. You tell me that bent coppers are going to
walk out of their jobs without even a slap on the wrist. We are carrying on like guilty criminals, meeting in dingy little houses in the middle of the night, and the actual scumbags
that we're here on account of are walking away from it all
It's not bloody on, mate.'
'Listen, Petherick. If this hits the streets we're fucked. If you want it plain then I'll give it to you plain. Can you
imagine the outrage this would cause if it ever hit the
tabloids? Have you thought? Our street credibility would
be lower than a fucking gas meter bandit's! Think about it.
We'd never live this thing down. The only way we can .
even begin to sort this out is internally.
'They know that they've been collared. They're leaving
the force. That's all that we can do! When you get older ,
you'll realise the sense in what I'm saying. Else all the toe rags they've put away, the rapists, muggers, murderers,
would be screaming for retrials as soon as their arresting
officers were nicked. We're talking too many people to let
this ever get out. I know that what they're getting seems a small price to pay for their misdeeds, but believe me the
494
other way would cost us more.'
Terry was stunned.
'What about Maura Ryan? Or is she to walk away too?'
'Don't you worry about her, we have her bang to
rights.'
'Of course, let's get our priorities right, shall we? Get
the real villains. Well, let me tell you something, Marsh, I think that Maura Ryan, as bad as she and her family are, is as nothing compared to the filth you're letting off so
lightly.- In my book a bent copper is worse than any
villain.'
Marsh walked around the table and put his hand on
Terry's shoulder.
'I know ... I feel the same. I'm following orders the
same as you. But the sheer magnitude of what you found
out is what's stopping us making this public. Can't you see that? The force would be crucified in hours. Top men hi
key jobs on the take? Come on, son. It's too much.'
Terry listened to Marsh and had to agree with what he
was saying. It just seemed unfair to him that so many
people would walk away without so much as a stain on
their character when, by rights, they should have been
made to take the consequences of their actions.
'I'm still not happy. Even if this does cause trouble,
surely it would be worth it? Joe Public isn't as stupid as
you seem to think. I for one would much rather see justice
being done than take part in something that I know is
wrong.'
Marsh puffed on his cigar. His shiny bald head had a
fine layer of perspiration over it. This young man was
beginning to get on his nerves. The last thing the force
needed at this time was a cop as honest as this one. Terry
Petherick wanted to stir up a hornets' nest, and there was
no way he would ever be allowed to get away with it.
'Look, go home. Sleep on it. Once you've had a
chance to think about this logically you'll see it from our perspective.'
Terry got up slowly from his chair and looked into
Marsh's eyes. M
'Now I know why we're nicknamed the "filth".' '
When Terry had left, Marsh sat back down at the
table. If only everything was as easy as Petherick seemed
to think it was. The nice policeman gets the naughty
villains. Only in this world, most of the police were
villains! Marsh let out a long drawn-out sigh. It was his
job to keep Petherick's mouth shut. And that was just
what he intended to do.
Terry drove home in a temper. The streets were deserted
and he had an urge to drive to Fleet Street and shout his
mouth off about the lot of it. He knew he wouldn't,
though. He hadn't come this far in his career to blow it
now. He realised that for the second time in his life he'd
had to make an important decision between the force and
Maura Ryan. And that for the second time the force had
won.
496
Janine put Roy's breakfast in front of him. He began to
eat. She poured herself a cup of coffee, walked out of the
kitchen into the lounge and laced it with vodka. As she
turned from the drinks cabinet she jumped. Standing in
the doorway watching her was Roy.
'I thought you were eating your breakfast.'
He finished chewing his mouthful of food and pointed
to the cup Janine had in her hand.
'Bit early even for you, ain't it?'
Janine dropped her eyes. She felt herself blushing. 'It's
my life, Roy . . .'
'Well, in future, if I ain't here, you get Benny a cab to
school. I don't want you wrapping your car round a lamp
post with my son in it. Pissed out of your nut!'
Janine's voice rose. 'I'm not pissed!'
Roy sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his
hand. 'Not yet. You just do what I tell you. Get it?'
Janine stared at him, her face twisted with anger.
Roy bellowed at her: 'I SAID . . . GET IT?'
'Yes. I get it. I'm not deaf, you know.'
'No, darlin', not deaf. Just half pissed as usual.'
B,
eriny.
Roy walked back to the kitchen to finish his breakfast.
Standing on the bottom stair in the hall watching him was
49T
'You dropping me off at school, Dad?'
Roy nodded.
'Great. Mum's driving is getting worse.'
'In future, son, you do not get in any car with your
mother, right?'
Benny shrugged his shoulders.
'Suits me, Dad.'
Janine, listening to all they said, swallowed her coffee
and vodka down in two gulps and refilled her cup. Sitting
on the settee she sipped the neat spirit. Slowly the tears
came. Roy had taken everything away from her over the
years, her self-respect and now her child. The tears came,
tears of self-pity. A little while later she heard them leave the house. Benny had not even bothered to say goodbye
to her.
Roy and Maura were driving out to Essex. She had an
appointment with a goldsmith, Lenny Isaacs. Roy pulled
up at. some traffic lights and looked across at her.
'You're in a good mood today, Maws.'
She smiled at him. 'Yeah, I am actually' " -if
'What's brought all this fun and laughter on? 'Nothing, you cheeky bugger. You better go, the lights have changed!'
'Oh, shit!'
A van behind started blowing its horn. i
'All right. All right, I'm going. So what's the secret
then, Maws. A bloke?'
'Maybe.' Maura thought of William Templeton.
'It is a bloke!' Roy's voice showed his surprise.
'Listen, dickhead, I'm in a good mood because I just
am. That's all.'
498
'Women's bloody logic amazes me!'
Maura laughed at him.
'Talking of women, what's the score with Janine?'
Roy scowled.
'I thought we were talking about women. Not the
monster from the black lagoon.'
'Nasty, nasty.' Maura grinned.
'Listen, Maws, Janine is getting on my nerves. She
drinks like a fish.'
'Janine? She was always a teetotaller.' Maura sounded
sceptical.
'Not any more. The marriage is going down the pan.
Correction, is down the pan. We haven't slept together for
over four years. If it wasn't for Benny I'd have had it on
me toes ages ago.'
'How long has she been drinking?'
'The last year or so, I think. But the last few months
she's been drinking quite heavily.'
'She always was a funny bird. I never liked her, I admit
that. But all the same, she is your wife.'
'I tell you now, Maws, if it wasn't for Mother I'd dump
the bitch. But Mother thinks the sun shines out of her
arse.'
'That's a fact. Well, Roy, you know your own mind.
Myself, though, I'd get shot of her, whatever the old
woman thinks. Let's face it, you're the one who's got to
live with her, not Mother.' Roy nodded.'What's the score with this Isaacs bloke?'
'Apparently he knows the big boys in Jersey. Reckons he Can get rid of the gold over there, and gradually it will be Put on the market again. That means that the market will
be flooded and the price of gold will drop, but by then we'll have made a mint, if you'll excuse the pun, and some Prat will be running all over Europe counting the gold
reserves. Eventually some bright spark will suss out that
the missing bullion is being sold legally and it will all be hushed up. As usual. So if you want to buy any gold in the
next few years, stick to South African Krugerrands!'
Roy burst out laughing.
'You're bloody mad!'
'I know ... I know. I'm happy mad, though, that makes
a difference!'
'I hope this Isaacs bloke ain't going to waffle all day.
Front wheels never seem to know when to shut up.
Sammy Goldbaum used to chew my ears off!'
At the mention of Sammy's name Maura felt herself go
cold. She hadn't thought about him for a long time,
'Here! You all right, girl? You've gone pale.'
Maura lit a cigarette. U
'Yes, I'm OK Just felt a bit funny for a second.'
Roy realised that he shouldn't have mentioned Sammy
Goldbaum. He could have kicked himself.
'I tell you what, Maws, before we go on this meet, what!
do you say we find a nice little pub and have a bite to eat and a drink?'
Maura knew Roy was trying to make amends and smiled
at him. 'That would be great.' .
Terry Petherick was called in to see Marsh. He took the
seat offered to him and waited silently for his boss to tell him what was going down.
Marsh lit himself a cigar, his only extravagance. Blowing
smoke across his desk, he began: 'Have you thought over
what we were talking about?'
Terry nodded. .;":-
'I take it you are more amenable today?'
Terry nodded again.
'Good . . . good. We've decided that the collaring of the
Ryans will be given to you. I'm sure you already know that
500
whoever gets them has his career made. Unless, of course,
you get knobbled by them first.'
Terry stared at him. He could see nothing to laugh
about.
'We know that you're as straight as a die, and in view of
all the information you've gathered we feel it is only
fair...'
Terry interrupted him.
'All right. Cut the crap. What exactly's going down?'
Marsh had an overwhelming urge to put his cigar out in
Petherick's face. Who the hell did this little shit think he was? Instead he took a deep breath and tried to control his temper.
'Yesterday Maura and Roy Ryan had a meet with a
goldsmith . . . Lenny Isaacs. I had her tailed. Obviously
they're going to be shirting the bullion soon. That's when
we're going to pounce. Once she's nicked for that we can
pile on the other charges as and when we feel like it. As I told you the other night, we have her bang to rights. We
swoop when they make the exchange. It's as simple as
that. '
'About the other business . . . the Complaints Investigation Bureau are dealing with it internally. We're not going
to approach anyone until the Ryans have been collared.
That way they won't get any warnings. You and I will be
working together closely on this one. You mustn't mention
it to anyone. I'll see you in a few days when I have
more to tell you.'
'Sarah Ryan asked me if it was possible to get the boys
lighter sentences?'
Marsh smiled nastily. 'Well, there's no harm in asking, I
suppose.'
When Terry had left the office Marsh sat for a while
smoking his cigar. It would not do to tell Petherick that
none of the Ryans could be allowed to go to prison. The
Ryans were going to be wiped out. They had bought
themselves too many friends in the force to be allowed to
live. They had to be shut up, and shut up permanently. As
Petherick would be finding out all too soon . . .
I
Sarah was making Benjamin's dinner. He had come in
from the pub and gone straight up to bed. Said he felt
tired today. Sarah was annoyed. Felt drunk more like. As
she was peeling the potatoes she heard a crash from above
her head and looked up at the ceiling. Nothing. She
listened again. Then putting down the potato peeler, made
her way up the stairs to their bedroom.
Benjamin Ryan was lying on the floor clutching his
chest. One look at his face, grey and drawn, told Sarah he
was very ill. She went to him and tried to lift his head from the floor. 'm
'Benjamin!' "
He opened his eyes. Sarah noticed the blue tinge around
his lips.
'It's me chest, Sar. Get me a doctor. I've gotta pain in
me chest. . .'
Sarah ran down the stairs and phoned an ambulance.
Then she rang Janine and told her to tell the boys what
had happened. Slamming down the phone, she went back
upstairs and sat on the floor with her husband until the
ambulance arrived.
Sarah sat in the Cardiac Care Unit with her husband until
he lost consciousness. She was praying over him all day. At seven in the evening Maura and Roy turned up, both pale
and worried. Janine had not thought to try to contact the
other boys. Roy took his tiny mother into his arms.
'What happened, Mum?' His voice was gentle.
502
'It was terrible. He collapsed in the bedroom. I found
him on the floor.'
'Do they know what caused it?'
