East End Trouble (22 page)

A
fter taking
a thorough beating from Alfie Harris and his friends, Charlie William’s woke up on the medical ward. His ribs had been bandaged and all his cuts cleaned, but he still ached all over.

He’d only been awake for five minutes when he was ordered out of bed and escorted back to his cell.

He slept until dinnertime. The bell rang out, and Charlie could hear the shouts and clanging footsteps of the other inmates making their way to the cafeteria. But he couldn’t bring himself to go with them.

At least, the other bed in his cell was empty. He’d had to put up with a kid from Bermondsey crying his eyes out every night for the last month, but they’d moved him on two days ago. No doubt, another inmate would fill the empty bed soon.

Later that evening, the prison guard on night duty, took pity on him and passed him a hunk of bread and some cheese. But Charlie couldn’t even stomach that. The doctor had been by to administer some more painkillers, which at least helped him sleep. Charlie dozed on and off, wincing every time he tried to turn over.

Something woke him in the early hours and made him open his eyes. A little squeak sounded near to his ear. He jumped off the bed and then held his ribs in pain.

There, beside the bed, was a dirty, great rat, munching on his cheese.

“Gerroff!” Charlie yelled, flapping his hands to scare the horrible thing away.

He peered at the plate where his cheese sat, half-eaten by the giant rat. The rat left some dirty, black droppings next to the plate as well.

As if life couldn’t get any more depressing, Charlie thought. He didn’t know how much more of it he could take. At least, the pain in his ribs took his mind off the pain in his leg. It still ached when it rained, although the bullet wound had healed quite nicely in the end.

Charlie stared grouchily at the cheese, prepared to kill the bloody rat if it came back. He’d really hoped to have gotten out of prison by now. The police investigation made no sense at all. He was the victim, but as well as getting shot that night, he’d also been stitched up somehow and blamed for the shooting. It was ridiculous. He hadn’t shot himself in the leg!

As Charlie sat back down on the bed, he reached inside his bedside cabinet, which was bolted to the floor and only had one little drawer, for his tobacco. Then an idea occurred to him. For the first time in a long while, Charlie Williams smiled. That rat had done him a favour.

Pushing himself back on the bed, Charlie cradled his ribs. The bastards really had given him a thorough beating. He opened up his pouch of tobacco and then looked at the rat droppings. He grinned. Perfect.

O
n Monday afternoon
, Martin was back in his flat after a weekend in Essex. He left Babs and the kids at the new house, much to Babs’ disappointment. She’d told him in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t happy there. He wished she wouldn’t moan so much. Sometimes it seemed like that was all she ever did.

He’d given her a blinding house with a gorgeous garden and all she did was moan about the neighbours.

Martin would never understand it. He couldn’t give a damn about a bunch of snobby neighbours. He didn’t mind people thinking he was working class; that suited him down to the ground. All he wanted was for people to respect him, and he got that respect through fear.

Martin looked at Tim, who was sitting on one of Martin’s leather armchairs and staring out of the window with a blank expression on his face.

Martin frowned. “Are you even listening to me?”

Tim blinked a couple of times as if he was just coming to after a trance. “Of course.”

“I was asking you what happened to the kid? Kathleen didn’t have it with her?”

Tim’s face grew pale, and his eyes widened. “The kid? You don’t want me to…”

“What’s the matter with you?” Martin asked sharply. “Are you coming down with something?”

Tim shook his head. “Kathleen had left the baby with her mother.”

Martin shrugged as if the news didn’t bother him one way or another, and then he looked up and scowled as his brother walked into the dining room.

Tony had the confidence of an angel. He grinned at them both and then dropped down into a chair, sprawling over it.

“Sit up. You’re making the place look untidy,” Martin ordered.

Martin’s sharp words didn’t dent Tony’s confidence. His smile grew wider, but he did sit up. He was wearing an expensive tailored suit, and Martin knew he thought he was a good-looking bastard.

“I’ve got some news,” Tony said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

Martin shook his head. He’d been off his game over the last few days, too caught up in sorting out issues of a personal nature. Never before had his personal life encroached on his business, and he was determined to keep them separate in the future.

“What is it? Spit it out.”

“It’s Dave Carter. He’s taken over Ronnie Baxter.”

Martin bit down on his tongue. Of all the nerve! He clenched his fists and banged them down on the arms of the chair he was sitting in.

