‘Come on, Sheila, the cab will be here in a minute.’
She was laughing as she walked down the stairs of their semi-detached house. It was decorated in magnolia matt paint and it was her pride and joy. As was the shag-pile cream carpet that drove the kids mad because they had to take their shoes off at the door. Unlike their mates who wore their shoes in the house until they were put to bed. Then and only then did they take their shoes off along with their coats.
Even their father followed the rule, and that was how they knew they had to.
Sheila Daltry had long blond hair, a slim figure, even after three children, and a nice nature. She had a quiet, sunny personality, the complete opposite of her husband. Micky was noisy, funny and secretive. He wolf-whistled her and she was thrilled.
A banging on their front door came then and Micky opened it with a flourish.
Freddie Jackson was standing there with a smile on his face and a baseball bat in his hands.
Micky’s instinct was to try to shut the door, but after a few seconds’ struggle, Freddie forced it open without any trouble.
Inside, he shut the door gently.
Sheila looked at her husband and shook her head sadly. Micky was terrified and could only hold his hands out in supplication towards her. Then he turned slowly towards Freddie, who said brightly, ‘I take it you won’t be offering me a cup of tea, then?’
Maggie was happy, really happy. She was in love, and it was obvious to all her friends.
Already the story of Freddie’s party was doing the rounds of their small world, and Freddie was now like a conquering hero. The stretch limo alone was talked about for ages by the girls and the decadence of it was discussed in serious tones. It was their dream to be like movie stars or pop queens.
‘Did you get a ride in it, Mags?’
This from Helen Dunne, friend or enemy depending on who was being slaughtered by the girls at any given time.
Maggie shook her head. ‘Nah, but I could have if I wanted to. Jimmy was in it all day, he loved it. Said it had drink in it and everything.’ She was lying, but they all chose to believe her.
‘That right he beat up Willy Planter?’
Maggie nodded once more. ‘Willy was out of order, fucking drunk!’
She toked deep on her Benson & Hedges cigarette. ‘Jackie looked beautiful, you should have seen her.’
Maggie’s voice was wistful. She loved her sister so much, looked up to her, depended on her.
All the girls sighed.
‘That Freddie is a bit of all right though.’
This from Carlotta O’Connor, a well-developed girl who already had a reputation for drink, cannabis and older boyfriends.
They all laughed, scandalised, except Maggie, who said dryly, ‘I’d keep that to meself if I was you. My sister is funny where he’s concerned.’
It was a warning and everyone knew it. Maggie looked out for anything about her sister she saw as a slight. Jackie had her faults, but she was her sister and she loved her.
Carlotta just smiled, she had her creds, she wasn’t scared of anyone. Though she would rather not come up against Jackie Jackson.
‘Jimmy seems to be a permanent fixture.’
Maggie grinned. ‘He had better be.’
They knew what that meant and started ragging her. She took it well but deep inside she was worried. Now that she had put out she was frightened he would aim her out of it. But she had been unable to resist him any longer, she wanted him as much as he wanted her.
‘You all right, Mags?’
She smiled happily. ‘Never better.’
Micky was staring at Freddie Jackson in abject terror. Sheila was still standing on the stairs watching the scene before her with resignation.
The cab driver bibbed his horn and Freddie said to Sheila, ‘Get that cab, sweetheart, and go to your mum’s because me and your old man are going to have a few words.’
She nodded and both men watched as she slipped from the house.
‘Nice drum, Micky, you wanna see my house. Right shit hole it is with no money coming in, you treacherous bastard.’
The baseball bat came down on Micky’s shoulder in an instant and the blinding pain shot through him, causing him to scream. He dropped heavily to his knees.
‘Look, Freddie—’
‘Shut your fucking lying thieving mouth, you ponce. My old woman was scrimping and fucking scratching while you and your kids were living the life of luxury on my fucking dough. Do you think I am a cunt, then?’
