CRUEL SECRETS Read online

  Sheila was more angry than scared, but that was her all over. Like Eddie, she thought she was invincible. But Jordan was shitting himself, and unlike his usual bolshie self, he remained quiet and still.

  Sheila glared at Cyril. “I thought you had retired from the game.”

  She was sitting at the dining-room table, quite composed for a woman with a gun at her head.

  “Yeah, you can’t keep a good man down can you, and anyway, I came out for the guv’nor.”

  Sheila tilted her head. “But Eddie’s dead.”

  Frank laughed and his deep gruff tone unnerved Sheila; suddenly fear consumed her.

  “He is dead, isn’t he?”

  Cyril nodded. “Yep, proper brown fucking bread.”

  “So, who are you on about?” she asked, searching their faces for answers.

  Kelly pulled up outside as planned and was greeted by two men who looked to be in their forties. The taller guy, with a nasty scar down his cheek, smiled and showed his false gnashes. “You can go in, Kelly, Cyril’s inside.”

  The other man opened the front door for her. She took a deep breath, composed herself, and waltzed in to find both Jordan and Sheila at the dining table. Frank and Cyril had big cheesy grins.

  “That’s the guv’nor!” retorted Cyril.

  Sheila frowned as she gazed at her granddaughter who wasn’t a lost youngster with no savvy but evidently a resourceful and determined woman. Kelly stood tall and still, focused on her adversary, her eyes cold and unblinking, and her body language comparable to that of a boxer who was just about to knock out her opponent with one punch. Sheila had to admire her. She was young and beautiful and yet her eyes looked daunting and devious. The sneer on her face was all Eddie’s – she was her father’s daughter all right. That look would put the shit up most men and have them quaking in their boots. She realised that Kelly meant business; if she didn’t think of an exit strategy quickly, she would be toast, like her brother.

  “Kelly, you think you have the backing of this motley crew. Well, let me tell you, sweetheart, they are only after your diamond, your money, and probably a fuck at the end of it.”

  Cyril was livid she could say such a sick thing and pulled his hand back to smash her in the face, but Kelly shouted, “No, Cyril, don’t lower yourself. You don’t hit women.”

  Cyril complied and Sheila could see the power Kelly had. It angered her. Kelly was a kid in comparison; she shouldn’t have this much clout. She tried a different tack.

  “Kelly, can’t you see what they are up to? They only want what you have. They are scumbags. They ain’t family but I am. I wanted to get you here to talk, and believe me, I wasn’t going to hurt Keffa. I just wanted your attention, and it was the only way I knew how to get it.” By now, she sounded pathetic, almost grovelling.

  Kelly was holding the small bottle concealed in her hand. “Ya know what, Granny, I think we need to sit down and talk over a nice brandy. I am sure we all need a drink. Let’s clear the air and get some facts straight.”

  Sheila noticed the change in Kelly’s voice and stupidly relaxed her shoulders. Perhaps she had built up false concerns about this girl’s attributes. She sensed a weakness and would aim to exploit it. She was a hard case herself, she had proved it, but had Kelly? For all she knew, her brother’s death may have been an accident. But she hated this woman for it, nonetheless.

  Kelly went to the kitchen, where she knew her mother kept a bottle of brandy under the sink, and sure enough, it was still there. She retrieved five glasses and poured the brandies and put them on a tray with the bottle that only had enough for one or two more glasses. Assuming plan A was successful, she laced the remainder of the brandy with the poison. She fervently hoped this would work; otherwise, her fallback position would be plan B, the fake gem.

  After placing them on the table, she nodded for them to take a glass. Sheila snatched hers first, from the opposite side of the tray, just in case it was poisoned. Cyril took one, followed by Frank.

  Sheila watched to see if the men drank theirs and was relieved to see them down it in one and slam the glasses back on the tray.

  “Go on, Sheila, I think we all need a drink, and you, Jordan,” smiled Kelly, in a reassuring tone, as if they were best buddies. Cyril watched his ‘niece’ with pride, pleased with the way she was handling things. Sheila was dry-mouthed but swallowed the brandy, along with Jordan, who was still shitting himself.

  Kelly took a seat opposite her grandmother and her niece.

