Goodnight Lady (53 page)

She paced the room for a while.

‘I’m going to ring Mariah. She’ll help you get away. The main thing is to remove you from here. OK?’

Jonathan nodded. ‘You’re so good to me, Briony! I knew you’d know what to do.’

‘Go upstairs and get dressed. I have a couple of calls to make.

Come on, get your arse in gear!’

She rang Mariah then picked up Peter’s telephone book and dialled Lord Hockley’s number. She spoke to him personally and afterwards sat smoking ’til Mariah arrived. Her driver took Jonathan home and the two women waited in silence for Lord Hockley. Both knew that this was something they could use to their advantage, though neither voiced the thought out loud. Briony, herself, was numb, Eileen’s recent death still an open wound. When Lord Hockley arrived she had the grace to feel deeply sorry for the man.

She walked wordlessly up to the bedroom and opened the door. Lord Hockley, who had fought in the Boer War and had witnessed first hand the tragedy in the trenches of the Great War, took one look at the naked boy on the bed and, putting his hand to his heart, made a deep moaning sound that seemed to be pulled from his strong barrel chest.

Then, entering the room, he took the knife from beside his son and threw it at the wall. Its bone handle made a loud cracking sound as it broke under the blow. Then he began to belabour Peter, pulling him up by his short-cropped hair and slapping him across the face, the shoulders, anywhere on the boy’s body he could make contact. He finished by kicking him in the chest.

‘You animal! You filthy little animal! Is this what I brought you up for? This - carnage!’

Rupert watched the scene through glazed eyes.

Lord Hockley turned to Briony and said: ‘And where do you fit into all this, eh? Only I’ve washed my hands of the blighter if you’re thinking of getting money out of me. I want no more to do with him. This is the end! The finish!’

Briony said in a low voice, ‘I want nothing. I was called here by a mutual friend. I thought that as this Peter was your son, you’d better sort it all out. I want nothing from you, nothing. Except for you to finish what your son started.’

She saw Hockley deflate in front of her eyes. His whole body seemed to sag.

‘Come on, let’s go downstairs, get out of this. It’s up to you now. But if I was you I’d try and help your son, because that boy is dead and nothing is going to bring him back. He’s more than likely a pick up, so I shouldn’t imagine anyone’s looking for him just yet.’

Briony’s sensible words penetrated the man’s distress. But an innate sense of justice fought with his natural instinct to protect not just his child, but his family’s good name. He followed Briony down the stairs.

Mariah poured them all a drink and Hockley swallowed his straight down and held out his glass for more.

‘I gave that boy everything, but even as a child... His mother encouraged it, you know. She’s the real culprit. Should have let me send him overseas, put him in the army like his forebears, but no. Her darling boy had to be encouraged, he was artistic. Artistic, my eye! He’s plain unnatural, an offence to the eyes of God. My only son, can you believe that? My only son. And look where he is now...’

Briony heard the sorrow in his voice and felt an urge to flee. To get away from this house and its occupants. She had enough to think about as it was. Her Eileen was dead, and Peter Hockley was alive. It was so unfair.

‘Shall I call the police then?’ She hoped he would say yes. She wanted Peter Hockley to pay the proper penalty for the ending of that young life. But she knew that even if she telephoned the Chief Inspector, it would be hushed up, because Hockley was a newspaper baron and he had clout. A great deal of clout. He shook his head slowly.

‘No. I will make sure everything’s taken care of. By the way, who was the mutual friend you spoke of?’

Briony shook her head.

‘That’s for me to know, and you to find out. If you’ll excuse us, Lord Hockley? It’s been a long night and I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long day.’

Mariah finished her drink. As they went to leave, Lord Hockley’s voice stayed them.

‘Why didn’t you phone the police?’

Briony looked back and answered truthfully. ‘Would it have made a difference? Let’s face it, there’s no way this is ever going to come to light is there? You might be angry with your son now but you won’t want him banged up, no more than I would my child. No matter what they’d done. But I trust you remember in years to come that we kept quiet about this, Lord Hockley. That we didn’t go to the other newspapers, the ones you don’t control.

‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve done our bit. The rest, I’m afraid, is up to you.’

 

Briony was still thinking of the scene she had witnessed earlier in the day as the priest spoke his last words over Eileen. Kerry and Bernadette held Molly between them, and Briony stood away from the small group alone. Eileen’s death heralded an end of an era. Never again would the five sisters be together. She heard Rosalee crying and felt the sting of tears herself. Marcus was holding Rosalee to his chest. No one was ever sure exactly how much she understood. If they cried, she cried; if they laughed, she laughed. Today she was breaking her heart. Maybe somewhere in her mind she realised what was going on. Or maybe she just felt the deep unhappiness around her.

Sister Mary Magdalene was also crying; her young face, so soft and virginal-looking, seemed out of place here.

So many people had turned out for the funeral, Briony had found it hard to believe at first. It seemed that every woman in the East End of London had gathered at The Chase graveyard to mourn her. The Chase was on the old Romford Road, surrounded by countryside. Eileen would be pleased to be laid to rest here, Briony was sure of that.

The cortège had grown longer and longer as people joined it all along the route until now there was a large silent crowd. Briony knew it was their way of lending support. Their way of looking after one of their own.

She swallowed down the hot burning tears with difficulty. She felt a soft touch and looked round to see Tommy standing beside her. Biting her lip, she held on to him, feeling the strength of him through her coat, feeling a peacefulness settle over her.

Father McNamara blessed the coffin, Briony threw in the first lump of dirt and a single white rose. All the sisters followed suit, even Rosalee. Molly had to be taken from the graveside, her wailing becoming hysterical.

As Briony stood by her sister’s open grave people filed past her, murmuring condolences. Everyone knew she had taken on Eileen’s boys. It was common knowledge, and proved once more that Briony Cavanagh was one of them, for all her money and her businesses. Local hard men paid their respects to her personally, looking out of place in their suits and clean shirts.

Tommy finally walked her from the graveside and over to his car. He drove her back to her house himself. In the car Briony shed the tears she had been holding back. Tommy let her cry, knowing it could only be for the good. Briony bottled up too much. She needed to let off steam. Then outside her house he took her in his arms and comforted her.

Briony, smelling the familiar smell of him, allowed herself to be held. Never had she felt so alone in all her life, and never had she been more grateful for Tommy’s company.

 

Molly was drunk, stinking drunk. She was so drunk she could barely move in her chair. Briony got Marcus and Tommy to carry her mother up to bed. She stripped Molly with difficulty and slipped the quilt over her. As she looked down on her mother’s swollen face she felt a tremor of love for her. Abel had taken his mother home earlier. Mother Jones would always come first with him, and Molly knew that and was hurt by it. Even at her daughter’s funeral, his mother had taken first place. Briony felt her mother’s pain as surely as if it was her own.

As she walked from the bedroom she saw Tommy standing on the landing, leaning against the wall.

‘Thanks for coming, Tommy, I appreciate it.’

He smiled, his familiar little grin, and Briony felt her heart lurch.

‘Would you like to see the boys?’

Tommy nodded and followed Briony into their room. He looked down at the two babies and laughed aloud. ‘Oh, Briony, ain’t they small?’

She nodded, placing a finger in each child’s right hand.

‘But they’re strong. They’ve got a good grip. Poor Eileen. Two beautiful children and she’ll never see them grow up...’

Her voice broke and Tommy put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Who’ll bring them up now? Your mum?’

Briony shook her head furiously.

‘No way. I’m going to bring them up. They’re my boys now. Mine. Daniel and Dennis Cavanagh. Aren’t you, my lovelies?’

She bent closer to them and Tommy sighed softly. ‘They’re O’Malleys, Briony. Eileen was legally married, remember?’

Briony shook her head.

‘No, you’re wrong. These two are Cavanaghs. Eileen gave them to me. I’ll be their mother, I’ll bring them up, and they’ll be brought up as Cavanaghs. That’s an end to it. I have great plans for these two young men, Tommy. Great plans.’

‘I’m sure you have, Briony.’

She was unaware of the undercurrent in Tommy’s voice.

