The Ladykiller (63 page)

Emmanuel wrote down the address with shaking hands. His mascara was running into his eyes and making them sting.

Patrick took the proffered paper and nodded at Willy, who promptly set about tearing the shop apart. Emmanuel watched in terror.

Whatever Tony had done it must have been bad. He wondered briefly if he should start looking for another job.

When Willy had finished the two men left. Emmanuel looked at the debris around him and began to cry again. The other shop owners came in when the coast was clear and, under the guise of helping Emmanuel calm himself, tried to prise some gossip from him. He thought it was to do with the time Kelly came in looking for the rent boys and told them so. But it was obvious he didn’t really know too much about anything.

The story hit the streets in Soho within the hour, it was the talking point of the day.

People nodded their heads sagely. Tony Jones had always courted trouble and now it had knocked on his door.

Tony himself heard the news ten minutes before Kelly and Willy arrived at his house. While they banged down his door, Tony and a very frightened Jeanette were on their way to their eldest daughter’s in Brighton.

Nancy Markowitz, as she now liked to be called, sat drinking a cup of hot steaming tea. Her daughter-in-law Lilian was making the beds. Nancy scowled to herself. A cat’s lick, that’s what Lily gave the house. When she herself had been younger her house had shone out like a beacon, showing all the neighbours how a house should be cleaned. She passed a malevolent eye over the skirting boards in the front room. They could do with a good dusting. What she wouldn’t have given then for a nice house like this!

She shook her head. Lily had always been lackadaisical, even her children had never looked right. Pasty-faced little buggers they’d been. Still were, in fact. Nancy sipped her tea. Like cat’s piss, Lilian didn’t even know how to make a decent cup of tea. More than likely poured water over tea bags. Real tea leaves would be too much of a chore for her . . .

She was taking her time making the beds. Nancy glanced at the clock. It was nearly twelve. She shook her head again. Imagine not making the beds till lunchtime. Lazy bitch.

She sat sipping her tea, building up in her mind every little thing she could against Lily; all the things she’d done or failed to do, real and imagined.

Nancy Markham had a knack of putting other people in the wrong. It had been a major asset all her life. It was her power over people and she used it, along with bullying and cajoling, to her own best advantage.

Lilian was actually lying on her own bed reading a magazine and having a cup of tea and a biscuit herself. Savouring the half hour away from her mother-in-law. It was the only time of the day she had wholly to herself, where her mother-in-law’s voice wasn’t intruding on her thoughts, her bell wasn’t stopping her from working and her presence could not be felt like a malign force. Sometimes Lily thought that Nancy was a witch. Fanciful as that seemed it was the only logical reason why everyone should hate her so. Her own children included. How many times had Joseph promised, under cover of darkness and the duvet, that he was going to put her away in a home? And how many times had he come face to face with her and backed down? Too many times.

Though Lily admitted to herself that she would not relish the task herself. Nancy frightened her. She frightened her grandchildren. She frightened her son. Her son whom Lily had loved once with all her heart and now despised for his weakness, a weakness that she had played on herself since learning all the tricks from her mother-in-law. Even Elaine and drippy George had balked at Nancy coming to live with them.

Lilian tried to concentrate on her
Best
magazine. It didn’t do to dwell on things in this house. It was oppressive enough. Still, the Rabbi was due tomorrow. Even though Nancy’s following her Jewish faith annoyed Lily, it also gave her a free afternoon a week when she could go out of the house in peace, knowing that the young Rabbi would be too frightened to leave Nancy alone until she came back. She suppressed a grin. The poor boy’s face when she finally arrived was a picture. Nancy, self-righteous and actually being friendly, was more scary than when she was her usual overbearing and evil self.

Lily forced her mind back to her magazine just as the doorbell rang. She pushed herself up on the bed. Who could that be? She jumped up and hastily brushed her clothes to get rid of any tell-tale biscuit crumbs. The bell rang again and she rushed from the room.

By now her mother-in-law’s bell was also ringing. It was an old-fashioned school bell and Lily sometimes fancied that it tolled her life away. She hurried to the front door.

