Kerry was lying in bed with Evander, at the quiet stage after lovemaking. When the only thing needed, or indeed wanted, is to feel your lover’s heart beating with your own. He stroked her belly with soft fingers and Kerry groaned. The bedclothes had fallen to the floor and the remains of a bottle of wine and a platter of bread and cheese stood on the night table. They had yet to sleep, and were both dozing when they heard the sound of a key in the front door.
Evander sat upright, and Kerry hastily jumped from the bed and pulled a sheet around her when they heard Bernie’s voice.
‘Hello, Kerry, it’s me!’
Kerry and Evander looked at one another and Kerry, putting a finger to her lips, went to the door and slipped through it out into the hallway. Bernie was hanging up her coat. She smiled.
‘Morning, Kerry.’ She looked her sister up and down and raised one finely plucked black eyebrow.
‘What has the wicked witch stumbled on here then? Could you have a man in there!’
Kerry licked her lips nervously.
‘What you doing back here so early? I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.’
‘Our mother’s took Rosie and gone on the ponce round Briony’s about the wedding - Eileen’s wedding actually. So I thought I may as well come back here and get started on your dresses for tonight.’
‘Eileen’s getting married?’
Bernie walked through to the kitchen and started to fill the kettle.
‘How many cups of tea shall I make, two or three? Or would the chap in there prefer coffee?’
Evander’s love of coffee was common knowledge around the club. He had tried tea and it had made him violently sick. Suddenly it was crystal clear to Kerry. Bernie knew everything and she was going to use it against her. That had been her way since childhood. She looked for a handle on people then used it for her own ends.
Kerry drew herself up to her full height and walked into the bedroom.
‘Get up, get up now!’ Evander looked at her in shock. She threw the sheet from her own body and pulled on a dressing gown. Then she stormed from the room.
Bernie was getting the cups out of the dresser when Kerry stamped back into the kitchen.
‘You bitch! You nasty, vindictive cow! You know exactly who I’m sleeping with. Well, yes, you can make him a cup of coffee. You can also pack your bags and get the hell out of here and back to Mum’s. I don’t need you on my back, Bernie Cavanagh, I never did and I never will. Take yourself and your arseholing ways back home to Mum!’
Bernadette turned to face her sister and her mouth opened twice before she could form any words.
‘What? What did you say?’
Kerry snorted through her nose.
‘You heard. What? You deaf now as well as stupid? I said, you can get the hell out of here. I know your game, mate. Well, you tell who the fuck you like. It won’t make no difference to me. I ain’t ashamed of anything where that man’s concerned, I love the bones of him. So now you know.’
Bernie’s mind was working overtime. If Kerry slung her out now she would be back home permanently; she would also be without a job. As Kerry’s dresser she got a good wage and did nothing really to earn it except iron her dresses or alter them if necessary. She was well set up nowadays and it was all thanks to Kerry and Briony. She also knew that no matter what Briony’s opinion of Evander Dorsey might be, she would not like the fact Bernie had tried to deck one over on Kerry. She wouldn’t like that at all.
‘I don’t know what you mean, Kerry. I guessed ages ago about you and Evander, saw you looking at each other. I knew what the outcome was going to be. If I was going to say anything I would have said it by now. I’m pleased for you. I’m glad you’ve found someone!’
‘Oh, pull the other one, it’s got golden bells on! I know your game, Bernie, you’ve always been the same...’
Evander walked into the kitchen. He had pulled on his trousers and vest. Bernadette looked at his muscled torso and his handsome face and found it in her heart to see just what had attracted Kerry.
‘Stop all this shouting, ladies. It’s wrong for you two to fall out over me. Now let’s have a cup of coffee and try and talk this out.’
Bernie saw that his eyes were wary and her heart lifted. He was scared of her, of what she could say, of who she could tell. Unlike Kerry, he was more than aware of what the outcome could be if she walked from this house. After all, no one would physically hurt Kerry but he would be lynched.
‘She’s a vicious cow, Evander, you don’t know her.’
Bernie was shocked at the vehemence in her sister’s voice.
‘Oh, come on, Kerry, what have I done to deserve that? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, I swear. I’ll keep this as close a secret as you. After all, if it got out...’
