Czytaj książkę: «The Trap»
KIMBERLEY CHAMBERS
The Trap
Copyright
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
Copyright © Kimberley Chambers 2013
Kimberley Chambers asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007435036
Ebook Edition © February 2013 ISBN: 9780007435043
Version: 2016-11-11
In memory of all our brave soldiers who have lost their lives in action including my own grandfather “Gunner Thomas Henry Caunter”
If you trap the moment before it’s ripe,
The tears of repentance you certainly wipe.
But if once you let the ripe moment go,
You can never wipe off the tears of woe.
William Blake
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Star in the Trap Series!
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Epilogue
Keep Reading
Acknowledgments
Join Kimberley’s Social Networks
About the Author
Also by Kimberley Chambers
About the Publisher
Prologue
Autumn 1965
Unable to make himself heard above Sandie Shaw belting out ‘Long Live Love’, Donald Walker made his way over to the Wurlitzer jukebox and turned down the volume.
‘Don’t do that! You know I like Sandie,’ Mary Walker said, as though she knew the singer personally.
‘There’s somebody knocking at the door,’ Donald informed his wife.
Mary walked over to the door and unbolted it. She was greeted by a sturdy-looking woman standing there in a dark-grey overcoat. At a guess, Mary thought she was probably in her mid fifties, but it was hard to be sure because of the curlers and hairnet on her head. ‘Hello. Can I help you?’ Mary asked, politely.
‘No, but I can help you,’ the woman replied, barging her way past Mary and into the premises.
Donald and Mary knew very little about the East End or its natives. They were North Londoners, having lived in Stoke Newington for many years, but this café in Whitechapel had been far too cheap to turn down, which is why they had decided to up sticks and move.
‘Hello, I’m Donald and this is my wife, Mary. As you have probably already realized, we are the new owners of the café. We officially open for business tomorrow but would you like a cup of tea or coffee?’ Donald asked.
Shaking her head, the woman held out her right hand. ‘I’m Freda. Freda Smart. I live just around the corner.’
‘And how can you help us?’ Mary enquired. She had a feeling that Freda was about to ask for a job, but there was no chance of that as she and Donald had spent every penny they had refurbishing the rundown café and were in no position to employ staff just yet.
‘I can help you by telling you why this café has been empty for eighteen long months before you bought it and why you probably got it for peanuts,’ Freda spat.
Mary gave her husband a worried glance. This café had been half the cost of any others they had looked at and the only one in their meagre price-range. But this woman seemed unhinged somehow and Mary wondered if she perhaps held a grudge against the previous owner.
‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Donald asked. He had noticed that the woman’s forehead had beads of sweat forming which had now started to drip onto one of his brand-new melamine tables.
‘No, don’t want nuffink. Just come to let you know the score. No-one else round ’ere will tell you. They’re all too bleedin’ well frightened of ’em, but I ain’t.’
‘Frightened of who?’ Mary asked, perplexed.
‘Frightened of the Butlers. They own that snooker club just around the corner. Old Jack who used to own this café, they killed his son, Peter. Broke his wife Ethel’s heart it did and if you don’t abide by their rules, they’ll rip the heart out of your family too. I saw you move in. You got two little kids, ain’t ya? Well, if you just do as I say, you’ll be OK. Albie’s the dad. He’s a piss-head, a proper waster. The mother is the brains of the family. Hard-looking old cow called Queenie. Her sister is Vivvy, she has a mongol son, and Queenie’s kids are Vinny, who is the worst out the bunch, Roy, Michael, and young Brenda. When they come in here, look after ’em. Serve ’em before any other customers and don’t charge ’em for food or drinks, you get me?’
Seeing the distressed look on his wife’s face, Donald was extremely annoyed. Opening their café tomorrow was meant to be one of the best moments of their lives and yet this madwoman was here, upsetting his Mary and threatening to spoil the joyous occasion. ‘I can assure you, Freda, that Mary and I will not be giving free drinks or food to anybody and our customers will also be served in the order they arrive in. Now, if you don’t mind, could I please ask you to leave? Mary and I still have lots of work to do before we open tomorrow and we have very little time left to accomplish that task.’
Absolutely furious that her sound advice hadn’t been listened to, Freda stood up, stomped towards Donald and poked him in the chest. ‘Dig your own grave, what do I care? But, don’t say I didn’t warn you. The Butlers, remember the name. They catch people in their trap, just like spiders do,’ she yelled, as Donald escorted her out of the café.
‘Oh my God! What have we done, Donald? And who the hell are the Butlers?’ Mary asked, when her husband had locked the door.
Donald took his wife in his arms. At six foot, he towered over Mary’s five-foot frame. He was the man of the family and protect her he would. ‘Do not worry yourself, my darling. Freda is obviously the mad local scaremonger. And even if that Butler family do come in here, we won’t have any problems with them, I can absolutely assure you of that.’
Nestling herself against Donald’s broad chest, Mary breathed a sigh of relief. Her husband’s instincts were never wrong.
Five minutes later the jukebox was back on and Mary and Donald worked happily side by side. They sang in unison to the Beatles’ ‘Help’, but what they didn’t realize was that in the not-too-distant future, they would be needing help themselves. Every word that Freda Smart had spoken happened to be the truth. She wasn’t mad, nor was she a scaremonger. She was just a realist who had done her utmost to warn a decent family of the perils of moving to Whitechapel.
CHAPTER ONE
‘There’s two people waiting outside, Daddy. Can we open the door now?’ asked young Nancy Walker.
Urging his eleven-year-old daughter to come away from the window, Donald smiled as Nancy skipped towards him. Nancy was like a miniature version of her mother: petite, blonde, with blue eyes and a cute button nose.
‘How’re we doing for time, Donald?’ Mary shouted out.
Holding his daughter’s hand, Donald led her into the kitchen. ‘We have twenty minutes until our business officially opens, my dear,’ he said, proudly. He had worked two jobs for many years to secure his and Mary’s aim of a better life for themselves and their family. He had even worked at weekends while Mary brought the children up nigh-on singlehandedly, but it had been worth it now they had achieved their dream.
‘Look, Dad. I buttered all that,’ Christopher said, pointing towards a stack of bread.
Donald ruffled the hair of his eight-year-old son. Christopher looked nothing like his mother and sister. He took after his dad with his brown hair and his chocolate-coloured eyes.
‘Can you put that cake in the display cabinet for me, Donald? Oh, and turn the jukebox on as well,’ Mary ordered.
Donald raised his eyebrows to the ceiling at the mention of the jukebox. He had been totally against purchasing such an object. He had finally relented when Mary explained her exact reasons for wanting one. ‘I don’t want ours to be like some grotty old transport café, Donald. I want it to be vibrant and modern. If we buy the jukebox outright, just think of the extra income we will earn with people putting all their pennies in. We don’t want a café full of old-age pensioners, do we? We want to attract a younger crowd that have money to spend, and music is the best attraction of all. That new band, the Rolling Stones, would liven up a graveyard,’ Mary insisted.
Donald sat down on one of the posh plastic shiny red chairs that his wife had fallen in love with. She had an eye for décor, did his Mary, and Donald had to admit she had done a bloody good job. Red and white had been her colour theme and apart from the picture of James Dean that sat proudly on the wall opposite the jukebox, everything was a mixture of those two colours. Thinking how trendy and also how very American it all looked, Donald smiled, stood up, and walked into the kitchen. ‘I can’t wait any longer. Let’s open the door now, shall we?’
‘Can I open it?’ Christopher shouted, grabbing his father’s arm.
‘No, I want to do it,’ Nancy said obstinately, pushing her brother out of the way.
‘Behave yourselves, please. Seeing as your mother designed this and buying a café was all her idea in the first place, it will be her that opens the door to the public.’
Eyes shining with excitement, Mary picked up the scissors. Donald had put a piece of red ribbon across the outside of the door this morning and once that was cut, their wonderful café was open for the whole wide world to see. ‘To happiness and success,’ Mary said.
Queenie Butler stared at her mother’s grave and crouched down next to her sister. ‘We’ve tidied you up, Mum, and we’re off now. Love you. God bless,’ Queenie said, kissing her fingers and placing her right hand against her mother’s headstone.
‘Yep. God bless, sweetheart,’ Vivian added, solemnly.
‘Don’t our flowers look beautiful?’ Queenie commented, linking arms with her sister.
Vivian nodded. ‘Best-looking grave over here by miles. At least we have respect for the dead, unlike some people,’ she said loudly, as Old Mother Taylor walked past.
‘Stop it, Viv,’ Queenie laughed.
‘Well, her old man’s grave is an eyesore. How the hell can she visit him regular and stare at those weeds? It ain’t bleedin’ normal. Lazy old cow,’ Vivian said, loudly.
‘Whatever is your Lenny doing?’ Queenie enquired.
Marching over to her nine-year-old son, Vivian clipped him around the ear. ‘What have I told you about pissing over ’ere, eh? If you wanna do a wee-wee, you ask me and I’ll take you to a toilet. You don’t get your dingle-dangle out in public, understand? It’s naughty.’
