Bad Catholics (12 page)

Read Bad Catholics Online

Authors: James Green

George just took it for granted that Jimmy and Bernadette were already having sex. Jimmy pocketed the keys. ‘Thanks, George. I'll be going now, take it easy.'

‘What else can I fucking well do? But when I get out I'll want my bed back quick, so get cracking, eh.'

Jimmy nodded and left the ward.

Bernadette had listened to his awkward suggestion of using George's flat and surprised him by quietly agreeing. The only thing she had asked was whether he would be able to manage with his arm. Jimmy had given the same story to Bernadette as he had to his mother and she, like his mother, had accepted it.

Jimmy had been pleased and puzzled by the way Bernadette had agreed. He had expected to have to persuade, argue and cajole. It was as if she had been expecting it and already decided to agree. Bernadette was a mystery. A good Catholic herself, she was prepared to commit this grave sin with him, for him, and he guessed that made him a bad Catholic.

Once he had asked and she had agreed he had become aroused and agitated. He had never had sex before and suddenly it had become the most important thing in his life. Now, on a Thursday afternoon like any other, their world was going to change for ever.

Thursday was Jimmy's day off and the day the Post Office closed for the afternoon. Bernadette and Jimmy were walking along the street together. They didn't hold hands as they usually did and there was no conversation. This was a special day for them both.

When they were in George's bedroom and undressing they were both hesitant and awkward. The sight of Bernadette naked had thrilled and excited him as nothing else he could ever remember. His own arousal and nakedness in her presence created sensations of embarrassment and elation which almost made him dizzy. Bernadette had patiently waited for him to lead. At first he was too hurried, he wanted to look at her, touch her, feel her, and penetrate her all at once.

‘Let's get into bed,' she had said after Jimmy had fumbled, groped, and pushed clumsily.

Once in bed after much ineffectual pushing and some pain she helped Jimmy to enter her. The sex lasted hardly any time at all and after it Jimmy had lain heavily upon her, surprised at the suddenness of the climax. He now felt spent.

‘Roll over, Jimmy, you're heavy.'

Jimmy had tried to be gentle and romantic but the difficulty at penetration had reduced him to little more than animal effort. Sex, he felt, was marvellous but it wasn't beautiful. They had lain in bed and talked about their future and then come together once more, more easily but no more romantically. Then they dressed and left the flat to walk back to Bernadette's house.

‘Will I get pregnant now?' she asked eventually as they walked along.

‘I suppose so, we did it twice.'

Both had learned about sex in the school of ignorance and sin. Once was a risk you might get away with, twice made it a certainty.

‘Will we get married, Jimmy, before anything shows?'

Bernadette's question was not a demand nor was it in any sense a weak plea. Jimmy understood it for what it was, a powerful statement of what she would do. Bernadette would have her baby, married or not, she would accept the rejection and humiliation that would inevitably be inflicted on her by family and community. She would shoulder the awful responsibilities, financial and social, of an unmarried Catholic mother with an illegitimate child. She would become poor, despised, and rejected, she would sacrifice her whole life to that new life inside her, begun because Jimmy needed sex. Her question was more of a statement of what she would do, how she would work out her guilt for the awful sin she had just committed. The question was telling Jimmy all of this, but it also told him that he was free to do as he wished, marry her or not as he chose. The sin was hers, she could have, should have, said ‘no'. The woman gave Adam the apple. Jimmy was free to go to Confession and carry on, there was no new life in him. Jimmy was a man, it was different for men.

‘Yes, Bernadette, we'll get married, it's all I've ever really wanted. We'll get married soon.'

Bernadette thanked God in her heart. They would marry, the child would have a father, there would be some small disgrace at such a quick marriage but not humiliation and rejection. The sin could be forgiven, life could go on.

Three days later Bernadette's period began, regular as clockwork.

SIX

Paddington, February 1995

Eddy Clarke walked back to Bart's with Jimmy and then drove to Paddington Rolfe Street police station. He went to Inspector Deal's office and knocked.

‘Yeah.'

He went in.

‘I've found out who Costello is.'

