The Runaway (53 page)

‘You’ve fucked yourself, mate. Leave her alone, let her go. You have no bloody idea of the suffering your lot have caused. One of the women who works near here lost her son in Ireland. This ain’t America, mate, this is London and it’s us lot you want to blow to pieces in the name of the Cause. For someone supposedly so shrewd, I can’t believe that didn’t occur to you.’

Eamonn dropped his eyes but kept on arguing. ‘You’re the hypocrites. You know of people who kill, who harm others, you know what I’m talking about. Yet you condemn me.’

Desrae nodded sagely. ‘I know what you’re saying, but it’s all relative, ain’t it? Joey might have taken out O’Hare if he’d thought of it first, but that’s all he would have done. To Joey and O’Hare and even Maltese Victor, it was an occupational hazard, if you like. None of them would ever have planted a bomb on a train or in a pub to kill a stranger. Can’t you see the logic of what I’m saying? Are you so fucking hardened to what you do that you can’t see it from our point of view?

‘You aren’t living in a country where there’s signs all over the Underground saying:
If you see a suspicious package, leave it and inform the police
. You’re not living in a country where every Irish accent is suspect - where people are trying to drum out their neighbours just because they’re Irish. You haven’t got your young men fighting a guerrilla war in Belfast and Armagh, patrolling the streets and having hand grenades and snipers’ bullets aimed at them. All you’re doing is supplying the money for maniacs to do just that, to blow up innocents and maim children. If you loved your own kids, you’d understand what I am talking about. You’d understand what poor Cathy is trying to say to you.’

‘The English are ignorant,’ Eamonn growled. ‘You’re the dinosaurs of the world. The Raj is gone, you don’t own an empire any more . . .’

Desrae laughed. ‘Northern Ireland is a part of Britain, my love. The people in it are British. You’re bombing your own, you fool! Killing people you don’t even know: women, children, innocent men providing for their families.

‘We had five bombs go off in London in January and the one in Manchester killed nineteen people. You are murdering scum, you and all your so-called compatriots. I admit I didn’t like you from the moment I clapped eyes on you, I knew there was something wrong, something I didn’t trust, and now I realise what it was. You and people like you - you talk about causes and fucking crap like that, but it’s just plain and simple greed. You’re safe in America, where they know fuck all about this. They ain’t frightened of jumping on a train or a bus, knowing that a bomb could blow them sky high. Oh, no, they’re nice and safe, rattling their fucking collecting tins for the glorious Cause!

‘Now I think the best thing you can do is get out of here and leave that girl alone. She has enough to contend with, without you and your warped outlook on life.’

Eamonn was so annoyed he felt a tightening in his chest, heard the blood thundering in his ears. He wanted to take back his arm and fell the man before him.

Really hurt him, as Eamonn was hurting inside.

‘How dare you talk to me about warped?’ he blustered. ‘A man dressed as a woman, with a wig, false eyelashes and latex tits. You’ve got the cheek of the devil to call
me
fucking warped . . .’

Desrae laughed scornfully as he interrupted. ‘I might dress as a woman, mate, and live my life as one, but I can sleep easy in my bed at night. Can you? Think about that on your way home to New fucking York. I ain’t got nothing on my conscience, nothing at all.’

Eamonn, half strangled by his anger, walked from the flat without another word. He felt the stagnant city air on his face and he breathed it in deeply. They were all ignorant fools. He was glad he had got out of London. They thought they knew it all, thought they were so sophisticated, but they didn’t have a clue.

He couldn’t find a black cab so walked to the Underground. It was only then that he realised there was a bomb scare. As he marched into the nearest pub, he felt his anger leave him. White faces and the talk of the IRA all around him were all that he needed.

Sitting in a corner, he got quietly drunk until the all clear was given. The TV coverage on the set in the corner mocked him. He would go back to New York and forget about Cathy, he promised himself.

But he knew in his heart that it would be easier said than done.

 

Cathy saw Tommy that same night. It was 10.30 in the evening and he had tracked her down to the club. She was sitting alone at one of the tables, drinking brandy and Coke. He could see she was half drunk.

