She had felt so lonely, so vulnerable in the crematorium, unused to the strange smells and subdued chatter. Quite a few people had turned out, but the majority of them were what her nana termed ‘sightseers’. People who came to tragic events out of a morbid fascination with other people’s troubles. But her heart had soared when Vincent had slipped into the back pew, and the wink he had given her had lifted her troubled spirits.
Her mother, though, had stood alone, and she had wept alone. A forlorn figure, who wasn’t fooling anyone who really knew what she was like. Not one person had acknowledged her, and that must have shown her what people really thought of
her. Still, knowing her mother, Gabby supposed she probably didn’t give a shit. Why change the habits of a lifetime?
Now she had to face the truth of the situation, because a social worker, a Miss Bellamy, was telling her grandmother that her daughter, Mrs Tailor, had signed the papers to put her daughter into care. Her nana and granddad were arguing with her, but somehow she knew there was nothing they could do – not at the moment anyway. By the sounds of it, they had to go to court and get a judge to grant a temporary custody order, and
then
they might get their granddaughter back. It wasn’t a surprise to any of them; it was as if her mother had decided that if
she
couldn’t have her family then
no one
could have them.
Still dazed from the events of the last few weeks, Gabby didn’t have the strength to argue that she didn’t want to go. Instinctively, she knew that if she caused problems with Miss Bellamy now it would affect her in the future.
She seemed a nice woman – well, girl. She looked a cliché of a social worker, all flat sandals and fat ankles. Her thick dark hair looked like a furze bush, but she had kind brown eyes, and that gave Gabby hope.
‘Do I have to go?’
Miss Bellamy looked at the pretty girl with the long blond hair and blue eyes and sighed inwardly. She had not liked the mother of this child, who had seemed overly adamant that the child should not be left with her grandparents. Most parents would prefer their children with family – it was rare that they opposed that – but Mrs Cynthia Tailor had been convinced she was in no fit state to care for the child herself. Since her husband’s suicide she had been on medication and suffering from depression – understandable, of course. But she had also stipulated that
her
parents were not fit role models; as well as their advanced ages, they were also supposedly drinkers, smokers and gamblers, among other more sinister things, not said but hinted at.
So, as always, these cases had to be investigated and, in the interim, the child would be taken into the care of the local authority. Just going on this initial visit though, Miss Bellamy felt the girl would be all right here. The house was clean and well kept, the couple, though old and smokers, were agile enough, and there was genuine affection between them. There was also undisguised animosity against the child’s mother, and that was coming from every one of them.
That there was a brother in a secure unit also had to be taken into the equation. The mother had washed her hands of him, saying he was far too disturbed for her to deal with under the present circumstances. James Junior had had a meltdown when told about his father’s death and had attacked everyone around him. And the next day he had knifed an orderly. He would not be going anywhere for a good while.
Miss Bellamy shook her head at the state of some people’s lives. There was money in this family, good looks and wonderful homes, yet she wouldn’t leave her dog with any of them for the day, let alone allow them to procreate. But such was life; you needed a licence to own a dog or a TV, and you were fined if you didn’t have one, whereas there wasn’t anything to regulate who had a child. It was scandalous really, but there was nothing she could do about any of it. Except pick up the pieces when it went wrong.
‘Who would you like to stay with, Gabriella?’
Gabby smiled then. ‘I’d like to stay here. I’ve been here for the best part of my life – I only lived at home recently.’
Mary chimed in then as if on cue, ‘My daughter was never what you would call the maternal type, if you know what I mean.’
‘That’s an understatement, girl. A rat could do a better job of rearing its young than her.’ Jack’s voice was low and hard.
‘She killed my dad, you know that, don’t you?’ Gabby added. ‘He caught her with her boyfriend, my auntie’s husband, her
own
sister’s
husband. I was there, and they were on the kitchen table . . .’
