The Life (30 page)

Bernadette smiled at her fiancé’s father, hoping he was as bowled over by her looks as everyone else was.

Peter Bailey smiled back, wondering how long it was before the real food came out. He was starving.

Imelda loathed her brother’s girlfriend with a vengeance. She knew enough about men to understand their preoccupation with a pretty face, but she could not for the life of her comprehend Petey getting involved with Bernadette O’Toole. The girl was gorgeous, no one could dispute that, but she had the personality of a gnat. Even Delroy, who appreciated a good-looking female, could hardly contain his active dislike of the girl. She seemed to rub everyone up the wrong way.

She was not just vain, arrogant and ignorant – which would have been bad enough. The real rub was that she genuinely believed that she was special. In a way, Imelda was more than a little jealous of the girl’s self-confidence. Imelda had been forced to suppress her natural nature; as the years had gone on, she had finally admitted that her Delroy was not a man to be challenged, and certainly not a man who was willing to allow his wife to dictate how he lived his life. It had eventually sunk in that her jealousy was not something he was prepared to countenance; it would be the reason he walked out on her. It had been a hard lesson, but she had learned it for the simple reason that she had no intention of losing the only man she had ever loved, or ever would love for that matter.

After her brother’s death, she had been forced to re-evaluate everything in her life, and admit that her family and her husband’s place in that family were the most important things.
Her feelings as an individual were not. Everything was actually about the Baileys as a whole. Delroy loved her, there was no doubting that, but his love came with a proviso, and that proviso was that she did not encroach on him or his livelihood in any way. Her father agreed with him about that, as did her mother, and that had been the hardest lesson of all.

Sipping her champagne, she made her way over to Mandy, who somehow had become a close friend despite their shaky start. Mandy was the only other woman within her orbit who seemed to sympathise with how she felt.

Michael O’Toole was feeling very awkward; he didn’t like ostentation, and he knew that he looked as out of place as he felt. The Baileys had been fantastic, there was no doubt about that. The problem was wholly his, and he would have to overcome it sooner rather than later. His daughter had bagged herself a real prize, and that was her prerogative. Hers and her mother’s, of course – like a pair of fucking witches the two of them. For all Bernadette’s good-girl act, he knew she was just hanging it all out for the main attraction – Peter Bailey the younger. Michael only hoped she realised just what she had taken on; the man wasn’t a fool, not by anyone’s standards, and she might just find she had bitten off more than she could chew.

The worst thing for Michael was that he felt like a ponce;
he
was the father of the bride-to-be and, by rights, this night should have been organised by
him
and his old woman. If that had been the case, there was no way it would have been anything remotely as upmarket as this. And that was the rub – his own daughter had more or less told him that there was no way she was going to celebrate her engagement on his penny; she had almost laughed in his face when he had suggested it.

Pity she didn’t understand the Baileys; they would have respected whatever he had provided – they were decent like that. But his Bernadette was more than happy for her
new
family to foot the bill, and they had done that all right. Smoked salmon!
He had to laugh – they had been lucky to have tinned fucking salmon at the best of times. He had provided as well as he could, and his wife and daughter should give him credit for that. They might not have lived in a mansion, but they never went without. Now those two talked about food as if they were suddenly related to the fucking Galloping Gourmet. They disgusted him, the pair of them. Especially his Beryl – all the years they had been married and she still couldn’t cook a decent meal, no matter how good or expensive the ingredients might be. Now she talked as if she cooked banquets on a daily basis. The only good thing about prison had been that the food inside was much better than anything he had ever eaten at home!

He observed his daughter as she attempted to play down the sheer size of her engagement ring, while making sure everybody was aware of it. It was five carats, and cut into what she called a baguette-style stone. She held her perfectly manicured hand out away from her body, and let the ring catch the light. Silly cow! He knew that stone had been half inched from somewhere; there was no way Petey Bailey was going to pay the full price. He was a lot of things, Petey Bailey, but a mug wasn’t one of them.

