The Traitor (4 page)

‘I’m so sorry, Stan. Me and you knew all along what that Eddie was capable of, didn’t we? Do you remember Jessica getting married to the bastard? I told you at the reception that he had them eyes – you know, cold and calculating. I’ll never forget it, that man sent shivers down my spine and I just knew he’d ruin her bleeding life.’

Keeping half an eye on his wife, Stanley nodded. ‘I remember that conversation, Ivy. I told you that his eyes reminded me of dead fish.’

Hearing his old woman screech with laughter, Stanley decided enough was enough. Storming over to where she was standing, he roughly grabbed her arm and yanked her into the kitchen.

‘What do you think you’re doing? You senile old bastard!’ Joyce yelled at him.

For once in his downtrodden life, Stanley had the bottle to give her what for. ‘How can you stand there laughing and joking with Eddie’s relations when we’ve just buried our daughter? What is the matter with you, eh? Your parents are disgusted by your behaviour and so am I, and I’ll tell you something else, shall I? If you think I’m living in that murdering bastard’s house one day longer than I need to, you can think again, Joycie.’

Shocked by Stanley’s outburst, Joyce did her best not to show it. ‘Move, then, if you don’t like it. You go back to that pokey council house of ours, see if I care. I’m staying here, ’cause it makes me feel close to my Jessica.’

Aware of Eddie’s sons, Gary and Ricky, staring at them, Stan led Joyce out on to the front drive.

‘You must think I’ve just stepped off the banana boat, Joycie. When we first found out Jessica had been murdered, you couldn’t agree with me enough about Eddie and his family. You soon changed your mind when you moved in ’ere though, didn’t you? All you’ve ever wanted is a nice, big house so you can show it off to your friends. I’m not as shallow as you, Joycie. I know exactly what you think of me and the home I’ve worked my bollocks off for over the years. I even bought it for you off that right-to-buy scheme ’cause you begged me to and I’ve bought you new furniture at your every whim. Well, I’ve had enough of it now, and tomorrow I’m going back home. You can do as you please. Stay ’ere on your own, for all I care.’

Joyce was gobsmacked. Stanley had rarely raised his voice to her throughout the whole of their marriage. As he walked away, she stood open-mouthed, and for once she said nothing.

Eddie Mitchell was agitated as he sat on the bunk in his cell. He’d known by the attitude of the two prison guards that he was in for a nasty surprise. They’d been laughing and joking as they took him down a corridor he’d never seen before. ‘Ain’t I going back to me old cell?’ Ed asked, bewildered.

The shorter guard grinned at the taller one. ‘No, Mitchell. The guvnor decided you and Malik weren’t suited and you needed better company, so he’s found you a new home with a nice friendly English cellmate.’

Ed had been in the cell for what seemed like four hours now and he still didn’t have a clue who he was sharing with. Apart from a few belongings, there was no sign of the geezer.

When he heard the key slot into the lock, Eddie picked up his book and pretended to read it. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he felt his heart leap into his chest as he recognised his new cellmate.

After her argument with Jed, Frankie had necked at least four more vodkas. Her hormones were having a field day, and she was tired, depressed, lonely and tearful. She and Jed rarely argued. On the odd occasion when they’d had a lovers’ tiff, it had always been immediately resolved.

Seeing Dougie and Vicki, her parents’ friends, heading her way to say goodbye, Frankie forced herself to be polite. About to get Vicki to take her mobile number so when she gave birth they could swap baby talk, Frankie heard a commotion coming from her left.

‘Get out of here, before I kill yer,’ she heard somebody yell.

Looking around, Frankie dropped Vicki’s pen in shock. Jed was sitting on a nearby wall, telling her uncle Reg where to get off.

Reg hobbled towards Jed. ‘Do yourself a favour, son, and get the fuck out of here, before you get hurt,’ he warned, his eyes bulging.

‘I’m going nowhere without my wife-to-be. You do whatever you have to, you senile old grunter. Frankie belongs to me and she’s coming with me right now.’

Aware that Gary, Ricky and Raymond had all run out of the house, Frankie began to scream. ‘Don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt Jed,’ she begged.

Jumping off the wall, Jed showed no fear as Raymond went for him. ‘Frankie’s my woman,’ he screamed, as Raymond caught him straight on the chin.

Watching Jed fall to the grass, Frankie intervened and chucked herself on top of him. Seeing his uncle trying to manhandle his sister, Joey also joined in the fracas.

