Goodnight Lady (67 page)

The Mass began. The twins and all the Cavanaghs took it seriously. A calm fell on to the church that was to Briony’s mind a little piece of heaven on earth.

Beside her, Rosalee was gasping and Briony held her hand gently. The Mass was long as always on Christmas Eve, and the number attending Communion was great. Rosalee was asleep against Briony’s arm. Rather than wake her sister, she got Tommy to take her weight while she took Communion herself.

He looked down on her, and as he did, his face blanched. Her head rolled to the side, and her eyes, half-closed, saw nothing. He realised immediately she was dead. Putting his arms around her he pulled her against his coat. He sat like that until the end of the Mass, holding back a great urge to cry for the woman who had known nothing of malice, of the world, who was still an innocent.

Just after the final blessing Father Tierney asked the congregation to listen to his last few words with serious attention. He then cleared his throat.

‘In church this evening we have a woman who has been with this community since a child.’ Everyone looked at Briony. ‘Well, she’s always been pretty free with her money, as we all know.’ There was scattered laughter at this and Briony felt her face burning. ‘Now this same women and her two nephews, the terrible twins as I called them when they were my altar boys...’ He looked at the twins in a mock stern way over his pince nez glasses and there was more laughter. ‘Well, the fact is, these three have donated over twenty thousand pounds to my orphans’ fund.’ He paused for the intake of breath he knew would be forthcoming and wasn’t disappointed. ‘So I wanted to thank them publicly and to make a point of acknowledging the respect I have for them all. Firstly as good Catholics, and secondly as very, very good and kind people. The Cavanaghs.’

His Irish voice rose on the last two words and the church went wild. The clapping was loud and long.

Briony and the twins sat stunned at what the priest had done. Not one of them had expected it. Father Tierney came down and made the sign of the cross in front of the altar and then shook hands with the twins and Briony, thanking them once more.

Tommy sat supporting Rosalee, his terrible secret still untold. He waited until the church began to empty before he crooked his forefinger at Boysie and whispered the secret for the first time. He looked at Rosalee in Tommy’s arms and, kneeling down, put a hand gently to her face. Then, to the amazement of the priest, he began to sob, loud sobbing that caught the attention of everyone around him. Kerry, drunk as she was, took in the news quicker than anyone else. She sat crying silently alone until Evander, still smarting over the shock he had caused to the congregation, put his arm around her and tried as best he could to console her.

Briony was stunned. She sat beside her sister while the priest held the purple stole to her and whispered the prayers for the dead.

Her Rosalee was dead.

Her Rosalee whom she had loved all her life. Had cared for, fed with frozen fingers in the basements. Had played with and crooned to. Whom she had loved as Rosalee. Just Rosalee, her sister and her friend. She was gone forever.

Poor Rosalee, people had always said. They had never realised just how rich she was.

‘I don’t care if it is Christmas, I don’t care if Christ himself is coming here to gamble, I want me money, Davey, and I want it now.’ Boysie’s face was dark with anger.

Davey Mitchell was terrified, but made a good show of hiding this fact.

‘Look, Boysie, I borrowed the money and you’re charging me interest on it. I’ll pay it, right. It’ll be paid.’

Boysie clenched his fists and held them up in front of his face.

Davey felt a thrill of terror.

‘Don’t mug me off, Davey, don’t even think about mugging me off. You borrowed a grand, now you owe two and a half. I want that by New Year’s Eve or I’ll hurt you. Really hurt you.’

The last was said low and Davey swallowed hard. ‘You’ll have it.’

He looked all injured innocence and Boysie began to breathe heavily through his nose. Davey Mitchell annoyed him beyond measure. He was so cocksure. He had borrowed a thousand pounds to open his own spieler, Boysie and Daniel had lent him the money in good faith. They knew, from whispers on the street, that the spieler was doing very well, so where was their money? The interest was rolling up by the day, but that had not deterred Davey in the least. He still gave them a load of old fanny every time they sent someone to pick up what was their money after all. Now Boysie had visited personally and he was annoyed. Deeply annoyed. Davey Mitchell had best watch that big Yid mouth of his, and that cocksure attitude, because he needed putting down a peg and the mood Boysie was in, he would be the man to do it. No trouble.

