TRAPPED (19 page)

‘I thought that’s what you’d want. I thought you’d want me to let Nicky off.’

‘Don’t try to think for me, Gary. Never try to think for me.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘I want you to sort it.’

‘In that case I’ll make sure Nicky’s my priority. I’ll get back what’s owed.’

Max straightened himself up, pushing his fingers into his lower back. ‘Make sure you do and when you do; tell him his Da sent you.’

When Gary Levitt stepped out of the meeting he’d been in his element. It’d gone better than he could’ve ever imagined. But as successful as the meeting had been, the shine was starting to wear off now that he was at his flat.

His Auntie Gina hadn’t yet bothered to turn up. The new clothes he’d bought to go with his new image were pissing him off. A Dolce & Gabbana black shirt, Vivienne Westwood Gold Label trousers and a pair of shoes from Hobbs which he now knew he shouldn’t have bought, especially without trying them on. Because even though they’d looked crisp and the dog’s bollocks, they were too small and squeezing the fuck out of his feet.

Annoyed, he threw them to the other side of the kitchen, only for them to drop down, land on the box of baking soda and send clouds of white powder across the room.

Angrily, Gary picked up his mobile, wanting to offload his annoyance onto someone else. He dialled Gina, hoping she’d pick up so he could give her some verbal for not turning up, but it went straight to voicemail. He cut it off as he heard her request to leave a message, knowing abusing a machine wasn’t nearly as fulfilling as it was to her face. Next, and still wanting to let off some steam, Gary dialled Nicky to put the wind up him.

He’d held off with Nicky, extending payment days and not really giving him the full monty of his wrath, because at the back of his mind he knew Nicky was a Donaldson. Now though, everything had changed. Max had given him the nod to send out a warning to everyone who didn’t pay their debts by using his son as an example.

Nicky’s phone rang but he didn’t have a voicemail. Still, he wasn’t going to let two people and a pair of shoes spoil his moment. What he’d negotiated with Max was the next step, and it was a big fucking step at that. Everything he did from now on would be backed up by a face. And once people found out, no one would mess with him. Before long he’d be someone. Gary Levitt was finally in business with the big boys.

‘Are you sure there can be no mistake?’ Gypsy sat down on the chair; her hand was shaking as she spoke to the lady at the clinic on the phone. The letter lay on her lap.

‘I’m sorry, we don’t actually send the letters out so we don’t know what it says. It comes from somewhere else, but I doubt there’s any mistake. I’m sorry if it’s not what you wanted.’

Gypsy put the phone down. Putting her head in her hand, she wiped away the tears. Wall to wall of wooden shelves with designer shoes and bags surrounded her as she glanced at the letter again. She’d always thought the not knowing was the worst thing but she could see she’d been mistaken. As the words sunk in, she realised that knowing was worse.

She had to get her head round it. She was due to go to the spa and though it wouldn’t make her feel better at least it was time away from the house. A bit of time for her to think.

There was a knock on the door and before she’d managed to put the letter away, Lorna came in, closing it behind her. Gypsy was immediately put out by the invasion of her privacy. The last thing she wanted to do was miss her massage for Lorna. Gypsy spoke with hostility, bringing back the Bow Road girl again into her voice.

‘I don’t remember inviting you to come in, Lorn. What’s the idea girl?’

‘Is everything alright? I was walking past the door and I heard you crying.’

Gypsy straightened herself up. However bad she felt, sharing anything more than the air she breathed with Lorna was sharing too much.

‘I’m fine, Lorn.’

Lorna saw the letter crumpled on Gypsy’s knee. She struggled not to smile as she spoke.

‘You don’t look alright. Bad news?’

‘Whether it is or isn’t, it’s got nothing to do with you. So do us a fave, Lorn – open the door and go away.’

‘The thing is Gypsy, I don’t think you’ll want Frankie to hear what I’ve got to say.’

‘What are you talking about? Hear what?’

‘I see you’ve read your letter.’

Lorna gestured her head to the letter.

‘I don’t know how that’s any of your business.’

‘Oh but it is. Especially as it concerns my brother.’

Gypsy flushed. She didn’t like where this was heading.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about Lorn, but you may as well turn into the camel you are and spit it bleeding out.’

