The Make (20 page)
Authors: Jessie Keane
Harry was sitting in Jackie’s kitchen. It was morning and they were having breakfast together, just like they often had before Em came back from Hong Kong. Emma had just gone out to the hairdresser’s. She’d met Harry just as he was arriving and she was leaving, and Jackie had come out into the hall to find them kissing. Now Jackie was placing the cafetière on the table, smiling so widely she could hardly contain herself.
‘No need to look so smug,’ said Harry, but he was smiling too.
‘There’s
every
need,’ said Jackie, sitting down at the other side of the table and beaming across at him. She pushed the croissants towards him and he took one.
‘Did you set us up?’ wondered Harry aloud.
‘I just knew you’d be good together. I
knew
it,’ crowed Jackie happily.
Harry was breaking up the croissant, scattering buttery crumbs. His smile faded.
‘Jackie,’ he said seriously, ‘that’s all very well, but come on – what’s the point? Her life’s out in Hong Kong. And for God’s sake, get real. She’s so far out of my league we’re nearly on different bloody planets.’
Jackie poured out the coffee into two mugs.
‘Look, when I met Donald, my husband, he wasn’t from a well-to-do family. I was. My parents were furious when we fell in love. But it worked for us, despite all their opposition. We were blissfully happy for thirty-two years.’
‘Jackie, I don’t even have a proper job. I’m a flaming
escort.
What wife would want her husband doing that sort of thing for a living? How would
I
feel if she did it? Well, I’ll tell you. I’d be gutted.’
‘Wife?’ asked Jackie, bright-eyed. She paused with her mug halfway to her lips. ‘Harry . . . oh darling Harry, are you saying you want to marry my daughter?’
Harry held his hands up. ‘Now don’t go getting excited. I’m not going to. I wouldn’t have the fucking nerve.’
‘But you want to?’
‘I’ve wanted to ever since I first laid eyes on her.’
Jackie let out a scream of delighted laughter.
‘But I told you,’ said Harry sternly. ‘Hold it down to a dull roar. I’m not proposing. I’m going to let Emma go back to Hong Kong and get on with the life she
should
have. She could marry anybody. Someone who’ll give her the lifestyle she deserves. She don’t want to get tucked up with a loser like me.’
‘Harry, you’re not a loser. You’re the most charming, gorgeous,
fabulous
man.’
‘It’s not going to happen, Jackie. I mean it. You can scheme and rub your hands all you like, it
ain’t going to happen
.’
‘And you can pass in any company,’ Jackie was going on, as if he hadn’t even spoken. ‘You’re a very fast learner.’
‘No, Jackie.’
Jackie picked up a croissant, her cheeks pinkening. ‘And you’re a fantastic lover.’
‘
Jackie.
’ It embarrassed him to be reminded of that night he’d spent with her. He could see that it embarrassed her too, so why couldn’t she just let it drop?
‘Well you are. It’s nothing more than the truth.’ Jackie kept her eyes down as she tore off a bit of croissant and slathered it with conserve. ‘That night with you . . . well, it was a revelation. I didn’t think I’d ever want . . . sex . . . again, not after Donald. But you made me realize that I was still a fully functioning woman, Harry. You were so kind, and so gentle, and, let’s face it, so very sexy too.’
‘
Jackie.
’ Now he was beyond embarrassed. ‘We said we weren’t going to mention it, remember?’
‘I’m just
saying
,’ said Jackie. ‘You were marvellous in bed. And . . . I’d like Emma to know that sort of joy, Harry. I really would.’
Then the kitchen door swung open and Emma was standing there. Her face told the full story. She’d heard every word. She had her bag slung over her shoulder and in one hand she was holding her mobile phone. She looked down at it, then at the two of them, frozen at the kitchen table.
‘I forgot my phone,’ she said numbly. ‘I came back for it.’ Emma’s stricken eyes fastened on Harry’s face. ‘You swore to me,’ she said. ‘You
swore
that you didn’t . . .’
Harry couldn’t stand it. She looked devastated. He jumped to his feet, rushed over to her. ‘Em, it isn’t—’
‘Oh, are you going to say it isn’t what it seems?’ Emma took a step back, away from him. She was shaking her head, not wanting to believe it, but she’d just
heard
it. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you? It’s
exactly
what it seems, Harry. You’ve slept with my mother and then you slept with me, and that’s damned
disgusting
.’
‘Em, it wasn’t like that,’ said Harry, reaching out for her, desperate to explain.
‘
Don’t you dare touch me!
’ she screamed, and lunged forward and slapped him, hard.
Harry fell back, his face white with the shock of it.
‘And as for you,’ Emma turned on her mother, ‘I can’t believe how you lied to me.’
‘Emma darling, no . . .’ started Jackie. ‘It shouldn’t have happened. It
wouldn’t
have, if I hadn’t been so much still in mourning for your father.’
‘Don’t drag Dad into this,’ said Emma, trembling with fury. ‘I can’t believe this of either of you. You’re like
dogs
in the street.’
‘For God’s sake, Emma,’ said Jackie.
‘Well you are. How could you do this to me, do
that
, and then lie about it?’
