The Victim (11 page)

‘What’s the old tart’s name, Jock? I know it’s a woman, so don’t you dare fucking lie to me.’

Jock felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. ‘I swear, it’s not what you think, Joycie. Him and Pat are just friends, that’s all. Your Stanley has decent morals, love,’ he stammered.

‘Well, I’ll give him morals and I’ll give her fucking Pat. What’s the old bag’s address?’ Joyce screamed down the phone.

Jock was petrified of Joyce at the best of times. ‘I don’t know, I swear I don’t. All I know is she lives in Orsett,’ he said, his hands shaking.

‘Well, I’ll be taking a little trip to Orsett and when I find that dirty old bastard I married, I’m gonna chop his fucking bits off and feed ’em to his pigeons.’

Unaware that his old woman was on his tail and currently spitting feathers, Stanley and Pat were rather inebriated and cuddled up on the sofa. They had left the pub about an hour ago and they must have sunk at least ten or twelve drinks while they were out. At one point, Stanley had even felt his legs start to buckle.

‘Do you wanna watch a film, Stanley, or shall we have an early night?’ Pat asked him expectantly.

Not getting the gist of what she was asking, Stanley smiled at her. Unlike Joycie, Pat was a loving person and he sometimes liked it when she put her arms around him. It made him feel manly and wanted. ‘You watch a film if you like, love. I’m knackered, though, so I think I’ll have an early one.’

Desperate to get Stanley into her own bed rather than the one in the spare room, Pat edged towards his lips and placed her own there.

Feeling Pat’s tongue inside his mouth, Stanley leaped from the sofa as if he had a bullet up his arse. ‘Night, love,’ he shouted, as he ran from the room and bolted up the stairs. He was desperate for the safety of the spare room. He and Joycie hadn’t kissed for years and even when they used to, there were no tongues involved. Petrified that Pat was going to come into his room, Stanley finally stopped shaking as he heard her footsteps plod past. ‘Thank you, God,’ he mumbled gratefully.

Terry Baldwin sat in a corridor in Harold Wood Hospital. Sally had been rushed to the maternity unit and he’d been waiting ages for some news. Putting his head in his hands, Terry cursed the day his daughter had ever set eyes on Jed O’Hara. The little shit had already robbed him of one grandchild, his beloved Luke, and if Sally were to lose another because of Jed, Terry would have no choice but to top the little bastard.

Saying a silent prayer to God that all the blood Sally had lost would turn out to be no more than a false alarm, Terry heard his name being called. He stood up and looked into the doctor’s eyes.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Baldwin, but I’m afraid we were unable to save the baby. On a positive note, your daughter is stable and we have given her something to sedate her so she can get some sleep. She was, understandably, very upset, so we would like to keep her in for observation.’

Overcome by grief for the second time in weeks, Terry let out a muffled cry and slumped back onto the chair. This would be the end of his Sally and he knew it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Joycie Smith was still seething the following morning. Never in a million years would she have guessed that Stanley would ever leave for some old slapper. Her husband was certainly no Richard Gere and Joyce could not understand how any other woman would even like him, let alone fancy him.

Pacing up and down the living room, Joycie glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘What time did Dominic say he’d get here?’ she asked Joey. Patience had never been one of Joycie’s virtues and she was doing buttons to get to Orsett and confront her philandering husband and his bit of fluff.

Joey sighed. He’d been working late last night when his nan had rung and told him what had happened. She’d gone bananas on the phone and, worried about her sanity, Joey had come straight over from work. He and Dom had made plans themselves today and, as much as Joey loved his nan, he was getting a bit sick of her interfering in his life. Whenever there was a drama it was Joey she called and in Joey’s opinion, her own son Raymond got away very lightly indeed.

‘Where you going?’ Joyce shouted as Joey picked his mobile up and stomped out of the room.

Ignoring her question, Joey opened the back door and punched in a number. ‘Raymond, it’s me, Joey. Listen, you need to get over to your mum’s ASAP. Your dad’s run off with another woman and I don’t know what to do.’

‘I can’t come over. I’m with Polly and we’re on our way to visit her parents,’ Raymond said bluntly.

Joey was fuming. Who did Raymond think he was, Lord Fucking Fauntleroy? Sick of taking shit from people, Joey gave it to him good and proper. ‘Joycie might be my nan, but she’s your bloody mother. She needs you, so best you ring Polly’s parents, tell them you have to cancel, then turn your car around and get your arse over here. I’ve already lost my mum, Ray, but you’ve still got yours, so instead of avoiding her, make the fucking most of it.’

Raymond was astounded by his nephew’s little speech. Joey no longer sounded like a feminine little gay boy – he sounded just like his father.

Eddie Mitchell smiled as he ended his phone call. His plan to keep his brothers safe had worked like a dream so far. Worried that Jimmy O’Hara’s henchman would get to them, Eddie had ordered someone to give both Ronny and Paulie a pasting.

‘Don’t go too heavy, but make it look bad. Aim for their faces and make as much mess as you can without actually hurting ’em,’ had been Ed’s exact words. He’d then got word to his brothers via another inmate to tell them the score. ‘You must insist that you’re frightened for your lives and demand to be moved either to solitary or another nick. With Ronny being a cripple, the guvnor should swallow it.’