‘Sorry, Mummy,’ Lenny said, grinning.
As her nephew skipped on ahead of them, Queenie chuckled. ‘I’m sure he only does it to wind you up, Viv. He laughs every time you have a go at him. Sod all wrong with his brain. Smart as a button, he is.’
Vivian batted her eyelids. Lenny was her only son, she adored him, but it wasn’t easy bringing up a child with disabilities. Lenny had nearly died when she’d given birth to him. She had gone into labour at home and when the doctor finally arrived, he hadn’t been able to get her son out at first. Lenny had been in the breech position and it seemed like an eternity before he finally entered the world. Queenie had been with her throughout, holding her hand while she screamed blue murder and both of them had thought little Lenny was a goner. He lay motionless on the bed for a good few minutes before the doctor managed to find signs of life. The relief she felt when she heard that first cry come from his lips, Vivian would remember till her dying day.
Lenny’s dad was an East End Jack-the-lad called Bill Harris. Bill was working his way up the criminal ladder and had felt humiliated being associated with a son who wasn’t born perfect. It was common knowledge locally that Bill was knocking off the tarty barmaid in the Blind Beggar and when Vivian finally learned of his betrayal, she had packed his clothes in a couple of sacks, marched inside the pub with Queenie alongside her, chucked them at the barmaid, and told her she was welcome to her no-good husband. That was over three years ago now, and Vivian had never clapped eyes on Bill Harris since. Rumour had it that he’d moved to Barking and set up home with his new tart. Viv hoped this wasn’t true, as she would much prefer the bastard to be six feet under and covered by earth.
‘Your Lenny looks more and more like my Michael every day. Wouldn’t Mum have loved him now?’ Queenie said, wistfully.
Vivian nodded. Their poor old mum had died last year and had adored young Lenny. She’d had a stroke and was found dead in her armchair with her knitting on her lap. She was only fifty-seven, no age at all.
‘Shall we pop in and see the boys in the club on the way back?’ Queenie asked. She was dead proud of her two eldest sons for recently setting up their own business. It was officially a snooker club, but it was common knowledge locally that it was really an illegal drinking and gambling den.
Queenie wasn’t daft. She knew Vinny and Roy had pulled off a robbery or two to afford such an establishment, but it didn’t bother her. She wanted her sons to live the good life and if that meant swindling the odd person or company along the way, then so be it.
‘Yeah, why not. They might find Lenny some jobs to do this afternoon which will give me a break. Old Jack’s café re-opens today, you know. Fat Beryl saw one of them jukeboxes being delivered there, so it sounds posh. Let’s be nosy and have a cuppa there first, then we’ll pop in to see the boys.’
‘Oh, I dunno, Viv. Say all Old Jack’s customers are back in there? He was ever so popular, was Jack. My Vinny swears blind he had nothing to do with young Peter’s murder, but I don’t fancy walking into a furnace. Perhaps we should pop in there when it’s been open a couple of weeks? Bound to be packed today.’
‘People are always gonna spread bloody rumours. Your Vinny’s got good morals, you know that. Peter was a pervert, that’s a fact, and if it was Vinny that topped him for touching up that poor child, then he deserves a bleedin’ medal. Let’s walk in there with our heads held high. You are Queenie Butler, no bastard would have the guts to say anything bad to you, would they? Or me, for that matter, and if somebody did get a bit lippy, we’ll just walk round the corner and tell the boys.’
Knowing how feared her two eldest sons were, Queenie couldn’t help but chuckle. ‘Sod it then. Let’s go and be nosy.’
Donald and Mary had been rushed off their feet all morning. Donald was in charge of the cooking in the kitchen and Mary was out at the front taking customers’ orders and making teas, coffees, sandwiches and rolls. Even young Nancy and Christopher had worked flat-out. They were in charge of the washing and drying up, with the promise of some extra pocket money.
At the first lull in the day’s activities, Donald left the kitchen to join his wife at the counter.
‘The interest that jukebox has caused, you would not believe. Everybody who has come in has had a look at it. Told you it would be good for business, didn’t I?’ Mary said, treating Donald to a smug expression. Her husband could be a domineering man at times, but Mary had learned to stick up for herself over the years. Nancy always sided with her, and Christopher with his father, but overall they were a happy, well-balanced family.
‘You most certainly did, my dear. I can’t believe how busy we have been, can you? Perhaps it’s a bit of a novelty as it’s our first day, but if things continue in the same vein, we will have to look at taking on a member of staff, Mary. The kids start their new school next week, remember? And there is no way I would have had time to wash and dry up this morning as well as cook all the food.’
‘Let’s see how things pan out. Perhaps we can take someone on part-time to help us out in our busiest period?’ Mary replied. She and Donald had planned to open from seven in the morning to seven in the evening to begin with.
Donald didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the reaction of his seated customers to the two bleached-blonde women and dark-haired child who had just walked in. They were being treated like royalty. Because there were no spare tables, at least three different people had leapt up to give them theirs and one man had even offered to buy them their food and drink.
‘This has to be members of that Butler family that Mad Freda warned us about,’ Donald hissed in his wife’s ear.
Mary smiled broadly as the young boy ran over to the jukebox and the two women approached the counter. ‘Hello, I’m Mary Walker and this is my husband, Donald. We are the new owners of this establishment,’ Mary said, for about the fiftieth time that day.
‘Music, Mummy. I wanna dance,’ young Lenny shouted at the top of his voice.
‘’Ere you go, boy,’ an old man in a flat cap said, handing Lenny some coins.
Queenie held out her right hand. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Queenie Butler and this is my sister, Vivian. My sons own the snooker club just around the corner and that young man over there is Lenny, Vivvy’s boy.’
The volume on the jukebox wasn’t overly loud, but as Lenny started singing and bopping away to the sound of Buddy Holly’s ‘That’ll be the Day’, most of the people in the café fawned over him, then clapped in unison.
Mary joined in with the applause.
‘Rock and roll mad, he is. Dunno where he gets it from. Nobody else in the bleedin’ family likes it,’ Vivian informed Mary.
‘Right, we’ll have two cups of rosy and I’ll have one of them scones with thick butter on it,’ Queenie said.
‘I’ll have a scone too and a can of pop and an iced bun for my Lenny,’ Vivian added.
Remembering Mad Freda’s warning about the Butlers not paying, Mary was relieved when Queenie handed her a pound note, then thanked her as she gave her her change.
Mary followed Donald out into the kitchen. ‘Well, that Freda was obviously mad. She said the boy was a mongol and even though you can tell he is a bit backward, he certainly isn’t one of those. And even though the women seem a bit rough and ready, they were polite enough and paid for their order.’
Donald kissed his wife on the forehead. ‘I told you everything would be fine.’ There was no way Donald would worry his Mary, but he really hadn’t liked the look of those Butler women. The atmosphere in the café had been normal before they’d walked in and he could tell people were only offering them their tables, fawning over the child, and generally falling over backwards out of some kind of fear. Donald wasn’t stupid. Those Butlers had danger stamped all over them.
Vinny and Roy Butler grinned as they divided up the previous evening’s takings.
‘Blinding! And another good night was had by all,’ Vinny said, as he handed his brother a pile of notes.
Roy chuckled. ‘You sticking the other pile back in the kitty?’
‘Yep. We gotta speculate to accumulate,’ Vinny replied, in a sensible manner.
At twenty, Vinny was two years older than his brother Roy, and between them they were on their way to becoming a force to be reckoned with. A container-load of TVs they had stolen had paid for them to buy the rundown snooker club, and even though it had taken six months to save enough money to refurbish it to their lavish taste, it now looked very classy.
Unlike a lot of young East End wannabes, Vinny and Roy had gone down the clever route of keeping themselves to themselves. Their father Albie was an arsehole. He was also an alcoholic, and watching him make a complete prick of himself over the years had put the boys off ever frequenting pubs.
Neither Vinny nor Roy was a complete teetotaller. Both lads enjoyed the odd Scotch on the rocks here and there, but they only ever drank in front of friends and family, or on their own premises. In their line of business, both lads always liked to have their wits about them. Being clever was part of their image.
One of the reasons Vinny and Roy had decided to buy the club and turn it into the headquarters of their empire was that they hadn’t wanted to tread on anybody else’s toes. The East End was littered with villains, with the two most frightening families being the Mitchells and the Krays.
The Mitchells were based in Canning Town and were heavily into pub protection. They were a family firm, run by the old man, Harry. He pulled the strings while his three sons, Ronny, Paulie and Eddie, terrorized people into handing over their hard-earned cash.
Then there were the Krays. They were local lads who had made a real name for themselves. They were virtually beyond the reach of the law now. Earlier this year they had escaped conviction for nightclub extortion. They’d even been given an interview on TV after that and hung out with film stars and celebrities.
Vinny didn’t know if being that famous was a good thing or not, but he was determined to be feared, well-respected and rich. As a lad, he had idolized both the Mitchells and the Krays for what they had achieved in life and he was hell-bent on topping their glory. Wanting to be the best was part of Vinny’s nature.
