Wishing and Hoping (36 page)

Sam opened the door. ‘Come on. We'd better be going.'

IT WAS ABSOLUTELY
true that Barbara Brooks, Tony's second wife, was free and easy with her favours.

But this is true love, she thought, as she lay beside the man from the brewery, who after calling on the pub landlord, would pick Babs up from outside the cinema where she was supposed to be working that day.

Unbeknown to her mother-in-law, she only worked at the cinema three days a week. The other two weekdays were set aside for her meetings with Jim Baldock, the sales rep from the brewery.

He usually booked himself into a room above another pub at the other end of the high street from the one she worked in. It was no big deal to sneak her in when the landlord was supposedly not looking. In reality, he knew exactly what was going on. Boys being boys, they swapped stories of their sexual adventures over the bar after hours and with more than a few pints of ale beneath their belts.

Barbara was just another conquest on Jim Baldock's list, though she didn't see it that way. Barbara was in love. She'd read issue after issue of
True Romance
over the years so thought she knew what it meant.
She hadn't told Jim just yet. She was waiting for him to say it first. So far he'd only told her how much he looked forward to seeing her and how he reckoned their future was told in the stars.

‘My mother-in-law sees things like that,' she'd told him with starry-eyed innocence, something she'd said goodbye to many years before.

He'd told her he was a widower, his wife having died some years before from scarlet fever.

‘You remind me of her,' he'd said to her. ‘Dorothy was the love of my life.'

She'd been sure she'd seen a tear in his eye and was deeply touched. He'd even shown her a photograph.

‘And you've got no family?' she'd asked him. ‘No kids?'

He'd shaken his head dolefully. ‘Only wish I did. That's why I throw myself into my job, love. Don't get me wrong, I love my job and I'm very well paid, but there's nothing like having a curvy woman to cuddle up to at night.'

She told herself that he meant it because she wanted so much to believe it. And it was lovely being with him. He always smelled nice and wore a suit. He also drove a shiny Ford Zephyr. It was green and had tail fins that reminded her of an American Cadillac. She could never get involved with anyone unless they had a car. Even Tony, her old man, had a car.

Deep down Babs was in love with love. It had been this way when she'd first met Tony Brooks. He'd bowled her over with his Maltese looks, the way he flashed his money in the pub and his boasting about the ‘heavies' he knew and the crimes he'd committed.

She knew now that his crimes were relatively minor. Besides that, she'd gone off blokes like him. Nowadays she liked businessmen, the sort who came into the bar and chatted her up over a gin and tonic. Now there was only Jim Baldock.

Barbara adored being chatted up and made love to with all the passion of a first encounter. Even better that she wasn't expected to wash the sheets afterwards. That was the joy of getting it together in a rented room paid for by the brewery.

It was on a Wednesday afternoon when the veil of ignorance fell from her face.

They'd just had something of a rushed session. His excuse had been that he had to get back to the brewery offices for an important meeting.

‘Sorry about this, darling,' he said to her as he zipped up his flies. He gave her a peck on the cheek.

‘Is that all I get?' she asked petulantly.

His smile was tight, impatient. He wanted to go, but he was good at being deceitful. ‘What more can I give you?'

Smiling girlishly, she slid her hand down his chest and over the waistband of his trousers.

Judging by the sound he made – something between a sigh and a groan – he liked it a lot.

‘Baby, I have to go. I have to get to this meeting.'

Perhaps nothing would have changed if she hadn't handed him his jacket. As she did so, his wallet fell to the floor scattering its contents. She bent down to pick them up at the same time as he did. A photograph of a six-month-old baby had landed on top of that of a smiling woman with dark hair and flashing eyes. There was some writing.

‘To my beloved husband, Jimmy. Happy fortieth. Dorothy.'

Dorothy! It even gave the date! Only six months before. He'd told her himself that his fortieth birthday had been back then and how sad he'd been because Dorothy hadn't been around to share it with him.

