The Feud (27 page)

Thrilled for her friend, Jessica forgot about her own problems and embraced her. ‘I am so pleased for you,
Vicki, I really am. I’ll let you into a little secret as well. Chances are we might be new mums together. Eddie and I have decided to try for another baby.’

Vicki squeezed her friend’s hand. ‘That’s wonderful. We can go shopping for baby clothes together and our kids can be best friends.’

Jessica nodded. ‘I’m just so worried about Ed, Vick. Finding his dad murdered like that must have been such a shock for him. I can’t imagine how he must feel.’

Vicki nodded sympathetically. ‘Was you close to Harry? You never saw him that much, did you?’

Jessica shrugged. ‘When me and Ed first got together, I saw him a fair bit. He used to come round sometimes when the kids were young, but once we moved to Essex, the visits sort of dwindled. I wasn’t really close to him but, at the end of the day, I loved him because he was Eddie’s dad. I preferred him to Eddie’s brothers and uncles, I never liked them very much and still don’t. I do remember once, though, when Harry was very kind to me. It was at Reg’s retirement do. Me and Ed had had a massive row and Harry calmed things down. I returned the favour by inviting him and Sylvie round for dinner. They came the once, but after that I didn’t see Harry for yonks.’

Seeing her husband and Dougie walk into the kitchen, Jessica quickly changed the subject. ‘The twins want to go out to see their friends, Ed. I think it will do them good to get out of the house, don’t you?’

Eddie nodded. He had been so wrapped up in his father’s death, he hadn’t given Frankie and Joey much thought. ‘Me and Dougie are gonna pop out to see a few people, so I’ll drop ’em off on the way. You’ll be OK here with your Mum, Dad and Vicki, won’t you? If the Old Bill turn up, just fuck ’em off till later. If Gary and Ricky ring, tell ’em to get the first flight home.’

Jessica was worried. She knew how hot-headed Eddie could be and she didn’t want him doing anything stupid. ‘Where are you going? You won’t be long, will you?’

Eddie shook his head. ‘Couple of hours, tops. Gonna go for a couple of pints with Dougie and Pat Murphy.’

Relieved that he was only going to the pub, Jessica called Frankie and Joey. ‘Your dad’s going out and he’s gonna drop you off at your friend’s,’ she told them.

Frankie and Joey glanced at one another. Friend’s my arse – they were going straight to the pub.

Opening the front door, Eddie spotted a geezer in a bush with a camera. Furious, he lost his rag and chased him. ‘Get off my land, you cunt. I told you earlier, this is private fucking property. You step one foot in here again and I’ll chop your fucking bollocks off.’

‘I just want to ask you a few questions, Mr Mitchell. Is it true that –’

Picking the paparazzo up by the throat, Eddie snatched his camera from him and jumped up and down on it. The petrified man fell to the floor and curled himself up in a ball. ‘Please don’t hurt me – I’m sorry,’ he pleaded.

Dougie grabbed hold of Eddie. There were flashbulbs going nineteen to the dozen and his pal wasn’t doing himself any favours. ‘Get back indoors, kids. Come on, Ed, leave it – he’s not worth it,’ Dougie urged.

Hearing the commotion outside, Jessica let out a scream. Stanley tried to comfort his daughter. ‘Ssh, Jess, it’s all finished now, love. Eddie’s coming back inside,’ he told her.

‘Good for Eddie. They want locking up, them press,’ Joyce said boldly.

Dougie dragged Eddie into the house and told Jessica to pour him a strong drink. ‘He don’t need all this shit with them knobs out there,’ he said, sticking up for his friend.

Stanley put on his jacket. ‘I’ll drop the kids off at their mate’s. I’ve got to go home to see to me pigeons,’ he offered.

Jessica nodded. The further away from all this upset the children were, the better.

‘I will come with you, after all. I could do with a bit of fresh air,’ Joyce told her husband. She had suddenly realised how wonderful it would be if her photo appeared in a newspaper. Her friends were already in awe of her underworld connections and they would be so, so jealous if they opened their newspaper tomorrow and saw her face smiling back at them.

‘Come on, then,’ Stanley said angrily. He knew his wife better than she knew herself and he guessed her intentions were not entirely honourable.

Joyce gave a royal wave as the electronic gates opened. On their father’s orders, Joey and Frankie hid their faces under a blanket in the back of the car.

