Family Betrayal (17 page)

‘Don't leave me, Dan,’ she whispered, her voice cracking. ‘Come back to me.’

‘You can see your husband again this evening,’ the nurse said as she began to take Dan's blood pressure.

Her emotions in turmoil, Joan was only able to nod. Danny took her arm to lead her away from the ward.

‘How is he?’ Maurice asked when they joined the others.

‘He wasn't conscious, so we don't know,’ Danny told him. ‘Now come on, let's get Mum home. She looks worn out and needs to rest before coming back this evening.’

As Danny took over, Joan felt a surge of gratitude. He was a good boy, and as she had said, a chip
off the old block. He was taking care of her, just like his father. When Dan regained consciousness and she told him how good Danny had been, he'd be so proud of his eldest son.

It had been a fraught twenty-four hours, but at last Joan received the news she'd been waiting for. Dan would survive. His face looked dreadful, drooping on one side, with the right side of his paralysed body, further weakened. The doctor was doubtful now that Dan would ever make a full recovery. The second stroke had delayed his return home, but he was alive, and to Joan that was all that mattered.

With all her energies focused on her husband, Joan was hardly aware of what went on around her. She left everything to Danny, safe in the knowledge that he would continue to look after the family, and the business.

On Friday, Joan sat beside her husband, gripping his good hand. ‘Hello, love.’

There was no response. None of his usual gibbering, no arm waving and sighing. Joan wiped the drool from the side of his mouth.

Loudly Maurice asked, ‘How are you, Dad?’

‘There's no need to shout,’ Joan snapped. ‘Your father isn't deaf.’

‘I reckon it's a trait in your family,’ the man from the next bed called. ‘Your other son was just as bad, shouting at the poor bloke as though he's deaf.’

Joan was annoyed at the interruption, but puzzled too. ‘What son? I don't know who you mean.’

‘I'm talking about the one who came to see your husband just before he had another stroke.’

‘Oh, you mean Danny. Why was he shouting?’

‘Search me, but your hubby got really agitated when he saw him. Your son tried to calm him down. He told him that he was taking care of the business and there was nothing for him to worry about.’

‘Yes, he's a good lad,’ Joan said.

‘If you ask me, these youngsters are all the same. They think that just because we're old, we've lost our marbles or we're hard of hearing. They forget that we fought for our country during the war. They should give us a bit more respect.’

Joan switched off as the man ranted on and on. Poor Danny, it must have been awful for him to see his father having another stroke.

She leaned forward, her voice soft. ‘Oh, Dan, you'd be so proud of Danny. He makes sure I'm all right, taking care of me just like you did.’

There was a sound, a sort of groan and Joan felt a surge of hope. Dan had responded for the first time since his second stroke, and maybe there'd be other improvements soon.

Chapter Seventeen

 

It was now August and Danny was putting all his energies into the hard-core films. It was hot, and though the rafters were high, the barn felt stifling.

Danny's face was beaded with sweat, but his mind was set on the task in hand. He didn't want to think about his father – about what he'd done. The guilt swamped him, keeping him awake at night, until at last he decided there was only one thing he could do to assuage his guilt. His father hadn't got any better, and he'd been sent home last month, but from what Yvonne had told him, space was short now that he was in a wheelchair. He'd have to make sure they made lots of money, enough to ensure that his father had every comfort – even the house in the country that he'd dreamed of.

He looked through the camera, and as the two men and the girl got into position, he snapped his orders. ‘Bob, check the lighting.’

‘We could do with Maurice.’

‘He's feeling rough today and anyway he's not a lot of help – so stop bloody carping and get on with it.’

Bob scowled but Danny ignored him. Chris came to stand behind the camera, having completed his work on the set, and at last they were ready to roll.

The girl had been told what to do, and when Danny said, ‘Right, get on with it,’ she went into action.

She was one of Lillie's girls and good – very good, Danny saw – but he'd watched some of Garston's films and it would have to be graphic to compete. As he'd instructed, one bloke was taking her from behind, but now it was time to up the action. Danny zoomed in, ready for a close-up of the oral sex. ‘Right, Mary, take the other bloke in your mouth.’

Yes, it was graphic, but they needed more like this in the bag. The worry was getting to him, the responsibility, the need to make money, not for himself now, but for his father. He'd wanted to be in control, to run things, but now all his energies were focused on his old man, on his comfort. Danny knew that he'd caused his father's second stroke, knew it could have killed him, and once again the guilt overwhelmed him.

Late that night, Ivy was fidgeting nervously as she looked out of the window. The kids were tired, but she'd had to keep them up. Steve was chuffed,
waiting for the off, as anxious as she was to leave Drapers Alley.

‘I still can't believe we got this council exchange,’ Steve said. ‘It's bloody marvellous. I'd love to be around to see their faces when another family moves into this place.’

‘Yeah, and Danny's when you ain't around to run the bloody yard,’ said Ivy. She had waited until Auntie Joan's lights had gone out, and now regretted sneaking out to stick a note through her door. It would have been more satisfying to have just left without warning, but it was too late now. Mind, she hadn't told her the story about the exchange – just that they were leaving. Ivy smiled happily. There'd be little chance of them finding out where they had gone.