'Yes. He had a coronary. He's never been ill in his life.'
'We would have been here sooner but we was out all
day. You should have rung one of the other boys, not
Janine. They'll be here soon.'
He was going to murder that drunken bitch when he
got home. His father ill in hospital and she'd left a message at the club for him to call! Not even telling Gerry Jackson what it was all about.
'I was too scared to call anyone. I didn't want to leave
your father. Look at him. He looks terrible.'
She sounded so old that Maura and Roy were suddenly
reminded of the fact that their parents could die soon.
That their father could be dying now.
Roy sat his mother in the chair by the bed then looked
at his father's wasted body.
'I'm going to find a doctor. Maws. Look after Muwer.
I'll find out what's going on.'
Maura automatically put her arm around the woman she
had hardly spoken to for years. Both forgot their animosity in the light of Benjamin's illness. They were just a mother and daughter, united in their grief.
'Everything will be all right, Mum ... I promise you.'
Sarah held Maura's hand in her own.
'Oh, Maws, he's so ill. What will I do without him?'
'Don't you worry, Mum, he'll be all right.' laura's
voice sounded much more confident than she felt.
Leslie, Garry and Lee turned up a little while later. All
were sober, looking worried about their father.
Maura and Sarah stood by Benjamin's bed, the two
Women supporting each other as best they could. It was
too soon after Michael's and Geoffrey's deaths to face
another one. Though they had all treated Benjamin with
scant respect and only haphazard affection over the years,
now he lay ill they were all reminded of the fact that he
was their father. Even a bad parent was entitled to respect on his death bed.
Carla rushed into the hospital at ten-thirty. Her long
red-brown hair was blown all over the place and she had
on an old coat. Even untidy, she looked lovely. She went
straight to Roy. Her father held her while she cried. She
was the living image of Janine, and for a second he
remembered the vital woman he had married.
'How's Grandad Ryan? I was out all day with Joey. I
only got the message when I came home.'
'He's very ill, Carla. But they think he could pull
through.'
'Come on, Carla. Sit here beside me.'
Garry's voice was soft. Carla was like the family mascot.
She sat down in the chair and he gave her a cup of coffee.
Inside the room Maura and Sarah stood either side of
Benjamin's bed. At ten-forty-two he opened his eyes and
looked at them.
The two best girls. I suppose I've missed the pub?' ,"
Looking at their anxious faces, he tried to grin.
Sarah and Maura laughed through their tears.
'Yes, Dad, you missed the pub.'
'Remember what I've always said . . . when I die, I want
me ashes put in the Bramley Arms.' He closed his eyes.
Maura and Sarah finished the sentence for him: 'So
you'll always be there for opening time.' U
It was a saying of his they had heard all their lives.
'That's it, girls. I think I'll have another sleep now.'
He closed his eyes. When he was asleep the two women
hugged one another.
'I reckon he'll be all right now, Mum.'
504
I
The nurse who was in the room and heard the exchange
smiled at them.
'Why don't you all get home and get some rest? He's
stable now.'
'Come on, Mum. I'll run you home.'
'No, I can't stay in that house on me own. I've never
spent a night there alone since before the war.'
Maura could hear the fear in her mother's voice. Til
stay there with you. Don't worry. Come on, let's get you
home.'
Both women kissed Benjamin and left the room.
Maura drove Sarah home a little later, amazed at the
way events had brought them together as Michael had
wanted,
'Sleep in my bed with me, Maws.'
'All right then, Mum.' They went up to the bedroom,
both quiet and sad.
As they undressed they were both aware of the truce
that had been drawn up between them. Maura knew that
for the first time in years her mother needed her. She was
sorry that it had taken her father's near death to achieve it.
Sarah got into her bed and watched Maura folding her
clothes. She looked at her daughter's unblemished body
and beautiful profile. She would have been a fit mate for
that Terry Petherick. He was one of the few men she had
seen who towered over her daughter. Maura took off her
bra and Sarah looked at her large firm breasts and pulled
her eyes away quickly, feeling that spark of jealousy many
Women feel when they see their daughters' strong, taut
bodies. Maura slipped into the bed beside her mother,
feeling strange at the turn of events. She had rung William earlier and told him what had happened, and that she was
staying the night with her mother. She knew he was miffed
as he wanted her with him. They were now a real couple,
making plans with each other. She had decided to give
herself to him as he wanted her too. Seriously and for
always.
'I'm frightened, Maws.' Sarah's voice sounded hopelessly
old and tired. Maura patted her hand.
'He'll be fine, Mum.'
'I was eighteen when I married your father. My father,
God rest him, had gone around to Ben's house and given
him the hiding of his life. Then he had arranged the
wedding. That was over fifty years ago now. And Michael
had been that child. My first born son. 1935 that was.
Then I had child after child. Your father. He used to joke
that he only had to walk past me to get pregnant. You
were me last one. Me daughter for me old age. I never
really loved your father, you know, but when you spend all
that time with someone, it's hard to imagine being without
them. Even when they're a waster, like your father.'
'I can understand that, Mum, It's a long time.'
'It's good of you to stay with me, Maws. I know we
haven't exactly seen eye to eye.'
'Look, forget that, Mum,' Maura interrupted her
mother. 'We're together now. That's all that matters.
That's what families are all about. Pulling together in the bad times and sharing the good.' m
Not that we ever did that, Maura thought to herself.
Sarah stared into Maura's face. In the light of the
bedside lamps, she looked very young and Sarah was
reminded that she was the tool that was going to destroy
her daughter. Whatever happened she was going to have
to do that. Maura smiled at her sadly.
'Do you remember when I was a kid and I used to sleep
with you when the old man was in prison? We used to have
chats. That's what you always used to call them . . . chats
506
1
i
I wish we could turn the clock back to those days. Be like
we were then.'
'So do I. But nothing can ever be the same as it was.'
Sarah sounded as if she was holding back tears and Maura
assumed they were for her father. She never dreamt they
could be for her.
'I wish I had kept my baby, Mum. I still think about it
sometimes.' Maura's voice was wistful.
'I wish you'd kept it and all. I wish I'd never taken you
to that flat in Peckham.'
'That's all water under the bridge now, Mum. I went of
my own accord.'
'No, Maws, it was me. I was scared that you'd be tied to
someone you didn't love, like I was. Then, when I met
Terry . . .'
'You met him? When?' Maura's voice was sharp, and
Sarah realised her mistake.
'Oh, it was at the funeral. Michael's funeral. I spoke to
him there.'
Maura relaxed. 'Oh, then. Yeah, our Garry had a go at
him.'
Sarah swallowed deeply.
'I know. I was watching. Along with many other people.'
They were quiet for a while, both occupied with their
own thoughts. Then Maura spoke softly.
'Look, Mum, let's just concentrate on getting me dad
°ut of hospital and back home. Everything else is done.
Over with.'
She nearly told her mother about William Templeton
out stopped herself. She knew that her mother didn't really like him.
'Mum?' Maura's voice was quiet.
'Yes.'
'You don't regret having all us kids, do you?' Suddenly
i
it was important that she knew the answer.
Sarah was silent for a while before answering.
'Of course not, Maws.'
As she spoke, she asked God to forgive her for lying.
M
508
February 1987
Leslie and Garry were collecting the protection money. As
they pulled up outside a Greek restaurant in Ilford, Garry
noticed a blue Granada parked a few cars away from them.
'Les . . . see that blue Granny? I'm sure it's been following us.'
Leslie looked at the car.
'I haven't noticed it.'
Garry got out and walked to the Granada. He tapped on
the window. As it opened he leant down and looked into
the car.
'What you doin' here?'
The blond man inside looked puzzled.
'I beg your pardon?'
'I said . . . what you doin' here?'
'I've come to have a meal in the restaurant. Why?'
'Nothing.'
Garry walked away from the car, still not sure what was
going on. He got back in his own car beside Leslie. J;
'Let's sit here a minute and see if that bloke goes in the
Restaurant.' Sure enough, the man got out of his car and
°cked it up. Then he went into the restaurant.
'You wait here, Les.'
'OK.'
Garry went into the restaurant. The man from the
Granada was studying a menu. Leslie walked through to
the kitchen, picked up the envelope with the 'rent' in and
walked back out again. As he passed the man's table he
said, 'Have a nice meal.'
The blond man watched him leave. After a quick
moussaka and a brandy, he paid his bill and left. He drove
to the nearest phone box. He had to let Marsh know that
Garry Ryan had tumbled him.
Maura and William were' visiting Benjamin. He had been
home from the hospital for ten days and was not taking
kindly to his new regime. Not drinking, no smoking, no
fats.
.:".. 'Seems bloody silly living if you can't enjoy yourself.'
William smiled.
'Really, Mr Ryan, once you get used to the changes they
won't seem so bad.'
'I dunno about that. It's easy for you to say, ain't it? You ain't been told you can't enjoy yourself no more.'
William shook his head. Benjamin Ryan was not only
ignorant but stubborn. He had absolutely refused to
conform to any advice that the doctors had given him.
'Nuffink but a load of bleeding foreigners. Can't understand half of wot they're waffling about. Bloody macaroons,
eye ties and sodding krauts telling me wot to do!'
Maura laughed.
'Oh, Dad, Doctor Hummelbrunner isn't German. Hes Austrian.' I'll
'All the bleeding same if you asks me.'
'Leave him, Maura. I'll make sure he follows the doctor's
orders. Now shut your trap, Benjamin Ryan, whefl
we've got visitors. Would you like another cup of tea, L°r William?' '?
510
'I really wish you wouldn't call me that, Mrs Ryan. Willy
will be quite adequate.'
Sarah smiled uneasily. She didn't like having a lord in her house. It made her uncomfortable. Where her daughter
was concerned, there seemed to be nothing but trouble.
Sarah had read about this Templeton in Geoffrey's papers.
He was a villain. Only in Sarah's eyes he was worse than her children, because he had been given a good start in life
which was more than her brood had ever had. It wasn't
right. . .
Sarah was beginning to regret her newfound friendship
with her daughter. She should have kept it as it was. Kept
her away from the house. The trouble being she was the
apple of her father's eye. She waited every day for that
Petherick to call her about the papers she had given him
and up till now she had heard nothing. She was beginning
to wonder if she had done the right thing.
'You all right, Mum?'
Sarah looked at Maura.
'Tired, Maws, that's all. I think you two had better
make a move in a minute. I want to settle your father for a nap.'
'Okey doke. I've got to meet Leslie and Garry anyway.'
William Templeton got up and placed his cup and saucer
°n the coffee table.
Maura went to the bed that had been put in the lounge
and kissed her father goodbye.
'Take it easy, Dad, and do what Mum tells you.'
I will, girl. See you tomorrow then.'
'Goodbye, Mr Ryan.'
'Tata, son. See you again.' He winked at William. 'Bring
a medicinal brandy next time.'
'Oh, Dad. Give it a rest, will you!'
When Maura and William had left Sarah settled Benjamin
for his nap. 'Our Maura's done well for herself there, Sar.
Looks like he's got a couple of bob.'
'Well, money isn't everything and I don't think our
Maura's exactly hard up.'
Benjamin caught hold of her hand. 'I never give you
much, did I, gel?'
She looked into his rheumy eyes.
'Well, you did your best. Now try and get yourself off to
sleep. I'll call you at nine o'clock for your tablets and we'll watch a bit of telly. How's that?'
