Authors: Jacqui Rose
Disobey (38 page)
Vaughn nodded. ‘Because that was the gun I shot Casey with.’
‘Exactly. It all falls nicely into everything that has been going on in Soho. But Spencer of course was bleedin’ fuming not to be able to bring you down. Can’t tell you, like Puff the Magic Dragon with smoke coming out of his nose and ears, he was. I tell you Vaughnie, you should have seen it.’ Lola paused adding, ‘And Cass was in on it too.’
‘Casey?’
‘Oh yes, she’s waiting at the hospital for you.’
They were all there. All of them. The faces of London coming together and putting their differences aside. Del Williams and Frankie Taylor, Alfie and Franny, Lola and Chloe-Jane all sitting sharing stories, memories, and friendships as they sat in Lola’s café.
The door opened and Vaughn walked in, much to the exclamation of Lola.
‘What the bleedin’ hell?’
‘One moose head, as promised.’
The sound of laughter echoed round the room. ‘Vaughnie, you’re the best.’
Alfie shouted across to Del. ‘Did I tell you, me and Franny and Chloe are off on holiday, thought we’d look you up in Marbella, you can show us how the better half lives.’
‘Well you’re welcome, mate, I know Bunny will be pleased to see you.’ Del turned to Vaughn. ‘What about you, what are your plans?’
Vaughn shrugged, feeling slightly melancholy. It felt like an end of an era. Soho had been his life, but now it was time to move on to something new. ‘Now Casey is okay to come out of the hospital, we’re going to take some time out, probably to the States. Always fancied my chances out there.’
Alfie grinned. ‘Always thought of you as a cowboy.’
Vaughn smiled. He was going to let bygones be bygones. ‘And what about you, Alf? What you going to do when you come back from holiday?’
‘Oh, I’m thinking of opening a casino.’
The place fell silent then Alfie grinned a huge smile. ‘I was joking. Guys, I was
joking.
’
A flannel from Frankie landed in Alfie’s face. ‘That’s not funny, that ain’t funny mate. Franny, I don’t know how you put up with him.’
Franny grinned. ‘I ask myself that every day.’
Vaughn shouted to Frankie, ‘And you, what are your plans?’
‘Going back to Gypsy so she can chew me ear off some more. But listen up, I know things won’t ever be the same, but none of us are losing touch. You hear me?’
Lola joined in. ‘That’s right, none of us are. Family stick together.’
Alfie raised his tea cup. ‘A toast. To family.’
‘To family!’
Chloe looked on and smiled. She was finally a part of something. An odd, strange, unique family. But a family nevertheless. A family that loved, argued, then loved some more. A family who’d always be there. She raised her cup but her toast was to someone else. To her friend who’d be dearly missed. ‘To Jodie!’
‘To Jodie!’
Lola waved her cup in the air again. ‘I got another toast. Ladies and gentlemen I’d like you to meet my new manageress. Chloe-Jo.’
Everyone threw their arms in the air. A united cry of voices shouted at Lola. ‘It’s Jane!’
‘Where?’
THE END
When you make a deal with the devil, be prepared to pay your dues …
PROLOGUE
SOHO – 2013
There it was again. The sound coming out of the darkness. Somebody was in the kitchen. Slowly getting out of bed and trying not to make any noise, Patrick Doyle crept over to his walnut dresser.
With his eyes adjusting to the night, Patrick carefully opened the top drawer. Putting his hand to the back of it he quickly found what he was looking for; his Colt .380 Mustang.
With the gun already loaded, Patrick cocked back the trigger and readied himself. Taking a deep breath and feeling the adrenalin rushing round his body, he headed out of his bedroom, onto the top landing.
He stood with his back against the wall, listening to the muffled sounds coming from behind the kitchen door. He counted down in his head, steadying his breathing; steadying his hand, ready to aim.
Three. Two. One
… Patrick kicked open the door, slamming his full six-foot-three body sidewards into the kitchen. He yelled out into the darkness, bellowing instructions to the shadowed figure standing by the table.