‘Who is it?’ Roy shouted, as he heard a knock on the door.
‘It’s the bleedin’ woman who gave birth to the pair of ya,’ Queenie yelled.
Vinny grinned as Roy unlocked the metal door and Lenny ran towards him. ‘All right, Champ? What you been up to?’ Vinny asked, lifting the boy off the ground and swinging him around in the air. Vinny adored his nephew, all the family did.
‘Been Nanny’s grave, then I went dancing in the café,’ Lenny replied, sporting a big grin.
‘Dancing in what poxy café?’
‘Old Jack’s café. It’s re-opened today. New people have taken it over and it’s got one of them jukeboxes in there. I wouldn’t swing him around too much. Three iced cakes the greedy little sod has eaten and he’s bound to be Tom Dick at some point,’ Vivian explained.
Not wanting sick over his brand-new shirt, Vinny sat Lenny on a chair. ‘So, what do you think of the décor, Auntie Viv? You haven’t seen the leather chairs and sofas yet, have you?’
Vivian grinned. She loved her nephews. Unlike a lot of young men these days, Vinny and Roy had impeccable manners. They still referred to her as ‘Auntie’ and probably always would. Viv sat down on one of the burgundy sofas and stroked the quality leather. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful, boys. Looks like a palace now, eh, Queenie?’
Queenie felt as proud as a peacock as she nodded her head in agreement.
Roy stood up. ‘I’ll get you and Auntie Viv a glass of sherry,’ he said, gesturing for Vinny to follow him.
‘What’s up?’ Vinny asked.
‘Why don’t we tell her now? Seems as good a time as any,’ Roy whispered, when his brother joined him behind the bar.
‘Nah. Not in front of Champ,’ Vinny replied.
‘Well, we gotta tell her soon. I hate seeing Dad take the piss out of her like this. He’s such a bastard.’
Vinny nodded in agreement. Breaking the bad news to his mother was not going to be easy, but it had to be done. ‘We’ll find a way to tell her in the next couple of days. And don’t worry about Dad. That treacherous piece of shit will be dealt with, I promise.’
Noticing the dangerous glint in his brother’s eyes that he had seen many times before, Roy felt his stomach knotting. ‘What do you mean by dealt with? I know he’s a prick, Vin, but we can’t do anything bad to him, he’s still our dad.’
Leaning towards his brother’s ear, Vinny spoke loudly and clearly. ‘I wouldn’t care if he was the King of England. Nobody makes a fool out of our mum and I mean fucking nobody. Our dad will pay for the liberty he has taken. Trust me on that one.’
CHAPTER TWO
Albie Butler lit up a Salem cigarette and sighed blissfully as the nicotine hit the back of his throat. There was nothing more pleasurable than a fag after getting your end away, unless you counted the first drag of the morning.
Judy Preston was a twenty-five-year-old mother of one. Her son Mark had just turned three and instead of marrying her like any decent man would have, Mark’s father had dumped Judy on learning she was pregnant.
Judy knew she was gossiped about and frowned upon in the street where she lived. Her neighbours were all older than she was and Judy knew they thought it disgusting that she had given birth out of wedlock. Judy didn’t care about their narrow-mindedness. Her mum helped her bring up Mark and nobody would dare say anything to her face for fear of retribution from her brother, Johnny.
Having an older sibling who just happened to be a face certainly had its benefits, and when her relationship with Albie did become common knowledge, Judy knew she would get little grief from his family thanks to who her brother was.
When Judy made another grab for his already over-worked pecker, Albie Butler leapt out of the bed. Judy Preston was by far the prettiest of the half a dozen or so lassies he’d had flings with since marrying Queenie, but the look on Vinny and Roy’s faces yesterday evening when he had popped in the snooker club told Albie that they knew he was at it again. If they told Queenie she would chop his bollocks off and feed them to next door’s dog and that wasn’t a chance Albie was willing to take.
‘I’m really sorry, Judy, but I think we’re gonna have to call it a day. My boys are onto us and I can’t risk her indoors finding out. I love you, you know that, but all good things must come to an end,’ Albie said regretfully.
Judy stared at Albie with her mouth wide open. Did he honestly think he could come round for one last bunk-up and then casually dump her like a bag of old rubbish? Because if he did, he had another bloody think coming. Thankful that she had kept the news she had known for the past six weeks to herself, Judy grinned. ‘I’m afraid walking away from me isn’t an option, Albie. I’m pregnant and it’s yours!’
Vinny poured himself a Scotch on the rocks and sat down in his office. Roy had begged him not to rough up their dad and in the end Vinny had reluctantly agreed. Tomorrow, he was taking his family out for lunch and that was when he planned to expose his father’s infidelity. His mother was no shrinking violet and Vinny was sure that once she knew what his arsehole of a father had been up to, she would batter him to Bow and back herself.
Smiling at the thought of his mother smashing her frying pan around his father’s head, Vinny stared at the picture of her that sat proudly on his desk. She and Vivian were side by side on a sofa holding Brenda. It had been taken over a decade ago when his sister was just a baby. His mother and Viv looked more like twins than sisters, and Vinny couldn’t help but notice how much they had aged since. Both still dressed smartly and had beautiful smiles, but the wrinkles they now sported told a story of the hardship they’d endured throughout their lives.
Vinny had been a mummy’s boy for as long as he could remember. His dad had been, and still was, a two-bob con merchant and had never really been there for him and his siblings. He earned his beer money by selling cheap imported booze and fags and had never had a proper job in his life. Vinny’s mum had. She had two cleaning jobs for years just to put food in her children’s mouths and had only given up work last year when Vinny had insisted that he was now wealthy enough to support her.
Remembering how elated his mother had been when she had told both of the petulant rich women she worked for to shove their jobs up their arses, Vinny grinned and stared at the photo of himself standing in the middle of his two brothers. All three of them had inherited their father’s jet-black hair and green eyes, and when stood together, they made a striking-looking trio.
At six foot two, Vinny was taller than Roy and Michael, but only by an inch or so. Both he and Roy wore their hair slicked back with Brylcreem and they often got mistaken for Italians. Vinny found that a big compliment, as he knew that in their expensive suits, accompanied with their swagger, he and Roy could pass for members of the Mafia. Michael wouldn’t though. He was a Mod and the only suit he ever wore was a tonic one. Tomorrow was Michael’s sixteenth birthday and Vinny and Roy had clubbed together to buy him the moped he had been harping on about for months. His brother had no idea of the surprise coming his way and Vinny couldn’t wait to see his face when he got it. Shame his birthday would be spoilt by learning his father was an untrustworthy piece of shit, Vinny thought sadly. It couldn’t be helped though. Harbouring the truth from his mother had left Vinny with a guilty taste in his mouth.
Vinny sighed. He had always been under the impression that there was no love lost between his parents. They rarely slept in the same bed. His drunken father usually crashed on the sofa. However, his mum was still bound to feel aggrieved, which was why Vinny had decided to wait until after Michael’s birthday lunch to tell her the sordid truth. Michael would still have a top day, whatever happened. At least his moped would soften the blow.
Hearing the doorbell sound, Vinny took the envelope out of the drawer and went downstairs. It cost him eighty quid a month to keep the Old Bill off his back, but it was worth every penny. ‘There you go, George,’ he said, handing the envelope to the Chief Inspector.
‘Any chance of a brandy to warm the cockles? Bleedin’ taters it is,’ George said.
Vinny led him inside and poured him a drink.
‘So, how’s it going?’ George asked, before knocking it back in one and holding out his glass for an immediate refill.
‘So-so. It’s like any other business, George. Some weeks are busy, some quiet. It’s been dead the past couple, but I suppose it would be with Christmas creeping up on us. People have no spare pennies this time of year, do they?’ Vinny said, in his most sincere voice. He wasn’t going to inform George that ever since he had started having strippers on at the weekend, the club had been packed to the rafters and he had been raking it in. George Geary loved a pound note and would most certainly want an increase on his bung if he knew that.
George eyed the furniture and décor. There were four snooker tables at the back, which wasn’t many considering the joint was meant to be a snooker club. The rest of the place was kitted out with glass tables, burgundy leather chairs and sofas to match. There was a stage, with spotlights above it and big speakers. And in the centre of the club, an expensive-looking chandelier hung proudly from the ceiling. The bar was shiny aluminium and there was every optic known to mankind behind it.
Holding out his glass for yet another refill, George smirked. He knew Vinny was lying. A colleague of his had watched the comings and goings at the club last weekend and had reported back that it was jam-packed.
Nothing escaped George’s attention, he had been biding his time like a viper waiting to strike and knew now was as good a time as any. ‘We have a big problem, Vinny. The powers above know that you’ve been illegally serving liquor in here and they now expect me to do something about it.’
Vinny felt the colour drain from his cheeks. If he couldn’t continue serving alcohol, he had no business left. ‘But I thought you said I’d be fine. What have I been fucking paying you for if you can’t square it for me?’ he demanded.
