Close (29 page)

She watched as Patrick Junior glanced at his brother and then slipped his hand into Lance's, all the while acting like there was no atmosphere in the room and there was nothing to be worried about. It was the way that Lance grabbed at his brother's hand as if he was saving him from drowning that was the worst thing of all. Because she knew that Patrick was, as usual, acting as a wall that kept her and her second son as far away from each other as was physically possible and she did nothing to stop him.

Lil appreciated her eldest son's help and loved him all the more because she knew he was doing it all for her; she knew that he had no real time for Lance either.

Like her husband with Dennis Williams, who had eventually worn out his welcome, her son had the same attitude with his brother. Unlike Dennis Williams though, Lance had the sense to keep on his brother's good side.

Lil was worried though. Dennis had nearly brought trouble to her door and even though Pat had sorted it, she was still smarting from it. No matter what Pat said or, more to the point, didn't say, she had her mother to rely on where gossip was concerned.

The Williams brothers would always be trouble to them, she was convinced of that much at least.

Dave was nervous and he wondered what kind of reception he was going to get in Patrick's office. He hoped against hope that he would be alone, that he didn't have to talk to him with an audience of any kind. He felt Pat owed him that much at least but he couldn't demand it; his days of demanding anything were long gone.

The fact he was invited to the club was a touch because he knew that if Pat Brodie was going to do anything to him it would not be where he could be seen or heard. He needed to know the score, not just for him, but for his brothers who were waiting for him to let them know if they were safe or not. The family had been divided and all he could do now was to try to iron out their differences as best he could. If that meant swallowing his knob then he was willing to do it like a professional hostess. Dave was more than aware that anything he was given now would be the dregs and he had to accept that and work his way back into Pat's good books. He had to try to salvage something of their working relationship so that his brothers and himself could at least earn a crust of some sort.

He was also worried about what had happened to Dennis. He knew Jimmy had been on board, so he knew that it wasn't going to be anything he wanted to hear, though he would listen to the gory details if necessary and accept it with as good a grace as he could.

At the end of the day, he had to keep reminding himself that, no matter what, he had to do what was best for the rest of the family, himself included. That the old days were dead and gone. He had to take what was offered with as much pride and dignity as he could muster, and eventually it would all blow over.

At least that is what he kept telling himself.

As he parked his car and walked slowly through the evening bustle that was Soho, he felt the sickness rising inside his chest. This had once been his stomping ground, had once been the epitome of everything he had ever wanted or indeed ever achieved but now the streets were cold and unfriendly and he didn't feel a part of it all any more.

The flashing neon lights and the garish posters with nude women and their strategically placed stars, were alien to him. Sex was on sale everywhere, but underlying that was the stench of pimps and the Brodies, all out to take whatever they wanted.

The smell of Chinese food mixed with pasta was sickening and the grey-skinned women who only seemed to come alive at night looked sinister; their make-up and cheap clothes suddenly showing him just how false the world he had inhabited for so long really was.

Soho was all top show and if you scratched the surface you were reminded that it was all built on lies and pretence; he had been part of that pretence once and now he was being forced on to the sidelines. It was a very cruel lesson and one he would remember all his life.

No one acknowledged his existence any more. There were no friendly waves or the humorous shouting he had become used to. He saw people deliberately turning away from him, as if he was diseased, and in a way he was. He was now an outsider looking in and it felt worse than anything he had ever experienced before in his life.

As Dave walked into the warmth of the club, he was left with no illusions about his status in the community where he had once been a leading player.

The head girl, Lynda Marks, looked him up and down with obvious distaste before saying archly, 'I'll let him know you're here, shall I?'

Her whole demeanour told him just how far he had fallen and it was this more than anything that really hit him where it hurt.

If the hostesses felt they could talk down to you then you really were about as low as you could possibly get.

But he knew he had to take whatever was dealt him, because he had fucked up big time. It would be years before he was even accepted back into the lower echelons of the world he had come to see as his own; let alone be trusted. He had to make sure that Patrick Brodie understood that he was here today, cap in hand and with all the humility he could muster, in the hope that he could salvage at least something from this debacle. At least get a living for himself and his brothers. He needed to find out whether Dennis was alive or dead and if they at least had something left to bury or whether he had to tell his mother there were no remains to cry over, nothing tangible to grieve for. As he waited for his audience he was sweating with nerves and dry-mouthed with fear.

'Look at that pair of maggots!' Annie's voice was soft for once and, as was her wont these days, it was the sight of her twin granddaughters that was the cause of it.

'Lovely ain't they, Mum. I hope this one's a girl and all.'

Lil put her hands under her large lump and lifted it carefully; this was the biggest she had ever been before and everyone assumed she was either carrying a boy or failing that, another set of twins.

She wanted another girl though. She liked the girls and since Lance's birth, she was frightened of another son, of having another boy that she would not be able to love.

The twins were lying side by side once more and talking their own language. It was fascinating to watch them. They were like mirror images of one another and unless you knew them really well, it was difficult to tell them apart.

Her mother's obvious love for them had melted even her heart and their relationship had been easier because of that, easier than it had been for a long time. Annie was always trying to build bridges and helping her out and she appreciated that. As Lil looked around her cluttered front room, she felt the tiredness and the excitement of the new baby acutely.

She only hoped that Patrick would be around for the birth. He was always interested in how she was feeling; he thought he could suss out the sex of the child by asking her questions and feeling her belly. He was like most men when it came down to it, he had no idea what it was like to have your body taken over for nine months yet he was convinced he was an expert. She gave birth and he took the kudos. As her mother said, men were about as much use as a chocolate teapot around a pregnant woman and she had to agree that, for once, she was right.

