She had made Lance her own and for the first time in years she had felt something akin to happiness. Now though, she was once more on the outside looking in, and her Lance was being victimised for a prank, a childish prank.
As Annie put the kettle on, she looked out of the window of her flat, the home her daughter had provided for her. The grass outside was in need of a good cut and the other flats around her were all lit up, their occupants going about their nightly routines. The flicker of televisions and the occasional sound of a dog barking broke the silence for her. Families were eating together, watching television together, being together.
She was on the verge of tears once more and taking her tea, she walked into her front room slowly. The room was over-furnished and over-polished. A heavy smell of beeswax and cigarettes permeated everything, even the wallpaper with its pink roses and a thin gold line as the background. Every surface was covered in photographs, mainly of Lance, though the twins were also in evidence. Lil and Pat Junior were in only one. Patrick Junior’s Communion photo. It was on the mantelpiece, along with Lance’s.
Annie stared at them now; wondering if her boy was all right and worried about Pat Brodie’s reaction to his son’s foolish prank. She could kick Janie Callahan’s arse for the trouble she had caused her family. She missed the twins, their little voices prattling on and the happy faces that glowed with pleasure every time she turned up with a Wagon Wheel for each of them. She now understood just what a joy children could be and, if she was honest, in her darkest moments, she wished she had learned that secret many years before. Lil had been a burden to her from day one, had always been a burden, but now she was sorry she had not made a friend of her only child earlier. She missed the conversation and the noise that her daughter’s house seemed to be filled with constantly. She missed the pranks, the kids’ laughter and the endless cups of tea and cigarettes that were now a staple of her days. Lil was all right and it had taken her this long to admit that to herself. She was heartsorry now for all the years she had made her own life a misery, along with her daughter’s.
Annie had been lonely before, but now it was like a physical ache inside her and not just for Lance. She was actually missing her daughter, missing her chatter and her easy-going ways. It had been a week since she had been to the house and it felt like a lifetime. How she had lived under that cloud for so long she had no idea any more; the years of sitting in the quiet and waiting for a man who had no real interest in her seemed ludicrous now. The waste of her life bothered her. That she had broken under the weight of her husband’s disregard and had joined forces with him in his hate and his disappointments, had made them her own, and for no reason other than that she had only seen him as a way to regain respectability because she had been pregnant with Lil. Now the opinion of the neighbours meant nothing to her; girls had babies without a second’s thought and no one really cared any more. It was a nine-day wonder and she had been lumbered with her old man to give her child a name. She had thought it was so important once and she had held a grudge against poor Lil because of it. She had lived in a vacuum with a man who had snatched her up because no other girl would have had him if they didn’t have good reason and lived in a home devoid of life, laughter and peace of mind.
Her daughter’s house, on the other hand, was inviting and warm and, most of all, happy. Until Lance’s little mishap with the Callahan girl it seemed to her, with hindsight, that her life had been ideal. And in truth, it had been.
Now she was back where she started, alone and unwanted. Even her new friends were only really civil to her because of her daughter’s name and now she might be on the out they were avoiding her like the plague. When all this calmed down she was going to make an effort to be indispensable, amiable and approachable; she was lost without them and she didn’t want to feel like this ever again.
The knock at the door made her jump. She wasn’t a woman who had visitors; in fact, very few people had ever been inside this room. The urgency of the door knocker brought her hurrying into her hallway and, as she opened the door, she remembered that she should have checked who was behind it first.
‘Look, Spider, I never touched Cain in that way. You are barking up the wrong tree, mate, if you think any different. I think we all know who the culprits are, don’t we? You knew he was on the missing list and you did nothing about it so don’t come the fucking concerned brother now.’
Spider was quiet. He’d had to ask and he knew Patrick understood that and wouldn’t hold it against him.
‘He had a fucking good hiding and I admit that. You know it was long overdue. Fucking screwdrivers in the lug-hole though; that ain’t my kind of retribution. That smacks to me of an opportunist, an amateur using whatever came to hand. He was a skaghead for fuck’s sake so he could have been done over by any number of people. Even though you are his brother it wouldn’t stop anyone taking what was rightfully theirs and you know it. Not to mention the fact that he was hanging out with the Williamses. We dropped him near your place. We knew he would make his way there whatever and as he was out of his fucking box on Special K and whiz, among other things. We felt that he needed a hand in that direction. He was not capable of finding his own cock, let alone your drum or even his own, come to that. He was wasted and he was well battered and, believe me, I felt like taking him out but, at the end of the day, we are hardly going to kill him and dump him in a skip, are we? I mean, give us some credence, for fuck’s sake.’
Patrick poured them both drinks but his anger and his obvious disdain were more than evident.