  “So, Sheila, it seems to me, and correct me if I’m wrong, you have overstepped the mark, and I for one don’t take too kindly to people that mess with me family.”

  Sheila felt sick, listening to Kelly, talking exactly like Eddie. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong’ was his saying.

  “So, dear ol’ Granny, get on the phone and call your men. If they don’t let Keffa go, then Frank ’ere will start using his tool kit, won’t ya, Frank?”

  Frank and Cyril were amused by Kelly’s role at playing the hard woman but went along with it anyway. “Yep, I think some of me tools ’ave gone rusty.”

  There was no secret regarding Frank’s nickname, ‘the butcher’, and Sheila felt her stomach contents rise to the back of her throat.

  Almost immediately, Cyril’s phone rang; it was Blakey. “Mate, we ’ave a problem. Junior and his sidekick have given Keffa a right messy hiding. We are gonna have to call an ambulance, but that means the Ol’ Bill sniffing around and two dead fuckers in Keffa’s flat.”

  “Get him in your car. King’s College Hospital is just down the road. The ambulance will take too long. Get Beano to take out the rubbish, down to me brother Howie’s place. The pigs need fattening anyway.”

  Kelly kept her eyes firmly on Sheila and Jordan, while she spoke to Cyril. “What did they do to Keffa?” Her voice, like a robot, was too calm and controlled for the situation.

  “Sorry, Kel, he got beaten pretty badly, but Blakey’s taking him to the hospital now.”

  Sheila suddenly blurted out, “And my boy?”

  Cyril shook his head. “Your boy and his mate are now fattening up me brother’s pigs.”

  Sheila swallowed hard; she loved Junior, but Jordan was her favourite.

  Kelly smiled at Sheila. “It appears that you are a clever liar, so here’s the thing …” She stopped and poured the last of the brandy into Sheila’s and Jordan’s glasses. There were still a few dregs in her own glass. “Firstly, you should never ’ave lied, and secondly, you should never ’ave hurt Keffa.”

  Sheila felt her nerves take over, as the blood drained from her head, and her stomach churned over. She had a weak bladder anyway and the warm liquid was pouring away and dripping on the floor. Her legs shook and her throat tightened. She glanced at the brandy, and to calm her nerves, she downed it in one. Jordan had never seen so much fear in his mother’s eyes; he followed suit, knocking back the drink.

  Kelly stood up and smirked. “It seems to me, you wicked old bitch, this game is over. I ain’t a silly little kid. Sadly, I have inherited the sins of my father.”

  It wasn’t long before Sheila knew this for herself. The muscles in her throat constricted, she felt some burning in her stomach, and her racing pulse was enough to realise she had just succumbed to poison. Jordan died first, followed by his mother.

  Kelly turned to Frank and Cyril. “Well, at least they didn’t make a mess.” She pulled from her pocket the fake gem and held it up to the light. “I didn’t need this, then.” Kelly drove to the hospital in record time; all she could think about was Keffa, praying that he would live. She left Frank and Cyril to clean up. It was at that moment she realised she had reached a tipping point: her old life had now morphed into a new one. Oppressed, tormented, and imprisoned mentally for much of her younger years by her mother, who was to blame for her own lack of confidence, the subsequent prison sentence for the manslaughter of Patrick had actually had the opposite effect, in that it had acted as a catalyst for releasing all those powe
rful traits in her personality which determined who she really was.

  She liked the term ‘guv’nor’: it had a certain cachet to it.

  Also, secretly, she wasn’t averse to enjoying her new-found authority.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Six weeks later

  The rain was a gentle fine spray and wasn’t enough to ruin the arrangements. The cars pulled up outside the house in Peckham. The mourners gathered to pay their last respects, waiting on the pavement for Kelly to appear. She stepped out of the house, wearing a neatly fitted black dress and a beautiful large hat. Dressed in such a sophisticated style, the men could not help but notice how stunning she looked.

  Lippy and Betty followed, both still horrified by recent events in their absence. Rudy held on to Lippy’s arm to help her down the steps. She was still a little weak, but her trip to Jamaica had improved her health, and the new medication was working.

