The Good Life (34 page)

When Desmond Harker broke the news to Cain Moran, his heart went out to the man. He had already decided that Cain was on the up and up; no one was this good an actor.

He saw Cain close his eyes in genuine distress and said to him sadly, ‘Jason’s already taken over in London. I’ve spoken to him. I told him the story but he wasn’t in the frame of mind to listen. He was very close to Jack. They were more like twins really – even as kids they were always together.’

Cain nodded. ‘I don’t fucking know what to say, Des. Now Hasan’s gone as well, and he didn’t deserve that. All over that fucking muppet Ali.’

Des smiled and said, ‘Ironic really, when you think about it. A drug dealer dying over taking drugs. Always stick with the puff, that’s what I say. It mellows you out.’

Cain Moran was in no mood to discuss the merits of different drugs and their effects on the human psyche. ‘It will be me next. I’m like a fucking sitting target in here.’

‘Best thing you can do now, Cain, is to get yourself put in the hole. That at least will give you breathing space and time to think through your next step.’

Cain nodded his agreement – the thought had already crossed his mind. ‘I think you’re right, Des. Jason will have a right hard on for me now. It’s only a matter of time.’

Des shrugged. ‘In the meantime I will talk to the brothers and the workforce, see if I can convince them otherwise. But you need to remove yourself from this wing for a while all the same.’ He gave him a wink as he added, ‘No one likes that new Face Walker. Fucking hammer him, pick a fight, whatever. He’s a flash cunt and he needs taking down a peg.’

Standing up Cain shook his friend’s hand and, moving quickly to the recreation room, he picked up two billiard balls and slipped them into the sports sock he had just taken off, before making his way to Kevin Walker’s cell. Once there, he proceeded to batter the man to within an inch of his life.

Cain was on the block within the hour, and Kevin spent the next six weeks in the infirmary. He wasn’t liked by the cons or the screws – he was too flash for his own good – and Cain’s little escapade wasn’t really made that much of. Most of the men had worked out the whys and wherefores anyway; they thought it was a shrewd move on Cain Moran’s part. Buying time, that was what it was all about.

‘Dad is on the block, Mum. Beat up some geezer called Kevin Walker. So no visits for a month.’

‘Well, that’s fucking Christmas ruined.’ Jenny was close to tears.

Cain Junior hugged her to him tightly. ‘Not necessarily – you’ve still got us. I’m sure he had his reasons, Mum.’

Jenny knew this son of hers would defend his father no matter what he did, and she was proud of that. But she wouldn’t be happy now until Cain was back on his wing. She was well aware of what the block entailed: no books, no communication, no nothing. It was barbaric. And he would be there for Christmas too. As she watched people scurrying around buying presents and leaking goodwill, she often wondered why she bothered. The only thing she wanted to do was get into bed, pull the covers over her head and get up on New Year’s Day when it was all over. But she couldn’t; she had no choice but to carry on.

‘You’re right, son. He must have had his reasons and it’s not like he was going to be with us anyway.’

Cain Junior hugged her again. ‘That’s the ticket, Mum. Never let the fuckers get you down! By the way, did you hear about Hasan Osman?’

Jenny shook her head in bewilderment. ‘What about him?’

‘He was shot dead in Manchester last night. Three bullets to the chest.’ Cain Junior watched as his mother’s face paled. ‘Here, sit down, Mum.’

She allowed her son to lead her to the sofa. He poured her a whisky and watched as she drank it straight down.

‘Fucking hell. I didn’t think you liked him that much!’

She looked sad. ‘It’s just a shock, son. He was a good friend to your dad.’

‘I know that, Mum, I dealt with him too. Ali’s been on the missing list since Jack Biggs was shot.’

Jenny felt physically sick. It was all falling into place for her. This was why Cain had been in such a state. Jason Biggs thought that he and the Osmans were behind the murder of his brother. That’s why he was now on the block – he had been buying time.

Jenny felt a wave of nausea wash over her. Cain had been right to be so paranoid. They were at the centre of a war, and most of them had no fucking idea what was actually going on. All she could do was watch and wait.