She left the rest of the sentence in mid air and Evander bit his lip. The kettle boiled and Bernie busied herself making the drinks. Kerry stood with her back against the table and her arms tight across her chest. Unlike Evander she knew what Bernie was capable of, though unlike Evander she wasn’t as aware of what would really happen should the affair become public.
Bernie gave everyone their drinks. Putting her arm on Kerry’s, she said sweetly: ‘I don’t want to fall out over this, Kerry. You’re my sister and I’ll keep this a secret for as long as you want. I mean it. If you’re happy then I’m happy. If you really want me to leave I will. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted. But even if you ding me out, I won’t say a dicky bird to anyone.’
Kerry looked into the face so like her own and felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
She knew that Bernie was staying whether she wanted it or not, Evander’s reaction had seen to that. But it saddened her that she could never trust her sister, or indeed understand the hatred in her. It had always been the same. Since they were babies Bernie had always had a vicious streak where she was concerned. It was jealousy, and jealousy made people do evil things. For the first time Kerry was really frightened, not for herself but for Evander.
Molly was putting the finishing touches to the lunch she had prepared for Joshua O’Malley and his mother. She swept her eyes around her house to make sure everything was gleaming. Satisfied, she went to the fireplace and, taking up a large brick, banged it on the back of the grate three times. The banging was answered by two knocks from the other side of the wall and two minutes later Mother Jones came in at Molly’s front door.
‘Oh, Molly, it looks a picture. Beautiful. Even that old bitch won’t be able to find fault.’
Molly smiled in satisfaction. Elizabeth O’Malley was the only fly in the ointment as far as Eileen’s wedding was concerned. Hated by everyone in Dagenham and Barking for her vindictive tongue and her holy Joeing ways, she was now to become a member of the Cavanagh family, and as much as the thought distressed Molly she would take a lot to see her eldest daughter happily married, even take on Elizabeth O’Malley if necessary.
‘The food smells beautiful, now stop your worrying. Did I tell you what I heard the other week?’
Molly busied herself tidying Rosalee’s hair and said, ‘No, what?’
‘It seems Mrs O’Malley was cleaning out St Vincent’s Presbytery when who should come in but Jean Barlow. The woman’s got a tongue like an adder! Well, poor Father McNamara was nearly shitting himself at the two of them in the same place. I mean, their hatred of one another goes back years! Barlow was knocking off O’Malley’s man just before he died. Well, this is the rub. Barlow asks the priest if he could set the banns up for her next weddin’, looking at O’Malley all the time like, trying to annoy the life out of her. So O’Malley says all innocent like, “Aren’t you a bit long in the tooth for getting married, Mrs Barlow?” And that mare turns on her and says: “There’s no set age for getting married, or indeed falling in love. Why, Mr O‘Malley could have told you that, dear.”’
Molly gaped. ‘She didn’t mention O’Malley’s man?’
Mother Jones roared with laughter.
‘She did! Well, the priest, God love him and keep him, had to separate them. Mrs McAnulty his housekeeper threw a bucket of water over them in the end. Like alley cats, she said they were, and the language! The priest was red-faced for days after!’
‘Well, good for Barlow, I say. It’s about time someone gave that bitch one in the eye. No one split on her old man because they were glad to see someone getting one over on the old cow.’
As she said that Eileen walked through the front door with the woman in question and her son, and Molly, being Molly and a mother who wanted her girl wed, held out her arms and said: ‘Come away inside, Mrs O’Malley. This is indeed a pleasure!’
Tommy Lane and his close friend and minder Jimmy Reynard walked into the lunch-time crush of The Two Puddings in Stratford. They pushed their way through to the bar and Tommy ordered two pints of best bitter. He noticed he was being observed by a huge bald-headed man called Boris Jackobitz. Tommy looked the man in the face and, raising his pint, motioned with his head to the back bar. Boris nodded almost imperceptibly and five minutes later slipped through the curtained doorway at the back of the pub. Tommy and Jimmy followed.