'All right, love.'
Sarah collected the used cups together and carried
them out to the kitchen. As she filled the sink with hot
water she looked around her, remembering the cockroaches,
the empty bellies, and the years of hardship she
had experienced within these walls. And she remembered
Maura with her long blond hair flying behind her as she
played out in the street. . . Leslie's permanently running
nose. 'Silversleeves' the others had called him . . . She
could almost hear Mickey's voice floating up from the
basement. . .
She turned off the tap and began to wash up. In her
mind's eye she could see Geoffrey on the day Maura had
made her first Holy Communion. Geoffrey had been so
proud of her. All the boys had been scrubbed up and taken
to the church. Garry and Lee had been irritating her all
that morning. Geoffrey had thumped the pair of them.
She had felt so proud of them that day. She had walked,
head high, with her nine children all clean and shining.
She smiled to herself. If only you had an idea what was
in store for your children! All those years ago she had
thought Maura would grow up, marry, and give her
grandchildren. Instead, she had grown up and done the
complete opposite. First thing in the morning she would
512
phone that Petherick and see what was going on. If she
had to wait much longer she'd have a heart attack herself!
Once Maura was arrested she would be able to breathe
freely. Whatever happened, she had to get her away from
the boys. Benjamin's heart attack had shown her that they
weren't getting any younger. If she was to sort her family
out before she herself died, she had to do it now.
Maura and William were in Le Buxom by ten o'clock.
Gerry Jackson had been in the act of throwing out a
prominent Member of Parliament who had a penchant for
trying to dance with the strippers when Roy had arrived.
Recognising the man, Roy had taken him down to the
restaurant to try to sober him up before the place got
packed. He left him with one of the waitresses and went
back into the club.
'That old bastard gets worse, Gerry.'
He nodded.
'He gets on my bloody nerves. He'll be on telly
tomorrow or the next day telling everyone to listen to
their consciences and vote for the Tory Party.'
'Mickey had the right idea, you know. He used to keep
records on all the prominent citizens and use them to his
advantage.'
'Yeah, I know. The West End's full of bloody Arabs at
the moment. That'll cause hag, it always does. They won't
go near the black birds and so the blondes will be "going
case" two or three times a night, which means permanent
bitching. By the way, that coon Rubber was in here earlier, selling coke. I slung him out but I thought I'd let you
know. All the hostesses are as high as kites.'
'Thanks for telling me, Ger. That's all we need. Well,
keep your eye on them. I don't want them fighting with
the punters. They can do what they like to one another.'
Roy went back up to the offices to see Maura.
'All right, Roy?'
'Yeah, not too bad. We've got the Right Honourable
Dickhead in again tonight and that bloody Rubber's been
in and sold the hostesses coke. Other than that, everything's fine!' Maura laughed.
'Send Leslie round to have a word with him. I heard
through the grapevine he got a good hiding outside the
Pink Pussycat last week for selling bad stuff. Tell Leslie to make it plain that this is his last warning. I don't want this place raided for drugs.'
'Okey doke. Leslie and Garry are due in shortly anyway.
Actually, Garry rang in earlier. Reckons he was being
followed by a bloke in a blue Granada.'
Maura rolled her eyes to the ceiling and took a deep
breath. 'I don't believe him! He is so paranoid it's a joke!'
William Templeton looked at her, puzzled. 'What do
you mean?'
'Oh, Will, it would take all night to explain it.'
Roy started to chuckle.
'He thinks that he's being followed all the time. We all
wind him up about it. He's really paranoid.'
'Has he always been like this?'
'Since he was a kid. He told me once that when he gets
really wound up he hears voices!' Roy laughed.
'Good God!'
Maura put her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggl pounds -'No, not God . . . more like the devil!'
William smiled but in fact he was disturbed.
'What did you say to him?'
'Not a lot, Maws, just the usual. That I'd phone around
the Bill shops and see if they had any information. I'll
him later it was just a mistake on his part.'
514
'Good. Humour him. That's the best way.'
'If you want to shoot off, Maws, I'll pick up the rents.
I'm staying on here for a while anyway.'
'Thanks, Roy. That would be great. Once Les has been
sent to sort out Rubber, would you ask him to pick up
some parcels for me? The addresses are on this piece of
paper.
'We're meeting Isaacs again on Sunday night to
complete the deal, so I want you, the boys and Gerry
Jackson with me. Tooled up. Sawn-offs, not handguns..
OK?' ,
'What time?'
'We'll meet here at about five-thirty. Right then, Will,
let's get going.'
He stood up.
'Would you like to go out to eat?'
'Why not?'
'See you's later then.'
When Maura and William left, Roy started going
through the papers. Sunday was two days away, and he was
going to wish that he had listened to Garry's story.
Although none of them knew it, the net was closing.
Lenny Isaacs was sitting in his hotel room, shaking like a
leaf. Terry Petherick and Superintendent Marsh were
sitting opposite him.
'I swear on my mother's grave, I don't know what
you're talking about!'
Terry flicked the ash from his cigarette onto the carpet.
'Listen, Lenny, we know everything. We know about
the gold, about the robbery, and we also know about you.
So why don't you save yourself some trouble and just tell u" what we want to hear?'
Lenny was biting his lip. His short stubby fingers were
trembling and he was trying as hard as he could to stop
himself crying.
Marsh looked at him pityingly.
'I can promise you, Lenny, that the Ryans will not know
where we got our information from. All we want to know
is when the meet will be. We'll do the rest.'
'I'm sorry. I know nothing. I'm over here on holiday.'
Terry lost his temper.
'Cut the crap, Isaacs! You're over here to buy illegal
gold. How about we pull you in now? Leak your name to
the papers. Say that you're helping us with our enquiries.
Then leave you on remand in funky Brixton where you can
sit and wait for the Ryans to waste you!'
Lenny paled.
'You wouldn't do that to me!'
Terry smiled.
'Just try us and see.'
Lenny looked down at his hands. Terry could see his
shiny pate through his thinning hair.
'It's on Sunday. We all meet on Sunday. You realise that
I'm a dead man?'
Marsh stopped chewing his thumbnail and said, 'We'll
see about that, Lenny. Don't worry. Now tell us nice and
slowly what's supposed to be going down.'
Lenny cleared his throat and took a sip of his wine.
'We're meeting at a place called Fenn Farm.'
'We know all about Fenn Farm. What we're more
interested in is times.'
'Seven-thirty on Sunday evening.'
Terry looked at Marsh.
'That only gives us thirty-six hours.'
'Don't worry, Petherick. We'll be more than ready for
them.'
Lenny Isaacs wiped a stray tear from his eye. Maura
516
f
Ryan would have his nuts for this. He was already dead.
Maura had just put a chicken in the oven and was
preparing the vegetables for Sunday lunch. She wanted to
eat at twelve so she and William could have the afternoon
free. When she had finished scraping the carrots, the
telephone rang. It was Margaret.
'Hello, Marge.' Maura's voice was warm.
'Hiya! I thought I'd give you a quick ring and see how
you was getting on.'
'Terrific. I was just starting the dinner actually.'
Margaret's voice was incredulous. 'Maura Ryan cooking!
Now I've heard everything!'
'Ha, ha, Marge!'
'This William must be some guy. If he can domesticate
you, he must,be the business.'
'He has not domesticated me ... I often cook.'
'Pull the other one, Maws, it plays "Hard Day's Night"!
Seriously, I'm just pleased you're so happy. It's about
time.'
'Oh, Marge, it's great! I wish to God I'd got myself in a
relationship years ago. I don't think I'm in love exactly . . .
but I just want to be with him all the time. In fact, I am with him all the time.'
'I can remember when me and Den were like that!'
'Come off it, Marge, you and Den are still like lovebirds.
You two even embarrass your own kids with all your
kissing and cuddling.' ?
'Don't talk to me about my kids . . .' i
Margaret's voice was sad.
'Why, what's happened?'
'It's Penny. She's got herself a bloke.'
'What's wrong with that? You can't keep them tied to
your apron strings forever.'
'It's not that, Maws. He's a bloody Sikh.'
'You're joking!'
'I wish I was. He even wears a turban. Mind you, I had
to laugh. Little Dennis saw them together in the High
Street and went up and asked him when his head was
gonna get better. That's how we found out. Penny and
him had a big fight about it and when I tried to sort it all out, Dennis dropped the bombshell.'
Maura was laughing so hard she had an ache in her ribs.
'I wish I could see the funny side of it all.'
'You bloody hypocrite, Marge! You're the one who
brought them up with liberal ideas. Everyone's the same,
no matter what colour they are or what religion. Now
poor old Penny's got herself a coloured bloke, you're
doing your nut!'
'Well, I never thought they'd want to go out with one,
did I?'
Maura was still chuckling.
'What's big Den got to say?' v
'Oh, him! He's about as much good as an ashtray on a
motorbike. "Leave her alone, Marge. Let her find her own
way ..." I said, "You won't be saying that when she's walking round with a red spot on her forehead and a gold lame sari.'
'Oh, Marge, stop it. You're making me guts ache. Can
you see her in a sari with all that ginger hair of hers?' a 'Oh, I don't know what to do.'
'Well, if you want my advice, I wouldn't protest too
much. Remember what we were like at that age. The more
people try and tell you what to do, the more you're inclined to go against them!' Jas
'Yeah. I've thought of that.' - .1
'Let her get it out of her system.'
Maura heard William get out of bed. 'I've gotta go
.mm
518
Marge. I'll try and get over to you tomorrow. Say about
lunchtime, how's that?'
'All right, Maws. I'll make us a nice quiche.'
'How about a curry? You'd better start practising Indian
cookery.'
'Piss off, Maura!'
'And you! 'Bye, Marge.'
Maura put the phone down and leant against the wall,
laughing. Poor old Marge!
'What are you laughing about?'
Maura went to William and kissed him.
'I'll tell you all about it later. I've started the dinner, we're eating early today. I thought we could go out this
afternoon for a walk or something. I have to leave at four
to meet Roy and the others.'
William looked down into Maura's bright blue eyes.
'Tell you what. Scrub the walk, we'll go back to bed.
How's, that?'
Maura kissed his mouth hard.
'I was kinda hoping you'd say that!'
Terry and Marsh were in the Special Operations room at
Scotland Yard, going over the final details with a handpicked bunch of men. Marsh had recruited them from the
SPG. All had licences to use firearms.
'So we swoop at precisely seven-forty-five. That gives
them fifteen minutes to negotiate with Isaacs. We've put a
man with him so he doesn't lose his nerve. He'll introduce
him to Maura Ryan as his partner. You all understand what
you are to do?'
All the men nodded.
'Good.'
Terry stood up and faced them.
'The main aim is to bring the Ryans in. All of them.
This is going to be one of the biggest busts this country
has ever seen. Nothing is to go wrong. You only fire if it is absolutely necessary and then you aim only to wound if
possible.'
The men nodded and looked at one another. Unknown
to Terry they had all been told to open fire immediately
they entered the barn. Not one person was to be allowed
to leave that place alive, Lenny Isaacs included. No one
knew why this young DI was being kept in the dark. They
were just following orders.
