Schemer (33 page)

Bending down, Wayne kissed both his children on the forehead.

‘Where you going, Daddy, and why you taking a big bag with you?’ Dannielle asked, inquisitively.

‘Daddy’s going out with his friends and while he’s staying in some posh hotel, me, you and Tyler will all be stuck here, bored,’ Stephanie said, chuckling.

‘Will Uncle Barry be there, Daddy?’ Dannielle asked.

‘Yep. He’ll be there,’ Wayne replied, stroking his daughter’s long, dark hair.

‘Can I come too?’ Dannielle pleaded.

‘Not tonight, love, it’s adults only, but I’m sure Uncle Barry will pop round and see you again very soon.’

‘What you got in this? It weighs a ton,’ Stephanie asked, picking up Wayne’s sports bag.

Snatching if off Steph, Wayne grinned. ‘You know me, girl, I never travel light. I’ve got me jeans, leather jacket, and all me toiletries in there. I ain’t travelling home stinking tomorrow in dirty clothes, that’s for sure.’

Throwing her arms around her fastidious fiancés neck, Stephanie hugged him. ‘You’re such a bloody poser, but I do love you, you tart. Have a fab time and please be careful, won’t you? You might trust Uncle You-Know-Who, but I bloody well don’t, and I wouldn’t put it past him to leave you stark-bollock-naked in Scotland somewhere as an act of revenge.’

Wayne loosened Stephanie’s grip from around his neck. ‘Bye, babe. I’ll be careful, I promise.’

Marlene Jackman was usually far too concerned about her appearance to ever allow herself to get paralytic. However, after the day she’d had, she decided to make an exception for once. ‘Pour me another brandy, Marge,’ Marlene ordered. She had purchased a litre of Napoleon on the journey home from Bermondsey and had drunk half of it on the District Line train after Barry had ordered her to get out of his car.

Marge felt dreadfully sorry for her pal. Marlene always kept herself immaculate, but with her mascara all round her face, and her usually perfect blond hair looking like she
had been dragged through a hedge backwards, Marge thought her friend suddenly looked sixty rather than forty. ‘So why did your Barry chuck you out the car? You haven’t told me that bit yet,’ Marge asked, handing Marlene her drink.

‘Because I accused him of murdering Jake. Seems funny how that little cunt was left with the bar and I got sod all, don’t it? I bet Jake had told Barry that when he popped his clogs the club was his, and that’s why the devious little bastard organized a hit on him. He’s a nasty little schemer, Marge – always has been, always will be.’

‘So, what did Barry say to you when you accused him? Did he look guilty?’

‘He went ballistic and gave me some load of old bollocks about how much he had thought of Jake. He then stopped the car, told me what an awful mother I was, and slung me out. I mean what boy leaves their distressed mother in the middle of nowhere, eh? I didn’t have a clue where I was, and I even had to take me high heels off to walk to the nearest station,’ Marlene said, feeling dreadfully sorry for herself.

‘I ain’t sticking up for Barry, Mar, but I honestly can’t believe that he would want Jake dead. I know Barry’s no angel, but he ain’t no cold-blooded murderer either, mate.’

‘You don’t fucking know him like I do, Marge. What about when he tried to throttle me, eh? Seconds from death that night I was. Evil little bastard, he is, and I’m sure he’s only staying in England for a while so he can get his revenge on that Wayne and Stephanie. My Barry won’t rest until he’s got his own back, trust me, and it wouldn’t surprise me if that Wayne ends up with a bullet through his bonce an’ all. Capable of anything, that boy is, and how something that awful ever came out of my fanny, I shall never know.’

Over in a bar in Liverpool Street, Wayne and rest of the lads were in hysterics as Barry told them the story of what had happened at the solicitor’s office earlier.

‘So, did your mum actually try to throw the ashes over the people?’ Cooksie asked. He wasn’t quite as bright as the other lads and hadn’t got the gist of story.

‘She didn’t just try. She opened the fucking urn and chucked Jake’s remains all over his ex-wife and two daughters. One of the daughters copped it full in the face. “Get Daddy off of me,” she was screaming.’

‘That has to be one of the funniest stories I’ve heard in years,’ Wayne said, holding his sides. He had been laughing so much that it had given him a stitch.

‘The classic bit for me was when the old Jew-boy of a solicitor read out about me muvver shagging the gardener and the barman. You know when you just want the ground to open up and swallow ya? She must have had more fucking men than I’ve had hot dinners.’

