The Business (24 page)

Well, he was not that conversant with the law anyway, unless it pertained to him personally, and this quite obviously did not.

‘Well you must know somebody who could recommend someone, that’s all I am asking of you. Mary needs the best of the best, and you are known around the law courts, I just hoped you would ask about, that’s all. For fuck’s sake, she is a mate and she is a valued fucking worker.’

Michael Hannon smiled then. He felt bad for a few seconds, he knew he should have been doing this for Mary Dooley, not Jimmy Bailey.

‘ ’Course I will. I’ll ring my barrister and get a few numbers. What’s the chat about Imelda anyway? Is she going to be bailed or what?’

Jimmy shrugged with exaggerated indifference. ‘I could not give a fuck, to be honest. Mary is my priority at the moment and that little child.’

Michael Hannon smiled in wonderment. ‘Why are you so bothered about her?’

Jimmy looked into his friend’s face and, searching his eyes for some kind of understanding, he said sadly, ‘I was brought up by paid parents, remember, that’s when I wasn’t in a home, of course. So, unlike you, Michael, I have a working knowledge of how the care system actually works, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, let alone a two-year-old child.’

Michael had the grace to look ashamed. ‘I’ll get the numbers for you now then, shall I?’

Jimmy wanted to hammer him until he couldn’t walk. Instead he said quietly, ‘Good man.’

 

Three days later Imelda was bailed out to her mother, on the proviso that she resided at her mother’s address, and that she attended a methadone programme to be determined by her social worker. She was also told that her daughter would be returned to her care within the next twenty-four hours.

Mary was not thrilled at having her daughter under her roof, but she would put up with anything to get the little one back home with her. She felt, deep down in her boots, that Imelda would not be brought to book for Lance’s murder. She knew that her daughter had shot him, knew how angry and vicious her daughter had been that night. After all, she had seen her first-hand herself when she had come to take Jordanna away from her.

Mel was still insisting that her daughter had shot Lance accidentally, while trying to defend her mother from his violent temper. Accidentally was meant to mean that, as a child, she did not know what she was doing. Jordanna was supposed to have seen her mum being beaten and gone to get the gun that was kept under the sink in the kitchen, and then shot Lance to stop him from hurting her mummy any more. Mel had the bruises to prove he had attacked her that night, and her daughter being so cute, no one was willing to bring any charges that might involve the little girl.

Though Mary had heard through the grapevine that the Old Bill were doing everything in their power to build a case against her daughter, she also knew that, with the circumstances being so unusual, and the victim in the case being such a dirt-bag, there was not much chance of the truth ever coming out.

She would attempt to get what she could from little Jordanna, but she knew already from the local CID that Jordanna would not even acknowledge any questions that pertained to the events of that night, let alone enlarge on them, or give some kind of answers. She was not yet three, and she was already shrewd enough to keep quiet around the Filth.

It was so annoying for Mary that she was back to square one, her daughter once more ensconced in her old bedroom and her baby girl being ignored by her mother, though she was completely loved by her nana.

And the worst of it was that she had seen the frown that crossed little Jordanna’s face when she had realised that her mother was staying at her nana’s house too. Mary wondered at how her Imelda, her own baby, could have turned out to be such a lying mare and, even worse than that, how she had been born such a crap mother. Even a stray dog would have done more for its pups than her child had done for her baby. She’d wondered occasionally, in her darker moments, if she had made her daughter like she was. If she had done something without realising it, and that whatever it was, it had made her daughter into the selfish, useless ponce she had become. But she could never think of anything specific or otherwise that could account for her daughter’s behaviour. She had ruined her, but even that had been in a good way. She guessed it was the drugs, she always blamed the drugs, there was no other reason she could come up with.

As Mary hugged little Jordanna to her tightly, she saw Imelda watching them both from the corner of her eye. Mary was thrilled at Jordanna’s return and, as she hugged her, she talked to her in her usual baby talk. Jordanna loved it, she liked the sound of the words and she tried to repeat them as often as she could. But her attention span was short and her eyes were always watching to see what her mother might be doing; she was naturally subdued by her mother’s presence in the house. But there was not much that she could do to change that.

Imelda walked towards her daughter and said loudly, ‘Bad baby.’

Jordanna did not move an inch. Instead, she stared her mother down and, as she walked away on her little legs she said loudly, ‘Mummy bad.’

Mary grinned with pleasure, she was not about to disagree with that diagnosis, the child had a valid point. Her mummy was a bad girl.

Imelda was already on her way out of the house, and smiling at her little daughter she said gaily, ‘Mummy good, Jordanna bad. Jordanna horrible little bastard.’

Mary pulled the child’s head into her bosom in an attempt to stop her hearing what her mother was saying to her. ‘Don’t say that to the child, what the hell is it with you, why can’t you just for once be like everyone else?’

Imelda laughed as if what she had just heard was so lame it was not even worthy of an answer.

So Mary grabbed her daughter’s arm, and turning her round none too gently she asked her again why she had to be so wicked to her own child.

Imelda pulled herself away from her mother’s grip and, wiping her arm clean of imaginary filth, she said sarcastically, ‘Hasn’t the lawyer told you? I’m having another one. I’m pregnant, Mum. Lance was the father. Maybe I’ll like this one.’

As she watched her daughter disappear down the path Mary felt an overwhelming urge to fell her bodily to the ground. To attack her, and hurt her like she hurt everyone around her.

But she didn’t, she knew that was exactly the type of behaviour that Imelda would be hoping for. It would just garner her more sympathy, and give her more reason to stop her access to the child.

As Mary closed the door to make sure her daughter had actually departed, she looked at her little granddaughter and sighing heavily she said softly, ‘Jesus Christ, that’s all I need, another bloody child to fight over.’

