‘Can’t it wait till later, or tomorrow, sweetheart? I really have got a lot on me plate today.’
‘No, Wayne, it can’t!’
‘Wan go par,’ Tyler screamed, kicking Wayne’s leg, then throwing himself on the floor.
‘Tough shit! You ain’t going to the fucking park. Get that child away from me, Steph. I’ve got a banging headache, babe, and I can’t be doing with his little tantrums, today of all days.’
‘Just give me five minutes to calm him down, Wayne, and then we’ll talk. There’s something important we need to discuss.’
When Stephanie half dragged and half carried a hysterical Tyler up the stairs, Wayne sat anxiously on the sofa. Surely Steph hadn’t found out about his underhandedness? Because if she had, it would ruin everything.
Unable to fancy anything to eat or drink in his sister’s house, Barry offered to treat her and the boys to breakfast in a local café. Within minutes of arriving there, Barry started to regret his spontaneous suggestion. AJ and Jermain were playing up something chronic and Chantelle had a mouth on her like a sewer. Seeing Jermain pestering an old couple who were sitting on a nearby table, Barry urged his sister to control the child. ‘People are trying to have a quiet bite to eat, Chantelle. Make him sit down or play outside if he’s gonna be a pest in here.’
‘Jermain, get over ’ere you little cunt before I rip your fucking head off,’ Chantelle yelled at the top of her voice.
Barry felt himself squirm with embarrassment as he saw a tableful of workmen glance around, then snigger. Unlike himself, Chantelle had never had any style or class. She was twenty-six now, was overweight, had tattoos on her arms and an earring through her nose. Her hair was dyed a yellowy-blond colour and her clothes were far too skimpy for her size-sixteen frame. ‘I’m going outside to make some phone calls,’ Barry said, abruptly.
‘Don’t leave me sitting ’ere like a tit in a trance. Can’t you make your phone calls later?’
Watching in disbelief as AJ and Jermain started throwing chips at one another, Barry glared at his scumbag of a sister. ‘No, I fucking well can’t.’
After three weeks of playing the grieving widow to the police and her friends in Spain, Marlene was relieved to see her best friend, Marge. When Marlene had first moved over to Spain, Marge had come out for holidays twice a year, but three years ago she had had a drunken row with Jake and he had kicked her out of his and Marlene’s apartment in the middle of the night.
‘Right, start from the very beginning. I know we spoke on the phone, mate, but the line was shit, you were pissed, and I couldn’t make head nor tail of what you were saying,’ Marge said, opening a bottle of wine.
Marlene gulped greedily at the drink that was handed to her. Jake the Snake’s murder had come as a terrible shock to her. Even though she had never loved him, she would always be grateful to him for giving her the lifestyle she had always craved. Composing herself, Marlene began to explain exactly what had happened. ‘Jake got himself involved in drugs about five years ago. He bumped into some old pals of his from South London. They were fugitives and he went into business with ’em.’
‘Why didn’t you ever tell me all this before?’ Marge asked. She felt hurt that she’d been kept in the dark by her pal. They’d always told one another everything.
‘Because I only found out meself recently. Barry told me. That little bastard was probably involved in it an’ all. Jake was a real man’s man. He was a good provider, but he never talked business with me, Marge, and I’ve only found out the truth since he died. I always thought the bar paid for our opulent lifestyle, but Barry said Jake just kept that to cover his arse and keep the authorities off his back. Barry reckons it only brought in peanuts.’
‘What was he selling? Cocaine? That’s big ’ere now, you know. It’s took over from speed,’ Marge informed her friend.
Marlene shook her head. ‘Ecstasy tablets. They had a factory just outside Fuengirola where they were making hundreds of thousands of the bastard things, by all accounts. They had contacts in England and were importing ’em over ’ere by boat, so Barry reckons.’
‘So, why did Jake get shot then?’ Marge asked, slightly confused.
‘The factory got turned over and it happened to be on a day when Jake was meant to be there and he wasn’t. Two of the men got away, but three others got arrested. Barry says that the other men must have thought that Jake snitched on ’em and that’s why he got shot. A man on a motorbike killed him at point-blank range as we walked out of a restaurant near the harbour, Marge. Covered in claret, I was; it was awful for me. Died in me arms, Jake did. Well, sort of. I didn’t actually cuddle him ’cause of all the blood. He made these terrible gurgling noises, Marge, and then he just shut his eyes and croaked it.’
‘Poor Jake! And you must have been devastated. I know me and Jake fell out, mate, but I wouldn’t have wished him any harm, you know.’
Unable to stop herself, Marlene burst out laughing. She’d had weeks of wearing black and crying bloody crocodile tears. ‘I would! I hated the old cunt. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll always be indebted to him for getting me out of poxy Dagenham, but he was so ugly, Marge. Sex with him used to make me feel physically sick, and towards the end he couldn’t get a hard-on by having intercourse. He could only get one if I noshed him off. Every morning he used to wake me up with a sickly smile on his face and I had to suck his little shrivelled-up cock. Used to put me off having any fucking breakfast, it did. Eating like an horse again now, I am.’
Even though Marge and Marlene went back donkey’s years, Marge was bewildered by her pal’s words. ‘But you said his death was awful for you?’
‘Well, it was, but only ’cause it happened right in front of me. Two hundred quid that silk dress I had on cost. Fucking ruined it is. I took it to the cleaner’s, but they can’t get the blood out. I’ve had to chuck it away.’
Marge roared with laughter. ‘Oh, you are awful, Mar. When’s the old bastard’s funeral?’
‘Next Monday. Will you come to it with me, mate? I’d have buried him in Spain if I’d have had my way. Waste of bloody money flying him back home, if you ask me. I dunno if you know, but Jake had two daughters. He hadn’t seen ’em for years, he fell out with ’em when he split up with their mum, but because me and him weren’t married, they were his next of kin and they demanded the body get buried in England. I wonder how much he’s worth? He hated his ex-wife and never forgave his daughters for disowning him, so I doubt he’s left them fuck all. I know he made a new will in 1991, so I reckon I’ve copped the lot, don’t you?’
‘Bleedin’ hell, Mar, he must have been worth a fortune. I reckon you’ll be made for life, girl.’
Slurping her drink, Marlene grinned. ‘Well, after sucking his sweaty little cock for years, I reckon I’ve more than earned me inheritance, don’t you?’
Howling with laughter, Marge agreed.
‘That was a long five minutes,’ Wayne said sarcastically, when Stephanie finally reappeared. Tyler’s tantrums had driven him to distraction recently – so much so, he had even suggested taking the child for blood tests or a brain scan, but Stephanie had rejected the idea. She was one of these mothers who refused to believe that her son had anything wrong with him.
‘Sorry, Tyler wouldn’t settle. He didn’t sleep well last night and I think he’s been playing up today because he’s tired,’ Stephanie replied, apologetically.
Not wanting to listen to the usual list of excuses his wife always made for their son’s abnormal behaviour, a hung-over Wayne came straight to the point. ‘So, what’s so urgent we need to talk about, that I can’t go to work?’
Steph felt too stressed to put together a proper sentence, so she just blurted the crux of it out. ‘Barry Franklin’s back home.’
‘Yeah,