Faces (38 page)

They were like a rock band in many respects. Danny Boy was the front man, the singer, whereas Michael was the backroom boy, the person no one really noticed but who made sure that everything went smoothly. If Danny had not married his sister then his allegiance to his friend would never have been called into question. But, no matter what she had done, what she was, she was still his sister, and Danny Boy should have remembered that fact and respected it. She was his wife and Danny Boy had chosen to keep it that way, and he wanted her to be happy again. Michael couldn’t bear the sadness in her eyes, all the while knowing that his best friend was the reason for it.

Michael was sitting back now, forcibly relaxing himself into the comfort of the leather chair, attempting to control his breathing. He was in a small Indian restaurant on the Mile End Road. He liked it here, they provided good food and a congenial atmosphere. Now, thanks to him, they were also willing to accept parcels on a regular basis. These parcels could contain anything from guns to drugs, and they were paid accordingly, pleased to be a part of the new breed, and confident that this would guarantee them the monopoly in their area for a few years at least. Any restaurants that might now open in their vicinity would be owned only by their relatives, so no harm would be done to them personally. It was how the world was now working, and they knew that to survive in it they had to take a more active role, and their children too, especially those who had been born in the locality and were streetwise enough to see the logic in these new business deals.

Michael was pleased with his negotiations, and he knew that one day they would be useful in other ways. The people involved would be loyal to them and, like Danny Boy always said, you never knew when someone might come in handy. This from a man who, when he deemed someone to be of no further use, was capable of cutting them off like a cancerous tumour without a second’s thought.

The secret with Danny Boy, Michael knew, was to always make sure you were useful to him in some way. Even his own father had sussed that much out. Michael closed his eyes once more, and tried to stop the hateful thoughts from overtaking his mind. If he wasn’t careful, the anger he felt inside him, that was simmering away on a daily basis, would boil and overflow, and he knew from experience that anger, without an outlet of some kind, could be a very destructive force.

Then he saw his brother Gordon walking into the restaurant, as large as life. He saw his brother’s open face, so like his own, and the confident stride that told him that Gordon now believed that enough time had passed, that what had happened at his sister’s wedding had been forgotten, and he was due not only his forgiveness but, knowing his little brother, everyone else’s as well. Michael watched warily as Gordon made his way towards his table. He was dressed like a reject from Spandau Ballet, his leather jacket and boot-leg jeans were accentuated by the blond streaks in his thick, dark hair. His roots were already well grown-out, and that made him look cheap, like a dole-queue boy. He was a scruffbag, as his mother would have called him, and Michael was ashamed of him. How anyone could walk about like him was beyond his understanding. Jonjo was of an age and he always looked tidy, smart, but then he had to deal with Danny Boy who, like him, abhorred the men who were slaves to fashion. Despised the nonces who wanted to look like a particular pop star. They were laughable, an embarrassment. You needed to look serious to be taken seriously by the people you dealt with.

‘What do you fucking want, Gordon?’ Michael was curt, embarrassed to be seen with him. Up close the boy was even scruffier than he had first thought.

‘I was sent to get you by Jonjo. Mary is in the hospital, she’s lost the baby.’

Mary was alone in the small room reserved for the women whose babies were no longer inside them. At least that is how she thought of this place in her own mind. It was quiet here, but she could hear the muffled cries of the women in labour not two minutes’ walk away from where she lay. Through the window in the door she could see the patients as they wandered past, some going for a crafty cigarette, others going to the day room to watch their favourite programmes. These were women with big lumps in front of them, women who were, without doubt, pregnant. She was jealous of them all, of their huge pendulous breasts, overblown hips, even their stretch marks.