 

The charges against Imelda were dismissed a few weeks later, and she took up residence once more in her council flat. That it had been the scene of a horrific death was not something she was that bothered about, in fact she seemed to revel in her new-found notoriety.

And, as her belly grew, her interest in her daughter diminished even further. The new child was her only real interest, but the pregnancy did not do anything to stop her lifestyle in any way. If anything, it just seemed to increase her capacity for self-destruction.

Mary had Jordanna to herself at last, but that did not settle her mind, because she now had the new child to worry about, and she had to wonder at how this new little grandchild of hers would fare under its mother’s tutelage.

Chapter Eleven

Kenneth Dooley was a lovely child, and his mother seemed actually to like him in her own haphazard way. She seemed interested in him, at least as much as she could be. In comparison to how she felt about her daughter, her interest in her son could be construed as over the top. She had no real interest in the children’s day-to-day lives, in fact she was so self-obsessed and disinterested in Jordanna that the fuss she made of her son was so unusual it was seen as her only saving grace. It made people believe that she could not be all bad, after all, she
loved
her son. The fact that she had no time for her daughter, and that her children lived with their grandmother because she was not deemed fit enough to take care of them, and that she had no intention of caring for her kids anyway, was miraculously forgotten about. Kenneth was the love of her life, and because of her feelings towards him, her sins were nearly forgotten.

Imelda was surprised but she actually did feel some real emotion towards her son. He was big, and he was handsome, and he attracted people’s attention on the rare occasions she went out with him in public. He had a head of thick, curly blond hair and long, powerful-looking legs; he would be tall, that much was obvious, and he was a sunny-natured child who smiled at everyone who came into his little world.

Mary Dooley felt such love for her grandson that it amazed her; with Imelda as his mother he would need all the love and help that he could get. Jordanna had known from day one that Imelda was not to be trusted, and she had had every reason to think that, but Kenneth had not been on the receiving end of his mother’s frustration, or her phenomenal anger yet. So he had not seen her as she really was, he had not yet wondered why she didn’t live with him, or look after him, like other mothers did their children. He had all that to come, and Mary hoped that, like his sister, when it did become clear to him, he would understand that it was not about him, or Jordanna, it was about her, their mother, Imelda, and the abortion that was her life.

Jimmy Bailey was good, he always asked after the children and Mary appreciated that. He had also taken over the role of surrogate uncle to them both.

When her two sons had informed her one afternoon that they were going into partnership together in a scrap yard she had been both upset and hurt at their obvious defection from the family unit. She was shocked by their announcement but, after Jimmy had reminded her that they would never be an asset to her, or anyone else for that matter, she had got over her initial annoyance and given them both her blessing. She had done that because she knew that nothing she could say would change their minds or make them stay in her life. She accepted that they were distancing themselves, not only from Imelda, but from her as well and from the kids, and she loathed them for that, even as she understood the reasoning behind it.

Neither of the boys seemed in the least bit inclined to give her a few quid, help her out financially; not that she needed it, but it was the principle. They were quite willing to take from her, on the other hand, as and when they felt the need to.

But, more to the point, neither of them even bothered to seek out her company any more, and that hurt her, that had really cut deep. Even though she understood their actions to an extent, she could not forgive them their treachery. They were both snides, were both fucking useless.

She had no one to rely on, and they had made it more than plain that she never would. It was a real eye-opener for her, their father’s death had left them all adrift. But instead of feeling a measure of loyalty towards her, they had both taken a step back. They had not felt even an iota of loyalty towards her personally, their own mother, the woman who had birthed them, who had raised them, fed them and wiped their arses.

That she could take on both of Imelda’s kids was way beyond their comprehension but, as she reassured herself, where those two treacherous bastards were concerned, so was long division. They were not exactly the most intelligent of lads, or in any way the most caring, they had not even offered her a shoulder to cry on since the death of her husband, their father.

So she was content to throw herself into her new family. She knew these children needed her and, more to the point, she needed them.

So she waved them off, her sons, with the warning that she expected to see them at least once a month, and to her sorrow they were quite happy with that. It suited them all, they kept up the appearance of a united family, but did not have to put up with each other on a daily basis, and Mary could concentrate on the two children her daughter had produced, and their immediate needs.

Imelda was the only fly in an otherwise perfect ointment. She did not want the children at all, not on a permanent basis anyway, but she would turn up on a semi-regular basis and make herself busy with them for appearances’ sake. Imelda no longer tried to take the children away from their nana by brute force, though she was still capable of delivering the threat when the fancy took her. But Mary now knew that the threats were as empty as her daughter’s purse, as she knew that if she gave her some money she would bugger off once more and leave them alone.

Mary was still tracking down people who owed money around and about, and she was still doing it without any real effort; her network of women was large, and it was reliable and growing by the year. They could track down anyone within days, and Mary paid the women well for their information. She knew that was enough to ensure their loyalty and their continuing support; Mary was the equivalent of a pension plan for many of the women she dealt with. Thanks to her, they had a few quid in reserve and were able to see themselves through the seasons. They did not have to rely on their children for handouts then, because as they had all eventually realised, their kids were no better off than they were. It was a different world now, and even though they had all looked after
their
parents, they soon came to understand that the same courtesy was not going to be extended to them. Mary was their lifeline, and the reason they still had a modicum of self-respect.

For Mary Dooley, life was good in many respects, and though she was lonely sometimes, she knew that her grandchildren had to be her main priority. The boys came every month, and she enjoyed their visits, but she was always glad to wave them off. They usually came with a catalogue of disasters, and with the want of more money to tide them over. They were not what she would call businessmen. She would weigh them out, and when they left she would heave a secret sigh of relief that she was once more left with her surrogate babies; the children she loved more than she had ever loved any of her own.