Wishing and Hoping (24 page)

He noticed her struggling back into the schoolgirl outfit he'd taken her out of some two hours before. ‘You're putting on a bit of weight, Sheila.'

‘Cheeky sod,' she said, throwing him a glance over her shoulder.

She'd arrived with the uniform hidden beneath a belted trench coat. Her hair was still in bunches and tied with white ribbons.

‘You're not up the spout, are you, girl?'

She blew him a raspberry. Sheila was a girl of few words.

‘Your money's there,' he said, pointing to the dressing table.

He watched the way she picked it up and began
counting it slowly. It unnerved him. She'd never done that before. And she was dawdling, as though she had something she wanted to say before she left. He guessed it was to do with money. Everything Sheila did was to do with money, including the squeals when he slapped her with his gloved hands. He reckoned he was paying a ten bob note for each one.

She eyed him slyly, coquettishly even, as though she really were a silly little schoolgirl wanting something from him.

‘That Michael Jones. Now he's out of the way, are you going to make a play for his missus?'

Paddy cocked an eyebrow. The Blue Genie was what he wanted, though in all honesty the thought of seducing Mrs Jones had occurred to him.

‘What the hell is it to you might I ask?'

She shrugged her narrow shoulders and slammed her eyelids. ‘I knew you wanted the club and wondered whether you wanted her as well. I expect she'll be a bit scrawny without her clothes on. You'll be disappointed.'

He grinned. ‘You're jealous.'

She sniffed and turned up her cute little nose. ‘She won't let you do the things to her that you do to me.'

‘Of course not. She's not a scrubber like you. She's a respectable girl.'

Sheila bristled. ‘Charmed I'm sure!'

Paddy laughed. ‘Sheila, I bed you. I ain't likely to wed you, even if I didn't already have a missus.'

‘Of course not! That's not what I'm saying.'

He saw her face go red.

He'd had it in mind to tell her to sod off and not cloud his door again, but Sheila had a point. She catered for the more kinky aspects of sexual practice, and she was right that he might not get the same service elsewhere.

He decided to level with her, as much as he was able. ‘It's what she's got that I want.'

‘The club?' Sheila's eyes opened wide. She almost sounded excited.

Paddy realised then that he'd walked into a trap. The girl was after something all right – too much something if his instinct served him right.

‘Yes,' he said slowly. ‘I'm interested in the club.'

‘And her. That's why you got him put away, didn't you? Without him around the poor little wife is going to need somebody to take the club off her hands – or help her run it. And Michael wouldn't allow you to muscle in. But you think the wife might. Is that it?'

Paddy frowned. ‘You ask too many questions.'

‘Oh come on, Paddy,' she said, her breasts ballooning from her bra and the partially buttoned blouse as she went down on all fours crawling up the bed towards him. ‘I didn't ask you hardly anything when you got me to nick one of his shirts. Did you dab it in Linda's blood? Is that what you did?'

Paddy glared. He moved swiftly, grabbing her jaw and twisting it as though he intended ripping off the lower half of her face.

‘I suggest you take a well-earned rest at the seaside. Somewhere like Blackpool would be best. Somewhere far away. Do you get my drift, Sheila?'

His frown had intensified. Sheila was like a bloodhound when it came to money. Plenty was never enough. She always wanted to go the extra mile, sniffing out a wedge of tenners like a dog on heat. Only she was a bitch. A right bitch.

Give the bitch her due, she wasn't easily scared.

‘You've only given me enough money to stay away for a couple of weeks, Paddy. And I don't fancy Blackpool. How about Spain? A lot of people are going on holiday to Spain nowadays . . .'

He tightened his grip. ‘Don't push your luck, Sheila.' His voice was full of warning.

Sheila kept playing the innocent schoolgirl as though that would break some ice with him. ‘I could do a lot with an extra five hundred pounds.'

His gloved hand slammed across the side of her face, sending her sprawling from the bed. The blow was so violent that her head jerked to one side before she landed on the floor.

Paddy glared at her. ‘Five hundred? Fuck off, you silly cow!'

A surprised Sheila sat fingering her jaw, thrusting it from side to side, not sure whether it was broken.