Her baby had slid out of her without a murmur, a three-month-old foetus that she had hastily rescued from the toilet bowl. Had wrapped gently in toilet paper and clutched in her hand tightly to show it to the doctor in the hope that he could do something to prevent this ever happening to her again. She couldn’t even cry now. She was devoid of tears. In fact, she felt numb, as if the baby had taken everything she had ever felt with it when it had decided to leave her. Even her own baby had not wanted to stay with her, even her own child had abandoned her, and who could blame it for that? She was a pariah, she was unfit to be a mother.

But she had wanted that baby so badly, had desperately believed that it would bring her and Danny Boy together, would have been the reason for them starting their life anew. He had not come to see her, had not bothered to even send her a message. He had left her alone, left her to grieve for their baby all by herself.

She was to go down to theatre in the morning to have a D & C, make sure that the baby was all gone. Scrape out the last little bits of her child, the last remnants of her baby. Apparently. According to one of the nurses, lots of women lost the first baby, and she had then said that she shouldn’t worry too much about it. Easier said than done, unfortunately.

She couldn’t help worrying, Danny hardly ever came near her any more and, now that this had happened, she wondered what his reaction would be when she finally went back to their home. Finally faced him.

This poor little child had been her last hope, had been the thing she had pinned her dreams on. No matter what happened to her and Danny, she would always have had this child, would have had someone to lavish all her pent-up love and affection on. Now that was gone, and she was once more a failure. She had failed in even this, the most basic of female requirements. She knew of women who produced regularly without a day’s illness, dirty, rotten bitches with a brood of kids trailing behind them, the mothers unable to care for them properly, letting them play out till all hours of the night. Not realising how lucky they were to have them, what a privilege it was to be blessed with them. And here she was, unable to produce even one.

The tears finally came then, hot and salty, and she didn’t even try to stem them in any way. She was sobbing, and the release felt good. She knew now that Danny Boy was not coming, so she could cry with impunity, really let rip. She cried for the baby she had lost, for her marriage, but mostly for the mother that she missed so desperately because, no matter what happened in life, there was always a bed for you at your mother’s home. All the time she was alive her children had somewhere to go. Somewhere to run to, and somewhere to call home.

She now knew that all her mother had said to her over the years had been the truth, she should have married someone who would have taken care of her, someone who loved her, who could have given her a good life. She also realised, too late, that she should have loved her mother properly, while she had still had her, as bad as she was, as much as she had annoyed her with her drunken antics because, once your mother was gone, they were gone, and no one could ever replace them.

 

Michael and Danny were in the yard: Louie had been given what Michael thought was a fair price, and they were now going through the books he had kept. There were two sets, one for his perusal, and one for the taxman. That was the beauty of a cash business, no one ever knew what you had really earned, and no one was ever liable to find out either. Not unless you were stupid enough to tell them, anyway.

They were both interested in the scrap business, it was a good front as well as a good earner. Lorries and cars pulling up at all hours wouldn’t look out of place, so it was ideal for them, and they were determined to make it turn a decent profit, not that Louie had done too badly with it. But, like a lot of the older men, he had missed out on a lot of opportunities because he had been nervous of trying anything new. Danny wondered if they would be like that one day, and dismissed the thought immediately. He would always have his eye on the new, on the main chance. He couldn’t even imagine himself old, not as old as Louie anyway. That seemed so far away, so long into the future. He smiled at the thought of it.

‘You all right, Danny Boy?’

Michael’s voice broke into his thoughts and he was perplexed at the question, then he almost laughed out loud as he remembered what had happened. What had prompted the question in the first place. Michael was sorry for Danny Boy and Mary: the loss of the baby had been a big blow to them both, he was sure of that.

‘I’m all right, mate.’

It was a dismissal and Michael knew it. But he understood that Danny didn’t want to discuss it. He also knew that he had not been to the hospital either. In a strange way he understood that as well. Men didn’t cope as well as women with that kind of thing. He had explained that to Mary, tried to get her to understand that Danny was grieving in his own way. He didn’t really believe it any more than she did. But what could he do? He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and Mary was even getting on his nerves lately. She was like the prophet of doom, and he was pleased to leave her in the hands of the women for the time being.