‘We had to lie about it, you silly mare,’ said Harry softly. ‘Jackie’s right. It shouldn’t have happened. But it did. And we knew how you’d react, that it would hurt you. So we agreed that you must never know.’
Emma’s mouth was quivering with emotion, bitterness in every line. Tears spilled over and made tracks down her cheeks. ‘Well, at least I know now what you’re really like, Harry Doyle,’ she snapped, her voice breaking. ‘What was it, a joke to you? Something to brag to your mates about? Do the mother and the daughter too? Is that it?’
Harry stood silent for a moment. He’d always known it was going nowhere, anyway. He’d have liked some time with her, at least, but that wasn’t to be. Maybe it was better – kinder and less painful – to end it quickly, like this. The love of his life, and she was going to bugger off back to Hong Kong and take his heart with her. But he’d live. He’d have to.
‘Yeah, now you know what I’m really like,’ he echoed. His cheek was throbbing, painful, where she’d struck him. He looked at Jackie, sitting there in pieces, tears starting to drip down her face, her eyes wild with distress. Not fifteen minutes ago she’d been so happy, so elated. ‘I’d better go,’ he said.
‘Yeah,’ said Emma furiously. ‘Go on. Fuck off, Harry. You lying bastard.’
Noel had been slipping in a few cheeky computer lessons with a friend. He was determined to find out what Sandy was up to online, so when she went out to work he went upstairs and logged on. He got the shock of his life.
There was
his
woman, parading herself in a photo on Facebook with a big fat bastard with darkish hair. Looked like they were in a restaurant or some such shit. A red candle dripping wax down over one of those raffia bottle things.
He’d found Sandy’s notebook in which the silly mare kept all her various passwords. You weren’t supposed to write the sodding things down, didn’t she know that? Was she a complete fool?
Well, yeah, obviously she was. Because he had easily found her Facebook password and now he was sitting here at her computer and he could see the evidence of her betrayal with his own eyes. She’d been making a fucking fool out of him. She’d listed her status as ‘Single’.
Noel sat there and stared, enraged. He looked at the guy in the picture and thought,
Man, you are so dead.
He was going to have it out with her the minute she put her lying face through that door tonight. He stared and stared at the screen, at the man’s face. Not handsome, not really. The short-cut hair looked sort of dark red. There was a big shit-eating grin on the idiot’s face. What had that mare been up to? But she would pay. And so would that fat fuck in the photo. Him, most of all. He would pay in blood.
Serendipity was a word that Lefty Umbabwe had never heard of, but his pal Gordon had. Serendipity was happenstance, good things just falling into your lap for no good reason. Like Felice, Gordon’s new lady. His
old
lady, who had divorced him two years ago, saying that he was stifling her, had departed his life with his three kids. He’d been down after that, depressed; she’d been awkward over access and hadn’t mellowed much until she found a new bloke, then it had all ironed out nicely. And then –
serendipitously
– he had met Felice, who was a stripper at the club opposite where he worked the door at Deano Drax’s dive in Soho.
Mindful that his first marriage had foundered, Gordon was careful to keep the magic alive in this, his second. Felice was high maintenance, and sometimes that was a pain, but she was a looker, and he was proud to be seen about with her on his well-muscled arm, so he treated her good. Took her out to dinner, out to clubs, and – as Christmas was looming and he was feeling flush – the casino.
They played a little blackjack, then had a go on the roulette tables, Felice getting all excited and leaning over the table until he was frightened her tits were going to fall right out of the high-priced dress she was wearing. Gordon had been in casinos on the Continent and in the United States where they played double zero, but he liked the English system of having only one zero. It increased the punters’ chances, raising the odds to a pretty good thirty-five to one. However, Felice soon started losing and looking put out. Determined to lift her spirits, he booked in to the adjoining restaurant to ply her with food and maybe even some of the cheap house champagne.
They were crossing the casino boulevard, heading out to the lobby to enter the restaurant – Gordon was promising himself a quick peek at the prices before they went in. Tormenting himself really, because they were for certain-sure
going
in – Felice was expecting a meal, bubbly, the works, after her little disappointment on the tables. What Felice wanted, Felice got – or there was hell to pay.
And that was when
serendipity
took a hand. Because there was Deano’s boy Alfie, crossing the boulevard, wearing the purple livery that all the staff here wore. He wasn’t a punter, so no need to make a fuss by trying to detain him. No, the little bastard
worked
here, and so Gordon could pass on the good news to Lefty, making sure of course that Lefty coughed up a hefty wedge first, for the information. Thus covering the cost of the evening’s entertainments.
So, everyone was happy. Felice, Gordon, and Lefty.
Not Alfie, of course, and that was a shame. Alfie had a world of hurt coming to him. Deano Drax was going to ream his arsehole good after this. But so what? That was not Gordon’s problem.
* * *
When Gordon crawled from his pit after a very satisfactory night with the well-pleased Felice next morning, he called Lefty straight away.
‘Got some news for you,’ he told Lefty, as he stood in the kitchen in his vest and boxers making a cup of tea. ‘Come on round, my son.’
