The Jump

  Alan shook his head as if in sympathy.

  ‘Shall I tell you something, Donna? If I told you the half of it you’d wet your tiny scrap of knickers, and probably follow through as well. I ain’t told you nothing yet. Nothing! And, yes, I do wish you’d fuck off out of all this. Georgio must be going into fucking premature senility to want you on this team. But I promise you this much now: I won’t open me trap again. Let’s see how you get on with the Jocks. Then afterwards me and you can sort out once and for all whether you can kick all this or whether you want to sit out the last dance. How’s that?’

  Alan stared into the miserable face before him, hating what he was doing yet unable to stop himself. The thought of this naive girl-woman coming up against Lewis and others like him was anathema to Alan. He knew what they were really capable of. He knew exactly what was on the line here - not only the violence but the prison sentence they could end up with, and he knew she wouldn’t last five minutes in a police station cell, let alone Holloway or even Cookham Wood. It was laughable, excruciatingly laughable, that Georgio could put this woman’s life and liberty on the line and still sleep at night. But then, he had always been a selfish bastard, only this Donna didn’t seem aware of that fact. Alan felt a strong urge to tell her all he knew, but buttoned his lip.

  Mainly because she wouldn’t believe him, but also, he admitted to himself, because he admired her spunk. Well, he had done his bit, he reasoned, tried to stop her from becoming involved in every way he could. The ball was well and truly in her court now. He sighed deeply, restraining an urge to apologise as he saw the fine lines around her mouth, the deep smudges under her eyes. But he consoled himself with the fact that it was Georgio who had put them there, not him. He would look out for her, it was all he could do. But at this moment in time, if Georgio was in front of him, he’d hammer him to within an inch of his life.

  He put the car into gear and pulled back on to the motorway. As he turned on his CD player, the car was immediately filled with the sounds of Freddie Jackson singing ‘You Are My Lady’. Donna stared once more at the shimmering landscape. The day was suddenly overcast, the sun hiding behind thick cloud. She swallowed back frustration and tears and made a resolution.

  She would show Alan Cox, and Georgio.

  She would show them all.

  Exactly what she was going to show them, she wasn’t sure.

  They drove towards the Scottish hills in silence, Freddie Jackson’s haunting voice drowning out the purr of the car’s engine.

  ‘I would appreciate it, Mr Cox, if you would refrain from swearing at me.’

  Alan nearly smiled as he marvelled at a woman’s knack of having not only the last word, but putting you well and truly in your place while having it.

  Sadie sat with Donald Lewis in the recreation room. The TV was blaring. Neighbours’ Australian slang was reverberating around the room.

  ‘I’d give her one.’

  Someone called out from the card table. ‘You’d give my fucking granny one!’

  Timmy glowered at Lewis and Sadie as he watched them playing dominoes. Sadie caught his eye and Timmy read the hopelessness there. Sadie’s hair was back in a neat pony tail, and her face was devoid of make-up. She was wearing a regulation denim shirt and tight-fit jeans, nick fashion for a gay’s straight clothes. Gone was the shirt tied under the breastbone, the swaggering walk, the thick eyeliner. She was conforming to what Lewis wanted in a partner.

  Everyone was amazed at Lewis’s decision to take Sadie on board. He liked young fresh-faced boys with muscular bodies and clean-cut good looks. There was method in Lewis’s madness, but as yet no one had sussed out what it was.

  ‘Get me a cup of tea, Timmy, there’s a good lad.’

  The room was static with tension as Timmy hoisted his huge bulk out of his chair and stood up. Every man in the room, screws included, knew that old Timmy loved Sadie in his own way. Outside the confines of prison Timmy wouldn’t have given her the time of day. But as a man who had spent over half his life locked up in top security, he had two sets of principles, one for the inside and one for the outside.

  Outside, Timmy had his wife and children, whom he adored in his own rough fashion. Inside, he always picked himself up a galboy. He liked the sex, the friendship, and the fact that the boy needed him.

