The Victim (7 page)

Full of his usual self-assurance, Eddie ignored the worried looks that were being thrown his way and bowled confidently out of the door.

Joey snatched the glass of brandy out of his grandmother’s hand. He darted out to the kitchen, poured it down the sink and then gave her what for. He hadn’t lost a day off work to watch her drink herself to death.

‘Drink is what sent you loopy the last time, Nan. Now tell me exactly what happened and I’ll help you find Grandad,’ he said kindly, as he sat back down on the sofa.

‘I don’t wanna find him. I hope the nasty old bastard rots in hell,’ Joyce replied dramatically.

Joey smiled. He could see through his nan’s façade, her hard exterior. Deep down she loved his grandad and even though she rarely had a good word to say about him, she was a lost soul without him.

‘Shall I ring Jock? My guess is that Grandad’s stopping with him. What happened anyway? You haven’t even told me yet, Nan.’

Joycie finally broke down as she repeated what had happened and the names Stanley had called her. ‘I only went to meet Eddie so I could sort things out between you and him. I wanted you and your dad to get on ’cause I know your mum would have wanted it,’ she wept.

Joey put both of his arms around his nan and held her tightly. Stanley Smith was a weak man and his nan would never have lasted that many years married to a man with more balls. She was a woman who liked to have the final say, make the decisions, and a stronger man would have divorced her yonks ago.

‘I’ll ring Jock now. Is his number in your address book?’ Joey asked.

Joyce nodded tearfully. ‘He must be at Jock’s, ’cause he took them stinking, bastard pigeons with him,’ she said.

Joey released his nan’s grip, stood up, flicked through her address book and dialled Jock’s number. ‘Hiya Jock, it’s Joey, Stanley’s grandson. Is my grandad there? Only I’m at my nan’s house and she wants to speak to him.’

Joey listened to Jock’s reply and instantly felt rather nauseous. He couldn’t leave his nan alone until his grandad returned, and he had his own bloody life to be getting on with.

‘Well, can you make some phone calls, see if you can find out where he’s gone, Jock?’ Joey thanked Jock for his co-operation, then replaced the receiver and turned to Joyce.

‘He’s not there. Jock said they had a big row at some restaurant and he hasn’t seen or heard from Grandad since.’

Joyce shot off the sofa as though someone had put a bullet up her arse. She had noticed Stanley acting strangely a lot recently; he kept disappearing at lunchtimes, saying he was going for a ‘little drive’, and she could have sworn blind she’d smelled women’s perfume on his clothes two or three times in the past few months. She walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a brandy for the shock.

‘Please, Nan, don’t drink any more,’ Joey pleaded.

‘Don’t fuckin’ drink any more! I need a bastard drink. Your grandfather has gone and got himself a bit of fluff, Joey, and when I find out who the old slapper is, I’m gonna wring her bleedin’ neck until her tits fall off. Little drive! I’ll show him what a little drive is when I drive that knife straight through his bollocks.’

Eddie Mitchell grinned as he heard Gina’s car pull up outside. He deemed himself too cool to run outside to meet her, but he was no good without a woman by his side and to say he had missed her was putting it mildly.

The handover with O’Hara had gone to plan. There had been few words exchanged. Jimmy had pulled up in a pick-up truck, Eddie had got out of his own motor, handed him the dosh, then walked way and driven off. O’Hara had smirked when the dosh was handed over to him, Ed had clocked that, but he wasn’t worried, as he knew he would have the last laugh. ‘Good things come to those who wait,’ his dad used to say.

When the front door opened, Ed walked into the hallway.

‘I have missed you so much, Eddie,’ Gina said, as she threw herself into his arms.

Eddie grinned, then kissed her passionately. He only had to look at her to feel his dick go rock hard. ‘Let’s go to bed, eh?’ he whispered.

Usually, Gina would have run up the stairs, but not only was she ravenous, she also had something on her mind that had been plaguing her for the last few days. ‘As much as I fancy you Ed, we need to talk first. I’m also starving. Have you been shopping or shall we get a takeaway?’

Thrown by the matter-of-fact tone in Gina’s voice, Eddie lifted her chin with his hand and stared deep into her dark-brown eyes. ‘You ain’t gonna fuck me off, are ya? Don’t tell me the first bit of agg we’ve had, you’re bolting, babe.’