Ronnie Baxter was a supplier of knockoff booze, one of the biggest suppliers in the East End. He supplied Martin’s club directly, as well as a number of the pubs under Martin’s protection.

For a moment, Martin was so furious he couldn’t speak. He stood up and paced the room, shaking his head.

Tim and Tony watched him. Tony still had that infuriating smile on his face, but Tim’s face was expressionless.

“I can’t believe that bastard hasn’t yet learned his lesson.”

“Maybe he needs another one,” Tony suggested, looking down at the gold watch on his wrist.

Martin paused. He paid Tony handsomely, but he didn’t pay him enough to buy a bloody gold watch. “Where did you get that?”

“What this old thing?” Tony held up his wrist, chuckling. “It was payment for a debt. A private payment.”

Tony’s eyes met Martin in a challenging fashion. Martin was about to dig further, but then he stopped himself. He couldn’t let himself get sidetracked. Dave Carter was the important issue here.

“I have shown him how serious I am,” Martin ranted. “We eliminated Keith Parker when he was playing both sides, and after everything that went down at The Three Grapes, Dave Carter should know enough to give me a wide berth. I’ve outclassed him in every way. One of his lads is still in prison.”

Martin ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. “That bloody greengrocer should go back to selling bleeding apples and get his nose out my business.”

Martin spun round to face Tony and Tim, his eyes glinting evilly. “This is war, boys. And it’s not over until we have annihilated Carter.”

M
ary walked along Hollins Road
. The rain was steadily coming down and splashing into puddles as she walked. Her shoes were soaked through, and her grey hair was plastered to her head, but she barely noticed.

The past couple of days had passed in a blur with concerned neighbours delivering food. The East End pulled together when someone suffered a tragedy like this, and Mary had been touched by her neighbours’ consideration. Especially Mrs. Simpson, Linda’s mother. She’d taken control that night, and Mary would be forever grateful.

She hadn’t known what to do with herself after the policeman had left. What was someone supposed to do when they’d been told their only child had been murdered?

Mrs. Simpson had made sure Jimmy was fed and changed, and then she told Linda to spend the night.

Linda was a good, sweet, kind girl and had been a comfort to Mary. The only trouble was that the little house only had two bedrooms, so Linda stayed in Kathleen’s room and kept an eye on Jimmy overnight.

The following morning when Mary woke up and the memory of last night came crashing around her, she could hear the sound of steady breathing coming from Kathleen’s room, and she’d almost convinced herself the whole thing had been a dream.

Even though she knew deep down it wasn’t true, she couldn’t help the hope that grew in her chest. She pushed open Kathleen’s bedroom door, hoping to see her daughter asleep in the bed. Instead, her gaze fell on Linda’s plump figure half-hidden under the covers.

Quietly, Mary had taken little Jimmy from his crib and carried him downstairs, leaving Linda to sleep.

Jimmy was determined to be difficult and didn’t want to take the formula milk.

Mary was almost beside herself. “I’m sorry, little lamb,” she muttered. “But you don’t have a choice. It’s this or nothing, so you’d better get used to it.”

Jimmy squirmed in Mary’s arms, refusing to suck at the bottle, leaving his grandmother in tears by the time Linda came downstairs.

Linda stepped up and took the baby from her. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Diamond. I’ll look after him. Why don’t you go and get yourself dressed?”

L
ater that day
, Linda took the baby to visit her mother, to give Mary a chance to catch up on some sleep. But Mary couldn’t sleep. Sleep was the last thing she wanted. As soon as she closed her eyes, she had horrible visions of Kathleen floating in the canal.

So she’d decided to go out for a walk, and that was how she found herself, soaking wet, looking up at the outside of Martin Morton’s club.

It was busy already, and the music was pumping. How could he? How could he just go on as if nothing had happened?

Her poor little girl would never see another day. She spotted Martin Morton through the window, chatting with some men, propped up against the bar, and he was smiling.

That smarmy smile tipped Mary over the edge.

She slipped past the doormen, who didn’t know what to do. They’d never had to manhandle a woman of Mary’s age before.

The two big men in suits tried to guide her back outside, but they weren’t quick enough, and she made a beeline for Martin.

“You bastard! You killed her. I know you did,” Mary screamed at him, and despite the loud music in the bar, everybody turned around to see who was daring to talk to Martin Morton in that way.

Martin’s whole body was tense as he turned. He was like a loaded spring, only just in control. He shot an irritated look at the two huge men behind Mary.

The tallest of the men shrugged. “Sorry, boss. She just slipped past us.”