‘His dealer, another fucking skaghead, any number of people could have ironed him out for any number of reasons and you know it. He was on the brown and you can’t fucking trust anyone on that; they would sell out their own granny for a two-quid wrap. He was a good kid and he chose to fuck up but you have to sort your head out, Spider. Stop fucking overdramatising everything. Cain got mullered; it’s sad but a fact of life. Get over it, will you, or at least look for the real culprits.’
Patrick was a big man and Spider had forgotten how Brodie could intimidate those around him without resorting to physical violence. It was this that had made him the top of his game and it was also what kept him there.
‘I’m having the Williams lot tailed to see where they go and what they do. I would lay poke they were behind Cain’s demise because he was too fucking close to them. That fucking Jasper is on his way over to give his opinion on the latest events and you can bet he is in on the fucking lot of it. But this is the Williams brothers’ fucking swan song. I ain’t fucking letting it go this time. They have really pissed me off and I will teach them a lesson they will never forget. You were the one who wanted me to go easy on them, remember, you and Cain. So don’t fucking bring your shit to my door ever again unless you want it cleared up. You had your fucking chance and you did nothing and now you are finding out what happens when you let your emotions take over.’
Patrick’s anger was ripe and justified. He had tried to keep the peace, had given Spider time to sort his brother out and this was the upshot. He must be getting soft in his old age. Well, he was going to cause a fucking war over this little lot. He was going to set an example that would be noted and digested by everyone in their world. He loved Spider like a brother and that was where he had gone wrong. Watch your own arse; it made life much easier in the long run.
Spider watched the changing expressions on his friend’s face and knew he was on the sidelines himself over his brother’s foolishness and his delay in curbing it. He also knew that Patrick was having family trouble himself; his son’s crime was common knowledge and, though most people were of the opinion that he was out of order and in need of a good hiding, there was also a general consensus that he would make a great enforcer one day. If he had that kind of viciousness in him now, what would he be like in ten or fifteen years? He was a born heavy according to the powers that be and his rep was already being established. The little girl in question had already become an old
er boy in the retelling of the tale. All stories got stretched in the telling and this one was no exception. So Lance was already a known quantity to the men his father moved among. They saw him as a chip off the old block, as someone to watch out for in the future.
Spider had never liked the boy, though the other kids were lovely. He knew, as Patrick knew, that the boy had a screw loose somewhere. He was a weirdo and that was being nice about it. Cain, it seemed, had had the same defect, had suffered from the same selfishness, and it was this that was making it so hard for him now. Like Brodie he was of the opinion you cut out the cancer before it devoured you and yours but he had not wanted to do that to Cain. He had not been capable of harming him. He would have, eventually, he knew, but only when he had exhausted every other route first.
He knew his brother had met his death because of this man before him, if not by him, but he couldn’t let that colour his thinking. Patrick had only done what he should have done in the first place. What he should have done without thinking about it, uncaring of the fact that Cain was his brother and his best friend. He had loved that boy as if he was his own child and that had been his downfall; he knew that now and he accepted his stupidity. He had let his brother’s bad behaviour carry on without even attempting to curb it and now he was reaping what he had inadvertently sowed. It would never happen again, he was sure of that.
Now they were in a worse situation and it was all down to him. Cain was dead and gone but the world was still turning, the sun still rose and set and he still had a family to feed.
The Williams brothers were dead meat though, that much he could at least control. And he was going to make sure they were visited before the week was out. Spider believed in personal service and he was looking forward to taking them out one by one. But first he had to calm the waters with Brodie and ingratiate himself once more with the man who had given him everything he had in life and who had given it without a second’s thought.
Spider had to salvage what he could from all this and he hoped that, at some point, that included his pride and the respect of this man who had given him more over the years than anyone else in the world.
Alan Palmer was a man who knew his own worth and, as the acknowledged front-runner in the world of the East End discotheque, he was more aware of what was happening in his nightclubs than anybody would have given him credit for. Alan was a big man, not heavy but solid, thick blond hair and icy-blue eyes; good-looking enough to warrant female interest with or without his loaded wallet. He had been dealing with Brodie for years; he knew that he would not be able to run his clubs without his express permission and he paid a fair price to guarantee that.
Alan Palmer had three brothers-in-law, all handy enough, all with decent credentials and all dependent on him for their livings. His brother had been murdered not too long ago by relatives of the young man sitting opposite him. He had Ricky Williams in his offices in Ilford offering him protection at a reduced rate and not one of his brothers-in-law were available to aim this ponce out the door, so it looked like he was going to have to sort it himself. For Alan, violence was a last resort, unlike his brother, who had seen it as a first resort. Now he was brown bread, so what did that tell you? Violence was also something to be used with the utmost discretion, especially in the entertainment business. This was something he had learned many moons ago and it had been an expensive, inconvenient and hard-taught lesson.
Alan smiled lazily, exposing his expensive teeth for the first time since Ricky had gatecrashed into his club.
’Are you on fucking drugs or what?’
