The Faithless (37 page)

She forced another smile on to her face. ‘Well, he knows where I am, I suppose.’

‘Oh yeah, he knows where you are all right, Granddad told him.’ Gabby smiled at her mother, and the fear in her eyes was like a balm to her tortured soul. ‘So, I will take the last bits of Cherie’s stuff tomorrow, if that’s OK?’

‘’Course it is. I hope you’ll still let her stay here sometimes. I mean, once Vincent is home, he’s going to want you to himself I should imagine.’

‘Oh, he’ll have me
and
his daughter. That’s all he wants, Mum.’

‘Of course.’

Gabby wondered why, after everything her mother had done to her over the years, she still felt bad when she scored a point over her. And no one was more shocked than her as she heard herself say, ‘You’re coming to his party, Mum, aren’t you? It’s going to be great.’

All the way home she could have kicked herself, because she knew that her mother, being her mother, would come to the party all right and it would be the fucking party’s death knell. She sighed in frustration. It was always the same – her mother had a knack of making
her
feel in the wrong and, consequently, she felt she had to make it up to her. Well, Gabby decided, if she turned up, she would act like she didn’t know anything about it. That was pretty much all she could do.

Then it occurred to her that her brother could turn up too, and suddenly the whole thing just seemed too complicated and troublesome. James was her brother and she loved him. At least she loved the boy he had once been. He had serious mental issues, and when he wasn’t taking his drugs he was violent. No one could have that kind of person too close to them. The thought of him near little Cherie made her blood run cold. He was so unpredictable. When he had suffered his violent bouts, the doctors had said there had been no warning, he had just snapped. And he had been like a steam train; whatever the person who’d supposedly wronged him had done, real or imagined, had made him almost murderous with his unsuppressed rage.

So why had they let him out? It made no sense. Her granddad said it was the arrogance of doctors – they believed they could tame people like James when in fact nothing could tame him. A chemical cosh only worked while the person involved was taking those chemicals. What happened if they decided to stop? Apparently James enjoyed hurting people, he
liked
it. So how on earth was he supposed to fit into normal society with normal people? He didn’t know how to act, or what was acceptable behaviour.

Vincent would go mad if he caused any trouble, and she had a feeling that her brother would have met his match in her Vincent. She had to stop these negative thoughts. She had her daughter back, and her Vincent was coming home too. She
had to stop looking for problems where there weren’t any. The trouble was, when your whole existence had been a struggle, you started to think that was all it would ever be.

Well, her life was picking up, and she was finally getting everything she had ever wanted from it. And that was a cause for celebration.

James Tailor had been watching his mother and, even though he hated her, she still fascinated him. She was still a good-looking woman, and she still had that walk she had always had, as if she was the only person in the world of any note. Which, in her eyes, was God’s honest truth.

When he had been a little kid she had seemed almost omnipotent, but now, watching her, he realised she was nothing really, nothing to be scared of anyway. In fact, he thought she was quite sad these days. Ageing, which he knew would be killing her. Having seen how beautiful Gabby had become, he knew that would be like a knife in her ribs, and that pleased him. He hated her with a vengeance, even while he loved her.

He felt that disconnection with the world once more; it was the best feeling in the world to him. His trouble had always been that he cared
too
much. Things made him angry, really angry, and that anger all but consumed him. It was like a storm that raged in his blood, and the only way to settle it down was through a bout of violence.

But he knew his anger had been the cause of him being locked away, so he had to try and control it. The heroin helped him enormously, and he was glad he had found something to dampen down those angry feelings. It couldn’t quieten the voices completely, but it did calm them sometimes. He had stopped taking his medication, as it had interfered with his enjoyment of the drugs he injected into his body.

Watching his mother had become his hobby. The psychiatrist said he needed something to concentrate his mind on, and he was concentrating on her all right. He was watching her every move, and he found it enjoyable. He liked that he was spying on her and she didn’t know he was there.

His dad had killed himself over her, which was sad because she really wasn’t worth it. She was the shit on his shoes; his father had been worth fifty of her. She certainly wasn’t worth dying for, but then his dad had never really understood just what he had lumbered himself with. But James could have explained – he understood it all now.

The psychiatrist had once asked him to describe his feelings for his mother, and he had thought about the question for a while before answering honestly that she was ‘toxic’. She was like Agent Orange – it sounded quite nice but was full of hidden dangers, and it destroyed everything it touched. Just like Cynthia Tailor. Just like
him.
That was the one thing he had inherited from her; the urge to destroy things, destroy people.

Now it looked as if she was after Gabby’s little girl, and that was something he could not allow to happen. Gabby was the only person he even remotely cared about; unlike the rest of his so-called family, she had always kept in touch with him, dropping him a line to tell him about herself and her life. Telling him everything he needed to know.

Gabby was a nice person and, although he thought she was a mug, she was the only person to have ever given him a thought. That was the worst of it, knowing they didn’t even think about him, none of them did. Especially not his mother. She had dumped him faster than a cow dumped its pile of shit. She had walked away from him without even a backward glance.

Well, she would pay for her negligence, and she would pay dearly, of that much he was determined.

Vincent was packed and ready to go. It was amazing that after four years everything he owned fitted neatly into two carrier bags. But he didn’t care about possessions; all he cared about was that he was on the out at last. In a few moments he would be outside, in the fresh air, in the real world. He felt almost sick with anticipation. Though underneath all the excitement ran a rich vein of apprehension; it was hard walking out of such a controlled environment. For four years he had not been on a bus or walked down a street, he had not even turned off a light switch. But he brushed away his nerves, and forced himself to relax. Not long now, and soon this would be a distant memory.