‘Stay still! Stay the fuck still if you don’t want me to blow you clear away!’
‘Patrick, it’s me!’
A deep sigh was heard and the light switched on. Patrick’s face was full of anxiety as he threw down the gun on the table. ‘Holy Fuck!… Jesus Christ!… Have you lost your mind? I could have killed ye. Don’t ever do that again. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?… Franny?… Franny? Are you okay? Have you been crying?’
Franny Doyle looked at Patrick and burst into tears. She felt so stupid. She was thirty-four years old and instead of planning her future with Jack, the man she was supposed to marry next year, she was running home to Patrick; something she’d vowed she’d never do.
Wiping away the tears from her piercing green eyes, Franny snivelled, feeling more foolish than ever.
‘It’s all gone wrong, Patrick. I should never have got engaged; it hasn’t been right for a long time. I know you never liked him, but I thought it’d get better over time; then when I found him in one of the clubs almost sucking the face off some woman, we had such a row and …’
Not giving Franny the chance to finish, Patrick’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Tell me he didn’t lay his hands on you, because I swear to God I’ll kill him. The no-good piece of …’
It was Franny’s turn now to interrupt. Pushing her long chestnut hair out of her face, she implored Patrick. ‘
Please,
can we do this tomorrow? I’m tired and I just want to get some sleep.’
‘No, we can’t, not till I know if he put his hands on you.’
Franny shook her head sadly. ‘No, Patrick, it’s not like that; anyway, you taught me how to look after myself. So, nothing was broken – only my heart.’
Patrick slumped down on the tall-back kitchen chair, all his pumped-up adrenalin leaving him. ‘Oh Franny, I’m sorry, do you want to talk about it?’
‘No, not now. Maybe tomorrow, but there isn’t really much to say. It’s over and I’m not going back. Would you mind if I stayed here while I figure out what to do?’
Patrick’s face lit up. ‘Mind? I’d love it. The place has never been the same without you. Get yourself into bed and I’ll bring you a cup of hot chocolate.’
Franny smiled, saying nothing as she stood up and kissed Patrick on the top of his head before walking out of the kitchen.
Five minutes later, Patrick Doyle stood with a steaming cup of hot chocolate in the doorway of Franny’s bedroom. She was fast asleep and, even though there were so many questions he wanted to ask her, he wasn’t going to wake her; instead, he walked into his own room, taking a sip of the drink and wincing as the hot liquid scalded his tongue.
As Patrick put the gun away into the back of the drawer again, he froze as his hand rested on a small silver chain and cross. Grasping it tightly in his hand, Patrick squeezed his eyes closed, stopping the stem of tears as he whispered the words. ‘Mary! Mary! Why couldn’t you be here with me, Mary?’
1
IRELAND – 1979
‘To be sure, Patrick Doyle, if you don’t come out from behind that tree right now, I won’t be going to the church dance with ye.’ Mary O’Flanagan stood with her hands on her hips pursing her lips in frustration.
Without coming out from his hiding place, Patrick shouted; his voice warm. ‘And who will you be going with instead, Mary?’
‘There’s many a boy who would take me, Paddy. I might go with one of the Barker boys from the next village.’
‘You’ll do nothing of the sort; I won’t allow it.’
Haughtily, Mary answered. ‘’Tis nothing you can do if I want to go with someone else, especially if I’m not your girl.’
Sixteen-year-old Patrick Doyle stepped out from behind the tree. His raven hair flopped over his blue eyes and his handsome face was veiled with mischief. He grinned. ‘’Tis plenty I can do, and besides, who told you that you weren’t my girl?’
Mary blushed, looking younger than her fifteen years. ‘So I am your girl? ’Tis news to me.’
Patrick grabbed her by the waist, spinning her round.
‘You’ve always been my girl and you always will be.’ Patrick paused, then gave Mary a cheeky wink before adding, ‘Do I get a kiss back then?’
Mary screwed up her face. ‘You get nothing of the sort. I keep telling ye, you’ll have to wait until we’re married.’
Patrick scratched his head and smiled, his eyes twinkling. ‘And do we have to wait until we’re married to hold hands?’
