Authors: Kimberley Chambers
Marlene smiled. The man was old, short and was certainly no looker, but he reeked of money from his Rolex watch to his shiny leather shoes. Marge had never been backwards in coming forwards. ‘Yes please, mate, we’ll have two large gin and tonics.’
When the man pulled an enormous wad of fifty-pound notes out of his pocket, Marlene’s eyes lit up like beacons. She waited until he walked up to the bar and then turned to her friend. ‘I’m gonna snare this cunt, Marge. Watch and learn, girl.’
Stephanie Crouch was enjoying one of the best days out she had ever had in her life. After Barry had bought her the red sweatshirt, he had insisted on buying her pie and mash for lunch. He’d then bought her a red rose off the flower stall, two drinks in the Needle Gun pub, and UB40’s new single ‘Red Red Wine’, which Stephanie absolutely adored.
‘I’ve had such a fab day, Barry, thanks ever so much,’ she said, joyfully. She had never had a proper boyfriend before, and walking along Roman Road holding Barry’s arm felt that good, she thought she might burst with happiness.
‘The day ain’t over yet, babe. We’re going to meet me old man now.’
‘Is his real name Smasher?’ Stephanie asked, seriously.
Barry laughed. Steph’s naivety was one of the things that endeared her to him so much. ‘Nah. His real name is Barry. I was obviously named after him, but everyone calls him Smasher as he used to be a fighter years ago. He used to smash everyone’s lights out, he did – hence his nickname.’
‘Really?’ Steph exclaimed.
‘Yeah, back in the day he used to fight for money. They were illegal bouts, but he’s proper hard my dad. Only ever lost twice in his life, he did.’
‘So, where’s he going on holiday then?’
‘What you on about?’ Barry asked, bemused.
‘You said he was going away next week,’ Stephanie reminded him.
‘He’s going to prison, Steph, not Butlins. He got caught with a lorry-load of knocked-off TVs,’ Barry said, chuckling.
Feeling a bit stupid, Steph quickly changed the subject. ‘Whaddya wanna do when you leave school, Bal?’
‘I wanna be just like me dad. He’s always wheeled and dealed and he’s loaded. I don’t mind the markets, but I ain’t never gonna work nine to five for some mug who orders me about. I’m clued up enough to get by without all that. What do you wanna do, girl?’
‘I want to get a good job in a bank or an office up town. My typing teacher, Mrs Belson, reckons I’d make a brilliant secretary. I think one day I’d like to run my own business, but not until I’m much older.’
‘A girl with ambition, eh? That’s what I love about you, Steph.’
At the mention of the word love, Stephanie felt her face turn beetroot red and she quickly changed the subject once again. ‘I bet it’s horrible for you starting at a school where you don’t know no one, ain’t it? Have you made friends with any of the boys yet?’
‘Don’t you worry about me. Get on with most people, I do. Anyway, I’ve got a good pal in the year above us. He used to live across the road from me in Bethnal Green and we used to hang around together as kids. Saved me life once, he did, when I was a nipper. I couldn’t swim and I fell into a river. He jumped in and dragged me out.
‘Aah, that’s nice. What’s his name? I might know him.’
‘His name’s Wayne, babe. Wayne Jackman.’
Cath had just unscrewed the lid on her and Pam’s Saturday treat, when there was a tap-tap at the front door. Busy cutting up a giant-sized pork and egg pie, Pam turned to her friend. ‘Answer that for me, Cath.’
Cath did as she was told and ran back into the kitchen. ‘It’s the police, Pam. They wanna speak to you, mate.’
Pam immediately thought that one of her girls had had an accident and, ashen-faced, ran to the door with the big knife still in her hand.
‘Whatever’s wrong? Is it my daughter?’ she gabbled, near to tears. The police had turned up on her doorstep like this on the day that her wonderful husband had been killed, and just the sight of the PC brought back terrible memories for her.
‘Do you mind putting that knife down, Mrs Crouch?’ the officer said in a jovial tone.
‘Is it my Steph? Or is it my Angie?’ Pam cried, handing the knife to Cathy who was now standing by her side.
Realizing that Mrs Crouch was becoming very distraught, the young PC held his hands up, palms facing her. ‘Calm down. It’s nothing too serious. Can you just confirm that you have a sister called Linda Tate? And if so, we need confirmation that she lives here with you.’
‘Yeah, Linda lives here. She’s my younger sister. Is she OK? What’s wrong with her?’ Pam asked, in a panic-stricken tone.