Casper had warned him already that she had a face like a well-slapped arse, and in his opinion was better left alone. Tommy had merely smiled and walked through to find her. Desrae had filled him in on the events of the day, leaving out the fact that he thought Cathy had slept with Docherty. Now all Tommy wanted was to be near her, to talk to her and try to cheer her up.

As Cathy looked up at him, it occurred to her for the first time that he was a good-looking man. With his thick dark hair and hazel eyes he was actually very handsome. She smiled at him, a lop-sided drunken grin.

Tommy smiled back. ‘I thought I might find you here, Cathy.’

‘Help yourself to a drink, Tom. I’m already a bit drunk.’

‘I think that’s the understatement of the year, ain’t it?’

Cathy laughed, but it was a lost, lonely sound. ‘So you’re in the IRA and all now, are you?’ she slurred, looking at him with a pained expression on her face. ‘It seems everyone I know is a closet terrorist these days.’ She straightened up in her chair, trying to look dignified and sober. ‘I’ve got to go to Acton next week, see one of the TVs who works a club there. Could you use your influence to make sure there are no bombs along the way, please? I’d ask Eamonn, but I think he might make sure there was one at the moment.’

Tommy closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Did you really, honestly, think I’d have anything to do with all that, eh? Come off it. Docherty spoke too soon, love. I’d never agree to anything like that. I wouldn’t.’

Cathy looked at him through narrowed eyes. ‘Honest? Honest to God, you’re not bullshitting me?’

Tommy covered her hand with his. ‘Would I bullshit you about something this important? Please, Cathy, it’s me you’re talking to now, not bloody Docherty. I would not have anything to do with any of it. It’s taken me all this time to convince them I wouldn’t open me trap about what they wanted to discuss. Believe me, there were a few moments when I thought me number was up. They’re heavy duty, love.’

Cathy was so relieved she felt her whole body sag. ‘Oh, Tommy, if I thought you was involved in all that, I’d hate you till the day I died. I know we might not be pillars of the community, but all that is too much, mate. Too much for anyone. All that death, all that killing.’

She was on the verge of tears. ‘How can Eamonn be associated with it? How can he feel that he’s doing something worthwhile, something decent? He’s making money off other people’s grief, other people’s heartbreak . . .’

Taking her gently in his arms, Tommy hugged her tight. ‘That’s not me, Cath, you know that. I’m your common or garden villain, me. Nothing more and nothing less. Fuck me, I couldn’t be a part of all that. Stop thinking about it now, eh? Docherty’s gone from your life now. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I reckon.’

Cathy giggled at the childish saying. ‘I love you, Tommy Pasquale. You’re a good man.’

Her words, drunk as she was, were music to his ears. He loved her, and the night he’d spent with her when his father was killed had been the best of his life, even though it had been tinged with sadness.

‘Things can only get better now, Cathy. We have each other, we have our youth and the chance to make a good life together. Let’s put everything behind us, eh?’

She pulled away from him and sniffed loudly. ‘I want another brandy, a great big fuck off brandy. Then I want to have a laugh. Let’s go round to one of the hostess clubs and get stonked out of our brains. Or better still, let’s go to the Roxy or the Vortex, see all the punks in their finery . . .’

Tommy laughed delightedly. ‘Let’s get you home, eh?’

Cathy pouted. ‘I ain’t ready to go home yet. I want to be free of the flat, Desrae, and everything for a little while.’

Suddenly, her face became serious. ‘Do you think I ought to phone up Gates, tell him about Eamonn?’

‘No, that’s the last thing you should think of doing!’ Tommy looked alarmed. ‘Just put the lot of it out of your head, love, all right?’

Cathy, aggressive now, answered him in a tight voice: ‘What are you saying? He’s in it up to his neck. I think this is one instance where grassing is well in order. Think of all the people Eamonn has helped to hurt, kill or maim.’ She tried to stand up, and gripped the side of the table to steady herself. ‘I’m going to ring Gates now, tell him where the fucker is. I’ll give him the Ritz! Murdering bastard.’