Miss Bellamy had heard the gossip; who hadn’t? It had lit up the offices for days. It was the talk of East London, and the man Mrs Tailor had been caught with was a local villain, so that just added grist to the mill. Not that there were any laws against villains having families, in fact many of the so-called villains were good parents. It was a contradiction in terms really.
‘Please let me stay here.’
It was a genuine plea and, smiling, Miss Bellamy said gently, ‘I’ll do all I can, but you need to go through the proper channels. Can you pack a few things, Gabriella? Then we’ll be on our way.
‘But I ain’t long cremated my dad, I won’t know anyone . . . I’m frightened, I want to stay here with my nana and granddad . . .’ Gabby could hear the panic entering her voice. She didn’t want to leave here, this was her home, the only home she had ever really wanted to be in. It was so unfair – once more her mother was controlling them all, even when she wasn’t around she could still call the shots. Gabby ran into her grandmother’s arms and Mary held her, soothing her as if she was a small child, not a growing girl.
‘It won’t be for long, if we cause trouble now it will go against us. Look at poor Hannah from across the road, they took all hers away because she fought with them. You do as you’re told, child, and we’ll have you back home quick smart. I’ll let Vince know where you are, child, so don’t fret.’
That was what she wanted, needed to hear and, after a little cry and a few more hugs, Gabby did as she was bidden, but with a heavy heart.
‘Listen, Celeste, it was madness – I was caught up in a madness. You know what Cynthia can be like.’
Celeste still hadn’t spoken to Jonny, not a word since Jimmy’s funeral. It was as if she had left her body behind and gone some place no one could reach her.
‘Please talk to me, love.’
She stared at him, her eyes unblinking. It was a clear, honest gaze and it made him feel even more ashamed than he already did. Celeste could do that, she could make a person feel they were in the wrong with a look, a look that was more powerful than a politician’s maiden speech. He knew it was because of her and the way she lived her life. Straight as a die was his Celeste. Decent,
honourable.
He had thought he was honourable too, once. Now, with the flak coming at him from all sides, he knew that word would never be used about him again, ever.
Jimmy’s death had caused him a lot of problems. Men were wary of dealing with him now. A thief was acceptable, though not a gas-meter bandit or a robber of council houses or sheltered accommodation. But an honest to goodness blagger – a bank robber – was respected for the time and effort that went into such an enterprise. Liars were never welcome. Liars were dangerous people you avoided at all costs, because eventually their lies caught up with them, and everyone around them was tarred with the same brush. Even the Bible had a section about liars, as it did about adulterers.
Many people had guessed about Jonny and his sister-in-law – the delectable but definitely off-her-rocker Cynthia – and they had not voiced their opinions, not in public anyway. After all, it
was
Jonny P they were talking about.
But Jimmy topping himself had left a bad taste with all and sundry. Suicide was not something the criminal world embraced – unless it was a grass, of course.
They
were expected to do it; it was a much easier death than if they were found by the people they had grassed. But that was beside the point. Since Jimmy’s death, people had began to question Jonny P’s other activities, the general consensus being if you were capable of something
that
sleazy you were capable of anything. To add fuel to the fire, there were a few new kids on the block and they were not helping by questioning the integrity of Jonny Parker.
Jonny had made many enemies on his way up the criminal ladder, and it was these people who were only too glad to see him reap what he had sown. The wives whispered about a man who could treat his wife so, a man who could happily cuckold someone who worked for him. Jimmy was now remembered as a paragon. People said that it was no wonder he had been a drunk and a cokehead with a wife like Cynthia, and her up to all sorts with her sister’s husband, the man who employed him and paid his wages. That her children were now in care was the most scandalising thing of all. The boy, it was rumoured, was not all the ticket; he had killed a neighbour’s cat, cut its throat of all things! The girl was supposedly a nice little thing. Now that she was in a home, some of the women speculated that Cynthia hadn’t liked the competition from her daughter. The girl was a beauty and that hard-faced bitch had unloaded her like she did everyone who got in her way, her husband included. Some even hinted that it was planned, that finding them like that on the kitchen table had been deliberate.
