Faces (34 page)

Jonjo lost his usual good-natured camaraderie and he hissed at his old friend, ‘You cunt, you fucking bastard. You think you are going to get away with that, do you?’ He brought his fist back and planted it firmly into the centre of his friend’s face, knocking him flying. As he went to carry through his attack Mary grabbed his arm.

‘Please, Jonjo, get him out of here, please get him away from me.’

She was white with fear and her humiliation was obvious to anyone who was watching her, and that was now most of the guests. Ilford Palais was packed out and she could feel the eyes of everyone burning into her.

‘Don’t worry, Mary, I’ll fucking sort him out. I don’t know why he does it but he won’t be capable of saying anything else once I finish with him.’

He was so sorry for her, she was almost burning with humiliation. ‘No one listens to him anyway, mare, everyone know he talks bollocks.’

He was trying his best to make her feel better but they both knew it was not working. As she began to speak, she saw Michael and Danny Boy walking purposefully in their direction and her older brother linked Gordon’s arm in a friendly way, while dragging him up from the floor roughly. Then he started to walk him out of the club as if nothing untoward had happened, Jonjo following them.

Mary leaned against her new husband’s chest and cried, really cried, her day was ruined. She was overwrought and the drink had lowered her defences. But, instead of holding her as she had expected, Danny Boy grabbed her arms roughly and pushed her away from him, his handsome face marred by the spitefulness of his words.

‘Happy now, are you? Everyone chattering about what a dog you are. Even your own brother is disgusted with you. What a fucking day, eh, me wife is unmasked as a slag by her own fucking brother.’

Mary couldn’t believe what he was saying to her, couldn’t for the life of her comprehend his anger and his disloyalty. How could he condone her brother’s words on their wedding day? How could he let other people think that what Gordon said was true, even if it was? Their whole life was about front, about believing what you wanted to believe, about making your life up as you went along. If Old Bill was to come to her house and ask where her husband was at any given time, she would not hesitate to say he was with her, whether he had been with her or not. Her husband’s words could only exacerbate her brother’s; Danny Boy’s anger could only make Gordon’s diatribe seem even more believable. She was now almost begging him to take her side, something she knew she should never have had to ask of him. He should be making her feel better, be making her feel safe and secure. ‘No, Danny Boy ... Come on, you know he talks rubbish . . .’

Danny Boy looked down at his new little wife and enjoyed the humiliation she was feeling. He didn’t so much want a wife as a scapegoat, someone he saw as nothing more than a means to an end. Now, thanks to Gordon, he saw a perfect opportunity to start off his married life with a wife who was already wrong footed, already unsure of her power.

Mary was a good-looking girl, a babe, and also a fucking know-all if she was allowed to give vent to her feelings. Priding himself on always seeing any opportunity when it presented itself, he knew that this was one he couldn’t miss. If he played his cards right he could cow her for the rest of her days, and he used the moment without any qualms whatsoever.

‘You are a right fucking prize ain’t you, your brother mug-bunnying about you in front of everyone.’ He shook his head with a calculated and theatrical disgust.

Then, pushing her away from him, he walked out of the club without a backward glance, leaving her alone and distraught, and without a shred of self-respect.

 

It was the talk of London the next day because he didn’t bother to come back again and the new bride eventually went to her new home alone. It was awful for her and no one knew what to say. Everyone went home, but before they went they tried their hardest to find something nice to say to her before they left. But it was too late, her day was ruined, and her brand-new husband had gone AWOL.

The honeymoon was cancelled, and the reception was wrecked, but she still sat there, full of hope, in their brand-new detached house, the house that they had so lovingly decorated and furnished, and she prayed for him to return to her on this night of all nights.

She finally passed out blind drunk at six in the morning; she was still in her wedding dress, and she was still cherishing the belief that he would come back to her at some point, it was their wedding night. She believed that he couldn’t really have been so cruel to her, that he couldn’t really have humiliated her in front of basically everyone that they knew. But she knew she was wrong, as she had been wrong about so many things where her new husband was concerned.