  *

  In fact, considering Kelly’s ordeal, Lippy was unusually calm and in good spirits. A stretch limousine had picked them up from the airport, for her comfort more than anything else. Kelly, along with Keffa and the boys, waited eagerly for the limo to arrive.

  They had, as Keffa suggested, brought the decorators in and overhauled the whole house. The new furniture in the lounge was grand and yet comfortable. The only piece untouched was Rudy’s grandad chair. The new soft carpets and subtle colours on the freshly plastered walls gave a homely and warm feel. The windows were replaced with triple-glazing, to keep out the draughts and the noise from the street, and then dressed with luxury heavy curtains. Kelly organised Lippy’s bedroom, replacing all the mismatched wardrobes and drawers with top quality built-in furniture, so that all her posh frocks could be hung up behind closed doors and not be seen dangling haphazardly off anything with a ridge. She had also bought the softest high-quality bedding. Kelly did, however, keep some things that were of obvious sentimental value. The kitchen she’d had refitted with solid wood units and granite worktops but kept the layout the same. The ill-assorted cups and Lippy’s huge cooking pot remained, but the gadgets were all replaced with ones that worked properly. Kelly knew that no matter how poorly Lippy was, she still liked to spend time in the kitchen, and so she made sure everything was easy to use. It was, all in all, a very satisfactory outcome: the house looked like a millionaire’s pad.

  Lippy and Rudy had no idea they would be walking into a newly decorated home and the surprise was met with overwhelming tears. Lippy flooded Kelly’s face with kisses and wiped the tears of joy with the back of her hand. “Oh, I missed you, Bluey, and look what you have done! I can’t believe it. I feel like a queen,” she cried.

  “You are, Lippy, you are the queen of your castle.”

  Rudy was gobsmacked, and instead of his usual animated self, he wandered from room to room, taking it all in. He ran his hands across the new fabrics and couldn’t help but marvel at all the top-class design features that had been installed with no expense spared.

  “Do you like it, Rudy? I mean, it was probably cheeky, but I just thought …”

  He flung his arms around her. “It’s perfect, Bluey, just like you.”

  *

  Betty was surprised by the change in Kelly; not only was she so grown-up, she also had gained a real air of confidence. She was so proud with how her niece had adjusted to all the traumatic events. Most people would have probably ended up in a nuthouse.

  Cyril and Frank were waiting by the cars with each member of the firm. They nodded in Kelly’s direction, as a mark of respect. With help from Lippy and her aunt Bet, she arranged for the cars to be covered in roses and did the same in the church. It was more like a wedding than a funeral though. With no expense spared, she paid for a huge marble angel to stand over the grave. But like Kelly said, “It’s the least I can do.”

  The service was short but sweet and the church was filled with mourners: men from the past, friends, and acquaintances, they all came to pay their respects. Some, of course, were there to be nosy; after all, it was a shocking state of affairs and left many with sadness in their hearts. Kelly, however, greeted everyone with her head held high. In turn, they responded with compassion and admiration. Kelly soon realised that with the public display of loyalty given to her by the firm, others followed suit.

  As they left the church and gathered around the graveyard, Kelly looked down at the empty hole and a tear left her eye. Keffa sensed her emotion and slid his hand around her waist. “She will be at peace now, Bluey,” he whispered. She looked at the gravestone to the left and read the inscription: JACK MCFARLANE, LOVING FATHER.

  The coffin was lowered and Kelly threw a pink peace rose on the top. She swallowed back the lump lodged in her throat and regained her composure. Her dear, sweet mother, the only innocent person in all this mess, was finally laid to rest without ever living long enough to watch her baby grow up into a fine young woman: her daughter. At least her real mum would be side by side with her father, Jack.

  As the service came to an end and Kelly walked towards the cars, she spotted a familiar figure standing by some trees, away from the crowd. A thin red-haired woman, holding a small posy of flowers, lifted her hand to hesitantly wave. Kelly hastened her pace to greet her, and as soon as they were a foot apart, Kelly threw her arms around her. “Ruth, what are you doing here?”

  Ruth looked down. “I read about it in the newspaper and I just had to come and … well, I don’t know, really, I just wanted to see if you were okay.”

  Kelly hugged her again. “I’ve missed you, Ruth. How are you doing? How are the kiddies?”