4.00
Sarah was sitting with Benjamin watching a Doris Day film on TV. She was trying to knit and finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. She had left message after message for that young man Petherick and he had not been in
touch. She was worried that one of the people who
worked for Maura had found out what she had done. If
Maura knew she would kill her, she knew that. For all her
talk of never being frightened of anything that came out of her own body, she was increasingly nervous. Today for some reason she had had a terrible feeling of foreboding,
It had been weighing down on her like a lump of concrete
in her breast since she had got out of bed this morning.
She put her knitting down and rubbed her eyes.
'How about a nice cuppa, Sari"
Benjamin spoke without taking his eyes off the television.
Sarah stood up, glad of something to do. She
made her way out to her kitchen and put the kettle on.
She had been going to visit the boys' graves today,
Mainly Anthony's, Benny's and Geoffrey's, she only ever
paid Mickey's a flying visit. But for some reason she did
not want to leave the house.
As she set about making the tea, a deep coldness came
520
over her and she had to sit down at the kitchen table. She
had only felt like this twice in her life before and that was when Benny had died and Geoffrey had gone missing. She
had had a feeling similar to this the day the police had
reported to her Geoffrey's body had been found. She
closed her eyes to blot out the picture of him in the
mortuary. He had been shot in the back of the head and
the bullet had come out just under his jawline. He had had
a surprised expression on his face. Now she had that
feeling again. She was convinced that something was going
to happen today. Something bad.
When she finally took the tray of tea in to Benjamin he
was asleep. She turned the sound down on the TV and sat
and drank her own tea. Waiting for a knock on the door or
the phone to ring. .-."
4.30 -'
Maura was driving to Le Buxom to meet the boys. She had
not felt so happy for a long time. William had tried to
Jersuade her to let Roy deal with the business today and
'he had been very tempted to stay in bed with him. After
all these years she was finally having a relationship with a man, and loving every second of it. She only wished she
iad let herself go before now. She found herself smiling at Complete strangers at traffic lights and laughed to herself.
f this was love she was enjoying every moment of it. She
decided that she would pass more of the business over to
Roy. He was doing so well now. She wished he could get
rid of Janine but knew that concern for. Benny kept him
with her.
She could understand that. If she had become a mother
he knew she would have done anything for the good of
ier children. She wished again she had kept her baby. It would have been grown up now with a life of its own.
She pushed the thought from her mind. She was happy
today and nothing was going to interfere with that! She
turned her thoughts to Marge, determined that nothing
was going to spoil her happiness. All she wanted to do was
get the meet over and get back to William.
She was humming a little tune as she pulled into Dean
Street. ,"
4.45
Lenny Isaacs had dosed himself up with brandy. The
policeman assigned to keep him from bolting was Detective
Sergeant Paul Johnson. He had been given his
orders two hours ago. Once the shooting started he was
to push his gun into Isaacs' side and blast him. There
was something definitely fishy about all this but as his
old dad used to say: 'Ours is not to reason why.' If it
got him a promotion he didn't give a toss. The likes of
Lenny Isaacs were scum anyway. He'd be doing a public
service.
Lenny sat in the barn. It was freezing and he shoved his
hands into the pocket of his sheepskin. He was praying for
the first time in thirty years. DS Johnson sat opposite
staring at him. Lenny wished to Christ the copper wasn't
such a big bastard. He would have tried to make an
escape. The trouble was he had never been the hero type
More the 'I'll scratch your back' class of villain. He hadn't slept all night and had been jittery all day. Maura Ryan,
whether she was nicked or not, would make sure he
disappeared. Oh, God in heaven, help him, for fuck's sake
522
1
4.50 ' '
Fenn Farm was derelict. It had not been worked for
years. Maura had bought it for a song at an auction a few
years previously and was going to sell it eventually,
subject to planning permission for a housing estate.
Green belt land was not classed as sacrosanct any more.
If you had the money and the contacts you could build
just about anywhere you wanted to. Arable land that was
worth only a few hundred pounds an acre could become,
overnight, prime building land worth millions. This was
the Thatcher era, when anything that was commercially
viable and cost the government nothing was encouraged
wholeheartedly. Even building estates on old power
stations was acceptable, provided you filled the land in
with plenty of concrete first. Then the people who
bought the houses were given lists of trees they could
plant, trees with very shallow roots that would not
disturb the sludge and radioactive waste lying beneath
the houses. It was a developer's dream, and Maura Ryan
had had the foresight to cash in when land was still at
nominal prices. The days when the working-class men
dreamt of winning fifty thousand pounds on the pools were long over. You could not buy a flat for that amount now, let alone live for the rest of your life on it. England
was the epitome of the consumer society.
Today Terry Petherick was watching from the sidelines
as the farm was being set up ready for the arrival of the
Ryans. Everywhere he looked there were men with high!
velocity rifles, all taking up position in and around the
barn. The light was fast fading, and Terry was reminded of
an old World War Two movie, seeing the men dressed
black spiriting around with faces covered in camouflage
make up and guns glinting in the half-light. He fingered
his own gun and prayed that he would not have to use it.
Especially not on Maura Ryan.
He was sitting on an oil drum watching the activit
around him when a man standing near him answered a call
on his walkie talkie. Terry had not been issued with one
and until this moment had not thought it strange. When
he heard what was being said on the man's radio,
became crystal clear to him just why he had been overlooked in that department.
The voice crackled over the radio and into Terry's brain.
'Remember, not one Ryan is to leave the farm alive. You
cut them down as they arrive.'
'Understood. Over and out.'
The man began to walk towards the barn door, and
Terry realised through his reeling thoughts that the
had not noticed him. In the twilight and with the camouflage make up he was indistinguishable. He sat for a while
on the oil drum, letting what he had heard sink in.
Maura and her brothers were going to die. They were
being led here, to this farm, like lambs to the slaughter.) And it was his fault. He had taken the files to his superiors!
and then had listened to their excuses as to why none of
the judges and policemen on the Ryans' payroll would
brought to justice. Now it was revealed to him wit
shocking clarity why the Ryans had to die. While they hek
knowledge that could rock the country, they were dead
men. And women. He must not forget Maura, the mastermind
behind it all. It was she who was the biggest target:
Maura who was the fly in an otherwise perfect ointment.
He could have kicked himself. Here he was, with his ideals
about justice - good and bad, law and order - and there
was no such thing. Not in this country, or indeed the
world.
He looked at his watch. The luminous dial showed that
it was just five o'clock. Looking around him surreptitiously, he began to move slowly towards one of the last
remaining cars outside the farm. He was praying that the
keys were still in it.
He slipped behind the wheel of the Sierra Estate and
felt a surge of thankfulness that was almost sexual. The
keys were in the ignition. He swallowed deeply, feeling
the momentary hesitation that always precedes an act of
wrong doing. Only what he was doing was not wrong.
He had sworn an oath to uphold the law in this
country, and as Far as he was concerned that was just
what he was doing. Stopping the wanton murder of a
whole family. No matter what they had done, nothing
warranted what was to happen at this farm tonight. He
had two hours before the Ryans were supposed to arrive
and he would try to stop them if it was the last thing he
did.
He started the car up and drove cautiously away from
the farm house and the barn. He drove as if he was
supposed to be driving the car away, neither too fast-nor
too slow. He remembered that on their way to the farm
today he had seen a phone box in the lane about a
hundred yards from the farm's exit. He drove there, his
breath barely entering his lungs in his state of nervous
tension. If somebody tried to stop him, he would use his
524
gun. Whatever happened, Maura Ryan was not going to -,
die, not in a barn on a cold February evening, mown
down like a dog.
'Right then. Is everyone happy with what they are to
do?'
Roy, Leslie, Garry and Lee nodded at Maura.
'Good. We'll have a quick coffee and then make tracks.
It'll take over an hour to get there.'
'I still think we're being watched.' Garry's voice was low.
Maura sighed.
'Oh, for Christ's sake, Gal. If we were being watched,
one of our plants would have let us know before now.
You're so paranoid lately.'
'I'm telling you now, that bloke I saw in the blue
Granny was definitely waiting for us.'
'Give it a rest, Garry. You're like an old woman
sometimes.'
Garry looked at Roy. 'Well, when we're all fucking
nicked, don't say I never warned you.'
Lee laughed, then said in a girlish voice, 'All right then, Garry. I promise you with all my heart.'
Garry looked at him, frowning.
'I'm glad you think it's funny. I hope you find it as
amusing when you're sitting in Parkhurst or Durham
doing a twelve stretch.'
Leslie pulled on his cigarette.
'Only twelve years? I'd have thought we warranted at
least a thirty.' He looked at Lee. 'Remind me to nail
someone's leg to a table. We can't have the Krays outdoing us at the last moment.'
Everyone laughed but Garry would not be silenced.
'Yeah. And the Krays are still inside, remember that. Ifll
526
feet if you -' he pointed at Leslie viciously - 'get put on the "Island", you might get banged in a cell with one of
them. Reggie, that is.'
Lee grinned.
'Not you though, Garry, you'll be put in Broadmoor
with Ronnie. That's where all the nutters go.'
'Oh, shut up, for Christ's sake. No one's going
anywhere.' Maura was getting annoyed.
Garry flicked his hair from his eyes. 'Well, there's one
thing I can guarantee. You won't be in Cookham Wood
with the other long-timers like Hindley. You'll be top
security, girl. We'll all be A grade. Like terrorists.'
Before Maura could retort, Lee spoke. His voice was
soft as silk. 'Have you been reading that book again? How
to Win Friends and Influence People?
Everyone laughed.
'Oh, piss off, the lot of you! The last book you's read
was Fluff and Nip.'
Then the phone rang and Maura picked it up, chuckling
as she did so.
Terry went into the phone box and dialled directory
enquiries. He asked them for the number of Le Buxom.
When they gave it to him, he dialled the operator for a
reverse charge call. He did not have a single coin on him.
He stood in the cold with bated breath as the operator
tried to connect him. Le Buxom was the only place he could think of where someone would know the whereabouts of Maura Ryan.
He was literally praying as he heard the distant clicking
and whirring of the telephone exchange.
Maura picked up the phone. 'Hello?' Her voice was calm
and happy.
'I have a reverse charge call from a call box in Essex
Will you accept the charges?'
The operator's clipped tones were bored and efficient.
Who on earth could be ringing her from a call box?"
Maura racked her brains.
'Of course.'
'You're through, caller.'
'Hello, can I speak to Maura Ryan?'
She felt her heart stop in her chest. She would know"
that voice anywhere. All around her the boys were good
naturedly ragging Garry as they drank their coffee. In
Maura's head there was only one sound: Terry Petherick's
voice.
'Is there anyone there?' He sounded desperate. 'I must
speak to Maura Ryan or someone who can contact her.'
'This is Maura Ryan.' She was amazed at how calm her
voice sounded.
'Maura, this is Terry. . . Terry Petherick. Please don't
put the phone down.'
'What do you want?' Even as she spoke so normally she
' could feel the almost adolescent longing and excitement
he had always created in her. I
'You mustn't go near Fenn Farm. The Special Investigations
Branch are waiting for you. They're armed and
ready.'
'What!' The sound of her voice silenced her brothers.
They all looked at her.
'I know it sounds crazy, but believe me, Maura, you're
in big trouble. We know everything about you. Everything.'
He stressed the last word.
'But how?' She sounded very young in panic.
'Look, can we meet? I can't stand here explaining it all
They're looking for me ... or will be when they realise I've gone.'
528
'What are you talking about?' Maura's voice was
scared.
'Look, Maura, is there anywhere we can meet? It must
be somewhere the police don't know about. Have you a
secret hideaway?'
