Bad Catholics (13 page)

Flavin walked along the street until he came to a phone box. He put his money in and dialled.

‘This is Tommy Flavin, let me speak to Nat. Hello, Nat. You know Costello is back? Yes, I know it's old news, but there's this inspector called Deal in Paddington, you know who I mean? Yes, that's him. He's asking about Costello, about what happened. He's got a DS called Eddy Clarke who pointed him at me. Clarke knows a lot, he can tell Deal most of it. Do you want things raked over, Nat? No, I didn't think so. You will. All right, if you say so. See you, Nat. Take care. I know you do.'

He left the phone box and walked along the street. He wondered on the wisdom of not moving Costello straight away. He wondered about Nat's judgement. Then he thought of Norman Forester, ‘we don't have trouble any more'. They knew best, they kept the lid on things, there wasn't any trouble any more. And he added to himself as he hailed a taxi, ‘certainly not from the likes of Costello,' and then he smiled, ‘or Deal. A has-been and a never-was.'

Kilburn, January 1963

Jimmy walked into The Hind, went to the bar, bought his usual pint of mild and took it to the table where Denny Morris sat with his friends.

‘Hello. Come to join us for the evening?'

Jimmy nodded.

‘Good. Get a chair for Jimmy, make room.'

A chair was brought, room was made, Jimmy sat down. It turned out not to be a good night for him. He didn't like the talk, the dirty jokes, the football, then more dirty stories, shagging this one this way, shagging that one that way. Football. ‘Did you see that story in the
Mirror
?' It was not a good night. Jimmy drank slowly and said very little, he listened to the talk around the table. It was mindless, it filled the space where otherwise there would have been silence and thoughts, and these men didn't come to the pub to think. The pub or the club was their church, this talk was their prayer, this was where they celebrated their faith of violence, sex, money, and power.

By eleven thirty he was only on his third pint. Two men at the table were very drunk and one had left, but Denny Morris and another man were stone-cold sober. Jimmy couldn't remember if they had been drinking much but they were clearly still fully in control.

Denny Morris stood up. ‘Good night, lads.'

The drunks looked up unsteadily and slurred their farewells. The other sober man also stood.

Denny looked at Jimmy. ‘Come on, I'll give you a lift.'

‘No thanks.'

‘It wasn't a question, Jimmy. I'm giving you a lift.'

Denny's Jag was outside with a driver at the wheel and the engine running. They all got in. Denny sat in the front, Jimmy and the other man in the back. Denny nodded and the car pulled away. No one talked as they travelled out of Kilburn and on towards Highbury.

Soon after passing the Arsenal football ground the driver turned into a side street and pulled into a service area behind the shops on the main road. Denny opened the glove compartment and handed a torch to the man in the back seat. The man took the torch and got out of the car. Jimmy noticed he was now wearing gloves.

‘Keep him company, Jimmy, this can be a rough neighbourhood at night. See he picks up my parcel and gets it to me OK, will you?'

It was dark out of the torchlight. They walked over to the shop backs and stopped outside one which had bars across the windows and a strong door. The man flashed the light on to the handle. The lock had already been neatly forced. He opened the door and they walked in. They were in a small office with a safe on the floor.

‘Hold this,' the man handed Jimmy the torch, ‘on here.' He crouched by the safe door.

Jimmy shone the light on the safe. The man held a piece of paper in the light and, from the paper, dialled the combination for the safe. The door swung open and the man rummaged around amongst the papers and other items and took out two packages, one quite small and one larger. Then he stood up and took the torch from Jimmy.

‘It wouldn't have taken much longer without the combination,' he said scornfully. ‘Keeping stuff in a thing like that, he deserves being knocked over. Let's go.'

They returned to the car and got in. The man handed over the smaller package to Denny and kept the larger one himself. The car reversed out then pulled away. The driver didn't hurry. As they pulled out on to the main road Denny turned round.