At least tonight was nearly over; then all he had to do was get through the wedding. Bernadette had wanted a registry office do, and then a party in a posh hotel. Well, Petey Bailey had thwarted her there, and that was how it should be. Fancy turning her nose up at the church where she had worshipped all her life! Just more of her snobbery.

If only she could see herself as everyone else saw her. Tonight she was wearing a tight mini dress, off-white, or
ecru
as she insisted on calling it. It only fit where it touched and, along with the fake tan, the overabundance of bleached-blond hair, and nails that looked like they had been grown in a greenhouse in
Eastern Europe, she looked every bit the poor man’s Pamela Anderson. She had about as much class as a fucking Ford Fiesta. Not that she would ever see that, of course – thanks to her mother, she believed she was a cut above. He swallowed down his Chivas Regal, and made his way towards the bar for a refill.

‘You all right, Michael?’ Peter Bailey was genuinely pleased to see his daughter-in-law-to-be’s father.

Michael O’Toole smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s a grand party, Peter, really lovely. You’ve done her proud.’

‘To be honest, I think this is a bit over the top, but that’s kids these days – though my Petey is not a kid any more, not by anyone’s standards! He’s weighing out for this lot. I told him – you and her want a fucking circus, you can provide one.’

Michael O’Toole relaxed then, relieved that this man was not paying for his daughter’s engagement, and grateful that Peter saw his point of view on the matter. ‘I offered, Peter, but she blew me out. Not good enough these days it seems . . .’

Peter heard the bitterness in Michael’s voice. ‘Fucking kids, ungrateful the lot of them. Anyway, I was wondering if you were available for a spot of lunch this week? Go somewhere we can talk, you know? I have a bit of work I thought I might put your way.’

Michael O’Toole hesitated for only a few seconds before replying easily, ‘Sounds good to me, mate.’

Peter smiled, he understood how Michael was feeling; he was clearly a man who had a lot of pride, and that was a trait Peter respected. One good thing about this Bernadette debacle was at least her family weren’t expecting to jump on the bandwagon.

Davey, Noel and Jamsie had escaped to the garden when the party was in full swing. They were smoking a joint, and enjoying the night.

‘That is a puff and a half, Jamsie! Where’d you get it?’

Jamsie grinned. ‘Delroy won’t like it, but I got it off a young lad in Tulse Hill. I heard about him from one of the strippers. He’s a good kid – only twenty-two, and already he has a serious fucking clientele. I’m going to offer him an in, we need to know where he is scoring this gear.’

Davey laughed. ‘Fucking right and all! This is amazing. I love it when we find a new avenue, you know? Keeps everything nice and under control. There are so many youngsters out there looking for a new bit of scratch.’

‘Well, we can only give him a chance; if he knows what is good for him, he will snatch our hand off. But he seems pretty cool – from what I’ve heard he has a good little rep. Only problem is, he thinks he’s a
gangster
! Fucking morons – they listen to a few rap records and think they are fucking hard men. If only it was that easy!’

They all laughed then.

‘What’s the score with the Allen family? Uncle Peter invited them tonight, but neither him or Dad have really given them the time of day.’ Davey sounded troubled about it.

Noel shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I would assume it’s serious. They are the nearest thing we have to rivals, after all. I expect the old men have put the brakes on something they want to do. Dad had the arse with them a while back, I know, because I was there when he bawled Terrence Allen out. Dad was fucking fuming.’

Davey and Jamsie shrugged.

‘Well, it’ll all come out in the wash; it always does.’

Noel Bailey nodded, but he had a feeling this was far more serious than any of them suspected.

Daniel Bailey watched Terrence Allen as he talked, and, boy, could Terry Allen talk when the fancy took him! Years ago they had called him Terry the Tarpaulin because he had a reputation for making people disappear; when they finally turned up they were wrapped in an old tarpaulin. It was Terry’s signature; no one could prove it was him, but the people in the know had their suspicions.