Maura was thinking out loud. 'Marge's house . . .
Carla's . . .' Then it struck her. 'Do you know Mickey's
old place?'
'Yes. I know it.'
'I'll meet you there.'
'OK.' Terry put the phone down and went to the car.
'What's happened, Maws?'
'You were right, Garry. The old Bill have tumbled us.
Isaacs must have grassed.'
Garry stood up from his seat and threw his coffee cup at
the wall.
'I knew it! I bloody knew it! You wouldn't listen, would
you?'
'Calm down. Calm down. Shouting and hollering ain't
gonna help us.'
Roy looked at his sister.
'What's the score?' , '"'.'I'm
not sure yet. I want you all to lie low for a while. I'm meeting somebody who knows what's going on. Fenn Farm is well and truly out of the question. I'll be at
Mickey's old flat. I want you all to ring in there from
wherever you decide to go. All right?'
'Who was that on the dog and bone?'
'Just a friend, Les. A good friend.'
'Well, I'm off to Muwer's. Who wants to come?'
Leslie nodded at Lee. 'I'll go with you. At least she'll
guarantee some decent grub with an alibi.'
'Well, wherever you all go, don't forget to ring me at
'What about Richard? He might not like you just
turning up at his drum.'
Maura picked up her bag and scowled at Lee.
'Fuck Richard!'
'No, thanks. He's not my type.'
Maura laughed despite herself. 'Come on, you lot. Let's
get a move on.'
M
Richard was asleep in bed with a Filipino man he'd picked
up the night before. They had only emerged from the
bedroom once to have some sandwiches before they went
back to bed for another session. Richard was cuddling
into the man's back when he heard the hammering on his
front door. He hoped it was not that bitch Denzil again.
Since Michael had died he had practically haunted him.
Richard's most oft repeated statement was: 'Straight
may not be ... choosy I most definitely am!' And he had
not sunk as low as Denzil. Not yet anyway.
He walked naked into the hallway.
'Who is it?' His voice was high and cracked.
'It's me. Maura Ryan.'
'Oh!' Richard opened the front door and let her in.
Since Michael's death he had added a mortice lock to the!
door which was why Maura's key was not enough to gain her access.
'I never expected you!'
Maura could hear the surprise in his voice.
'Well, you've got me, Richy baby. Until I say otherwise.'
She walked into the lounge and threw her bag on the
sofa. Going to the drinks cabinet, she poured herself
large Remy Martin.
Richard was in a quandary. He most definitely did not
want Maura Ryan in his flat. And it was his flat. Michael
had left it to him. But he was not brave enough to ask her
530
to leave. He just stood in the doorway watching her. She
was wearing a deep red trouser suit that perfectly complemented her white-blonde hair. Her large breasts were just
covered by a white silk shirt. Richard could see that she
was braless. He had envied her her breasts from the first
time they had met. He had also been jealous of the way
Michael worshipped her. The fact that he knew she did not
like him had not helped matters very much either.
He heard a stirring in the bedroom and felt faint with
fright. He had completely forgotten about his Filipino
friend! He saw Maura's puzzled expression and tried to
smile.
'It's a friend of mine.' As he spoke the man came out of
the bedroom and Maura could not help but stare at him.
He was tiny and slim, like most Filipinos, but he had the
largest organ Maura had ever seen in her life. It was like a baseball bat. She made a conscious effort not to let her
mouth fall open with shock.
'This is my friend, his name's Weykok.' Richard's voice
trailed off as Maura began to guffaw with laughter.
'Well, it would be, wouldn't it?'
Weykok stood with his thin bony shoulders pulled back,
as if trying to emphasise his enormous member. He
seemed to enjoy the stir that he was creating. Richard
turned to him and bundled him back into the bedroom.
Maura sat on the sofa laughing her head off. She had
needed something to lighten the situation and it had come
in the shape of a man called Weykok.
Richard came back into the lounge; he was wearing a
silk dressing-gown. 'He's leaving now.'
As 'he spoke the little man came into the room, fully
dressed. He held out a tiny hand.
'Money, please.'
Maura saw Richard flush. Enjoying herself, she said
innocently, 'Does he charge by the inch or the centimetre?
After all, we're in the common market now.'
She started to laugh again and Weykok laughed with her
good-naturedly. Maura went to her bag and opened it.
'Have him on me, Richard. How much?'
Weykok seemed to understand this as he said politely,
'Eighty-five pounds, madam, please.'
Maura pulled out two fifty-pound notes and gave them
to him, saying, 'Keep the change.'
The little man bowed to her, and after a mumbled
conversation with Richard in the hallway, left the flat.
'Well, Richard, I'm afraid I'll be invading your space for
a while. Let's try and get on, shall we?' Her voice was
friendly.
'Are you in some kind of trouble, Maura?' Richard was
serious.
'Sort of
'In that case I'll do all I can to help. Not for you but for Michael. I know that's what he would have wanted me to
do.'
He said the words simply and with an innate sincerity
that made her feel guilty for her earlier jokes at his
expense. She was reminded that she needed him. Needed
him badly.
'Someone will be coming here soon to see me.'
She saw his face fall and hastily reassured him. 'Don't
worry, Richard, there'll be no violence or anything like
that.'
She saw him relax and for a second felt sorry for him.
She sat back down on the sofa and patted the seat beside
her. "
'Come and sit here, Richard. We need to talk.'Terry Petherick was in Dagenham. He parked the car he
was using in the car park of the Ship and Shovel public
house. Leaving it there, he went out on to the A13 and
flagged down a passing mini cab.
'Bloody hell! You in the TA?'
As Terry sat beside the minicab driver, he remembered
that he was still blacked up.
'Yes, actually. I've been on manoeuvres and my car
broke down.'
'Oh, I see.' The man's voice was gravelly as if he needed
to clear his throat. 'Where you want droppin' off?'
'Could you take me to Knightsbridge, please?'
'Yeah. Course, I was in the TA, you know. Went to
Germany once . . .'
Terry closed his eyes. This was all he needed, a 'weekend
warrior' for a cab driver.
Maura was chatting to Richard, trying to make friends
with him. She knew that she needed him, desperately. She
could not help noticing that all around the room were
pictures of Michael and Richard, laughing and with their
arms around one another. It was only Richard's association
with her brother, and his fear of her, that was keeping him from throwing her out, she knew that.
'I needed somewhere to meet someone important.
Where no one would think of looking for me. I know this
is a cheek, Richard, but it was the only place I could think of.'
He shrugged.
'Well, it's yours for as long as you want to use it.- Now,
can I make you something? Tea? Coffee?'
Maura smiled. 'Coffee would be great.'
She looked at the large cuckoo clock on the wall. It was
nearly a quarter to seven. She bit her lip. Where was Terry?
532
Sarah was watching the three boys surreptitiously. They
had all turned up together to visit their father, but they
were not right somehow. They were all taut as bowstrings
as if waiting for something to happen. Garry got out of his chair.
'Can I use your phone, Mum?'
'Of course you can.'
He went out into the hallway and rang Maura. While he
was doing it, Leslie and Lee kept Sarah in the front room
chatting. Both were nervous under the plaster gaze of the
holy family and the various saints that stood around the
room. It seemed every time they visited her a new statue
had been added to the collection.
Sarah sat with them while they chatted to her and
Benjamin, but still had the bad feeling in her side. The
dragging feeling that seemed to be increasing as the day
wore on.
At six-thirty Marsh realised that Terry Petherick had gon
missing. Busy as he was getting everything set up, he had
not given him a thought till then. Although Terry did not
know it, he was going to be silenced along with the Ryans
Oh, they would not kill him. Not unless they had to . .
He was going to be named as the person who had shown
Maura Ryan on her entry into the barn.
Now Marsh knew that somehow Terry had cottoned on
to what was going to happen and had driven one of the
Roy was sitting at home with little Benny, He was nervi
and worried. He would ring in to Maura at seven. Give her
a chance to sort herself out. He looked at Janine. She was
lying on the couch half drunk. He suddenly felt a tightening sensation in his bowels. For the first time in years was scared.
' --
unmarked cars out of the farmyard. He was fuming. There
had been two cars outside, both to be driven away before
the Ryans were due to arrive. In the commotion, as
everyone got ready and set up the barn for the meeting,
Terry had just got into one of them and driven off. God
knew where. Personally Marsh hoped it was not to the
newspapers. While Maura Ryan was alive and kicking they
dared not touch her. She could open her mouth about
things that would smash open the Metropolitan Police
force and West Midlands Serious Crime Squad, and she
also knew things about docklands and other prime areas of
development that could bring down the government. He
shivered. She had them literally by the bollocks.
Now there was another thing that he knew for definite.
Maura Ryan was not coming anywhere near this barn or
even this county. Terry Petherick had jumped fences today.
In either camp, whether it was the police's or the Ryans',
Petherick was a dangerous man.
Terry knocked on the door of Michael's flat and Maura let
him in almost immediately. They stood in the hallway
staring at one another for long moments, both drinking in
the other as if they were dying of thirst. .
Maura was the first to speak.
'Come through, Terry.'
He followed her into the lounge.
'This is Richard, an old friend of my brother Michael's.
He lives here now.'
Terry held out his hand and Richard shook it.
'I'll make some more coffee, shall I?'
'I could certainly do with some.'
Richard smiled at Terry and went to the kitchen.
'Sit down.'
They sat on the sofa together, nearly touching, and
Maura felt the heady sensation of being close to him for
the first in years. She savoured it for a few moments to try to commit it to memory. Terry was doing exactly
same.
Finally Maura spoke. 'So, what's going on?'
'You're not going to like what I have to tell you
Maura.'
'I know that, Terry. But I still have to know the score.'
He took a deep breath.
'Your brother Geoffrey kept a file on you and Michael.'
He watched her large blue eyes open wider. 'When he died
it came into your mother's possession. It had details of the gold bullion robbery, even the route map - which incidentally had your prints all over it. It had the names of every
high-ranking official in the government, police and law
courts, how much you paid them and what you paid them
for. Maura, it had everything.'
She was absolutely dumbstruck. "
'Your mother rang me and asked me to meet her. I did.'
He swallowed deeply. 'She gave the file to me and I passed
it on to the SIB.'
Maura shook her head in disbelief. 'The Special
Investigations Branch? I see.' Her voice was small. 'So
between my mother and yourself, I was well and
truly . . .'
'No, Maura. No. I know how it sounds but we wanted
to help you.'
Even as he spoke he knew it sounded lame.
'Come off it, Terry! I'm not as daft as you seem to
think. You and my mother wanted me put away. Neither
of you thought about all the so-called "goody two
shoes" wankers on my payroll. It never occurred to either
of you that they were abusing their positions. Oh, no!
You two just wanted me sent down, out of harm's way.
,
Well, let me tell you something. If it hadn't have been
me and Michael buying them bastards off it would have
been someone else. This bloody country is rotten to the
core, mate. Everything has its price, whether it's a small
backhander to get a bit of planning permission or a large
donation to the appropriate political party for a development.
Like docklands . . .'
'I know now that what you're saying is right.'
'Oh, shut up! Shut up!' Maura was shouting now and
Richard was listening to everything that was being said.
