Maura's Game (4 page)

Then he blasted her in the face. He was still smiling while he did it.

Sandra’s mum had had to pick the kids up from school and assumed her daughter was out on one of her marathon lunches again. She took the girls back to her own house, determined to have a word with Sandra about her neglect of the kids. Since Vic had been banged up she had gone mad, out all the time, coked out of her nut. Her mother was getting fed up with it. Consequently Sandra’s body wasn’t found for twenty-four hours.

Vic Joliff had to be sedated when he was told the news, as did Sandra’s mother who was unfortunate enough to find her daughter’s mangled body along with the dog’s. Chantel and Rochelle were now to live with their granny, who smoked too much and lived for Bingo.

The police were baffled. Everyone was.

Sandra was a wife, a civilian, had had no dealings in Vic’s business, though some said she had snorted most of the profits. But that was Vic’s problem, no one else’s.

This certainly wasn’t his doing. He’d adored her, even when she was taking on all comers. He swallowed it because he knew she was young and high-spirited. It was only human nature. She hadn’t married him for love.

But then the murder was linked to the bombing at Maura Ryan’s house and as one astute old lag said sagely: “No good will come of this. The pavements will run with blood within the week.”

In fact, his prophecy was to come true within two days.

Chapter Two

Sheila Ryan smiled as her husband slipped his arm around her waist.

“You never give up, do you?”

Lee, the youngest of the surviving Ryan brothers, laughed.

“Never.”

She heaved again, dry racking heaves, and he rubbed her back once more.

“This baby is a troublesome little thing!”

“It’s a boy, Sheila, and takes after his father’s side of the family!”

She laughed because no matter how bad she felt now, she was so glad to be pregnant again. Sheila loved being pregnant, loved the feel of the babies growing inside her belly. The movement of them, and the knowledge that she was creating a little person from scratch, still filled her with awe every time.

Her grey-blue eyes were ringed black from lack of sleep and her face was pale. Lee loved her with a vengeance no matter how she looked. When she was heavy with a child, her belly swollen out of proportion, he felt like the luckiest man alive. His brothers ribbed him over it, but he knew they admired him too. Since Sheila he had never really looked at another woman, just the odd one-nighter here and there. He couldn’t risk losing what he had.

She sighed heavily.

“I feel so rough, Lee. I never felt like this with any of the others.”

“It’ll be worth it when he arrives.”

“It could be a she, you know. Especially as this pregnancy is so different from the others.”

He squeezed her shoulder.

“You can hope, girl. But I only have masculine sperms.”

They were laughing again. Lee looked fondly at his wife and was as always thrilled that she was his. He hoped this baby was a girl. Deep inside he would love a daughter, and after four boys it would be a nice change. He knew Sheila wanted one. His mother wanted a girl as well. She acted like it was entirely his fault that they had had four boys, like he could choose or something.

“I love you, Sheila.”

She looked up into his eyes.

“I know.”

The bedroom door opened and his four young sons piled in. Sheila was still trying to throw up in the en suite when Jason the youngest said seriously, “Is Mummy’s baby coming out?”

They all laughed again.

Lee picked up his three year old and said loudly, “Who wants a bit of brekker then? Eggs, bacon and fried bread for me boys, eh?”

“Oh, stop it, I feel sick enough as it is, Lee!”

As he heard his wife throw up again he called through, “Sorry, Sheila. Dry toast for you then, eh!”

All the boys laughed and Lee led them downstairs happily. No matter what the trouble at work he never brought it home with him. It was something that had served him in good stead all his life, and Sheila was his life now. Her and his kids. As bad as things were for the Ryans in general, his own little family had no inkling that anything was amiss and he was determined to keep it that way. Sheila knew the score and was of the same opinion. Outside the house was another world and they both protected the children from it as much as they could.

The phone rang as he was serving up the eggs and his eldest son Gabriel answered it. At eight he was already big for his age and like the others a miniature Ryan.

“Yeah, OK, then, Uncle Roy. I’ll tell him, he’s just cooking the breakfast.”

Lee heard his son laugh at something his uncle had said and felt a stab of pride in all his family. They were close, and they loved each other. Nothing could ever come between them.