‘I’d watch that mouth of yours, Gyps. You don’t want me running back to Frankie telling him how you badmouthed me, as well as hiding things from him.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Oh you will, Gypsy. You’ll be begging my pardon alright and wishing you’d let me come to stay all those times I asked. But I’m here now and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Lorna walked across to Gypsy’s vast walk-in wardrobe and pulled an oversized Hermès bag down from the top, grabbing designer clothing off the rails before stuffing them in the bag.

‘Have you lost all your marbles? What do you think you’re doing?’

‘I’m doing you a favour and getting your stuff for you to clear out.’

‘Lorna, if you don’t want me to put my fist in that gob of yours, you need to get off me bleeding stuff.’

Gypsy pulled her sister-in-law by her cashmere cardigan, astounded at Lorna’s front – but she was brought to a halt by what Lorna said next.

‘I know what’s in the letter.’

Gypsy let go of Lorna’s top. She felt the colour draining out of her face.

‘Oh don’t look so shocked, Gypsy; after all, who’s been the one keeping secrets?’

‘I’m warning you. Keep out of it.’

‘Don’t warn me, because I’m warning
you
. If you don’t leave, I’m telling Frankie what’s in the letter.’

Gypsy moved her mouth to say something but Lorna continued to talk.

‘And don’t bother saying I wouldn’t dare, because you know I will, Gypsy. You know I will.’

After a moment of holding Gypsy’s stare, Lorna brushed herself off, straightened her cardigan and shuffled out of the room. As she put her hand on the gold brass handle she stopped and turned to Gypsy. ‘A word of advice, don’t take too long in going and don’t cause a fuss when you go. Just make it as natural as possible.’

‘Natural? As if Frankie’s going to let me go without any explanation?’

‘Don’t worry on that score darling; I’m sure you can make something up. You’ve certainly had practice.’

Lorna winked and opened the door and walked out, leaving Gypsy desperately thinking of a way to try to stop Lorna – before she ruined her life.

‘The sly bastard needs his bleeding balls cutting off.’ Gina Daniels was mouthing off as she stood in the middle of Sonya’s Sauna on Brewer Street. Her mates sat behind the desk of the overheated reception, tutting and shaking their heads in all the right places as they continued to read their magazines. None of them had a clue what Gina
was on a
bout and none of them could be bothered to ask her.

‘I’m telling you that cunt will get his. He must think he’s bleedin’ Harry Houdini tying me up in his plans like this. Worst thing is, Sonya, he expects me to do it for nothing. Next thing I know, he’ll be having me release a charity single.’

Gina’s face was red with fury. Beads of sweat trickled out of her pores as she marched about on the same two foot spot of the budget floor tiles.

‘Well what do you think, Sonya, got some nerve ain’t he?’

Sonya saw it was her cue to speak. Not having heard or bothered to have listened to Gina’s ranting, she was forced to ask a question of her one-time street corner mate.

‘Who the fuck are you talking about darlin’?’

‘Johnny Taylor that’s who. He wants me to look after his kid for nothing. Nothing except the air I bleedin’ breathe.’

Johnny whistled as he walked up the stairs to Saucers’ flat. It was the first time he’d been there.

He hadn’t bothered to call because he knew Saucers hardly went out apart from when she worked, because all she liked to do was sleep and read. He’d never known any other person to sleep as much as Saucers did and to have the ability to be able to sleep through the loudest of sounds and the maddest of situations.

He remembered when there was a ruck at one of the clubs; men breaking bottles, the Toms and the customers screaming like they were extras in a slasher movie and, sound asleep in the corner, getting an extra hour of shut-eye, was Saucers. It was probably all that reading she did. Filling her head with so much crap would put anyone to sleep.

There were four doors on the landing. Three without numbers but one with the number twenty-eight on, along with a large red love heart doorknocker. One of the other Toms had bought it for Saucers for a Christmas present; she’d gone into raptures before bursting into her usual flood of tears.

Johnny rapped on the door, wanting to get into Saucers’ flat as soon as he could so he wouldn’t have to smell the foul stench anymore. And rather like his mother, he hoped the stench didn’t linger on his designer clothes.

Leisurely, the door was opened but the moment Saucers saw who it was, her face drained of its usual rosy colour.

‘Johnny! Oh my God, Johnny!’

