Goodnight Lady (84 page)

Danny’s face twitched.

‘You and Tommy never went down, did you? You two got a result.’

Briony nodded. ‘We were charged with a very old crime, Danny boy. I know about violence, all right. But we were violent in the’twenties and believe me when I say you had to be violent then. You had to take what you wanted. It wasn’t like today, when the working classes can get an education, can follow their stars. I had the choice between looking after myself and my family, or going under, like me Mum had to.

‘You don’t know the first thing about real violence. Oh, you hurt people, you shoot them. But you have no inkling of real poverty, and that’s where real violence is bred. The survival of the fittest. Me and Tommy came from an era where eating regularly was a result, where keeping warm was a major occupation. You grew up with everything anyone could want. I even sent you two to Ampleforth and what for, eh? What the hell for? You even take pleasure in keeping your East End accent. I take the blame for you two - I should have knocked you down a peg when I had the chance; but being me, I loved you so much I couldn’t see your faults. I made excuses for you and in reality there were none. You were just a vicious little bastard and this is the upshot. I never hurt anyone for fun, for recognition. People had to tread heavily on my toes before I retaliated and that’s why I’m sitting here and you’re sitting there.’

Daniel sneered at her. ‘The voice of Briony Cavanagh. Shall I tell you something? We used to laugh at you and Tommy behind your backs. You was a joke to us. Me and Boysie, we had them there.’ He held out his palm. ‘We had them there, and would have kept them there and all. It was grasses who tucked us up and they’ll pay, believe me.’

Briony shook her head in sorrow. ‘Can’t you see anything, Danny? Can’t you see we’re living in a different world now? The days when you could walk into a pub with a shooter and expect everyone to turn a blind eye are long gone. You made the mistake of making too many enemies. The big I am, were you? Well look where it’s got you. I couldn’t give a monkey’s whether you laughed at us behind our backs, because at the end of the day, Tommy Lane is worth fifty of you, a hundred. That man deserves your respect. If you’d had any sense you’d have emulated him. Fifty years on and he’s still respected, still liked and what’s more, still outside on the street. The way you’re carrying on you won’t see the light of day until the year two thousand.’

‘Well, now we both know where we stand don’t we?’ Briony nodded. ‘We do. I blame you for my Boysie, he followed you in everything. I’ll give you a last bit of advice, my son: keep your head down and do your bird. No more outbursts in court threatening all and sundry, it just makes you look a prat.’

Danny’s eyes were blazing. ‘You know it all, don’t you? You’re not sitting in the dock. You and Tommy walked out your nicks and now you’re coming on to me like some kind of saint!’

Briony leant across the table and said through gritted teeth, ‘I told you, Danny, we were the old style of villain. You and Boysie could never understand us. Shall I tell you something? In all honesty, I never really wanted any of it. None of it. But I made my bed, as me mother would say, and I think we can safely say I lay down in it. For over fifty years. You two never
had
to do what you did, you chose it. You decided to be what you are.’

Daniel’s face was still twisted. Getting up, he said: ‘I ain’t listening to this shite. I’m better off in me cell. It’s Saturday, and on Saturday we can listen to our radios and have a laze about. Come to think of it, that’s what we do most days. But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? So if you’ll excuse me? I have better things to do.’

Briony sat stone-faced as he went to a prison officer to be taken back to his wing. People were staring at them, their last exchange having been overheard. Standing up she walked with as much dignity as she could out of the visiting room.

She had done her best.

 

Mr Justice Martin Panterfield stared at the man in the dock before him. He wiped his mouth with a spotlessly clean handkerchief before delivering his judgment to the packed but hushed courtroom.

‘Mr Daniel O’Malley, you have been found guilty of a vicious murder. Never before have I listened to such grisly accounts of barbaric and unnecessary violence. You took a knife and cold-bloodedly executed David Mitchell in full view of a packed public house. You and your twin brother terrified the East End of London, and were involved with a number of illegal businesses. You were a wicked and callous murderer who thought you could do what you wanted. You are the frightening result of this so-called permissive society. I would be failing in my duty to the public if I did not impose the maximum penalty the law dictates.

‘I hereby sentence you to life imprisonment with a recommendation you serve at least thirty years. Have you anything to say?’

