The Life (46 page)

He had waited long enough for his chance, and he was fucked if he was waiting any longer. His old man and his uncle were due a reality check, and he was going to make sure they got it.

He sighed in frustration. ‘You do whatever the fuck you want, Liam. But leave me alone, all right?’ For all his bravado, he still felt a small frisson of fear; if Liam knew this, then the chances were so did his cousins, and it was his cousins he was worried about, Danny especially. He was in possession of a quick brain and, more to the point, a short temper. He was also a dyed-in-the-wool Bailey; Danny believed that the name was worth protecting – as if anyone these days gave a fuck! It was a different world, a whole new ball game, and it was peopled by men just like him, who knew that to get on you had to do whatever was necessary to achieve that objective, and you had to use whatever means possible to accomplish it. Liam and the others would see that one day.

Ria was watching her husband carefully; it was becoming like a sport to her lately. She recognised how guilty he felt about Lena’s death, and that he worried that whoever was after him might bring their war to his home. He had kept the Life outside their front door whenever possible, but this latest aggro was not the usual. This was something he could not completely control, and that was really bothering him. Even after all this time they still had nothing concrete. She saw that it was eating at him like a cancer.

‘Any news about the funeral yet?’

Peter shook his head slowly. He still had the handsome looks that had attracted her all those years ago. Men were lucky –
they had kids, but didn’t give birth, and they aged differently as a result.

‘Next week maybe – at least that’s what they told Danny today, but you know the Filth. Not exactly reliable, are they?’

Ria sat beside her husband and, kissing his cheek gently, she said, ‘Be honest with me, Peter, what do you really think happened?
I need to know if we are in any kind of danger.’

Peter looked at his wife; they were both getting old, and he was wondering if it was finally time to retire. He had been on the verge of it many years ago, before Daniel had fucked up and
murdered that kid; it had not been viable after that. Now, though, he wished he had just thrown in the towel.

His Ria was so lovely, so loyal. She had deep lines around her eyes, but they suited her. He had always thought of her as young, he
still
thought of her as the young girl he had married many years ago. But it was impossible to deny that time was marching on. In a way, he could see that the Life was much harder on the women – unlike the men, they spent their lives at the mercy of fate. He was lucky to have her; she had stood by him every step of the way, and there were very few women capable of that.

‘Come on, Peter, please tell me the truth. What do you really think this is about?’

He hugged her to him, and she felt the love he had for her – had always had for her. ‘Truthfully? I don’t know. I have my own suspicions, but they are no more than that – suspicions. All I do know for certain is that poor Lena got what was intended for me.’

Ria sighed heavily; she knew that nothing she said would make any difference to how her husband was feeling. ‘Let’s just retire, Peter. I mean it. I think this is a wake-up call, reminding us that life’s too fucking short. Let the boys have it all – let’s me and you enjoy our lives while we still can.’

Peter Bailey understood exactly where his wife was coming from, but he couldn’t do anything until they knew who was behind the murder. Plus, this was not the time to leave his boys alone; Liam he could trust, but Petey was a different story. He was nicking money left, right and centre – Peter knew all about that as well as the fact that Liam was covering for him. He had hoped that his eldest son would have grown up, used his brains and grasped that their only strength was as a family –
the Bailey family. But no, Petey was a fucking waste of space, and that was
the truth. Peter had worked far too hard for too long to leave it all in the hands of a man who was still incapable of understanding even the basics of the Life and what it entailed.

‘We will, Ria, but first there’s a few things I need to sort out.’

She was content with that; in truth she had expected as much. ‘I was so frightened when I realised I could have lost you, Peter. This has brought home to me how precious life really is.’

He hugged her tightly again. ‘I know, darling, I feel just the same. I look around me, see the houses, the cars, the fucking life we lead, and now it all means nothing, does it? It means fuck-all. I’d happily give up everything to have Lena back, but that’s the thing, ain’t it? She
can’t
come back; that is something we can’t arrange or pay a fee for; we can’t bargain with death. I have spent my life getting what I want by any fucking means. I have a lot on my conscience, Ria, and I could live with it all, but Lena’s death has left me wondering if any of it was really worth it. Daniel is like a ship without a rudder – she was as precious to him as you are to me. He won’t survive this unless I stick by his side. He needs me, and I have to be there for him, no matter how long it takes.’

