Family Betrayal Page 17

  ‘I didn't even know that the council offered exchanges,’ Steve said.

  ‘Yeah, well, it's just as well that they do. Mind you, it wasn't easy. Most of the people on the list wanted the same area, but bigger places with more bedrooms. I was lucky to find a family in Kent who wanted to move to Battersea, and that they agreed to swap their place for Drapers Alley.’

  ‘I still don't think that Dan will let them move in.’

  Ivy shrugged. ‘He ain't in a fit state to stop them. Anyway, he doesn't own this house, and as the council agreed the exchange nobody can stop them.’

  ‘Danny might, and I wouldn't want to be in their shoes in the morning.’

  ‘Look, the family used to live in this area, and if they haven't heard of the Drapers, it ain't our problem. The husband has been offered a good job in the brewery so they want to move back, and it's up to them to sort anyone out who wants to stop them.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I wish them luck.’

  Ivy risked a peek outside. The night was clear, the moon shining, yet she consoled herself with the thought that it wasn't far to the corner. If they went now they should make it unseen. ‘I think we can risk it.’

  ‘I hope you're right,’ Steve said, ‘but I still don't know why we're sneaking off like this.’

  ‘For Gawd's sake, Steve, we talked about this. For one, you were too scared to tell Danny that you're leaving the yard, and secondly it's a way to pay him back for the way you've been treated. When we go without warning he'll be left in the shit with nobody to take your place.’

  Steve scratched his head. ‘Yeah, I suppose so, but it still seems a bit cloak and dagger.’

  ‘What's cloak and dagger, Daddy?’ Ernie asked.

  It was Ivy who answered. ‘It's an adventure. Now come on, kids, we're off. When we get outside I want you to scoot around the corner.’

  Harry yawned and Ivy became impatient. ‘Steve, you'll have to pick him up.’

  ‘Leave it out. How am I supposed to do that and carry the suitcases?’

  Ivy heaved a sigh. ‘Ernie, I want you to hold Harry's hand, and make sure that he doesn't dawdle.’

  ‘Why have we got to go? Why can't we stay here?’

  ‘I've told you. We're moving to a new house, and when you see it, you'll love it. Now shut up about it, and as I said, hold Harry's hand.’

  With that, Ivy picked up two suitcases, whilst Steve did the same. She took one last peek outside and then ushering the boys ahead of her, she urged them on as they all scooted out of the alley. Steve had been reluctant to use what little money they had saved to buy an old banger, but Ivy had told him that a car, even one that looked a bit of a wreck, was essential in the country. There'd be no buses to hop on, no underground trains, but despite the remoteness of the village, she couldn't wait to get there.

  Steve found the old car hard to start and Ivy's nerves were jangling, but even so she was happy. After all this time everything she had hoped for had come to fruition. She had wanted to see her uncle brought low, and thanks to George he was suffering now, just as her mother had. Her Uncle Dan was finished, in a wheelchair, a gibbering wreck. Yes, it was time to leave Drapers Alley – time for her new life to begin.

  When Joan got up the following morning, she saw the note that had been shoved through her letter box and ran to pick it up. It was from Ivy, to tell her that they had left the alley. Joan threw it down. It was a bit sudden, but in truth she didn't care. When she had first seen the note her heart had skipped, hoping it was from George, because despite what he had done he was still her son, and she couldn't help wondering where he was. It had been over three months now – three long months without news.

  As though reading her mind, Pet asked, ‘Mum, is that letter from George?’

  Joan looked up, her eyes clouded for a moment. ‘No, it's from Ivy to tell me that they've moved out.’

  ‘What? But why would she leave without saying goodbye?’

  ‘I don't know,’ Joan said impatiently. She didn't care that Ivy had left the alley. She was just pleased to see the back of Dan's niece.

  Hearing a soft groan, Joan went over to the day bed, smiling softly. ‘Morning, love.’

  There was no reply from Dan, just a wave of his good arm, and knowing what he wanted Joan said, ‘Come on, Petula, give me a hand. Your dad wants to go to the bathroom.’

