Faceless (57 page)

screaming obscenities.

‘Piss off, you prat, I ain’t scared of you! I ain’t scared of no one!

You fucking white-skinned ghost, come back and fight like a man.

You hear me? I ain’t fucking scared of you!’ Alan called after him.

But he was scared, and he knew it. More to the point, Teddington knew it. But it made Alan feel better to say it.

Alone he put his head into his hands and tried to stem the tears

that were threatening to fall from his eyes. He was frightened that if

he started crying he would never stop.

Marie was in a cab on her way to Spitalfields after a call from Maisie.

As she had walked out of the hostel she had half expected to be

arrested. Instead she’d left without anyone taking any real notice.

But she felt inside that it was only a matter of time before the police

sought her out.

She was going to plead guilty and get it all over with. That was

the easiest way. As Sally had said, showing the police the video

would be her best defence. No mother could be expected to see

that and not react. But she knew that the men in the film would not

be easily incriminated. No, they’d have their arses well covered. The

video would disappear or something else would happen to discredit

her story.

It was how their world worked.

Her only other option was to contact them personally and try and

get a deal from them. But if she did that she would be letting them

get away with it. Strangely she didn’t feel the urge to kill them any

more, she had had her fill of killing since Patrick. She still couldn’t

believe she had really done what she had.

But in one part of her, no matter how bad she felt now and

would feel for the rest of her days, she was glad he was no more.

She wouldn’t go so far as to say she was pleased she had done it, but

she was pleased that he could never hurt her or her loved ones

again.

Inside the restaurant she saw a beaming Maisie, who out of her

working clothes and make-up looked just like any other young

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girl. As Marie sat down she poured her a large glass of ice cold

Chardonnay.

‘Let’s have a toast, shall we?’

Marie didn’t answer her.

‘Well, come on, love, get that down your neck. Cheers! I can see

you’ve already had a few, already been celebrating.’

‘I am not celebrating, Maisie. I can’t, not yet.’

She shrugged.

‘Fair enough. But Christ, Marie, you gave him a braying and a

half, didn’t you? I was watching you. I saw it all.’

Marie was quiet, wondering where this was leading. Was Maisie

going to try and use the knowledge against her in some way?

‘When you hit him, he didn’t know his arse from his elbow. It

was perfect! And the way his head opened up with the first

whack … Girl, I never, ever want to fall out with you. It was like

something from a fucking film! Then you just laid into him. I

couldn’t believe he was still alive when the others turned up. It was

so fucking freaky! And then I had to go back inside the flat and act

like I knew fuck all when inside I wanted to roar with fucking

laughter!’

Marie said loudly, ‘What the fuck are you going on about? What

others? Who else turned up?’

It was then that Maisie realised Marie had absolutely no idea what

had happened after she’d left.

Jason was sitting with his father watching the news when they were

both startled to see Patrick Connor’s picture appear on the screen

and hear a brief resume of his life of crime. The story went on to say

he had been tortured to death by a well-known drug baron, Mikey

Devlin, a man who had himself been shot by police marksmen at a

scrapyard in East London after a surveillance operation that had

lasted for months.

Jason was in shock but as Ossie tried to turn off the news he held

out his arm to stop him.

‘Leave it, Dad, I want to hear it all.’

Ossie listened with his boy as his natural father’s murder was

talked about calmly and dispassionately by the nice Welshman who

read the news on BBC1.

‘Haven’t you seen the news today, Marie? Some bloke called Devlin

was shot at a scrapyard in East London. Well, by all accounts it was

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him who lifted Patrick after you’d brained him. I didn’t know the

blokes who turned up, assumed they were just another set of

enemies. Christ himself knew Patrick had more than enough. But

his body was found in one of this Devlin bloke’s lock ups. They had

tortured him, used everything on him … cattle prods, a welding

iron, you name it. Fuck, I wish I’d seen it!’

Marie stared around the crowded restaurant and watched all the

people laughing and joking and drinking. In the corner was a

middle-aged couple. They were gazing into each other’s eyes

oblivious to everyone around them. They looked to be in love.

Would she have fallen in love with Mikey eventually? She had

wanted to use him, to make him hurt Patrick for her, and he had

done that without her prompting. He had done it because he cared

about her. She didn’t deserve such caring.

The relief of knowing she had not actually killed Patrick was

overshadowed by the knowledge that Mikey Devlin had done the

job for her. Because he cared.

She gulped at the wine and tried to work out what the hell she

was supposed to do next. She still had the video in her possession.

Could she use it in some way to bring the three men to justice?

Something had to be done. This could not be the end of it - too

many people had been hurt. She had to make sense of it all or it

would send her as mad as her father.

Thinking of her father reminded her of what had happened to him

and her mother. Whatever Louise was, she did not deserve to be

burnt alive for it and yet that was exactly what had happened to her,

and it was all Marie’s fault. Her father had avenged that and had been

locked away. Her own daughter had been determined to show her

that she didn’t need her, and now she was dead. Her granddaughter

was in care. Her son was the only bright spark in her life. Yet she was

causing him problems by her association with him.

She had inadvertently caused chaos in so many lives by her release

from prison. If only she had never been paroled, so much hurt and

trouble could have been avoided.

Her mother was right after all. She was nothing but a Jonah.

Alan was getting tired and irritable. He had been left half the day in

a cell without even a cup of tea or a cigarette. He was gasping for

both and when the door was finally opened was ready to tell

whoever it was exactly what he thought of them.