Martin shook his head in disgust, but then he turned back to Mary. “I’ve answered all the questions the police had for me, and they are satisfied, so if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave.”

Tears were freely falling down Mary’s cheeks as she shook her head and pointed a finger in Martin’s direction. “I will have you for this, Martin Morton. I swear to God, I will make you sorry you ever met my Kathleen.”

The men around Martin were looking shocked at Mary’s daring. But she didn’t care. She’d already lost everything. There was nothing Martin could do to her now that would make her feel any worse.

Martin took a menacing step towards Mary. “I am already sorry, you old bat. I wish I had never laid eyes on your tart of a daughter.”

There was a collective intake of breath all around the bar. Martin Morton might rule the area with an iron fist, but the people of the East End had respect for the dead, and no one liked to hear that kind of language. Although no one would say anything, they all thought that Martin had gone too far.

But Martin was oblivious to their reaction. “I have an alibi. I was in bleeding Essex all weekend.” Martin gave Mary a smug smile. “So you tell me, how am I supposed to have done her in?”

Mary’s chest was rising and falling rapidly as she struggled for breath. “You got one of your lackeys to do it,” Mary screamed.

She walked right up to Martin and poked a finger in his chest. She opened her mouth, about to shout another insult, when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Big Tim. One look at his slack face and his haunted eyes, and she knew that he had done it.

She pointed at Big Tim. “You got him to do it, didn’t you?”

“Get the stupid bitch out of here,” Martin said, waving his hand in dismissal as he turned his back on Mary.

The doormen had to drag Mary out, kicking and screaming. And although the music in the bar continued, the conversations all around the club ended as everybody watched how Martin Morton was treating Mary Diamond.

As Mary was shoved back out in the rain, she took a large gasping breath. Her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe.

She stared up at the outside of Martin’s club and vowed to herself that one day she would get revenge for this. One day Martin Morton would get what was coming to him.

M
ealtimes were the worst
. That and bedtimes. Those were the times he missed Lillian the most. When they sat together as a family around the dinner table, Dave felt Lillian’s absence keenly.

Trevor sat opposite him pushing the peas around his plate and not eating.

Sandra was watching her son intently.

For the last couple of days, Trevor had been refusing to talk. In two whole days, he hadn’t uttered a word.

Dave had told Sandra it was just a phase, a reaction to the death of his sister. He thought if they ignored it for a while, Trevor would go back to normal, but Sandra was convinced he was acting up.

Trevor put down his knife and fork and pushed his plate away. He turned in his seat and went to climb down, but Sandra reached down and gripped his arm. “Oh, no, you don’t. You do not leave this table without asking to be excused.”

Trevor sat back at the table, but still he said nothing. He leaned back in his chair and looked up at his father. Trevor’s big eyes regarded Dave reproachfully. It seemed to Dave, Trevor was silently asking how could he trust a father who would let his sister die.

“As if we haven’t had enough to deal with,” Sandra muttered under her breath. “Trevor, I’m not in the mood to deal with your naughtiness. I know perfectly well you can talk.”

Trevor stared down at his plate.

“How would you feel if I refused to talk to you?” Sandra demanded of her little boy.

Dave sighed and started to stack the plates. “Come on love. Just let it go for now.”

But Sandra shook her head. “No, I won’t. If we don’t nip this in the bud now, he’ll think he can get away with anything.”

Sandra turned back to Trevor. “Well, are you going to ask to be excused?”

Trevor silently shook his head.

And then, unexpectedly, Sandra’s fierce anger disappeared, and she began to sob.

Grief had ripped their family apart. Everyone was reacting to Lillian’s death in a different way. Dave was trying to hold it all together, but truthfully, he didn’t know where to start. Sandra now had a new baby to look after on top of everything else, and it was all too much for her.

As the tears rolled down Sandra’s cheeks, Trevor reached out and put his little hand on top of his mother’s, to try and comfort her, but still he didn’t speak.

Dave stood up and kissed his wife on the forehead. “Come on, love. Why don’t you get yourself up to bed, eh? I’ll clear up the dinner things.”

He scooped the little boy out of his chair and carried him up to his bedroom. “Do you want me to read you a story, Trevor?”

Trevor looked up at his father and hesitated, but then he nodded.

“Right, well, get your pyjamas on and clean your teeth, and I’ll be back in a minute.”

While Trevor was getting ready for bed, Dave washed up the plates from dinner. Before he could go to Trevor’s bedroom, and begin telling the story, there was a knock at the front door.

