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Chapter Twenty-Three

Kathleen was in bed and no one could get her up. She couldn't seem to get herself together. Lance, as always, was spending as much time as he could with her. He talked to her for hours in his low voice, calming her down and making it easier for everyone else in the house. Lil couldn't keep her patience with her daughter; considering everything she had to contend with on a daily basis, a teenage drama queen was not something she had much sympathy for. The doctor said she was depressed, but how could a girl that age be depressed? And about what, for fuck's sake? The price of make-up, the new fashions; it was hard to understand. But Lil still felt guilt over Kathleen and her inability to make everything all right for her. The doctor had pilled her up and left them to it.

Now, she had all this shit to contend with and, Annie being Annie, was also in the frame. She was with the pair of them as often as they would allow her and, as good as Annie might be now, Lil still remembered how she had treated her all those years ago. She knew that her mother had caused a lot of the problems in her life. Probably in her kids' lives as well.

Lil was still getting over the night's events. Even though her heart was telling her it was wrong, she was relieved that Lenny Brewster was out of all their lives at last. He had been an enormous presence; even when he wasn't around, his personality and his hatefulness had hung over the house like a shroud. His absolute disregard for the children had hurt, not just her, but them too. Then, he would arrive out of the blue, and the anger in him would make everyone feel uneasy. Lenny had enjoyed the fear his presence created and she had hated herself for what she had put her family through. The kids had felt his indifference from an early age. Now they would not have to go through the trauma of knowing he was nearby and that his absence was a deliberate ploy to hurt them, even at their young age. Her Patrick, her boy, had saved them from him; he had done what should have been done many years before; he had wasted him. He had removed him from their lives like a cancer that had flourished, strangling the life out of everyone in its orbit.

Lil had been at her lowest ebb when Lenny had come to her and, although she had known he was not the best of men, she had believed he would at least care for them all. Taking on Brodie's family had made him look like he was a good man, a decent man. That he had seen them all right. But, like Patrick before him, he had seen himself all right without a thought for her or her kids. Even Patrick, the love of her life, had left her destitute. He could have made sure they were looked after, should have made sure they were looked after, and she had to admit to herself that he just had not bothered. She had not only lost her husband, the father of her children, she had also lost everything they had. She had ended up on the bash to make ends meet. They had five children, five, and he had not even had a will of any description. He had not allowed for his death, for his children's futures. It still rankled, still hurt her when she thought about it. She had loved him like she had loved no other. He had been her world and while he was there, he had looked after her, she didn't dispute that. But what had gradually occurred to her over the years was that he hadn't seen her as a soulmate, as an equal. He had seen her as his wife.

But now that Lenny had been disposed of, she felt as if she had been given another chance at life. She refused to mourn Patrick or the life she had once enjoyed any more. Her boy was home and he was taking over, like his father before him, and she hoped against hope that he wouldn't tuck her up as well.

Lil walked up the stairs and popped her head into Kathleen's room. She was lying there, her face turned to the wall and her shoulders hunched under the covers. It was a nice room, the girls had always kept their room nice. Lil looked around her then, as if seeing it for the first time. It was clean but it was in desperate need of redecoration. Patrick had weighed her out with enough money to get the place sorted and she was going to do just that. As she sat on her daughter's bed she felt her usual irritation at the girl's complete lack of anything even resembling a life. She hid it as best she could, for the most part, but seeing this beautiful girl with her whole life ahead of her just lying in bed for weeks on end made her so angry; she hated the waste of a life. Or of a youth that Kathleen was too young and stupid to realise would be over before she knew it.

As Kathleen opened her eyes and looked up at her mother, Lil saw the same loneliness there that she had seen in her own eyes all those years ago, and she couldn't understand it.

Kathleen had a whole network of people who cared for her, and yet she chose to waste her life away in a bedroom, and with a sadness that made her mother sick with guilt every day of her life.

Lily forced down the annoyance and said, with as much interest as she could muster, 'You feeling better, love?'

Kathleen nodded, slowly as always, as if the movement of her head was a really complicated manoeuvre and the question she had been asked was verging on life or death.

Lil had to clench her fists to stop herself from physically dragging this child of hers from the bed and slinging her out on to the street to force her to join in with real life; whether she wanted to or not.