 

Danny was drunk as a lord, and the girl he had picked up at some point during the night’s revelry was now snoring her head off beside him in a strange hotel room. She had not looked so heavy last night, or so hairy; she had a much more luxuriant moustache than most of the men he knocked around with. But, in fairness, she had been game and, from what he remembered, she had given him a good few hours. Her thick black hair was heavy as a rope, and it was fanned out around her head making her look much more exotic than she actually was. He was looking at her with genuine interest, amazed at what beer goggles were capable of doing to a man’s brains. In the usual run of things he would not have given this bird a second’s thought. Now he had spent his wedding night with her, and that knowledge made him smile. She turned over in her sleep and he saw how flabby her belly was. He knew then that she had kids somewhere, and his dislike of her was now ten-fold. Who the fuck was taking care of them while she was out whoring? He hated it when he woke up with mothers, somehow it made everything seem even more seedy than it really was. The babies they had birthed at least had the right to a mother who wasn’t a fucking trollop; at the end of the day it wasn’t that much to ask was it?

He poured himself out a stiff drink and, as he did so the girl stirred momentarily in her sleep; he now believed she had heard the splash of alcohol in her subconscious and, once more, wondered at a woman who could lower herself so much she would be quite happy to wake up next to a stranger without any kind of shame. That he had slept with her didn’t enter into it. He was a man, and he was built to chase strange. It was in a man’s nature to fuck indiscriminately, whereas women were expected to have a modicum of decorum. He knew God had provided women like this one expressly for men like him.

He wondered what his wife was doing now, was she awake and wondering what had happened to her lovely day? The very day that she had gone on about so much he had felt the urge to scream. He wondered what her cunt of a brother was doing, considering he had caused the fucking rift in the first place. She was a lovely girl, but he would have dumped her anyway at some point in the day, she had needed knocking down a peg or two, flash prat she was, and her brother had inadvertently provided the excuse he had needed to do just that.

Now Michael was also on board with his tantrum, because it was his little brother who had caused the rift that Danny Boy had wanted so badly. All in all, it had worked out well. He knew the importance of being discussed, and how a spectacular scandal could catapult someone into the psyche of everyone around you. His wedding would guarantee his name going down in the annals of the local folklore. He would be respected for his open-heartedness when he took his wife back. It had been the same with his father, his public treatment of his father had garnered him many a friendly pat on the back. He had crippled him because of his gambling and his wicked abandonment of his family, and leaving them in enormous debt. And yet he was liked because he still saw the old boy all right. It was good PR. He was the main talking point of the Smoke today, and he knew it. That he had walked out of his own wedding, and a fuck-off expensive wedding at that, would cause ripples that would reverberate for many years. He would live it down, there was no shame on him, but Mary never would, and that was what he had wanted. To make her see what she was getting herself into. Gordon had played right into his hands and, for that, he would be forever grateful. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman, but she was also all that a lot of other men had wanted in a woman. He hadn’t fucked her before the big day because he couldn’t really bring himself to go where Kenny and the others had gone before. Yet he still wanted her to be his wife, and he had deep feelings for her. The fact that those feelings were often on the verge of hatred was something he had accepted long ago.

As he remembered the feeling of his flaccid cock inside this sleeping girl a few hours earlier, the stickiness of his come inside her, remembered the thick wetness as it had dripped down on to her thighs as he pulled out of her, then the sickly stench of her when he had finally awoken, he thought of his new wife and wondered how many times this same situation had happened to her. She had put it about, and now he had to make something good come of this marriage. He had wanted her, but he couldn’t get past this; the fact that she had been seen like this by so many other men, had been used like this. He had made his point, and now she would spend the rest of her life regretting her colourful sex life, he would make sure of that. He remembered his mother’s swollen belly after his father had all but destroyed the family he had created and then abandoned as and when the fancy took him. That she could have welcomed him back into her bed was, to him, the ultimate betrayal considering what he had caused them. When she had miscarried that child he had felt the last vestige of love leave his body and he had celebrated that fact. She had wanted his father and she had got him, and he had made damn sure that they paid the price for their treachery. He took on the mantle of man of the house as a young kid, and yet his mother had been willing to let his father come back and carry on as usual, even though it would mean her children could once more go without. Women were fucking carrion, they lived off whatever they could get from the man who was fucking them. He knew the truth of that better than anyone. He had put his life on the line, fought the Murrays and made a life for himself because of his father’s fucking gambling and his mother’s fucking selfishness. Six hundred quid had been the cause of his life being so fucked up. Six hundred quid, that was now what he classed as spending money, as fuck all, as nothing. Well, as his father used to joke, marry a whore, she can’t ever get any lower. So he had done just that. Now he had to face the music and he couldn’t wait.