‘Leave Frankie alone,’ he shouted, as his weak punches landed nowhere.

Having been told that it was all kicking off in the garden, Joyce flew into action. ‘Oi, whaddya think you’re doing?’ she screamed, as she lost her footing and stacked it in one of the flowerbeds.

As all hell broke loose, Frankie decided enough was enough. She needed to make a decision, and if she was ever going to leave home, that moment was definitely now.

CHAPTER THREE

Stanley’s alarm clock went off at eight the following morning and he immediately got out of bed.

After the mass brawl in the garden the previous evening, he’d sodded off upstairs without saying goodnight to a single soul. Jessica’s funeral had been a catastrophe from start to finish, and Stanley would never forgive the bastards that had ruined it. Animals, that’s what the Mitchells were, and he was just glad that Jock had already left when the whole wake kicked off.

Pulling his suitcase out from under the bed, Stanley began to pack his clothes. The quicker he got out of this cursed house with its awful memories, the better.

Hearing her husband banging about in the room next door, Joyce lifted her head off the pillow. She felt as sick as a parrot, and as she burped, she heaved. All she could taste and smell was brandy, and she vowed there and then never to touch the poxy drink again.

Joyce got up and put on her dressing gown. Her recollection of the previous evening was vague, to say the least, but she could sort of remember a big fight happening. Noticing a large bruise and cut on her leg, she winced as she touched it. Surely she hadn’t fallen over in front of all the mourners? Desperate to get rid of the taste of brandy, Joyce made her way downstairs to make herself a coffee. Gagging for some fresh air and to rid the house of the smell of stale smoke, Joyce opened the conservatory door.

‘Christ almighty,’ she mumbled in complete astonishment.

Jessica’s once-perfect garden looked as if a bomb had hit it. All the furniture was smashed to pieces. The wooden table was lying upside down and the chairs had no legs left on them.

Shuffling outside, Joyce put her hand over her mouth as she noticed that all the beautiful flowerbeds had been trampled on. Seeing shards of glass by her feet, she turned to her left. The three smashed windows were the final straw for Joyce, and she ran back into the house.

‘Stanley! Stanley!’ she screamed.

When Stanley marched down the stairs with a suitcase in his hand, Joyce looked at him in bewilderment. ‘What are you doing? What’s with the case? You seen the state of the garden? Everything’s smashed to smithereens.’

Dropping his case, Stanley ran out the back. He’d locked the pigeon shed, but what if it had been smashed or the birds had died of fright? Fearful for the safety of his babies, Stanley shook as he put the key in the door.

‘Thank God,’ he said, as all four cooed at him. ‘Daddy’s here now and he’s taking you back home, away from this loony bin.’

‘What are you gonna do about cleaning this mess up, Stanley? I think I’ll ring Raymond, he’ll know a glazier. The twins can help an’ all. I mean, we don’t ask ’em to do much, do we?’

For once in his life, Stanley felt like a man as he spoke. ‘You ask who you like, Joycie. I won’t be here. I told you yesterday, I’m moving back home.’

Joyce remembered bits of what Stanley had said the previous day about leaving, but she thought it had been one of his little tantrums. ‘Don’t be silly, Stanley. You can’t leave me here on my own.’

‘Come with me then, Joycie. I told you last night, I cannot live in this house one minute longer, and I meant it. There’s too many memories, and it’s making me ill.’

Joyce had waited all her life to live in a luxury property and she wasn’t about to walk away from it without a fight. Turning on the tears, she begged her husband to stay. ‘Please don’t go, Stanley. It makes me feel close to Jessica, living here. I can almost feel her presence at times. And what about the twins? You can’t leave them. They need both of us.’

Stanley shook his head. It was obvious Joyce didn’t remember that Frankie had done a runner last night. ‘Cor, you must have been well gone, love. Frankie left home last night. Don’t you remember the gypsy boy turning up here for her? That’s what started the fight. I bet you don’t even recall falling arse over tit in the flowerbeds, do you, dear? No, well you wouldn’t, would you? I’m off, Joycie. Jock’s coming round in an hour with the van. He’s gonna take the pigeons back for me.’

As he walked back out to the garden, Joyce glared at him. Stanley had always done just as she had wanted throughout their entire marriage, and she couldn’t understand what had suddenly got into him. Remembering what he’d said about Frankie, she went up the stairs and knocked on Joey’s bedroom door.

