The Jump (19 page)

Leaving the block of fiats he walked across the small concrete car park and got into his dark green Cosworth. He could see Junie’s outline on the balcony and smiled to himself. She was so uncomplicated, was Junie. You shagged her and you had a laugh, and that was it. No long drawn-out conversations, no recriminations. No nothing. Not like his wife, who had known all along about Junie and didn’t have the decency to keep her trap shut about it. What the fuck did these women want? he asked himself. He flashed his lights so Junie would smile to herself in the darkness. He knew how to be romantic - whatever that mad cow at home thought.

As he put the key in the ignition he heard a noise behind him, and as he turned to look, he felt a rope going around his neck. Next thing, the passenger door was opening and he smelt petrol. Trying to pull at the rope, he felt the coldness of the petrol as it hit his face and shoulders, and soaked into his pure wool jacket.

Half-fainting with fright and lack of breath, he felt the pressure on his throat ease. As he tried to straighten himself up in the car he saw the naked flame of the lighter. ‘Tata, Danny.’

Junie watched in wonderment as she saw the man opening the passenger door of the car. She couldn’t see exactly what he was doing because the lights outside the flats very rarely worked. Tbelittle

them bastard muggers saw to that. It was only when she heard the screams and saw the flames that she realised something had gone very wrong. She wasn’t to know that the men had rigged up the car earlier in the evening, while she and Danny had been drinking Blue Nun and bonking away in bed as if their lives depended on it. The deafening bang as the car exploded made her sink weakly to her knees.

Lights were going on all over the tower block, and all that Junie Dent could do was cry bitter tears, because all she had ever really wanted was gone.

Chapter Twelve

Georgio lay on his bunk thinking about Donna and the events of the day before. He had hardly slept in the night and consequently felt ill. He had not bothered to shave or shower and he could smell himself. The sweat was sickly sweet; he had been weight-training the day before, waiting for Donna’s visit. He had gone out to her full of himself. Pleased to see her. And she had thrown him with her words.

It was like reliving a nightmare every tune he thought about what had happened.

If she stopped seeing him now, he would have lost everything. The house was his main concern. He had placed it in her name, she owned it outright. If she divorced him he would have to make a claim on it. But then she could divorce him for desertion, lifers’ wives were given that privilege, and he wouldn’t have the heart to fight for half of everything. After giving it to her, it would look strange if he suddenly wanted it back. Anyway, he wanted it all; the house, the businesses and the money. He had sweated blood for it and he was entitled to it.

The noise around him was lessening. Men had slopped out, were waiting for their breakfast. He could hear Sadie’s voice above the others, laughing and joking as usual. Though what she found to laugh about he couldn’t tell. Georgio abhorred the whole prison setup. He hated being confined, being inside this cement box. Having every door locked behind him; not even having the privilege of turning a light switch on and off. He hated looking over his shoulder all the time, in case Lewis sent out a welcome party either to the showers or the gym. He had heard about a man who had had two immense weights dropped on his chest ‘by accident’. Accidents happened easily in here; he could never allow himself to forget that.

It was enemy territory, and he was at war. Except that his enemy was now trying to be his friend and Georgio found that harder to cope with. He stared at the photos of Donna on his cell wall. Her shiny hair … Closing his eyes, he imagined he could smell her perfume, the particular scent of her as they made love. He saw himself parting her legs gently, waiting until he saw the redness between them. He

them felt himself stirring. Wanted more than anything to be inside her, pumping away all his frustration and needs. How many mornings had she placed her arm across him and caressed him, and how many mornings had he kissed her and leapt from the bed, ready for the day and all it had to bring? He had wasted so much of her, had always known she was there, had taken her for granted. Good old Donna, his little wife, his hostess. He knew many men gave her a second glance and he had enjoyed that knowledge then, aware that she was wholly his. Now the thought tortured him, even though he knew she loved him.

Donna had been a good lover, a juicy lover. A woman who enjoyed being taken. But his tastes had begun to run to younger women who took the initiative, who took him while he lay back and watched. He told himself he made love to Donna and he fucked them. But the fucking was more exciting than anything he had ever experienced with Donna.

Timmy came into the cell smelling sharply of carbolic soap and Wash & Go.

‘All right, Georgio? That’s some bonk on you’ve got there. Thinking about home, are we?’

Georgio stood up, unembarrassed by Timmy’s observations. ‘It’s a piss proud actually. What’s the occasion? Should I wish you Happy Birthday?’

Timmy laughed amiably. ‘Broomfield gets it this morning. Cheek though, ain’t it, putting him in here with us? Ricky was like a fucking lunatic by all accounts. The boys are gonna have him first, in the showers. That’s what got me down there. Big Ricky’s gonna run his arse ragged! If you want a shower this morning, you’d better get down there quick smart, before the cabaret starts. No prizes for guessing which screws will be taking a front row seat, eh?’