This photograph declared him a liar!

It was like a stab to the heart. Dorothy's photograph she could cope with. Jim wouldn't be the first one to lie to her about having a wife. The one of his baby made her feel sick inside.

She glared at him. ‘You bastard!'

His movements quickened. He was out of there as quickly as he could possibly go.

He didn't even try to pretend that it was all a mistake.

‘You took me for a tart,' she shouted.

Shoving everything back into his wallet, he picked up his tie. ‘I have to go, darling.'

‘You said your wife was dead. You said you didn't have any kids. Is that baby yours?'

He didn't look at her but chose to busy himself throwing his things into his suitcase – even though he was booked in for tonight. Jim Baldock was out of there!

‘No. It's my grandson.'

‘What?'

Babs was only half dressed, but she didn't care. All her dreams of being in love were in tatters. Jim Baldock had dominated her life during the past six months. She'd neglected her home life because of him. She hadn't even bothered to seriously consider her and Tony getting back together. She'd thought she'd met Prince Charming but found he'd swiftly turned into a frog when the truth was out.

‘How many kids have you got?'

‘Five.' He regarded her with a smile, holding out his arms in a ‘so what' kind of style. ‘We had fun, Babs. Now it's time to go our separate ways.'

He looked full of himself, straight and confident with a mop of rust-coloured hair, surprisingly dark lashes and brilliantly blue eyes. A rugged rather than a handsome face had been the first thing that had attracted her; a physical man who knew how to handle himself.

His voice was deep and melodious like an opera singer trying to impress. Even now she thrilled to the sound of it.

‘I'll be in touch. I'm sure I can fit in another time somehow – once you've calmed down that is.'

‘Another time?'

Babs picked up one of her stilettos and sent it flying through the air. Jim ducked. The second shoe hit him fair and square on the forehead. After that he picked up all that he could and ran.

‘Bastard!' shouted Babs running after him. ‘You rotten, two-timing . . .'

People in the street outside watched the half-dressed woman chasing the smartly dressed man.

He made his car and drove away before she could get to him.

She stood there attracting the amused glances of passers-by.

‘Ought to cover yourself up, a woman of your age.'

The speaker was a much older woman, probably of around the same age as her mother-in-law. Babs blinked when she looked at her. In the past she would have given her a mouthful plus a few well-chosen rude gestures. On this occasion she didn't. She was feeling devastated. The woman she'd thought she was – the good-looking blonde who all the blokes made a beeline for – had gone. The funny thing was she hadn't really seen her passing into history. She'd still thought she was that giggling girl with slim ankles and a twenty-four inch waist. Add another ten inches to that nowadays. When had the time of true romance
disappeared? A tear came to her eye at the thought of her best years passing.

‘Ma? Ma?'

She looked down into the confused little pixie face of her daughter.

The day before she would have told the child to shove off home and make herself a jam sandwich. There was always jam in the house. Today she didn't. To the child's great surprise, she scooped her up into her arms and hugged her.

‘Annie. My lovely little Annie!'

At first Annie was confused. It wasn't often her mother hugged her. On finding she enjoyed the experience she wrapped her thin arms around her mother's neck.

‘Can we go and buy some fish and chips?'

‘If you like,' said Babs, giving her daughter another hug. ‘Is that why you came looking for me?'

Annie shook her head. ‘Gran's ran away.'

‘What?'

‘She's ran away in her wheelchair. Garth came round and she ran away with him.'

‘Oh Christ!' She had to get the rest of her clothes. She had to find out where she'd gone before anyone found out about it.

‘And Marcie's coming down.'

‘Shit!'

‘You shouldn't swear.'

‘Who said that?'

‘Gran.'

‘Typical,' Babs muttered and quickened her footsteps.

THE SLEEK BLACK
car belonging to Sam Kendal slid to a stop outside Rosa Brooks' cottage.

‘It doesn't look as though anyone's here either,' Sam remarked.

