Two Women

  That was all they needed now, a round of applause. Last time he’d had the clap June had gone mental. When he’d finished he put his head under the cold tap to liven himself up. As he finished dressing he heard Barry’s mother, Kate, coming in with the food.

  ‘Are you all right, son?’

  Her voice was pure cockney. She had married a Scots-man and after his murder had returned to her roots. She worshipped her son as his mother worshipped Joey. He really liked her.

  Kate was loyal, decent, and kept her ears and mouth shut. She was everything a woman should be so far as he was concerned. Barry had confided that before and after his father’s death there had been no other men for her.

  Kate went to mass daily and prayed for him and his father, and that was about it. She saw no wrong in her son and took his part against anyone with a different opinion from her own. All in all she was an honest to God cockney, one of the old school.

  Her home was spotless, her food exemplary and a warm welcome assured. Joey wished she was his old woman, he would love to have married someone like that. She was still good-looking and all. For her age, of course. But he wouldn’t kick it out of bed if he got the chance, and Christ knew he had tried enough times. Kate always acted as if she didn’t know what he was trying to do.

  He shrugged as he tidied his hair before going down to her. Maybe she didn’t. Not all women were like June, up for whatever was going.

  As he thought of his wife he sighed. She was only trumping a bleeding Indian stall-holder off the lane! He had a big Jag, a turban and a set of gleaming white teeth that had cost a small fortune.

  Joey smiled. Well, let him make the most of them because Joey was going to knock them out of that bastard’s head soon. All he wanted to do first was find out if the bloke had anything worth nicking then find an opportunity to pinch whatever he could while teaching the Asian ponce a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

  Fucking June! She did her bit for race relations all right.

  Kate smiled at him as he came into the kitchen.

  ‘I’m making eggs and bacon, do you want some?’

  Joey grinned happily and rubbed his hands together.

  ‘Please. We could do with something to get us back to normal.’

  Barry, he noticed, looked suitably shamefaced in front of his mother and this cheered Joey up. The boy had been getting a right little rep for himself recently, and although Joey was still the mainstay of the operation, Barry could well take it into his head to work alone. Which was why this marriage was a godsend in more ways than one.

  When Joey was too drunk or stoned to finish off a deal, Barry would automatically take over. He had been nicked already, done his bird and kept his head down and his trap shut. Three months he had been banged up and it had done the boy some good. He didn’t want to go back and that was an encouraging sign.

  Now he would do anything to stay out of clink, and anything was a big threat to the world.

  The church was packed, the smell of polish overpowering in the heat of July. Susan was already sweating like a pig and her hair was sticking to her forehead in damp tendrils.

  ‘I wish they’d bleeding hurry up. I’m supposed to arrive late, not him.’

  ‘He’s a ponce like your father. That shit head was late for our wedding,’ June said sourly.

  Susan’s voice was high.

  ‘Will you stop swearing in church?’

  Her mother rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

  ‘Like we come in here all the time! Bleeding waste of time and energy this. If there ever was a God, love, He forgot about us a long time ago.’

  Susan ignored this and concentrated on trying to look out of the small window beside the church doors to see if Barry and Joey had arrived.

  ‘I’ll string that bastard up if he’s got nicked today, I take oath on that.’

  June’s voice was hard and Susan’s belly twinged. The child was lying heavily inside her. It kicked, a strong hard movement that nearly doubled her over.

  ‘Here, love, you all right?’

  She nodded and took a deep breath, rubbing her swollen belly as she did so.

  ‘Yeah, I’m all right. I think the baby is as fed up as we are, that’s all.’

  Ivy lit a cigarette and took a deep draw on it.

  ‘Here you are, love, puff that. It will calm you down.’

  Susan took the cigarette gratefully and puffed on it hard.

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They could be anywhere. Up jack’s arse and round the corner for all we know.’ Ivy’s voice was resigned.