His complete contempt for the man sitting opposite him was apparent in his every word and Ricky Williams was offended.
‘Go on. Piss off home to your mother and don’t ever strong it with me again.’
Ricky sat it out, staring at Alan with a quiet intensity. ‘You should use your loaf, Alan. If we all band together, what the fuck is Brodie going to do, eh? I have half of south London on board and me and my brothers are going to take a piece of this place in the end. If you come on board with us now, you will be the fucking main man. The fucking number one.’
Alan started laughing. But the boy’s words were tempting, as Ricky had known they would be. Alan Palmer was a force to be reckoned with and that was a certified fact. Over the years he had gathered people to him, as any decent employer did; the fact most of his workforce were out on licence didn’t bother him at all. He had a few good scams on the go and he also had a burning ambition but he knew that while Brodie drew breath he would never be challenged by anyone on his turf. If you worked for anyone, you inadvertently worked for Brodie; that had been established many years before. Patrick had sewn up all the main money-spinners and people like him depended on Brodie’s goodwill and largesse to carry out their business dealings smoothly. Brodie guaranteed licences and premises; without his say-so no one could work anything. It was a good arrangement in many ways because it meant that anyone could get a drinks licence or a gaming certificate; anything they needed really, no matter what their past form might be.
In other ways though, it was a bugbear; they had to keep on paying Brodie a hefty wedge for as long as they were trading. Spider had been one of the main protagonists where Palmer’s brother’s death had been concerned; if needs be he could still take umbrage at his brother’s demise or he might choose to accept it gracefully. He would wait and see what the outcome of this kid’s ideas were before he decided what his reaction was going to be. Like any astute businessman, Alan Palmer was always open to negotiation with anyone who had a good business plan and something to offer him.
He knew Ricky Williams was on his last legs in many respects and he also knew that, like the rest of his family, dead or alive, he had the intelligence of a drunken wombat. All that aside though, it didn’t mean he wasn’t capable of at least one act of derring-do.
’Are you trying to tell me that you are capable of taking out Patrick Brodie?’ This was said with a mixture of laughter and seriousness that wasn’t lost on Ricky. He was actually shocked at how quickly Alan Palmer had swallowed the bait.
‘You know the position my family is in now, thanks to Brodie and that cunt Spider. If I could remove Brodie, would you be willing to settle with me and mine and let bygones be bygones?’
Alan knew that Patrick and Spider were probably going to wipe this man and his remaining brothers off the face of the earth; and so they should, the Williams brothers had been asking for it for a long time now. It was overdue, there was no doubt about that. But if, and it was a big if, this prat did the unthinkable then he would not be averse to taking over the reins so to speak.
He was well-respected and he was also in possession of a serious fortune; both of which would be mandatory if he was to step up a gear and take on the mantle of a serious firm. His pulse was quickening at the thought of it; he could take the whole place over with the minimum of fuss. There was no one to stop him and, after Brodie, he was the next best thing.
Old Jimmy Brick would soon see where his expertise would be best employed and he would make him an offer he wouldn’t turn down. It would mean recruiting the rest of Brodie’s workforce of course, but that would not be such a hardship. Patrick had always surrounded himself with the best and he had been champing at the bit for a long time.
‘You’re off your fucking tree, Ricky. If you say things like that to the wrong people you could find yourself in a lot of trouble. Patrick won’t be impressed, I can tell you, and you ain’t exactly flavour of the month with him, are you? Cain’s death has fucked you lot once and for all. Patrick is one thing but Spider is a fucking handful and you think you could take them both out then?’
He was laughing, but Ricky knew what Alan was saying to him. He was willing to do whatever was necessary to keep the Williams family safe. Ricky knew he wasn’t cute enough to run anything himself; he needed someone else to do that for him but if he took out Brodie and Spider then his rep would be secured and Alan Palmer and his cronies would
see him and his brothers right.
‘Watch this fucking space, Alan. You just watch.’
Ricky was laughing loudly, almost on the verge of hysteria, and Alan Palmer shook his head in disbelief, while making plans in case the mad bastard actually achieved his objective.
‘He ain’t going away, Lil, and that’s that.’
The finality in her husband’s voice depressed her, but she knew that nothing she said would change his mind. Lil was a realist and where her husband was concerned she was sensible enough to know that further arguing would be pointless.
‘You leave him to me, all right? I will sort the fucker out in future.’
He had been as good as his word, she would give him that much. Lance had not left his room except to go to school since the day it had all blown up. Patrick had given him a stern talking-to and another good hiding to boot.
Lance was shrewd though; he was telling them all what they wanted to hear and, even though he looked contrite, she knew in her heart of hearts that he was anything but. It was just talk to him, it meant nothing. She had often secretly wondered over the years if he copied Patrick’s behaviour and his emotional responses because he seemed genuine enough to everyone else, but she knew, somehow she just knew, it was all an act.