Micky was crying now and this was annoying Freddie Jackson more than the original affront. Poking his finger in the man’s face he raged, ‘You cry, you cunt. I done a lump and I kept you right out of it because I am a loyal fucking person. Whereas you, you never even gave my family a drink, no comp, no nothing. I went away for conspiracy to rob and firearms, you sat on your fucking ring with all the dough! You had to have expected me at some point, surely? I want me comp.’
Micky was holding his shoulder painfully as he said through his tears, ‘I didn’t have nothing to give them, I was only just keeping meself . . .’
Freddie dragged him through to the front room. It was painted in pale greens and creams and had a leather corner unit, nice colour TV and a decent sound system. He threw his one-time friend on to the sofa and systematically smashed the place up with the baseball bat, all the time shouting and poking the baseball bat towards the cowering man.
‘Any money you scavenged should have gone to my kids, I kept you out of fucking clink, you two-faced wanker, and you never even saw them all right for Christmas! I lost my fucking liberty and you sat here with your fucking offspring and never thought about my poor Jackie struggling to make ends meet, did ya?’
He attacked the man again with the bat, beating him with his considerable strength. The blood was all over the cream leather sofa and, taking a few seconds’ rest, he saw that he had opened up Micky’s head. The spray went up the velour curtains and on to the Artexed ceiling.
He took the large bay window out with one forceful blow. He could see the neighbours on their steps listening to the latest palaver, but most of them had already wished him well so he had no fear of the police.
He was gratified to have caused serious damage. He wanted this event to hit the pavement, he wanted people to know that he was back. Back on the street and more than capable of settling scores, old or new. He was going to get involved in some serious skulduggery and he was not going to settle for anything less than complete domination of their world. He had learned a lot in nick, and he was going to utilise that knowledge and his new contacts to their full potential.
Micky had taken the piss big time over the years and Freddie had to stop that now, show him that he was not a man to be walked over.
They had been on their way to a meet with some friends, and the boot had been full of guns. Micky had jumped out of the car to buy a pack of Rothmans when the filth had given Freddie a tug. He had fought them, as was expected, and he had denied any knowledge of Micky Daltry being with him. Freddie had got the mandatory nine years for the firearms charge and he had kept his head down and his arse up, as was also expected. But Micky should have looked out for his family. Micky had been given a lucky escape and Freddie had not resented that. Why would he? Better only one of them had a capture, and unfortunately it had been him this time. Such was life, an occupational hazard for them.
But Micky had mugged him off. He had not even attempted to do him any favours, didn’t even try to get him bail, nothing. Freddie had been a kid then and he had not known any better.
Now though, he more than knew the score.
After fighting anyone, screw or con, who he felt had not given him his due, he had garnered a reputation as a hard nut. He had finally been shipped to the SSB unit in Parkhurst as a double A grade, where he had mixed with the cream of the criminal underworld.
It was a man called Ozzy, a serious career criminal, and dangerous block Daddy who, realising Freddie’s
potential, had taken him under his wing and shown him not only how to do a lump with dignity, but also how to utilise his strong points.
Ozzy had taught him well, and Freddie had been a willing pupil.
Now he was on the out, he would work for Ozzy, dealing a bit of puff, or debt collecting. He’d work for the Clancys by default, but they were all Ozzy’s scams. Freddie was determined to better himself and his standing in life. He had done his lump without any song and dance, and Ozzy had picked him out because of that.
Micky Daltry, on the other hand, had forgotten about him. Freddie had ceased to exist and Micky had believed that he was still safely banged up. Six years seemed such a long time away for the people who were on the outside, and it passed, slowly, painfully and more often than not with the aid of narcotics on the inside.
But, as Micky was finding out, time eventually passed.
Now it was time to settle old scores, iron out any differences. In short make this man understand the error of his ways.
Micky had to understand that no one, but no one, walked over Freddie Jackson.
Micky Daltry, though, would never walk again.
Lena was watching Jackie as she prepared the steak and home-made chips for her husband’s dinner. In fairness, she begrudgingly admitted that he had scratched around for a couple of grand for her. He was at least trying.