Lefty was there within half an hour. Gordon had been careful to take Felice up a brew and to tell her he had company coming over and to stay upstairs for a bit.
‘Okay, lover,’ she said sweetly, and rolled over and went back to sleep. She was a lazy mare anyway – he’d found that most strippers were; they rarely rose before one o’clock – but that suited him because he liked having the mornings to himself.
If she knew it was Lefty coming, she’d only kick off anyway; she hated Lefty and wouldn’t want him through the door. Everyone knew that Lefty was on the butane and was as stable as warmed-up Semtex as a result of it. He made women nervous.
Gordon thought that Lefty looked like shit, but that was pretty much the norm. He’d had his stitches out, so he looked a little less like Frankenstein now and a little more like normal. Gordon felt a bit sad looking at the wreckage of his old friend as he ushered him into the kitchen. Once, Lefty had been fit, clear-eyed and athletic; then some tosser – Gordon suspected that twisted article Deano – had got him onto Es and grass, and it was a short hop then to the crack pipe. The butane was cheaper and so much easier to source; so it had quickly become Lefty’s preferred drug of choice.
And now look.
Lefty was bog-eyed, wheezy, sniffy and unwashed – shot away half the time. No wonder Felice wouldn’t want him indoors, Gordon was starting to get that way himself. He looked at his old friend and felt the sadness give way to disgust. What the fuck had he done to himself, the bloody fool?
‘Christ, you look a mess,’ said Gordon, as Lefty came in and slumped against the worktop.
Lefty shrugged. He didn’t care. He was already hyped, fresh from his latest fix.
Gordon decided there and then that their friendship was at an end. After this little transaction, that was
it.
No more cosy chats, no nothing. He was done with this whole bloody scene.
‘What news?’ asked Lefty.
‘About Deano’s little passion. His little runaway.’
‘Alfie?’ Lefty straightened; a flare of hope lit his bloodshot eyes. ‘What, you seen him?’
Gordon shrugged, deliberately casual. ‘Might have.’
Suddenly Lefty’s eyes were flat and murderous. ‘What the fuck you mean,
might
have? Either you have or you haven’t – you foolin’ with my mind, boy?’
‘I ain’t foolin’, Lefty,’ said Gordon with a half-smile.
And you ain’t got much of a mind left, dope-head.
He knew he had Lefty by the short and curlies on this. Lefty needed the info, and after last night’s blowout with Felice he needed some wedge. This was all going to work out fine. ‘I seen him.’
‘Where?’
‘Ah, now. That would be telling. Fact is, I’ve been making a big effort, trying to help you out with this.’ Like fuck. The kid had fallen right into his lap. But Lefty wasn’t to know that.
Lefty paced about. He clutched his head in agitation.
‘Man, come on. Spit it out. You seen him
where?
’
‘Let’s talk a deal first.’
‘A
deal
?’ Lefty stopped walking. ‘You’re supposed to be in tight with me. What you mean, a deal?’
‘I want paying for my efforts, Lefty. Wouldn’t you say that was fair?’
Lefty started pacing, faster now, shooting anxious looks at Gordon. Lefty had had the motherfucker of all times these past few weeks. Walking around the city at night with that tart Mona, and then there had been something with a taxi guy, some disagreement, something . . . he couldn’t quite remember what . . . but he knew there’d been trouble. But he’d persevered, his old mum told him you should always persevere, and he
had.
He’d been so worried about his mum, after what Deano had said. All the time, he’d been getting more and more anxious, taking heavier hits of the can; sometimes he could barely even
think
, he was so spaced out and so
freaked
out by this whole situation.
And now Gordon had found the boy, and wanted paying?
All right.
Lefty took a grip of himself. What he felt was a killing rage. He wanted to take Gordon’s smug head and batter it against the corner of that kitchen cabinet, see the blood fly, let rip; but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t afford to. He
owed
Gordon, the fat fuck was right; and he needed that information.
‘How much?’ asked Lefty.
‘For this sort of info? Couple of ton ought to do it.’
‘You got it,’ said Lefty. Couple of
ton
? ‘Now come on. Spill.’
‘Cash first,’ said Gordon.
‘Don’t get paid ’til tomorrow.’
‘Can I trust you, Lefty?’ Gordon was looking at his ex-friend speculatively.
‘Man, we’re brothers, we’re
pals.
I wouldn’t cross a pal, Gordy. Never.’
My arse
, thought Gordon.
Lying little git would cross his own grandma for a fix
. But he knew where Lefty lived. And if Lefty defaulted, he was going to come down on the fucker like a sack of shit.
‘Right then,’ said Gordon. ‘We’re agreed.’
‘Right, man. Right.’
Now Lefty was looking at him hopefully. ‘Come
on
, man,’ he whined.
So Gordon told him where he had seen Alfie.
Lefty grinned happily. All would be well. Then he had a thought: ‘You don’t tell Deano about this, okay? You got me? That’s
my
shit, man. My good news. Understood?’
Gordon nodded. He didn’t want to get involved with it in any way, shape or form; he was a doorman, and that was all. Fuck Deano and his young boys.
‘Understood,’ he said.