Georgio picked up his shower gel and walked towards the shower, taking a clean towel from the pile at the bathroom doors. Standing under the freezing cold water he soaped himself all over quickly, then as he was rinsing off he saw Broomfield. The boy was standing uncertainly in the shower entrance.

‘What you looking at?’ Georgio’s voice was harsh.

The boy shook his head.’Nothing.’

Georgio turned off the shower and pulled a towel around his waist. Going towards the boy, he stood in front of him. ‘Had your look?’

The boy was terrified and Georgio got a small kick out of this fact. ‘You’re scared of me, aren’t you?’

Broomfield nodded.

‘Enjoy raping that little girl, did you? Give you a big thrill that, did it? Want to go back for some more, do you?’

Broomfield’s face was white with shock and distress.

Georgio poked him hard in the chest. ‘Come on, big man, answer me! Scream, did she, when you was giving her one? Frightened out of her life I should think, a bit like you are now, I suppose. Horrible to be scared of someone bigger than you, ain’t it? Knowing that they can beat your head in and you can’t do a thing about it.’

Taking back his fist, Georgio slammed it into the boy’s face. Broomfield started crying, big gasping sobs. Grabbing the younger man by his hair, Georgio forced him into a shower cubicle and slammed him into the wall. Pulling the boy’s head back, he hissed, ‘Shit scared, aren’t you? Tell me what it was like with the little girl, Broomfield. Tell me what you did to her.’

He found his voice. It shook. ‘I never meant it. I swear I never meant it! She wanted me to do it. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Honestly, you’ve got to believe me …’He was hysterical now, his face an ugly mask of fear, blood and tears.

Ricky laBrett came into the shower room with three other men. He smiled at Georgio. ‘You want some, Brunos, you can have him after me.’

Georgio shook his head. ‘He’s all yours. By the way; Ricky, according to him the little girl wanted it, he wouldn’t have done it otherwise.’

Ricky laughed, and tightened the belt strap around his hand. ‘Of course she did, like he wants it now, don’t you, white boy?’

Georgio watched as the boy was pushed to the ground. He lay spreadeagled on the tiled floor, too frightened now to do anything but give out low moans.

As Georgio walked back to his cell he heard the high-pitched scream as Ricky entered him. Sometimes the queerboys came in handy, very handy indeed.

He sat in his cell chatting to Timmy while anguished cries from the shower room carried all over the block.

No one’, warden or prisoner, lifted a finger to help Broomfield. Lewis’s radio was tuned to Classic FM as usual; Mozart’s Horn Concerto provided the accompaniment to the multiple rape in the showers.

‘You’re looking; better today, Donna.’

‘I feel better actually, much better. I slept very well last night. Don’t bother with any breakfast today, just tea, I think.’

Dolly nodded, cursing Donna under her breath. In the oven was eggs and bacon. She knew Donna must have smelled it while it was cooking.

them ‘If anyone wants me, I’ll be over at Maeve’s, OK?’

Dolly nodded and watched Donna slip from the room. She listened out for the car’s engine before going to the back door. Outside was Terry Rawlings. He was smoking a roll-up and sipping a mug of tea.

‘She’s gone to her mother-in-law’s, and will you stop coming so close to the bloody house! She’ll suss something out. Come in, I’ve got a plate of breakfast for you.’ Terry grinned. Taking out his mobile, he rang through to Big Paddy to inform him of Donna’s destination and then sat down to a large plate of bacon and eggs.

‘Everything all right last night?’

Terry nodded, his mouth full of bacon. ‘Not a whisper, Mrs Parkins. I think that Lewis has made his point now, with the car lot like. I reckon she’s safe as houses.’

Dolly made a snorting sound. ‘I don’t trust that bugger as far as I can throw him!’

Terry grinned. ‘Neither do we, Mrs Parkins, so stop worrying.’

Dolly made herself another cup of tea and lit her fifth cigarette of the morning. She wished to Christ she had as much faith as this lot.

‘Well, you tell Paddy that she’s cute, my Donna, and she’ll suss you lot put sooner or later.’

Terry didn’t bother answering, he just carried on eating his breakfast.

Maeve was happy. Her sons were all out, Pa Brunos was at the wholesalers, and she could sit down and read the paper in relative peace. In the middle of the problem page, her favourite part of the paper and the only reason she bought the Sun, there was a loud banging on her front door.

Annoyed, she got up to answer it, clumping down the stairs of the flat in a huff. Seeing Donna’s outline her spirits soared. Flinging the door open, she shrieked, ‘Hello, darling! Come away in. I wasn’t expecting you today!’

Donna smiled. ‘I thought I’d give you a visit before I went into work.’

She followed Maeve up the steep flight of stairs to the flat. While Maeve busied herself making another pot of tea, Donna took off her jacket and settled herself at the kitchen table.