‘So, where is she now?’ Wayne asked.

‘I dunno. After we left Bermondsey, she got in the motor and started accusing me of murder. She said I organized the hit on Jake because I had a silly row with him just before he died. She reckons I knew that he’d left me the club and I did it in case he changed his will. Pissed, she was. She’d been necking the brandy in the solicitor’s office, so I slung her out the fucking car. I got on well with Jake and I certainly didn’t know anything about him planning to leave me the club.’

‘When you going back to Spain, Bal?’ Wayne asked.

‘I dunno to be honest. I’ve struck a couple of good business deals while I’ve been over here and, even though I love it in Spain, it’s still nice to be back home. I’ve even been thinking about buying a place over here, so I can flit backwards and forwards.’

‘Where’s all the strippers and whores then? I can’t see any in here?’ Lee asked.

Wayne chuckled. Lee was only nineteen and had worked for him doing odd jobs around the gym for the past year or so. ‘I have never known anyone with a cock that wanders as much as yours, Lee. Didn’t that dose you caught put you off, boy?’

Lee grinned. ‘Nah, that’s all cleared up now. The clinic gave me antibiotics for it.’

Wayne picked his glass up. ‘Shall we down our drinks and then head off to Soho then, lads? We’ll stop off at the hotel, drop our bags off, then we’ll party properly, eh?’

‘Me and Potter never brought any bags with us,’ Cooksie said.

‘Neither did I,’ Lee added.

‘Oh well, yous three soapy bastards can have a drink in the hotel bar while me and Bazza put our bags in our room. Danno’s meeting us at the hotel, so once he’s arrived, we can paint the town red.’

‘Whey-hey. Tits, beers and fanny,’ Cooksie shouted at the top of his voice.

Wayne stood up. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get this stag night on the road.’

Back in Dagenham, Marlene was having severe mood swings. One minute she would be snarling with anger and planning her revenge on all those who had wronged her, then the next she would be crying her eyes out while insisting that her life was now over and it would be better for everyone if she just killed herself.

Marge walked over to Marlene, sat down on the sofa next to her and held her in her arms. ‘Now, you listen to me. I don’t wanna hear any more of this silly talk about you topping yourself. You’re like me, Marge, you’re a tough old bird and you’ll get through this. Look at all the knocks we’ve had in the past. We’ve been to hell and back over the years, me and you, yet we’ve always picked ourselves up again, ain’t we?’

‘I ain’t never been through anything this bad before. Years, I searched for a rich man who would look after me and give me the life I deserved, and now he’s been cruelly snatched away from me.’

‘But you didn’t even like Jake, let alone love him, mate,’ Marge reminded her friend.

‘I liked his fucking money though, didn’t I? I still can’t believe that he left twenty grand to that fucking dogs’ home for Fido’s mates, and I ain’t even got a roof over me head.’

‘I’ve got a spare room here. Why don’t you move in with me? We’ll have a scream, mate, and I get ever so lonely here since me mum died, so you’ll be doing me a favour an’ all,’ Marge offered.

‘What about all me lovely clothes and stuff? Most of me good clobber is all still out in Spain.’

‘I’m sure Barry will organize something and send them over here somehow.’

‘I ain’t asking that murdering little fucker for any help. It’s all his fault that I’m in this position in the first place,’ Marlene snarled.

‘You don’t know that for sure, Marlene. You can’t go around accusing people of murder until you have some proof, love. Why don’t you ring Barry tomorrow and ask him if he can organize your clothes being sent home, eh? You’ll feel much better once you’ve got all your bits and bobs around ya. In the meantime, me and you can even decorate your bedroom, if you like?’

‘I don’t fucking like, but what cunting choice have I got, eh?’ Marlene screamed.

Marge stood up and poured herself another drink. Marlene could be such an ungrateful cow at times, she really could.

Having finally got to Soho, Barry and Wayne were standing at the bar sharing a bottle of champagne, watching Potter, Cooksie and Lee parade around the club like complete imbeciles.

‘So, did Danno say what was wrong with his kid?’ Barry asked Wayne. Danno had been meant to meet them at the hotel, but had rung Wayne to say that he couldn’t make it.

‘His youngest son fell down the stairs, apparently. Danno reckons he’s broken his arm and has got concussion. Danno’s already been sat up the hospital for hours, the poor bastard. He said he was gonna try and meet us later, but I told him not to worry. His kid’s health is more important than my bloody stag night, eh?’