Lil took deep breaths. She periodically felt like this about her daughter and, when she did lose it, she was always stopped by the others and made to feel so bad about what she had done. But Kathleen seemed to enjoy her depression too much for her liking.

'Have you eaten?'

'I can't, Mum, I feel so bad.' Her voice had a whine in it that once more spelled danger to Lil, and she nodded gently before turning to leave the room.

'Mum?' The voice was stronger now and Lil turned to face it.

'What, love?' She was trying her hardest to hide her irritation; her short temper was already on a low fuse.

Kathleen looked deep into her eyes and Lil saw the black circles and the grey skin that told her she really was unwell.

'I don't mean it, you know. I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to be like this, so unhappy and so tired all the time. I can't help it, Mum, I just can't help it.'

Lil's anger dissolved then, and she felt the usual rush of guilt. She didn't know what to do for her baby girl who was hurting, and she didn't know what would make it better. She didn't know how to make the pain stop.

She sat on the bed and took Kathleen in her arms, feeling the softness of her as she hugged her tightly. 'I know you don't mean it, Kath, I just wish you wasn't feeling bad in the first place.'

As she tried to stroke her daughter and comfort her, Kathleen pulled away from her. 'Don't you ever hate life, Mum?'

Lil smiled then, a tiny, tired smile, and she answered her honestly, but with an edge of sarcasm to her voice: 'Every day of my life, darling, every day of my fucking life.'

Sergeant Smith was tall; tall and thin and he had a bad case of psoriasis. He spent the best part of his days scratching himself and, as he sat with Pat and Lance, they both watched him in morbid fascination. He was like a monkey in a zoo, except he had brown hair and watery grey eyes. Patrick knew he had been on the roll for a while; he was close with them all, at least he thought he was, and he was happy enough to change allegiance when he deemed it necessary. Like now, with Brewster's timely disappearance.

Like all bent filth, he was not to be trusted. If he was capable of tucking up his workmates, his so-called colleagues, he was not to be trusted any more than you would a rabid dog or a pregnant whore. That was why the people they dealt with had to make sure they had some insurance. Something that could be dangled over their heads when a point needed to be made or someone needed to be reminded of exactly who they were and, more to the point, who they were dealing with. His name was Roland and few people were aware of that. Those who knew were not brave enough to use it. He was always called Smith.

As he sat with the Brodie boys he was happy to take his bunce and assure them that he was happy enough with the change of management that had recently occurred. Smith was a shrewdie; he had a bastard of a boss who, he made sure, was never, ever, in any kind of compromising situation.

Smith had been Pat's go-between since day one and he was quite content with that. They were paid well and were rarely asked to do anything of merit. That the day would eventually come, they were both sure but, until then, they were content to go with the flow.

'Tell Scanlon I want a meet with him and I want it soon.'

Smith was suddenly unsure how to answer the young man before him; he had the look of the convict about him and that wasn't unusual seeing as how he was one. But he also had a hard edge to his voice that told the listener he was not about to take any nonsense.

'Scanlon never meets anyone.' This was said with a hint of amazement; Smith looked as if he had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life.

Pat stood up and took the money off the desk and he saw Smith's eyes widen slightly at his actions. 'You tell fucking Scanlon that if he don't meet with me, I am going to fucking go over his head, all right? You ain't the only bent filth in the game.'

He opened a drawer and dropped the package inside it. 'No meet, no dosh. Sorry, mate.'

Smith sat there for a few seconds, unsure how to react. Then Lance dragged him up bodily from his seat and bellowed, 'Well, fuck off then! Tell the skank to get his arse in gear.'

He pushed him towards the door then and Smith left as quickly as was possible without looking like he was running away.

Lance and Pat laughed at his exit.

'What a cunt, Pat.'

'He will come in handy, don't worry.'

Pat stretched with tiredness, rubbing his rough hands across his face and eyes.

He had achieved most of what he had set out to do. In fact, he had found it much easier than he would have believed. He had taken back what had been theirs in the first place and now he had to convince certain people that they were working directly for him. Lenny had made the mistake of never giving anyone their due, not respecting their part in any skulduggery that came his way or bothering to acknowledge their existence. Not a mistake Pat intended to make. He knew it was going to be hard, but he had a good back-up.

Pat also wanted to find out where his father's money had gone; even Lenny had not known the whole of it, where that was concerned.