He’d also told his ally to warn them that under no circumstances must they contact him. ‘If they ring me or send me any silly fucking letters, they’re on their own,’ he said.

Ed smiled as Gina walked into the room and put her arms around his waist from behind.

‘Dinner’s nearly ready,’ she said lovingly.

Eddie turned around, tilted her chin and kissed her tenderly. He was picking Stuart up on Monday, so this was the last weekend that they’d have the house to themselves for a while.

‘After we’ve eaten, let’s have an early night, eh, babe?’

Gina grinned. ‘Only if you promise to ravish me.’

Eddie grabbed the cheeks of her arse and rubbed his rapidly growing erection against her groin. ‘Oh, I shall ravish you all right. In fact, I’m gonna shag your brains out all weekend.’

Gina giggled. She adored Eddie talking dirty to her. Her fiancé’s vulgarity was her ultimate turn-on.

* * *

Raymond dropped Polly off at her parents’ house and drove towards his mother’s. Joey’s words had somehow struck a chord, and even though Joyce drove him mad at times, Raymond realised he should make more of an effort to be there for her.

‘You took your time. I thought Polly’s parents had moved over this way,’ Joey said as he answered the front door.

‘Essex is a big place, Joey. If you drove, you’d know that Polly’s parents have moved to Loughton, which isn’t exactly spitting distance from here, is it now?’ Raymond replied sarcastically.

Ignoring his uncle’s sarcasm, Joey began to give him the lowdown on exactly what had happened between Joyce and Stanley.

Sick of waiting for a lift, Joyce had been necking the Baileys as if it were chocolate milkshake and was now in an extremely vicious mood.

Raymond walked into the room and sat down on the sofa next to his mum. Feeling awkward, he hugged her. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find Dad and then he’ll come back home. I’m sure this woman is only a friend, whoever she is.’

‘Friend! I’ll give her fucking friend. Do you know where that Orsett Cock pub is, Raymond?’

Ray nodded.

Joyce stood up. ‘Come on then, let’s go and find the dirty old pervert who fathered you.’

Joey glanced at Dominic and smirked. His earlier outburst had obviously hit home and now that Raymond had turned up and taken over, their weekend could continue as planned.

Eddie Mitchell smiled as he rubbed Gina’s slightly swollen naked stomach. He might be fifty-three, but he didn’t look it and in his mind he was still only twenty-one. He couldn’t wait to be a dad again. When the twins were born he’d left all that baby stuff to Jessica, but this time he wanted to be part of it. ‘So what we gonna call this little beauty then?’ he asked tenderly.

Gina turned her head towards Eddie and grinned. She would be thirty-five by the time the baby was born and she had never been so excited about anything in her life before. There was a time when Gina had given up on meeting Mr Right and becoming a mother, but meeting Eddie Mitchell had changed all that. From the first moment Gina had laid eyes on Eddie, she had known he was the one and now he had made all her dreams come true.

‘I like Michaela for a girl and Bradley for a boy,’ Gina suggested.

Eddie pondered over her choices, then turned to her. ‘I like Rosie, be a nice tribute to me mum. Michaela’s OK, though. My Frankie’s real name is Francesca and Georgie’s birth name is Georgina, so like both of these, Michaela will be shortened to Micky. Micky Mitchell, yeah, sounds proper. I dunno about Bradley though, sounds a bit poofy to me and, as much as I love Joey, I don’t want two gay sons.’

‘Bradley don’t sound poofy! What about Gavin, do you like that?’ Gina asked.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Gavin Mitchell sounds like a fucking accountant who drinks piña coladas and plays squash at weekends.’

Gina playfully punched his arm. Eddie could be such a comical bastard at times; his sense of humour was second to none. ‘You pick some boys’ names then,’ she urged him.

Eddie propped himself up on his elbow and thought carefully. If they had a son, he wanted him to have an old-fashioned, masculine-sounding name. He hated all that trendy bollocks. ‘I like Lenny. Lenny Mitchell, whaddya think?’

Gina smiled. She wasn’t struck on the name Lenny, but she quite liked Rosie. ‘If it’s a girl, you can call her Rosie, after your mum. If it’s a boy though, I choose. I quite like Aaron as well.’

Eddie held out his right hand. ‘You got yourself a deal, babe. Now can I fuck you again?’

Gina giggled as Eddie rolled on top of her. ‘You’re insatiable, Eddie Mitchell, has anybody ever told you that before?’

Thrusting his penis inside her, Eddie smirked. ‘Of course, therefore you should think yourself one lucky girl to have got me, babe.’

* * *

Raymond pulled up outside the Orsett Cock pub. His mother had had verbal diarrhoea for the entire journey and he now had the stirrings of a headache.

When Joyce went to leap out of the car, Raymond grabbed her arm. He knew she’d had a few drinks and he didn’t want her showing herself up, nor him, for that matter. ‘You stay ’ere for a minute, Mum. Let me go in first, see if Dad’s in there. If he is, I’ll bring him outside, if not, I’ll get this old bird’s address.’