‘Simple, eh? You and George break in and get eight quid each, Harry and you walk in and get about four grand. Keep it simple, Jimmy, and get an inside mug to do the hard work and take the risks. That's right, isn't it, Harry?'

‘That's right, Denny.'

Denny faced forward but carried on speaking.

‘The prat who works in that jeweller's thinks his girl's going to meet him tomorrow night with four grand's worth of kit. Well, he's got a long wait coming. She's back at work and if he wants to get into her knickers again he'll have to pay for it like her other customers. This lot,' and he held up the little parcel, ‘the good stuff, I keep. That lot, Harry knocks out for what he can get, that's his end. Is Jimmy in for any of your end, Harry? He kept you company, brought you safely back, didn't he?'

They all laughed except Jimmy. He could see Harry smiling in the light of the street lamps. It was not a pretty sight.

‘Yeah, Denny, why not? Everybody's got to start somewhere. Ten per cent.'

‘There you are, my son, five minutes of the easiest work you'll ever do for round about a ton. It should fetch a grand, maybe more. You're a lucky lad. If I hadn't given you a lift you'd have missed all this.'

The car went on until they reached the edge of fashionable shopping London. The car pulled up outside a small jewellery store. The sign over the display window announced ‘Setter's Jewellery' and below it, ‘The High Street Store with Wholesale Prices'. Denny got out and went to the shop door, took out a key, unlocked the door, and went in. He came out after about five minutes and got into the car.

‘That's the way to do it, Jimmy. Those pieces will be knocked out at twenty per cent lower than they would fetch in any other jewellery store.' The car moved off. ‘And when anyone asks how we do it, we tell them the truth. We keep down overheads by cutting out any middleman.'

The driver laughed. ‘That's right, Denny, everybody gets good value.'

‘We do it right. The bloke we took the stuff from is insured and our customers get bargains, not even that prat who set it up loses. He got laid a couple of times without paying, so everyone's a winner. Even you.'

The car eventually stopped at the end of the street where Jimmy lived. He got out.

‘Harry'll have your end by Friday, that right Harry?' Harry nodded. ‘Collect it from him any time you're in The Hind.'

The car pulled away. Jimmy stood for a moment then walked home. He would have to be quiet. He looked at his watch. It was nearly two o'clock and he had to be up at half past five. He needed to think but he wanted to sleep. He let himself into the house and went upstairs. He was soon in bed and was vaguely surprised at how easy it was to clear his mind and get ready to sleep.

Jimmy sat at the back of church. It was nine o'clock on Saturday morning. He had made sure that it would be Father Liam who was hearing morning confessions and he waited patiently for those others who had come to finish and leave. Finally the last one went to kneel in front of the statue of Our Lady on the far side of the church to say his penance.

What sins has an old man like that to confess, Jimmy wondered as he walked down the aisle towards the half-open door of the confessional. He went in, closed the door, and knelt before the small grille in the wall.

‘Bless me Father for I have sinned. It is …' he paused, ‘a very long time since my last confession.' There was silence from behind the grille. Jimmy fell back on the safe litany of his childhood sin-list.

‘I have told lies. I have had impure thoughts. I have missed my morning and night prayers.'

Was there ever a time, or a world even, where such things mattered, where such things were sinful, needing forgiveness and penance?

He tried again.

‘I have used bad language.'

His memory was failing him and it was all beginning to become ridiculous. How had he ever taken this seriously? How could this ever have been a part of his life? He knew what sin was now, and equally he knew he couldn't bring it into this stupid little room, he couldn't even bring it into church. It was real but you couldn't uproot it and bring it into the confessional box and say, ‘Look Father, here is theft, violence, corruption, and pleasure taken in all of them, real people hurt, money made, and the firm intention to carry on.'

You had to be in it, part of it, to see what it was.

‘Anything else?'

‘No, Father, nothing else.'

‘Ask Our Lady's prayers to help you with your impure thoughts. For your penance say two Hail Marys and a Glory Be. Now say an Act of Contrition.'