Watching Potter and Cooksie literally drooling at the mouth over the strippers, Barry nudged Wayne. ‘How the fuck did you ever hang about with them pair of mugs? Look at ’em. Anyone would think they’d never seen a naked bird in their lives before. I can understand Lee’s excitement, he’s only a kid, but them pair are embarrassing.’

‘I don’t like it in ’ere. It’s shit and their champagne tastes like fizzy vinegar. Let’s fuck off now to that lap-dancing club I told you about, shall we?’ Wayne suggested.

‘Sod you! I’ve just paid fifty sovs for that bottle of vinegar and I’m gonna sink it first. Why don’t you like it? It just tastes like the normal crap bubbly that they serve in these clubs to me.’

‘It’s rotten. You drink it, mate. I’m gonna get meself an orange juice,’ Wayne said.

Barry shook his head and sniggered. ‘You’ve turned into a right boring bastard, Jacko. This is meant to be your stag night and you’ve hardly even had a drink yet. You’ve been dead quiet as well. What’s a matter? You ain’t having wedding jitters, are you?’

‘Nah, course I ain’t. I can’t drink as much as usual because of these,’ Wayne said, pulling a strip of tablets out of his trouser pocket.

‘What are they?’

‘Antidepressants. I’ve been on ’em over a month now and you ain’t meant to drink with ’em.’

‘Well, you certainly didn’t shy away from the booze last weekend, mate,’ Barry said, remembering how much they’d had to drink on the evening of Steph’s hen night.

‘I know and I felt like shit for two days afterwards. That’s why I don’t wanna get blottoed again. These tablets and booze just don’t seem to mix.’

‘What you taking ’em for?’

‘What do you think? I’m in shit street up to me eyeballs, mate.’

Not wanting to get into another conversation about Wayne’s financial difficulties, Barry pretended he needed to use the toilet.

Barry smirked as he reached the Gents. Given that he was disclosing all his secrets to Barry, Wayne obviously must think that the past had been forgotten and they were now best buddies again. If only he knew the truth.

Angela Crouch smiled politely at the two overweight old leches as they helped themselves to drinks off the silver tray she was holding. The skimpy bikini she was wearing barely covered her vital assets, but Angela didn’t care. She had a good body and carved a good living out of perverted old men looking at it.

‘You’ll do for me, baby, you’ll do for me,’ one of the men said, as he tried to put his dumpy hands on her breasts.

‘Get off me,’ Angela said forcefully, as she pushed his hands away with her elbow.

The club in Soho where Angela worked was run by an Irish ex-boxer called Daniel O’Flannigan. Mr O’Flannigan, as he insisted on being called, was the best boss that Angela had ever worked for. He had a no-nonsense attitude, therefore the club had strict rules. The entrance fee was a hundred pounds, with free wine or beer included in the price. Any other drinks had to be bought and paid for at the bar. The dancers were expected to mingle with the clients between the hours of nine and eleven o’clock. After that, they were allowed to dance in private booths for money. Mr O’Flannigan didn’t charge his dancers any fee for working there, but he did expect them to walk about in bikinis serving drinks as payment for his kindness.

As the man tried to touch Angela’s breasts once again and this time succeeded, Angela gesticulated to security. There was a strict look-but-don’t-touch rule in the main part of the club, and anybody who broke that rule was firstly warned, and if their behaviour continued, thrown out.

‘What’s up?’ asked Leroy.

‘This gentleman here has twice tried to grab my breasts.’ Angela explained.

‘You wouldn’t be dressed like that if you didn’t want to be touched, darling,’ the man said to Angela.

‘Apologize to the lady, else you’re leaving,’ Leroy ordered, glaring at the man in question.

‘I’m not apologizing to that tart. Anyway, you can’t chuck me out without giving me my money back. I’ve just paid a hundred quid to get in this dump and I’ve only had one drink.’

‘Tough shit! Out you go,’ Leroy said, grabbing the man by the shoulder and literally dragging him towards the door.

‘You OK?’ Roxy asked, walking over to where Angela was standing.

‘Yeah, just some old perv trying to grab me tits, that’s all.’

‘Come on. It’s gone half ten. Let’s take the trays back and go and freshen up, eh?’

Angela followed Roxy back towards the bar area. ‘Oh, my God!’ she exclaimed, grabbing her pal’s arm.

‘What’s a matter now?’ Roxy asked her.

‘I’ve just seen Wayne Jackman,’ Angela replied, excitedly.

‘Is that the bloke your sister’s with?’ Roxy asked.