'You was always an idealist, Terry . . . like some sort of
bloody knight errant. Always wanted to get the bad guys,
didn't you? Well, let me ask you something. What's
happening to the people we've been buying off? I bet they
aren't being given a twelve-gun send-off, are they? Are
they? Of course not. They'll walk away as they always have
done with an OBE or a golden handshake. No one must
ever know that Sir Godly Goodly, who just happened to
go to Cambridge with most of the other scum from the
higher echelons of British Society, is on the fucking take!'
Her mouth was flecked with spittle and she ran her hand
through her hair in agitation. 'Why aren't they after the
real criminals? The rich and pampered criminals. Why
must we take the fall for them? You answer me that.'
Terry stared at her, knowing that all she said was true.
He was aware from the day that Marsh had told him what
was going to happen to the men on Maura's payroll, that
it was unfair. That the Ryans were going to carry the can
for them so that Joe Public never knew what was really
going on. He felt a fool. He had betrayed her. After all he had done to her in the past, he had betrayed her again
because he'd thought that what he was doing was right.
And now he knew that there was no such thing as 'right'
and 'wrong' any more. Was it right that judges could sit
on a bench and put away men for being a danger to society
at large and then acquit other men who were a much
bigger danger, just because they were being paid to do so?
Was it right for the top police who were financing their
gambling or other hobbies to be retired when in reality
they should be doing time? No, it was wrong. Maura Ryan
was a criminal but she had never pretended to be anything
else. She did not shield herself with the mantle of a good
education and a law degree. If what she did was wrong, at
least she did it without pretending to benefit the nation.
Richard walked into the room with a tray of coffee and
sandwiches. He placed it on the coffee table and spoke. 'I
couldn't help hearing your conversation.'
Maura and Terry both looked at him as if they didn't
know who he was. They'd forgotten him.
'I work for the papers. You know that, Maura. From
what I've just heard, I think that while you have access to journalists you're safe as houses.' He looked from one to
the other. 'Think about it. Maura knows all the people
who are on her payroll. While you're alive, Maura, the
police dare not touch you.'
'They were going to kill them all. Every one of them. At
Fenn Farm tonight.' Terry's voice was flat.
'If you'll forgive me, I guessed as much for myself. What
you must do, Maura, is leave the country. Go somewhere
where they can't get to you.'
'They would!'
'No, let me finish. You must write down everything you
know about the people who are on your payroll then you
must leave it with someone, to be opened only on your
death. That way you will live a very long time, believe me.'
Maura and Terry stared at him. As fantastic as it
sounded, it held the ring of truth.
'I know plenty of journos who'd commit murder for a
538
story like this. It's got everything a journalist needs.'
'He's got a point, you know.' Terry's voice was excited.
Richard spoke again. 'Honestly, Maura, I know what
I'm talking about. Look at Profumo. Christ, that still gets dragged up every so often. People like to think that the
rich people who run big businesses and the people in
government are in cahoots with shadier people. It makes
them feel better about their own lives. There's nothing the British like more than to tear someone apart, preferably
someone they created or voted in in the first place. The
gutter press makes its money doing it, whether it's the
Westland affair, the Profumo scandal or a judge who's into
pornography. As long as it's someone with plenty of
money or a high profile, the British Public loves it.'
The more Richard spoke, the more sense he made to
Maura.
'But where could I go?'
'Anywhere you wanted to, really. While you're alive and
kicking and able to open your mouth, you and your
brothers are as safe as houses.'
She slumped back on to the settee. 'Let me think about
it. I can't concentrate . . .'
'Drink your coffee and have a sandwich. We'll think of
something, don't you worry.'
Maura was beginning to understand what Michael had
seen in Richard. He wasn't just a pretty face.
Marsh was worried. Very worried. It seemed that Maura
Ryan had gone on the missing list. From information he
had received, it seemed the only person at her house was
William Templeton. Lord Templeton. Three of her brothers
were at their mother's and the other brother, Roy, was
at his own house in Chigwell. Maura Ryan had not
appeared at any of her clubs or other businesses. He had
put a call out to watch for her car but didn't hold out
much hope there. He was dealing with a dangerous lady, a
woman with the means of destroying numerous people,
himself included. And to top it all, she now had the
championship of Terry Petherick!
He sighed and lit one of his cigars, looking up as the
door of his office opened.
It was Superintendent Ackland of the Special Investigations Branch. Ackland was notorious in the force for his
violent and disruptive personality. He was one of those
men who should by rights have chosen a life of crime.
Brought up in the Gorbals, he had an animal cunning and
an empathy with the criminal mind that was out of place in
the world of the police. Or so Marsh had thought until he
had read the names of seemingly respectable men on
Maura Ryan's payroll.
Like many Scotsmen, James Ackland was quite small,
with a muscular body and the high forehead and erratic
hair of his ancestors. He had tiny blue eyes that seemed to be permanently on the move, darting around his head as if
he was frightened that by the act of relaxing his gaze he
would miss something important. Even after twenty years
in London, his Scottish accent was as pronounced as ever.
'You've read the files, I take it?' Marsh's voice was low.
'Aye. I have that.' Ackland laughed. 'Well, there's one
thing for sure . . . she's a canny lass. The way I see it,
there's not a lot we can do to her. Or her family, come to
that.'
His face seemed to straighten, as if wiped clean with a
blackboard rubber. 'But I'll think of something. Though
myself, I think the people on the take should be brought
to book. But you know and I know they won't be.'
Marsh nodded and puffed on his cigar.
Ackland picked his rather bulbous nose, making Marsh
feel sick.
'The only way out is to annihilate the bitch. Usual code
of conduct, of course. We find her, then we have what the
papers euphemistically call a "shoot out". It's odds on that she's carrying a firearm. Christ, man, from what I read in
the file, I wouldn't be surprised if she was carrying a
tactical nuclear missile!'
His voice was jocular again. 'I don't like covering up for
people, especially people who should know better, but
there you are. We're all under orders.'
Ackland helped himself from the bottle of Famous
Grouse that Marsh had on his desk, pouring the dregs
from a coffee cup into a waste paper basket and filling it
nearly full.
'We have to find her first.' Marsh's-voice sounded as if
that would be an impossible task.
Ackland sniffed. 'No one can hide forever, Marsh.'
Maura was writing furiously. She was making a document
which, if it got into the wrong hands, would bring the
country to its knees. Her brain was working overtime,
remembering every little detail she could about the people
she had dealt with. Unknown to her there were people
named in her account who had not appeared in Geoffrey's.
She was concentrating on the 'biggies', as Richard had
called the cabinet ministers and the Bank officials. She also listed every large developer and industry chairman who
had at one time or another dealt with either herself or
Michael.
Terry watched her as she worked, reading each page as
she finished it and realising with each word just how
corrupt and evil the establishment had become.
William Templeton was worried. Very worried. Like Marsh
he was wondering where on earth Maura had got to. He
glanced at-his watch. It was nearly two in the morning and
still no word. He looked around Maura's lounge at the
family pictures that abounded. On top of the television
cabinet were photographs of Carla. From a small child to a
grown woman, her life was lovingly documented. On the
occasional tables were photos of Maura and her brothers,
mainly Michael.
He got up from his chair and went to the kitchen to
make himself yet another coffee. As he poured hot water
over the coffee granules there was a knock on the door.
Banging the kettle down on the worktop he answered it,
his heart in his mouth.
A man was standing outside the porch. He was holding
a police badge in his hand. Slowly, William opened the
door.
'Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, sir.' The man
542
had a pronounced Scottish accent. 'I am Superintendent
Ackland of the Special Investigations Branch. Could
please talk to you for a moment?'
The man smiled and William saw that he had tobacco
stained teeth. He held the door open and gestured for the
man to come inside.
Please God, don't let her be dead. William was convinced
that it was bad news of some kind. It was not until
Ackland told him that he was going to be arrested and charged with certain offences, including conspiracy to murder and armed robbery, that he realised just how bad.
'Do you realise who I am?' His voice was outraged.
'Aye, I do. But you see, Lord William, I couldn't care
less if you were the Prince Regent himself. If you don't do what I tell you, I'll drag you to the police station so fast you'll burn a hole in the pavement! Outside this house is
an army of policemen, with guns, just waiting for a word
from me. You're going to be the bait that tempts the big
fish. The big fish being Maura Ryan.'
'I have no idea where she is.'
'Maybe not, but it's odds on you'll be able to find out.
Now, shall we have a nice cup of tea and a chat?'
Ackland's voice was friendly and for some reason this
worried William more than anything.
Maura was in deep trouble and he guessed that he was
going to be asked to double cross her. This Scottish lout
had as good as already said that. What was worrying
William was the fact that, as much as he cared about
Maura, his own skin would always come first. It always
had.
At two-thirty Maura took a rest from her writing to have a
cup of coffee. Richard had produced a photocopier that he
kept for when he worked from home. He was busy in the
bedroom copying all that Maura had written so far.
Richard had wanted to be a 'real' journalist all his adult
life. He realised that in his hands he had the scoop of the century and that he could never use it. As he read what
Maura had written his eyes goggled. He would bet his last
pound that the Secretary of State for the Environment was
probably sitting at home and sweating like a pig. He must
have been told all that was going on. The same could be
said for the Home Secretary.
As he read, Richard had the beginnings of a plan
forming in his mind.
In the lounge Terry and Maura drank their coffee in
silence.
'What do you think the outcome will be?' she asked.
Terry shook his head.
'I really don't know, Maura. I feel responsible for it all.'
'That's not surprising, is it? Considering you are! You
and my mother.' Her voice was bitter.
'I don't blame you for being upset with me but I am
trying to help you now. Surely that says something?' Terry
was desperate to reassure her of his backing.
'You're trying to help me now because the people that
you worked for ... the people that you revered and tried
to emulate . . . turned out to be more bent than I am. That's why you're trying to help now. You said yourself that you knew before you even went to Fenn Farm that
the so-called "biggies" who were on the take would walk.
I don't need you, Terry Petherick. I never needed you.'
'You did need me once, Maura.' His voice was quiet and
earnest.
She lit a cigarette and looked into his face.
'Oh, yeah? And when was that?'
'When you were pregnant. When you had the abortion.
544
When you were lying in hospital desperately ill. Yoi
mother told me all about it.'
He sounded calm and caring.
Maura snorted. 'So, mouth almighty told you that as
well, did she? What else did she tell you? Did she tell you that she once accused me of sleeping with Michael? Didlt
she tell you that? Did she tell you that for all our faults, real and imagined, she took the money that was sent to her
every week?' She was quiet for a few seconds. Then, her
voice low, she spoke again. - fl
'I never needed you then, Terry, so don't flatter yourself.
I was young and naive and the only mistake I made, as
I see it, was getting involved with someone like you. Even
then you wanted to change the world. Michael told me
what happened to you. We had enough plants in the force,
even then. You were pulled over the carpet for your
association with Michael Ryan's sister and you dumped
me. You had a choice, me or the force, and your precious
police force won. Then, when my mother gave you
Geoffrey's papers, you couldn't wait to run to your
superiors with them. Terry Petherick, the Vine Street
Marvel, uncovers the biggest case of corruption this
century. Only you didn't realise then that what you
actually had was something the government and the police
would rather hush up than expose. You struck out, mate.'
'I've lost everything. My job . . .'
'Oh, sod your job!' Maura was shouting. 'I don't give a
toss about you or your stupid job!'