‘Hold your horses. I’ve already had a word in a couple of people’s shell-likes. It will cost you, but I can definitely get you a liquor licence.’
‘How much?’ Vinny asked.
‘Fifteen hundred quid and a drink on top for me,’ George said, even though he had already put five hundred on top of the grand he had been quoted.
‘How much! That’s fucking extortion, George. I haven’t got money like that lying around. I’ve spent virtually every penny I’ve earned so far on doing the place up.’
‘I tried to knock the price down for you, Vinny, but my contact wasn’t having none of it, I’m afraid. Surely it’s better in the long run for you to go legal? And I will drop my fee to fifty pounds a month, rather than eighty.’
‘Why have I still got to pay you if I’m properly licensed?’ Vinny asked.
‘Because you are illegal in other areas, Vinny. I know you have strippers in here and I know that people gamble. You haven’t got an entertainment or gambling licence, have you?’
Vinny leant his elbows on the bar and put his head in his hands. George had him by the short and curlies and Vinny knew it. Trouble was, there was nothing he could do about it, except cough up. ‘Come back next week and I’ll have the dough for ya.’
Albie Butler was sitting in the Blind Beggar, staring at his pint, in a stupefied trance. He was in shit, deep shit, and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.
‘You all right, Albie?’ shouted out Sid, who was perched on his regular barstool.
Albie didn’t even bother answering. He was anything but bloody all right. Cursing the day he had ever set eyes on Judy Preston, he sank his drink and called over to the barmaid to pour him another. Why hadn’t he used a rubber even though that lying cow had sworn she was taking that new contraceptive pill?
Taking his empty glass back to the bar, Albie returned with a full one. After Judy had informed him she was up the spout, he had spent ages begging her to get rid of it. He had even offered her a nice lump of cash which he had planned to borrow off Vinny or Roy, but the selfish bitch was intent on ruining his life.
Keeping a bit on the side secret was one thing. Keeping a fucking baby who belonged to you secret was another. Vowing to think with his brain in future rather than his pecker, Albie tried to fathom a way out of the difficult situation. Judy’s brother was a handy bastard and at his age, Albie was no match for an up-and-coming wide-boy like Johnny Preston. Vinny and Roy were though. They could more than hold their own against anybody.
Albie sighed worriedly. Judy needed the frighteners put on her to force her to get rid of the child and if admitting his sins to his two eldest sons was the only way to make that happen, then admit his sins he would. They weren’t going to be best pleased, especially Vinny, who had threatened him over his wandering eye in the past. But what choice did Albie have? None.
Finishing his pint, he stood up and nervously made his way towards the snooker club. His boys would have to help him in his hour of need, wouldn’t they? He might have fucked up big time, but he was still their bloody father.
Queenie Butler took the birthday cake out of the oven and grinned at her sister. ‘Well, what do you think?’
‘Ah, it’s beautiful, Queenie. Best cake I’ve seen in years,’ Vivian replied, truthfully.
‘Can I have some?’ little Brenda asked.
‘No, sweetheart. We can’t cut it up until tomorrow, otherwise Michael won’t see the beauty of it,’ Queenie replied.
‘Awww,’ Brenda whined.
Queenie stared at her offspring. Brenda was eleven now and could be an obstinate little mare at times. Unlike the boys who favoured their father with their black hair and chiselled features, Brenda looked more like her side of the family. Her hair was mousy brown, the same as Queenie’s and Viv’s natural colour, and she was a skinny little thing even though she had the appetite of a horse.
‘Please, Mum?’ Brenda tried again.
Vivian laughed. ‘You help me carry the cake to my house so our Michael don’t see it and I’ll give you a nice iced bun. Deal?’
Queenie smiled when Vivian and Brenda left the house. Family was the most important thing in the world and she loved hers with a passion. Albie was a tosspot, she knew that, but he had given her four beautiful children, for which she would always be grateful to him. She didn’t love or respect him any more. What woman could love and respect a bone-idle drunk? But he never pestered her for sex these days and even if he did, she would never leave him. He was the father of her children and for that reason alone, she would always see it as her duty to suffer him.
‘Oh, I do love being two doors away now, Queenie. It feels like we live together, don’t it?’ Vivian said, letting herself back in with her own key.
Queenie laughed. It was her Vinny who had secured Vivian the council house next door but one. It had become available a few months back when old Ada had passed away and Vinny had offered the man at the council a backhander to ensure it went to Viv. He had bragged when he had come home that the man was so petrified, he had refused to take the money, but had given Vinny the keys anyway. ‘My reputation precedes me once again, Mum,’ Vinny had chuckled.
‘Is that my little soldier I hear coming down them stairs?’ Vivian said, when she heard Lenny’s familiar flat-footed walk. He had been tired earlier, so had gone for a lie-down on Queenie’s bed.
‘Can I watch Mr Ed?’ Lenny asked excitedly. The programme featuring the talking horse was his current favourite. Before that, it had been Flipper.
‘Yep, course you can,’ Queenie replied. Both she and Vivian now had posh TVs. They had been Christmas presents last year from the boys.
‘I love Mr Ed too,’ Brenda said, following her cousin into the lounge.
Queenie locked eyes with her sister. ‘Ain’t we lucky with our little lot, eh? I know we’ve had hard times, but kids don’t come no better than ours, you know,’ Queenie said contentedly.
Vivian grinned. ‘We’re blessed, Queenie. Truly blessed.’
After George had left earlier, Vinny had spent the rest of the afternoon shagging his prettiest stripper, Karen. Unlike his brothers, who were both girl-mad, birds didn’t bother Vinny as a rule, neither did sex.
Apart from his mother and aunt, Vinny was no big fan of women in general. He found girls his age silly and annoying, so why he had bothered ramming himself inside Karen again, who was already asking him questions such as ‘Am I your girlfriend now?’ He did not know.
Vinny got out of bed and quickly got dressed. He had only ever had one proper girlfriend in his life and the slag had broken his heart. Fifteen, Vinny had been when he’d first set eyes on Yvonne Summers. She was two years older than him, but the age gap hadn’t mattered as he was very mature for his age. To say he had treated Yvonne like a princess was putting it mildly. Even back then, he knew how to earn a bob or two and he was forever taking her to the pictures and buying her nice presents. Had she appreciated his adoration and kindness? No. The whore had two-timed him, then run off with a lad five years his senior. Rumour had it, she’d moved to Leeds.
Vinny had been distraught at the time and didn’t know how he would have got over it if it wasn’t for his mother. She had held his sobbing body, wiped away his tears and made him feel worthy once again.
‘So, am I your girlfriend now?’ Karen repeated, desperation in her voice.
The doorbell saved Vinny from insulting her. ‘Get dressed and go out the back way. I’ve got business to deal with,’ he said, coldly.
Wondering if George had come back to try to extract even more money, Vinny took the stairs two by two. He flung open the big metal door only to see his father standing there with a sheepish expression on his face. ‘What do you want?’ Vinny asked, unable to hide the bitterness. He didn’t want to let on to his dad he knew about Judy Preston before tomorrow. He wanted to watch him squirm when he announced his infidelity at the restaurant in front of his mother.
Unable to look his son in the eyes, Albie stared at his shoes. ‘I’ve got a bit of a problem and I really need your help,’ he mumbled.
‘What do you want? Beer or Scotch?’ Vinny asked, leading him into the club.
‘Scotch please, son.’
Vinny poured two large Scotches on the rocks, then sat down at a nearby table. ‘Fire away then.’
With his hands clasped together, Albie twiddled his thumbs. There was no sign of Roy which was a shame as Roy had a lesser temper on him than Vinny. He also had a more understanding nature.
‘Where’s Roy?’ Albie asked.
‘Gone to collect Michael’s moped.’
Albie stared at his hands. There was no easy way of saying what he had to say, but he wanted to find the right words. ‘I’ve got meself in a bit of a pickle, boy. I know I promised you I would never stray again, but I had this bird come on to me. Only young, she is, and being a weak man, I was flattered if you know what I mean?’
‘Oh, I know what you mean all right. And I know who the tart is. You’ve been shafting Judy Preston, haven’t you? So, what’s happened? Has her brother Johnny found out and now wants to chop that diseased little cock of yours off? You make me sick, Dad, do you know that?’
‘I’m sorry. I know what I did is wrong, but your mum don’t want me in her bed no more. It was just too good an opportunity to turn down. I ain’t getting no younger, boy, and I was just flattered I suppose. I do love your mum though. You know that, don’t you, son?’
Unable to stop himself, Vinny sank the rest of his drink, then brought the glass down so hard against the table, it smashed into a thousand fragments. ‘Do not fucking sit there telling me you love my mum when you stick your cock in anything that moves, and do not ever call me your son again. You are nothing to me. I despise you,’ he snarled, standing up.
Albie looked back down at his feet. ‘How long you known for?’
‘A week or so. Was gonna confront you tomorrow in front of Mum at Michael’s birthday bash. I’m still telling her, so don’t think you’re fucking getting away with this one. I warned you before after I found out about that Maureen bird that if you did it again I would grass you up.’