‘Hello, Lily.’ George stood on the step smiling at her.

‘Oh . . . This is a surprise.’

He walked into the spacious hall.

‘Where’s Elaine?’

George visiting was a shock, but George without Elaine was an even bigger one.

‘Oh, she’s at work. I had a bit of time and I thought, I know, I’ll go and visit poor Mother.’

Lily’s face froze. Who on earth in their right mind would visit Nancy Markham, correction Markowitz, if they didn’t have to?

Nancy’s voice thundered from the front room.

‘Lily, who is it? Who’s knocking the bloody door down?’

She wished that the caller had been the young Rabbi; she’d have loved Nancy to drop her guard in front of him.

The bell began to ring furiously and George gestured with his head to the door on his right.

‘I take it she’s in there?’

He walked into the room.

‘Hello, Mother.’ His voice was meek once more. His mother always had that effect on him.

Nancy recovered her equilibrium fast.

‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’

George dutifully kissed her cheek. He could smell her lavender perfume and face powder.

‘I thought I’d give you a little visit, see how you were faring.’

She snorted. ‘I’m not ready for the knacker’s yard yet, me boy, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

She rang the bell furiously again. George watched her large hand grasping the wooden handle and lifting it up over her shoulder then swinging it down towards the floor.

‘Lily, bring in a pot of fresh tea.’ They heard her scuffling across the hall from the kitchen. ‘And make sure it’s stronger than that gnat’s piss you made earlier,’ Nancy called.

She settled herself once more into her chair. So her son had decided to visit her, had he? A nasty smile played on her lips.

‘Where’s Ten Ton Tessie today?’

George smirked. She could be cruel, could his mother.

‘Elaine’s working, Mother.’

He sat himself down on the settee and glanced around the room. It really was lovely; high-ceilinged, it still had the original ornamental cornice and ceiling roses.

‘She wouldn’t have come anyway.’

George dragged his eyes from the ceiling. ‘Who?’

‘Elaine, of course. Who’d you think?’ Nancy patted her outrageous orange hair. ‘So what brings you here anyway?’

‘Mother, I only came to say hello.’

‘Tripe. You’ve never visited me before. You’re in some kind of trouble.’

‘What kind of trouble could I be in?’ George’s voice was low.

Nancy shrugged. ‘How should I know? Have you done something wrong, Georgie boy? You can always tell me, you know.’ Her voice became confidential and wheedling.

George surveyed her and was surprised to find that his fear of her seemed to have diminished today. Normally her bullying voice would leave him a bundle of nerves, her malevolent expression would set his heart galloping in his chest, but today, all she did was make him want to laugh at her.

‘Do you ever hear from Edith, Mother?’

He felt the temperature in the room drop to freezing point and continued, ‘I hear from her sporadically. She’s doing awfully well, you know.’

He watched his mother’s mouth set in a grim line. He was enjoying himself.

‘Why aren’t you at work?’ It was an accusation.

‘I’m retiring.’

‘Huh! Being made redundant more like. Elaine told Mouth Almighty and she told me.’ She poked herself in the chest with a pudgy finger.

George felt his confidence waning.

‘They didn’t want you any more, that’s the truth of it. How old are you now? Fifty-one . . . fifty-two. You’re over the hill, my boy.’

George was getting upset. Why had he come here? He knew what would happen, what always happened. He clenched his fists. Nancy was warming to her theme.

‘You’ve never had what it takes, Georgie. You never even had any friends . . .’

‘I have got friends. Lots of friends, Mother. I was out with my friends last night. I do wish you wouldn’t always try and upset me. You’re such a bitter pill, Mother, no wonder no one ever visits you. How the hell Joseph and Lily put up with you I don’t know.’

His sister-in-law was walking into the room with the tea tray when he said the last part and she nearly dropped the whole lot with fright.

‘What did you say?’ Nancy’s voice was like granite.

But George was too far gone now.

‘You heard me, Mother, you’ve got ears like an elephant’s. Always flapping around, listening to everything. ’ He spied the white-faced Lilian with the tray and forced himself to smile.

‘Here, let me help you with that, Lily.’