“Uncle Roy said he’d meet you at the office.”

“OK, Gabriel, thanks.”

Sheila came into the kitchen, her long blonde hair brushed and her swelling belly hidden underneath a satin dressing gown. She smiled wanly at her husband as he placed a cup of tea and two slices of toast before her.

“A late one again today?”

Lee nodded.

“See you when I see you then.”

He kissed her, to the derision of his four sons.

Garry and Roy were having breakfast at their mother’s house. Garry still chose to stay there whenever he was in the smoke.

“Joliff had a message saying that we killed his bird, which we didn’t, but I think it was Joliff who done Terry right enough. There’s something heavy going down all right.”

“It’s definitely a set up, but let’s wait and see what we garner from the other boys, eh?”

Sarah listened to them with only half an ear. As she placed a Benny Special in front of them they smiled their appreciation.

“Nothing like a bit of grease, Mum. Clog up the old arteries.”

“Shut up and eat it, you stupid fool.”

She left the kitchen and went into the sitting room. It had hardly changed in years, still jam packed with religious statues and overstuffed furniture. Photographs of her five dead sons had candles burning beneath them and rosaries placed across the frames. Four of them butchered she blamed Maura for those deaths. In Sarah’s eyes even Leslie’s car crash was attributable to her daughter and not to the amount of alcohol and drugs he had consumed. Hadn’t he been working at her club that night? Even though they all knew he had developed a drink problem, she’d still had him working where he could get the whisky he craved, Sarah thought grimly.

In fact, Leslie was actually a coke head and an accident waiting to happen. When it finally did, it not only killed him but the nineteen-year-old hostess with him and an elderly couple in a dark blue Lada.

All Sarah could see was that five of her gorgeous sons were dead as doornails and that bitch was still walking around like she owned the whole world.

She knelt down and crossed herself.

As she prayed her gaze took in the view through the window and she marvelled that now this whole area of Notting Hill was worth a fortune. They even had a pop star living two doors down from them in Lancaster Road. It was amazing to Sarah that anyone would want to spend so much money on any of these places. She remembered the days when they were infested with roaches and the tenants were hard pushed to feed their broods of children. This was once the last refuge for the poor and now it seemed people were killing themselves to live here. She blamed that eejit Tony Blair. A classless society? Whoever heard such rubbish!

Her grandson Benny poked his head around the door.

“All right, Nan. Me dad here already?”

His voice was neutral, as if she was a stranger he had just asked directions from.

“He’s in the kitchen. Can I get you something to eat?”

“Nah, Abul’s mum done us something earlier.”

He shut the door gently and she smiled to herself. He was getting better was Benny. But like her Michael who he was the head off, as she pointed out on a daily basis, he could be a moody little bugger.

Sarah wouldn’t admit to herself that he didn’t like her but she felt it off him and knew she wasn’t alone in suffering his contempt. His mother bore the brunt of it. Yet if her grandson gave her a civil word it made Sarah’s day.

Garry had been to early Mass with her so she was relatively happy, but Terry’s death had cast a shadow over the whole family. She wondered idly when Maura would be back on the street. And more to the point, what was her darling daughter going to drag them all into next? That was what Sarah would like to be told.

Knowing her, the streets would run with blood. Maura was hard and she was dangerous. The beautiful blonde-haired angel she had given birth to with such happiness all those years ago was now the bane of Sarah’s life. She had become a force to be reckoned with, by police and criminals alike.

If only she lay dead instead of that good man, how much easier Sarah would feel. Now, though, Maura would cause more mayhem, more death. It was what her daughter did when thwarted or angered.

Sarah kissed the cross of Christ on her rosary and began praying once more, her eyes raised heavenward as if Jesus Himself was communicating with her.

Carla swept back her thick red-brown hair. The action made her look even more like her mother Janine, but that was as far as the similarity went.

Carla was a sweet-faced woman who lived for her son Joey and for her Aunt Maura who had been a surrogate mother to her all her life, even though there were only five years difference in age between them.