Keen to maintain the advantage of surprise, Paddy leaned across the bed and grabbed a handful of her hair.

Sheila screamed.

‘Now look here, you silly bitch! Cross me and I'll be giving you more than a spanked backside. I'll be raising a team to use your head as a football. Do you catch my drift, Sheila? Do you, Sheila? Do you?'

He called for Baxter after she'd gone.

‘She knows too much. You know what to do.'

MARCIE TOOK THE
children down to her grandmother's for the weekend. The pressures of London, of Michael in jail and of running his businesses as well as her own were getting to her. She was feeling rundown and listless, couldn't eat and generally didn't feel well. The fact that her grandmother was ill only added to her worries. She had no time to worry about herself.

‘You didn't tell me,' Marcie said to her grandmother. ‘What is it? What's wrong with you?'

Rosa Brooks smiled. ‘I am getting old. There is nothing you can do about it. Anyway, the condition is only temporary. The doctor told me so.'

They were sitting across from each other in the two winged armchairs placed either side of the fireplace where the old range chugged and spluttered like an ailing donkey.

Rosa Brooks was using the poker to dislodge some clinker from the fire bed. All her attention appeared to be fixed on it, as though her illness was nothing at all to worry about. But Marcie knew better.

Reaching across, she touched the papery thin skin of her grandmother's hand.

‘Gran, I know you're lying. Dad told me it's serious. He told me that you're going blind. He said the doctor called him and told him you have diabetes.'

Rosa stiffened in her chair. Old she might be, but she was still resolute.

‘Your father does not come here often enough to know anything. He even thinks his wife is divorcing him. The fool! As long as he sends her money, she will do nothing of the sort. Besides, they had a Catholic wedding. They cannot divorce.'

Marcie shook her head. She did wonder if her father had been talking rubbish about Babs wanting a divorce. He always liked to play for sympathy with her. It helped counter the guilt he was feeling because he rarely came back to Sheppey and, when he did, all he and his wife Babs did was argue and fight. There was also the matter of his girlfriends, of course, though that was something Marcie made no mention of.

Sitting very still, she stared into her grandmother's face, seemingly without her knowing. The two dark eyes she'd known all her life were not nearly as bright as they had been. The film of a double cataract misted them both.

The sound of Joanna chuckling caused a smile to cross the old face.

‘Joanna is growing fast,' said her grandmother, smiling in the general direction of where Marcie's
daughter was sitting on the floor, drawing. ‘See how pretty she looks in that pink dress.'

Marcie felt as though her heart would break. She'd overheard her grandmother asking Garth what colour dress Joanna was wearing and he'd told her.

At present Garth was sitting next to Joanna. Her grandmother could not possibly see her great-granddaughter.

Marcie held back the tears. She'd cried enough of them of late, mostly when she was in bed alone at night, unable to sleep, unable to face the dreams that might come.

The fact was that she had to accept that things were much worse than her father had stated. Her grandmother was virtually blind, but was managing to find her way around the house and do all the things she had always done purely because she was familiar with her surroundings.

The family had never been the sort who touch and hug at the drop of a hat, but that was what Marcie did now. Reaching across she took the bony hand of her grandmother into her own then hugged her grandmother's head before cupping her cheek in her hand.

‘Gran,' she said softly. ‘That's Garth you can see. He's sitting between you and Joanna.'

It wasn't easy, but she effectively controlled the
trembling of her voice. If her grandmother was being strong then she had to be the same.

Rosa Brooks hesitated before jerking her chin in a short, swift nod. ‘So you know. Then that is it. There is nothing to be done.'

‘What did the doctor say?'

‘He said that I am old.'

‘Doctor Sangster must have said more than that.'

‘Not Doctor Sangster. He is dead. He died last week from liver failure. A young West Indian doctor has taken his place. He's a good man but he says that there is nothing he can do.'

Marcie sat back in her chair not able to believe how helpless she felt. The feeling was short-lived. She refused to believe that there was nothing that could be done. The everlasting hope of youth took over.

‘There must be something. Why don't you see another doctor? If this one is only young . . .'