Daniel stood up, hands clasped in front of him, face devoid of expression. Then he looked the judge in the eye and said clearly: ‘Yes, I have, mate. The name’s Cavanagh!’

The judge shook his bewigged head. Looking around the court, he said: ‘Take him down.’

Molly stood up then. Her face streaming tears, she screamed: ‘You dirty bastards, that’s my boy. My Boy! Danny, son, Danny.’ Her voice reverberated around the courtroom as Daniel was escorted from the dock by two burly policemen. On his way down to the holding cells he held up his arms in a victorious gesture and shouted:

‘That’s it, Gran! I’ll be back, I’ll be back!’ His voice was lost as he disappeared below.

Limmington looked at Briony and their eyes locked. She nodded at him almost imperceptibly. It was a job well done.

Suzy looked around her mother’s front room, breathing in the scent of Airwick and furniture polish. She placed her hands roughly on her stomach, repressing the urge to scream. Her mother popped her head around the door and said; ‘Shall I make you a drink, love? How about a cuppa?’

‘I don’t want anything, leave me alone.’

The woman walked into the room and tried to take her daughter’s hand. Suzy shrugged her off.

‘Oh for crying out loud, leave me be, woman!’

Doreen sat down on a chair and said softly, ‘I know you’re hurting, love, but you must try and keep yourself together; that child will take a lot of looking after - children do. I know you’re upset over Boysie, God knows I am myself.’ She dabbed at the corner of a heavily made-up eye with a tissue. ‘I loved that boy as if he was me own, God rest him.’

Suzy raised her eyes to the ceiling, then, leaning forward awkwardly, she said through gritted teeth. ‘Cut the act, Mum, there’s no one here to see it but me. As for this bloody baby, I don’t want it. I can’t stand being pregnant, and I hate living here.’ She bit her bottom lip to stem the trembling and said brokenly, ‘I’m glad he’s dead, I hated him. I hated everything about him.’

Doreen sat back in her chair. Then, without warning her hand shot out and she slapped Suzy a stinging blow across her face. ‘You little bitch! Let words like that get out and there’ll be trouble, my girl. You broke your frigging neck to get up that aisle and don’t you forget it. When I think of the shame we’ve had to endure because of your association with them Cavanaghs, I could cheerfully throttle you, and that little child you’re carrying can’t be blamed. My God, I wonder at times just what you think you’re playing at, madam, with your butter wouldn’t melt look and that scheming brain. Let his Aunt Briony hear talk like that and you’ll be singing a different tune.’

‘Oh go away, Mum!’

‘No I won’t. You left that lovely house, all that nice furniture. Me and your Dad would have moved in there and looked after you, but no, not you. You had to come running home here like a baby.’

Suzy felt a moment’s triumph as they reached the nub of her mother’s annoyance. Doreen saw herself in the big detached house, bringing up her grandchild, guaranteed a good allowance and the property. Suzy had sussed that out in no time. ‘You’ll never live in that house, Mother, get that straight now.’

Doreen’s lips moved back over her teeth, and she said, ‘You’re a little bitch, Suzy Rankins, a bitch. When I think of how I brought you up, gave you the best...’

Doreen’s tirade was interrupted by the doorbell.

Suzy smiled grimly. Saved by the bell. If her mother knew how much she had been paid for her interview with the paper she’d have a fit, but there was a method in her madness. Once she was delivered of this child she would go away and make a fresh start. The name Cavanagh, which had excited her so much when she had first met Boysie, disgusted her now. She was pointed at, stared at and gossipped about every time she walked down the street.

Her heart stopped as she heard her mother’s voice: ‘Oh, hello, Briony, come away in. I was just making a cup of tea.’

Briony rustled into the room. ‘Hello, Suzy, love.’

Suzy forced herself to look at the little woman. ‘Hello, Briony.’

Doreen, overcome with awe as usual, left the two and went to make the tea.

Briony sat down on the chair Doreen had vacated and smiled.

‘How you feeling?’

Suzy lit a cigarette and smiled wanly, blowing out the smoke in a large cloud around her head. ‘All right I suppose.’

Briony patted her hand and the action so startled the girl she flinched. ‘Calm down, Suzy! Anyone would think you had something to be frightened about.’ Briony’s voice was sad. ‘I know you must be devastated about Boysie, we all are. He was a good boy, my Boysie. A good kind boy. I miss him so much.’