But Pat knew a lot more than anyone realised; he had listened and watched his father as a kid and he had also known a lot more about who had been involved in the main businesses than anyone realised, his mother included.

Pat had promised himself that he would make amends, not just for him, but for his whole family. Every time he had been humiliated by Brewster or his mother had slipped out and brassed herself for a few quid, the urge for retribution had been overwhelming. His father had been murdered and he was going to pay back everyone involved for that.

Pat was going to track down his father's assets if it was the last thing he ever did on this earth. He had to make it all right, he had to make sure that his family were secure at last.

Pat knew he was capable of keeping the businesses going and he also knew that his rep was already in place through his sojourn in prison. He had to act normal now, had to make sure that he was trusted and respected by all the people he would be dealing with. Then he would bide his time and when he had all the information to hand, all fucking hell would be let loose.

Pat saw his father's last moments every day of his life and he was not going to let that go, no way. He missed his father and he had ferreted out so much information with friendly chats and well-thought-out questions that he knew more about his father's last few deals than anyone else, especially the people his father had been dealing with. He was a good lad and he knew that was what his reputation was based on. But he was his father's son and, one day, people would realise that.

'You all right, Pat?'

Lance had seen him staring into space. Ever since they were kids, Patrick had gone off into his own world; he just sat and stared at nothing.

Lance hated it, hated the fact that Pat was not on his wavelength. He watched Patrick close his eyes and then, taking a few deep breaths, he came back to the real world once more.

'You were fucking miles away.'

Pat laughed. 'If only you fucking knew the half of it.'

They laughed together then. Lance was much happier, knowing that Lenny was gone and that his association with him was over was making him feel better and more secure by the hour.

Pat wouldn't understand his actions, he knew, but he had done what he could to keep all their heads above water. Pat had always made him feel inadequate; he had fucked up big time when they were kids, and he regretted that, had regretted it ever since. He had been a kid and he had not understood what he had done to that girl. If he saw her now he felt bad inside.

Pat was remembering the day his father died. His father's murder had made him understand at an early age what being dead really meant, had shown him how much blood the human body actually held. His father's blood had been everywhere, it was sprayed all over the walls and covered the floor. It had been everywhere and he could remember seeing pieces of his father's brain tissue on the floor beside his body that night. That sight had never left him, had never left any of them. It had changed all their lives; in seconds, all they knew and all they had believed in had disappeared. Pat remembered going to the hall the next day. The balloons and the bunting were still up and the food, laid out ready to eat and enjoy, was now dried-up and stale. The presents still piled up on a table. Patrick had never again celebrated a birthday.

Pat thought about how much he missed his times with his father; the evenings when he would talk him through life and his role in the family. His father had asked him to do errands for him; a bit of ducking and diving, and so he knew much more about what had been going on than anyone realised. He would bide his time and get the money back. Get the lot back and, when he did, he would slaughter the person involved and enjoy every second of it.

Everyone knew that he had taken out Brewster and he was pleased about that. He'd wanted Lenny's death to be a statement, not just for the people around abouts, but for the people he had met in prison too. He still had a few of them to prove his worth to and he knew this act would be enough. Lenny was already old news and Patrick wanted his name coupled with his for ever. When people talked about Lenny dying they would talk about the young man who had been responsible for it happening.

It had started his legendary status off perfectly and it was almost a public service. It wasn't a murder, it was more a culling and Lenny was to be the first of many.

Jimmy Brick was in the Prospect of Whitby pub; he was having a drink with a few old mates and his reception had pleased him no end. As he saw the drinks being bought, and heard the jokes being told, he settled down and felt the relief once more at being part of the winning team. It seemed that his contribution to the recent events had put him in good stead once more with the people that were important.

'Hey, Jimmy, I hear that Brewster was well fucking gutted when he was taken out. Is that true?'

Jimmy grinned. A few beers short of a witness statement, he knew that the circumstances were probably common knowledge by now. In a joking voice that was just loud enough to be heard by the people surrounding him and a few of the eavesdroppers standing nearby, he said, 'Well, when he realised that he was on the way out, he was completely crushed, I can tell you.' Jimmy nodded his head in derision and knew that he had made a statement that would be remembered and repeated for a long time to come.

