The Graft (12 page)

This was why Tammy had made a point of knowing all there was to know about her husband’s businesses. She knew what Nick was worth down to his last penny, and his last euro. He had to be getting it from somewhere and he was most certainly not getting it from her, and if he ever surprised her with a twenty-to-one shot she would be ready and waiting to turn him over good and proper. As her old mum used to say, ‘don’t get mad get even.’ Hit a man in the pocket, it’s the only place, other than in his balls, where you can bring tears to his eyes.

Well, he would lose his money and his nuts if he ever did the dirty on her and he knew it.

Gary Proctor and her husband just worked, and that was it, according to Nick, but her name was not Gilly Hunt and she was not changing it now. If he took her for a cunt she would be ready and waiting for him and even though his bosom pal Gary Proctor was not exactly the answer to a maiden’s prayer, she knew there were birds out there who would gladly overlook that fact.

She was watching out for herself, and it annoyed her that most women she knew did not make provisions for the rainy days that were bound to come. He could take everything she had, but she’d still have her pride and he was never going to take that from her.

 
Gino stood in the small alleyway near his flats and waited for Big Ellie. As she walked towards him he smiled.

‘All right?’

She nodded.

Ellie was big, powerfully big, with arms like meat cleavers. But she had a lovely face that belied the nastiness underneath the make-up. She came from a large family noted mainly for their fighting skills and their belligerence. She scored drugs for people, never seeing herself as a dealer, but touched only alcohol herself. She saw drugs as a mug’s game. She also did little favours for people when she could. For money, of course.

‘You got it?’

He handed her the three hundred pounds cash, which she counted quickly. Then she opened her fake Burberry bag and gave him a small plastic bank bag full of brown and a phone number written on a piece of paper.

‘You never got that number from me, right?’

He nodded.

‘ ’Course not. What? So you think I’m stupid.’

‘My brother would kill me if he knew, so you can imagine what would happen to you, can’t you?’

The threat was unmistakable and he nodded his agreement.

Gino had had a good day. He had got one hundred and fifty for the cards and chequebook so he was still quids in. Now all he had to do was unload the jewellery and he would be laughing.

 
‘You got it then?’

Jude’s face was so open and trusting it made Gino feel good. She took the bank bag from him and grinned.

‘Fucking hell! This is like Christmas, Gino.’

He felt six feet taller from her admiration.

‘I’ll see you all right, Jude, don’t you worry.’

It was an idle boast but it felt good. He would try and keep her sorted, it was the least he could do for his friend.

‘I got the number you wanted and all.’

He saw the light leave her face. It was wiped clean of any expression; she had paled even more than usual if that were possible.

‘You’re joking?’

He shook his head and passed it to her carefully. It was written on a scrap of newspaper and as she gazed at it she felt her heart lift. Mobile numbers changed, but land lines stayed the same.

‘Oh, you are good, Gino! Fucking good.’

She placed a grubby hand to her mouth, as if stopping herself from saying something else. As Gino watched her he felt omnipotent.

‘Oh, Gino son, you don’t know what you’ve given me,’ she said eventually.

He knew exactly what he had given her but he didn’t say that, of course, he just basked in her praise.

When he produced the bottle of vodka Jude was speechless, but it showed him just how good you could feel helping out someone less fortunate than yourself.

Chapter Six

It was a crisp morning. Even though the house was warm the frost was still white on the roofs of the outhouses. Nick Leary had woken with the thought already uppermost in his head: Sonny Hatcher was being buried today.

It was burning Nick up inside. No matter how much he drank or how long he slept he couldn’t rid himself of that thought. Seventeen and he was being buried today. A boy, only a boy. A stupid little thief but just a boy, a handsome one who should by rights have had his whole life ahead of him.

Nick looked out of the bedroom window and watched the birds going about their business. Even in his troubled state he marvelled that this wonderful view was all his. And it was some view; field after field until finally in the distance you could see the estuary. It was beautiful, with no other habitation in the distance to spoil it. Of a night he would watch the lights of ships in the distance and wish he were on one of them. Today in an early-October frost the view from the window was like a Christmas card.

Tammy breezed into the bedroom from the en-suite bathroom, all white towels and Versace perfume.

‘Morning!’

She was chirpy and for some reason that annoyed Nick. He lay in bed and studied her. She was still a good-looking woman, he couldn’t take that away from her, and she could still make him laugh which had always been her greatest asset in his eyes - though she didn’t know that, of course. She thought it was her fascinating conversation and firm body.

‘It’s the funeral today.’

He didn’t know why he had said it.

Tammy shrugged her slim shoulders in bewilderment.

‘Yeah? And?’

It was all over as far as she was concerned.

‘Look, Nick, you got to let this go, mate. It happened and nothing we say or do will change that.’ She shrugged. ‘You were looking out for your own. He should never have been here in our home in the first place. He should never have been out thieving.’

She spoke it like a mantra, she’d said it so often. She wished she could make it all better for him but she knew she couldn’t. Nick was fighting this alone as he had fought everything he had overcome in his life.

She came to the bed and sat beside him, slipping off the towel. Her huge breasts were probably enough to set most men’s blood racing to their loins. Unfortunately they didn’t do anything for Nick. Physically she had never done anything for him and the thought saddened Nick even as it maddened her. She never had. She had not been his type, if that was the right expression.

Tammy caressed his thigh through the bedclothes.

He thanked her for the thought if nothing else.