It didn’t take long for Jonny Parker’s carefully garnered reputation as a good guy to be forgotten. He was now definitely
deemed to have become too big for his boots or, as some of the cruder men said, he thought his shit didn’t stink, and that could only cause him problems in his various enterprises.
It had shocked him as well that many of the Eastern Europeans he worked with, especially the Russians, saw what he had done as something akin to genocide. They were actively cold-shouldering him, and that was a worry in itself.
Yes, he had had an affair. So what? It wasn’t his finest hour, even he admitted that, but the backlash had been astronomical. Jimmy Tailor killing himself had really sealed his fate, and he felt the weight of his guilt pressing down on him more and more each day.
Now he had the added torture of seeing Celeste, who he loved, really cared about, become, through his machinations, a shadow of her former self.
He wondered at times how the fuck he had allowed this to happen. But he knew the answer as well as the next man. He had always taken what he wanted, that was the trouble, and where that had once been seen as a strength, now it was a weakness. All he could do now was try and live it down. It was harsh and it was not going to be easy, but that was what he had to do. He had to get up and go to work as usual, look his critics in the eye and earn back his reputation little by little.
Celeste was still staring at him as he said slowly, smiling crookedly, ‘I’m sorry, love. I’m so very sorry.’
She put her hand out and laid it on top of his. ‘I know.’
He lowered his head and fought back the urge to cry.
Derek Greene was happy, but then he was a man with a happy disposition. He had a lovely family, a nice life, and he had a shrewd head on his rather large shoulders. Today he was happier than ever. Today was the day he finally came into his own, and he couldn’t wait for the fireworks to start. It had been a long haul, but he was content enough to wait a few more days to get his bonus. And what a bonus.
Jonny Parker was champing at the bit, and that was
exactly
where Derek wanted him. Considering the man’s troubles, he was conducting his business with his usual acumen and Derek had to admire that, even if he did think Jonny needed a moral compass for his dinner now and again to remind him what was acceptable behaviour and what wasn’t. But that was then and this was now.
‘You look happy, Del Boy.’
He grinned at his wife. ‘That’s because I am, my princess.’
She looked at him shrewdly; they had been together since they were thirteen and she knew him better than he knew himself. ‘What you up to?’ She was suspicious now; her biggest fear was that he would do something silly and get a serious lump like his father.
‘Just a bit of graft, nothing too serious but a good earner. Who are you then, the police?’
She grinned back. She loved her husband with all her being, and she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved her
back. Three kids, numerous stretch marks, and a boob job later, she and Derek were still together. She knew she was lucky and she appreciated her luck. She would never take him for granted – that was how you lost your man. She still ran his bath for him, and massaged his shoulders, he was a king in his domain. That was how you kept your man in his home, and stopped him from being tempted to visit someone else’s. Men were like kids – when they got bored they moved on to the next game. Well, that wasn’t going to happen to her and Derek; she would see to that.
‘You going to be late tonight?’
He shrugged. ‘Depends, love, but if I’m gonna be later than usual I’ll call, OK?’
She nodded. She knew he would call, and that was enough for her.
‘Come on, Linford, you know it makes sense.’
Linford Fargas grinned, but it wasn’t his usual friendly grin, and Jonny knew it would be a long while before they were once more back on their old footing. Linford had worked often with Jimmy; he had liked him and had been grieved at Jimmy’s demise. To kill yourself was a terrible thing, and Linford had first-hand knowledge of that as his brother had hanged himself in Brixton while on remand. It was still a sore point with him, and he believed wholeheartedly that nothing could ever be so bad that you would take your own life. Life was something precious – your own life especially. You had one crack at it and you had a duty to yourself to make that life the best it could be. He resented Jonny’s part in Jimmy’s death, and that resentment lingered, unspoken, between them now.