Their disappearance went unnoticed by the clientele who were waiting for the result of a horse race. This was the place for betting. It was crowded out day and night with punters. From well-to-do middle-class shopkeepers to run of the mill petty criminals and local hard men, all had one thing in common: a love of the horses. It was the main topic of conversation and the only interest of most of the clientele.
Boris employed runners from the age of seven to fifty, and was the foremost bookie in London. He chased his bets like the fillies chased the Cheltenham Gold Cup: conscientiously and without ever letting up. If you couldn’t pay Boris it was time to leave the country.
He closed the heavy wooden door behind the thick curtain and motioned for Tommy to sit. He didn’t extend this courtesy to Jimmy because a minder should always stand and remain alert. Jimmy leant against the wall and crossed his arms, watching Boris all the time.
‘So what can I do for you, Tommy Lane? Long time no see.’ Boris’s deep and throaty voice was accompanied by a chuckle. Tommy smiled and crossed his legs. Pulling out one of his cheap cheroots, he lit it before saying: ‘You’re looking well, Boris me old mate. Prosperous and happy. That’s what I like to see.’
Boris shrugged his shoulders and clenched his fists, emphasising his muscular torso.
‘I have to keep well, Tommy, there’s so many people wanting to come up in the world over my back. And yours, I don’t doubt. I keep my place with fear and a little bit of respect. Now, we’ve had the polite chit-chat, what’s the rub? I’m a busy man.’
‘You know just about everything that’s going on. People owe you money, and when they can’t pay they trade information. What’s been going on in the streets that would interest me particularly?’
Boris digested Tommy’s words and, opening a drawer in the table, took out a bottle of red-eye whisky. Pulling the cork out with his teeth, he took a long drink before offering it to Tommy. He took the bottle and swigged from it, wiping his hand across his mouth afterwards.
‘Is what you have to tell me so bad I’ll need a stiff drink first?’
His voice was jocular and Boris, noted for his dry sense of humour, laughed out loud.
‘Maybe, Tommy Lane. Maybe. It’s Bolger you’re interested in, isn’t it? Well, I heard a whisper- only a whisper, mind - that he has been seen with Isaac Dubronsky. He’s well in with the Jews. Now they’ve always stuck to trading and loan sharking, but I understand Willy wants them to branch out into the cat business. Never had no time for whores myself, prefer my females to have four legs and a good pedigree. But it’s funny, you know, Tommy, you coming here, because I was going to see that woman of yours, Briony. It seems she’s the one he’s gunning for. He’s been asking all over town about her. It sounds more a vengeance thing to me. You know, I wondered if she’d had a word with him at sometime, a run-in like? Because he was asking about her in Stratford not a week since. And around Barking. About her family. You might not believe me but I was going to see the lady in question myself, especially after that young girl was cut.’
Tommy stared at Boris with awe. There was nothing that escaped his notice. He rarely used his information, it was more of a hobby to him.
‘You know about Ginelle?’
Boris grinned. ‘Listen, Tommy, I know everything about everyone, yourself included. But I don’t use anything unless it benefits me. If you have a handle on someone it brings in unpaid debts a lot faster than a hiding. Also, if I hear of a robbery and one of the people involved owes me money, I can collect it quickly and cleanly. But this Bolger I don’t like. He cut a friend of mine a few years back, a young tom who liked a bet. He cut her face. I went to see him myself. That’s where Willy got the scar across his back. I done him with a razor and Willy, being Willy, let me. That was why I wanted to see young Briony. I like her. I liked her when she was a child and her father used to send her with a bet. Tell her from me, whatever happens, I will be on her side.’
‘Thanks, Boris, I appreciate that.’
He smiled, showing black teeth, and shook his head. ‘I always was a gentleman. Whatever my reputation, I would never hurt a woman. Bolger has made a career of it. The sooner he’s cleaned off the pavements, the better.’
Tommy stood up and held out his hand. Boris grasped it and squeezed it tightly.
‘Go and see Dubronsky. If I know him he’s in over his head. He’s strictly small-time.’
‘I will.’ Turning back at the door, Tommy said, ‘I’ll tell Briony what you said, Boris. She’ll really appreciate it.’
He grinned.
‘She’s a good businesswoman, clear-headed and sensible. Most women are when you get to know them properly. I think they could even run the country one day!’