‘I didn't even know that the council offered exchanges,’ Steve said.

‘Yeah, well, it's just as well that they do. Mind you, it wasn't easy. Most of the people on the list wanted the same area, but bigger places with more bedrooms. I was lucky to find a family in Kent who wanted to move to Battersea,
and
that they agreed to swap their place for Drapers Alley.’

‘I still don't think that Dan will let them move in.’

Ivy shrugged. ‘He ain't in a fit state to stop them. Anyway, he doesn't own this house, and as the council agreed the exchange nobody can stop them.’

‘Danny might, and I wouldn't want to be in their shoes in the morning.’

‘Look, the family used to live in this area, and if they haven't heard of the Drapers, it ain't our problem. The husband has been offered a good job in the brewery so they want to move back, and it's up to them to sort anyone out who wants to stop them.’

‘Yeah, well, I wish them luck.’

Ivy risked a peek outside. The night was clear, the moon shining, yet she consoled herself with the thought that it wasn't far to the corner. If they went now they should make it unseen. ‘I think we can risk it.’

‘I hope you're right,’ Steve said, ‘but I still don't know why we're sneaking off like this.’

‘For Gawd's sake, Steve, we talked about this. For one, you were too scared to tell Danny that you're leaving the yard, and secondly it's a way to pay him back for the way you've been treated. When we go without warning he'll be left in the shit with nobody to take your place.’

Steve scratched his head. ‘Yeah, I suppose so, but it still seems a bit cloak and dagger.’

‘What's cloak and dagger, Daddy?’ Ernie asked.

It was Ivy who answered. ‘It's an adventure. Now come on, kids, we're off. When we get outside I want you to scoot around the corner.’

Harry yawned and Ivy became impatient. ‘Steve, you'll have to pick him up.’

‘Leave it out. How am I supposed to do that
and
carry the suitcases?’

Ivy heaved a sigh. ‘Ernie, I want you to hold Harry's hand, and make sure that he doesn't dawdle.’

‘Why have we got to go? Why can't we stay here?’

‘I've told you. We're moving to a new house, and when you see it, you'll love it. Now shut up about it, and as I said, hold Harry's hand.’

With that, Ivy picked up two suitcases, whilst Steve did the same. She took one last peek outside and then ushering the boys ahead of her, she urged them on as they all scooted out of the alley. Steve had been reluctant to use what little money they had saved to buy an old banger, but Ivy had told him that a car, even one that looked a bit of a wreck, was essential in the country. There'd be no buses to hop on, no underground trains, but despite the remoteness of the village, she couldn't wait to get there.

Steve found the old car hard to start and Ivy's nerves were jangling, but even so she was happy. After all this time everything she had hoped for had come to fruition. She had wanted to see her uncle brought low, and thanks to George he was suffering now, just as her mother had. Her Uncle Dan was finished, in a wheelchair, a gibbering wreck. Yes, it was time to leave Drapers Alley – time for her new life to begin.

When Joan got up the following morning, she saw the note that had been shoved through her letter box and ran to pick it up. It was from Ivy, to tell her that they had left the alley. Joan threw it down. It was a
bit sudden, but in truth she didn't care. When she had first seen the note her heart had skipped, hoping it was from George, because despite what he had done he was still her son, and she couldn't help wondering where he was. It had been over three months now – three long months without news.

As though reading her mind, Pet asked, ‘Mum, is that letter from George?’

Joan looked up, her eyes clouded for a moment. ‘No, it's from Ivy to tell me that they've moved out.’

‘What? But why would she leave without saying goodbye?’

‘I don't know,’ Joan said impatiently. She didn't care that Ivy had left the alley. She was just pleased to see the back of Dan's niece.

Hearing a soft groan, Joan went over to the day bed, smiling softly. ‘Morning, love.’

There was no reply from Dan, just a wave of his good arm, and knowing what he wanted Joan said, ‘Come on, Petula, give me a hand. Your dad wants to go to the bathroom.’

The morning routine began then, and Joan was glad of her daughter's help. She was at home from school during the summer holidays, which had been a godsend, but things would become difficult when she returned for her last term. Still, Joan thought, Yvonne was marvellous, always on hand to lend a hand, but it was a shame that she couldn't allow Danny in to see his father. One look at his eldest
son and Dan went mad, so much so that she had been forced to tell Danny to stay away. She still didn't understand what caused it, but felt the only explanation could be that Dan resented that he was so helpless – that he was forced to let Danny take over running the business.

When Chris came downstairs half an hour later, Joan handed him Ivy's note, watching as his eyes widened.

‘This doesn't make sense. Why has Ivy buggered off without saying anything?’

‘Search me,’ Joan said, ‘but if you ask me it's good riddance to bad rubbish.’

Dan began to gibber and Joan wondered if he was upset that Ivy had left, but was distracted when Chris threw down the note.