  Timmy didn’t know the exact meaning of love, could not have explained it to himself or anyone else. What he did know was he liked being with someone, liked looking after someone, and they took the place of his wife, Vi. He could share confidences with them, and they made the time pass that bit quicker. Sadie had been his wife, lover and child all rolled into one.

  Now she was with Lewis, and it was small consolation that he knew Sadie wasn’t pleased about it. Another galboy might have enjoyed the notoriety Lewis could afford them, but Timmy knew that Sadie had a lot of affection for him. She was genuine, in a world where that was a hard-won commodity. Sadie was a diamond.

  Lewis watched Timmy amble from the room, his hugeness a balm to Lewis’s ego.

  ‘What’s the matter, Sadie, missing your old beau?’

  She concentrated on the dominoes. ‘You know me better than that, Mr Lewis. But Timmy and I were good friends.’

  Lewis outlined the delicate features of her face. ‘Do you know why I picked you, Sadie?’

  He watched her shake her head.

  ‘I picked you because for all you look like a little tart, and I know that you are one, you have a certain vulnerability I like. I can be a bastard to you, and as much as I’ll enjoy it, I’ll also feel a tinge of guilt. Which makes it all the better. I don’t expect you to understand that, but I decided to tell you anyway.’

  Sadie looked full into his eyes, and Lewis was surprised at the understanding in them.

  ‘Mr Lewis, people have been doing that to me since I was a child. I know more than people think. Whether it was the businessman I picked up for a quick blow job, or a big hairy-arsed plasterer, ashamed at what he wanted to do. I cashed in on it in the end because it became all I knew how to do. You scare me, Mr Lewis, but for all the wrong reasons.’

  Sadie wondered if she had gone too far. Lewis’s face was tight now, the skin shiny over the cheekbones. She knew Lewis was gritting his teeth.

  He smiled then.

  ‘As long as you’re scared, Sadie, that’s all that matters. Why you’re scared is your own affair.’ His voice rose. ‘Now where’s that cup of tea?’

  Timmy walked in slowly, holding the tin cup and saucer, careful not to let any tea slop over. He placed it beside Lewis with exaggerated care.

  Lewis looked into the cup as if worried what he might find in there.

  ‘Where’s Sadie’s cup of tea then, Timmy?’

  Sadie barked out. ‘I don’t want a cup of tea, Mr Lewis, thanks all the same.’

  There was an argument going on in Neighbours, the voices loud and strident in the already tense atmosphere of the recreation room.

  ‘Turn that crap off!’ Lewis’s voice was harsh. The TV was turned off immediately. In the silence of the room, his words were menacing.

  ‘If I say you want a cup of tea, Sadie, then that is exactly what you want. Get her the tea, Timmy.’

  Georgio watched the changing emotions on Timmy’s face, before he saw him turn and walk from the room. Twenty pairs of eyes watched him leave, amazed at his calm acceptance of what had taken place. Yet not one man felt any less respect for him; they all knew they would do the same. Would have to do the same to survive.

  Lewis, enjoying himself now, picked up a domino. ‘Double six. Looks like I won, Sadie.’

  Sadie gazed once more into his eyes. Voice soft and feminine, she said slowly, ‘You always win, Mr Lewis.’

  Georgio heard the conversation around them gradually starting up once more; heard the clatter of ashtrays and the striking of matches. He saw the men in the room turn back to what they were doing, trying to put Timmy’s plight out of their minds. Lewis was once more engrossed in setting
up his game of dominoes. Georgio observed him intently. With Timmy now upset over the loss of Sadie, he realised he had an ally.

  As he looked at the hardest of Britain’s criminals it amazed him that one man could cow them all so quickly and so utterly. When he was sprung, he would make a point of letting everyone know he had got one over on that sick-minded individual Donald Lewis. The thought was a balm to him, because until he was well and truly away, he had to toe the line like everyone else.

  He watched Sadie rolling a cigarette and felt respect and also affection for the boy.