Gina looked at Eddie’s handsome face. No, she wasn’t impressed by being shoved off to her friend Claire’s house for weeks, but she loved Ed dearly and would never leave him, no matter what he did.

‘Ed, I love you more than I love myself. How can you even ask such a thing?’

Eddie pushed her long, dark hair away from her forehead. ‘Something’s wrong, I know it is. Tell me.’

Gina smiled. Nothing was wrong, everything was right, but for once it wasn’t just herself she was having to think about, it was another little person. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m pregnant, Ed.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

Terry Baldwin sat in the Thatched House in Barking with a glum expression and a pint of Guinness. His wonderful grandson’s murder had left Terry stunned and heartbroken. He’d fucking loved that kid, idolised every hair on his little head.

Purgatory would be the best way to describe the six weeks since Luke had died. Terry’s daughter Sally had been distraught, in absolute bits and, even though she was pregnant, had hit the bottle big style.

‘You’re gonna be burying another baby if you carry on like that,’ Terry had warned her only yesterday.

‘I’m so unhappy living here. I need to move back in with Jed. Please say I can, Dad. You can’t keep me away from him for ever. I love him.’

Sick of watching Sally necking the wine night after night, Terry had reluctantly agreed that she could move back in with her no-good, pikey arsehole of a boyfriend. When Luke had first been murdered, Terry had turned up at the O’Haras’ and ordered Sally to return home so she was safe and they could grieve and cry together. Terry had hoped that she would leave Jed for good, especially when she learned from the police that Frankie was also pregnant in the nick with the toerag’s child, but it wasn’t to be. The silly little cow was going back to him for now, until Terry found a way to get the piece of shit out of her life for good.

The pub door opened and Terry nodded as Jamie Carroll sat down opposite him. Jamie was a fixer and whether you wanted a firearm, a dodgy motor got rid of, or some bastard assassinated, Jamie could fix it for you.

‘What you having to drink?’ Terry asked.

‘Nothing, I’ve gotta be in Shoreditch in half an hour. You got the boodle?’

Terry nodded. ‘Shall I give it to you here?’

‘No. I’ll leave first; you finish your beer and meet me outside in five minutes. I’m in a silver Jag.’

Obeying Jamie’s orders, Terry sipped his pint. He then stood up, checked nobody was watching him and left the pub. He spotted the Jag at the far end of the car park and walked towards it.

‘Shall I get in while you count it? It’s in bundles of a thousand.’

Jamie shook his head. He’d done bird with Baldwin and knew he was sweet. ‘I trust ya. As soon as I get the nod, I’ll let you know,’ he replied. He started the engine and sped out of the car park like a racing driver.

Terry watched him go and then got into his own car. There was no going back now, not now he’d called it on. Nothing would bring Lukey boy back, but as the child’s grandfather, Terry saw it as his duty to do whatever he could for Luke’s memory.

Georgie and Harry O’Hara sat silently on the sofa as their dad fondled Sally on the armchair. Neither child particularly disliked Sally – she had always been quite kind to them and given them lots of attention when Luke was alive – but today she was solely focused on their father and had barely spoken to them all afternoon. Noticing that her dad had put his hand up Sally’s short skirt, Georgie grabbed Harry’s hand.

‘Come on, let’s play in the other room,’ she said.

Thrilled to have Sally back and also desperate for a leg-over, Jed was happy to let his children do their own thing. His mum had gone to do the weekly shop, his father had driven her there, and when she got back he would leave her in charge of the kids while he took Sally upstairs for a good seeing-to. It would do them good to spend some time alone; they could have sex, then talk about Lukey boy.

‘What you doin’, Georgie?’ Harry asked, as his sister stood on a chair and removed items from the fridge.

‘Ssh,’ Georgie warned. She didn’t want her father to get wind of what she was up to.

Harry watched his sister in awe as she buttered the bread, spread some Marmite over it, then put big lumps of cheese in the middle. Georgie placed the sandwiches into her Mister Blobby lunchbox. She then placed four cans of Pepsi and four packets of crisps in a carrier bag.

‘You hold the lunchbox, I’ll carry the bag ’cause it’s heavier,’ she whispered to Harry.

Georgie put her Puffa jacket on, helped Harry into his, opened the front door and urged Harry to follow her outside. She could hear her dad making strange noises in the living room, so she left the door slightly open in case he heard it click shut.