Now Daniel Bailey observed as Terry held court. He was a good-looking man, well into his forties, but with a fine head of dark brown hair, and lively blue eyes. Like them, he had an Irish ancestry, and like them he was proud of it. Although, unlike Daniel and his brother Peter, Terry knew who his father was. Tony Allen had been a real force in his day; he had died in prison of liver failure a few years previously, seventeen years into a thirty-year stretch. Prison hootch was a fucking killer. The lads had buried him with the required pomp and ceremony that denoted his standing in the criminal community, and then quietly taken over his role along with his businesses. They had done a good job as well, no one could deny that.

But they were getting a bit too big for their boots. They had been particularly disrespectful about the Baileys, and that had come to Peter’s attention on more than one occasion. The Allens were beginning to think that they were above being rebuked by the very people who gave them their earn. Both
Daniel and Peter were aware of that, and knew that the Allens had to be cut down to size before it got too far out of hand.

People like the Allens were dangerous; they were intelligent enough to plan a coup, hard enough to carry it out, but not patient enough to bide their time. They had fucked themselves with their own hubris, because they had underestimated the Baileys’ reach. The Allens had not foreseen just how many people were loyal to the Baileys, and depended on them for their earn as they had for many years. These were the same people who had no qualms about putting the word into the appropriate ear when they deemed it necessary.

Now the Allens had to be reprimanded – and publicly. They were a real handful, and that was the problem. Both Daniel and Peter were agreed that they were not men to overlook, and definitely not men who you gave any kind of leeway. If they managed to recruit other families they could then become more powerful. The fact that they were the main providers of recreational drugs this side of the Watford Gap was enough to make sure they were taken seriously as a threat.

Daniel saw his brother watching Terry Allen as he mocked the people around him; in his exuberance at telling his story he was slopping drink everywhere, with complete disrespect for Peter Bailey’s home. Catching his brother’s eye, Daniel Bailey winked at him mischievously, looking forward to taking Terry down a peg or two.

Terry Allen knew very well that his antics and foul-mouthed joking were being observed and, looking at his brother Billy, he said loudly, ‘Get us another drink, Billy Boy, I feel a real bastard of a thirst coming on.’

Billy Allen grinned. He knew as well as Terry did that Peter and Daniel Bailey would not appreciate cursing at their little soirée. They were real old fogeys like that – still living by some
old fucking moral code that had gone out with the ark. The Allens were confident enough to play up to the gallery; it was what they wanted. It was about time that someone showed the Baileys that they were not the only game in town – they had too much to say for one family.

Billy could hear his brother telling another filthy joke as he walked to the bar to refill the glasses, insisting in a loud voice on a decent-sized drink. ‘Fuck me, are this lot on a budget or what?’

The insult was there, and everyone around them heard it.

Petey Bailey watched as his wife-to-be danced provocatively all by her lonesome. She was a good eyeful, no doubt about that, but she was also a first-class prick-tease. He could see most of the men in the room trying not to watch her as she gyrated with a vacant smile on her face, and he wondered why he was putting himself through this charade.

He had vowed to himself that if he could get in her knickers before the big day, he would out her without a backward glance. He would even let her keep the ring – he could be very magnanimous when the fancy took him. Up until now, her drawers had been harder to break into than the Bank of England; Bernadette was canny – she knew that once she succumbed to his charms he would lose interest. If she held out, he would marry her, but if he
did
, he intended for her to be banging out babies like a fucking machine gun, that was for sure.

Her inflated opinion of herself would not cut any ice with him once the dirty deed was done; he would knock her up and move on to pastures new. She would get what she wanted: the name, a big drum, and a gold card. He would get a family and, if she provided him with that, he would tolerate her.

Petey recognised that he had a lot of his Uncle Daniel in him. Over the years he had learned to be very ruthless; in fact, since his brother Jack’s demise, he had found a strength that kept him sane. Seeing first hand just what his father was capable of had
been a real learning curve, and it had hit home how lucky
he
had been to escape any stronger punishment for his gambling and his attempt at skimming off the family take.