  Sadie was on his side. Timmy was on his side. He wasn’t so alone.

  Georgio went back to his letter, only looking up when he saw Timmy come into the room with Sadie’s tea. The expression on Timmy’s face was one of suppressed hatred, and for a second Georgio hoped that he was going to do something to Lewis. Blades were plentiful in here, as were home-made one-shot guns.

  If Timmy was upset enough, he might just take Lewis out of the ballgame.

  It was a thought that stayed with Georgio through the evening.

  ‘Hello, Paddy.’

  Paddy turned in shock on hearing the voice.

  ‘Hello, Maeve. What brings you to this neck of the woods?’

  Maeve smiled slowly. ‘What do you think brought me here?’ She picked up a dirty donkey jacket and dropped it on to the floor before sitting on the chair. ‘How the hell you ever make rhyme or reason of these sites I don’t know. Me poor boots are ruined.’

  Paddy sat behind the small desk in the Portakabin. Wiping a hand across his face, he waited for Maeve to speak again.

  ‘What’s the matter, Paddy - cat got your tongue? I asked you a question.’

  He felt uncomfortable. Maeve Brunos was well-known to him. He had eaten in her kitchen, and in her restaurant. He had known her and Pa for a good deal of his life. He respected them, cared for them, and, most importantly, he worked for their son.

  ‘I don’t know what brought you here, Maeve. Thinking of branching out into the building trade, are you?’

  She pushed up her bosom, an unconscious gesture reminiscent of Old Mother Riley.

  ‘What’s going on with Donna, with Georgio, and with all the businesses?’ She stressed the ‘all’.

  Paddy’s face was blank. ‘In what way? Donna was overseeing everything as you know . . .’

  Maeve butted in, her voice impatient, ‘You’re not a stupid person, Paddy, and neither am I. Nuala told me that you are now the main runner for the businesses. Fair enough. Now I also find out that Davey and that eejit of a wife of his are running the car lot. Dolly informs me that Donna is out morning, noon and night, here, there and everywhere. So I ask you again - and I’m rapidly losing the little patience I’ve got, mind - what is going on?’

  ‘That’s another question, Maeve . . .’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sakes, stop playing around, Paddy! I’m not in the mood. There’s my Stephen walking round with a face like a madman’s arse. Donna is out annoying the life out of him. Dolly is telling me things, but not all she knows. You’re looking at me as if I’ve just grown another head, and to top it all Donna’s on her way up to Scotland for the weekend. Now I ask you one last time before I rip out the few remaining hairs on your head: what is going on?’

  Paddy picked up his hip flask and took a deep swig.

  ‘Nothing’s going on, Maeve.’

  She shook her head sadly. ‘I always liked you, Paddy, you are a good Corkman. I remember you when you came over and started work with my Georgio. I visited your wife in hospital, I attended her death and her burial. I babysat your children. I reminisced about the old country with you. And now you have the gall to sit there and try to pull the wool over my eyes!

  ‘Pa is convinced something’s afoot, and so am I. Stephen is like a loony, he’s convinced that something’s going down that he doesn’t know about, and for once I think he’s right. If you don’t stop rawmaishing now, Paddy, and tell me what’s up, I’ll go and ask Georgio myself.’

  Paddy took another long swig from the hip flask, the Jameson’s burning into his stomach.

  ‘I can’t tell you, Maeve. The fewer people in the know the better. I’m not going to insult you by pretending there’s nothing going on. Just be content when I tell you I can’t discuss it.’

  Paddy’s heart sank as he saw Maeve’s mouth settle into a hard thin line.

  ‘Right then. If that’s what you say, I’ll go to Georgio himself. Stephen can come with me. In fact, I think I’ll get Stephen to make some enquiries . . .’

  Paddy interrupted her.

  ‘The further Stephen is from all this, the better, Maeve. Don’t let on to him about anything. That is one thing Georgio is adamant about. He doesn’t want him involved at all.’

  Maeve’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Why? His own flesh and blood. Is it dangerous?’