  The morning routine began then, and Joan was glad of her daughter's help. She was at home from school during the summer holidays, which had been a godsend, but things would become difficult when she returned for her last term. Still, Joan thought, Yvonne was marvellous, always on hand to lend a hand, but it was a shame that she couldn't allow Danny in to see his father. One look at his eldest son and Dan went mad, so much so that she had been forced to tell Danny to stay away. She still didn't understand what caused it, but felt the only explanation could be that Dan resented that he was so helpless – that he was forced to let Danny take over running the business.

  When Chris came downstairs half an hour later, Joan handed him Ivy's note, watching as his eyes widened.

  ‘This doesn't make sense. Why has Ivy buggered off without saying anything?’

  ‘Search me,’ Joan said, ‘but if you ask me it's good riddance to bad rubbish.’

  Dan began to gibber and Joan wondered if he was upset that Ivy had left, but was distracted when Chris threw down the note.

  ‘I'd better warn Danny that Steve won't be opening the yard,’ he said.

  ‘What about your breakfast?’

  ‘I'll have it later.’

  ‘Come on, Dan, calm down,’ Joan urged as Chris hurried out. ‘There's no need to take on just because Ivy's gone. She's a grown woman and not your responsibility. If you ask me you've done enough for her, and I ain't pleased that she didn't even bother to come to see you to say goodbye.’

  ‘Dad, don't,’ Petula said, taking her father's hand, and as usual, Dan responded immediately to his daughter, slumping ungainly in his chair.

  ‘Petula, get the breakfast on and after that you can go upstairs to make our beds. Go on now, I can see to your father,’ Joan snapped.

  Petula did as she was told whilst Joan frowned, wondering why Dan always responded well to his daughter, but took no notice of her.

  The brothers were at the yard. Danny, fuming, was unaware that a car was parked outside, the three men inside closely watching the entrance.

  ‘I can't fucking believe this,’ Danny said, his eyes sweeping over his brothers as he sat behind his dad's old desk. ‘With Steve gone we're another man short – who's gonna do the bloody deliveries?’

  ‘I know what dives in Soho have placed orders, so I can take the films out,’ Chris offered. ‘Are they already in the van?’

  ‘Yeah, they're in the hidden compartment,’ said Bob.

  ‘All right. Chris, you take on the driving, and Bob, you'll have to handle the yard,’ said Danny, shaking his head with annoyance. ‘That just leaves me and Maurice in Wimbledon to handle the filming, but as soon as you've finished the deliveries, Chris, you can meet us there.’

  ‘Why can't Maurice stay in the yard? I'd be more use at Wimbledon,’ Bob complained.

  ‘Oh, for fuck's sake, Bob, why do you have to question every decision I make? If we get a big order for building gear, Maurice ain't up to loading it on his own.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, all right.’

  ‘Sorry, Bob,’ said Maurice, his expression sheepish.

  ‘Don't worry about it,’ Bob said.

  ‘Right, before we go, let's take a look at the books. How are we doing, Maurice?’

  ‘We're doing all right, and profits are up on last month.’

  Danny looked at Maurice's neat entries, somewhat mollified to see that he was right. Yes, things were looking up, but they still had to push harder. It wasn't going to be easy without Steve, and Danny was still annoyed that the git had buggered off without a word. He had no idea where he and Ivy had gone, but if he got his hands on Steve he'd wring his blo
ody neck.

  The three men continued to watch the entrance. So far they had found out little and Jack Garston was growing impatient.

  ‘If you ask me, this is a waste of time,’ said one. ‘We followed them here, and so far they ain't moved.’

  ‘Are you gonna tell Garston that?’ asked another, his wide-set shoulders straining the seams of his suit as he turned towards the back seat.

  ‘Leave it out, of course not.’

  The third man sniffed through a nose that had been broken, giving him a pug-faced look. He flexed his large muscular arms before speaking. ‘Look, Garston wants us to teach them a lesson, but we need to get one of the Draper boys on his own. Now shut up and just keep watching.’

