The Good Life (19 page)

Jenny held up a pale green dress and coat set; it was silk, fully lined and looked like something an old granny would wear.

‘I’ll look like your mother in that!’

Jenny grinned, exasperated. ‘But you are my mother, remember?’

Eileen dutifully tried the ensemble on, and had to admit it looked much better on than off. Which in itself was very annoying − her daughter had a knack of choosing the right clothes for every occasion. It galled Eileen, even though she knew it was unfair. She was actually looking forward to seeing this daughter of hers married at last, although if she was honest, she thought Jenny should have cast her net a bit wider and got herself some proper companionship. There had been no hint of scandal attached to her girl, and there was a part of Eileen that thought she was unnatural. Sex and living life was for the young, and a twenty-five-year wait seemed to Eileen Riley a very foolish thing to endure. She was entitled to a bit of companionship, for want of a better word. There were plenty of men willing to take up the slack and, as her old mum used to say, you don’t miss the odd slice from a cut loaf. The girl should have some fun before it was too late. That was Eileen’s attitude anyway − not that Jenny took any notice of her of course. Hell would freeze over and Christ Himself would be risen before that ever happened.

Jenny was genuinely admiring of the outfit she’d chosen for her mother. It really suited her, and she looked a lot sexier in the green silk than she did in the cerise miniskirt ensemble! If only her mum understood that sometimes less is more.

‘You look lovely, Mum, really lovely.’

Eileen smiled. It was true − she did look nice. Jenny had chosen well for her. She could have anyone she wanted, her Jenny. She would put a bit of temptation in her daughter’s way; she didn’t want her to waste her entire life waiting for Cain Moran. She needed a bit of life for herself now and again. Everyone did.

James Banks Junior was already settled in his cell; he was liking the wing. He had been nervous at first but that had passed quickly. The other young men were friendly and eager to make him welcome − he was a novelty and someone new was always welcome in a monotonous place like this. He had news, stories of mutual friends and enemies. It was hard to keep track of people when they were in different prisons all around the country, so he would be in demand for a few weeks until he had exhausted his supply of gossip.

Cain Moran had greeted him cordially and James had been taken aback at the sheer size of the man − he had what was called a presence. Moran was clearly not in the least bit worried about seeing him; he had shaken James’s hand firmly, his grip a clear indication of his strength. James Banks knew he had his work cut out here. Cain Moran had to go down, and go down quick. If he managed to get up, then James was finished.

He was now observing Moran in the gym. He was standing with the other older lags, and he still looked like he could give anyone younger a run for their money. His reputation as a violent fucker was obviously well-deserved. But nothing was going to deter James; this was an opportunity he had thought about constantly for the last few years. The plan was to take Moran out, put himself in his place, and then sit back and reap the rewards. He would be established overnight and, as he would have all the rights to Cain Moran’s enterprises, that would set him up for life when he got out.

Now he had to plan his attack, and it had to be a good plan. Cain Moran was older, and he was certainly much wiser. But one of the things James Banks had inherited from his absent father was not just a big nose and a psychotic personality, but his innate cunning. He would watch and wait, and then, when he was sure of his bait, he would pounce.

It was a shame in some ways − everyone agreed that Cain Moran’s cooking was exceptionally good; he had to give him credit where it was due. His Sunday roasts would be sorely missed, but such was life. This was James’s big chance and he was going to take it. Whatever his old man had been, he was still his old man, and that had to count for something, surely? James liked to think that when he had been sent down for this big lump, his dad would have stepped up to the breach and looked after him if he’d been around. It would have made him proud − he really believed that. Such was the mentality of James Banks Junior.

Eileen Riley knew that Freddie Marks had always had a crush on her daughter. He was a small-time Face − and a good-looking man – so she had arranged for them to bump into one another at the pub on a few different occasions. What was the harm?

It wouldn’t take a blind dog long to sniff out that the man was crazy about Jenny. He was big, dark and blue-eyed just like Cain − definitely her daughter’s cup of tea. Eileen didn’t see this as being unfaithful − it was just a diversion while the love of her daughter’s life was otherwise engaged for what was a fucking long time by anyone’s standards.