 

Michael was sipping coffee and smoking a Turkish cigarette in the small office of the casino he owned with Danny Boy. He was still in shock at what had occurred the day before and he had almost convinced himself at one point that it had never happened. That he had dreamed it. But he knew it was true, and that knowledge plagued him. His sister was in bits, and her big day, the day she had been looking forward to with so much excitement had been ruined. Gordon was now sober and contrite, his sorrow so genuine it was heartbreaking to witness. Not that it had stopped him from giving him the hiding of his life though. That his own brother could have been the cause of such distress was what had made him depressed. Mary had looked beautiful, and Danny Boy, his best friend and partner, had been so looking forward to the big day, that when it had finally arrived they had all sighed with relief. That Danny Boy had not been able to take what Gordon had said about his new wife was a given. Danny Boy, he knew, was far too proud to have swallowed that kind of a show up. That he had left the reception was, to his way of thinking, probably a good thing, that he had not murdered Gordon was a result in itself. As he had tried to explain to Mary, Danny had only left the party so he didn’t do anything foolish, didn’t let that famous temper of his get the better of him.

Not that Mary could see that yet, and he understood her hurt over his absence and her bewilderment that her little brother could have been the cause of it in the first place. She had sworn never to speak to him again. Ever. Well, Gordon would think twice before he let the drink get the better of him in future; he was now in absolute terror of Danny Boy coming back to take his retribution for the destruction of his wedding day. If Danny did decide to take umbrage he would have to wipe his mouth; at the end of the day Danny would be well within his rights. To talk about her like that, at her own wedding. Her wedding to a man who could kill without a second’s thought. Who could torture someone for hours on end and actually enjoy their screams of terror. What the fuck was the boy thinking of? It was an abortion, it was the most outrageous thing he had ever experienced in his life, and he still didn’t know what the upshot of it all was going to be.

 

Mary Cadogan, as she was now known, awoke to see her husband of one day stripping off to get into the shower. When she opened her eyes and saw him standing there she felt her heart almost lift itself inside her chest. She pulled herself upright with difficulty, the drink from the night before giving her a raging thirst and a thumping headache. As she watched him walk naked towards the bathroom she was amazed that he had not spoken a word. It was as if they were all right, as if they had not had the drama of the day before. He called over his shoulder lightly, ‘Make us a cup of tea, love, and take that fucking dress off, will you? I thought I’d come home to Miss Havisham.’

He was acting as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. She was disorientated, still half pissed, and she looked around the bedroom she had decorated with such happiness and saw her reflection in the mirror on the dressing table. She looked awful, her eyes were rimmed with black make-up and her tears had stained the skin on her face and neck; she looked old. As she observed herself she remembered the day’s events and swallowed down the tears once more. Her mouth was dry, and she could smell herself. As she stood up she felt herself sway and hoped that she might pass out and die so she didn’t have to face the rest of her life, but she didn’t. Instead, she pulled off her wedding dress. It was ruined, and she left it in a heap on the bedroom floor and dragged on the silk dressing gown she had bought with her new husband in mind. She started to take off her make-up, wiping her face gently, all the time her ears were straining to hear the sound of the shower being turned off. She was expecting a fight, and she knew that there was nothing she could do to avoid it. How on earth would Danny Boy ever find it in his heart to forgive them all for the travesty that was their big day. She sat on the end of the bed, the bed she had believed would be the place where they would lie together, love together, and talk together. Now it was messed up from where she had lain and cried her heart out. It was the shame that was now bearing down on her, the sheer disgrace that was overwhelming her.