Ria understood. ‘Well, as long as you promise me that once this is over we can both walk away, I’ll be content.’

Daniel Bailey looked at the young girl standing in front of him, and wondered at a world where a young lass like this – pretty and amiable – could sell herself so short. She was all of twenty, if that. His wife had not long been murdered – was not even buried – and yet she seemed to think he would be up for a liaison of some description. It was disgusting. She could be his daughter. She could be his fucking daughter’s
mate
; though he had a feeling that his Tania would have a bit more fucking sense than to attach herself to a piece of shit like this – at least he hoped so, anyway.

Carmella Carmichael, who at twenty-two years old had recently become the proud owner of a pair of 34Ds, was doing everything in her power to snare Daniel Bailey. He was old admittedly, but he still had the aura of a hard man, and Carmella recognised the power of that. Daniel Bailey was a real catch for a girl like her. He was a serious Face and he owned, amongst other places, the Electric Lady, the club where she worked. Now his poor wife was out of the picture, he was on the market for a girl like her. It was well known that he had never been a man who felt the lure of strange. He had been a faithful husband, and Carmella thought that was quite sweet. Now, she could see herself as his consort; the thought appealed to her on so many
levels. She was sick to death of lap dancing for a start, and she was even sicker of parading herself in the meat markets that passed as nightclubs in the South-east. She had a lot to offer, and she was more than willing to offer
all
of it to Daniel Bailey. If she had a baby with him – and it would
have
to actually be with him, DNA tests being the norm nowadays – then she would be set for life. He was worth a good few quid, and she would be happy to get a piece of that.

Daniel was looking at her incredulously, as if he had never seen a woman before in his life. Carmella saw that as a positive;
she had clearly made an impression. She hitched up her enormous chest, and treated him to her widest smile.

‘It’s such a privilege to meet you at last, Mr Bailey.’

Daniel Bailey stared at the girl before turning his back on her. He motioned to the bouncer nearest him and shouted, ‘Oi, do me a favour, mate, get this young lady a cab, will you?’ Then turning back to the girl he said quietly, ‘Listen to me, darling. Girls like you are ten a penny, and the sooner you realise that, the better off you’ll be. All this, the clubs and the money, it’s an elaborate fucking sham, darling. It means
nothing
at the end of the day. You couldn’t hustle me, love, and the fact you’ve tried is why I wouldn’t touch you with a fucking barge pole. Now get out of my sight. You won’t be dancing here ever again. One day, hopefully, you’ll thank me for that.’

Carmella left the club without another word; she knew when she’d dodged a bullet. She’d seriously misjudged that situation
– Daniel Bailey was one scary man.

Davey had witnessed the exchange and, going to his father, he said sadly, ‘That was a bit harsh, Dad. She was one of our best earners.’

Daniel laughed, but it was a tired laugh; he was so sick of everything. ‘Fucking young girls selling themselves like pieces of
meat. She would happily shag me, and she don’t even know me! What has happened to the world? When did youth become nothing more than a commodity?’

Davey grinned ruefully. ‘When people like us opened places like this.’

Daniel knew the boy was right, but times had changed. Young girls had options now, opportunities – look at his Tania. He was aware, though, that his wife had made sure that his daughter had those options, and he had never even given it a thought until now. He owned this place and others like it, and they earned a fucking fortune. They had strip joints, peep shows – sex had been a big earner for them for many years. So why was he so bothered?

Maybe it was because he had appreciated that Lena had never liked any of this, and he had kept it from her as much as possible. She had been uncomfortable with the clubs – she was a decent woman like that. He was a hypocrite, but admitting that didn’t make him feel any better. He was just trying to justify the Life, the very same Life that had been the cause of his wife’s death, the same Life that was losing its attraction for him day by day.