‘You can’t tell her, boy. I’ll never do it again, I swear on the Bible, but please don’t tell your mother.’
‘You can go to hell, Dad. Unlike you, I’m a man of my word and tell her I shall. She’s bound to kick your sorry arse out, so what you gonna do then? Gonna set up home with your young bit of skirt, are ya?’
Absolutely petrified that his whole world was about to fall apart, Albie stood up and banged his fists against the glass table. ‘You can’t tell her, Vinny. I know I don’t deserve it, but you really need to side with me for once on this. I need your help, boy.’
Vinny chuckled. ‘Why? ’Cause Johnny Preston is gonna give you a good fawpenny one? Good! Saves me from fucking doing it.’
‘It ain’t Johnny. He knows about me and Judy and he’s OK about it.’
‘Well, what is it then?’ Vinny asked, his lip curling into another snarl.
‘Judy’s in the club and she’s keeping it. I accidently got her pregnant.’
Vinny leapt up, grabbed his father by the neck in disgust and rammed his body against the wall. ‘You fucking what?’
‘It weren’t my fault. She said she was taking that tablet thingamajig. She lied to me,’ Albie said, panicking.
Unable to stop himself, Vinny did what he had wanted to do for years. He beat his father senseless.
CHAPTER THREE
Bored with doing the washing up and spending their lives confined to the café, young Nancy and Christopher Walker begged their parents to allow them to go out to play.
‘You’re to go no further than a short walk away and you are to be back here by five at the latest,’ their father ordered them.
Missing her friends from Stoke Newington dreadfully, Nancy tagged along reluctantly behind her brother. All day, Christopher had been harping on about the rich men with the posh cars whom he had seen the previous day when he had taken a trip to the sweetshop, but Nancy wasn’t car-mad like her brother. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a Sunbeam Tiger and an Austin Healey.
‘This is it,’ Christopher said, plonking himself down on a doorstep opposite the snooker club.
‘But there ain’t no rich men here, nor is there many cars,’ Nancy complained.
‘Well, there was yesterday. That Jaguar Sedan is the car that I want when I’m grown-up.’ Christopher pointed to the shiny black car that belonged to Vinny Butler.
Nancy took a strawberry bonbon out of the paper bag and popped it into her mouth. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up, Christopher? I think I would like to be a hairdresser and do famous people’s hair like Twiggy.’
Sucking on a Kola Kube, Christopher wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Twiggy would never have let his sister near her hair, but it was good Nancy had dreams, because he was determined to fulfil his. ‘I’m gonna be a policeman and catch people like Jack the Ripper. He killed loads of women round ’ere, you know.’
‘What’s that man doing, Christopher?’ Nancy asked, bemused.
Christopher had no idea who the Italian-looking man was, but when he punched a nearby wall and then glared at him and Nancy, the boy’s intuition told him it wasn’t safe to be there. He grabbed his sister’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the café.’
Michael Butler entered his mother’s house wearing his trademark green parka and a big grin on his face. ‘Urgh. What’s that smell?’
‘Lavender bags. Dotted them all over the house, including that stinking bedroom of yours,’ Queenie informed her son.
Michael screwed up his nose and plonked himself on the Dralon sofa. His mother was the most house-proud woman that he knew. Years ago, their lounge had looked like anybody else’s. But since Vinny had been earning good money, it had had a complete transformation. The new floral wallpaper now matched the mustard three-piece suite, and the rest of the room featured dark teak furniture, a posh rug and floor lamps, a modern round coffee table and, his mother’s pride and joy, a glass ornament cabinet which was now full to the brim with expensive pieces of china that Vinny was forever bringing home.
‘So, how was Carnaby Street?’ Vivian asked excitedly. She had never been there herself, but knew it was all the rage at the moment for the youngsters.
‘Yeah, hip. Met a nice bird, and Kev got himself a well ace pair of two-tone shoes. If my brothers give me money for my birthday, I wanna go back up there and get a pair too,’ Michael replied.
Knowing full well that Vinny and Roy had clubbed together to buy Michael his much-wanted moped, Queenie winked at her sister. ‘Don’t know what they are giving you, son, you’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings.’
‘I wish I was going to be sixteen tomorrow. I hate being eleven. It’s so boring,’ Brenda piped up.
‘I wish I could be eleven all over again, sweetheart, and know what I know now. I certainly wouldn’t make the same bleedin’ mistakes again,’ Vivian told her niece.
‘By saying mistakes, she means my dad,’ Lenny said casually.
Michael looked at his mum and aunt. Knowing that a truer statement had never been spoken, all three burst out laughing.
Roy was shocked to see Vinny sitting on the concrete steps of the club looking extremely dishevelled. ‘Whatever’s happened?’ he asked, staring at his brother’s ripped blood-splattered shirt.
Vinny took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the kerb. ‘I’ve given Dad a good hiding,’ he admitted bluntly.
‘What! You fucking promised me that you weren’t gonna touch him, Vin. I thought we’d agreed that we was gonna confront him together at the restaurant tomorrow?’
‘That’s before I knew he’d got his young bit of skirt up the spout,’ Vinny spat.
Gobsmacked, Roy sat on the step next to his brother. ‘For fuck’s sake. Mum’s gonna go off her rocker when she finds that out. Where is Dad now?’
‘Lying on the floor in the club. Mum can’t find out that it was me who done him over. We tell her nothing now, do you hear me?’
Roy nodded. ‘What about the bird he’s knocked up? I take it she is getting rid of it?’
Vinny stood up. ‘Me and you will have to pay her a little visit to help her make her mind up.’
Roy followed Vinny inside the club and bolted the door. ‘What about her brother, Johnny? He’s meant to be a bit handy, ain’t he?’
‘There’s two of us and one of him, but that’s another reason why everything that’s happened just stays between me and you now. You say nothing to no-one, not even Michael, because if Johnny Preston does start playing up, we might have to get rid of him.’
‘I’m in agony. I think I’m dying. I can’t breathe properly,’ Albie Butler cried out.
Roy gasped when he saw the state of his father. His face was covered in blood where his nose had caved in and Roy could tell immediately that his right leg was broken below the knee as the bone was poking through his skin. ‘Fucking hell, Vin. You shouldn’t have done that much damage to him.’
‘Help me, Roy. Please help me,’ Albie begged.
Ordering his brother to phone an ambulance, Vinny crouched down next to his father. ‘You got jumped by four lads outside the club who were after this, OK?’ Vinny said, taking the wallet out of his father’s pocket and putting it in his own.
In terrible pain, Albie started to cry. ‘I know I deserved a clump, but I can’t believe you broke my leg. How any lad could do that to his own flesh and blood is beyond me.’
‘You just wanna be grateful that I never broke your fucking neck. If the Old Bill question you, you say I heard a commotion, came outside, the boys had already legged it, and I dragged you in here, OK? Then in return, I’ll make sure Mum don’t find out your dirty little secret.’
‘You’re not a nice person, Vinny. You are one callous bastard,’ Albie spat.
‘And you are a dirty old pervert. Now, do we have a deal or not?’
Knowing that he had no option other than to agree with his violent offspring, Albie nodded his battered head.
Queenie was dishing up the sausages and bubble and squeak when Vinny and Roy let themselves into the house. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, putting her spatula on the worktop. Both of her sons looked ashen-faced and serious.
‘Look, don’t panic ’cause he is gonna be OK, but Dad got jumped outside the club by a gang of lads. They took off with his wallet,’ Vinny explained.
‘Well, I bet there weren’t much in that,’ Vivian mumbled, unfeelingly. She was no fan of Albie Butler and felt her sister could have done much better.
‘Is he OK? Where is he now?’ Queenie asked, her face etched with concern.
‘At the hospital. The ambulance man said they thought both his legs might be broken,’ Roy replied, feeling awkward.
‘Gordon Bennett! What is the world coming to if men like your dad are getting mugged? You better take me to him now,’ Queenie ordered.
‘Eat your dinner first, Mum, then Roy will take you up there,’ Vinny replied.
‘Ain’t you coming as well?’ Queenie asked, surprised.
Not wanting to be anywhere near his arsehole of a father, Vinny shook his head. ‘Roy’ll look after you, Mum. Someone has to be at the club, don’t they?’
Queenie eyed her eldest child with suspicion, but said nothing. Both Vinny and Roy had virtually blanked Albie during dinner the other day and Queenie wasn’t stupid. She could tell Vinny had fallen out with his father. Now all she had to do was find out why.
Humming along to Petula Clark’s ‘Downtown’, Mary smiled as the woman she and Donald had nicknamed Mad Freda approached the counter. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’ This was the first time Freda had visited the café since the day she had knocked at the door to warn them about the Butler family.
‘Mug of tea and a piece of that fruit cake, please. So, how’s it going?’ Freda enquired.
‘Ever so well, thanks. Donald and I have been run off our feet again today.’
‘Met the Butlers yet?’ Freda asked.
‘Two ladies who came in the other day introduced themselves by that name, but they were lovely, ever so polite,’ Mary replied, desperate to avoid getting involved with tittle-tattle.