‘Stop waving at them, you stupid old bat,’ Stanley screamed.

‘Just shut up and drive,’ Joyce replied, still waving.

Relieved that they weren’t being followed, Stanley told the twins to uncover themselves. He felt so sorry for his grandchildren. ‘Where do you want me to drop you?’ he asked sympathetically.

‘In the town centre, by the clocktower, Grandad,’ Frankie replied.

‘What one of your friends lives by the clocktower?’ Stanley pried.

‘Stacey,’ Frankie said, nudging her brother.

Five minutes later, Stanley put his indicator on and stopped the car. ‘Now are you sure you’re going to be all right? Me and Nanny will watch you go into your friend’s house,’ said a concerned Stanley.

‘We’re fine, Grandad. Stacey’s mum owns that pub across the road. It’s called the Angel.

‘Stacey and her family live upstairs,’ Joey lied.

Stanley watched the twins walk into the pub. Worried sick, he turned to Joyce. ‘Them kids won’t grow up to be normal, not in an environment like that, they won’t.’

‘Jessica and Eddie are wonderful parents. Them kids have never wanted for a thing in their lives,’ Joyce said angrily.

Stanley scowled at his superficial wife. ‘A bit of normality wouldn’t go amiss for them. Everything’s about money with you, isn’t it, Joycie? What do you know about parenting anyway? You was the one that encouraged your own daughter to take up with a villian in the first place.’

Joyce was shocked by the change in Stanley’s attitude. ‘Turn the car around and drop me back at Jessica’s, immediately. How dare you talk to me like that, Stanley? How dare you?’

Furious, Stanley swung the car around. ‘I’m trying to make you see sense. Something bad will happen to our Jess or them kids. I can feel it in me bones, Joycie, on my life I can. One day you’ll be sorry you never listened to me.’

Eddie knotted his black tie and glanced at himself in the mirror. Greasing his hair back with Brylcreem, he put on a pair of dark sunglasses to enhance his image. Today was his father’s funeral, God rest his soul. The police had kept hold of Harry’s body for six weeks and they would have kept it longer, had Eddie not intervened. He’d threatened to blow the whistle on a couple of his dad’s old acquaintances just to get things moving.

‘You want us to catch your father’s killer, don’t you?’ the bent DS asked Eddie sarcastically. The bent DS was nothing to do with Harry’s case and wasn’t keen to intervene.

Unable to function properly while his father was lying on a cold slab in the mortuary, Eddie gave it to him. ‘If you don’t get my dad’s body released by next week, I will personally ensure that the shit hits the fan. I know every dodgy deal my father did with you and your pals and I’m sure it would make interesting reading for the Chief of Police. The mugs leading the hunt are no nearer to finding his killers now than they were the day he died. Useless cunts, the lot of them. Just release me dad’s body so he can get the send-off he deserves and then I’ll find the killer me fucking self.’

The threat worked wonders and the following day Eddie received a phone call allowing him to organise the funeral. The six weeks since Harry had been murdered had been the hardest in Eddie’s life. Many a night he’d woken up in a cold sweat as a nightmare had brought it all back to him. The images of his father’s battered face and body seemed to torture him every time he closed his eyes.

Ed had finally got hold of Gary and Ricky the day after Boxing Day. They had flown home within twenty-four hours and, along with Raymond, had been a great support to him ever since.

With the Old Bill about as much use as a chocolate fucking teapot, Eddie had started his own line of investigation. He, Ray and the boys had spoken to every underworld connection they knew, but nobody had heard so much as a whisper.

Frustrated, Eddie had turned his attention towards his dad’s neighbours. The young lads that had been harassing his father had been spotted by all of them and Eddie managed to get a description. The problem was, seeing as they’d always worn their hoods up, the description was rather vague.

The one thing that did prick Eddie’s ears was something that Iris next door had said. Annoyed with the boys making a racket outside, she had confronted them and chased them with her rolling pin. ‘They were laughing at me, Eddie, taking the right piss, they were. The one that spoke to me – called me a silly old cow and told me to fuck off – wasn’t a Cockney. He had an accent, a strange accent. I couldn’t say where it was from, but his voice had a country lilt to it.

From day one, Eddie was positive that the O’Haras were behind his dad’s untimely death and Iris’s bit of info
only confirmed his belief. Jimmy O’Hara and his motley crew all originated from the Cambridgeshire area and their accents were just how Iris had described. With no actual proof, all Eddie could do was sit back and bide his time. He was positive that the young boys had been sent to his father’s as a ploy. He was also sure that somebody much bigger and stronger had committed the actual murder.