As Jackie sliced mushrooms and tomatoes Lena saw the happiness on her daughter’s face and felt an urge to hug her. She didn’t though, she knew she was not a tactile woman.
Jackie poured them both another glass of wine and chattered on, oblivious to the fact that her mother was all but ignoring her conversation.
‘He’s getting us new furniture, Mum. The new TV comes tomorrow, and the bedroom suites for the girls - oh, Mum, they are gorgeous.’
The excitement in her voice pierced through her mother’s reverie.
‘Bedroom suites and all, eh?’
Jackie nodded. ‘Even Kimberley’s happy now, and you know what a stroppy whore she can be!’
They both laughed.
‘His mum is going to baby-sit tonight and we’re going to the pub for a few drinks. I can’t wait, Mum. I am so pleased he’s home.’
She stopped slicing and looked into her mother’s eyes. Then she said quietly, seriously, ‘I missed him, you know. When he ain’t around I feel as if a part of me is missing.’ She had tears in her eyes as she said it, and without thinking Lena pulled her daughter into her arms.
‘He’s home now, love.’
Unaccustomed to her mother hugging her, Jackie made the most of it and cried on Lena’s shoulder. She smelled of Blue Grass perfume and cigarettes. It was a comforting, homely smell and she was enjoying the sensation of being loved when a voice said loudly, ‘Fucking hell, what’s all this, then? The Waltons?’
Freddie pulled Jackie roughly from her mother’s arms and seeing her tears he said seriously, ‘Here, what’s up with you? What you crying for, babe?’
He shouted at his mother-in-law. ‘What you fucking done to her?’
Lena sighed heavily as her daughter said through her sobs, ‘She ain’t done nothing. I was upset because I am so glad to have you home again, that’s all, because I had missed you so much, waited so long and now you are here . . .’
Freddie looked into his wife’s face and seeing the love there, alongside the need and the want so strong she was capable of killing for him. He felt suddenly as if he was inside again and the walls were coming in on him.
He hugged her to him and saw his mother-in-law walk from the room without a backward glance. ‘I am home, Jackie. Everything is fine now, don’t keep on about it.’
He wiped out in a few words the years she had been alone with the children, her loneliness and her daily struggle. He was telling her that he had had enough of hearing about it, and she knew better than to harp on, so she just enjoyed the feel of his arms around her.
Dianna broke the tension by walking in the kitchen and saying loudly in a mock French accent, ‘Ooh là là!’
Jackie watched as her husband picked up his daughter and kissed her. Dianna was already his favourite, and she could twist her father round her little finger. And all the time she watched the scene, Jackie had to swallow down her jealousy of a seven-year-old child. Her own flesh and blood.
She pulled the child from his arms and, giving her a playful slap on the behind she said gaily, ‘Get back in there with your sisters. I am trying to cook a dinner here.’
As her daughter scampered merrily out of the kitchen, she turned back towards her husband but he was already rummaging in the ancient fridge for a beer. The moment was gone and she knew it.
She went back to her cooking, telling herself not to be so stupid, Dianna was a nice child and if she kept him home then that could only be a good thing.
Maggie and Jimmy were in the pub when Jackie arrived. They had got there early and saved a table by the bar. It was already noisy and smoky. Maggie was drinking Southern Comfort and lemonade and even after three she didn’t feel drunk. She was already a seasoned drinker, as were most of her friends.
Jimmy was, as always, looking at her. His dark hair and blue eyes were a winning combination as far as she was concerned and she smiled shyly back at him. As her mother said, he looked at her as if she was a great big present he was waiting to unwrap. Then she would remark with her acerbic wit, ‘And make sure he don’t unwrap too much, girl.’
Maggie would laugh, but now she had been well and truly unwrapped and the fear of losing him was acute. He seemed more enamoured of her, though, and that was allaying her fears for the moment.
She saw her sister walk in and waved her over.
‘Where’s Freddie?’
