Well, fuck them. This was all she had really wanted – a quick peek, just to see what the girl had turned out like. And wouldn’t you know, she was exactly as she had expected. A foolish girl who had no desire to make anything of herself. She would live the life of her nana, without anything of real value, and without any idea of the world that was going on outside the confines of this council estate.
Cynthia lit a cigarette and pulled on it deeply; she allowed herself three a day, otherwise all the hours she spent in the gym keeping in shape were pointless. She had a better body now than before she had had her kids. But that was the beauty of living alone, you could do those kind of things; go to the
gym, eat well, take yourself off to a health spa for long weekends. Children stopped that, like they stopped anything good in your life.
Gabriella and Vincent were kissing now, and Cynthia shook her head in consternation. What a fool she had bred, what a complete and utter fool! Gabriella would settle for a life of petty dramas and no money, a life of cleaning and cooking for a man who, once the initial sexual thrill eased off, would use her like an animal while in drink. It was so predictable really, and fucking irritating. She had brought this girl into the world, surely there had to be at least a little bit of her in the child? She reasoned her mum and dad would have made sure whatever spark the girl might have would be repressed. The last thing they would want was another child under their roof with a bit more liveliness than they could cope with, a girl with the chance to make something of her life, instead of emulating them, just existing.
Cynthia drove away quietly, not even glancing into the car where her daughter was telling her boyfriend that she thought she was pregnant and that her nana was going to kill her.
‘Calm down, Gabby. It’s a shock, but it ain’t exactly unheard of in this day and age, is it?’
Gabby couldn’t believe how well Vincent was taking the news. She had thought he would be furious with her. ‘I’m only sixteen, Vince!’
He laughed. ‘We’ll get married, so stop worrying about it, OK? I’ll tell your nana and granddad with you. They won’t be too thrilled but they’ll come round eventually. So please, stop worrying.’
Vincent made it sound so easy and, in a way, she supposed it was. She’d tell them and be damned. But she still felt that she had let them down somehow, had broken their trust. She had a bad feeling on her, although that could just be her hormones.
Vincent felt a rush of love for this girl of his. She was having his baby and she was frightened, but surely she knew that he would always look out for her, always take care of her? She meant everything to him, and she always would.
‘Look, Gabby, once the balloon’s been dropped, you can start planning the wedding, OK? Once your nana knows about that she’ll see we’re serious about each other.’
Gabby nodded, feeling slightly happier but still apprehensive. It was as if a weight was bearing down on her, almost as if her mother was nearby, watching and judging her. Yet she knew that was stupid – what would her mother be doing here? She hated it here, always had. But for a while there she had felt her
presence nearby. It had reminded her of when she was a kid and she had wet her bed, and she knew her mother would be coming into her room. Her mum had a way of letting you know she was near; it was hard to explain but she had almost felt her mother’s closeness. But that was gone now, and she shook herself back to reality.
Vincent was right – it had happened now, and they had to make the best of it. She wondered if it would be a girl or a boy? She didn’t care, she just wanted something to love of her own.
‘Come on, we’ll go up and tell your auntie Celly. She’ll be our buffer until your nana and granddad come round.’
‘Do you think they will come round, Vince?’
He grinned. ‘Take my word for it, once this baby arrives they’ll be over the moon.’
She hoped he was right. She wanted this baby badly, and she
wanted
it to be wanted, not just by her, but by everyone. She knew what it was like to feel unloved, and she was determined no child of hers would feel like that, not ever. It was the worst feeling in the world.
Mary was disappointed, as was Jack, but they both knew there was nothing they could do about any of it. At least Vincent was standing by her, and that was something they supposed. But Gabby was so young, and they both knew how hard it was rearing a child, especially in this day and age. And that social worker, Miss Byrne, had not even looked shocked – it was as if she had been expecting it. In fairness to her, maybe she saw something they hadn’t. She had more experience than they did with children of all kinds, at least that was Mary’s reasoning.