When Dave answered the door, he felt the tension in his body ratchet up several levels.

It was Gary.

Gary looked up at him sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, bruv. I’m sorry I didn’t make the funeral. I didn’t hear about it until afterwards.”

Dave didn’t invite his brother in, but Gary stepped through the door anyway and enveloped his brother in a hug. “Let’s not argue anymore, eh? Family is just too important.”

Dave didn’t return the hug. His body was stiff and unresponsive before he pulled away, but he let Gary follow him inside the house.

“How’s Sandra?” Gary asked.

Dave shook his head. He didn’t know where to start. “Not good. In fact, you could do me a favour.”

Gary nodded eagerly. “Of course. Anything. What do you need me to do?”

“Go and get Dr. Spencer.”

Dave gave him Dr. Spencer’s address and moved towards the stairs, intending to read Trevor his story.

Gary turned just before he left the house. “I really am sorry, bruv. I promise I’m never going to let you down again.”

Dave said nothing. He just trudged up the stairs towards Trevor’s bedroom.

D
ave had just finished reading
Trevor his story when the doctor arrived with Gary.

Dave shook the doctor’s hand. “Dr. Spencer, thank you for coming.”

“What seems to be the trouble?” the doctor asked as he followed Dave into the kitchen.

“I need you to give Sandra something. She is beside herself, crying all the time, getting upset with Trevor. She can’t cope.”

The doctor sighed and looked uncomfortable as he regarded Dave steadily for a moment. Then he said, “I can give Mrs. Carter a sedative to help her sleep. There are some tablets I can prescribe that may improve her mood, but I’m sorry Mr, Carter, I don’t have a magic pill for grief. The only cure for that is time. And it never really goes away. It just hurts a little less as time goes by.”

Dave nodded sadly. “While you’re here, maybe you could take a look at Trevor, too. He is refusing to talk.”

The doctor frowned and then nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll put the kettle on,” Gary said, leaving Dave and the doctor to climb the stairs together.

The little boy was tucked under the covers, but he wasn’t asleep.

“This is Dr Spencer,” Dave said. “He’s going have a look at you and make sure you’re all right.”

The doctor took his time examining Trevor. He asked him lots of questions that went unanswered. Trevor just regarded him silently with his big grey eyes. But the doctor didn’t make a fuss over Trevor’s silence.

Finally, when he’d finished his examination, the doctor said, “Now, Trevor. Your father tells me you haven’t been talking much over the past couple of days. I’ve examined you and determined there’s no physical reason for that. I understand that you’re feeling very sad and confused because your sister has gone. Sometimes these things make us feel so sad we can’t express them.”

The little boy’s eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t speak.

The doctor smiled kindly and pulled up the bed covers to tuck him in. “Things will get better, Trevor.”

Dave followed the doctor out of Trevor’s bedroom. “So there’s no reason he’s not talking? There’s nothing wrong with him?”

“The only reason is his grief. It’s hard for a child to understand the loss of a sibling at the best of times. Maybe he blames himself. No doubt he’s heard people talking about how he was the sickest out of the pair of them, yet he was the one who survived.”

As they entered the kitchen, Gary turned to look at them. He held up a bottle of Dave’s brandy. “I decided against tea. I thought we’d better have something stronger.”

He poured Dave and the doctor a glass of brandy, too.

The doctor took his glass with a nod. “Thank you. You’re lucky to have such a supportive family, Mr. Carter.”

Dave ignored his brother and his glass of brandy. “So, Doctor, are you telling me this is only temporary? Trevor will get over this at some point, won’t he?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, I think he’ll grow out of it. It could last a couple of days, maybe a few weeks, but eventually he’ll start talking again.”

Dave felt a rush of relief wash over him as he reached for his brandy.

After the doctor had left them with a prescription for Sandra, Dave sat down at the kitchen table opposite Gary. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” Gary said. “I went up to Manchester for a few days and did a bit of business.”

“Are you still taking that stuff?” Dave asked, examining Gary’s face and eyes for any telltale signs that he was still hooked on drugs.

Gary shook his head emphatically. “No, I’m hundred percent clean. I mean it, Dave. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I’ve come to realise how important family is.”

Dave searched his brother’s face, looking for any signs to indicate he was lying. But it was no good. Dave was seriously off his game. The senses that he normally relied on had deserted him, and all he could think about was that his brother was family, and family was precious.