‘They’ll have everything. Liselle will be like a sister to them. She’s a beauty, too. They’re the next generation of Cavanaghs and all living under one roof. I’ll make sure they have the world on a plate. The best education, the best of everything. I promised Eileen I’d look after them and I will.’

The bigger of the babies turned himself over and Briony picked him up tenderly.

‘Look at your Uncle Tommy, Boysie.’ She looked at Tommy and said: ‘We call him Boysie because he’s the bigger one. I don’t know why but he looks like a Boysie, don’t he?’

Tommy smiled and nodded agreement.

Briony kissed the child softly on his tiny rosebud lips. ‘Who’s their mummy’s little babies then, eh? Who’s my beautiful boys?’

She placed the child back in his crib tenderly and then picked up the other. Daniel snuggled into her arms naturally, used to the feel and the smell of her.

‘Oh, Danny Boy.’ She looked at Tommy again. ‘This one is the quieter of the two. As alike as they look, they’re different in many ways. Boysie is much louder. Danny Boy, well, he’ll be a thinker, I reckon. He’s the quiet one.’

Tommy watched her look at the child intently, practically drinking him in with her eyes.

‘They’re lucky to have you to look out for them.’

Briony shook her head and said truthfully, ‘Oh, I’m the lucky one, Tommy. It’s me who’s the lucky one. I can give these boys so much. And in return it’ll be like having my own boy back. Like having two Benedicts to care for. I owe it to Eileen and to myself to make sure these two little spats have the best that money can buy. And I’ll see that they do.’

He touched the child’s downy head and said, ‘Money can’t buy happiness, Briony. You more than anyone should know the truth of that.’

She pulled the child from him and said tartly, ‘Well, at least I can be miserable in comfort, can’t I? Which is infinitely preferable to being miserable as well as cold and hungry. Why must you always put the mockers on everything, Tommy? Why can’t you just once say something I want to hear? These two little boys deserve to be happy and I want to make sure they are. And the kind of happiness I want for them takes a great deal of money.’

Tommy sighed and said in a low voice, ‘Don’t try and make them happy, Briony, let them be happy. I often think you don’t know what real happiness is. All the years I’ve known you I can honestly say, hand on heart, I don’t know of one time when you was ever really happy.’

Briony put the child back in the crib. Facing Tommy, she looked into his eyes. The sight of her long neck and Titian hair enflamed him, she was so beautiful, so alluring. Her eyes were like emeralds glittering in her head. Her mouth was trembling as she said, ‘That, Tommy, is because I have never really been happy. Not since the day I gave up my boy. But now I have a second chance, and Eileen’s boys are that chance. She wanted me to do my best for them, and I swear on her grave that I will do just that. I’ll look out for them, and love them, all the days of my life.’

‘That’s very noble, but what about you, Bri? What about you having happiness? Don’t you want to be happy, inside yourself? Don’t you want to feel the same happiness you’re so determined to give to these two children?’

Briony shook her head in confusion.

‘But don’t you see, Tommy? I will find that happiness now. I’ll find it through them. With them. Because of them. Even today, when I’ve buried my Eileen, I feel a certain happiness, because I have these boys. Can’t you understand that?’

Tommy shook his head.

‘No. Frankly, Briony, I can’t.’

She watched him walk from the room. Then, sighing heavily, she turned back to the boys.

 

Tommy let himself out of Briony’s house. Getting into his car, he drove away from her. Inside he was in turmoil, because that last conversation had proved, as if he had not already known, that with the advent of those children he had finally lost her for good. She had not had much to give him before. Now she would have even less.

He acknowledged, bitterly, that he was jealous of Eileen’s boys, two little motherless boys. He was. Because today he had decided to take Briony back, and had found that she had even less need of him than before. It was ironic that after leaving her, after convincing himself he was better off without her, he had found out too late just how wrong he had been.

He felt a burning need to cry because he had just left behind the only woman he would ever care about, the only one he would ever want or need.

It was this knowledge that hurt him more than anything. Because he, himself, had broken the bond between them, and enjoyed himself while doing it. He had broken Briony’s heart and all along had been setting himself up for more misery than he had dreamt possible.