‘I'd better warn Danny that Steve won't be opening the yard,’ he said.

‘What about your breakfast?’

‘I'll have it later.’

‘Come on, Dan, calm down,’ Joan urged as Chris hurried out. ‘There's no need to take on just because Ivy's gone. She's a grown woman and not your responsibility. If you ask me you've done enough for her, and I ain't pleased that she didn't even bother to come to see you to say goodbye.’

‘Dad, don't,’ Petula said, taking her father's hand, and as usual, Dan responded immediately to his daughter, slumping ungainly in his chair.

‘Petula, get the breakfast on and after that you can go upstairs to make our beds. Go on now, I can see to your father,’ Joan snapped.

Petula did as she was told whilst Joan frowned, wondering why Dan always responded well to his daughter, but took no notice of her.

The brothers were at the yard. Danny, fuming, was unaware that a car was parked outside, the three men inside closely watching the entrance.

‘I can't fucking believe this,’ Danny said, his eyes sweeping over his brothers as he sat behind his dad's old desk. ‘With Steve gone we're another man short – who's gonna do the bloody deliveries?’

‘I know what dives in Soho have placed orders, so I can take the films out,’ Chris offered. ‘Are they already in the van?’

‘Yeah, they're in the hidden compartment,’ said Bob.

‘All right. Chris, you take on the driving, and Bob, you'll have to handle the yard,’ said Danny, shaking his head with annoyance. ‘That just leaves me and Maurice in Wimbledon to handle the filming, but as soon as you've finished the deliveries, Chris, you can meet us there.’

‘Why can't Maurice stay in the yard? I'd be more use at Wimbledon,’ Bob complained.

‘Oh, for fuck's sake, Bob, why do you have to question every decision I make? If we get a big order
for building gear, Maurice ain't up to loading it on his own.’

‘Yeah, yeah, all right.’

‘Sorry, Bob,’ said Maurice, his expression sheepish.

‘Don't worry about it,’ Bob said.

‘Right, before we go, let's take a look at the books. How are we doing, Maurice?’

‘We're doing all right, and profits are up on last month.’

Danny looked at Maurice's neat entries, somewhat mollified to see that he was right. Yes, things were looking up, but they still had to push harder. It wasn't going to be easy without Steve, and Danny was still annoyed that the git had buggered off without a word. He had no idea where he and Ivy had gone, but if he got his hands on Steve he'd wring his bloody neck.

The three men continued to watch the entrance. So far they had found out little and Jack Garston was growing impatient.

‘If you ask me, this is a waste of time,’ said one. ‘We followed them here, and so far they ain't moved.’

‘Are you gonna tell Garston that?’ asked another, his wide-set shoulders straining the seams of his suit as he turned towards the back seat.

‘Leave it out, of course not.’

The third man sniffed through a nose that had been broken, giving him a pug-faced look. He flexed
his large muscular arms before speaking. ‘Look, Garston wants us to teach them a lesson, but we need to get one of the Draper boys on his own. Now shut up and just keep watching.’

The sun was rising higher in the sky, all three sweltering and growing more impatient, but at last they saw movement. Two of the Draper boys were heading for a car, whilst another went to a van.

‘He's on his own so we'll take him,’ the pug-faced one said.

They waited until the van drove off and then followed, keeping a safe distance.

‘The Drapers are mad to take on Garston,’ the driver said. ‘That's something they're soon gonna find out.’

‘Yeah. Are we gonna take out his kneecaps like the last bloke?’

‘No,’ said the pug-faced one, ‘it's gonna be in daylight and Garston said to just give him a warning. There'll be no shooters this time.’

They drove over the Thames, still keeping the van in sight, grinning when it eventually reached Soho. This was Garston's territory. He ruled this area and even if there were witnesses, not one of them would dare to say a word. On the rare occasions that anyone dared to cross Jack Garston, his revenge was swift, and so his reputation had grown. There was little he didn't have a hand in. He ran clubs, prostitutes, made hard-porn films, and had a protection racket
that lined his coffers with even more money. He ran his empire on fear, his men knowing that they'd be taken out if they didn't obey his orders.

The van now turned into a side street, pulling up outside a sex shop, and the order was given to park behind it.

‘Come on,’ the pug-faced one said, slipping a knife out of his pocket. ‘Grab him and hold him steady, while I mess up his pretty face.’ Unaware that he'd been followed, Chris didn't stand a chance. He tried to fight off the men who held him, but two of them had him in a vicelike grip.

The pug-faced one leered, his face close to Chris's as he spat, ‘This is a message from Jack Garston. He knows what you Drapers are up to, and wants you out.’

With that he moved back, a sickly grin on his face as he raised his hand, the knife slicing through Chris's cheek like butter. He ignored the scream, saying, ‘Count yourself lucky that you're still alive. If you and your brothers don't stay out of Garston's territory, you won't be so lucky next time.’

They shoved Chris then, watching as he landed in the gutter, his face pouring blood. Laughing, they went back to their car and screeched away.