  ‘Could be.’ Paddy’s voice was clipped, low.

  ‘But not too dangerous for Donna, I take it. Where is she going this weekend?’

  ‘To Scotland.’

  Maeve shifted in her seat in agitation. ‘Don’t get flippant with me, Paddy Donovon. I mean, where in Scotland and to see whom?’

  Paddy held out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘You know as much about that as I do. Even I’m not privileged to share that information. All I do know is, she’s going up there for Georgio. I think it’s probably something to do with one of the businesses.’

  Maeve nodded her head slowly. ‘And which sort of business would that be? Legal or illegal?’

  Paddy shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Come on, Maeve, would you give a man a break?’

  ‘No, Paddy, I won’t. Is something happening that could put Donna in any kind of danger?’

  ‘I don’t know, Maeve. I know nothing.’

  Maeve stood up abruptly. ‘Well, thanks for nothing. I think I will have to ask me son, won’t I?’

  ‘You do that, Maeve.’ Paddy exhaled loudly.

  She stared into Paddy’s face, her intense gaze unnerving him.

  ‘Pa will be told about this conversation, Paddy. I can promise you that much. I think me and him have a right to know what’s going on around us. Georgio is my son. He may be your friend, but he’s my son. I birthed him, fed him and nurtured him. I have a right to know what he’s up to.’

  Paddy watched her walk from the small office, her back ramrod straight and practically bristling with indignation.

  He finished the whisky in the flask and sighed. Sod Maeve. He had better get in contact with Georgio. Once Pa was involved there would be murders. As amiable as Pa Brunos could be, you had to get up very early in the morning to get one over on him.

  Very early indeed.

  Maeve slipped into the car beside Mario.

  ‘Nothing. He told me nothing, but there’s something going on all right.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  Maeve shrugged and started up her Lada, enjoying as always the scrunch of the gears.

  ‘What do you think, child? I’m going to talk it over with your father.’

  She pulled out on to the road, her erratic driving causing panic amongst oncoming vehicles. Maeve ignored them and spoke again. ‘It’s funny you know, Mario, but Paddy told me that Stephen should not be told anything.’

  Mario nodded. ‘I think Paddy is right. I don’t trust Stephen as far as I can throw him. Never did. Neither did Georgio, not with important things. Remember that, Mum.’

  Maeve skirted a corner, scraping the kerb with her wheel. ‘What a life! My son’s locked up till time immemorial, and now I find out that my children don’t trust one another. Well, you know what they say, don’t you? You live and learn.’

  Mario grinned. ‘We trust one another, Mum; it’s just that none of us really trusts Stephen.’

  Maeve shook her head. ‘It’s a terrible thing to say, I know, but I don’t entirely trust him myself. Even as a child, he had a way with him. Oh, you wouldn’t understand. ’
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  Mario put his hand gently on to his mother’s arm. ‘I understand more than you think, Mum.’

  Maeve sighed. Smiling gently to herself, she said, ‘I suppose you do, Mario, I suppose you do.’

  They drove home to Canning Town in silence.

  It was late evening when Alan and Donna pulled into a Bed & Breakfast outside Edinburgh. Taking their bags from the boot, Alan rang the doorbell of the tall four-storey house. It was answered by a small dark-haired woman in her thirties.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘We need two rooms for the night, please. Breakfast in the morning and maybe a sandwich now to be going on with.’

  Alan’s voice was different, more cultured, and Donna stood in the shadows of the long drive, watching him in surprise.

  ‘I can manage that much, laddie. Away in.’

  The woman opened the door wider and Alan entered. Donna followed him slowly. They had hardly spoken for nearly six hours, stopping once at motorway services to eat what passed for shepherd’s pie and tasted like shepherd’s socks.

  The woman showed them into a sitting room containing a small sofa, two occasional tables, and a portable TV. The walls were painted oatmeal colour, and along one of them stood a metal holder, full of different pamphlets about Scotland and the highlands. It smelt of Mr Sheen and stale food.