Mary stood for a moment contemplating this thought. ‘There’s nothing sinful about that.’
Patrick smiled, taking her hand in his. He held it gently, and they walked down the potted road in silence as the Kerry rain began to fall.
A car horn beeped behind them before a familiar voice yelled out from the driver’s window. It was Father Ryan, the local priest. ‘Mary O’Flanagan! What do you mean by this public display of affection! Do you not know fornication is a sin?’
Mary hid her smirk. ‘I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t know the bible said it was wrong to hold hands. I can’t recall that passage; is it in the New Testament?’
Father Ryan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I hope you’re not being cheeky.’
Mary’s pretty face feigned innocence. ‘No, Father, of course not; just showing my interest.’
‘Well that’s as may be, but it’s not to be done. Do you hear me? Especially with a Doyle.’
Patrick spoke up. ‘I am
here
, Father.’
Father Ryan stared at Patrick. The boy always made him feel uncomfortable, and he certainly didn’t want a God-fearing girl like Mary to have anything to do with him. He was definitely going to have a word with her parents. Ignoring Patrick, Father Ryan addressed Mary again. ‘Now get home, your mother will be worried and you’ll be late for choir practice tonight.’
Mary nudged Patrick gently. ‘She will indeed, Father, but maybe she wouldn’t worry so much if I got home quicker. Perhaps you could give me a lift and save her the worry?’
Matthew Ryan sighed. It was true, it would be a godly thing to do – lessening the worry of one of his parishioners by getting her daughter home before dark – but it was also true that his car had just been valeted, and the last thing he wanted was to have Mary and Patrick messing up his back seat with their wet clothes.
Before Father Ryan had made up his mind, he looked in the driver’s mirror. His heart began to race. From over the horizon, he saw a familiar car, the sight of which filled his whole being with dread.
‘Quick! Get in! Get in!’ Father Ryan’s voice was urgent and, almost before Mary and Patrick had a chance to do as he asked, he set off down the road at full speed.
His car raced over the bumps, sending them all flying up in the air as the small green Lada hurtled down the un-tarmacked road. But Father Ryan’s driving was no match for the car behind.
The other driver drew alongside the Lada, signalling the priest to pull over. Father Ryan spoke with urgency to Mary and Patrick, who were both looking shaken.
‘Now, not a word; none of your lip.’ He glared at the two teenagers who nodded their heads in unison.
Pulling up by the side of a large hedgerow, Father Ryan wound down his window again, letting in the blistering rain.
Everyone stayed silent as a tall figure clad in an expensive trench coat and a floppy hat walked round the back of the car, tapping the roof.
A craggy face appeared. ‘In a rush? You want to be careful driving like that, you could do someone damage.’ Donal O’Sheyenne, the man the whole of County Kerry feared, roared with laughter as he watched Father Ryan’s face blanch.
Turning his attention to Patrick, who was sitting motionless in the back of the car, O’Sheyenne sneered, wiping off the drips of rain running down his face.
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Paddy Doyle. I’ve been looking for you, and now here you are in what I like to call God’s chariot.’
Patrick didn’t say anything. He felt Mary’s hand squeeze his as she trembled, though he wasn’t sure if it was through fear or cold.
‘I want you to come with me, Paddy; I’ve got something to show you.’ Patrick’s head shot up at O’Sheyenne’s suggestion. He scrambled for an excuse.
‘I can’t … I have to get home; my da will be waiting.’
O’Sheyenne snorted. ‘The only thing waiting for you at home, Doyle, is a drunken fool.’
A flash of pain shot through Patrick’s eyes, much to the amusement of O’Sheyenne.
‘Leave the boy alone.’ Father Ryan spoke up but immediately regretted it as his hat was knocked off his head by a sharp prod from Donal.
‘I think you’re clear forgetting yourself,
Father
. Never …
never
, try to tell me what to do.’
O’Sheyenne walked to the back passenger door, flinging it wide open. He leant in and spoke to Patrick. ‘Get out! You and me are going to go on a little drive.’