Everyone laughed again and Jimmy was aware that Spider was smiling with the others but not, in any way, committing himself. But then, Spider never had overcooked the turkey; he was far too shrewd and still was, by the looks of it. Jimmy knew how fragile villains' friendships could be; unless you were born and bred with someone, how the fuck could you really trust them? Jimmy's instinct was telling him that he couldn't trust Spider as far as he could throw him.

He also understood that Lance had absented himself from the main event and that told him that he was also someone to watch closer than a filth with stolen goods.

He drank his drink and he watched the people around him; he knew how to play the game and it was why he was still on the dance floor all these years later. Young Patrick Brodie was going to be his golden goose; it was like having Pat back in the team. Like his father, he had the spark, that little bit of extra something that made people listen to him and respect him. And he also had the violent streak that was so attractive in men of their ilk.

Jambo Delaney was a good-looking man. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw and he walked with a straight-backed strut that made him very attractive to the opposite sex. He had been given the nickname Jambo, Swahili for hello, as a young man. Everyone wanted to say hello to him; he had that kind of face, that kind of demeanour about him. No one could not like him, it was impossible not to like him. He had no bad points really. Not only was he great company, he also fitted in with any crowd. But he could, when required, have a row too. A real row, a row that stopped errant husbands from forcing their opinions on him or trying to get a reaction of any kind.

Left alone, he was good company and well worth an evening's drinking with, but upset, he was a different kettle of fish. Once first blood had been drawn he would defend himself with such vigour and strength that the assailant would always retreat in haste. He was a man who would let the first punch go for free; anything over and above that and he was entitled to defend himself and defend himself he would.

Jambo was a nice guy, if a little lazy, and a little forgetful. Sometimes he didn't know who the husbands were talking about; he'd forgotten the women involved, even though they rarely forgot him. As far as he was concerned, they were an interlude, a good time and, in some cases, a means to an end. But he never meant to hurt anyone, wife or husband; he never set out to cause any heartbreak.

Jambo earned a crust by minding, debt collecting or talking his way into company. He was a womaniser and, like all womanisers, he never understood why women took him so seriously. What made them think he was going to treat them any different to any other woman he had been with? Why did they always think they were the one who would change him, make him settle down and want to be with in the same place for the rest of his life? His famous last words were always the same thing. The four Fs: he fucked them, he fed them, he fought with them and he fucked off when they got on his nerves.

He was sitting opposite Lil Brodie, a handsome woman with a fine brood of children and a healthy sexual appetite. He liked and respected Lil, with whom he had often had a few drinks and a little bit of bump and grind, but today he noticed that she looked a bit worse for wear.

He knew her son was home from the poke and causing a bit of a stir on the streets and Jambo was suddenly feeling a little bit nervous. Errant husbands were one thing, sons, especially young Pat Brodie, were another thing entirely. Not that he wouldn't defend himself, but he liked the boy. He was a good kid and he had not had many breaks.

'Jambo, you're not going to like what I have to tell you, but I'm pregnant.'

Jambo nodded slightly. He knew it was pointless asking her if she was sure; this was Lil and she would be more than sure before she would even think about discussing it. He was also not going to ask if it was definitely his, he had more sense than that.

Lil watched his face and felt bad for him; he was a nice bloke and he didn't deserve this really. But she knew she had to tell him anyway.

'You want it?'

He wasn't asking her anything except what did she want, and she loved him for that alone. There were no recriminations, no stepping back as if he had never been near her in his life, no stroppiness and no body language that said, as soon as you look away, I will be out the door so fast you will wonder if you had shagged an Olympic athlete.

He was calm and interested in what she wanted to do about the situation. She was grateful for that much at least.

'I ain't got a lot of choice, mate, I'm Catholic. If it's there then what can I do?'

She shrugged then and he smiled at her. He liked Lil, he really liked her attitude to life and love. She was calm about it and she was not demanding anything from him.

'What do you want from me?'

It was a fair question, she thought. A nice question really. She knew Jambo was a man who cherished his single state and she understood why he felt that way. She was of a similar disposition herself these days. A baby was the last thing she wanted, or needed, but the child was created now and there was nothing to do except love it as best she could.

If she disposed of it, Lil knew she would never know another happy day. Not that there had been many of them over the last few years. But in Lil's mind, a child didn't ask to be born and she had no right to remove it from her body just because it wasn't convenient. For all her lifestyle, the Catholic part of her kicked in with her hormones.

'Can I be honest, Jambo?'

