The Faithless (16 page)

‘Well, remember that Santa only comes to good boys and girls.’

‘I will, Mummy, and I’ve been good. Sister Angela said I had been impressive, that was the word.’

Cynthia laughed then, a real laugh. ‘I remember her – tall, ugly old cow.’

Gabby grinned at this blasphemy. ‘She said I looked just like you at the same age.’ She had also said that her mother was a heart-scald if ever there was one, and that she had been nothing but trouble from the day she walked into the Sacred Heart School. But Gabby wisely kept that bit of the conversation to herself.

Cynthia looked down on her lovely daughter – she really was lovely, she was beautiful. ‘You’re a good kid, Gabs.’

This was another new thing, the shortening of her name to “Gabs”, this from her mother who always insisted everyone got their full title.

Gabby felt the tears sting her eyes then, it was not often her mother was this kind to her. ‘I try, Mummy.’

Cynthia smiled. ‘I know you do, mate. I know you do.’ She kissed her daughter’s brow then and, making sure the bed was tidy, she left the room, whispering, ‘Good night,’ softly before shutting the door behind her.

When Cynthia went into her front room, she sat down and sipped at her wine. They would both be off to sleep soon, she had made sure of that – she had crushed half a sleeping tablet
into their hot milks. James was off out, overseeing the books in a club in Romford, and she had a small lamb casserole in the oven simmering away ready for when Jonny got here. She felt the pull of him already, hence the drugged children; nothing or no one would interfere with her time with him.

It was strange the way it had panned out. She felt a sorrow for Celeste that was so deep, and so sad it was almost tangible. She knew that Jonny could never leave her sister, and she was content with that for the moment. All she wanted was him, inside her, in her bed where she gave her husband a mercy fuck often enough to allay his suspicions. All she wanted was what she had. And that was tonight, because there was no way they would be able to get together over Christmas.

She had put on her new underwear, she had made her face up so it looked more exquisite than ever, and she had put on her old clothes, because there was nothing that turned him on more than ripping them off her as he walked through the door. She felt the thrill of him inside her once more and, settling herself in the comfortable armchair, she awaited his arrival.

Life didn’t get much better than this; a drink, a sit and the anticipation of a good fuck into the bargain. This was what she lived for, what kept her going. This was the stuff that dreams were made of.

Jonny Parker was on his way to Cynthia’s with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, and a diamond pendant that she would dismiss as a knock-off from the market like she had everything else he had bought her. He felt the tug of her as he drove sedately through the London traffic.

He liked to savour the journey to her house – always
her
house, never Jimmy’s. He liked the knowledge that she would be waiting for him, would fuck him like an animal, and then feed him a wonderful supper and talk as if they were no more than good friends. She knew what a man wanted, a real man, and he felt sorry for Jimmy Tailor, who would never be enough for the woman who was his wife.

Jonny was the king of the world; he had outed Bryant, he was now the main man in the Smoke, and all that was left for him to do was find that cunt Bertie Warner. And find him he would, if it was the last thing he did in this life. He would find him, and he would crush him like a fucking beetle under his shoe. He owed Celeste that much, if nothing else. He had put her in danger and, if it hadn’t been for Cynthia, she would be dead. Then he would never have found out what really made him tick.

No woman had affected him like Celeste – she was pure and clean and good. But, thanks to Cynthia, he saw that she was not enough for him. Without
her
he would never have understood that he had a real lust for blood, and that blood lust would take
him places he had never dreamt possible, both mentally and sexually.

London was his, and he was going to own it all. The man who could take it off him hadn’t been born yet. He had a slice of everything – from blags to betting shops to nightclubs, market stalls, shops, even the bingo halls, the list was endless. He had finally made it, was finally the top banana, and now came the hardest part of all.

Staying there.

1994

Cynthia was tired after her long day’s work but happy; these days she was working for Jonny along with her husband and she loved it. They were getting a serious earn now, and if her husband wondered at the change in their status he was either too shrewd or too stupid to say so. She had a feeling it was the latter, but she never asked him, she didn’t really want to know the answer. Jonny had gone from strength to strength in the last few years and was now the undisputed and, more importantly, the unchallenged king of London town. He was the main man, and he was loving it. That Cynthia was the main woman thrilled her even as it worried her. It was a miracle they had not been found out and that made her think people knew but weren’t talking about it. Jonny Parker wouldn’t look kindly on any gossiping, and she was not about to let her life be ruined over it either.

She was known as a killer in their circle, and she felt the respect from the men, and the fear from their women. The story had been repeated and built up over the years until it was nothing like the real events. The younger ones even thought it had been planned. It amused her how stories really did get stretched in the telling, and how a story, true or otherwise, could impact on a person’s life. Everyone was wary of her these days and that helped her in her new-found career.

All except Celeste, of course. Celeste was still treating her like
she was the second coming or something and, though she was sorry for her little sister, she didn’t feel in any way guilty. She now believed that what had happened was inevitable, believed that she and Jonny Parker were meant to be. Like all great loves, theirs had not been an easy road.

She tolerated poor James, and she knew that he was grateful to her for her affection, scant though it was. His attempt at being the head of the household was long over; now he deferred to her as he always used to, only these days she didn’t provoke him as she once had. In fact, she believed he was happy in his own way. Jonny saw to it that they were well looked after, and well compensated, and who would have thought she had a knack for the betting shops? She ran them all with military precision, and the percentage she took was no small amount.