Boysie poked him in the chest, hard.

‘I’d better have it, Davey, or your guts will be strewn all over fucking Bethnal Green. Right?’

Davey nodded. But he still didn’t look as if he was really bothered and Boysie fought down an urge to smash him in the face.

He left the little office and walked through the games room. As he left the club and climbed into his car he took a few deep breaths to calm himself. He sat still for a couple of minutes and decided he would make arrangements with Davey after the New Year for a larger cut of his takings. He might even just take the club from him. That would teach the bloody ponce a lesson he wouldn’t forget in a hurry!

Smiling grimly now, he pulled away from the kerb. His next stop was a man called Liam O’Docherty, a bookie. Liam owed them over two grand. He was a good payer usually, but that didn’t deter Boysie. He would go and tell him he wanted his money, and quick.

He had to do something, and this was as good a something as anything else he could think of.

Unlike Daniel, who was still ensconced in his bedroom moping after Rosalee’s death, Boysie needed excitement. He needed action. And by Christ he would find it if it killed him!

 

Briony and Tommy were sorting out the final arrangements for Rosalee’s funeral. The coffin was chosen, the shroud was a delicate pink and white, the rosary in her hands of olive wood brought from Jerusalem and given to Briony by the priest. It had been blessed by the Pope himself.

As Briony sorted out food and other arrangements she fought an urge to scream. Every time she thought of Rosalee in that church, dead and silent, she wanted to scream. She was to be buried beside Eileen, which helped. At least they would be together. All the Cavanaghs would be together in the end.

Tommy saw Briony’s haunted face and kissed her gently. Briony put her arms around him. She was exhausted from lack of sleep and he pulled her close. Oh, what would she have done without him? He had been like a rock for her. Had held her up when she thought she would just collapse, because somehow all her strength seemed to have drained out of her. That phenomenal strength that was her trademark, that made her the woman she was, seemed to have disappeared overnight until now she found it hard even to pick up a phone. Mariah had told her to take things easy, leave everything to her, and Briony was grateful. Even work had lost its usual appeal. Was not enough to take her mind off her sister’s death. Rosalee had been such an integral part of her life. It was hard to imagine life without her.

The doctor said her heart had given out on her. Just given up. She had had a massive heart attack which accounted for her holding her arm; he said she had probably had pain along her arms and her chest and couldn’t communicate that fact. Briony berated herself for not taking her sister to a doctor immediately. For not realising that she was really ill. For not taking enough interest in her.

Tommy had ordered strong hot coffee, and as he poured Briony out a steaming cup she once more blessed him for his support. How on earth had she done without him all these years? How could she have let him go?

It amazed her to think she could ever have contemplated living her life without him.

 

Davey Mitchell was in The Volunteer in Barking, drinking with two brothers called McCain. They were both men well respected in their own right as hard men, but also well liked because they were jokers. Both had a great sense of humour and they told jokes non-stop, each vying with the other to be the funnier. They worked for the twins, and were happy to do so. They had been friends of Davey Mitchell’s for many years. Davey sat at the bar drinking large scotches and laughing at their jokes.

Pete McCain was telling one as usual.

‘So this bloke goes in the hairdresser’s and says, “I want me hair cut with a large hole on top of me head, scissor marks all around the sides, and a fringe that’s five different lengths.” This big poofy hairdresser says, “I can’t do that, sir!” And the bloke says, “Why not? That’s how you fucking cut it last time!”’

Jamie McCain busted up with laughter as did Davey, Pete McCain, and half the bar.

Davey ordered another round of drinks as Jamie McCain said, ‘How about this then? This bloke is at the funeral of an eighty-year-old man, and there’s loads of young girls around the grave crying. Right? So this young bloke like, he says, “What they all crying for?” And the undertaker he says, right, “Well, the old boy was a really good lover, see. All the young girls liked him.” So this bloke says, “Get out of it, you’re mucking me about!” And the other undertaker says, “He ain’t, son, I had to give him a wank to get the coffin lid on!”’

