Saturday, 23 July 2005
It was Donna and Jeffrey Cork’s last night at 10 Maynard Road, Heldon.
Donna was at the top of the stairs when she heard the car pull up, the Ford Escort’s fan belt still screaming to be repaired or replaced. She threw her eyes onto her sleeping three year old boy and then at the clock at his bedside. When caught by shafts of light beaming in between partially closed curtains, Donald Duck pointed at 8.50pm. The light reminded Donna just how much her son was beginning to look more and more like his father. Tucking away stray strands of black hair behind keen ears, she sidestepped toy cars strewn on the stairs.
Outside, a series of light flicking and curtain twitching commenced amongst the row of terraced houses and the thud of a shutting window broke the night, startling a little bird into flight.
Inside the Ford Escort, Bobby Greaves kept his engine running. With one hand remaining on the steering wheel, he lit a cigarette and without glancing to his left, offered the pack to his passenger.
Jeffrey Cork unclipped his seatbelt, waved away the offer of a smoke, shifted in his seat and shaped to speak. “Afternoon drinking kills me,” he said.
“You’ll live,” said Bobby.
“I can’t do this no more. Not afternoon drinking. I mean working for Charlie…”
“I know what you meant but that’s not your decision to make.”
Jeffrey looked towards his house. “It’s too dangerous. I have to think of Donna and Jamie.”
Bobby switched off his engine, looked down and then to his left. “You should have thought of them before crossing Charlie Fraser. What the fuck were you thinking?”
Jeffrey looked at the palms of his hands and wiped them on his jeans. “Money. I was thinking money.”
“Then you should have come to me first. But no. Instead, you go to Fat Ali. I mean fuckin’ Fat Ali Jeff?”
“Have a word with Charlie for me. Tell him how sorry I am. I’ll do anything. Just not this.”
“Tell him yourself if you have the balls to do it but I can tell you now, Charlie won’t budge on this. We thought you were one of us. We go way back. Remember?”
“I can’t believe this is happening to me. Is that guy gonna be alright?”
“Yeah, you’ll be surprised how someone’s head bouncing off the pavement wakes them from their fuckin’ slumber. Look, you’re just doing some cleaning for Charlie. OK?”
“OK, but…”
“Listen, I’ll look after you. You’re lucky to have me as a mate. If it was anyone else…well. Anyway, I best be off. I gotta go. Love to Donna and the little man. Get out of my car Corky. I’ll call you.”
With her nose to the tinted glass of the front door, Donna saw the car pull away. She watched as Jeffrey stumbled and fumbled for his keys before clumsily feeding one into the lock. Upon seeing her husband’s face poke around the door, Donna’s green eyes softened and the notes of anxiety earlier sent to all parts of her body were retracted. She mouthed the words be quiet. With little stealth, Jeffrey kicked off his shoes, shook off his coat and bounded towards his wife. Donna put her forefinger to her mouth, pointed upwards and brought one side of her face down onto a mock pillow of praying hands that hoped Jamie Cork stayed sleeping. Jeffrey pulled Donna towards him. She felt and smelt satisfyingly familiar to him. He smelt of the Elephant & Castle.
“I’m going up to see JC,” said Jeffrey.
“On your tippy toes please and leave the cars on the stairs. I need to make a call.”
An hour later, at 17 Greenacres, Bobby Greaves cut short a telephone conversation. He made a fuss of Sonny and opened the back door allowing the English Bulldog the run of the garden. Once outside, Sonny cocked his leg and came running back in, looking for his master.
With Sonny at his heels, Bobby darkened the room. A lamp opposite the sofa filled the room with a reddish glow. He remembered a quote from an old friend. “Just ‘cos a man’s alone, don’t mean he’s lonely.”
Snatching a bottle of whisky and some doggie treats, Bobby slumped into the sofa. He broke the bottle’s seal and poured himself a drink. Two plops of ice followed. The drink tasted good. The cigarette tasted even better. Booze and fags, a love affair nobody should ever break up.
He contemplated the instruction, find a way to get rid of him, the threat, if you can’t, I’ll find someone who can, and the very recent plea, help us, you arsehole.
Fingering a tiny piece of ice around the bottom of the tumbler, Bobby looked at Sonny. “What do I do boy?” Sonny tilted his head to the left and to the right. Bobby poured himself another drink and Sonny gorged on the treats.
Just after midnight at 57 Holbrook Road, Steven and Angela Kane were wondering when their 3 year old girl would “go the fuck to sleep”. Steven’s mobile rang.
“Who could that be at this hour Steven?”
“Beats me.” Steven could just about make out the slurring words of the caller. “What? Now? Let’s wait ‘til the morning shall we? OK. OK! Chill!” Steven ended the call with, “Stay there, I’ll come to you.”
Angela looked at her husband. “Well?”
“That was Bobby.”
“What’s happened? Has he run out of whisky?”
“Jeffrey has pissed off the boss.”
“No shit Sherlock.”
At 2am Bobby Greaves and Steven Kane approached 10 Maynard Road. They pulled up outside the house. Bobby leaned towards Stephen and spoke into his ear. “Let’s go round the back. We don’t want to make a scene.”
“At this hour, we’re making a scene.”
“Get the boy, I’ll deal with Jeffrey and Donna. Once we’re all in the car, just drive.”
“Where to?”
“McDonalds for a round of happy meals, I don’t know Steve, just fuckin’ drive.”
But when they finally teased open the back door, Jeffrey, Donna and Jamie were gone.