  Susan was beginning to panic now. Barry was nearly half an hour late.

  ‘He is coming, Mum, ain’t he?’

  The fear of being left at the altar entered her head then and she felt a sickening lurch in her stomach as she realised that, with the hump, Barry was quite capable of deliberately ‘forgetting’ to turn up.

  June looked into her daughter’s white strained face and felt a moment’s pity for her.

  ‘Get used to this, love. He’s like your father though you can’t see that yet. All his life he’ll do only what he wants, darlin’, and there’s fuck all you can do about it. I hope he don’t come in a way. Do you a favour though you won’t see it like that, not for a long time.’

  Susan felt tears sting her eyes and tried to stem them before she began to wail out loud. If Barry shamed her in front of everyone she would kill him, kill him stone dead.

  Where was he?

  ‘Here, flag down that Old Bill car!’

  The two women watching the fight were mesmerised. One of them ran to the kerb and raised her shopping bags in a signal for the squad car to stop.

  ‘What’s going on, ladies?’

  The two young PCs could see the fight for themselves but it looked a bit vicious and they wanted to call for back up.

  Betty Tomlinson pursed her lips.

  ‘From what I can gather that blue car was cut up by the black one and now the four occupants are having a tear up. But from the looks of the two men winning, I’d say a bride somewhere is tearing her hair out. Look at the ribbons on the car. What a disgrace, eh, fighting in the street on your wedding day? This didn’t happen in my day, I can tell you.’

  The policemen weren’t listening. They had already clocked Joey and Barry battering two middle-aged men all around the road. Five minutes later two more panda cars arrived and the young PCs decided now was an appropriate time to get out of their motor.

  ‘Look at them, they’ve been going at it ever since we got here.’

  An older policeman sighed.

  ‘Come on, let’s break it up. That’s Joey McNamara - his daughter’s marrying today. We were warned about the reception two weeks ago. Half the criminal underworld will be at the church.’

  The six policemen dragged Joey and Barry off the two men they thought had cut them up. In fact, Joey had cut them up then decided they were taking the piss and needed teaching a lesson.

  The men were battered but not senseless. One, a large man with a balding head and a large beer-gut, was sitting on the kerb when the older policeman asked if he wanted to press charges. He said no, as did his passenger, a market trader from Covent Garden.

  They were not stupid. They knew the fact they’d been asked meant the Old Bill didn’t want to do anything. It was the law of the pavement and they acknowledged it.

  Five minutes later Barry and Joey were in a panda car on their way to church. The car darted in and out of traffic and they loved every second of it. The kudos of arriving at the church in a police car was too much for them to resist.

  A bottle of Scotch downed while they dressed had put them in the mood for the ceremony. It had also put them in the mood for aggravation. Two flash gits in a nice new Daimler had given them just the boost they needed to add to the excitement of the day.

  As they screeched to a halt outside St Vincent’s they saw the shocked and wondering expressions on everyone’s face and were full of thems
elves.

  The priest however was unimpressed.

  Father Stewart Munro was legendary for marrying the criminal fraternity, no awkward questions asked. But he would not countenance any trouble whatsoever. At six foot four and eighteen and a half stone, he was a man many listened to. He spoke good sense, but also had a fist on him could down any man, and who would raise his hand back to a priest?

  Father Munro had another wedding in five minutes and he was annoyed. Seriously annoyed. He had only agreed to marry these two because of Kate Dalston, a good woman and a devout Catholic, and this was how they repaid him. He had half a mind to cancel the ceremony.

  But as he looked around him at the Davidsons and the Bannermans, criminals spanning the whole of London, and the countenance of the pregnant bride, Father Munro relented.

  But it would be a quick service, it would have to be.

  Barry stood waiting for his bride, spattered with blood that was not his own and with a ripped jacket and muddied trousers. He was over the moon at his own antics and assumed everyone else was too. He could hear whispering and laughing in the church and knew he had made this a day no one was going to forget.