The young PC smirked. ‘Nothing, unless you count being extremely drunk. There was a minor incident earlier in the Trades Hall Social Club, Mrs Crouch, and when our officers arrived at the scene, your sister tried to attack the female PC. We had to arrest her, and she will receive a caution for being drunk and disorderly. No charges will be brought against her for the attack on the policewoman, as there was no real harm done.’
Pam gasped. She was mortified. ‘I am so sorry, officer, and I can assure you nothing like this will ever happen again. As you are probably aware, Linda suffers from dwarfism, and because of this she gets drunk very quickly. I shall be having a serious chat with her later, don’t you worry about that. Is she on her way home now?’
‘No. We thought it best to let her sober up a bit first, and then we’ll either get an officer to drive her home or call her a cab. I wouldn’t be too hard on her. Linda has been rather amusing back at the station. She originally gave us her name and address as the Queen Mother who lived at Buckingham Palace.’
Pam was fuming. ‘I’ll give her the Queen Mother when she gets home here, officer. Thank you for being so understanding. Linda’s condition makes life difficult for her at times, if you know what I mean?’
When the officer nodded understandingly and walked back to his colleague who was waiting in the car, Cathy burst out laughing.
‘Don’t laugh, it ain’t funny,’ Pam said, cursing her younger sister under her breath.
‘I’m sorry, mate, but she is a fucking case, your Linda. The Queen Mother, Buckingham Palace. What must the Old Bill have thought of her? And she’s tried to beat up one of ’em.’
Unable to see the humorous side of her sister’s outrageous behaviour, Pam shook her head in despair.
Stephanie Crouch was as quiet as a mouse as she sat down at a table in the Bishop Bonner pub. The knowledge that Barry and Wayne Jackman were pals had left her with a feeling of uneasiness and she didn’t quite know how to handle the situation. She was positive that if Barry found out that she had recently asked Wayne out, he would then finish with her himself.
‘You all right, babe? You’ve gone ever so quiet on me. What’s up?’ Barry asked, handing Angie half a cider and sitting down next to her.
‘Nothing. I’m just a bit tired, that’s all,’ Stephanie fibbed.
Barry could smell a lie a mile off. ‘Is it me dad? I know he comes across as a bit intimidating, but he’s such a top geezer when you get to know him, Steph. He was only winding you up when he took the piss out of your ripped jeans. He didn’t mean it nastily.’
Glancing over at the bar where Smasher Franklin was standing with his pals, Stephanie managed a weak smile. Barry’s dad had looked daunting to begin with. He was tall, had enormous muscles, a squashed nose and three scars plastered across his weather-beaten face, but he’d won Steph over immediately with his wit and charm.
‘I really liked your dad. He is so funny, Barry, and I wish I had a dad like him. Mine died when I was little and I never really knew him at all.’
Chuffed to bits that the introduction had gone so well, Barry leant towards Steph and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Now we’re together, he’ll sort of be your dad an’ all, won’t he? You’re always gonna be my girl, Steph.’
Looking at the intensity in Barry’s eyes, Stephanie’s heart was filled with happiness, but also dread. Asking Wayne Jackman out could prove to be the biggest mistake of her life, and if it ruined her relationship with Barry, she would never forgive herself for being such an idiot.
After spending most of the day entwined in a variety of sexual positions, Wayne and Angela were now sitting at the entrance to The Mall on Heathway Hill, drinking a bottle of cider.
‘This is boring sitting ’ere, I feel like a kid. Let’s go down the Princess Bowl, eh?’ Wayne suggested.
The Princess Bowl was where Angela had first met Wayne, but because so many kids from their school hung about there, now she and Wayne were actually together, Angie was worried about being seen there with him. One day, when she was older, she would tell Wayne that she had lied about her age, but she didn’t want it coming out just yet.
‘I like it when it’s just me and you, Jacko. All your mates will be down the bowling alley and I’ll be bored if you’re talking to them.’
Wayne sighed. He liked Angie, but her childishness did his head in at times. If she wasn’t such a good shag, he would have probably dumped her by now.
Over in South London, Marlene Franklin was sitting in a Chinese restaurant in Bermondsey, having a whale of a time with the gentleman she had met in the pub earlier.
‘So why do people call you Jake the Snake then?’ Marlene asked, giggling. She rarely had the opportunity to drink herself senseless on expensive champagne, so had been indulging herself in the stuff, big time.