The flat as usual was a mess, but a homely mess. Not dirty, untidy. Georgio had always hated his mother’s haphazard housework. Maeve’s attitude was, a house is for living in. Georgio wanted a showplace, a magazine advert home. Donna had argued over the years with him about this. His mother had brought up a large family, four boys and two girls, in a three-bedroomed flat - not an easy task.

Every penny Pa and Maeve had accumulated had gone on the children’s clothing or education or back into the business. Their restaurant was well known in Canning Town, and both Maeve and her husband worked there from early afternoon until late in the evening. Georgio, like all the boys, had had to work as a waiter there, but unlike the others, Georgio had hated it. He looked back on those days with pain.

In a strange way Donna could understand his feelings. Georgio was a person who cared deeply what impression he made. Donna herself had helped out when she was younger, and sometimes she missed it. The rushing around, the laughter, the smell of Kleftiko and Retsina. The large brandies after a hard night’s work and the long discussions about the evening and the different diners. Yet Georgio liked to eat there, liked to be seen in his parents’ restaurant, as if he was saying to people: ‘Look how far I’ve come. Look at the boy who ran ragged-arsed around Canning Town flats with his friends.’

Unlike Georgio, Donna had hated his mother having to wait on her, feeling all the time it was wrong.

‘So what brings you here bright and early in the morning?’ Maeve’s voice was jocular but Donna knew that the older woman was aware she was there for a specific reason.

‘Actually, Maeve, I’m after your Visiting Order. I know my name’s on it, and I want to ask you a favour really. Do you mind if I use it and visit Georgio by myself? I need to talk to him.’

Maeve shrugged. ‘It’s yours, darlin’. I’ll root it out for you in a moment. Everything all right, is it? Between you and him?’ Maeve sipped her steaming tea nonchalantly, and Donna felt an urge to laugh.

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

Maeve was surprised at her daughter-in-law’s answer. ‘Listen, Donna, I know my son’s failings better than anyone. All my children have faults, and being a mother I’d be a fool if I didn’t know about them. With Stephen it’s gambling, with Nuala it’s a penchant for the wrong kind of men. With Mary - well, you know Mary. She’s a snob. Now Patrick, he’s a ladies’ man, and Mario … well, I wonder at times whether Mario likes the men too much, you know. Seems he spends more time with his friends than with women if you get my meaning. But Georgio, my Georgio, my firstborn, the apple of my eye and his father’s namesake - Georgio always had his eye on the main chance.’

She gave Donna a wry grin. ‘When he married you I sighed with relief, child. I’d always expected him to come home with some taU blonde eejit, with more between her legs than between her ears.

them That’s the type he favoured until you came along. But for all that, I know my Georgio better than anyone else. He thinks Mary’s a snob, they fight like cat and dog, and I know for a fact she hasn’t even dropped him a line all the time he’s been inside, but in his own way he’s a bigger snob than her. Because Georgio always had the idea he was better than everyone. Too good for this place, too good to be a Brunos. In fact, I think he wished Pa had taken my name, Sullivan. I think he’d feel more English then. He always hated being Greek, or half-Greek anyway. Always at pains to tell everyone he was English. They used to call the kids “Bubbles” when they were small. You know the rhyming slang, Bubble and Squeak, Greek. If he’s giving you any grief now, I’ll lather the arse off him, big as he is. You just tell me and I’ll be up that prison and slapping his face before you can say knife! No matter how hard he thinks he is, I can still frighten the life out of him with a look!’

Donna laughed at the incongruity of Maeve telling Georgio off in Parkhurst’s visiting room.

‘Everything is fine, Maeve. I just want to see him again, on my own. We don’t get much chance for visits, you know, and nine times out of ten someone else is there. I had a fight with Big Paddy yesterday because he wanted to accompany me, even though he wasn’t even on the VO! I just want to see my husband again, that’s all.’

Maeve smiled. ‘You’re a good girl, Donna. I hope that big eejit of mine realises that.’ ‘He does, Maeve.’

‘You’re a beautiful girl, a credit to him. Has he told you yet what really happened?’

Donna was taken back by her mother-in-law’s words. ‘I beg your pardon?’ -

Maeve laughed gently. ‘I’m not so green as I’m cabbage-looking. I know that more went on there than meets the eye. You don’t get accused of all sorts like my Georgio did unless you was on the fringes at least. Did he take the fall for someone bigger than him? It wouldn’t surprise me if he was in it up to his neck! After all, he admitted supplying the cars, didn’t he? So he knew more than he was letting on.’

Donna stared down at the grubby white tablecloth. ‘He never admitted that, Maeve. He admitted selling the cars to Wilson, that’s a different thing altogether.’

‘Wilson had on a posh suit in court. Did he look the type to you to be able to buy two expensive cars for cash? I mean, it seemed fishy to me and I’m Georgio’s mother.’