  The sun was rising higher in the sky, all three sweltering and growing more impatient, but at last they saw movement. Two of the Draper boys were heading for a car, whilst another went to a van.

  ‘He's on his own so we'll take him,’ the pug-faced one said.

  They waited until the van drove off and then followed, keeping a safe distance.

  ‘The Drapers are mad to take on Garston,’ the driver said. ‘That's something they're soon gonna find out.’

  ‘Yeah. Are we gonna take out his kneecaps like the last bloke?’

  ‘No,’ said the pug-faced one, ‘it's gonna be in daylight and Garston said to just give him a warning. There'll be no shooters this time.’

  They drove over the Thames, still keeping the van in sight, grinning when it eventually reached Soho. This was Garston's territory. He ruled this area and even if there were witnesses, not one of them would dare to say a word. On the rare occasions that anyone dared to cross Jack Garston, his revenge was swift, and so his reputation had grown. There was little he didn't have a hand in. He ran clubs, prostitutes, made hard-porn films, and had a protection racket that lined his coffers with even more money. He ran his empire on fear, his men knowing that they'd be taken out if they didn't obey his orders.

  The van now turned into a side street, pulling up outside a sex shop, and the order was given to park behind it.

  ‘Come on,’ the pug-faced one said, slipping a knife out of his pocket. ‘Grab him and hold him steady, while I mess up his pretty face.’ Unaware that he'd been followed, Chris didn't stand a chance. He tried to fight off the men who held him, but two of them had him in a vicelike grip.

  The pug-faced one leered, his face close to Chris's as he spat, ‘This is a message from Jack Garston. He knows what you Drapers are up to, and wants you out.’

  With that he moved back, a sickly grin on his face as he raised his hand, the knife slicing through Chris's cheek like butter. He ignored the scream, saying, ‘Count yourself lucky that you're still alive. If you and your brothers don't stay out of Garston's territory, you won't be so lucky next time.’

  They shoved Chris then, watching as he landed in the gutter, his face pouring blood. Laughing, they went back to their car and screeched away.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Danny and Maurice jumped into action as soon as they got the phone call, Danny breaking every speed limit as they drove to the hospital. Chris was already in the treatment room when they got there so Danny paced as he waited outside, whilst Maurice was slumped in a chair beside Bob.

  The emergency department was packed, and Danny grimaced when he saw a couple of drunken tramps staggering in. He swiftly changed direction to avoid going near them, yet still their stench reached his nostrils, making them twitch with distaste. Since setting up the hard-porn side of the business in June, there'd been no sign of trouble and he cursed himself for not taking more precautions. From what Bob had told him, Chris's injury wasn't serious, but from now on they would have to raise their guard.

  As Chris came out of the treatment room, his cheek covered in a wad of gauze, Maurice rose to his feet. ‘Bloody hell, Mum's gonna have a fit when she sees him.’

  Danny raised a hand to stroke his scar. ‘It never did my reputation any harm.’

  ‘Who did it, Chris? Was it Garston?’ Maurice asked.

  ‘Not personally, but a few of his mob.’

  ‘So it's started, and this is probably just a warning. I reckon we should pack it in – get out now before Garston ups the stakes.’

  ‘Leave it out, Maurice,’ said Bob. ‘We're just starting to rake in the money.’

  ‘Yeah, and we can handle Garston,’ said Danny.

  Bob touched Chris's arm. ‘How do you feel? Is it giving you gyp?’

  ‘Nah, I'll survive. Now come on, let's get out of here.’

  The four brothers left casualty, but as they climbed into Danny's car, Maurice continued to complain. ‘I still think we should pack it in. What about you, Chris? What do you think? You're the one that got a kicking.’

  ‘I'd hardly call it that. If I'd had a bit of backup, I'd have taken the bastards out.’

  ‘It's my fault,’ Danny admitted. ‘Garston hasn't done a thing since we started up so I let myself become complacent. It was wrong to underestimate him and I should have seen it coming.’

  ‘You haven't answered my question, Chris,’ Maurice persisted. ‘Do you think we should pack it in?’