He wanted out. But without his Lena, what would he do? Without her, he had nothing – nothing except his work.

Tania was tired out; she wished she could sleep, but she couldn’t. Until now, she had always welcomed slumber, had slipped easily into its oblivion. She had enjoyed it; cuddled up warm in her bed, she usually dropped off without any trouble. She had never before experienced the trauma of insomnia, and the way it left you utterly exhausted and so depressed.

Now she was at the church, waiting for her nana. She loved six o’clock Mass; she had accompanied her mum so many times, and they had appreciated the quiet of the church, enjoyed the ritual of the Mass and the feeling of being a part of something big. She had sat here so many times in the chill of the early morning, and been happy because her mum was by her side. She should have cherished those times more, she knew that now. But she had taken so much for granted back then. She recognised now, without a shadow of a doubt, that her mother’s daily attendance at Mass was to atone for her father’s sins – her mum had prayed for her father’s salvation, dragging herself here every morning to ask God to forgive him.

Her mum had always insisted that she make an offering for her father and brothers to the Immaculate Conception. Her mum had put a lot of store in the Mother of Jesus, had trusted her to take good care of them. She had believed that Mary, Mother of God, would understand her fears; after all, she was a
mother herself. Her son had been imprisoned, her son had been tortured, and He had died for His beliefs.

Tania closed her eyes wearily, and prayed to Our Lady. She begged her to give her mother peace at last, some kind of heavenly reward; she deserved it.

The police were finally talking about releasing her mother’s remains to the family, so they could hold her funeral. It was surreal knowing that there wasn’t even a body, as such, to bury. She had read in the papers that there had been nothing left of her mother to identify; her mum had been plastered all over Soho. It was a terrible thought, and she tried to stop herself dwelling on it, but it was impossible. Knowing that her mum had been reduced to no more than lumps of bloody meat haunted her. She wouldn’t even be able to see her in her coffin and say her goodbye face-to-face. They would be burying what was
left
.

Tania felt her nana slip into the pew beside her and, glancing at her, noticed how much she had aged since her mum’s death. She had joined Tania and her mum many times over the years for the early Masses, and Tania knew now that, like her mum, Theresa had also been praying for the salvation of her sons. She could see how seriously her nana took this routine; like her mum, her nana embraced the Mass, felt the power of its message, felt the age-old belief of their religion deep inside her, and Tania finally understood it now herself.

As they took Holy Communion together, Tania felt the familiar security that the sacrament had always engendered inside her. She knew she was, for those few moments, once again clean and without stain.

There were fewer than twenty people in the church; it was cold, it was dark, and yet Tania felt, as always, that she was a part of something much bigger than the world she inhabited.

She sensed the authority that this religion commanded in its followers.

She sat with her nana and looked around the church. She focused on the Stations of the Cross, the statues of Christ and His poor mother, the beautiful crucifix that hung above the altar depicting the last moments of Jesus before He died to save them, and she felt a brief moment of peace at long last.

Tania and Theresa sat together after the Mass was over, enjoying the silence of the church, and the atmosphere of calm serenity.

‘Are you all right, Tania?’

She nodded. ‘I’m getting there. I just wish we could bury my mum. I think once we can do that it will be a bit easier, you know?’

‘It’s hard, I know, lovely. But you’re right, once we lay her to rest, it will bring about a bit of normality. It’s like being in limbo. We need to get back to reality.’

‘I miss her so much, Nana. I wish she was still here, I wish I had not taken her for granted, had known we didn’t have long left together. I would have made sure we didn’t waste a second of it.’ She was crying, the tears running down her face.

Theresa smiled sadly. ‘Listen, child, we all wish that – it’s natural. Death is as much a part of life as living. We will all die, sweetheart, that is the only definite thing we will ever know. It’s hard, especially for the people left behind but, beggar or king, it comes to us all – no one can prevent it. That is why you need to enjoy your life while you can. The death of a loved one just reminds us of our own mortality. It reminds us that one day death will come for us too.’