Determined to catch her husband red-handed, Joyce pushed Raymond’s arm away, got out of the car and marched towards the pub. Opening the door, Joyce immediately spotted Brian. He was a member of the same pigeon club as Stanley and was standing at the bar alone when Joycie walked over. Brian recognised her immediately. Who wouldn’t? With her bouffant auburn hair, five-foot-nine frame and big mouth, Joycie was very hard to miss indeed.

‘Where is he?’ she screamed.

‘Who, Stanley?’ Brian asked dumbly.

‘Yes, that dirty, stinking, cheating, bastard of a husband of mine.’

Totally embarrassed that the twenty or so customers in the pub were all looking their way, Raymond ordered his mum to sit down and led Brian towards the gent’s toilets. Once inside, he turned to him.

‘Sorry about that. As you can imagine, my mum’s very upset over all this. You know my dad well. Tell me what’s going on with him and this Pat woman.’

Brian didn’t want any aggravation, so tried to be as diplomatic as possible. Everybody in the pigeon club knew that Stanley was a harmless old soul, but they were also aware that his son was a bit of a rogue and worked for the notorious Eddie Mitchell.

‘Her name is Pat, she’s a member of our pigeon club and Stanley was in here yesterday with her. I don’t think there is anything going on between them, but I think he’s stopping round at her house. They are probably just good friends.’

‘What’s this Pat’s address?’ Raymond asked pleasantly.

Brian liked both Stanley and Pat and didn’t want to get either of them into any trouble. ‘I don’t know,’ he lied.

Raymond’s pleasant persona changed instantly. He’d learned from Eddie that the quickest way to get information out of people was by putting the frighteners on them and it seemed to work every time. ‘I said, what’s the fucking address?’ he spat, as he grabbed the collar of Brian’s jacket and shoved him up against the wall.

Brian was petrified. ‘It’s Hemley Road, but I ain’t sure of the number,’ he stammered.

Raymond let go of Brian’s jacket and politely smoothed the collar down. The number of the house didn’t matter. As long as he knew the road, he would find the gaff easily enough, because his father’s car would be parked outside. He smiled at Brian. ‘Cheers, mate. Nice to meet ya.’

Pat the Pigeon was an expert when it came to cooking a decent roast dinner. Her husband Vic had been a massive fan and reckoned her crispy potatoes cooked in goose fat were the best he’d ever tasted.

Stanley smiled as Pat put his dinner down in front of him. Roast beef, potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, Brussels, carrots and peas – it was a meal fit for a king. ‘Cor, this looks handsome,’ Stanley said appreciating the presentation. They’d had a nice day today, he and Pat. They’d spent the morning out the back with the pigeons and had then had a game of cards. No more had been mentioned about the kiss they’d sort of shared and the only thing that Stanley wanted now was for Pat to stop wearing her low-cut tops. Her breasts were enormous and Stanley felt embarrassed every time Pat caught him looking at them. He tried not to, as he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression, but they were so big, and when they were shoved in your face morning, noon and night, any man would have difficulty ignoring them.

‘Have some horseradish, Stanley,’ Pat said, as she sat down at the table. Seconds later, there was a knock at the door. ‘Who the bleedin’ hell’s that?’ Pat complained as she stood up again.

‘Can I help you?’ Pat asked politely, as she came face to face with Joyce and Raymond.

Joyce looked Pat up and down and was disgusted by what she saw. Unlike herself, the woman had no class. She was tarty, blonde and plump, with her Bristols hanging out for the whole world to see.

‘I’m Joycie, Stanley’s wife, and you must be Pat, the fucking old slapper.’

When his mother lunged at Pat, Raymond quickly stepped in. ‘Fighting ain’t gonna solve this, Mother,’ he said.

Stanley was petrified when he heard Joycie’s booming voice. Choking on his roast beef, he jumped up and hid behind the sofa.

‘Where is he? Stanley! Stanley!’ Joyce yelled.

Pat was shocked. Stanley had described Joyce as a person, but never her appearance, and she couldn’t believe this brazen, tall woman was his wife. Stanley was such a kind, inoffensive man, yet his wife looked like a much uglier version of Yootha Joyce.

‘He don’t wanna see you. Get out of my house,’ Pat shouted. Now she’d overcome her initial shock, she wasn’t about to take shit from this woman. Pat was a true East Ender, and women from where she came from bowed down to no one.

Aware that his mother and Pat were about to start fighting, Raymond left them to it and went in search of his father. He really didn’t need any of this shit. He had promised Polly he would get things sorted and return to her parents’ to pick her up. ‘Dad! Dad!’ he yelled.

Stanley was sweating as he hid behind the sofa. He hated violence of any kind, it made his nerves bad.

Unable to find his father, Raymond ignored the hair-pulling that was going on in the hallway and ran up the stairs. Two women fighting was a sight for sore eyes and all he wanted to do was find his old man and get home to his wife.

‘Look at ya, with all your lils hanging out. No wonder my Stanley can’t keep away, revealing your body like that. It ain’t right, you look like an Old Tom,’ Joyce shouted as she tried to drag Pat down the hallway by her hair.