‘Are we going for a picnic, Georgie?’ Harry asked excitedly.

Georgie held Harry’s hand and urged him to run towards the nearby fields. ‘No, we’re running away to Nanny Joycie’s house.’

Unaware that his great-grandchildren were on their way to his old abode, Stanley Smith finished the last of his rabbit stew and puffed out his cheeks.

‘Have some more,’ Pat the Pigeon ordered, as she leaped out of her seat to bring the large saucepan over.

‘Christ no, I’m that bloated I can’t even move.’

Pat smiled. She knew how to take care of a man – her mother had instilled it into her from a very early age. ‘Patricia, all you’ve got to do in life is learn to cook like an angel and act like a whore in the bedroom. If you can successfully master those two acts, no man will ever leave you – why would he?’ her mum used to insist.

‘I’ve made a rhubarb crumble, but if you’re stuffed we’ll eat that later for supper, Stanley. My Christine lent me a film the other day, reckons it’s bloody brilliant. It’s called
Thelma and Louise
. Have you seen it?’

Stanley shook his head. ‘Well, you go and make yourself comfortable in the living room while I wash up and then we’ll have a couple of cans of bitter to wash that dinner down and watch our film.’

Stanley grinned and did as he was told. Unlike Joycie, who had always treated and spoken to him like something untoward on the bottom of her shoe, Pat was kind, she respected him and Stanley could get very used to that indeed.

Back in bitterly cold Rainham, Harry O’Hara was shivering, tired and had just fallen over on the uneven ground and grazed his knee. ‘Can you pick me up, Georgie? My knee hurts,’ he asked with a tremor in his voice.

Seeing headlights approaching, Georgie pushed Harry behind a bush. The only way to Nanny Joycie’s house was via the road and because it was a country lane there was no pavement to walk on.

‘Why do you keep pushing me?’ Harry wept.

Aware that Harry’s teeth were chattering, Georgie gave him a hug. She opened her Mr Blobby lunchbox, gave Harry a sandwich, then handed him a can of Pepsi out of the carrier bag. It was dark now, pitch black, and as they nibbled on their sandwiches they could barely see what they were eating.

‘I’m sorry I pushed you, Harry, but if we don’t get out the way when a car drives along, we might get run over.’

Harry nodded tearfully. He didn’t like the dark, had always been afraid of it. ‘When will we see Nanny Joycie’s house?’ he asked.

‘Soon, but you have to walk quicker, Harry. I can’t carry you.’

They finished their sandwiches in silence, then Georgie stood up and grabbed her brother’s hand. She knew they were going the right way. Her teacher had taught her how to tell her left from her right and she knew her nan’s house was this way, because she’d spotted it from her grandad Jimmy’s truck. Georgie didn’t miss going to school at all. She hadn’t been back since her mummy had disappeared and she was pleased that she didn’t have to sit cooped up in a classroom every day. Not only that, she didn’t want to leave Harry indoors on his own. If she went to school, her brother would have no one to play with.

Feeling herself shiver, Georgie turned to her brother. ‘It’s nearly bedtime now, so we must run before Daddy finds us.’

Not wanting to be found by his daddy, Harry ignored the pain in his bruised knee and did as he was told.

Alice O’Hara had had a pleasant afternoon. Her Jimmy rarely took her out, but on the way back from Tesco, he’d suggested they have a meal in a local pub. For the first time since Marky and Lukey boy had died, Alice had laughed and smiled. She’d even drunk five pints of Guinness and it was good to forget her troubles, even if it was only for a day.

‘I wonder what the chavvies have been up to?’ Alice asked Jimmy. She was dying to get home now to have a little cuddle with her Georgie girl.

‘I dunno, but you’ll soon find out,’ Jimmy replied, as he pulled up outside their house.

‘I’ll kill that Jed, he’s left the poxy door open, the house’ll be bloody freezing,’ Alice moaned as she marched into the hallway. ‘Georgie, Harry, Nanna’s home,’ she yelled.

The silence immediately unnerved Alice and left her with her usual feeling of doom and gloom. ‘Jed, where are you?’ she screamed. He had to be here, his Shogun was outside.

Hearing his mother’s dulcet tones, Jed got out of bed, put his pants and jeans on and walked to the top of the stairs. ‘I’m up ’ere. Sally’s home, so we’ve been getting reacquainted, if you know what I mean.’