‘Joey, it’s Nan. Can I come in?’

‘Just leave me alone. Go away,’ Joey shouted.

Desperate to know exactly what had happened the night before, Joyce tried the handle. The door was locked. After the morning she’d had, Joyce quickly lost her temper and screamed at her grandson.

‘Open this door now, Joey, else Raymond will kick the bastard thing down. He’s on his way over, you know. He’ll be here in five minutes,’ she lied.

Her fib worked, and as Joey unlocked the door, Joyce stormed in. As she clocked the state of her grandson’s bruised face, Joycie’s temper melted.

‘Oh my God! What happened, love?’ she asked, as she sat on the edge of his bed.

Joey just burst into tears. ‘I tried to help Frankie, and Raymond caught me with his elbow. It was an accident, he didn’t mean it. Frankie’s gone, Nan. What am I gonna do without her? We’ve never been apart before.’

Joyce held him tightly. ‘You listen to me, Joey. That won’t last with that gypsy boy. Different breed, that mob are. Wicked bastards, I should know. One of ’em put a curse on me years ago. Frankie’s young, headstrong, but that boy’ll show his true colours, and when he does she’ll come back.’

‘I don’t think she will, Nan. She loves him. It’s as though he’s cast a spell on her. And what about the baby? She won’t leave him if she’s got his kid, will she? I hate him, Nan. He’s wrecked our entire family. I mean if it weren’t for Frankie getting with Jed, Mum would still be alive, wouldn’t she?’

Desperately wanting to put a smile back on Joey’s face, Joyce thought of the dogs. Buster and Bruno, the twins’ Rottweilers, had been living at Pat Murphy’s since the night Jessica died. Joyce didn’t like dogs very much. Bleeding nuisance they were, pissing and shitting all over the place. ‘I tell you what. Why don’t you get yourself dressed and go and pick Buster and Bruno up? I’m sure they’d love to come home and they’ll be a bit of company for you, Joey.’

Joey sighed. Buster and Bruno were no replacement for his sister, but at least they’d give him something to focus on.

As he got out of bed, Joycie played her ace card. ‘Before you trot off to Pat Murphy’s, I need you to do me a favour. Your grandad’s having one of his funny turns, says he’s moving back into our old house. Go and talk to him, love. Don’t tell him I sent you, but beg him to stay. If he says no, start crying, Joey.’

‘OK,’ Joey said sadly. He really didn’t want his grandad to leave. The house would feel so empty with just him and his nan rattling about.

Stanley was sitting on the sofa drinking a mug of tea. As Joey walked into the room, Stan put his mug on the table and stood up.

‘Please don’t go, Grandad. I don’t want you to leave. I love you,’ Joey begged.

Joyce smiled as she stood earwigging in the hallway. Joey was that good an actor, he should have gone to drama school, and as for Stanley, the silly old goat, he certainly wouldn’t have the guts to walk away from his distressed grandson.

When the doorbell rang, Joyce nigh on jumped out of her skin. ‘Oh, it’s you. I don’t think he’s leaving now,’ she confidently told Jock.

About to tell him to go back home, Joyce was shocked to see Stanley walking towards her with his case in his hand.

‘Put that in the van, Jock, while I sort out the pigeons. We’ll dismantle the shed and take it at the weekend,’ he said.

Joyce gawped at him. ‘You can’t go now, Stanley. Look how upset Joey is. You can’t leave him like that – you’ll break the boy’s heart. And how would Jessica feel? If she’s looking down, that girl would be disgusted by your behaviour.’

Stanley had no intention of changing his mind. How dare she use their dead daughter as blackmail? ‘I’ve spent my whole life doing things to please other people, Joycie, and it’s about time I started looking out for myself. Joey can come and stop with me whenever he wants, I’ve told him that.’

Aware that nothing and no one was going to change her husband’s mind, Joyce let rip at him. ‘You nasty, selfish old bastard. Go on then, get out and take them disease-ridden fucking birds with ya. I should have divorced you years ago, Stanley Smith. You’re nothing but a waste of space that’s dragged me down all my life and I’ll be better off without ya.’

While Jock stood open-mouthed, Stanley went off to the shed to collect his babies. He didn’t want Joycie to see him cry; he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

As Barry Macarthy was let back into the cell, Eddie tried to shut out the sound of his droning voice.