There'd been nobody at home when they'd called round to the council house Babs lived in with the kids, which was very worrying. Marcie had been told that her grandmother was confined to a wheelchair. Basically she was now feeling guilty that she hadn't been there to collect her grandmother from the hospital. Her life at present was just too pressurised and too complicated.

Marcie grunted a remark to her mother and got out. Her parents, estranged but having made a lasting impression on her life, mostly by their absence, followed suit. They'd spoken little on the way down and Sam had insisted that Tony travel in the front seat beside the driver.

‘I would like my daughter to myself for a while. You've had the pleasure of her company for years. I have not.' She could have added thanks to your friend Alan Taylor who you regarded as your best friend, but she did not. The accusation stayed unspoken.

Marcie's father was like a man struck dumb. He could not believe that his ex-wife was the boss of a famed crime empire. He kept glancing at her, a mixture of fear and marvel in his eyes. Women like her were a race apart, though if he really thought about it he would understand that he was drawn to strong women. OK, he wanted to control them, but in that was the fun. It was one hundred per cent certain that the Mary Brooks as was would never be under his thumb again. Sam Kendal terrified him.

Marcie's mother talked to her about the children and how she'd watched Marcie cross the road from her place above the sewing room to the shop opposite, holding Joanna in her arms.

‘If there is anything those children should ever want, you have only to say.'

Marcie thanked her but told her Michael would always provide for them.

‘Perhaps a private education,' Sam added. ‘But anyway, I'd like to help you too. I know you're keen on fashion. I was at your age. I liked making my own clothes. I think you do too. If you want to open a proper shop or something, I've got the money and I'm willing to back you – you already know that.'

Marcie smiled. It was coming home to her now that her mother had been keeping an eye on her for some time, once she'd regained her memory. She couldn't help wondering at the contrast between the woman
who had been named Mary Brooks and the woman known as Sam Kendal.

Her mother was endeavouring to make up for lost time. Marcie could understand and appreciate that. The only thing that jarred was her mother's involvement with the underworld. Marcie was troubled by it. OK, her husband owned a nightclub and his father was involved in crime, but she didn't want to be and Michael played things straight.

Owning a nightclub was not without its hazards, but being on the periphery of crime was one thing. Despite being a woman, her mother was a feared and respected head of a criminal empire. Even the Camilleris wouldn't dare cross her.

Her relationship with her mother was something she would have to deal with in time. For the moment her prime consideration was getting her husband out of prison. Jacob had assured her that it was all under control. Her mother had told her not to worry. Michael was about to come home.

The well-being of her grandmother was also worrying her. The woman who had brought her up should have been living in comfort with Babs. Babs had assured her it would be so when she'd said she couldn't get down there just yet.

Unable to do much else at the time, Marcie had convinced herself that Babs meant what she said. In hindsight she really should have known better.

The truth had been self-evident; the house was a mess and the room her grandmother shared with Annie was even worse. On checking the kitchen, Marcie had found little food in the larder besides a jar of jam and a loaf of bread. Dirty dishes had been left in the sink.

Marcie let herself in to the cosy cottage she'd shared with her grandmother and her father – when he wasn't in prison. She called out for Garth. There was no response.

She stood at the entrance to the kitchen taking in all the old familiar sights. A fire had been lit and the room was clean and tidy. Paper chains had been stuck together and hung around the place in readiness for Christmas.

Marcie smiled at the simplicity of the design; the ends attached to the light in the middle of the room and into each of the four corners.

She took a deep breath and breathed in the scent of lavender and beeswax.

‘Polish,' said her mother who had come in behind her. ‘I thought you said she'd been in hospital for weeks.'

‘Garth did it,' said Marcie.

She opened the kitchen larder. It revealed a tin of beans, a tin of corned beef and the basics like sugar, tea, bread, milk and butter.

It was likely that Garth had gone shopping. There was nothing to do but sit down and wait.