All in all life was great – except for one thing. As good as she looked, time was beginning to take its toll on her. Lately she had noticed that Jonny, while still as ardent as ever when they were together, wasn’t as eager to meet up as he used to be. Whereas once it had been every day, sometimes twice a day, often a quick coupling in the back of a car because they only had an hour, now he seemed as if he was stepping back from her somehow, and that was not something she was prepared to accept. That he had a lot more on his mind she understood and accepted, but what she wouldn’t accept was another woman in his life – other than Celeste, of course. Celeste was no threat, but the advent of the lap-dancing clubs had made Cynthia aware that, unlike the nightclubs where young girls were in abundance but ultimately looking for a man on a permanent basis, the lap dancers were all out for what they could get. Their brazenness alone was something that would appeal to her Jonny.
She
should know, she was brazen enough herself, and that was what he wanted from her. She knew that this was a jealousy brought on by insecurity; she was still a good-looking
woman, but she was just that – a woman, and these were girls. Very
young
girls at that.

Jonny had embraced the lap-dancing clubs and made them the jewel in his rather large crown. He also spent a lot of his free time in them, though he said it was work and she had to believe that, didn’t she? But, as good as life was, she felt that he was somehow slipping away from her, and that was something she could never countenance.

No one, not her kids, her family, nobody on this earth meant as much to her as Jonny Parker, and she would see him dead before she saw him with someone else. That wasn’t even a threat, that was a promise. Without him she would wither away and die. He was like a drug to her and, though she knew it was unhealthy, that their attraction was wrong in so many ways, she embraced it because she could not live without it.

Jonny Parker had changed over the last few years, and he was as aware of it as the people who worked for him. He would not be gainsaid and he would not listen to advice from anyone; he was unable to take any kind of criticism and he severely punished those who he felt were being disrespectful. It was said by a few that he was getting far too big for his boots – but not within his earshot naturally. Nevertheless, there were the beginnings of dissent, and it was something he should have been aware of, and should have done something about.

The old affable Jonny P, always ready to buy a round of drinks, always the first with a good joke, and always the first to arrange a big party, was long gone. He was a serious, rather dour man now, who occasionally reverted to his old ways while in his cups. He had still never touched a drug – alcohol being his only real vice – and he took his job and its responsibilities very seriously indeed. As his father-in-law always said, getting to the top was the easy part, it was staying there that took the real hard graft.

The truth of the statement was not lost on Jonny now as he sat working. He had fought to get the top prize and it was getting harder and harder to hang on to it. London in the nineties was run by him and a few other Faces – they had minor roles, of course. But it was being swamped by Eastern Europeans, Russians, and the like. They were like no other adversary seen on these turfs before; they had unlimited money and they were
ruthless, and that meant
he
had to become more ruthless. That was the law of their game, but it was a hard graft all the same.

The girls in many of his clubs were Eastern European. The men he dealt with had a constant supply, and the girls were brought over, relieved of their passports, and then told they had to work off their debts. Jonny also had fingers in more than a few pies concerning some Eastern-European brothels. These were constant money-spinners and, though he had found the whole thing distasteful at first, he knew if he didn’t become a part of it some other enterprising fucker soon would. That would mean a serious rival for him and he could not allow that.

All the same he didn’t like the business – but then he didn’t bet and he still had plenty of betting shops. Betting was a fucking mug’s game as far as he was concerned; only fools and bigger fools thought they could really beat the odds. If they had a win, it was rarely enough to cover the years of spending in his shops that preceded it. Still, each to their own and if the Good Lord had not invented lust, greed and all the other vices, he would not have been able to live the life of a biblical king. And live like a king he did, though he was clever enough not to live
too
ostentatiously. He did though have property all over the world, and that was thanks to his Eastern-European connections. They were masters at the long game and he was learning shitloads of stuff from them.

Jonny bought properties for cash, and laundered the money by remortgaging them, not just in England but all over the world; it was like a licence to print legal dosh. He was also amazed at the amount of money to be made in whoring, because it was the whoring that had been the most lucrative of all his new ventures. The only real drawback was that he had no real control over the money and, if caught, the sentences were heavy. That was because the girls were there against their will and that often led to charges of white slavery – even though many of
the girls were West African – and kidnapping. It was costing a fortune to grease the right palms but, thanks to his connections, they were pretty safe. At least as safe as those kind of deals can be. It was taking its toll though, and he knew that the happiness he should have been feeling from all he had achieved was not there.

The reason for this was his Celeste. Yes, she was better than she had been, but she was still scared of her own shadow. In fact, the only time she was remotely happy was when they were out in Spain. She loved their house in Majorca and she seemed to relax there. It was up in the mountains, and the greenery and the dramatic views seemed to calm her soul. Personally, he liked it for the first week and then felt he was going stir-crazy, but he knew she needed the time there.

They had not yet had children, though Celeste had suffered miscarriages, and they both said there was plenty of time, but he guessed that deep down she was frightened of it all. He wanted children, but he was in no hurry. And perhaps that was just as well because he couldn’t see how Celeste would cope with a baby. He loved her with all his heart, and he still cared for her, but now she was more like a sister. Although, in all honesty, that could be the result of the guilt he felt for what he was doing with her sister . . .