It was odd but Maura was like her mother, sister and soulmate all rolled into one. Carla knew she was the child her aunt had never had, and she cherished the fact that even after all these years they loved one another and still held the closeness they’d had from childhood.

As she walked into the hospital she checked over in her mind that she had all Maura needed.

In her private room at the Nuffield in Brentwood, Maura was watching Sky News and fuming as the presenter referred to her as “Maura Ryan, East End businesswoman’. She was originally from Notting Hill, and she now lived in Essex. The least they could do was get it right. She switched the TV off and stood up as her niece walked into the room.

“Rubbish! It’s all rubbish! They don’t know me … they don’t know anything about me.”

Carla rolled her eyes and said jokily, “Thank God.”

Maura laughed with her.

“I didn’t think I had a laugh in me, to be honest.”

Carla put her arms around her aunt and hugged her tightly.

“I am so sorry, Maws, so very, very sorry. Terry was a good bloke.”

It was the first time she had directly mentioned anything about what had happened. Maura hugged her back as if she was frightened to let her go.

“Are you sure you’re OK to come home with me?”

Maura swallowed down the tears.

“You bet. I am back, Carla, and I will hunt the scum who killed Terry into the ground. And when I get my hands on them…”

“And I’m right beside you, remember that.”

Maura smiled shakily.

“I appreciate you saying that, Carla. It means a lot to me. But you just concentrate on Joey, OK?”

Suddenly the door burst open and Marge Dawson stomped into the room.

“Bleeding cheek! That black git on the door wasn’t going to let me in!”

Tony Dooley’s eldest son, Tony Junior, stood behind Marge, a surprised expression on his handsome face. The Dooleys were a well-known family of minders. Tony Senior had looked after Maura for years before handing the job over to one of his boys.

“Sorry, Maura, she was very insistent.”

“Right and all, you cheeky little fucker!”

Marge was incensed and it showed.

“I knew her before you were even born, mate, and you tell your father he should have beaten some manners into you by now, young man.”

Tony Dooley Junior shook his head in disbelief and shut the door gently as he left the room. He was six foot six inches and built like the proverbial brick shithouse. To see her tiny friend Marge shouting at him made Maura really start to laugh. It was just what she needed. The three women all began roaring. Marge’s distinctive guffaw made Maura laugh harder. Her eyes were watering and she could feel the snot running from her nose. As she grabbed a tissue she felt the enormity of what had happened to Terry bearing down on her. The simple act of laughing had unleashed every trapped emotion and she started to cry. Tears became heart-wrenching sobs and as she sank down into the chair by the window, both Carla and Marge patted her back, murmuring endearments to her.

It was what she needed, Marge and Carla tacitly agreed.

“You cry it out, girl. Get it off your chest.”

As she cried she saw Terry smiling at her for the last time. It was so wrong, so very wrong. It was she who should have died and then she would not have to face a life lived without him.

Maura cried for what seemed an age and then when she quietened Marge ordered a large pot of strong tea.

“Get that down your throat, girl, and we can get you packed and home, eh?”

Maura nodded.

“Thanks. I don’t know what I would do without you both.”

Marge had not aged well; she looked much older than her forty-four years. She was still overweight with a bad perm and a bad home dye job. Her make-up was still startling to the uninitiated and she complained about her feet constantly. But Maura loved her with a passion only thinly disguised by the offhand way they talked to each other. They had been friends since kids and had shared each other’s grief and happiness over the years.

With both Carla and Marge beside her, for a few minutes Maura could forget the danger that threatened her and get her thoughts in order.

Terry was dead because of her and that knowledge was hard to bear. If only they had never argued. That last bitter exchange was the hardest thing of all to remember. He had loved her, she knew that, and she had loved him. Always had, always would, it was as simple as that.

But her lifestyle had come between them. In her heart of hearts she’d felt only half-alive during the years spent with Terry, and that was harder than anything to admit to herself. Only when she wore the mantle of Maura Ryan, dangerous lady, did she feel truly herself, tingle with anticipation at the start of each new day. She knew she was not cut out to be a housewife; her only chance at motherhood had been ruined in a dingy flat with the abortion of her child. Her child and Terry’s.