Jimmy began, ‘Oh my God, because … because …' The words that had once been automatic were gone. ‘I'm sorry Father. I can't remember …'

‘It's on the card in front of you.'

Jimmy looked at the small piece of card below the grille. The priest was right, memory was as little required as anything else. He read the words from the card. The priest began to intone the Latin words of forgiveness, of absolution. At the words of the blessing, Jimmy automatically crossed himself and got up.

‘I'm the last one, Father.'

‘Thank you.'

Jimmy opened the confessional door and stepped out. He went to the nearest bench and sat down. Ask for Our Lady's help with your impure thoughts. What the hell did that mean? He sat and waited.

The priest in the confessional was sitting still reading the book on his lap. It was a Raymond Chandler thriller. He always took a good read into the confessional. He sat reading long enough for the last penitent to leave the church. After a while he looked up from his book.

‘Was it a man or a woman?' he thought. He tried to remember.

If it was a woman, an old woman, he would have to give her ten minutes at least. No, it was a man, it was a young man. He would be out of the church quickly.

The priest closed his book and put it in his jacket pocket. He took off the small sacred stole that he wore in the confessional, put it to his lips, folded it, and put it in his other jacket pocket. Then he stood up and came out of the confessional. As he turned from closing the door he saw Jimmy but ignored him. He wasn't being rude, just observing the unwritten rules. If Jimmy had been the last penitent the priest must maintain the fiction of anonymity. The sins recently confessed must be kept quite separate from the ex-sinner outside the confessional.

‘Good morning, Father.'

‘Good morning, Jimmy.'

If he wanted to be noticed, that was OK. Jimmy had made the first move.

‘Did you want something?'

‘Yes, Father, could I talk with you?'

‘Of course, what about?'

What about indeed? My immortal soul? Jimmy wondered.

‘A couple of things, Father, about me and Bernadette.' The priest readied himself. Was Bernadette in trouble, or was it good news?

‘If we wanted to get married, how long before the wedding would we have to see you to sort things out?'

All right so far. If Bernadette was in trouble at least Jimmy was doing the decent thing. ‘It's really Father McGinty you should see, he's the parish priest.'

‘We'd both want you to do the wedding, Father, would that be all right?'

‘Yes, if that's what you and Bernadette want. When were you thinking?' The priest pulled out his pocket diary.

‘We thought March, Father.'

So it was bad news.

‘That's very short notice, Jimmy. We'd need a very good reason to get things done that quickly.'

He wasn't going to make it easy. He may be doing the decent thing, but he'd had his fun, now he must pay the price.

‘Next March, Father, not this one. We wouldn't want to get married till we could afford a place of our own.'

The priest smiled. It was good news after all. ‘Oh, that's fine. Have you chosen a date?'

‘No, Father, but we'd like March.'

‘Well see me again about six months before, no, make it eight months. That way you should get the day you want.'

‘Thank you, Father.' Jimmy stood still.

‘Is that it?'

‘There's something else, but if you're busy …' Jimmy made to leave.

‘No, not if it's important. Is it important?' Father Liam asked but he already knew the answer. Of course it was important. When someone who obviously didn't want to talk to a priest asked a priest if they could talk to him, it was always important and always serious.

‘You could say that.'

‘Will we talk in here or would you rather talk somewhere else?'

Jimmy looked around the familiar church. ‘Is there somewhere else?'

The priest dismissed the presbytery straight away. Father McGinty had no idea of anyone's privacy except his own, and Mrs Walker the housekeeper listened at doors to gather in the gossip that was her currency of exchange amongst the group of parishioners of which she was the leading light.

‘How long will it take? I need to be here for someone at one.'

‘I don't know, not long.'

‘Right then. Come with me.'

The priest set off down the aisle, blessed himself at the holy water by the main door and led the way out into the street. Jimmy followed him.

‘We'll catch a bus.' The priest walked to a nearby bus stop. They stood together.

‘Where are we going?'

‘Wherever the first bus is going. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. Just now buses going in are busy and those coming out quiet. We can sit upstairs and I can smoke.'