Two Women (10 page)

He grinned at her obvious delight, and hoped against hope they were a good investment. He had stolen them on a burglary a few nights before, had unwrapped them and decided they would do for Susan. He had even used the same paper to wrap them back up. Barry had no qualms about taking other people’s things, even from under their Christmas trees. He had known they were worth a few quid and seen himself as a very generous individual for giving them to Susan and not pulling in money for them.

He kissed her gently on the mouth again and Susan slid into his arms. As he pushed her against the draining board she allowed him to pull up her jumper and grab at her breasts. He kneaded them with his rough hands, feeling the softness of her skin and the heaviness that would one day pull them down to her stomach.

Pushing them together, he looked down at them. He was harder than he had ever been and knew then that this girl was going to play an important role in his life, if for no other reason than these huge breasts between his hands.

‘They’re gorgeous, Susan, fucking fantastic.’

She wasn’t listening, she was on auto-pilot. She knew that to keep him she had to let him do this to her and like her father before him he was only after what he wanted. He wasn’t even trying to make it good for her. It would never have occurred to either of them that she herself might want to be a part of the sex act. She was to be taken, and allowed herself to be taken there and then in her mother’s kitchen with her granny asleep in the room beyond.

As Barry entered her she was dry. He forced himself into her, making her cry out gently against his chest. He thought he was the first, he really did, and this made Susan strangely depressed. The knowledge that her father had done this to her many times before was like a vivid sore inside her mind.

She concentrated on the earrings and what they meant. They were a beacon which told her Barry cared for her. He had bought her gold - in her world that meant a lot. Gold was symbolic of commitment, a forerunner of a wedding ring. The earrings told her that he was serious about her, that he wanted more than just friendship. So to her way of thinking it was quite acceptable she should allow him to take her body. After all, she was more or less his now.

The fact that she was still a child didn’t enter Susan’s head and certainly didn’t enter Barry’s. So far as he was concerned, with tits like hers she was up for all he had to give her. He looked on the maturity of her body to be his guideline, not the maturity of her mind. As he slumped over her, his semen wet against the inside of her legs, she sighed heavily.

At least with Barry she had some power over what he did, and that alone was a heady feeling. He kissed her on the forehead and smiled at her - and with that one kind action tied her to him for the rest of his life.

 

Joey woke up in the Old London. His face was sore, a few teeth were missing and his legs felt like they had been amputated without anaesthetic.

But he was glad of the pain; it told him he was at least in the land of the living.

A stiff-faced nurse was looking down at him and Joey nearly screamed with fright. She was even uglier than Hitchin, he reckoned. But the dark blue of her uniform told him he was in a place of safety and that made him feel better.

His biggest fear as he’d seen the metal bar descend on his forehead was that he would never see another Christmas.

Closing his eyes, Joey sighed to himself.

He was alive and so far not in prison, but instead of trumping June and getting her back into the fold he was lying in bed with a fierce headache and the knowledge he could still be looking at a fifteen- or twenty-year lump!

Life was unfair at times, it really was.

Opening his eyes again he saw Davey Davidson standing by the bed, his expression genial, carrying a basket of fruit.

Joey didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead he stared steadily at his employer and waited for Davey to let him know what he had decided was going to happen to Joey.

‘I bet your bonce is screaming, ain’t it, mate?’

Davey’s voice was low and sympathetic. Joey looked up at him and said dolefully: ‘Well, Davey, I have felt better, know what I mean?’

 

Mickey Bannerman was smiling.

He had eight children by his wife Layla, a big heavy-breasted girl with beautiful teeth, rich red hair and a nose that would easily fit on to four faces instead of one. Her father was a known East End criminal called Billy Tarmey. Mickey had married her to get his hands on the old man’s manor. He had easily slipped on the mantle of most feared man in London and on his father-in-law’s kudos had prospered in North and South London, leaving the East End to the bullyboys.

Now, however, he wanted the lot.