He knew it wasn’t fair on her the way he was, but it was hard for him to focus on sex with her at the best of times. She always seemed like a bitch on heat. Eager . . . so eager. There was never any finesse to it. Straight sex, no kissing, that was his lovely Tams.

He was almost getting himself into the mood for what she wanted when she inadvertently ruined it.

‘Shall I jump back in with you, babe?’

It was that ‘babe’ that killed any hope they’d had but she didn’t know that and he wasn’t going to tell her.

How many other blokes had she said it to over the years?>

Nick pulled the quilt back. Smirking at her, he said nastily, ‘If you can get it hard then it’s all yours, darlin’. And let’s face it, Tams, you’ve had enough practice with everyone else.’

Her face, that had been so open and soft, hardened.

‘Oh, fuck you!’

‘Not this morning you won’t, love. I couldn’t raise a smile, Tams, let alone anything else.’

He laughed at his own wit even as he felt desperately sorry for hurting her. Why did he do this to her? She didn’t deserve this treatment. He grabbed her arm before she could storm away from him.

‘I’m sorry, Tams. Honestly, darlin’, it’s nothing personal, you know that.’

She could hear the sorrow in his voice and knew that he never set out to hurt her even though that was what he always ended up doing. She pulled away from him. Grabbing the towel from the floor, she covered herself up once more. Feeling ashamed of her nakedness now, sorry she had started it all up again.

‘Ain’t it? Well, it feels like it is.’

She picked up a hairbrush from the dressing table and started to drag it through her hair angrily, the hurt and embarrassment making her feel hot with shame.

‘You better see someone and you better see someone soon. This is starting to drive me mad, Nick.’

She stared at him through the dressing-table mirror.

‘Are you seeing anyone else, Nick?’

He could see the fear in her eyes and sighed heavily.

‘ ’Course not. There’s no one, I swear that to you, Tams.’

He was telling her the truth and they both knew it.

‘Not even prostitutes?’

‘
Especially
not fucking prostitutes.’

Though that had been the case in the past.

He walked to the bathroom and locked the door. The sound of the bolt being driven home was loud in the silence of the room.

Tammy looked at herself critically in the bedroom mirror. She was still looking good so it wasn’t her fault. As she looked around the beautiful room, at the Italian furniture and the expensive drapes, she wondered about other women all over the country who were getting the rogering of a lifetime from their old men in surroundings far less salubrious than this. Lucky them. She wondered not for the first time whether marriage to Nick was worth it.

Yet the strangest thing of all was she loved him.

She always had and she always would.

 
Jude was dressed and ready to go. In her black suit and with her hair done ’specially by a neighbour’s daughter she looked almost lovely. Even her make-up was correctly applied. Tyrell knew she could only have done it if she’d stayed off the brown. It must have taken a lot for her not to use on this black day.

She looked almost like the girl she had once been; the slim shoulders, the long legs. Her hair, freshly coloured and cut, looked thick and lustrous. She had never known just how lovely she was. Even his mother, a harsh critic of white girls at the best of times, had been enamoured of her. Still was, in fact. Jude was like a daughter to Verbena. An errant daughter admittedly, but a daughter all the same.

Verbena looked into the sad eyes of Jude Hatcher and felt the tears rolling down her own face. This quiet crying had been going on for the best part of the night. She would not go to the funeral, could not bring herself to leave the house even for her Sonny Boy. But she would be with them in spirit and they knew that.

Sally watched them all looking at Jude and felt the usual resentment welling up inside her. She swallowed it down as she always had.

Reverend Williams held on to Verbena’s trembling hand. She was a staunch supporter of his church and he respected and admired her for the way she had fought to bring her family up in the ways of God.

They were a credit to her - all except Sonny Boy who had been a disgrace since he had first learned to listen to his mother instead of the rest of the world. Reverend Williams felt ashamed of the feelings he had for Jude Hatcher but even his Christian spirit was stretched to the limit where she was concerned.

She had taught her child nothing of any value in his short life. All she had taught him was how to lie and cheat. She was as much to blame for that boy’s death as if she had bludgeoned him herself. It was no mystery where the money was to have gone once he had robbed that poor family.

The man who had been responsible for taking Sonny’s life had looked shell-shocked on television even as he defended his actions. To take a life must be a terrible thing, and for that boy to lose his because his mother couldn’t function without drugs was also a terrible thing. But no matter how hard he tried to feel sorry for Jude Hatcher, the feeling just wouldn’t come.

But he kept his own counsel, there was nothing else he could do. When the grieving mother smiled wanly at him he forced himself to smile back. She was carrion as far as he was concerned. She’d leeched off her son just as she had leeched off society all her life.

‘The cars are here.’

He stood up abruptly, glad to be leaving the house at last, pleased the day was officially beginning. Once the boy was interred they were all coming back here and poor Verbena would have her family around her and could grieve in peace at last. He knew that the people round about had no real sympathy for Sonny Boy, saw his death as something that was going to happen sooner rather than later. But he also knew people cared about poor Verbena and was glad of that fact. She deserved to be cared about; she was a good kind person. Her only mistake in life was believing that she could redeem her grandson, even though he had let her down time and time again.

Now he couldn’t ever let her down again.

 
Nick was in the pub again, only this time he was in the small office he kept beside the cellar. This was where he sorted out his less salubrious business dealings. Joey Miles brought him a large Scotch and said cheerily, ‘Bit early even for you.’

It didn’t stop him pouring himself one.