‘Huh. Brady and Hindley was probably lovely and polite people too,’ Freda said sarcastically, referring to the couple who had recently been arrested for murdering children on the moors.
Thankful when Freda plonked herself at a table over by the door, Mary called her son over to the counter. Unlike his sister, who had been helping Donald in the kitchen all day, Christopher had done nothing but sit on his backside and read his Roy of the Rovers comics.
‘Two burgers and chips,’ Donald shouted out.
‘Get the plates off your dad and take them over to that table next to the jukebox, Christopher,’ Mary ordered her son.
Christopher stood transfixed to the spot with his mouth wide open. The rich-looking man with the posh Jaguar car who he had seen punching the wall earlier had just walked into the café.
Albie Butler felt terribly sorry for himself as he lay flat on the hospital bed with both legs up in traction.
‘Jesus, Albie. Whatever happened, eh?’ Queenie asked, marching into the ward with Vivian behind her.
‘Got jumped by a gang of lads for me wallet,’ Albie mumbled.
‘Why ever did they jump you? Everyone who knows you is aware you ain’t got a pot to piss in,’ Vivian replied, her voice as cold as ice.
Albie glared at his wife’s sister and, instead of calling her a fucking old trout like he wanted to, managed to bite his tongue.
‘I bought you some pyjamas up, and made you a ham sandwich,’ Queenie said, plonking a carrier bag on the bed next to her husband.
‘I can’t get pyjama bottoms over the plaster and I can’t eat nothing. I’m in too much pain. A small bottle of brandy wouldn’t have gone amiss though,’ Albie muttered miserably.
‘Ungrateful old bastard,’ Vivian mumbled under her breath.
‘I’ve just spoken to the doctor. They reckon you’ll be in here for a while, you know,’ Queenie informed her old man.
‘Thanks very much. Cheer me up, why don’t ya?’
‘So, what exactly happened? Have you spoken to the Old Bill yet?’ Queenie asked.
‘Yeah. Not much I could tell ’em. It all happened so quickly, I didn’t get a clear view of any of the lads. Where’s Vinny and Roy?’
‘Roy and Michael are waiting in the corridor. The nurse said we could only come in two at a time, so I’ll send them in next. You had a fall-out with our Vinny and Roy?’
‘No. What makes you ask that?’ Albie asked defensively.
‘Because I’ve sensed a bad atmosphere the past few days. What’s going on, Albie? I ain’t some silly old fool, you know, and I will find out, so you might as well tell me now. What you done to upset them?’
Albie looked at his wife with pure hatred in his eyes. Here he was, with two broken legs and three broken ribs, confined to a stinking hospital bed for Christ knows how long, and instead of concern, all Queenie was worried about was her precious sons. Was it any wonder he strayed at the drop of a hat?’ I ain’t done anything to upset the boys, OK? Now, please go and get me a bottle of brandy to help me with the pain. Killing me, my ribs are. I would give you the money, but the bastards who attacked me nicked me wallet.’
‘The doctor said you were on strong painkillers. You ain’t meant to drink with them, Albie. You might keel over and die in the night,’ Queenie advised him.
Hoping that her sister’s warning just might come true, Vivian put her hand inside her handbag. ‘Poor sod’s been right through the mill. I’ll treat him to a bottle.’
Knowing full well why Vivian had made such a kind gesture, Queenie had a fake coughing fit, then dashed out of the ward before Albie could realize she was laughing.
Little Christopher Walker was mesmerized by the dark-haired man in the charcoal suit.
‘Stop gawping at people. Go and collect any empty plates and cups,’ Mary hissed in her son’s ear.
Another person who had her beady eyes on Vinny was Freda Smart and when Christopher approached her, she couldn’t help but speak her mind. ‘Should be strung up by the balls, the lot of ’em. Bloody murderers,’ she said in a loud voice.
Vinny smirked. Freda had been extremely friendly with the café’s previous owners and was the only person in the East End who would have the nerve to accuse him of killing Old Jack and Ethel’s son. She was spot-on actually. Fifteen-year-old Peter had had a habit of exposing himself to young girls and had one day made the fatal mistake of touching up a neighbour’s eleven-year-old daughter and forcing her to touch him in an undesirable place. Absolutely fuming, Vinny had decided to rid Whitechapel of such an unsavoury character and a few weeks later Peter was found at the bottom of the Thames.
Vinny turned around in his seat. He loved winding the old battleaxe up. The café wasn’t packed, but Vinny could see the worried expressions on the other diners’ faces. ‘Spouting cock and bull again, are you, Freda? Can’t be long now until they cart you off to that funny farm,’ he said.
‘Sod all wrong with my marbles. I know exactly what yous Butlers are and unlike everyone else round ’ere, I ain’t bleedin’ frightened to tell you either. You can do me in next for all I care,’ Freda yelled, stomping out of the café.
Vinny chuckled and raised his eyebrows to fellow customers. It didn’t bother him that Freda accused him of being a murderer in public. In fact, she was doing him a favour as it just made people fear him more.
With no-one waiting to be served, Mary darted out into the kitchen to fill Donald in on what had just happened.
Aware that the young boy’s eyes were on him once again, Vinny smiled at Christopher. He had already recognized him as the one who had been sitting opposite the snooker club earlier. ‘Can you show me how to use your jukebox?’
Christopher ran over to the Wurlitzer. Vinny put on Roger Miller’s ‘King of the Road’, which happened to remind him of himself, then handed the child half a crown.
Absolutely ecstatic at the unexpected gift, Christopher ran out to the kitchen to show his parents.
‘Who gave you that?’ Donald asked, his face reddening with anger, knowing only too well who it was likely to be.
‘The man in the suit gave it to me because I taught him how to use the jukebox,’ Christopher explained.
‘Can I have some money too, Daddy?’ Nancy asked, tugging her father’s sleeve.
Donald was fuming. He wanted no involvement with this Butler family and he had always forbidden his children to accept money or gifts from strangers. ‘What have I told you about taking money off people, eh?’ he said, dragging Christopher out of the kitchen by his arm.
‘Stop it, Daddy. You’re hurting me,’ Christopher said, bursting into tears.
‘Donald, stop overreacting for goodness’ sake,’ Mary urged him. She didn’t want to upset or make a scene in front of their customers.
Vinny had just dotted his cigarette out and was about to leave when Donald marched up to him with Christopher in tow. ‘Is this the man?’ he asked his son.
The little boy was sobbing. He not only felt embarrassed, he wanted to keep his half a crown. Nodding his head, Christopher stared at his feet in shame.
‘Excuse me, sir. It was very kind of you to give my son this money, but I’m afraid I have brought my children up not to accept gifts off people they do not know, so I insist you take it back.’
Vinny stared Donald in the eyes and immediately disliked him. He could tell he was one of life’s do-gooders. ‘It wasn’t a gift. Your son earned it by showing me how to use the jukebox,’ Vinny replied casually.
‘Well, Christopher won’t be accepting it all the same,’ Donald said, putting the coin on the table and dragging his son away.
About to tell Donald that he should get off his fucking moral high horse, Vinny saw Christopher’s distraught little face glance around and decided not to bother. The old man was obviously a twat, so what was the point of upsetting the kid even more? Slipping the half a crown into his pocket, Vinny nodded politely at Mary, and quietly left the café.
CHAPTER FOUR
Determined that their father being hospitalized wouldn’t spoil their younger brother’s sixteenth birthday, Vinny and Roy got up with the larks the following morning and walked around to their mother’s house, pushing the moped between them.
Both Vinny and Roy had stayed at the club again last night and Roy had just suggested to his brother that they have the upstairs decorated properly so that they could live there permanently.
‘I dunno. We’ve got to pay that conning bastard Geary fifteen hundred quid next week, which will leave the coffers a bit lean, Roy. Not only that, I like to keep a daily eye on Mum and Auntie Viv and make sure Champ is OK. Leave the idea with me and I’ll have to think about it.’
Due to the freezing December temperature and the lack of heating in his bedroom, Michael decided to skip having a wash until after he’d had a cup of tea to warm himself up.
Queenie sang ‘Happy Birthday’, as her son galloped down the stairs.
‘Thanks, Mum. Is there any tea in the pot? Bleedin’ taters, I am.’
‘It’s just started snowing, boy. Told you yesterday the sky looked full of snow, didn’t I? Bet you’re glad you took this week off work, eh?’
Michael nodded. He had left school earlier in the year and was working as a trainee mechanic in a local garage. He loved the job as he loved tinkering with cars and bikes, but the money was crap, and the garage was freezing cold this time of year.
‘I’m gonna pop up the hospital and take your father his toothbrush and razor before we go out for lunch. Do you wanna come with me so he can wish you happy birthday?’ Queenie asked.
‘Yeah, I’ll come,’ Michael replied without hesitation. Unlike his brothers, he was actually very fond of his father. He often went for a pint with him on Sunday lunchtimes and he was upset that his dad had been set upon by those bloody yobs.