But the fear was taking over now, and she prayed that this would somehow be resolved. How ironic it would be if she waited all this time and then Cain died in prison. She had to calm herself and not appear worried. The last thing she needed was for her son to pick up on her anguish; it was pointless for the rest of the family to feel this pressure.

‘Right, Mum, if you’re OK I’m off to meet Michael. We’re going to do a spot of Christmas shopping in Bond Street.’

She forced a cheerful smile. ‘Sounds great – give him my love.’

‘I will. Are you sure you’re going to be all right? I can always ring and rearrange.’

She smiled again. ‘Don’t be so silly. You go off and enjoy yourself. It was just a shock hearing about poor Hasan.’

As Jenny watched her son leave, terror gripped her once more. She prayed to God, begging Him not to take her Cain from her; not when he was only a few years away from coming home. It would be too cruel.

Jason Biggs sat in church with his mum and dad, listening to their crying with a heavy heart. Outside a raft of press and TV cameras lay in wait, and it was all Jason could do to keep his temper with the reporters. He hated that his brother’s funeral was no more than a fucking spectacle for people to come and gawk at. The idea of his family’s grief as common fodder for the masses made a terrible situation all the harder to bear.

The priest was a nice bloke; he had baptised each of them and they had made their First Holy Communions with him. He had known Jack and liked him, so at least he could talk about him with a modicum of realism. There was nothing worse than a funeral where the priest had never met the deceased.

Their mother had always expected good church attendance from her family and she had got it. They all adored her – why wouldn’t they? She had had their backs from day one, hiding guns and drugs whenever the police came knocking, and fighting their corners in court. Now she was burying her son, and the pain was etched all over her lovely face.

Jason felt rage building up inside him once more as he thought of the audacity of the Osmans and that cunt Moran, thinking they could fucking have him over. It was absolutely fucking outrageous that his brother was leaving little boys behind while that cunt Moran sat on the block in Parkhurst planning his next move. Well, there were other ways to skin a cat and Jason was going to hit that cunt right where it would hurt him most. See how he liked them fucking apples!

He glanced around the church and saw to his dismay that Lorraine was there, sitting at the back in an all-black get-up that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a strip club. She caught his eye but the look he threw her would have been enough to put the fear of Christ up the hardest of men, and he was pleased to see her hotfoot it out of there as a result. She seemed to be under the impression that she had saved Jason’s life and that he owed her. Well, he would soon disabuse her of
that
fucking notion. The silly whore! As if he wouldn’t have taken a bullet meant for him if it could have kept his brother alive. What kind of fucking man did she think he was, for fuck’s sake? He could feel animosity burning up in his chest and, looking at his two younger brothers as they each held one of Jack’s boys on their laps, he felt the familiar urge to wreck the fucking place. But he knew he must keep calm, at least until this farce was over.

What a great fucking Christmas for his family. Even his wife had become subdued since realising the bullet had been meant for him. She had turned into a fucking poster girl for a Victorian wife. No more, ‘Make your own fucking tea!’ or, ‘What did your last servant fucking die of?’ Now it was all sweetness and light: breakfast in bed, tea at his whim, kisses and cuddles for no reason. It was like living with a Stepford bride. Still, at least he knew that she loved him. The strange thing was, he loved her too, even if she never believed him.

As Jack’s wife broke down sobbing, her heart-wrenching cries hardened Jason’s heart even further. Squeezing his wife’s hand, he sat stoically through the service planning his next move. It didn’t bother him that he was doing it in church; Jesus had been a prisoner too, as his mum was always pointing out. He was sure He would understand the need for revenge – for retribution. An eye for a fucking eye and all that.

Linda Lloyd was helping Jenny trim the Christmas tree and it was looking very festive. Jenny was worn out with pretending to be cheerful and excited for the holidays when all she felt was a terrible pressure inside her chest. But she was doing a good job; as yet, no one had asked her if she was OK.

Eileen came into the room with a tray of mulled wine and the smell was so overpowering it made Jenny feel sick.

‘I thought this might put us in the Christmas mood. That’s your alcohol-free one in the long glass, Linda.’

‘Thanks, Eileen. Doesn’t the tree look nice?’

Eileen stood back and pretended to observe it. ‘Beautiful. I wish you would put up a few paper chains, though. Next year we’ll do it at mine and then I will festoon the place with colour!’