As he watched his wife with his children he felt glad he had married her. Layla was an excellent mother; the girls were learning dancing and the boys all played musical instruments. They spoke properly and had exemplary table manners.

Mickey also kept a one-time stripper called Monet whom he visited with urgency and feeling up to fifteen times a week. Layla knew about it and accepted it. Mickey Bannerman was known as the horniest man in London. His prowess was legendary and in his youth hostesses were known to leave as they saw him walk through the doors of their club. He tired them out and left them unable to work for days.

One old lag said once on hearing Bannerman was after him: ‘Fuck me, I hope he wants to give me a good hiding. I’d rather that than he shagged me to death.’

Hearing this, Mickey thought it was so funny he let the man off with just a punishment beating. Such was the mentality of Michael Bannerman.

Today he was happy, deliriously so. Sitting in his large lounge with his youngest daughter on his knee he smiled amiably at all the people in the room. In a few hours he would have in his possession all he needed to make him the King of the Hill. That was what he had been aiming for since he had married the horsey bird with the nice teeth, as he’d always referred to Layla before she became his wife.

When the doorbell rang he got up and welcomed in Maureen Carter and June McNamara.

He liked June. He always had. The few occasions he had seen her with Jimmy she had been all a woman should be. Quiet, compliant, and with her Bristols on show. A typical villain’s whore.

Unlike Maureen he felt she was going to be a pushover.

He settled them in his office and made them both a drink, indulged in a bit of small talk and introduced them to his kids. The von Trapps couldn’t have faulted him for courtesy.

Then, ushering his kids from the room, he sipped his own drink and smiled nastily at June.

‘You’ve given me a headache, you know. But I’ll overlook that fact in honour of the friendship I had with Jimmy.’

No one answered though the two women privately wondered how he could lay claim to friendship with a man he would have shot if Davidson had not got there first.

June stared down into her glass of port and tried to stifle the fear inside her.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Bannerman, but I was scared. I knew Jimmy was going on the trot and I tried to save meself. I’ve two daughters to bring up and a husband who’s about as much use as a spare prick at the Queen Mother’s birthday party.’

Mickey laughed as she knew he would. If you could make Mickey laugh you were half-way home.

‘Your old man’s a wanker, ain’t he? But thanks to you he’s now in the Old London with a head that’s more swollen than a virgin’s knob. But I digress. Have you got the relevant paperwork, and if so what’s your price, love? It’s Christmas and I’m in a good mood. How lucky can you get, eh, girl? Any other time of the year I’d have ripped your tits off and laughed while I did it. But I like Christmas, always puts me in a happy frame of mind. New Year on its way, new deals to be done, new people to stomp on at some point. A very enjoyable season, I always think.’

Maureen saw the colour drain from June’s face and stifled the urge to laugh. Mickey knew his audience and he played it well.

She coughed, taking the onus off June, and said gently, ‘I have told her she can keep the few grand she took as compensation for losing Jimmy but she has to give us the books. I have them now in my handbag so I think today’s just a formality really.’

Mickey looked at the only woman he could ever say he truly respected and liked. Maureen was a diamond in many respects. Look what she had done for him now. Got the books without its costing him a penny.

June thought she had got off lightly, and in fairness she had.

‘I’ve told her we’ve called off Hitchin since her husband is now in hospital. We’ll call it quits and forget about the grave error of judgement they both made.’

Mickey hadn’t a clue what Maureen was on about.

June was none the wiser either.

‘So what you saying then?’ she asked fearfully.

Maureen grinned.

‘The bottom line is, love, you keep Jimmy’s money and we keep the rest. Simple really.’

June smiled widely.

‘Thanks. You’ve both been more than generous.’

Mickey stood up happily. He had what he wanted, he could afford to be magnanimous.

‘Another drink, ladies? Then you’ll have to excuse me. I have my family visiting and can’t keep them all waiting too long for their tea. My Layla won’t serve them until I arrive. She knows a man’s place is at the head of the table.’