‘Many happy returns, bruv,’ Roy said, giving Michael a manly hug.
‘Is it present time yet?’ Queenie asked excitedly.
‘Sure is,’ Vinny grinned.
Ordering Roy to go and get Vivian so she wouldn’t miss out on the fun, Queenie handed Michael a parcel. ‘That’s from me and your dad. Your brothers picked it, so if you don’t like it, blame them,’ she chuckled.
Michael was thrilled when he unwrapped the paper and saw the blue Fred Perry polo shirt. ‘That’s well nice, Mum. I’ll wear it today,’ he said. Fred Perry shirts were really in for Mods at the moment. His best mate Kev had two of them.
‘Happy birthday, Michael,’ Lenny said, running into the house with a handmade card in his hand.
Michael hugged his nephew to his chest. ‘Cheers, Champ.’
‘Right, you ready for mine and Roy’s present?’ Vinny asked.
‘Yep.’
‘Follow me then,’ Vinny ordered.
Queenie and Vivian followed the boys out the front and clapped their hands with glee when Michael caught his first glimpse of the trendy moped.
‘Oh my God! It’s a Lambretta! Is it really all mine?’ he asked, his eyes shining with excitement.
Vinny threw him the key. ‘Yep, it’s all yours. Me and Roy have got another surprise for you as well, but you won’t find out what that is until we get to the restaurant.’
‘Bloody hell! This is the best birthday ever,’ Michael exclaimed, throwing his leg over the saddle. He already knew how to ride a moped. Kev had got one over a month ago and had let his friend ride it many a time.
‘Be careful because that bleedin’ snow’s settling,’ Vivian yelled, as Michael fired the engine up.
‘So, what other surprise have you got for him?’ Queenie asked Vinny and Roy.
‘A mohair suit. We want him to come and work with us at the club. He’s old enough now,’ Vinny replied casually.
‘But he’s already got a job and you know how he has his heart set on being a fully qualified mechanic,’ Queenie reminded her sons.
‘Yeah, and he’s on shit money and spends half his life covered in grease and making the tea for that prick he works for. That ain’t a job, it’s a piss-take, Mum. From now on, he works with me and Roy.’
Determined to see Vinny again in the hope that he might still give him the half a crown, Christopher Walker bribed his sister with a bag of sweets so she would sit in the doorway opposite the snooker club with him.
‘Dad is gonna go mad if you take money off that man,’ Nancy said, taking her aniseed twist out of her mouth so she could speak properly.
Christopher glared at his sister. He hadn’t wanted to bring her to the club, but his parents were adamant that he could only go out to play if he took Nancy with him. ‘Dad won’t find out, will he? Unless you’re gonna tell him, of course.’ ‘I’ll tell you what. If Vinny gives me the money, I’ll share it with you. But, you must promise me you won’t say a word about us coming here to Mum and Dad,’ Christopher said.
Unlike some of their friends back in Stoke Newington, neither Nancy nor Christopher had ever received much pocket money. They were given the odd penny or two sporadically to get some sweets or a comic and both were desperate to feel the jingle-jangle of coins in their pockets.
Nancy grinned. ‘OK, I promise.’
Judy Preston lived in a one-bedroomed council flat in Forest Gate. Her mum usually popped in most mornings to help her look after her son Mark, and when the doorbell rang, Judy just assumed that her mum had forgotten her key.
At three years old, Mark was into everything and after Judy flung open the front door, she immediately ran into the kitchen to scold her son for chasing and terrorizing the cat. ‘He’s been a little bastard this morning, Mum,’ she shouted out, as she smacked Mark on his bottom.
Hearing no reply, Judy turned around just as the door slammed. Seeing the two men in suits and Crombie coats, she let out a piercing scream.
Vinny grabbed Judy and put his hand over her mouth. ‘Take the little ’un into the lounge while I have a chat with Mummy dearest,’ he ordered his brother.
‘Come on, little fella,’ Roy said, picking up young Mark.
‘Don’t you dare hurt my baby. If you lay one finger on him, my brother will kill you,’ Judy spat, when Vinny moved his hand slightly to enable her to speak.
‘It ain’t your son I’ve got a problem with, it’s you, ya slag. Now, I’m gonna take my hand away from your mouth properly, so we can have a nice little chat. Open it and scream and I shall put my fist straight down the back of your throat, understand?’ Vinny asked, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
Judy nodded. She had now guessed her intruders were Albie’s sons and wasn’t so frightened any more. ‘What do you want? Has your father sent you around to terrorize me?’
Vinny stared at his prey. She wasn’t bad-looking in a common, tarty kind of way and he wondered what the hell she had ever seen in his father. ‘For your information, my old man doesn’t know I’m here. He is currently residing in the London Hospital with three broken ribs and two broken legs. He had a very unfortunate accident, you see.’
Wondering if Vinny was winding her up, Judy shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me, I’m not seeing him any more.’
‘Sensible girl. But what about the baby? You’ll need money to get rid of it.’
‘I’m not aborting my baby. My Marky would love a little brother or sister to play with and I’d then qualify for a council house with a nice garden. Your dad can go to hell for all I care, but I’m keeping his child.’
Grabbing Judy by her throat, Vinny shoved her roughly against the wall. ‘You ain’t keeping it, you silly whore. I’ll give you a fortnight to get rid and if you don’t, I shall fucking get rid of it for you. Now, do we understand one another?’
Suddenly feeling frightened again, Judy nodded lamely. Vinny had mad eyes and she found him quite scary.
Vinny took his hand away from Judy’s throat, pulled fifty pounds out of his pocket and handed it to her. ‘That should cover your heartbreak, darling,’ he said.
Judy took the money and was relieved when Vinny called his brother.
Roy came out of the lounge with a giggling Mark in his arms and handed Judy her son. ‘Cute kid,’ he said, as he followed Vinny towards the front door.
‘I’ll be back to see you in a fortnight,’ Vinny shouted, glancing back at her.
Judy said nothing. She would keep the fifty pounds and let her brother deal with Vinny and Roy. No one was going to make her get rid of her baby, that was for sure.
When the snow started to come down more heavily, Nancy begged her brother to come home with her.
‘I will in a bit, but let’s just wait another half an hour, eh? Vinny always gets here by midday,’ Christopher explained.
About to demand that they go home that very second, Nancy spotted a posh car driving slowly towards them. ‘Is this him?’ she asked hopefully.
Recognizing the Jag and and the number plate, Christopher stood up and urged Nancy to do the same. ‘As soon as he pulls up, I’m going to walk over the road and apologize for Dad’s behaviour. You stay here.’
‘No, I’m coming with you,’ Nancy insisted. There was no way she was going to chance her brother keeping the money for himself.
Vinny and Roy were still chatting about their father’s bit of fluff when they pulled up outside the club. Both agreed that they should carry at least a knife on them for the foreseeable future, just in case there was any comeback from Judy’s brother.
‘Do you think we should pay Johnny a little visit? Explain the situation, like,’ Roy asked.
Vinny shook his head. Even though Judy lived in Forest Gate, Johnny Preston was a South London boy. He had recently started to hang around the Richardsons like an unwanted dog and liked to tell anyone who would care to listen that he was now part of their firm. Vinny knew that this wasn’t the case. Eddie Richardson was in partnership with Mad Frankie Fraser. They were in the gambling business, owned most of the fruit machines and one-armed bandits in pubs and clubs all over London, and Vinny had heard through the grapevine that Mad Frankie Fraser thought that Johnny Preston was nothing more than a two-bob cock. ‘Nah, Roy. South London ain’t our territory, so we’ll bide our time and let silly Johnny come to us,’ Vinny said, sensibly.
‘You might as well wait ’ere while I run in,’ Roy said, changing the subject. They had only stopped at the club to pick up the mohair suit they’d had specially made for Michael in Savile Row.
Vinny picked up his newspaper and seconds later was aware of somebody hovering nearby. Recognizing Christopher, he opened his window. ‘You all right, boy?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you. This is my sister, Nancy, and we came to apologize for my dad’s behaviour, sir,’ Christopher said, solemnly.
Vinny grinned, stepped out of the car and ruffled Christopher’s hair. He’d been a bright kid once himself and he could sense that Christopher was hoping to get his hands on the money he had offered him the previous day. ‘No more calling me sir, it’s Vinny to me mates,’ Vinny replied, taking a ten-shilling note out of his wallet and handing it to the boy.
Nancy and Christopher both stared at the note with their mouths wide open.
‘Take it, then. It’s to share equally between you,’ Vinny urged.
Christopher snatched the note and nudged his sister.
‘Thank you, Vinny,’ Nancy said, feeling suddenly shy.
‘Yeah, thank you very much, Vinny,’ Christopher added.
Watching the two children run away excitedly, Vinny grinned. That was his good deed done for the day.
Michael’s best friend Kevin had a Jamaican dad and an English mum and as the two young men walked into the Rib Room in Belgravia, both were aware of the nudges and whispers from snooty onlookers.
