Faces (24 page)

Mary stood up, she understood exactly where her cousin was coming from, and said sadly, ‘Immelda, stop worrying, this is your gaff for as long as you want it to be. OK?’

Immelda held out her chubby arms and Mary walked into them. As she hugged her, she said with real emotion, ‘You fucking star, cuz. I can’t go back to that lot now, they’d drive me up the bleeding wall.’

Mary laughed softly, a laugh she would have laid good money on wasn’t inside her. But it was, and the two of them laughed together, both feeling relief, and for similar reasons. The unloading of a parent, a parent who had no real place in their world, but who they had to put up with anyway.

Mary, though, had the edge, she was burying her mother and, as sad as that was, she couldn’t wait for the day to be over and done with so she could put it behind her once and for all.

They were still hugging when Michael walked in and motioned to her that the funeral cars had arrived.

‘There’s a good turn out, anyway.’ He said it with relief. If no one had bothered to come and see what had been spent, their mother would have clawed her way out of the grave and demanded they did the whole thing over again. She loved a bit of show, and adored drama of any kind, catapulting herself into the centre of any that she might come across during her daily wanderings. Michael was only sorry that she couldn’t have been there this day, she would have loved it. She was where she had always wanted to be, in the centre of it all, the focal point of everyone’s life.

Mary didn’t answer him. She looked very sophisticated in a fitted black Ozzie Clark suit with a tight pencil skirt and huge jet buttons that only emphasised her slim figure. Her blond hair was styled perfectly, hanging down her back in a thick curly mass, and she had never looked lovelier. Her wide-spaced eyes were made up expertly and gave her an innocence that was long gone. Michael was proud of her and how she looked, proud she had risen above the local opinion of their family, and proud she was strong enough to cope with what life threw at her. God knew they’d all had to develop thick skins over the years to combat their mother’s antics when in her cups.

It was poor Gordon he worried about, the boy had been closest to his mother, he had been her baby. He was going to talk to Danny Boy about setting him up with a proper little earner until such time as they could suss out whether or not he would be an asset to them or a drain on their resources.

As they walked downstairs Mary could feel Danny Cadogan’s eyes on her and she glanced at him with her usual disdain, even though he made her heart race and her legs feel weak. She had been secretly in love with him since she was a schoolgirl, and she had hidden it well. She had always known that if he had even guessed, he would have found it amusing, and she couldn’t have borne it if he had laughed at her, ridiculed her.

He was looking at her with genuine sadness and she dropped her usual guard for a few moments and smiled at him. The smile transformed her face, and Danny saw the hunger for him in her eyes and wondered what she would be like in the kip. He had a feeling she would be a handful: he was convinced that Kenny couldn’t ring her bells, not in that department anyway. He was far too old for her, and far too jaded for their relationship to be any kind of a real love job. Not on her side anyway. Kenny was a means to an end, and even he must have been aware of that much. If he wasn’t, then he was a mug. He could take her off him with a wink and a smile, and one day soon he would. When the time was right; when it would do the most damage. Danny Boy was quite looking forward to it.

Today though, he was sensible enough to know that this wasn’t the time or place to settle any scores, no matter how pressing they might seem. Today was Michael’s day, and he was going to ensure it went off without a hitch. After all, Michael was not only his best friend, he was also the real brains of their outfit and Danny needed him far more than he let on.

‘Come on, mare, I’ll walk you out.’

As his arm circled her shoulders she started to cry, and he cradled her head with his free hand as he pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest in the way many a grieving woman had before her and, Danny being Danny, he used the excuse of comforting her to cop a quick and sneaky feel. She felt every bit as good as he had expected her to.

 

The pub was packed out, and the heat, combined with the alcohol that was not only free but was also being provided in huge amounts, had given the wake a real party atmosphere. This was not unusual in the Irish Catholic community. People tutted their heads and acted as if it was a disgrace, but to them a funeral was a celebration of death: it heralded the deceased person’s journey into heaven, into a much better place. Especially someone as troubled as Mrs Miles. As the music got louder and the voices more raucous, Danny Boy stood with his parents and surveyed what was quickly becoming his own little kingdom. People came up to him and shook his hand, even the fathers of his old school friends gave him his due, and this was noticed by all the people around them.

Kenny Douglas was a little worse for wear and Mary, Danny could see, was not impressed with that. He was supposed to be by her side, making sure she was comforted on this day, the day her mother was buried. Kenny was acting as if it was any other day, he was on the piss and out for a row. She knew, like everyone else there, that he should have greeted Danny Boy and her brother at the graveside, but he had not bothered to do so and it had annoyed her. It had also annoyed her brother and his partner-in-crime. Michael felt slighted because he
was
, after all, Mary’s older brother. Danny Boy felt slighted because he felt he was now in a position that should have guaranteed him the respect of his fellow Faces. A lot of people had used this funeral to show their solidarity with the two young men who were making such a stir in their world. They greeted and offered condolences, all the while wondering what these lads could be used for in the future. Wondering what they might have to offer when they became permanent fixtures in their own right. They were on the cusp of the big one, they were grafters: it was more a case of
when
they would come into their own, consequently most people were ready to give them their due. Louie Stein was also watching the situation with his usual canny expression, looking for all the world as if he noticed nothing, when in fact he noticed everything. This, he surmised, was a recipe for disaster all right. Kenny was mugging them off, and that would not be forgotten in a hurry. This would need to be addressed as both parties would demand closure at some point, and Louie had a feeling he knew who the victor would be when it all went off, and off it was going to go sooner, rather than later, by the looks of it. He watched and he waited, and marvelled at how pride could always guarantee a fall at some point. Kenny Douglas was about to fall from a great height and, like Danny Boy’s father, he wasn’t going to recover from it any time in the near future.