Eileen knew the score with men like Cain; he would be chasing youth once he got out, and she saw it as her maternal duty to make sure her daughter had some fun in her life before it was too late. She appreciated that Jenny was so loyal − something she’d not inherited from her, that was for sure! But it was wrong to see that girl waste away for the best years of her life.

Eileen had given Freddie Marks a heads-up that her daughter was actually going to meet her in The Highwayman for a drink; he was clearly over the moon at the chance to be in her orbit. Eileen, being Eileen, had basically said that her daughter was up for anything he might want. Not strictly true, of course, but it would give the boy a bit of encouragement − he was like a greyhound waiting to get out of the trap. He was a handsome, nice fella, and, most importantly, sensible enough not to mouth off about anything that might happen. He didn’t want to find himself dead one night through a leaked conversation. As far as Eileen was concerned he was a perfect candidate for her daughter’s affection; if she got a bit of the other now and again it would do her the world of good. It wasn’t natural to be without for so long − that was Eileen’s take on life.

As her daughter walked into the pub Eileen felt a wave of fondness; she was a good girl, and how she had turned out so fucking well was a mystery to everyone, not least her own mother. As Jenny sat down, Eileen looked her over. One thing with her Jenny, she had never let herself go because she didn’t have a man in her bed. She kept herself nice for the man who she adored, even though he was as far away from her as the moon. It was a crying shame.

She went to the bar and got them both a drink, making sure her daughter’s was triple, and encouraged her to drink it quickly. After a few of them, Jenny became soft and silly; unlike her mother, Jenny didn’t drink heavily on a daily basis. Just a glass of wine at the end of the day, she had never made a career out of it. Moderation in all things was her girl; whereas Eileen was more take what you can get − you might never get it again. Now, though, Jenny was rocking, and that was going to help matters along considerably. Eileen was pleased to see that her Jenny had a bit of her mother’s DNA in her after all.

When Freddie Marks joined them it seemed perfectly natural. Jenny was welcoming, and there was no doubt he was pleased to be seeing her and that he was basking in her company. Eileen sat back and watched Mother Nature working her magic. As the two of them reminisced about their school days it really was a sight to see. Her work here was done.

The POs were on edge, and it showed. Every time Cain or James went anywhere, they followed, even if they were going in different directions. On a wing that wasn’t very big, it was getting irritating. But it was necessary and there was not much anyone could do about it.

Today Cain was trying his hand at something new – fish with roasted vegetables and, of course, the mandatory chips! Most of the older lags wouldn’t eat anything else − chips were a staple in their diet, especially the Northerners, who drenched them in gravy whenever possible. He was keeping a close eye on young James, who was, in turn, keeping a wary eye on him, as Cain was wielding a particularly large knife for most of the afternoon.

Bobby Vincent, a forty-five-year-old con from Essex, found the situation quite amusing. He was the wing wag, always ready with a funny story or a joke. He was also a violent criminal who was doing thirty years behind the door for murder and drug dealing. He would do the thirty, mainly because of the drug dealing − anything to do with property and money always took precedence in the courts over human lives. Bobby was a known bruiser, but he was also well-liked and an integral part of the wing’s group. He could often be an unlikely arbiter between feuding parties − his sense of humour often defused very tense situations.

Now he was lounging in the kitchen, chatting to Cain as he cooked. ‘Cocky little cunt that James.’

Cain grinned. ‘Nice enough kid − just a bit misguided!’

Bobby burst out laughing. ‘Misguided? He couldn’t find his cock with a compass. Cheeky little bastard. Fucking take him out!’

Cain laughed too. ‘It’s not for me to make the first move, is it? I mean, I ain’t got any row with him. He seems to have one with me, though, I will grant you that.’

Bobby smirked, then said seriously, ‘How can he defend that piece of shit, Cain? The man didn’t even fucking give him the time of day. He should be shaking your fucking hand for doing everyone a favour, especially him.’