‘Put it on the coffee table, please.’ Her voice was breathless.

Nancy watched her son through narrowed eyes. She was shrewd enough to guess that if she carried on in her present vein he would leave, and she didn’t want him to leave. He was the first of her children to visit willingly, out of the blue, without being summoned.

‘Shall I pour?’ George’s voice was strong again.

The only sound in the room was the clinking of cups and spoons, and the heavy ticking of the long case clock.

Lily watched the two people in front of her. It was like some secret dance going on before her eyes. Her mother-in-law was subdued now, watching her son under lowered lids. Her yellowing skin had a grey tinge to it that had not been there earlier.

George, on the other hand, looked well. Great, in fact. She could not remember seeing him look better. He had an assurance about him that was at odds with his appearance. George even dressed humbly. It was an odd thing, and if Lily had not seen it for herself she would have sworn it was impossible. How could someone dress in a humble manner? Well, George did. Only today his white shirt, grey tie and navy blue hand-knitted tank top looked almost jaunty. She took her tea in silence.

There was a subtle shifting of position here and Lily was not sure whether or not she liked it. If George upset his mother, she, Lily, would be the recipient of Nancy’s bad humour when he left.

‘I’ll take my tea out to the kitchen if you don’t mind, I have things to finish out there . . .’ She was gabbling. Awkwardly she left the room. Whatever the upshot she wanted no part of it - but she left the kitchen door wide open.

‘Now then, Mother, this is nice, isn’t it?’ George’s voice was determined.

Then Nancy smiled, a rare genuine smile. As it softened the hard lines of her face, George felt a lump in his throat. For a few seconds she looked young again. He saw the softness that she had sometimes displayed, that she had occasionally allowed through her veneer of hardness. It was the smile of the girl she had once been, a long, long time ago, before her marriage and her children and her other life.

Before the men.

George wished fervently he had known her then.

He had his illusions about his mother, he needed them. He could not accept that she had been an evil force since childhood. That she had been using men to her own advantage from the onset of adolescence. That Nancy Markham had spent her whole life using and abusing people, none more so than her own children.

‘Over there in the sideboard are my photo albums. Bring them to me, Georgie.’

He collected the bulky albums and put them on his mother’s lap.

‘Sit down at my feet and we’ll reminisce.’

George did as he was told, like the old days when her word was law.

Nancy began to flip the pages, her eyes soft with nostalgia.

‘Here, look at this one, Georgie. Remember this?’

He knelt up and looked at the picture. It was of him, aged about five with his mother. She was wearing a two-piece swimsuit that had been racy in those days and peering into the camera with a sultry look. Her hair was perfect; her long shapely legs partly obscured by a little boy holding a large candyfloss. George saw his baggy shorts with sticklike legs emerging from them, his close-cropped hair and serious elfin face.

It was a day that had stuck in his memory because it had been a good day. A happy day. A rare day. The moment caught in his chest like a trapped bird, fluttering against his ribcage. He could smell the heat and the sand and the people. The donkeys, the candyfloss and the aroma of melting margarine in the jam sandwiches. Could almost taste the strawberry jam, gritty with sand from grubby fingers. Could almost touch once more the saltiness of the blue sea. It had been such a good day, from the train ride early in the morning to the sleepiness and exhaustion of lying in his crisp cold sheets ready to sleep the sleep of the dead. He could remember Nancy kissing him good night. Smiling down on him from her soft peachy face.

‘Camber Sands that was, Georgie boy. Lovely days those were. I was a picture then. Could gather the looks and all, them days.’

‘You still look wonderful, Mother.’

It was a kindly lie, what she wanted, expected to hear.

‘Well, maybe not as good as I used to look but not bad for my age, eh?’

Her voice was softer too, almost jocular. When Nancy was talking about herself she was animated and happy.

She turned the page. This time the picture was of her alone. A head and shoulders shot. Lips just parted to show her perfect white teeth. Her deep copper-coloured hair framed her face and she had on bright orange lipstick. The picture had been hand coloured by the photographer and he had caught the exact shade of her hair and skin.

Nancy stroked the page with wrinkled fingers, caressing the photograph.