Raising his glass to Danny Boy, Louie saw Kenny looking at him with obvious disgust and he laughed loudly before raising the same glass to him and his cronies.

Lawrence Mangan was also watching the proceedings and, as far as Louie was concerned, this was, in a lot of respects, a bloody good platform for Cadogan to finally make his mark. It was going to happen, it had been on the cards for a long time; someone was going to find out just what the little fucker was capable of.

Funerals, he had always found, reminded people of their own immortality, as well as reminding them that everyone died at some point: it was a given, especially in their world, where lives were often cut short for no other reason than they had picked a fight with the wrong person. To make old bones and still be out of stir was a difficult feat, and one that was only achieved by the best in class.

Today, Louie was sure, would prove that fact once more, would remind everyone that a new generation was coming up through the ranks with a heavy hand and a cheery smile. It wasn’t rocket science, it happened in every walk of life. Famous actors had to stand back and watch younger, fitter men take over from them. It was the law of the pavement; youth would always win the game of chance. They had the edge because they had nothing to lose but everything to gain; it was success that held most people back, the fear of losing what they had gathered over the years. It made them soft, gave them a false sense of security. It made them make mistakes, and people like Danny Boy Cadogan could smell a mistake like a lion could smell a wounded gazelle. It was instinctive, it was what made the world go round, and it was fascinating to watch. As Danny winked at him Louie knew he had backed the winning horse; the boy was itching for a real fight, and now he was finally going to get one.

 

Mary was in the toilet repairing her make-up when Kenny stumbled in. He was drunker than either of them realised and he was out for an argument.

Mary had been avoiding him all day, preferring to stand with that fat cousin of hers, and the same women she denigrated on a daily basis for their blind devotion to men who she felt gave them nothing of any importance except children and grief. She really pissed him off at times, and this was one those times.

Mary knew the signs and she sighed, ready for the argument she knew would be forthcoming sooner rather than later. ‘What do you want, Kenny?’

Her whole attitude was one of disrespect and open hostility, she was also drunker than she thought, but at least she had an excuse: she had just buried her mother.

‘You what?’ He was in the mood for a row, he was always in that mood when he had been drinking, only today she didn’t care. She wasn’t interested in
him
or his fucking histrionics.

‘Oh, piss off, Kenny, I ain’t in the mood.’ Her voice was low, bored-sounding, and he knew that was how she felt about him twenty-four-seven, if she was honest. He knew she had never really wanted him, not how she would have if they had both been of an age. He was older than her in more ways than one and it was beginning to come between them. Like all men with younger women he was aware that he was only wanted as long as he had something to offer her. Now, though, he knew she didn’t want anything he had to give. The novelty had worn off, and he knew it.

That situation had been fine in the beginning; she was young, tight, and had a pair of tits to die for. She had been arm candy, like many women before her, but now he honestly loved her, every bit of her, and his pride was not going to let her go without a fight. He sensed she was on the out, wanted shot of him, and he also knew that her mother was the real reason she had been with him in the first place. She was now in a position to leave him without her mother’s poison dripping into her ears, reminding her of how hard life could be without a man to take care of her. He knew she wanted Danny Boy Cadogan, he had seen the way she looked at him: it wouldn’t take a blind dog long to sniff that much out. Now, as she stood there, looking at him with undisguised loathing, Kenny felt the urge to kill her. He wanted to wipe the smug smile off her face and pay her back for every time she had let him fuck her when, in reality, she had not wanted him anywhere near her. He had played along with that charade from the off, and now, if she thought he was going to meekly walk away, his tail between his legs while his cock was replaced by Danny Boy Cadogan’s, she could fucking well think again. He owned her, he had paid for her, and she wasn’t going nowhere until he told her she could go.

‘Who’re you fucking talking to, eh? Who the fuck do you think you are?’ He was gritting his teeth, and the anger was dripping from him like sweat. Mary looked at him again, a part of her sorry for what she was going to do, but nevertheless determined to extricate herself from him once and for all. She felt like a young girl for once, felt like other girls her age, and she knew that she had the looks and the brains to get any man she set her mind on. But she also knew that she couldn’t take any more of Kenny Douglas with his dry humping, his meanmindedness and his cow-eyes. It was over, and they both knew it.

‘Look, Kenny. I don’t want to argue, not today of all days. I just buried me mother . . .’

Kenny grinned nastily, the fury he normally kept buried deep inside himself now on the surface. He was making her nervous, making her scared, and as he saw the fright on her face he felt the power flowing back into his bones. She was not leaving him, especially not for Cadogan, showing him up in front of all his mates as if he was a cunt. She would go when he
told
her she could go, and not before.

‘Please, Kenny, don’t do this, eh? You could have any girl you wanted . . .’

He was still grinning at her. ‘But I want you, mare, and you, my little love, are going nowhere. If you think I’m going to let you make a fucking show of me, you better think again, girl. I’ll see you dead first.’

Mary knew he meant every word he said and the fear settled once more on her heart. She knew he had to have put one of his men on the door of the toilet, otherwise someone else would have been in there by now. This knowledge told her that he was not in here for any other reason than to lay the law down, whether she wanted him to or not. He was telling her that she was trapped, and she knew that was very probably the case. He was proving a point at her mother’s burial, proclaiming his power over her. Reminding her, and everyone else, of his right to ownership. He had bought her, and he knew it. It was because of that that they could never really be happy together. Trust was not something a relationship like theirs could ever be based on. They were both in it for all the wrong reasons. And she couldn’t do this any more. Her mother was gone; she didn’t have to think about anyone but herself now, and the drink was talking for her.

‘Up yours, Kenny. You can’t
force
me to want you. I ain’t your fucking wife.’

‘Don’t you dare bring her into this. Don’t you fucking dare start your antics with me tonight . . .’