'Whatever you think now, Maura, I loved you. But we
were so young then. What about the night we spent
together after Benny died? You told me then that you still
loved me.' He pointed at her. 'You told me to go the next
morning. It was your decision.'
He felt an urge to weep. He had inadvertently brought
"W1
546
I
her nothing but grief from the day they met.
'I sent you away because I wanted to.'
'Oh no you didn't! I won't have you saying that. You
sent me away because you were in too deep with Michael.
It was for that reason and that reason only.'
Maura watched his handsome face and admitted the
truth of what he was saying to herself.
'Shall I tell you something? Shall I tell you the real truth of my life?'
'Yes. Please tell me.'
'When I met you in 1966,1 felt something I had never
felt before. Or since.' She stared at a spot on the carpet, afraid to look at his face. 'I wanted you so badly I could
taste it. Do you remember when you told me you were a policeman? I nearly had a heart attack!'
She laughed softly. 'I sneaked around for months to
meet you, lying to my mother and father and my brothers.
Then, when I got pregnant and went to your flat to tell
you, you finished with me. I had that baby scraped out of
me by a dirty little Paki. I can still smell that flat sometimes.
I can still see the baby lying in the bottom of a
washing up bowl. Perfectly formed and dead.
'And do you know what the ironic part of it is? I never
wanted to be anything other than a wife and mother. I
know that the feminists would crucify me if they heard me
speaking like this but it was all I ever wanted: a husband, a home, and children. A houseful of children. Then when I
had the abortion and it went wrong, I came out of the
hospital and all that had been taken away from me. I'had
nothing to give to a husband or a lover. I was empty
inside. I nearly died, you know. And for a long time that's exactly what I prayed for. Then I had the idea of working
for Michael. He never really wanted me to work in the
family business but I forced him. I knew that he felt
f
I
I
responsible for what had happened to me and I used that
to get the ice cream and hot dogs from him. After that, I
gradually took over from poor Geoffrey.
'If I hadn't gone into the business then, Geoffrey and
Michael would have stayed together as a team. Though
Michael never really had a lot of time for him, I must
admit that. And somehow, all that happened over the years
built up and built up ... until this. I'm the most wanted
woman in England now and all I ever wanted was to be
Mrs Average. That child would be twenty-one now
Grown up and going out into the world. Instead it was
flushed down a toilet in a multi-storey tower block in
Peckham, and I'm being hunted by armed police . . .'
Her voice trailed away and Terry knew that silent tears
were falling from her eyes. For the first time he realise4
just how much he had really hurt this woman. He asked
himself for the hundredth time since Mrs Ryan had tola
him about the abortion, whether he would have stayed
with her had he known. And being an honest person he
knew that he could not answer that question so many years
later. All he was sure of was that he had wrecked Maura's
life. That she had always been inside him somewhere, like
a piece of a puzzle that was gradually being put together
He put an arm around her hesitantly, afraid that she
would push him away, but she didn't. Instead she held oif
to him tightly, pulling his body against her own as if tryingf to crawl under his skin. And he held her while she crieqE
and was not surprised to feel his own tears fall as they both healed a breach that spanned twenty years. A
Richard had heard what had been said and being a tact
person coughed loudly before he went into the loung
Maura and Terry pulled away from one another an!
Richard acted as if he could not see they were both ver
548
upset. Instead he smiled brightly and sat on the floor in
front of them.
'I have the most amazing idea. I think that you'll love
it.'
Maura wiped her eyes, grateful for the intervention. He
was going up more in her estimation with every hour that
passed.
'What is it?'
'I've been reading what you've written down and I
think that you have more than enough to do a deal.'
'What kind of deal?' Maura's voice was more alert now.
'I think that if our friend here . . .' he pointed at
Terry . . . 'goes to see his superiors with a copy of what
you have written, and tells them that there are numerous
other copies in the hands of unscrupulous people, then
they'll be more than ready to come across.'
'They'll never do a deal.'
'How can you be so sure, Terry? I think that the
Secretary of State for the Environment will have the last
say on what happens. After all, there are some pretty heavy heads on the chopping block.'
'But who will we give the copies to?'
'Let me worry about that, Maura.'
'I know one person who would be glad to help us.'
'And who's that?'
Maura looked at Terry 'Patrick Kelly.'
'What, the IRA man?' Terry's voice was shocked.
'Yeah. He's an old friend of mine. We go back years.
Plus he owes me one.' She thought of Michael as she
spoke.
'Wouldn't he use it, though?'
'Only to his own advantage. The British Government
are in closer contact with the Irish than people think. They trade information with each other when necessary. The
government know who the real leaders behind Sinn Fein
are. Gerry Adams is just the media go-between. The real
leaders are never mentioned.'
'Rich and important men, I suppose?'
'No, Terry, not all of them. I know that the IRA get
a bad press but the majority of them are fighting for a
cause that they believe in. Like any society they have all
sorts, from the lower end of the scale to the top of it.
Kelly is at the top of the scale and I know I can trust
him.'
'So that's one person. Can you think of any more?'
Richard was loving every second of this now. It was the
most exciting night of his life. For the first time he was
involved in something that was really important, and even
though he would never be able to boast about it, he would
know inside that he had been a part of it. Had helped to
mastermind it.
Maura frowned. 'The only other person I can think of is
Derek Lane.'
'But no one knows where he is.' Terry's voice was
puzzled.
Maura couldn't help laughing. 'Terry, Derek Lane and
people like him are easy to find if you have the right
connections. Michael and I were in partnership with him
out in Spain. He owns the monopoly on the timeshares
out there. I have the full partnership with him now that
Michael's dead. I could fly out to Marbella and explain the situation to him.'
Terry was flabbergasted. Even though he knew that
Maura and Michael were heavyweights as far as the British
gangland scene were concerned, he never dreamt for a
second that they were in league with people like Derek
Lane. Yet he should have guessed. After all, they were
birds of a feather really. Derek Lane had gone on the trot
in 1977 and not been seen or heard from since. He was
wanted for countless murders and other serious crimes. He
had been the Birmingham equivalent of Michael Ryan,
only unlike Michael had not tried to work within the law
as well as outside it. In the end England had got too hot
for him and he had disappeared.
'Well, that's two good people. They'll do for the
moment. Now then, Terry, are you willing to be negotiator?
Will you go and see Marsh?' It was the least he could do for Maura.
'Yes. I'll go.'
Richard smiled.
'Good! Now -all we have to do is work out what terms
we want and everything will be underway.'
Maura laughed softly. 'You're really enjoying this, aren't
you, Richard?'
He nodded his head at her. 'Yes, actually, I am. Now
who wants more coffee?'
Roy heard the phone ring through a fitful sleep. He sat up
in the chair, not sure for a moment exactly where he was.
He looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Four-fifteen.
The television showed an old black and white film. He
dragged himself over to the phone.
'Yeah?'
'Roy? Roy Ryan?'
The clipped voice was familiar.
'Yeah. Who's this?'
'It's Jackson. DI Jackson.'
'Well, what do you want?' Roy had never liked Jackson.
'William Templeton was brought in earlier and he's
shouting his mouth off about your sister and other things.
I thought you ought to know.'
The line went dead and Roy stared at it for a few
550
1
moments, letting the words sink in. Then he dialled
Michael's flat.
Maura answered. --m
'Maws? I just had a call from Jackson. Willy's been
nicked and he's telling them anything they want to know.'
'OK, Roy. Thanks.'
'What's happening, Maws?'
'At the moment you're as safe as you possibly can be.
After eight o'clock this morning, everything will be fine, I promise you.'
'But what. . .'
'Roy, I'm sorry, mate, but I have to go. Get some sleep.
I promise that you'll be fine. Tell the other boys for me.'
She put the phone down, leaving Roy for the second time
in five minutes with a dead phone in his hand.
'They've dragged in William Templeton.' Maura's voice
was flat. She had hardly thought about him since the
trouble had started and yet, not twenty-four hours ago,
she had been making love to him.
'Does he know much?' Terry was concerned.
'No. Nothing that they don't already know. If I know
Willy, he'll be trying to save his own neck. They must have picked him up from my house.'
'Well, let's forget him then and concentrate on what the
terms are going to be. We haven't got long now.' Maura
stretched and both men watched the rise and fall of her
breasts. She yawned loudly. ...
'Right. Where were we?' i
Marsh and Ackland were already sick to death of William
Templeton and the Home Secretary had been on the phone
twice in the last hour. Like everyone else he wanted this
'little business', as he put it, cleared up once and for all.
Marsh had wondered fleetingly whether the Home Secretary
had been up all night as well, because by the annoyed
note in his voice Marsh got the impression that the man was tired. Sick and tired, by the sounds of it. As they all were.
The phone on his desk rang and he answered it.
'What!' He had lost any remnants of civility at about
four in the morning. Now, at eight-fifteen, he had had just about enough.
'Detective Inspector Petherick is here to see you, sir. I
told him that you were not to be disturbed but he insisted
that you would see him.'
The WPC's voice was petrified. She had already been
bawled out twice by Marsh already, and she had only come
on duty at seven o'clock.
'Send him up, girl! Send the bugger up!'
Marsh slammed the phone into its cradle. 'It's
Petherick . . . the little scumbag!'
William Templeton stared at the two policemen. Marsh
snapped at him, 'Go into the other office, you. And keep
your mouth shut!'
552
William walked through the connecting door and sat
down. He was tired and hungry and scared. From what he
could gather, they knew all about him and his royal
connections were not going to help him at all. He sat in
the uncomfortable chair and put his head in his hands.
Terry walked into Marsh's office with his head held
high and a confident stride. Under his arm was a blue
cardboard folder. He could feel Ackland measuring him
up.
'Well, well, well... if it isn't the laughing policeman.'
Marsh's voice dripped sarcasm.
Terry sat in the chair vacated by Templeton.
'It seems to me that I'm the only policeman in England
who actually has something to laugh at. I know for a fact
that you don't.'
Marsh screwed up his eyes. This was not the man he had
seen previously. This was a man with a secret, an important secret, and one who knew how to use it. i
'What happened to you? Where did you go?'
Terry looked at Ackland.
'I can't tell you that. What I can tell you is, Maura Ryan
is willing to do a deal.'
'A what?' Marsh's voice bounced off the plasterboard
walls.
'A deal.' Terry threw the folder on to the desk. 'In there
is information. More than was in Geoffrey Ryan's file, I
might add. There are copies of this information with
numerous different people. I am here to talk business with
you, gentlemen. And the Home Secretary, if he hasn't
already been informed.'
Terry relaxed into his chair. He was enjoying this which
was the last thing he'd expected. He watched Ackland pick
up the file and flick through the papers.
'And what kind of a deal were you looking for?'
554
Ackland's voice was resigned, as if he had expected something like this.
'Maura Ryan wants to be left alone. She and her
brothers. She wants to keep her holdings in docklands,
which are perfectly legal, and to run her clubs as before.'
'And what will she give us in return?'
Terry smiled at Ackland. 'In return she won't open her
mouth about any of this.' He pointed to the file that
Ackland was holding. 'And she will return the gold bullion
that went missing in eighty-five. She also gives you her
word that she will only deal with legitimate operations in
all her future business investments.'
'And you honestly think she'll get away with this?'
Marsh was practically foaming at the mouth.
Terry nodded. 'Yeah, I do.'
'Your career is finished, my boy!'
Terry laughed. 'Oh, shut up, Marsh, for God's sake.