  Least of all Susan Dalston.

  He loved the thought of her being called by his name. It was as if he had stolen her from Joey and now owned her. After today Joey would have no say whatever in her life. It gave Barry a thrill.

  Smiling at her as she stood awkwardly by his side, he made his vows in a loud, firm voice, making everyone laugh once more.

  Listening to him, Susan forgave him everything. He was here, they were married and she was now his wife. What more could any girl want?

  She could smell the polish, the flowers and the scent of Midnight in Paris, a perfume worn by most of the women in church. She felt the thrill every bride feels, knowing she is embarking on the adventure of a lifetime.

  Even though his shocking appearance had upset her, she was determined to enjoy her day, remember it as a happy occasion, make herself laugh at what he had done even though she inwardly knew she should be condemning him. Hating him for the humiliation he had caused her in front of everyone.

  As he placed the ring on her finger she saw the blood drying on his hands and a small shiver passed through her body. The baby lurched inside her once more and she felt slightly sick.

  The whole place seemed to recede before her eyes and all that was left was the crucifix above the altar. Christ looked down on her and Susan knew she needed Him, needed her God, and would need Him all her life after this day.

  The sweat was plastering her dress to her body and her head felt light and as if it would burst.

  But she loved Barry so much. For all he was, for all he did, she loved him. That love, she decided, would have to be enough for both of them.

  Barry felt the tremor in her hands and hugged her close, a rough embrace that made everyone laugh again and Father Munro sniff in exasperation.

  At least he cares for her, was his only thought. Even if it was a rough sort of love, it was something.

  For if ever anyone needed his prayers it was this poor child before him, with her sad eyes and her hope-filled belly. Suddenly the priest felt depressed.

  The child would be fêted for a few weeks by the father who would then lose all interest. Stewart Munro knew this as he knew his catechism, as he knew the parables. He had lived in the East End for many years and had seen Barry Dalstons come and go. He had christened them, he had married them, and he had buried them.

  Barry, for his part, thought himself wonderful. He had made sure no one would forget this day. He looked at his Susan, as he now thought of her, and imagined her naked later, her huge belly hanging down as he took her from behind. He was getting hard already thinking about it and tried to control his thoughts.

  She was a good old girl was Susan. She had the house lovely and she cooked well. He knew he could have done a lot worse. His mother liked her, that was the main thing.

  He felt his insides rebelling against the alcohol and then a moment’s dizziness as he swallowed down the vomit ready to be released. He realised then he was seriously drunk and held his breath to stem the sickness and keep himself on his feet. He wished the priest would hurry up and shut his trap now, he was getting bored with it all. He wanted a drink, some food, to be with his new wife.

  His wife.

  His Susan Dalston.

  As soon as the service was over, Barry turned to bow to the congregation in a display of mock bravado. Unfortunately he knocked his new bride flying.

  Susan ended up on her behind at the bottom of the altar steps. Barry was laughing so much he could not even help her up.

  Susan Dalston endured the indignity of having a drunken bridegroom in the church, a man so drunk he knocked his own heavily pregnant wife over then laughed. Barry genuinely thought it was hilarious.

  Some of the people in the church laughed too, but nervously because they could see the look on Joey McNamara’s face. Davey Davidson, renowned for his own sense of humour, found it difficult to smile.

  Looking at his beloved wife, he whispered, ‘Scum, darlin’, fucking scum. Let’s get to the reception fast and off home early. I’ve had enough already.’

  ‘What you doing, you little shit? That’s my daughter you’re knocking all over the place.’

  Joey’s voice was loud and June and Ivy immediately went to him to stop the row they knew was going to start at any moment.

  ‘Leave it out, Joey. It was an accident and Susan isn’t complaining. Let it go.’

  Joey pushed his wife off.

  ‘Please, Joey, not here in front of everyone.’

  ‘Let it go? That wanker knocks my girl over and I’m expected to let it go? I’ll rip his fucking head off.’