Ange had been a star, as had Annie. Annie was the last person he had imagined being such a staunch friend. It just showed you how wrong you could be about somebody. Carole Rourke, an old school friend, had also been a regular visitor and, for some reason, that pleased him. Mary had been in hospital for ten days now: she had not seemed able to get over what had happened to her. Michael knew she was not as ill as she made out, that she was delaying going home. He knew that she was devastated about the loss of the baby, and he also knew that she was dreading going back to that huge, empty house. But he believed that the sooner she went home the better it would be for them all. Danny had lost a child as well, but no one seemed to think about that.

‘I am going to put Jonjo in here, let him run it for a while, see how he goes.’

Michael nodded. He had expected as much. Plus Jonjo was a good worker, and reliable, even if he was not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

‘We can concentrate on the outside business then, and use this place as a base. The casinos are getting too well known now, and the people who frequent them are also bringing down a lot of heat with them. But that is what earns us the dough, so this place is ideal really. It’s tucked away, yet on a busy road, and it’s difficult to nose about in here without giving us a fair warning. Old Bill would be hard-pushed to raid this place with the dogs running loose.’

They both laughed. They had acquired a young lad from their estate who had three large Dobermans. He was paid to sit on his arse all day and watch his animals as they roamed free. If anyone wanted to come in, they were rounded up and locked in the night hut until the business was completed. They were lovely dogs, but they were not the most social animals on the planet. They were worth their weight in gold though, the half-inching of car parts had literally stopped overnight. In fact, they had not realised just how much could be nicked in broad daylight until now. Though Michael wondered privately if the fact that now Danny owned the yard might also be a contributing factor. Louie had always assumed that the people he dealt with on a daily basis were kosher: now it seemed that they were not as trustworthy as he had thought. Danny was not impressed with this knowledge as he had run this place for Louie as a kid and even his eagle eyes had missed a lot of the scrumping that had taken place.

So, on the bright side, they knew that they were already quids in where the parts were concerned, and already quids in on their drops. The drops could be done here on a more regular basis and without them having to weigh out to Louie for the privilege. As they made their plans, they were both aware that the money they were now making was really serious. It was the kind of money people dreamed about, and they were also aware that serious money had to be made to work for you, otherwise it was pointless having it in the first place. Money, as they both knew, came back to money.

 

Mary and Carole Rourke were in her kitchen, Carole was looking around her in awe. She had never seen anything like this place except on television. The fitted kitchen was real wood, the worktops were granite and the appliances were state of the art. She was gawking in open wonderment at what Mary now saw as her usual surroundings. She was used to it here, and she didn’t have the heart to tell Carole that she was frightened to make a mess in her own home, frightened to use most of the appliances that were still in pristine condition. That she felt more of a guest in her own home than Carole did, that, other than the cleaning and washing and, of course, cooking, most of the house was alien to her. Danny acted like she was the lodger, and treated her as though she was nothing more than the hired help. But she still carried on the charade that everything was all right, that her marriage was perfect. She had too much pride to do otherwise. As she sat there now, and looked at the kitchen through Carole’s eyes, she saw just how other people really saw her and saw her perfect life. If only they knew.

Carole smiled, she was thrilled at her old friend’s good fortune. Even though she had lost her baby, she was pleased that she had such a beautiful home to recover in. To her, this was the equivalent to winning the pools, and she was happy that her friend had been blessed with such a wonderful husband, someone who could provide for her and the children she was sure would arrive in the future.

She was so glad she had decided to make the trip to the hospital when she had heard about Mary’s miscarriage. She had only wanted to let her know she was thinking of her, and cared about her. She’d only intended to pop in for a few minutes, see if she needed anything, or if she wanted her to do a few errands. But Mary had been so pleased to see her, had been so touched that she had thought of her, that they had bonded all over again, as they had years before, when they had been little kids.