Davey and half the bar busted up with laughter again. Maisie, the large barmaid, served them their drinks tight-lipped and Jamie grabbed her hand.

‘Sorry, Maisie, that one was a bit near the mark.’

‘You just remember there’s ladies in here, Jamie McCain.’

Davey pushed a five-pound note over the bar and said, ‘Fucking ladies? I don’t see no ladies in here, love.’

Maisie snatched the money from the bar and put his change in a puddle of beer deliberately.

Davey looked at the soaking wet money and Maisie smiled at him sarcastically.

Davey poked a finger in her direction and said, ‘You pick that money up and you sort it for me. Now.’

Pete and Jamie sighed loudly.

‘Leave this to us, Maise. Give it a rest, Davey. You’re out of order.’

He turned on Jamie and sneered. ‘Don’t you tell me when I’m out of order, mate. Just because you work for those pair of Cavanaghs, the nancy boys. Don’t you get fucking lairy with me!’

Pete stepped towards Davey and Jamie held him back, both serious now. All their laughing and joking gone.

Jamie poked a finger at Davey and said quietly, ‘You’re pissed so I’ll forget what you just said, Davey boy. Get yourself off home.’

The bar was quiet now, people watching the proceedings with eager eyes.

Davey was very drunk and all caution was gone as he said in a high girlish voice, ‘What’s the matter, boys? You scared that pair of fucking paper hats the Cavanaghs will hear what I said about them? Are we scared they might get their aunties after me? Oh, they can’t get all their aunties, can they? The big fucking nutty one died the other day! Good job and all. I wish they’d died with her. Fucking bits of kids telling me ...ME ... Davey Mitchell, what to do! I worked this town when they were still a twinkle in their father’s fucking eye!’

The whole bar was silent now and Jamie shook his head. ‘You must be out of your mind.’

‘What, you gonna tell them what I said then? Run and tell them, go on. See if I care!’

Peter McCain pushed Davey hard in the chest. ‘We won’t have to, you stupid bastard, the whole fucking pub heard you! What you on, Davey, eh? A fucking death wish?’

Davey walked unsteadily to the door of the pub. Looking at all the faces around him, he laughed out loud.

‘Bollocks to the Cavanaghs! They don’t scare me.’

 

Tommy heard about Davey before the twins and it bothered him. He had wanted to speak to Briony about them for a while, but the time never seemed right. Now he knew that Davey Mitchell was dead. That was a certainty. Boysie and Daniel would not take such public humiliation. And Davey Mitchell, drunk or sober, should have known that.

But the twins had to be made aware that you didn’t just kill people willy-nilly. They were far too violent for the wrong reasons. Even a small debt was called in with a violence that was astounding to the hardened men of London. A few hundred pounds and Boysie or Daniel would have arms or legs broken. They had crippled someone over seventy quid. It wasn’t as if there was any rhyme or reason to it. People who owed them hefty amounts of wedge were just left, then one day Boysie called the debt in. No warning, nothing. It was ludicrous. That sort of thing would be their downfall.

He would talk to them. For Briony’s sake, it was the least he could do. Because if she lost those boys, it would finish her. They were her boys, her babies, no matter what they did to anyone. However big they became, to her they were her Eileen’s children, and she would never see any wrong in them. No matter what they did.

Briony was heading for a fall, and deep inside Tommy knew no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t even hope to catch her.

 

Boysie went into the Chapel of Rest. Daniel was already there, sitting by the open coffin. His face was pale, his eyes dead. He put out a hand to his brother and Boysie grasped it, holding it tight.

‘Poor old Auntie Rosalee. Look at her, Boysie. She never done no one a day’s harm.’

‘Nah. I know that. The Aunt’s taken it really bad.’ Boysie’s voice was low. He looked at Rosalee in the coffin for a few seconds and then said, ‘I thought I might find you here, Danny boy. I came earlier today, after I saw that slag Mitchell. I suppose you’ve heard?’

Danny’s face darkened in anger. ‘I heard.’

‘So what do you say we pay him a little visit?’

Danny turned in the chair and squeezed his brother’s hand‘til it hurt. Then he half smiled as he said, ‘What do you think?’