Annie had been a godsend lately, what with the party and the twins and Patrick being on the missing list so much. Her body was rebelling against this child for some reason and she would be glad to get it out into the open and finally have a proper gander at it. Only a girl could be the cause of her uncomfortable nights, even more uncomfortable days, and the reason for her constant backache and penchant for tears. Never before had she felt so low, or so high, while carrying a child. This one, she was sure, would be special.

As Lance lifted Eileen up and carried her to bed, she smiled slightly; he was good with his sisters, especially Eileen. The weirdness she felt when she was around him had to be her fault, had to be coming from her. Lance tried his hardest to make her love him but she knew that no matter what she did to assure him that was the truth, he knew in his heart that she was pretending.

It was just on eight and the club was still almost empty except for a few of the City boys who liked a drink, a flash of stripper flesh and a quick feel before they lumbered home to their wives. When Dave was finally taken into Patrick's office he was on the verge of tears, such was his nervousness.

Patrick was sat at his desk drinking brandy: a good sign, and smoking one of his cigars: a very good sign. Patrick loved his Cuban smokes, everyone knew that, even though he only smoked them when he was in a club, never at home.

Dave smiled tremulously and saw the pity in Pat's eyes. He had fallen so far in the space of a few months and he felt it acutely, especially now that he had finally gained an appointment with the man who had not only taken out his brother, but had also been the cause of every good thing that had happened to them for many years.

Pat smiled at him sadly. 'Want a drink, Dave?'

He nodded his assent with far too much enthusiasm and with far too much relief. It was embarrassing to watch, and Dave knew it would make his humiliation even harder to bear. This was the shape of things to come and he knew he would not be able to bear it.

Patrick was heartsore at the predicament his friend had found himself in. He had always liked the kid; he didn't have half the brain or half the gumption of his older brother but he had possessed enough heat to make Pat feel he was worth giving a chance to out of respect for his dead brother, Dicky.

He had only given him an in because of his brother and he had made a bad judgement. Now he was paying for it; they were all paying for it.

As he handed the boy a drink, Jimmy Brick was ushered into the small office and young Dave went white at the sight of him. Even his lips had gone white, so shocked was he to see him.

This annoyed Patrick. Dave should have expected something like this; he was hardly going to leave the meet between these two for months or years was he? The fact that Dave had not expected it was another reason why he should have realised that the guy was a skank, a fucking waster. Dave should already have had his speech prepared and his sincere apology; should have understood the economics of their world. Instead, he was standing there like a fucking nonce.

Patrick looked at Dave and tried to convey this with a discreet shake of his head; praying that the boy finally took on board what was expected of him. He had to either fight like fuck and make a stand over his brother's death or swallow and forever be a gofer, a cunt.

Dave did nothing and Patrick was devastated, even though he had not expected anything different. The room was filled with tension and also disappointment and Jimmy's easy shrug called for the whole episode to be brought to an end.

Dave watched as Jimmy Brick was embraced by Brodie as if he was a long-lost brother. He knew then that he should have made the first move and embraced Jimmy Brick as if it was all just a silly mistake. He should have realised that Jimmy would now be the person who controlled what he earned and how much responsibility he would be allowed to take on in the future. He had fucked up once more and no one was sorrier than Patrick Brodie; he had tried to build a bridge between them but he had been too stupid to take that on board. Dave observed the solidarity these two men displayed so openly with a sad face and a slumped demeanour. He was already beaten and they didn't need to rub it in; that much was obvious to them all.

Jimmy's dead eyes were finally alive and Patrick realised that they were alive with malice. He was enjoying this little meeting and he understood that Dave was being taught a very valuable lesson and it was Jimmy's job to ram it home, hard and fast, so it would not easily be forgotten.

Once more, the Williams brothers had missed a golden opportunity.

Chapter Thirteen

'I mean it, don't fucking wind me up. I ain't giving you nix.'

Dave and Tommy Williams were both at a point where murder was definitely an option. The man they were fighting with knew this but was not worried; at least, he was not as worried as he should have been. Both the Williams brothers were more than aware that he seemed almost uninterested. Colin Parker was an arsehole and they knew it. Till now, though, he had always been a nervous arsehole.

'Where the fuck is the money, Col? Just give it to us, eh.' The uncertainty was in Dave's voice and Parker knew it. He snorted with contempt, his red face and unshaven cheeks making him look worse than ever. He was an ugly man anyway, his sneer just made him look even uglier.

'Can I ask you two something?' His voice was calm, as if interested in their answer.

Dave nodded, out of curiosity. 'Course, what?'

Colin grinned and it was a sarcastic and brave action. Holding out his arms, he said slowly, 'Do I look even remotely bothered? You don't scare me. You're fucking ice-creams, no more and no less.'

He lit a joint with steady hands and when it was sparked up properly, he said with heavy sarcasm, If your brother Dennis ain't with you then you can both fuck off. Let's face it, he was the scary one.'

Colin Parker smiled then, a confident smile, one that was guaranteed to annoy. He was a small-time gambler who had a serious habit and, ergo, an even more serious debt. He was paying fuck all if he didn't have to.

Colin was a short, shaven-headed individual, stocky and strong. A founding member of the ICF, he was a bully boy who saw himself as above the common herd and as someone who could also look after himself if the fancy took him. He fought on the terraces every Saturday although that was often en masse. Alone, he could hold his own but he preferred to have a gang behind him. Safety in numbers was his usual credo, but these two didn't seem to be too much of a worry. Not after what he had heard on the streets; they were on their last legs. The Williams brothers had once been a force to be reckoned with, but not any more. These two were like Mutt and Jeff. About as hard as a nun with a water pistol.