Maureen grinned.

‘Personally I think a man’s head should be
on
the table, but I suppose I see your point.’

June watched the other two make jokes at each other’s expense and wished they would shut up and let her leave. But she knew she had to sit it out until they let her go. That was how things were done in these circles and she wasn’t going to try and change that.

 

Ivy was impressed by Barry Dalston. He took her mind off her sick son for a while and she was grateful for that. As Susan made a pot of tea Ivy rabbited on.

‘What a lovely young man, and so handsome! How the fuck you managed to crib him I don’t know. Now if Debbie had come home with him, I wouldn’t have been surprised - but you! Well, all I can say is whatever he sees in you it’s invisible because no one else will ever see it, girl. You hang on to him.’

Susan ignored her.

She was just thankful that Barry had left so she could revel in the thought of his generous gift to her. The other stuff she placed in the back of her mind as she always did with anything troubling or unpleasant.

Ivy kept giving her the benefit of her opinion. Susan listened to her with half an ear until she heard something that made a red mist of fury descend on her.

‘Just like your father at that age. Same stance, same look, the same easy way with him . . .’

Susan made the old woman jump as she screamed at her across the kitchen, ‘Barry is nothing like my father! Don’t you dare say things like that, you old witch. Why don’t you go home? Why must you always be here, ruining everything? He’s not like my so-called dad. In fact, you yourself point out at every opportunity that Joey ain’t me real father and, believe me, that suits me right down to the ground.’

Ivy was stunned speechless, but not for long. Pulling herself from the chair, she raised her hand and slapped Susan across the mouth.

‘Don’t you talk to me like that, you little bastard. After all I’ve done for you, to talk to me like that!’

As her hand came up again Susan grabbed it and pushed the older woman none too gently across the room.

‘Oh, piss off, you old bitch. You ever say my Barry’s like
him
again and I’ll kill you, do you hear what I’m saying? He is
nothing
like Dad. He’s nice, lovely in fact. He isn’t like your son at all so stop trying to say he is.’

Ivy was now in such a state of shock she was having trouble breathing. Her heart was beating erratically as she looked at the young girl before her. Susan had never challenged anyone before, always taking whatever was dealt out to her.

Suddenly Ivy was frightened of her.

Susan, however, had not finished.

‘You come here day after day and make our lives hell. You cause endless trouble with my mum and expect us all just to take what you dish out. Well, I’ve had enough. You’re nothing but a vindictive, vicious-mouthed old bitch and I wish you and your son would both drop dead. You’re nothing to me. I call you Granny because I have to but I can’t wait until I’m old enough to change my name to Smith or Jones - anything other than bloody McNamara!’

 

June stood at the front door and could not believe what she was hearing. Susan was shouting. Susan, the quiet one, the good girl, the daughter she knew was the mainstay of this household. The cleaner, the cook, the gofer.

June suppressed a smile. If she was shocked, she’d love to see her mother-in-law’s face. She waited for a few seconds before making a noise as if she had just walked through the door, then stepped into the kitchen with a big smile on her face.

‘Everything all right?’

Ivy was white-faced with anger and terror.

‘She hit me! You wait until my Joey hears about this. Raised her hand to me she did, June, slapped me one and kicked me.’

It never occurred to the old woman to tell the truth. Susan, however, was too annoyed to care.

‘I’m telling you, Mum, I’ve taken all I can from her over the last few years. I’m sick of listening to her. Make her go home. Please, Mum, make her go or I might just do her a bloody damage, a real one this time.’

She stepped towards the older woman and June got between them. She was worried now. Her daughter was not normally a violent person and in many respects that was her trouble. Living in a household like this it paid to be more aggressive, as Debbie was. She had made herself heard from the day she was born but that had never been in poor Susan’s nature. Whatever had set her off today it must have been serious and her daughter was more than likely in the right.