‘And told him he's surplus to requirements?'

‘He knows you want him out, Boss.'

Deal put down the papers he was reading and gave Clarke his full attention.

‘You told him to go or what?'

‘I thought you might want to hear what I found out before you turned push into shove.'

‘Why, is he armed and dangerous?'

‘He's not armed.'

‘All right, Sergeant, tell me all about Mr James Costello.' Deal sat back in his chair and listened.

‘He was a copper, a DS, worked out of a north London nick. He retired about three years ago and left London, disappeared.'

‘So what?'

‘Well, his retirement was one step ahead of something, and it was serious. It was connected to the death of a villain, Denny Morris.'

‘And?'

‘If you ask me, no one wants him back. You'll be in good company, Boss, the cream of both sides of the street will want him gone.'

‘And if we move him, if I move him …'

‘Some very important people would notice.'

‘So why shouldn't push become shove? Seems to be the right result for everyone.'

‘Well, I don't know any details, of course, but if you're going to get him out you might want to know just what it'll take before you start. Maybe you should talk to someone who knows the whole story.'

Deal considered. ‘He doesn't look much to me. But …'

‘It might be a story worth knowing, something to show how well you know the town.'

‘All right, Eddy, it might be worth making a phone call to set up a meet. Anybody special I should talk to?'

‘I wouldn't know, Boss, it was hard enough to get what I got. You know how people clam up when it's something in the family.'

‘Eddy, I asked who I should talk to.'

Clarke thought for a moment. Deal could do things with a duty roster that other people did with their boots in a cell.

‘Flavin would be your best bet, DI Tommy Flavin. He grew up in the same neighbourhood as Costello, they became coppers round about the same time. He'll know all there is to know. If he doesn't tell you, nobody will.'

‘Then I'll talk to Flavin.'

‘Don't mention my name, Boss. The Internal boys at A10 never got involved on this one but it could still be sensitive in high places.'

‘Don't tell me the procedure, Eddy. I know how things go.'

‘Sure, Boss.'

Clarke left and Deal sat thoughtfully in his chair. It was an expensive chair, it was leather and well padded, it swivelled and rocked, it had little wheels so you could move about in it. He liked his chair. He turned round in it, slowly, until he faced the office window and rocked gently. After a few moments he turned and picked up his phone. A voice answered.

‘Sir?'

‘Get me DI Thomas Flavin. I don't know which nick he's at.'

‘Yes, Sir,' replied the voice.

Deal put the phone down and turned to the window again. Costello wasn't important. He might have been something once, but three years out of it changes a man, after three years you've lost touch. He wouldn't be a problem but was he worth the effort? Who, exactly, would notice if he bounced Costello? The phone rang. Deal spun round and picked it up.

‘Thanks, put him on.' There was a pause.

‘Hello, Joe Deal here, Paddington …' He laughed. ‘No, not Paddington Green, nothing so grand, the other one …'

He laughed again. It was a good joke, he'd remember it. ‘That's right, Rolfe Street, the one with the bike sheds and outside toilets. Listen, a sergeant here, Eddy Clarke, gave me your name, Tommy. I want to talk about someone who's turned up on my patch. That's right, Costello. You've already heard. No, it's not part of an investigation, it would just be something between you and me. I like to stay in touch with who's who. When? Tomorrow is fine. What about Bertani's? No, it's a bar-bistro. Where then? What time? Good. See you tomorrow, Tommy.'

Flavin put down the phone, waited a moment and then picked it up again and made a short call. After that he got up and left his office and the station. He walked a little way down the street and then waited until he could flag a taxi.

‘The Rose and Crown, Thorpe Street.'

Sitting in the back of the taxi as it pulled out into the traffic he thought about things. Jimmy was back and now Deal was sniffing. He didn't like Deal. Everybody knew about him and nobody liked him, nobody who was an old-fashioned copper. He was a smart-arse and a bum-licker, but give him his due, he knew how to get close to people who mattered and he was moving up fast. Now some stupid nothing of a stabbing had put him beside Jimmy Costello and he was asking questions. Well, someone would know what to do about it, if indeed anything needed to be done.