  ‘No I don't. Stop acting like an old woman, Maurice. This is nothing – if we get a bit more muscle, we can handle Garston.’

  ‘That'll cost an arm and a leg.’

  ‘We'll find the money, so just shut up about it,’ Danny said, shoving his foot onto the accelerator and screeching out of the car park.

  Though Danny was watching the road, his mind was elsewhere, his thoughts on Garston and just how far the man would go to put them out of business. Well, sod him, because despite Maurice's carping, he wasn't about to give up. To make things right for his father, he needed money, lots of it, but so far almost everything they made went back into the business.

  ‘It's not worth opening up the yard now, or going back to Wimbledon, so we might as well pack in for the day,’ Danny said.

  When they arrived home, Maurice was still acting like an old woman, looking nervously over his shoulder, and Danny shook his head in disgust. The alley was safe, but Maurice had always been a weakling, useless if there was any sign of trouble, all brains and no brawn.

  As Bob and Maurice went into their houses, Chris said, ‘Right, I'm going in to face the music. See you later, Danny.’

  Danny knew there was no way he could go into his mother's house and just gave Chris a small wave. He had tried to see his father as soon as he came home from hospital, wanting to assure him that he wasn't going to use kids in the films. He hadn't been able to get a word in. When his father saw him he'd gone mad, bellowing like a maniac. His mother had rushed into the room, ordering him out, and telling him that he would have to stay away. Since then she had become like a sentinel, barring his entry. It cracked him up when Yvonne told him that his father wasn't getting any better and Danny knew that the conditions the old man lived in didn't help. He spent all of his time in the cramped living room, his outlook just a factory wall.

  Danny felt swamped by depression. He wanted more for his father – decent accommodation and fresh country air – but they needed money to do that. It was getting so that every day was a fight, a fight to hold himself together, but he had to keep going, had to keep the business profitable. He owed his father – and big time.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Joan asked as soon as Chris walked in the door.

  ‘I had a bit of an accident at the yard, that's all.’

  Joan lifted the gauze to one side, seeing the cut and history repeating itself. Danny had once come home with a similar gash down his cheek. ‘You've had stitches and that wound looks like it was caused by a knife.’

  ‘It wasn't, Mum.’

  Joan could see she wasn't going to get anything out of her son. Like the rest of the boys, he was secretive, but she was sure he'd been in a fight. Though she didn't want to admit it, Ivy leaving so suddenly had unsettled her. Like George she had just upped and gone. Though she would never be able
to forgive her son for what he had done to his father, she couldn't help thinking about him. Had Chris attacked George? And if so, how badly? At times she wondered if she should talk to Danny about her fears, but then always decided against it. There had been enough trouble, enough violence, and anyway, maybe as Chris said, it hadn't been blood on the bathroom floor.

  Joan pushed her fears to one side as usual, instead thinking about George's empty house. They had kept up the rent, and would continue to do so, making sure that another family didn't move into the alley, but there was still Ivy's house. She said in her note that she'd got an exchange, but so far nobody had moved into her house. It was bound to happen soon, though, but if strangers moved into the alley, they'd have to keep it away from Dan until they could be chased out. She was about to voice these thoughts to Chris, but then Dan began to grunt, his arm waving.

  ‘What is it, love? Do you need the bathroom?’

  When he made a bellowing sound, Chris said, ‘I'll give you a hand, Mum.’

  ‘Are you up to it?’

  ‘Of course I am. It's only a cut.’

  Joan was glad of the help. She still worried about Chris, the haunted look that was in his eyes, but Dan was her main concern. She could wheel him to the bathroom, but the effort of lifting him onto the toilet without help nearly broke her back. She had tried to get him to use a commode, but he had made his feelings plain even though he couldn't speak, becoming so agitated that she had feared he'd have another stroke. Joan closed her eyes at the thoughts that invaded her mind. She had prayed for Dan's survival and her prayers had been answered, but this wasn't Dan, not any more. He was now like a child, needing almost everything done for him. His days were spent just sitting in his wheelchair, his nights asleep on the day bed.