At the moment, though, her main worry was Celeste. The weight was dropping off her, and that would have pleased Mary if she didn’t look so unwell on it. What was strange was that the girl was eating as much as she ever did. She was like some kind of human waste disposal unit, her mouth constantly in motion. Crisps, chocolate, take-aways – she ate anything at any time. And, to crown it all, she would not even go to the hospital, assuring them she was fine. She certainly didn’t look fine – she looked awful but, as the doctor said, there was little anyone could do.
Mary felt plagued with anxiety nowadays, and that was not good for her heart, not good for it at all. Still, she had her tablets, and she didn’t overdo it if she could help it.
‘That girl’s not well, Mary, but she won’t admit it.’
Mary just stopped herself from berating her husband for his uncanny ability to state the bleeding obvious. Instead she said
gently, ‘I know, Jack, but what can we do? Like Doctor Morgan says, if she doesn’t want to see him there’s nothing he can do about it, and neither can we.’
Jack nodded, and Mary saw that, like herself, he was getting old. They were only in their late sixties but they were both in poor health. It was their dirt over the years; smoking, drinking, but also the worry. Oh, they had had their fair share of worry all right. She wondered for the thousandth time if Celeste should be forced from the house; after all, the reason she wouldn’t go to a hospital for tests was because she wouldn’t leave the house. Even the thought of the outside world sent her into a panic. How had this happened to her family? It was a familiar refrain these days, and Mary lay all the blame with Jonny Parker and her elder daughter.
She remembered Celeste as a young girl. She had been full of life, a nice girl without big ambitions – not like her sister in that way. No, Celeste had been a decent kind of person – she still was. But she had never had the toughness needed to survive in a world peopled with the likes of Jonny Parker and Cynthia Tailor.
When she heard that Cynthia had gone back to her maiden name, Mary had wondered briefly if there was any way they could stop her from doing that. Callahan was a good, decent Irish name, and it was meant for better than the likes of Cynthia. At times she loathed her daughter so intensely she felt sure the girl must sense it, no matter how far away she was. She believed that hate could be felt, even if the person wasn’t in the room with you. She hoped her daughter felt her contempt as if it was a living thing; that was what she prayed for.
Since she had tried to get back into Gabby’s life, she had stirred them up in different ways. Gabby had wondered if her mother had changed and was now capable of loving her at least a little. Mary thought she had more chance of getting a wank off the Pope than
that
ever happening. Still, she knew the girl had wanted it badly – needed it, in fact. She wanted to feel that her
mother loved her at least a little. Well, Cynthia wasn’t capable of love. Even her relationship with Jonny Parker had not been about love – it had been about taking what her sister had, and believing she had got one over on her in the process. Now, with Cynthia back in the picture, Celeste had been reminded of everything she had tried so hard to forget.
Celeste was tied to this house, frightened of the world itself. And it was understandable; after all; it had never done her any favours, had it? Now she lived in these few rooms content, in her own way, with her TV programmes and her films about other people’s lives. Even the house in Spain which she had loved so much was now sold. It seemed she would travel only once more in her life, and that would be out of this house in a coffin.
Her daughter’s existence caused Mary no small amount of pain. Knowing her lovely vibrant daughter had been reduced to this wreck of a woman was hard to bear at times. But bore it she did. What else could a mother do? Oh, Cynthia had a lot of things to answer for.
Even that poor demented boy, James Junior, was still in care. Mary didn’t want to see him though, as she had explained to the social workers. She had more than enough on her plate to last her a lifetime. Plus, she had been a bit frightened of James Junior since the kitten incident. Gabby had been kind and written letters to him with all the news, he was her brother after all, despite everything. He had never replied though. But she hadn’t given up.
‘Can I make you a cuppa, girl?’
She nodded at Jack and smiled faintly. ‘That would be lovely.’