It was Teddington, as he knew it would be. He could see by the

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policeman’s stance that he was after another row. It was why he was

in the cell and had not had Alan brought to an interview room.

‘What do you want, cunt! Another history lesson on the

Colombians or a smack in the fucking teeth?’

Teddington had three other men with him and grinned at them

as he said, ‘See what I fucking mean? He has to be on a fucking

death wish.’

Alan held up his fists like an old-time prizefighter.

‘Come on then, one at a time. Or are you too scared to take me

on? Come on then, I fucking dare you. You come in here like four

mad fairies and think you can intimidate me. Well, fuck you!’

Teddington was half impressed with this man though he

wouldn’t let him know that.

‘Come on then, you load of fucking filth poofters. Show me what

you can do, or are you all after my arse?’

Alan started to laugh again.

‘That’s it, ain’t it? You’re all shirt lifters!’

That was when the kicking started.

Alan had made the mistake of forgetting he was actually no good

to them now that Mikey was dead. Instead of trying to make things

easier for himself, he had only succeeded in making everything

worse. Fifteen minutes later he was bruised, bleeding, and back on

the street. The sound of Teddington’s laughter was ringing in his

ears as he came to the sickening realisation that out here his life was

in mortal danger because he was a known grass.

Everyone he knew would be scared to help him. He was finished.

He was the reason Mikey had been shot and his boys banged up.

Alan Jarvis had gone from respected businessman and scrap metal

tycoon to drug dealer, importer, and finally grass.

What a glittering career he had carved out for himself.

Now he was completely on his own. He would never see his girls

again because he could be traced through them. His name would be

spoken with hatred and everyone would wonder if he had opened

his trap about them as well. He had no one to turn to and no one

to rely on.

The sooner he disappeared the better.

Anastasia was laughing, her little face red from the exertion. As

Lorraine and Peter Porter watched her they both felt extremely

happy. She was everything they had ever dreamed of in a child:

bright, pretty and with a lovely nature. She had settled in well and

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already hugged them as if they were her real parents. That in itself

felt like a privilege.

Since the sad news of her mother’s death they hoped they might

be considered for adoption. After all, they were mixed race like her.

Lorraine’s father was from Bangladesh though Peter was pure

Yorkshire. They had met at university and had fallen in love in

seconds, but since Peter had found out he was sterile their cosy little

world had been destroyed. Until they had started fostering, that is.

Although they’d loved all the kids they had looked after, this little

one was special. As she grinned at them now they both felt a lifting

of their heart like a physical sensation.

‘Annie’s!’

She spoke the name they had given her with pride as she grabbed

her dolly from the table. They had thought ‘Anastasia’ a bit of a

mouthful and so they had shortened it accordingly. Annie had liked

it. She found it easier to say than her other name and so she used it

at every opportunity. After a few short weeks she felt like their very

own child and they were terrified of the day she might be taken

from them.

Anastasia had never been so happy, and if every now and then she

briefly remembered and asked for her mummy it soon passed,

especially when she was hugged close by Lorraine.

She was getting used to the regular food, and a house where no

one shouted. Of getting up at the same time each day without

having to lie in bed for ages waiting for her mummy. She was used

to getting plenty of attention now and plenty of treats: swimming,

the cinema and regular play school.

It was an idyllic life for the little girl with the curly hair and the

effervescent personality. She had a look of her mother about her,

but a darker, more honed version. Her character was actually more

like her grandmother’s, had the same self-contained quality. Now

her personality was developing properly she was also getting strong—

minded. Her foster parents put this down to her feeling more

secure. They were right, she was blossoming under their tutelage

and it showed. Even the social worker was impressed with the way

she had come on since they had placed her.

When the news came on the TV and her father’s photo was

displayed, Annie opened her arms wide and said loudly: ‘Daddy

gone!’

Both Lorraine and Peter noticed that she seemed happy as she said

it and they laughed together, not understanding what the joke was.

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Then, her face serious now, she said, ‘Mummy gone.’

And Lorraine hugged her and said gently, ‘Yes, Mummy’s gone,

darling, but Mummy Lot is still here.’

‘Big hug!’

Annie’s voice was loud and Lorraine hugged her hard.

‘Yes, my little darling. Big hug.’

‘All right, Dad?’

Lucy was shocked at her father’s appearance but tried her hardest

not to show it.

He smiled at her, his face lighting up with recognition.

‘Hello, love.’

Kevin was unshaven and it made him look like a tramp. He had

lost weight and his body movements were jerky. Though she had

been warned what to expect, actually seeing him with her own eyes

was still a big shock. He had always been such a dapper man. Smart

and well-groomed. In control of himself.

‘Hello, Sue. I didn’t know you two knew each other!’

He was delighted by his daughter’s visit and it made them both

feel good to see him so happy.

The two best girls! I’ve been wanting to see you. I have

something to tell you, see. I should have told you before but I

couldn’t. Kept it locked away in here for years.’ He tapped his head

with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘And I have to tell you now otherwise

I won’t be allowed to go home. Will I, Sue?’

He looked at her as he said her name and she smiled her

agreement. He spoke in riddles a lot of the time these days.

‘Do you want a cup of tea? They’ll make you a cup if you want

one, they’re very good like that here. It’s because we’re all as mad

as hatters!’