You sound like something from "Dixon of Dock Green".
This whole place . . .' he waved his arm '. . . is rotten,
mate. Rotten to the bloody core. Of course my career is
over. It was over before it began. Because if you read those files carefully, Maura's and Geoffrey's, the only people to get any kind of real promotion were those on the bloody
take!'
Ackland sighed.
'So you know where Maura Ryan is, I take it?'
'Yeah, I know. And I'll never tell you, so you'd better
think again if you're going to try and kick it out of me.'
Terry stood up. 'I'm warning you both now. Copies of
those files have been faxed to two other countries. They
were sent hours ago to reliable people. If so much as one
hair of Maura Ryan's head is harmed they go straight to
the tabloids. The Ryans own a bit more than you think.
They own journalists and newspaper editors, with more
than a few television newspeople thrown in. Not just in
England but in the States and in Europe. Maura Ryan is
willing to retire gracefully and just carry on with her
legitimate holdings. Think about it carefully, gentlemen.
She is not a woman to cross, believe me.'
Ackland raised his hand to silence Marsh who looked as
if he was going to have a coronary at any moment.
'I'll have to speak to my superiors before anything can
be decided.'
'Fair enough.' Terry glanced at his watch. 'I'll be in
contact in four hours. At twelve-thirty.'
'You won't get away with this, Petherick. I'll get you
personally.' Marsh's voice dripped with venom.
Terry leant on the desk, both palms flat, and looked into
Marsh's sharp-featured face.
'You'll get me, will you? Funny how you don't want to
get the others, the ones on the take. The big developers
and the MPs and the Chief Super that you work for. Does
he know that he's been tumbled yet? That his holidays in
Kenya and the Maldives are over? That his little scams have all been found out? Does he know that the Ryans even
have the name of the prostitute he visits every Wednesday
night? The one who ties him up and spanks him?
'Don't say you're getting me, Marsh! Go and get some
real villains for once in your life.' H
Terry straightened his back and stared defiantly at the
silent and grim-faced man before him. 'One last thing.
Would you tell the Chief Super that I have a bit of news
that might interest him?'
'What's that?' Marsh spat the words out.
'Tell him that the girl he sees every Wednesday,
Samantha Golding, was diagnosed as having Aids. Tell
him the Ryans even knew that before him. Before any of
you. And don't you dare act the outraged policeman with
556
me! You were willing to take part in the murder of an
entire family. If you had done you would have kidded
yourself it was for your country. Well, you know and I
know it would not have been. It would just have saved a
load of fat bastards' arses. If you loved your country so
much you should have pissed off to the Falklands, Marsh.
And from what's in that file,' he pointed to the folder
Ackland was holding, 'that was another complete cover
up and shambles!
'Now, I'm leaving. I'll be back in touch at half-past
twelve.'
He stormed out of the office, leaving a white-faced
Marsh and a quiet and subdued Ackland.
'You asked for that, Marsh. I have to take my hat off to
the man. What he said was true.'
Marsh was in such a monumental temper he forgot his
fear of Ackland. He picked up his cigar and said, 'Oh, fuck off, you Scottish turd!'
In the office next door William Templeton began to
laugh.
Terry did not go back to Michael's flat. It had been
arranged that he would go back to his own place, in case
he was followed.
He drove there on a high. At least he had told Marsh
exactly what he thought of him. Inside his flat he made
himself some coffee and sat reading the paper. He had lost
the urge to sleep, was in the state of overtiredness that
seems to make a person more alert and mentally agile.
He sat at the table and thought about Maura. Nothing
he did would get her out of his mind for even five minutes.
Once again the words on the page in front of him were
replaced by a vision of her face. She was flying to Marbella today. Although he had told Marsh that the file had been
faxed through to two different countries, it was not true.
Maura was going to take copies to the people concerned
herself. She was flying to Marbella at five-thirty from
Gatwick.
He sipped his coffee. He had lost everything now. His
job, his way of life. And he had sacrificed it all for Maura Ryan. He looked around his kitchen, and then, as if he had
been jolted from his chair, went to the phone. He knew
what he had to do.
Sarah was enjoying having the three boys home. The
feeling of foreboding that had plagued her the whole day
before lifted off her as she cooked breakfast for them.
She prepared what had long been known in the family as
a 'Benny Special': two eggs, five slices of bacon, black
pudding, tomatoes, beans, mushrooms, and even fried
liver sausage, along with huge amounts of toast and a
good strong pot of tea to wash it down with. She had
felt sorry for Benjamin, eating his poached egg while
they wolfed down his favourite meal, but consoled
herself with the fact that he would thank her for it one
day.
Just after breakfast the phone rang and Garry ran to
answer it. Sarah was not sure what was said but the boys all looked a lot happier. She left them all in the kitchen while she gave Benjamin a blanket bath. He still couldn't get out of bed.
As she washed her husband's face, he grabbed her arm
gently. 'All right, Sar?'
'Yeah, why?' She looked at him, puzzled.
'You're enjoying having the boys home again, ain't
you?'
She smiled. 'Yeah. I miss them all.'
'I never gave you much, did I, girl? Except the back oi
558
my hand. It makes you think, you know, being stuck in
bed.'
Sarah looked down at her husband's rapidly wasting
body. Just for a split second she saw the eighteen-year-old boy who had whistled at her one bright summer evening
in 1934. He had been tall, dark and handsome, wearing a
bowler hat that night which had somehow set him apart
from his contemporaries. Sarah felt an enormous lump in
her throat for the man he had been.
'I know I never tell you very often, Sar, but you was
always my girl. You know that, don't you? I always loved
you.'
She nodded at him. It was one of those rare moments
that occur in everyone's life. One of those times when
there really isn't anything to say. Ackland had spoken to the Home Secretary at length, and was now waiting for Terry Petherick to ring through to his
office. Marsh had already left, as had William Templeton.
Whereas Marsh had been disgusted by the turn of events,
Templeton had been relieved - though Ackland was quick
to guess that Templeton knew he had lost Maura Ryan's
friendship.
He sighed heavily as he waited for Terry to call. The file
that Petherick had left was, even at this moment., winging
its way across London to be studied and talked over with
the Secretary of State for the Environment amongst others.
Ackland, unlike Marsh, knew when he was beaten and
deep in his heart was glad that Maura Ryan had eventually
outwitted them. His own conscience said to him: Why
should she be a scapegoat for the real criminals?
He was glad when the phone finally rang. Lack of sleep
was catching up with him.
Maura picked up the phone at twelve-forty. It was Terry
and she knew even before he spoke what had happened.
She could feel his euphoria coming over the telephone
line. -.. v.
'They've agreed! Agreed to everything!' 'm
'Oh, thank God!'
Maura took her first really deep breath for what seemed
like days. fi
'They didn't argue about any of it?' '"
'No, Maws, not a thing. It's perfectly acceptable. Tell
Richard he did a good job. We all did a good job.'
'What about my brothers?'
'Fine. Everything's hunky-dory.'
'Thanks for all your help, Terry. I promise you won't
lose by it.'
Maura's voice was humble and sounded strange to
Terry's ears.
'So you're off to warmer climes then?'
'Yeah. I suppose we won't see each other again.'
'Well. . . you never know what's going to happen, do
you? I'd better let you go. You have a lot to do before you fly out.'
'Goodbye then, Terry. And thanks again.'
'You're welcome.' His voice was soft. 'Goodbye,
Maura.' .
He put down the phone and Maura stood in Michael's 5
flat feeling more desolate and alone than she had ever
done before. She had beaten the police and the establishment and yet she felt nothing. Nothing except an overwhelming
loneliness. -Richard came into the room. ? 'We won then?' He sounded happy.
'Yeah. We won.'
He was sad to hear Maura's flat and broken voice.
560
'You'd better get a move on, you know. You have to be at
Gatwick by three-thirty.' ,-
'I know.'
Richard put his arm around her. She was much taller
than him and he had to look up into her face.
'Michael used to say to me when I was down: "Ricky,
remember that today is the first day of the rest of your
life." I know it's an old cliche, but it's also a very true
one.'
'Oh, Richard. What would I have done without you?'
She kissed him full on the mouth then said, 'I'd better
phone Roy, tell him the good news.'
Maura sat on the Monarch Flight to Gibraltar. It was
five-twenty-nine and the plane was due to take off at any
time. She was sitting in a window seat. The seat next to
her was unoccupied and she was glad - she was not up
to making conversation with strangers. Plus she was
shattered. She had been awake for nearly twenty-eight
hours.
She closed her eyes, willing the plane to take off. Terry
Petherick came straight to mind . . . She admitted to
herself that she still had all the old feelings for him. The feelings that had assailed her on and off for over twenty
years. When she had spoken to him on the telephone and
he had said goodbye, she had felt as if her heart had been
ripped from her chest. What was it about the man? Why
did he make her feel like this? Even when she had learned
that William, who was supposed to love her, had been
willing to trade her to the police., she had not felt the
intensity of feeling as when she had heard that single word from Terry: 'Goodbye'.
When she had told him the night before about the
baby and what had happened, she had hoped, deep
down, that it would bring them closer together. And it
had, for a little while. But only for a little while. She
supposed he thought that by doing the negotiating for
her with the police he had repaid any debt that he owed
her. She bit her lip.
In the seat in front of her were two little boys, both
excited to be going on holiday. The bigger of the two, a
boy of about ten with light brown hair and mischievous
brown eyes, kept looking through the gap in the seats at
her. As they jumped around in excitement Maura knew
that she would not have a lot of peace on the flight.
She closed her eyes tighter, willing the plane to take off
so she could at least have a cigarette. She felt someone sit down in the seat beside her and pretended she was asleep.
She was too overwrought to start making small talk with
anyone.
'Maura Ryan, I arrest you.'
Her eyes flew open and she looked at the man beside
her, dumbstruck.
'But. . . but. . .' Her voice was locked inside her
throat.
'I hope you're pleased to see me?' Terry's voice was
deep and husky. He was smiling that little lopsided grin
that had captured her heart so many years before.
'But I don't understand. When I spoke to you . . .'
'I was still trying to get on this flight then. They held
the place for me, you know. One of the last perks of being
a policeman. My final abuse of my position.'
He smiled at her again. 'I don't know if you want me,
Maura. But I want you more than ever. I think deep in my
heart I've always known that one day I would come and
claim you as my own.'
She was still staring at him in absolute amazement.
Terry was frightened now. If she pushed him away this
time it would be for good and he did not think he could
live with that.
The plane began to taxi down the runway, building up
speed. As its nose left the tarmac, Maura smiled at him.
'Oh, Terry. I'm so glad you came. So very, very glad.'
He kissed her then, a long lingering kiss that was
witnessed by the two boys in the seat in front. It was their giggling that broke them apart.
'Do you mind?' Terry's voice was jocular and the two
little faces disappeared from sight.
He looked at Maura's radiant face and thanked God she
still wanted him.
'So you're arresting me, are you?' Her voice was full of
love.
He nodded at her, drinking in every feature and contour
of her face.
'Yes, I'm arresting you . . . and I'm afraid that you're
going to get a life sentence. The whole of it to be spent
with me.'
Maura looked at him seriously. 'I'll still be running the
clubs and . . .'
Terry put his finger to her lips.
'I don't care, Maura. All I want from now on is you.'
They smiled at one another as the plane gradually flew higher into the sky.
562
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