He nodded slowly, but he was wary enough, she sensed that much.

'I'm only telling you because I thought you had a right to know. I don't want anything from you, mate, not really. No undying love, no special treatment, no money even. I just want you to do me a favour, one thing, and that's all I will ask of you.'

'What's that then?'

Lil grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, and Jambo knew she was a woman on a mission and that if he had any sense, he would make sure she got what she was asking for.

'Just give the child the time of day, not every minute of your time, I know you can't do that. But just for once in my life, I want one of my kids to feel that someone other than their mother cares for them. That is all I want. No more than that, Jambo. Just a visit occasionally to let them see your face and know who you are.'

Jambo nodded and he felt so sad for her then. He knew how hard Lil's life had been, knew how much her family meant to her and had even guessed how much she resented them at times as well. That was real life, though most people wouldn't admit that. Women were so unlucky; they were left in charge of a human being, sometimes a crowd of human beings, and they had to be seen as doing the best they could. They had to make sure that all these people were taken care of in every way.

No one ever allowed for them to be tired out, to feel abandoned or just be plain pissed off with what had befallen them and just because they had allowed a man to get too close. Because they had just followed their natural inclinations and produced, as nature had intended them to. Then, they were left on their own, and the man leaving them was in the same condition he had arrived in, physically and mentally. The women they left behind though were now the grand owners of stretch marks and a screaming baby and their lives would never be the same again.

Jambo understood that, he knew what men were capable of. He was an expert in hurting people himself and an expert in keeping himself out of trouble. But now Lil was asking him for no more than his time; no marriage, no partnership and no undying love. She was just asking that one of her kids had some kind of father figure. He couldn't refuse her and it surprised him that he didn't want to refuse her. She deserved this much at least and she wasn't asking him for more than he was ever going to be able to give.

'If you think I will be any kind of a role model, Lil Brodie, you are mad. I will do what you want but you got to make sure that I ain't walking into any trouble, OK? Your boys are fighting for the top prize and I don't want them to feel they need to hurt me to prove a point, you know.'

Lil smiled happily. 'Do you want to know a secret, Jambo? My boys are still young enough to listen to what I say and even when they are old enough to bury me, I will still have a fucking say in my own life. Don't worry, OK, just give this child a chance, an opportunity to see that the man who fathered them is interested in them and still on the scene, and me and you will never fall out.'

It was a threat and it wasn't a threat, Jambo knew that; like him, Lil spoke the words and let the listener decide what the meaning really was. He also knew that she was asking a lot from him, but he was already committed now, and also he was intrigued to see what the two of them had created. The colour of the child was not a problem, he knew; the one thing he was sure of was that none of Lil's children would ever question their own flesh and blood.

The child would be a nine-day wonder, but he knew Lil wouldn't care about that at all. He was in a catch-22; he had, on the one hand, Pat Junior, a boy who was already talked about with reverence and, on the other, he had Lance, a thug who had already put the hard word on him in private about his relationship with his mother. But Jambo knew that Lance had only been doing what Brewster had told him to do. Lance had been Brewster's gofer, his errand boy, and he had fucked him off with a hate that told Jambo it was about more than Brewster's usual dog in the manger. It was too close to home for the boy; Lance wanted him gone for his own personal reasons. He kept that gem of wisdom to himself though; he was happy for Lil to do what she thought was right. He also knew that nothing he said would change her mind anyway. Once Lil made up her mind that was that.

'I am keeping this baby under wraps for a while; no one has noticed yet anyway. I am letting you know what I want from you if it goes full-term, that's all.'

Jambo nodded once more.

'If that's what you want, Lil, then I am happy to go along with it as I already said. But I ain't promising you no more than what you asked, OK?'

Lil laughed then, a real hearty, loud and dirty laugh. 'Oh, dream on. I wouldn't want you, darling, if your knob was dripping with diamonds and you farted perfume.'

Now they were both laughing and Lil relaxed a little, happy she had for once done what she wanted and not waited to see what happened. This child would at least have a fighting chance in life, she was determined about that. And once the novelty of her situation wore off it would all work out somehow, she was sure. She had been through the worst that life could throw at anyone and she had survived. Older, harder and a little bit wiser but she was still managing to live through every day.

Now Patrick was home and he was trying to make amends for the past so she hoped that, sooner or later, life for this child inside her might just turn out to be easy.