  Ruth gave her her best fake smile. “Yeah, we are good, you know, plodding on, like.”

  Then she shyly turned her head and that’s when Kelly saw the bruise. This wasn’t the time or place to discuss how her Ruth had received that black mark, but as soon as the funeral was over, she was going to do something about it.

  “Ahh, bless you, Ruth, for coming. You can put the flowers on the grave, if you like.”

  Ruth looked down at her cheap bunch of a few straggly carnations. “Well, it’s not much.”

  Kelly sensed her embarrassment. “Ya know what, Ruth, it don’t matter about flowers, it’s what’s in your heart that counts. Are ya coming back to me pub? We are holding the wake there?”

  Ruth shook her head. “I would really love to, but the ol’ man don’t know I’m here, so I best be off.”

  “Where are you living, Ruth?”

  The fear was written all over Ruth’s face, and Kelly knew then she was controlled by her husband. The thin shell of a woman was imprisoned in a loveless marriage, abused and used by a vicious man.

  “Oh, a flat in Lewisham, at the back of the hospital, in Main Street, number 15. But I can’t have visitors. He don’t like it.”

  Keffa walked over to Kelly. “Babe, they are waiting for you.” He nodded respectfully at Ruth.

  “Okay, Ruth, well thank you for coming. It means such a lot to me.” She hugged her and then linked arms with Keffa. In the distance, she could see a few reporters and the men trying to move them on. She was told this would happen and was advised not to let them get a mug shot of her, or her face would be all over the news again. The story had been a sensation.

  The headline had read Gangster Eddie Raven and his sister in suicide pact: girlfriend dug up from basement.

  It had taken a week or so for the stories and news reports to die down. Kelly decided to leave the burial for six weeks, hoping it could be a quiet family affair without the reporters sensationalising it. Yet, they were there again, trying to capture a few images just to dig up the story once more. It infuriated Kelly that she had to cover her face before stepping into the blacked-out car.

  Lippy and Betty sat opposite and Keffa was by her side.

  “You all right, Kel?” asked Bet.

  Kelly nodded. “The dirty bastards, they couldn’t even let us say goodbye in peace. All I can say is, God help ’em, if they even try to
step foot in me pub, ’cos it’s off limits to the public.”

  Bet saw the fierce look in her eyes and knew then that her once sweet and naïve little niece was now a force to be reckoned with. She had the hardest of men by her side, there for the duration.

  As they approached the pub, Kelly took a deep breath and held her head up like Cyril had told her to. Frank opened her door, and as she stepped out, he kissed her cheek and whispered, “Keep that chin up, babe. You are the guv’nor, remember.”

  The pub was filled to the rafters, and it was Kelly’s job to welcome the mourners and stay in control. Cyril and Frank had coached her over the last six weeks. It was as though they wanted her to fill Eddie’s boots. She had the businesses and the clout to keep them running, with guidance from her firm and Keffa by her side, of course.

  After an hour or so, the door opened, and in walked Johnnie Carter with two of his men, as bold as brass. Cyril and Blakey spotted him and nodded to Frank, but by the time they weaved their way through the crowd, Johnnie was face-to-face with Kelly. A few mourners stepped aside, knowing full well who the uninvited guest was. Kelly had never met the man but sensed the tension in the air.

  “What do you want, Carter?” demanded Keffa, having never left Kelly’s side.

  Waving her hand for Keffa to be quiet, she carefully placed her drink on the bar and glared at the menacing-looking but smartly dressed man, wearing a black Crombie. By that time, Frank, Cyril, and Blakey were there. Johnnie sneered when he realised she had very dangerous men watching her back.

  “I came to pay my respects!” His voice was deep and harsh, a result of too many fags and booze. Much like Eddie, he had the air of a cocky and arrogant individual, which irritated Kelly even more.

  The new guv’nor of South London looked down at Carter’s shoes for a couple of seconds, which made him feel uncomfortable, and then she looked up. The atmosphere in the room suddenly dropped several degrees, as everyone waited to hear Kelly’s response. But by merely raising an eyebrow, and in her clearest voice, she replied, “To me or to my mother, Mr Carter?”