Cain shrugged. ‘Maybe he feels that’s all the more reason to repay that particular debt. He at least thinks he is doing the right thing.’

Bobby didn’t answer him for a few moments. ‘Well, you were always a fair man, but I’ve got to say, if it was me, I would give him a fucking good hiding, and put him out of action for a few months. I fucked his mum once − met her at a party in Blackheath. Not the greatest shag I ever had, but willing after a couple of lines of coke, got to give her that. I was going to mention it to him, but he seems the type to hold grudges . . .’

Cain was still chuckling when Bobby left him to go to the gym, but he knew Bobby had a point. Maybe he should give the lad a talking to, at least attempt to clear the air a bit. There was no real animosity between them, but Cain Moran knew that meant nothing in the world they inhabited. It was why they were all Grade-A on this unit − they were all what was called ‘unpredictable’. They were men in for serious offences who could look after themselves should the need arise. They lived a kind of life together here, but it could be rocked at any time. Cain Moran knew the others were wondering what the outcome of this situation was going to be − he wondered it himself. He just felt he should let the lad make the first move. He was the harbinger of the trouble, not Cain.

Later that day at dinner, young James said to Bobby in a friendly manner, ‘By the way, Bob, my mum says to tell you hello.’

It was said in all innocence and when Bobby and Cain started to crack up laughing they could see the poor lad’s confusion at what he had said that was so funny.

Most of the older men sussed it out straightaway, but it wasn’t a joke they should have shared together in public. It was the piece that cemented James’s resolve. One of the other lags explained the joke to him later that night, and he was not a happy little bunny. You could more or less say anything to a man in prison, but never denigrate his mother. It was bad enough Cain had murdered his father, without adding insult to injury. Jimmy felt he had been humiliated, even though he would be the first to admit his mother could be quite free with her favours. He had had more uncles growing up than all his mates put together. But whatever she was, she was his mum and he loved her.

The damage was done, and there was no going back.

Freddie Marks had driven Jenny back to her place, and she had invited him in for coffee. It had been a lovely night, and she had enjoyed his company enormously. It had felt good to unwind, be out of her home for a while and enjoy some adult conversation. It felt odd having the place to herself, but Cain Junior was staying at her mum’s − she was taking him up the Roman the next day to get some bits and pieces, and treat him to his favourite pie and mash.

Freddie Marks had been her friend since they were in infant school, and they had both tried to outdo each other with their recollections. Suddenly names and places she had not thought about in years were as real to her as they had been way back when. Teachers long forgotten were discussed − and taken the piss out of for the most part. It had felt so good. Freddie was a handsome man, and she was aware he had always had a crush on her; she had liked him too in those days long ago. But then along came Cain, and there would never be another man, not for her anyway.

She poured them both another coffee and said on a whim, ‘Fancy a brandy?’

Freddie was more than ready to prolong their evening. Jenny was stunning, and he was knocked out by how nice she was. She had no side to her character, what you saw was what you got. She dressed well too − without flaunting everything as if she was on sale, but he liked what he was seeing well enough. He had had a big-time crush on her since they were teenagers and part of him couldn’t believe he was in her flat, drinking brandy and listening to her laughing as she regaled him with another story of their youth.

At the back of his mind was Cain Moran, but it was hard to worry about a man who still had a good fifteen years before he would be a problem. Clearly Jenny loved the man − she had kept telling him that all night to the point where he had nearly asked her who she was trying to convince, him or herself? He didn’t, of course − he would do nothing to alter her mood. He loved listening to her, being with her. He liked the way her breasts moved when she laughed, and how she looked at him with that pretty half smile as she listened to him. And she did listen which was unusual in a woman, as far as he was concerned. He was used to the lairy, laughing, everything’s-a-joke kind of women who he usually attracted. Until, of course, he realised they thought they meant something to him, then he would end up on bad terms and arguing for England, when all he wanted was a nice little fuck and a good night out. But Jenny Riley had a way of concentrating when you talked to her that really made you feel what you were saying was valid. It was a wonderful feeling, and he knew he was falling for her hard.