Suzy took another drag on her cigarette and kept silent.

‘Have you seen the doctor about Junior?’

‘I’m fine. I just wish I could get it over with.’

‘I can understand that, but it will be over sooner than you think.’

Doreen bustled in with the tea and began chattering.

‘I’ve told her she should go back to her own home, there’s no room here for a baby. I’ve offered to go with her, like. After all, it is her house now, isn’t it?’ Doreen’s voice was innocent and Briony closed her eyes for a few seconds.

‘Yes it’s her house, Doreen, but maybe it brings back too many memories, eh, Suzy?’

Suzy made herself look into the older woman’s eyes and smile gratefully. ‘That’s right. I never want to go in there again. I can’t face the neighbours, after what happened...’

Briony sipped her tea and nodded understandingly. ‘I was wondering if you’d like to come to me until the baby arrives.’

‘No! No really, I want to be here with me mum. I don’t want to go anywhere else...’ Her voice was rising in panic.

‘All right, Suzy, calm down. It was only a suggestion. Everyone wants their own around them in times of upset. I can understand that. Only you are carrying all that’s left of my Boysie, see. It’s like my grandchild, I always thought of the twins as my own sons, as you know. Heard anything more from the reporters? I wondered if they’d asked you why you didn’t attend the funeral.’

Suzy stared down at her cup, unwilling to answer the question.

‘If you wanted money so badly, Suzy, you should have come to me. Especially with the baby coming. As long as I see the child regularly, you’ll be amply provided for. I’ve booked you in a private clinic, that way you won’t be mobbed by press when your time comes. I don’t expect you want to have the child in a blaze of publicity do you?’ Opening her bag, she took out a small white card. ‘This is the clinic’s address and phone number. Ring up and arrange your check ups with them. I’ll pay the bill so don’t worry about expense. They delivered Princess Margaret’s children, nothing but the best for my Boysie’s baby, eh?’

Standing up, she kissed Suzy’s cheek softly. ‘Look after yourself love, you’ll see me again soon.’ Suzy stared down in her cup, her eyes riveted to the tea leaves floating on the bottom.

She was never going to get away from the Cavanaghs.

 

Briony walked into her house with a heavy heart. She wished she could get on with Suzy, could like her. She had to if she wanted to see the child.

Tommy was on the phone in the den; she smiled as she heard him laughing. His back was to her as she stood in the doorway.

‘Don’t worry, love, I’ll be there. Briony watches me like a hawk, but she can’t watch me all the time!’ He laughed again.

Briony felt as if someone had punched her in the solar plexus; all the air seemed to leave her body in a split second. She stepped out of the doorway and back into the hall. Tommy’s voice drifted out to her.

‘I’ll see you then, all right. Yeah, you too.’

Gathering up her strength she walked into the den.

‘Who was that, Tom?’ Her voice was brittle, over bright. Tommy smiled at her widely. ‘Hello, Bri!’ He walked across the room and hugged her tightly. ‘How’s it go with Suzy?’

Briony disengaged herself from his embrace. ‘All right. Who was that on the phone?’

Tommy flapped a hand at her.

‘Oh, Fat Peter. I’m doing a bit of business with him. You’re back early.’

‘Yeah, I gave Bernadette a miss. I’ll see her later.’

‘I dropped Danny Boy a line this morning, I’ll post it on me way out. He’s moved to the Island tomorrow so I thought a letter might cheer him up until he gets acclimatised.’ Tommy looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got five minutes before I have to go out, fancy a quick cuppa?’

The phone rang again and Tommy rushed to answer it. ‘Hello ... Oh hello Bern, hang on she’s here.’ He handed the phone to Briony and, kissing her on the cheek, went out of the room, leaving Briony more unsettled than ever.

‘I’ll ring you back Bernadette.’

She bit her lip. Since when had he called Fat Peter love?

 

Bernadette was lying in her darkened bedroom with a cold flannel across her eyes. ‘Oh Bri, this is torture.’ She spoke through her teeth.

‘Well if you have a facelift you have to expect a bit of pain, don’t you?’ Briony’s voice held no sympathy whatsoever. ‘He’s cut right through your skin to the bone...’