Since her heart attack he was like the tea boy, always offering to make her a cup, or get her a few biscuits. She knew it was love and guilt, both of which, unlike Cynthia, he seemed to have in abundance.
Vincent had done two more jobs for Derek and he had another couple lined up. Piece of piss, as his father would say. And that was just it – it was so easy. He drove like other people ate or slept – it came naturally to him. From the moment he drove his first stolen car at thirteen it had been instinctive. Now his talent was making him a fortune, and he would need it as well, what with the baby coming and everything else. He was considering buying into a garage; it would be a legitimate business, and explain away any money he weighed out. He had listened earnestly to Derek and he knew that the man was giving him sound advice. He wanted to be kosher, at least outwardly anyway, and a garage would be ideal for him. He loved nothing more than tampering with cars so, all in all, it would be a win-win situation.
As he sat in the pub in Wapping waiting for Derek Greene to bring his new employers to meet him, he saw a girl watching him. Smiling at her, he realised she was familiar, only he wasn’t sure where he knew her from. She wasn’t local anyway. Pleased that such a nice-looking girl was eyeing him, he sipped at his orange juice, before turning his attention to the door.
The girl was already gone by the time he looked back, and he forgot about her immediately and got on with waiting. He was a patient lad in that respect, and in his job that was what you had to be – patient and calm. Luckily, he possessed both traits in spades.
It was ten minutes later when he saw Derek walk over that it came to him where he had seen the girl before. Getting up, he looked at Derek and said quietly, ‘Fuck off
now,
Del Boy. I think I was just eyeballed by one of the staff of the bank we blagged in Essex. I’m sure I recognised her from our recce.’
Derek didn’t need telling twice, and he left immediately. Phoning the other two people who should have been on the meet he told them it was off, grateful that Vincent had the nous not to drag everyone else into his business. He went back to the yard and telephoned Terry Marchant; he had to give him a heads-up, and assure him that young Vincent would not be swayed. He only hoped that what he was saying was the truth, and the lad didn’t succumb to the police offering him a deal. He didn’t think the boy was capable of that kind of treachery, but you never really knew anybody until the chips were down. Harder men than him had served up their mates at the thought of a big lump.
He was sorry for the kid really; he had a pregnant girlfriend and a promising career. It was the girlfriend that bothered him. Would Vincent keep it shut in the face of leaving her to fend for herself? They would soon know, of that much he was sure.
But it was a bastard of an inconvenience; Terry had a few good jobs lined up for him. On the bright side, maybe the girl didn’t recognise him; after all, he was a nice enough looking lad to attract some female attention. But if she
had
seen him on his recce of the bank, and she remembered him, it was all over. And he had remembered her, so it was definitely related, as the Filth would say. One thing was for sure though. If Vincent fingered any of them, he was a dead man, and that was a promise.
‘What do you mean arrested?’ Mary Callahan was looking at Vincent’s father as if he was an attraction in a zoo.
‘What I say, Mary. He’s been nicked for bank robbery.’
‘What! Vincent?’
Paddy O’Casey sighed in annoyance. ‘Look, is Jack about?’
She opened the door wider and invited the man inside. What was she thinking keeping him on the step like that? It was the shock she supposed.
Jack Callahan was watching the news with his daughter. When he saw Paddy come into the room, he knew there and then that it was not good news. He stood up and shook the man’s hand. ‘What’s up? Is it Vincent?’
Paddy nodded. ‘He’s been pinched, Jack, armed robbery.’
‘When? He’s been here every day . . .’
Paddy waved a hand in annoyance. ‘It was ages ago. He was seen by one of the girls from the bank in a pub and the Filth have him on CCTV a few days before the robbery. Fucking eejit, he is. Anyway, he’s bang to rights and, with a bit of luck, he might make bail. But the brief ain’t too hopeful. The girl in the bank was not the only one to pick him out of a line up – the manager did too. He’ll keep stumm about who was in it with him and, if he pleads guilty, he might get off with a ten stretch.’