The Business (40 page)

Imelda was amazed when the girl said to her quietly and with a certain rough dignity, ‘You don’t even recognise me do you, Imelda? I’m your daughter.’

 

Mary was worried, she knew that Kenny was up to no good, but she didn’t know exactly
what
he was up to or how no good it might be. He was heading for serious trouble, and she knew that he was not geared up for it. He thought he was, they all did at that age. He had no experience of the world of skulduggery, he just thought he did.

But he had been given an easy ride, thanks to her, and he did not understand the way of the world. In fact, he did not understand that his name guaranteed him the respect and the interest that he got, that because of his name people gave him a few minutes of their time. He thought it was because he was a fucking interesting person. Which he was, if you liked overgrown schoolboys. He was a big lad for his age, and he looked much older than his years. He had not yet realised that petty thieving and the ability to throw a punch were not enough to get him through the rest of his life. He inhabited a small world and in that world he was a big fish. He still had a lot to learn about how big fishes could be swallowed up by even bigger and better fish if they were not careful.

Kenny was such a nice boy in many respects, but he was also a very arrogant and a very ignorant one. He would not listen to reason, had no time for advice, no matter who was offering it to him, and he was already of the opinion that only idiots went out to work each day. He saw paying tax as a mug’s game, that was how green he was. Mary would save the lecture on how a legitimate business could be a blind for other, less lawful, enterprises for when he was sensible enough to listen to her advice, and take it on board. He was such a fucking
scratcher
even though, in fairness, he tried to scratch a living so that he could provide her with money, see that she was all right for a few quid. But if he had any brains at all he would have already sussed that she was a real fucking grafter in her own right.

Mary was not going to argue with him any more. She knew that she had to let him get on with it now. Like all young men his brain was not yet wired up to listen to reason. He needed to learn a lesson in his own good time, he needed a fright, and once he had experienced that he would be more amenable to her gentle persuasion, or her manic screaming, which all depended on what form his fright would take. She hoped it was not something she would not be able to smooth over. Knowing him though, that would be the case; he was a law unto himself.

Mary looked at the clock. It was nearly nine, and she knew he would eventually come home, if only to be fed and watered. Her worry had stemmed from the fact that he had not come home as usual, he had not been there for his food, and he liked his food. It was his main preoccupation while at home with her. So she poured another drink for herself, and settled down in the chair to wait for his arrival. Until he came home, and she saw him with her own two eyes, she would not rest. He was a little fucker, but he was her little fucker, and she loved him no matter what.

 

Jordanna was amazed at her mother’s complete indifference to her words. She had not really expected anything else from her, she remembered her mother very well. She knew better than anyone just how easy Imelda found it to write people out of her life as if they had never existed. She erased people from her life within moments of deciding she was fed up with them.

Jordanna knew what her mother was capable of, she also knew that she did not even register on her mother’s radar. She genuinely had not known who she was. She had not even been written out of her mother’s life like everyone else; she had never been important enough to her for that to happen. But she had recognised her mother immediately. She had glanced over at her, and felt her breath leaving her body as the shock of recognition set in, as she felt the physical pain wash over her. It was the day she had dreaded all her life.

She had known her own flesh and blood within a second. She had braced herself for the inevitable approach, had waited for her mother to make the first move, had assumed she was probably as disturbed by the meeting as she was. After all, she
was
her mother. But that had not happened, in fact, it had taken a while before Jordanna had realised that the woman who had carried her inside her belly, who had birthed her, who had named her, did not even recognise her. That she had no recollection of her at all, until prompted.

That had really hurt. She had not forgotten how her mother had been, how selfish and vicious she was, she had not endowed her with pretend attributes or made-up stories about her as a lovely lady who did really love her kids, but had problems she needed to deal with. She had never made excuses for her, she had always understood that her mother was not like other mothers, knew that she was not capable of loving anyone. Even herself. She had always accepted that her mother had no real
interest
in anyone except herself and her habit. And she could cope with that. She had known the truth of it from a small child. She still remembered how nasty she could be, remembered how having to stay at her mother’s house would terrify her, how her nerves would be on edge. She would always remember how much she hated her mother and her lifestyle. She knew that, and she had accepted it a long time ago. But still, to find out that her own mother had not even
recognised
her, that had really hurt. She was annoyed with herself for letting it bother her so much. But it did, and when she had realised that her mother had no idea who she was, she had felt angry enough to go over and force the woman to at least acknowledge her existence.

Even though when Jordanna had first seen her mother, had recognised her immediately, she had not wanted to make any kind of contact with her at all. She had been determined to say a brief hello and leave it at that. She wanted to let Imelda know that she did not need her, had never needed her. She wanted to let her know that she was all right, that her saying hello after all these years was not that big a deal to her. She wanted to be the one who broke the tenuous connection between them, who was strong enough to say, ‘Well, we’ve said hello, so can you go because I am busy?’ But it had not happened; how could it if her mother had no recollection of her at all?

She had expected her mother to come over to
her
, to want to see
her
, see how she had turned out, had expected her to at least initiate some kind of communication. She had expected her to have some kind of reaction at seeing her daughter for the first time in ten years.

But no, she had not even known who she was. She had not even recognised her own child. She knew that physically she was her double, but that just made it worse; she was her mother’s clone.

It was eerie, even she could see it; she knew her granny had seen it as well. She also knew that her granny wouldn’t mention the likeness between them if her life depended on it.

A short while ago she had been really enjoying herself, she was on the threshold of life: she was grown up enough to get served in a pub without a big song and dance, she was pretty, she was popular, and she was finally getting up the nerve she needed to see herself as a grown-up at last. As a young woman. Now she was reminded all over again that she had not been wanted by her own mother, that she had not even been of enough importance for the bitch to remember what she looked like.