Tommy pulled her on to his lap and held her to him tightly. ‘Cathy . . . Cathy, love, don’t be stupid. They’d kill you before you could turn around. These people are ruthless. You’d only be hurting yourself. For every Eamonn Docherty who gets a capture, there’s twenty more to take his place. Let it go, girl. Just let it go. Now let’s have a couple of drinks, love, and then we’ll go and do whatever you want, OK?’

He was frightened now, and trying desperately to placate her, because he had in fact become an active worker for the very people she wanted to grass up to the police. They were his passport to controlling the West End, and this little girl, as much as he loved her, was not going to fuck that up for him. He would get her drunk, get her home, and then talk some sense into her in the morning.

She was a loose cannon at the moment and he would have to watch her very, very carefully.

‘I loved him, you know, Tommy.’ Her voice was faint now. She looked ready to drop.

‘I know you did, and he loved you. But try and forget about him, you’ve got me.’

Her eyes lit up. ‘Yes, I have, haven’t I? Let’s to go bed.’

Tommy smiled then, a real smile. How long had he dreamed of her saying that to him?

‘We’ll go to bed later, love, all right?’

She leant against him happily, Eamonn forgotten for the moment. The drink was taking over. ‘I think you’re lovely, Tommy. Can I have another brandy, please?’ She seemed calmer now, and her eyelids were beginning to droop.

‘Shall I take you home, love?’

As he led her from the small back-room club, she kissed Casper on the cheek.

‘She’s out of her brain, Tommy,’ he said with a worried look at her.

Tommy picked her up and carried her out on to the pavement. ‘Tell me something I don’t know! Lock up, Casper, there’s a mate.’

As the doorman watched him carry Cathy up the road he felt sad. She had taken Joey’s death badly; they all had in one way or another.

London was becoming a different place nowadays, the skinheads, the punks and other such weirdos everywhere. No one was safe, what with violence on the streets and IRA bombs everywhere.

What was the world coming to? he wondered. It hadn’t been like this in his day.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Cathy woke up in her single bed with a mouth that was so dry she thought her tongue was going to stick to it. Her eyes felt as if someone was poking red hot needles into them.

She was awake only a minute before she realised she was naked, and so was Tommy Pasquale. He lay beside her, snoring. The events of the day before gradually filtered back into her pounding head. She could remember everything about her fight with Eamonn and afterwards going to the club. She could only vaguely remember Tommy coming in. After that everything was a blur.

Pulling up the covers, she could smell the musky scent of sex. They had slept together in every sense, that much was evident. She had obviously consented, Tommy wasn’t the type to take advantage. What the hell had she been thinking of?

Tommy had loved her for a long, long time. If he knew she had also slept with Eamonn, he would be brokenhearted. He was decent and kind, a man to look up to in her world. Many women wanted him because of his good looks and outgoing personality. He was articulate, intelligent and kind, a real catch in Soho terms.

But in her heart of hearts she understood that the only person she really wanted was Eamonn Docherty, even knowing what she did now. Though she would send him away from her if she saw him again, he would always be in her heart.

Eamonn was the only person in the world she would ever truly love. Now, because of all the upset he had caused, she was lying beside a man who was worth ten of Eamonn Docherty, twenty of him. A man who would give her anything she wanted in the world; a man who would love her and honour her and keep her. How many women had heard those words and known they would never be fulfilled? It was just a bit of mumbo-jumbo in the wedding service. Yet Tommy would take those words and make them true for her.

Life was wrong, bad, upside down. Nothing was ever what you thought it would be. No one was ever what you thought they were. All her life she had had to look out for herself, and she would carry on doing just that.

She would pledge herself to Tommy Pasquale, give herself to him. It was all that was left for her. Looking on his handsome face she felt that the love she bore this man, this friend, was a decent, clean love and through it she might redeem herself. Waking him gently by kissing his brow, she smiled down at him.

He awoke immediately, pleased as punch to find himself in her bed, although he’d known when he’d slept with her that he was doing wrong; she was so drunk she would have got into bed with the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Now he consoled himself with the thought that he seemed to have done the right thing after all. She was pleased to be here with him.

‘I love you, Cathy.’

‘I know you do.’