Jenny smiled. ‘Remember the year you put them up while you were pissed? You fell off the kitchen chair and broke your wrist.’

Eileen roared with laughter. ‘I’d forgotten about that! That was funny, wasn’t it, Jen?’

Jenny nodded, though it had not been so funny to her – a visit to the hospital followed by cooking a Christmas dinner at nine in the evening while her mum spent the night drinking with a large black man who kept trying to put his arm around Jenny at every opportunity and give her a Christmas kiss. But she kept her own counsel; some things were best left in the past. That seemed to have become her mantra these days.

Jenny saw Linda looking at her sadly and guessed that this lovely girl had an idea of exactly what that Christmas would have been like. Linda was a good lass, and Jenny was pleased that she was with her son; they were a perfect match and they adored each other. She wondered again how her Cain was getting on, and if he was bearing up. When Des Harker had last called he had assured her that everything was in hand and that he was doing everything he could. She liked Des; he was a good bloke and he had put her mind at rest, for a while anyway. But she would be glad when this Christmas was out of the way.

Her mobile rang and she answered it with a sinking heart. It was Des and she felt ill with what he might be about to tell her.
Don’t let it be bad news about Cain.
Her hands were visibly shaking as she walked to the kitchen to take the call in private.

‘Is that you, Jen?’

‘Is everything OK, Des?’

‘I have great news. I’ve spoken to Jason Biggs and he has assured me that there is going to be no comeback for Cain. He swore to me on his children’s lives that nothing would happen to Cain Moran. We can all breathe easy, darling. I think I managed to convince him that Ali was working alone.’

Jenny felt faint with relief and she sat down at her kitchen table as tears filled her eyes. ‘Oh, Des, thank you. Thank you so very much. I will be forever in your debt . . .’

Des brushed it off lightly. ‘He buried his brother today, so perhaps he thought there had been enough killing already. But whatever his reasoning, I’ve got his word that Cain will be safe in Parkhurst. So you stop worrying and enjoy your Christmas, OK?’

After thanking him profusely again Jenny rang off. She sat there and pondered what Des had said. If Jason Biggs had sworn on his children’s lives, then he was being honest. That was the kind of promise that no Face would make lightly. She smiled suddenly as she remembered how Cain used to say to their son, ‘I swear it’s the truth, on a policeman’s eyesight!’ And Cain Junior would believe whatever it was he was being told.

She hugged herself with happiness. The fear had left her and she felt lighter than she had in weeks. She kissed her mobile phone reverently and then she closed her eyes and thanked God for hearing her prayer and protecting her husband from harm. This was going to be the best Christmas ever; she was determined to see to that. Her Cain would be home in a few years and they could resume their lives together. Michael was back in the family and there was a grandchild on the way. In many respects they were truly blessed.

It was Christmas Eve and Jenny was stuffing the turkey ready to put it in the oven on a low gas at midnight. It was huge and she had covered it in a pound of streaky bacon and a pound of butter. If it was dry then it couldn’t be helped – she had done her best.

She couldn’t remember feeling this happy for years. Since Des Harker had given her the news that Cain was in the clear she had felt almost carefree. The thought of losing Cain had nearly destroyed her, but now she could face the world again and get on with her life such as it was.

She could hear her mother and Michael chatting away; they were a funny pair really. They got on like a house on fire, and he genuinely loved her. Eileen now told anyone she came across that she was a bona fide Fag Hag and that she was loving it. Michael did have a point, though, about her mother’s make-up giving her the look of a drag queen. He had even taken Eileen out to a few gay clubs, and apparently she had been a huge hit with his friends.

She was pleased that Michael could join them on Boxing Day, even if he might not be able to make Christmas dinner. He would have to spend Christmas Day with his mother but from what he had let slip it was never the best of days for either of them. It was such a shame because he was a good lad and Caroline should have respected all that he did for her. She was drinking again by all accounts and that always made her more paranoid. Jenny sighed heavily. It was such a shame, but life wasn’t always about getting what you wanted; often it was about being able to compromise. There was an old Irish toast that said: ‘May we all get what we want, and
not
what we deserve.’ She had never liked it, but her mother thought it was funny.