Her grandmother shook her head. Again, her voice was very gentle. ‘There is a time for all things, Marcie. I am not afraid. I have my faith. Besides, I know that your grandfather is waiting for me on the other side. We talk a lot more now and he visits me in my sleep. Do you know that when we meet we are young again? Is not that the most wonderful thing? Everything we were together we will be again.'

Her face shone. For one solitary moment it seemed
that the wrinkles were smoothed out and that her flesh was firm and young again.

Feeling as though she were choking on her tongue, Marcie swallowed a sob and brushed away a tear. What she marvelled at most of all was the look on her grandmother's face. Her face was glowing. She wanted to cherish the hope that her grandmother's condition was improving, but deep down she knew it was not so.

‘My legs ache,' said Rosa Brooks. ‘Can you dish up the dinner?'

Marcie said that she would. ‘Can you manage Joanna and Aran?'

‘I would love to. Joanna. Come here where I can see you.'

‘I'll get Garth to dig up a few carrots while I cut a cabbage.'

‘They'll be the last before the frost gets them,' her grandmother called after her.

Marcie told Garth that she was dealing with dinner and they went out to the garden together. ‘My grandmother's legs are aching. The cold isn't good for her,' she explained.

Garth nodded stoically. ‘Auntie Rosa doesn't like walking any more.'

‘She's getting old, Garth,' Marcie said gently.

‘And she hit her toe. That hurts a lot.'

‘She stumbled, did she?' Marcie remarked. It was perfectly understandable. Her grandmother's failing
eyesight meant that she was bound to be bumping into things.

‘It bled,' said Garth.

‘Oh dear. Did she put a plaster on it?' Marcie was always careful to speak to him as though he were a child so he could understand better.

Garth had no conception of lying so always told the truth regardless of the implications.

‘Not a plaster,' he said with great vehemence. ‘It wouldn't be big enough. A bandage! That's what she did. But it's not crusty yet. It stinks.'

Marcie frowned. What did he mean by crusty? ‘It sounds horrible.'

‘It's true,' he said and looked at her in a way that made her feel she'd misjudged him. ‘It smells bad. And sometimes she gets dizzy and doesn't know where she is. And sometimes she's asleep for ages.'

The warmth of the kitchen welcomed them back in from the garden where a mist was rolling in from the sea and crisping the air.

Marcie thought about what Garth had said as she ran the tap water to swill off the vegetables. ‘Does she sleep for long?' She said it quietly so that her grandmother wouldn't hear.

Garth nodded and dropped his voice to suit. ‘Sometimes I can't wake her up.'

Marcie looked over her shoulder to see if her grandmother had heard what they were saying.
Apparently not. She was totally absorbed in entertaining the children.

Marcie listened to her grandmother telling some wonderful tale about castles, fairies and goblins. Joanna was all rapt attention. As she watched, Marcie came to an instant decision. Tomorrow, by hook or by crook, she was taking her grandmother to the doctor. Asking her what was wrong would achieve nothing. Her grandmother was beginning to subvert the truth. No. She had to persuade her to go to the doctor and to let her go too. It wouldn't be easy, but it had to be done. Marcie wanted the truth about her grandmother's health and knew she wouldn't get it from the woman herself.

The following day she offered to take her shopping.

Her grandmother protested at first. ‘There is not much that I need.'

‘Bread? Milk? Bear in mind that Aran and Joanna are going to want milk. Joanna can have cow's milk. Aran needs another tin of Cow and Gate.'

Seeing as it seemed she was the one in need of shopping, her grandmother gave in. The truth was that she'd brought a spare tin of Cow and Gate with her, but an extra tin wouldn't come amiss.

‘You can push – if you don't mind that is.'

Of course her grandmother wouldn't mind!

With Aran and Joanna crammed into the pushchair, she allowed her grandmother to push
whilst she walked to one side keeping a firm grip on the handle. Garth opted to stay at home and do some drawing.

It suited Marcie fine. She had a plan. Rosa Brooks was concentrating on pushing the pushchair so it wasn't too hard to alter course to the doctor's surgery. With a pang of foreboding, Marcie noticed her grandmother limping.