The police had told Eddie the reason why none of the neighbours had heard his father’s screams. The coroner said Harry had been gagged at the time of his death, which had occurred between midnight and 2 a.m. on the morning of Christmas Day. His official report stated that Harry had eleven serious injuries, among which were a broken jaw, bones and a fractured skull. A baseball bat had been used on Harry’s head and the rest of his body had been kicked around like a football. With so many injuries, the actual cause of death wasn’t properly identified. The coroner had said he was 90% certain that Harry had died of head injuries, but couldn’t be absolutely positive. The only thing everybody could be sure about was that Harry Mitchell had died in one of the worst ways imaginable.

Picturing Jimmy O’Hara and his cronies gloating, Eddie smashed his fist against the bedroom wall. O’Hara had held a party round his on Christmas Eve to give himself an alibi, Eddie was certain of that. He obviously hadn’t committed the murder himself, but he must have organised it.

Seeing Jessica walk into the room, Ed tried to pull himself together. ‘Are you OK, love? What have you done to your hand?’ she asked, noticing his knuckles were bleeding.

‘I caught it in the drawer,’ Eddie lied.

Jessica stood on tiptoes and put her slender arms around his shoulders. ‘Me and the kids are ready. Shall we make a move now?’

Eddie nodded. He just wanted the day to be over.

Joyce stood in Harry Mitchell’s front garden. The flowers and tributes that kept arriving completely took her breath away. A keen gardener, she had never seen so many flowers. Hundreds and hundreds there were, and she had just seen another enormous arrangement arrive that spelled out the word LEGEND. Aware of a photographer standing over the road, Joyce patted her hair into place. Ever since she had got her picture on page seven of the
Sun
newspaper, she had felt like a local celebrity. People were still stopping her in the street now and the article had appeared six weeks beforehand.

As more and more people arrived to pay their respects, Stanley became increasingly uncomfortable. Most of them were obviously well-known villains and he felt like a spare prick at a wedding. Noticing Roy Shaw, the notorious prize-fighting champion, looking his way, Stanley quickly averted his eyes. He didn’t feel at ease around these people and he couldn’t wait to get home to his pigeons.

As the horse-drawn hearse arrived carrying Harry’s body, all the neighbours came out of their houses. The street was heaving with mourners and it was more like a carnival than a funeral.

Eddie got into the first car. He was joined by Paulie, Ronny, Reg, Albert, Auntie Joan, Auntie Vi and his dad’s distraught long-term lady-friend, Sylvie. Gary and Ricky got into the second car with Jessica, the twins, Raymond, Joyce and Stanley. The other cars were filled with more distant relations.

The funeral was to take place at East London Cemetery in nearby Plaistow. Harry had purchased his own plot years before, insisting he wanted to be laid to rest next to his beautiful wife.

Frankie nudged Joey as the procession made its way through the crowded streets. Hundreds of people had made the effort. Some were waving banners and flags, but most were bowing their heads as a mark of respect. Jessica pointed a flag out to the twins. ‘Look at that. “Harry Mitchell, simply the best”, it says. Your grandad was very popular, wasn’t he?’

‘Shame we never saw him,’ Joey whispered to Frankie.

Stanley felt his face redden as the TV crews pointed a camera in his direction. He could just imagine all his old pals down the bus depot watching the news tonight and seeing him on there. Thank God I took early retirement, Stanley thought. He was embarrassed to be a part of such a family.

‘Will you stop fucking waving,’ Stanley shouted at Joyce, who was milking it. Her outfit looked awful. She had a massive black-netted hat on her head and Stanley thought she looked like a fucking witch. The only thing she was lacking was a broomstick.

Due to the horrific circumstances surrounding Harry’s death, the service itself was a very solemn affair. The vicar who presided over the proceedings was an old pal of the Mitchells. He had married Harry and his wife many moons ago.

Eddie stood up to say a few words, but was too choked up to go through with it. Seeing Ronny race towards him in his wheelchair, Eddie handed him the piece of paper.

‘My Dad was the best and, I swear on God’s life, we’ll get revenge for you, Dad. Whoever did this to you,
we’ll do a hundred times worse to them,’ Ronny slurred, ignoring what was written down in front of him.