‘Are the chavvies up there with ya?’ Jimmy asked.

Jed felt the colour drain from his face. He’d got so used to his mum looking after the kids, he’d sort of forgotten she wasn’t there. He ran down the stairs like a lunatic. ‘Georgie! Harry!’ he yelled.

Alice ran back into the hallway. She’d checked all the rooms and looked out the back. ‘You stupid, selfish little bastard. The front door was open, you dinlo.’

As Alice began pummelling her son’s bare chest with her fists, Jimmy searched for his mobile. He’d forgotten it earlier when he’d gone out with Alice. ‘We’d better call the gavvers,’ he yelled.

Alice stopped hitting her son and chased her husband into the lounge. ‘No, dordie, no. If the gavvers get involved, we’ll have social services knockin’ on the door and they’ll take the chavvies away from us. We gotta find ’em ourselves.’

Fuming that after such a good day his Alice was now in floods of tears, Jimmy grabbed his youngest son around the throat. He tapped his forehead with his free hand. ‘You wanna start thinking with that rather than this,’ he said as he kneed him in the bollocks.

‘For fuck’s sake, Jimmy, fighting ain’t gonna find ’em. Let’s go search for ’em,’ Alice cried.

The house had automatic lights at the front and back, but Jimmy grabbed a couple of torches. Georgie was four and Harry was only three, so they couldn’t have got far.

‘You don’t think the Mitchells have snatched ’em do you?’ Jed asked, still holding his private parts.

‘No chance, with Frankie still inside. It’s more than they dare do,’ Jimmy replied confidently.

‘What’s going on?’ Sally asked, as she appeared at the top of the stairs.

Jed ignored her and pushed his parents out of the front door. He felt tearful now and sick with fear. He’d already lost one child and losing his other two didn’t bear thinking about.

Stanley sat open-mouthed as Thelma and Louise prepared to drive off the cliff. It wasn’t the film that was causing his state of shock, it was because Pat the Pigeon had just laid her head on his shoulder and put an arm across his belly.

Even as a lad, Stanley had been no lothario. Women had never liked him, full stop, and apart from the rare fumble with Joycie, he’d had fewer sexual encounters than a monk.

Willing Thelma and Louise to get on with it and drive off the bastard cliff, Stanley was relieved when they did so and as the credits rolled, he immediately faked a yawn and stood up. ‘Oh well, that’s me done for the night. Them bitters have knocked me out.’

‘What about your rhubarb crumble?’ Pat asked, sitting up straight.

‘I’m still bloated from that stew, love. Is it OK if we eat it tomorrow?’

Pat the Pigeon was a five-foot-two, voluptuous and big-breasted blonde. She was in her mid-fifties, but still had a lovely complexion and an extremely pretty face. With her hearty laugh and sexy smile, men had always fallen at her feet and even when she’d been married to Vic, she’d had to fight off unwelcome advances from her army of admirers. Stanley was a different kettle of fish and as desperate as Pat was to get him into bed, she knew she had to play the waiting game.

‘Slowly, slowly catchee monkey,’ her wise old mum used to say.

‘Yes, of course it’s OK to eat it tomorrow, Stanley. You get off to that nice comfortable bed in the spare room and I’ll see you in the morning, lovey.’

Desperate for his nan not to go off her head or get drunk and smash the house up like she did the last time when his grandad left home, Joey had offered to stay the night with her. Dominic, being the best partner a man could wish for, had just arrived with a big bag of fish and chips for them all.

Pleased that his nan was tucking in, Joey offered her another pickled onion.

‘I bet that’s the old bastard. He’s probably too frightened to use his key,’ Joyce said as the doorbell rang.

Positive it couldn’t be his grandad, as they hadn’t heard his car pull up, Joey put his plate down and stood up. He opened the door and could barely believe his eyes. Georgie was standing on a plant pot, which she’d used to reach the doorbell, and Harry was standing next to the pot, shivering and crying.

‘Oh my God. Get inside, you’re both freezing,’ Joey urged his niece and nephew.

When the children walked into the room, Joyce dropped her dinner on the floor in shock and burst into tears. ‘Oh, my little darlings,’ she said, as she knelt down and hugged them both.

Dominic looked at Joey in astonishment. ‘How did they get here? Did Jed drop them off?’