She was catapulted back to her childhood and the fear, the hate and the guilt this woman commanded at her leisure.

‘Did you not even notice the resemblance between us?’

Imelda was seeing it now, of course, but she shook her head and motioned for her dealer to join her, trying to indicate that she wanted an end to any further conversation with her daughter.

Her dealer sat down at the table happily, the lovely young girl was more than enough to keep him there for as long as needed.

Jordanna didn’t walk away, even though she knew that her mother wanted her to go. Her mother wanted her to crawl back into her past, where she belonged. But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

Imelda had not allowed for this shit, and she was not going to start playing happy families at this late stage.

‘This is Charley Buckman. Charley, this is my
daughter
, Jordanna.’

Charley was amazed at her words and it showed. Jordanna was suddenly gripped with the urge to get away from them. She knew that this slimy man with his ponytail and unironed shirt was her mother’s dealer. He now knew who she was, and he was in possession of her name. She was sorry she had come over, sorry that her mother’s indifference had bothered her so much, she had been a fool to force the issue. She had been a fool to let this woman and her associates into her life once again.

‘I knew you had kids, Mel, but I didn’t think you had anything to do with them.’

Imelda saw the changing expressions on her daughter’s face; the disgust, the regret and she saw her daughter register Charley as her dealer. Then she said snidely, ‘I don’t have anything to do with them if I can help it, she came over to talk to me. I didn’t even know who she was.’

Jordanna walked away then, and she knew that her friends were wondering who the woman she had spoken to was, and she wondered what lie she could fabricate to explain her actions away though she guessed the resemblance between them would tell them what they needed to know.

She was just about to say that she was a distant relative of her granny’s when she heard Imelda shrieking at her vociferously, ‘Oi, Jordanna, the least you could do is buy your old mum a drink.’

Jordanna felt the shame wash over her as her friends stared at her sadly. She knew that if any one of them had been in the same boat as she was, she would have wanted to curl up and die for them.

She sat down heavily and, swinging her heavy hair away from her face, she said loudly and with as much pride as she could muster, ‘I thought she was dead. I only went over there to make sure it was her.’ Picking up her drink she gulped at it, but she was mortified and they all knew it. They also knew the story of her mother, although Jordanna had never talked about it, ever, so they were only in possession of rumours and hearsay. Now they had seen Imelda Dooley with their own eyes, and they were not impressed.

Joanie Barker, her closest friend, said quietly, ‘Fucking hell, what a turn-up for the books. Ignore her, Jorge, she ain’t worth a wank.’

Jordanna smiled then, and she answered her loudly, ‘You got that right anyway.’

But the night was ruined and everyone knew that. No one was sure what to say, or what to do, it was a really strange situation.

 

All they knew for sure was that Jordanna’s mother, who they had heard about at some point, was even worse than they had expected, and that was saying something considering what had been said about her.

Imelda sat and scored as she had arranged, and then she watched her daughter warily until she finally left the premises with all her friends in tow.

Imelda waited to see if Jordanna would look back at her one more time, but she didn’t and that annoyed her. After all, she had been the one who had dragged up their past lives, not her. She had been the one to fucking approach her, so why was she acting so fucking innocent? Imelda had been spooked by the encounter though, and she had not expected that. She rarely thought about the kids and, on the few occasions she had thought about them, it was her Kenny she had wondered about. Jordanna had never really been of any interest to her whatsoever.

Charley had watched her daughter with the look of a man on the want; the girl was a beauty. But although she might have inherited her mother’s good looks, she had
not
inherited the spark that had set her apart from everyone else. Imelda still had it, still commanded people’s attention, and she knew that it was what had been her downfall in the end. She left the pub and went back to work. Within the hour she had forgotten the meeting with her only daughter.

Joanie was shocked, and as a bona fide drama queen, she was determined to make the most of it. She had heard so much about Imelda Dooley and all the things she had been accused of, but to see her like that, it was unbelievable.

Jordanna wanted to slap her friend, but she knew it was a pointless exercise. Joanie loved the feel of tragedy, she felt the power of a story and would not be satisfied until she had got it out of her system. She needed the excitement of other people’s misfortune, she would then throw herself right into the middle of their bad luck. Unlike the poor people who could not walk away from their tragedies, Joanie could do just that, and she did when she had had enough of it all.

Joanie had not felt confident about broaching the subject of Jordanna’s mother until they were alone, knowing that Jordanna would not want to discuss her with all the others present. Now she had seen her mother up close and personal, she understood why. Joanie had occasionally been the sounding board for Jorge’s rare wonderings about her mother, but even then it was only about the woman’s whereabouts. Not about her as a person.

Joanie had a natural curiosity about the woman who had produced her best friend, and she would sometimes ask about her. She would be discussed briefly, and then dismissed by Jordanna as if she was not worthy of any further interest.

Jordanna had never had a mother to turn to, she had her granny but that was not the same. She was from a completely different generation, so Joanie had passed on all her mother’s gems of wisdom to her friend. They had laughed themselves silly at most of them, but some of her mother’s advice had made sense and they had heeded it, accepting that there were a lot of things they did not know.

But it had still hurt Jordanna, knowing that her mother was alive and well, and yet she had not even asked after her daughter, that was really destructive for anybody to experience. She had not wanted her mother in her life, but she still felt that her mother should have cared about her in some way. No birthday card, Christmas card, nothing. It was heart-breaking knowing that she was not even worth a stamp.