At The Rose and Crown, Flavin went to the bar. ‘Back room free, Ken?'

‘Yes, Mr Flavin. Anything to drink?'

‘Coffee, and today's paper.'

‘It's
The Telegraph
,' said Ken apologetically, taking a paper from under the bar.

Flavin looked at the broadsheet in the barman's hand. ‘No thanks, just coffee.' As he walked away he added, ‘Mr Forester will be coming. See to it we're not bothered.'

‘No calls?'

‘No calls, and Ken …'

‘Yes, Mr Flavin?'

‘Pop out and get me a
Daily Mirror
will you?'

About half an hour later a man walked into The Rose and Crown. He nodded to the barman.

‘Want anything, Mr Forester?'

He ignored the barman's question and went into the back room. Flavin looked up from his copy of the
Mirror
.

‘Hello, Norman.'

‘Hello, Tommy.'

‘I've had that prick Deal from Paddington on the phone, wants to talk about Jimmy Costello. What's the starting price on all this now?'

‘Nothing much. Deal's got a murder investigation on, Costello's involved but there's no problem there. It's a nothing.'

‘That's what I thought, but Deal says it's not to do with the investigation, just him and me, he said.'

Forester looked puzzled.

‘He doesn't know about Costello, he wasn't even in this division then. Who gave him your name?'

‘Eddy Clarke, a Sergeant at Deal's nick.'

‘Know anything about him?'

‘He knew Costello. He knew what happened.'

‘So did a lot of people but nobody's ever said anything. Why is Clarke talking now?'

‘I don't know. That's why I phoned you, this is a bit rich for my level.'

‘Yes, you're right. Leave it to me.'

‘What shall I say to Deal?'

‘Tell him what he wants to know, but leave out the bits that want keeping quiet. Tell him what he could find out somewhere else if he tried hard enough.'

‘What about Clarke? Shall I have a word with him?'

‘No, leave Clarke alone.'

‘Just as you say. Is there going to be any trouble?'

‘No, Tommy, we don't have trouble any more, not from the likes of Costello anyway. I don't know why he's back, but there's bugger all he can do.'

‘What about Deal?'

‘Deal couldn't crap in a bucket even if he was sitting on it. He thinks he's going right to the top, but he's going nowhere. He's only made DI because he's shit hot at paperwork. Did you know he helps the old man with his speeches?'

‘No.'

‘The old man showed me a bit of his stuff the other day, “The role of senior management is to create the strategic envelope which ensures the accurate and efficient delivery of the core message”. He liked it, he'll use it at our next briefing.'

Tommy grinned.

‘Does it mean anything?'

‘It's just a way of saying top brass don't go near the sharp end. The only job for senior management, Tommy, is the delegation of blame.'

‘Too true, too fucking true. Do you know what the bobbies at the nick call him?'

The man shook his head.

‘Boy.'

‘Boy?'

‘For Boy Wonder. He's never grown up and it's a wonder how he got where he is and a bigger wonder how he stays there.' They both laughed. ‘Do you know what he makes the DSs he works with call him?'

Forester shook his head again.

‘Boss.'

‘I don't believe it.'

‘It's the truth, so help me.'

They both laughed again. Forester got up.

‘Well, Tommy, I'll be seeing you. Give my regards to Alice.'

‘I will, Norman.'

Forester left the room and walked out of the pub. Flavin left the room five minutes later. He put his empty cup on the bar. The barman came up.

‘Everything all right, Mr Flavin?'

‘Fine, Ken, fine. I'll have a whisky before I go. It's damp outside.'

The barman turned to the optics, drew a double Glenmorangie and put it on the bar. Flavin opened his newspaper and turned the pages slowly, looking at the pictures and some of the headlines as he drank his whisky. It took him about three or four minutes.

‘I've finished with my paper, Ken, you can have it if you like,' he said as he left the bar.

‘Thank you, Mr Flavin,' said Ken and, after the policeman had passed through the door, added loudly, ‘Very fucking generous, I'm sure.'

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