Jake Chaplin was a short, unattractive, pointy-nosed, fifty-two-year old South London villain. He was an extremely clever fraudster and had made plenty of money over the years by selling gullible people properties and timeshares that had ceased to exist. Clicking his fingers to indicate to the waiter that he required yet another bottle of champagne, Jake grinned at Marlene.
‘People call me Jake the Snake because I’m as slippery as a boa constrictor. Slithered out of many a difficult situation over the years, I have, Marlene. I’m a very clever man, darling.’ When Jake laughed out loud and lit up yet another cigarette, Marlene ignored his awful yellow teeth, his weaselly looking face, and his spindly, nicotine-stained hands. All she saw was money and a ticket out of Dagenham.
‘Do you think Marge will be all right with your mate?’ Marlene asked, pretending to be concerned. She knew Marge would be all right if she spent the night with the entire England rugby squad.
Jake chuckled. ‘They don’t call my mate Donkey Dave for nothing, you know. I’m sure he’ll show your friend Marge a good time, if you know what I mean?’
Fluttering her eyelashes and pouting seductively at Jake, Marlene squeezed his bony hand. ‘And what about you? Do you know how to treat a lady?’
Jake the Snake licked his thin lips in pure anticipation. He’d never struggled pulling women, because of who he was, but it had been a good few years since he had pulled one as pretty and young as Marlene. Looking lovingly into her eyes, Jake grinned. ‘Tomorrow, my dear, you and I are going shopping. I will spoil you something rotten, and if you treat me kindly in return, I can guarantee that you will never want for anything ever again in your entire life.’
Leaning forward, Marlene locked lips with Jake. When his tongue entered her mouth, for a split second she felt physically sick, but instead of showing her repulsion, Marlene responded by kissing Jake passionately. Shutting her eyes, Marlene pretended she was kissing her screen idol, Mel Gibson – that’s what she always did when she got intimate with a man she didn’t fancy.
‘You are so beautiful, Marlene,’ Jake said, as their kiss came to an end.
Marlene grinned. Jake was in her clutches already and this was one snake that she was not going to let slither out of her grasp.
Back in Dagenham, Angela was trying to find out more about Wayne’s life. ‘So, what’s it like going to a football match? When are West Ham playing at home next?’ she asked, genuinely interested. Angie knew nothing about football whatsoever, but decided because Wayne was so passionate about it, if they were going to be together forever, perhaps she should start learning.
‘It’s wicked, babe. Me, Potter and Cooksie are in a firm called the ICF. We’ve had many a scrap, especially when we go to away games. Well hard, we are,’ Wayne bragged.
‘Do you fight people?’
‘Yeah, we fight the supporters of other teams. The firm’s run by some older geezers and they’re all casuals, like us. Well cool they are, and proper organized. We wanted to hang about with ’em ages ago, but I think they thought we were too young. They’ve accepted us now, though – they call us the young ICF.’
Angela was perplexed. She’d always thought football was about kicking a ball around a pitch, not brawling. ‘Can I come to the next game with you, Jacko?’
Wayne burst out laughing. In his opinion, birds and football were as unsuited as a dog shagging a cat. About to answer Angela’s awkward request as diplomatically as he could, Wayne heard someone call his name.
Spotting his two best pals jogging towards him, Wayne quickly stood up and brushed any dirt off his turquoise Lacoste tracksuit.
‘What you doin’ hanging about here, you wanker?’ Cooksie asked him, laughing.
Leaning against the wall, Wayne grabbed hold of his groin area, nodded towards Angela and chuckled. ‘She’s worn me out, lads. Had a bit of a marathon sesh earlier, and I’m shattered. Where yous two been?’
Potter showed Wayne the inside of his carrier bag. ‘Dalston, got meself a new pair of Kickers in red.’
‘Sweet,’ Wayne replied, studying the boots.
‘Do you wanna come round Danno’s with us? He’s got a free house for the weekend and is having a bit of a piss-up,’ Cooksie suggested.
‘Yeah, why not. You coming Ange? We’re going round Danno’s.’
Thrilled that Wayne had invited her, Angela stood up. ‘Who’s Danno?’ she asked, casually.
‘Danno’s in our year at school. You won’t know him, he goes Priory.’
Relieved that Danno didn’t go to Parsloes Manor, the school that she had pretended to go to, Angela grinned. She knew none of the lads in the fifth year at Priory, so knew her secret would be safe. ‘Come on then. What we waiting for?’ she said.