Pulling off her jacket Jackie said loudly, ‘Give me a fucking chance to sit down will you!’
Maggie’s eyes widened. This was Jackie all over. She talked to people as if they were dirt and, luckily for her, people swallowed because of Freddie and his reputation. But Maggie felt it more acutely because this was her big sister and she adored her.
Jimmy’s brow was darkening and so Maggie said cheerfully, ‘Who’s rattled your cage?’ She was skating on thin ice because Jackie was capable of turning on her, but she didn’t know how else to diffuse the situation.
Looking down into her sister’s eyes Jackie felt bad, but the familiar jealousy was once more upon her. Maggie’s perfect skin, white teeth and neat figure had bothered her lately. She envied her sister her looks and her youth, she envied her the fact she had no kids and no ties. Freddie coming home had awakened her old anxieties. She knew he would cheat on her and she knew she would be once more plagued with self-doubt and self-loathing and, worst of all, she knew she would eventually accept his philandering because if she didn’t he would leave her.
Not the most perfect of outlooks for any marriage.
‘Sorry, darlin’. Get me a drink, would you?’
Jackie sat down and, as Maggie and Jimmy knew she would, stared at the door waiting for her husband.
Jimmy noticed that her hands were shaking. As she lit her cigarette he was surprised at how pronounced it was, but then he knew she was pilled up to the eyebrows most days, from slimming pills, Dexedrine to a few Mandrax. That was when she wasn’t shovelling Valium and Norovail down her throat.
She was the proverbial accident waiting to happen.
He slipped from his seat and went outside to the car park. It was already dark and he could just make out the figure of Freddie in the corner of the car park, leaning down to the door of a dark green Granada. He walked over slowly, but he could hear what was being said.
‘Ozzy said you could put me right.’ The subservience in Freddie’s voice was so shocking Jimmy stopped in his tracks.
‘You sure you’re up for this, Freddie? This is the big time, mate.’ The man’s voice was warm, friendly with an underlying threat running through it.
‘Too right I am ready. I know the score, I can hold up my end.’
br /> ‘Relax for fuck’s sake, it’s only a bit of puff.’
The man was smiling, Jimmy could hear it in his voice.
He toked on his cigarette before saying, ‘I’ll be in touch.’
Jimmy could see Freddie squaring up, could almost feel the excitement running through his veins. ‘Thank you, Mr Clancy, I really appreciate it.’
‘One last thing, Freddie?’ The man pointed to Jimmy and said, ‘That nosy little fucker anything to do with you?’
Freddie turned and motioned for Jimmy to come over to him, and as Jimmy got to him he grabbed him in a bear hug. ‘This is me little cousin, Mr Clancy, Jimmy Jackson.’
‘Little? Fuck me, what did they grow you lot in, horse shit?’
They all laughed.
The driver stuck his hand out and Jimmy shook it nervously. This was Siddy Clancy, and until now he had only ever heard the name. It was the Southeast equivalent of meeting a Hollywood star.
‘I’ll be in touch, OK?’
Freddie nodded once more and the car pulled away sharply, wheel-spinning out of the car park and nearly causing an accident as it barrelled down Dagenham Heathway towards the A13.
Freddie was puffed up like a peacock. Grinning, he grabbed Jimmy in an arm lock and started singing, ‘We’re in the money.’
Jimmy was caught up in his enthusiasm, and sang along.
‘Fucking hell, Fred, Siddy Clancy. What a turn up!’
Freddie was serious suddenly.
‘He’s a cunt, and I am the man who is going to fuck him up.’
Jimmy wasn’t sure he had heard right, Siddy Clancy was a bad man, a dangerous fuck. No one in their right mind would try to have him over, but he kept that pearl of wisdom to himself.
Freddie put a finger to his lip as he said, ‘You keep this close to your chest right, and you can work with him alongside me. I’ll show you the ropes, son. OK?’
Jimmy nodded as he was expected to. But he felt cold all of a sudden. Those were heavy-duty people and they were not really in his class, but he kept his own counsel.