  June sighed heavily.

  ‘Come on, Ivy, let’s leave them to it. I’ve had enough.’

  Joey turned on his wife.

  ‘You’ve had enough? You have had enough? You taking the piss, June? If anyone has had enough it’s me, mate.’

  He pushed Kate Dalston and her son none too gently out of his way and hauled Susan up off the floor.

  ‘That’s it, you’re coming home with me right now.’

  She dragged her hand from her father’s grip. Her voice was thick with tears and humiliation as she cried, ‘Let it go, Dad, it was an accident. Please don’t ruin everything, make it even worse than it already is.’

  Joey grabbed her none too gently by the arm.

  ‘You’re coming home with me and your mother. I must have been fucking mad to agree to all this crap. He’s a ponce and the sooner you realise that the better off you will be.’

  Barry listened to all this in incredulous silence. Father Munro listened in anger and disbelief.

  As Barry angrily pushed Joey away from Susan, Joey swung his fist back. Before it connected with Barry’s jaw, Father Munro had laid him out on the steps of the altar with one almighty punch.

  ‘Would you all get out of my sight? May God forgive you because I certainly won’t.’

  Kate put her arm around a weeping Susan as Barry rushed out to empty his stomach all over the gravel outside. His retching could be heard all over the church as if amplified. The wedding party due in after them watched it all, horrified.

  Inside people began picking up presents, looking at each other and wondering what the protocol was for a disaster of this magnitude on a wedding day. Would the reception still be going ahead?

  Susan, her make up running and her face red, cried like a baby into her new mother-in-law’s arms. Kate tried to soothe her while June shook her head in dismay as her husband lay unconscious on the floor of the church.

  ‘I’ll fucking kill him, I take oath on that. The rotten bastard!’

  Ivy knelt down by her son’s side and shook her head. Even she knew it had gone too far this time. The hope and happiness that had heralded the wedding were replaced now by a quiet desperation to try and salvage something from the day.

  Two of
Ivy’s oldest friends came up and took her arms.

  ‘Come on, love, let’s get you back to the house.’

  She nodded, for once speechless.

  Joey opened his eyes and the first thing he saw was Bannerman’s face. Dropping a gaily coloured parcel by Susan’s side, he said sadly, ‘We got to go, love, but we wish you all the best.’ He smiled and then added jokily, ‘I reckon you’re going to need it.’

  He kissed her gently on the cheek and left, his wife stiff-backed with indignation at the fracas she had witnessed.

  Joey saw himself then as everyone saw him. A foul-mouthed thug who did not even hold a church sacrosanct from his foul language and his violence.

  It was an insight of such stunning clarity that he started to cry. He sobbed and even his mother ignored him. No one, it seemed, wanted to make him feel better, wanted to excuse what he had done.

  Getting to his feet unsteadily, nearly falling, he implored his daughter with eyes and words.

  ‘Sue, I’m sorry, love. It was the drink . . .’

  Susan shook her head and walked away from him. Her bouquet was ruined. Debbie picked it up and tried to rearrange it.

  Joey was crying loudly now, all inhibitions gone. He hated it when people shunned him, when he knew he had gone too far and ruined things and people made him aware of the fact.

  He needed to feel valued, needed to feel he was above everyone else.

  ‘SUSAN!’

  His voice was an entreaty.

  But Susan and Debbie carried on walking from the church and the guests followed them outside like sheep. No one spoke to Joey or offered him a word of comfort.

  Kate Dalston waited until everyone else had left, then looking at him with hate-filled eyes, she whispered, ‘You rotten, filthy bastard! If my husband was alive today he’d take you out and destroy you for what you’ve done here. Getting my Barry drunk and into a fight before his wedding, then abusing him and your own flesh and blood before the eyes of God Himself.’

  She looked him up and down. Shaking her head, she whispered, ‘You disgust me.’