Johnny looked at Saucers and craned his neck towards her, checking her pupils to see if she was stoned, so strange was her reaction at seeing him.

‘Expecting someone?’

‘No, it’s … er …’

Saucers turned nervously around at the sound coming from the lounge, then stepped forward to speak to Johnny, closing the door behind her.

‘It’s not that Johnny, I’ve …’

‘Got a visitor? Turning a trick? No worries, I’ll wait till you finish him off. I’m guessing you won’t take too long. I’ll wait in the front room.’

‘No.’

Saucers blocked Johnny’s way, pushing him back. Johnny scowled, none too happy about Saucers putting her hands on him.

‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

‘Nothing, Jon Jon. I ain’t got no one in there. I’m just not feeling too great. Women’s problems.’

‘Women’s problems? What are you talking about? That’s so frigging general it’s untrue. Bleeding hell, if it’s women’s problems that could be one of a zillion things – and if you mean you’re on your period, do me a favour Saucers, you’ve never had problems before. You’re
always
telling me how you just stick a sponge up there so you can carry on turning tricks. So what’s going on? I
know
you’re telling me porkies but I want to know why.’

Saucers wasn’t quite sure what to say. She could tell Johnny wasn’t going to be fobbed off with bullshit but she had no idea how she was going to get rid of him. He certainly couldn’t come into the flat, not with Nicky sprawled on her couch. She knew it’d been a bad idea to invite him to stay but what could she have done? She owed him and besides, there was something about him she was fond of.

Like most people when she’d said to him, ‘If there’s anything I can do for you,’ she’d only half meant it. But he’d gone on to ask to stay and she hadn’t been able to refuse.Whatever he’d done, he was still her friend. But now she was going to be right up it once Johnny found out she was letting Nicky stay. No doubt she’d lose her job too.

‘Listen Johnny, can we do this tomorrow? I’m really tired. You know how I like my sleep. I’ll call you later.’

Johnny pushed Saucers gently out of the way and opened her front door, getting out his hand gun as he walked into the hallway. He didn’t mind what she got up to, he wasn’t her pimp, but he
was
her friend. He knew when she was lying and he wanted to know why.

If she was in trouble he wanted to sort it. She didn’t have many people around her who didn’t want to either fuck her or fuck with her. Saucers had been a good friend. She’d kept her mouth shut about him and Maggie so it was the least he could do to try to get her out of the brown stuff if she needed it. He felt her tug on his coat.

‘Johnny, no. Don’t go in there, please.’

Johnny Taylor couldn’t understand why Saucers was so desperate to keep him out, which made him even more determined to go in. With one firm swing of his arm he opened the door of the lounge as Saucers squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see what was about to unfold.

Tommy looked round Nicky’s room. He’d heard rumours and had wanted to talk to his brother – or at least that was what his plan had been. So often he’d set his mind on wanting to communicate with his siblings, trying to take seriously the role of older brother, but when it actually came down to it, his mind couldn’t focus. The visions would come into his head, distracting him from what he was there for, so it was a slight relief to find Nicky wasn’t there.

Looking around once more, Tommy sensed something was different. Some of Nicky’s things were gone. It was pointless looking in his top drawer to see if he’d taken his passport. Nicky didn’t have one. Tommy wasn’t sure if his brother had even gone north of Watford; in fact, he wasn’t sure where he’d been or what he’d seen. It struck him he didn’t know much more about the life of his brother than he did about the lives of the family who lived next door. Of course, like everyone else in Soho, Tommy knew Nicky was involved in drugs but to what extent he didn’t know. It seemed to be the habit of his family, not to know and not to care.

The way Tommy was going to judge if it was a permanent departure was by Nicky’s statue of the Virgin Mary. If it’d gone he knew his brother had gone too. It was a bizarre thing that his brother, who lived his life in such variance with everything the Catholic Church taught, still clung onto the fact that if he put his faith in the weekly mass and Father Maloney, somehow he’d find redemption.

Tommy kicked back the dirty rolled-up clothes piled in the bottom of Nicky’s wardrobe. Jeans, socks, underwear, burnt foil and a home-produced crack pipe made from a miniature Baileys bottle. Everything crammed into the small white wardrobe. Everything apart from the statue. His brother had gone.