‘My brothers will be here in a minute. We’re a bit early,’ Michael said, awkwardly. He was well aware that the two posh old trouts on the table behind were looking down on Kevin because of his colour.
‘Is they talking about me because I a negro?’ Kevin asked, imitating a heavy Jamaican accent.
Michael burst out laughing. Kevin had been brought up in Mile End and was as cockney as he was. His dad had gone back to Jamaica when Kevin was just a baby and Michael always joked that the only other black man Kevin had ever met was the coal man when he was covered in soot. ‘Can you imagine the crumpet we’ll pull when we go out for a spin? We can go up Carnaby Street whenever we want,’ Michael suggested.
Kevin grinned. ‘I reckon we are gonna have the time of our lives now we can get out and about properly.’
Michael raised his glass and clinked it against Kevin’s. He adored his best pal, his family, his job, and now he finally had his beloved Lambretta, life was all but perfect.
‘Bleedin’ posh round ’ere, ain’t it? Talk about how the other half live,’ Vivian said to Queenie. She had never been to this part of London before and it was certainly more wealthy-looking than Whitechapel. Where they lived, the air was polluted by the rotting fruit in the market, and women were on their hands and knees scrubbing their doorsteps daily. Vivian couldn’t imagine the women of Belgravia even knowing what a scrubbing brush was.
Vinny had chosen the restaurant as a treat not only for his brother, but also with his mum and aunt in mind. The Rib Room had the reputation of selling the best beef in London and Vinny knew how partial his mother and aunt were to a decent piece of steak. ‘We’re nearly there now. Harrods ain’t far from here, you know,’ Roy said, pointing in the direction of the famous store.
‘I wanna do a wee-wee,’ Lenny said, holding the crotch of his trousers.
‘I think I’m gonna puke,’ Brenda complained, clutching her stomach.
Knowing how travel-sick his little sister had been once before in his car, Vinny pulled over immediately. ‘You know where the restaurant is from here, don’t you, Roy? Walk down there with Mum, Auntie Viv and the kids while I find somewhere to park.’
‘How’s she getting on with that girl at school now?’ Vivian whispered, as Brenda leapt out of the car and began to retch onto a nearby kerb.
Brenda had started secondary school only a few months ago. In her old school she’d had lots of friends, but in her new one, she had made very few and the only good friend she did have, she’d had a fight with earlier in the week. ‘She was glad I let her have today off to come out with us, but she’ll be OK. You know what kids are like. They hate one another one minute and are best mates again the next. What about Lenny? You told him he’s going back to school after Christmas yet?’ Queenie asked.
Vivian shook her head. Lenny had always attended mainstream schools, but the teachers had recently struggled to cope with him. They said he needed to go to a school that would be more equipped to cope with his needs. Vivian had been furious at the time and had given the headmaster what for. She wasn’t stupid, she knew her son was different, but she hated hearing other people say it. The local council had come to her rescue when Vinny had gone up there and had a strong word with them. Lenny would very soon be picked up every morning to be taken to a school in Aldgate that had much smaller numbers in the classrooms, more teachers, and most importantly catered for children with learning disabilities. Now Vivian had got her head around the fact her son would be attending a special school, she was quite pleased. Lenny needed more one-to-one tutoring and she wanted him to be able to read and write properly. She hadn’t told him about his new school yet though. She knew what Lenny was like. He would worry and ask her thousands of questions, so she’d decided to tell him only a day or two before he started there.
‘Here we are,’ Roy said, nodding towards an opulent-looking building.
Queenie and Vivian glanced at one another approvingly. They were both thinking exactly the same thing. Vinny and Roy were certainly going up in the world and long may that continue.
The lunch was a roaring success, but by the time the dessert arrived, Vinny had started to become pissed off. For the past ten minutes all Roy, Michael and Kevin had discussed were girls they’d copped off with or fancied and not only did Vinny think that this was an inappropriate conversation to be having in front of his mum, aunt, Brenda and Lenny, he was also angry as he would rather be talking business. In Vinny’s eyes, earning big bucks was and would always be far more important than some dopey slag of a bird. Yvonne Summers had taught him that lesson.
Watching his mum and aunt egg Michael on to tell them more about the girl he had recently dated with the massive boobies, Vinny had a sudden urge to smash his glass against the table.
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Queenie asked, as young Brenda and Lenny both nigh-on jumped out of their skins.
Roy knew exactly what the matter was, but said nothing. Whenever he met a girl he liked, he always played it down to his brother because he knew he would get the third degree otherwise. Not once had Vinny ever liked a girl he had courted and Roy dreaded the day he met the special one whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, as he knew that it would cause murder. All Vinny was interested in was money, notoriety and violence. Anything with tits and a fanny did not come into that category and Roy could never see Vinny getting married himself. He just wasn’t the type.
‘You haven’t answered me. I asked you what the matter was?’ Queenie repeated.
Vinny did his best to disguise his temper. Michael’s birthday had cost him a bloody fortune and had he known beforehand that George Geary would swindle him out of fifteen hundred quid for a licence to serve poxy alcohol, he might not have gone so overboard. ‘I haven’t brought this family to a top-class restaurant so we could spend the day talking about women’s body parts. If I wanted porn, I would have gone to Soho. Brenda and Champ don’t want to listen to such garbage, do they? Young ears an’ all that.’
‘We were only having a laugh, Vinny. Nobody said anything bad,’ Vivian said sternly. She was shocked by her nephew’s uncalled-for outburst, to say the least.
‘It’s my fault. I started the conversation, so I’ll take the blame,’ Michael admitted sheepishly.
Looking at his brother’s sorrowful expression was enough to snap Vinny out of his temper tantrum. ‘No, it’s not your fault, it’s mine. I overreacted because I’m just dead excited about your other surprise. That is why I wanted to change the direction of the conversation and I’m sorry for snapping at everybody.’
‘Ere you go, bruv,’ Roy said, handing Michael a large brown bag.
Thinking how lucky his pal was to get so many wonderful presents, Kevin looked over Michael’s shoulder as he opened it. ‘That’s well ace! It’s real mohair,’ he exclaimed.
Michael couldn’t believe his luck. The Lambretta had been his best present ever and on top of that he had now been given an amazing suit.
‘That’s to wear for work,’ Vinny said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
‘Christ, I won’t be getting oil and petrol over this. I’ll stick with me overalls for work, thanks,’ Michael chuckled.
Queenie felt her stomach churn. Vinny had a strange way of dealing with matters at times. Surely offering Michael the job and waiting for his response would have been more appropriate than telling him he had a new job?
‘You ain’t working at that shitty garage no more, Michael. Me and Roy popped down there this morning to inform your boss that you won’t be coming back. He was fine about it. He understood that you needed to move onto bigger and better things,’ Vinny explained.
Lenny and Brenda were happily chatting amongst themselves and had no idea of the importance of the adults’ conversation. Queenie, Vivian and Roy did though. The glances exchanged between the three of them said it all. Kevin had always been wary of Michael’s older brothers, especially Vinny, so not wanting to get involved in a family dispute, he just stared at his hands.
Michael stared at his brother in total disbelief. There was a programme on TV called Candid Camera that Bob Monkhouse presented. It set up situations such as the one that he currently found himself in, where a camera was hidden in the premises. Then, all of a sudden a man would pop out of nowhere and reveal that it was all a big joke. ‘Is this some kind of a game? You are winding me up, aren’t you?’ Michael asked, in a voice that didn’t sound very much like his own.
‘’Course I ain’t winding you up. You’re sixteen now, Michael. You’re a man, not a boy, and you can’t spend the rest of your life working as a glorified teaboy. That’s why me and Roy decided that the time was right for you to come and work with us at the club. We need an extra pair of hands and you’ll be on loads more money than you’re on now. In time, all three of us will become equal partners.’
‘But I don’t want to work at the club, Vinny. I want to be a mechanic. It’s always been my dream to be a mechanic, ain’t it, Mum?’
Unable to look her youngest son in the eye, Queenie nodded, then turned her attention to Lenny and Brenda. This was nothing to do with her, it was boy’s talk and she didn’t want to get involved in taking sides. She loved all her sons, so how could she?
‘Once you start at the club and you’ve been there a week or two, you’ll love it, Michael. No more freezing your nuts off while lying on a concrete floor,’ Roy joked. He could tell by the look in Vinny’s eyes that he was getting annoyed by Michael’s lack of gratitude and he didn’t want the atmosphere to turn sour.
‘Look, Roy, Vinny, I really appreciate what you’re offering me and all the lovely presents you’ve bought me, but I don’t want to work with you. I love my job in the garage and one day my dream is to own a garage of my own.’
Vinny laughed sarcastically. ‘And my dream was to be the next Jimmy Greaves and bang in goals for Spurs, but it never happened, did it? I’m sorry and all that but me and Roy really need you to come and work with us now. We can’t employ strangers, we don’t trust ’em enough, and as our brother, you owe it to us to link up with the family firm. We’re Butlers, and like it or not, us Butlers stick together. It’s not up for negotiation; it’s your duty, Michael. You start first thing Monday morning.’
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