His Gabby was waiting out there for him and, for the first time ever, they could be together as adults, and that was heady stuff. He wanted to touch her,
really
touch her, feel her next to him, smell her hair . . . He felt almost dizzy with the thought.

He had been given a right royal send off, and for a moment he had almost been sorry he was leaving, but that had not lasted long. A couple of screws had arranged for a few bottles of Scotch and a bottle of brandy to arrive on the wing, courtesy of Derek Greene, and he had enjoyed the drink, appreciating the way his friends in there had been so glad that one of them was going on the outside.

It had been a great night; all the lags in there had reminisced about times past, about what they saw in their futures. And he had enjoyed listening to them as the Scotch loosened their
tongues, and stories long forgotten had been told, and the laughter had been loud and free. That was the best bit – hearing that laughter, so uncontrolled and so natural. It was only then that he had realised that he had forgotten what laughter sounded like.

Usually on the wing everything was subdued somehow and people were always on their guard. You had to be – it was the way of this kind of world. Men banged up together could get into fights literally over nothing at all, small offences were allowed to fester until they became huge insults, and only violent retribution could assuage the injured party’s ego. Men became different when they were isolated from family and friends; their children were growing up without them, and it was hard at times to deal with those kind of emotions.

Occasionally a man would come on to the wing who was an enemy on the outside for whatever reason, but the rule of thumb was you patched up your differences in nick. It was you against the screws, and it worked most of the time. But there was always the man who could not forget past mistakes, and then the wing became a subtle battleground. Tempers flared, and no one was safe. The main thing was learning to look after yourself. You had to watch your back constantly, watch what you said, and exercise a little diplomacy. He had seen the big mouths arrive, all bravado, with stories of how hard they were, only to become gofers within a week.

Gofers were the mugs who ended up doing the shit work – cleaning people’s cells, making the tea. It was ‘Go for this’, or ‘Go for that’. Vincent had found himself a niche there; it was well known he had been captured and had kept very quiet – not landing anyone in it but doing the time for them all. That had earned him a great deal of respect, especially as he had been so young. He had worked up from there, proving himself in small ways, and gaining a reputation for being a hard little fucker as well as a good companion. It was not an easy life, and it was
hard for them all, but he had managed to overcome it. He had kept his head down, served his time and, now he had repaid his so-called debt to society, he was finally going home.

As he stepped out of the prison, he felt a rush of panic because, right up until this second, he had believed that it would go wrong somehow, and he would be stuck in there for good. As he acclimatised himself to the natural light, he saw a large black Bentley and, standing by it waving at him, dressed in a short black dress, was his Gabby.

He ran to her and picked her up in his arms. Her body fit into his perfectly as if they had been made for each other and, kissing her deeply, he felt at last like he was out. He was really on the other side of the wall.

‘Oh, Gabby, you fucking gorgeous girl, this is like a fucking dream!’

Gabby was nearly speechless with happiness. ‘Come on, mate, get in! We’re finally going home.’

Vincent could feel her tears mingle with his as he kissed her over and over, afraid to let her go in case it all was a dream.

In the car, she handed him a bottle of Champagne, and said shyly, ‘You’d better open that, mate, it’s from Bertie Warner. He’s waiting for us – there’s a big party, and it’s all for you!’ She was beside herself with excitement.

The driver, a large, usually dour man called Peter Bates, turned and shook his hand saying jovially, ‘I am going to put the glass up. Nothing personal, but I think you two might like a bit of privacy.’

Two minutes later the glass divide was up, and the curtains were drawn. Looking at his Gabby, at how nervous she seemed, Vincent knew then that this would be the happiest day of his life. As he slipped her dress over her head, he felt how shy and timid she was, and he would always remember this moment. Because she was, without doubt, the love of his life, and he knew that she felt the same way about him. All his fears about
them finally being together were gone. It felt as natural as walking or talking. He also knew that if anyone ever hurt her, he would kill them without hesitation. He had left behind a schoolgirl, and had come out to find a woman, his woman. His Gabriella.

‘The motor’s here, it’s just driven into the car park.’

The pub was packed with people, and little Cherie was the queen of the night and loving every second of it. Her daddy was coming home at last, and she was thrilled at the prospect. It was like a dream to her; the noise, the people, the dancing! And it was all for her daddy.

Her great-nana Mary and her great-granddad Jack were sitting at a table proud as punch, and she picked up on the way people deferred to them. Nanny Cynthia though looked cross and she didn’t know why. Her daddy’s family was also there, and she sensed that they were
not
as welcome as everyone else. It was a wonderful night, and everyone was telling her how pretty she looked, and how lovely she was. It was a great feeling being so important, so special. Her daddy must be somebody to have all this done for him, and she was proud to be a part of it.

As Vincent walked into the pub with his arm around Gabby’s shoulders, Cherie ran to him, and he picked her up and threw her into the air. She hugged him tightly, her slim little arms locked on to his neck, and he kissed her hair, savouring the clean smell of her, and the feel of her slight little body in his grasp. For the first time ever he felt that he had a family, a real family.

As he looked across the room he saw his father and brothers standing up toasting him, raising their glasses with everyone else and, passing his daughter to her mother, he walked straight over to the table that held his family.

‘Welcome home, son.’ Paddy O’Casey extended his hand to Vincent, but his brothers all hung back, shy now that he was finally home, and aware of how far he had come up in the world. They knew they had not been as good to his little girl as they should have been, and they were nervous.