Get Even (4 page)

The pub was packed out, and the smell of beer and cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air. Lenny’s stag night was going well, and he was now drinking a yard of ale. His friends were clapping and egging him on and he was loving the attention, enjoying this night out.

Lenny wasn’t a drinker really – he didn’t like the taste, if he was being honest, and didn’t understand how people could drink the shit night after night. But, for once, he was getting pleasantly pissed and actually the taste wasn’t that bad after a while. It was his wedding the next day and he was secretly worried he might fuck up somehow – not least by being in no fit state to attend. But the more he drank the more those fears receded. Lenny Scott usually thought everything through; he was careful in that respect. But the buzz that the alcohol was giving him felt good tonight. After all, it was his last night of freedom, as everyone kept reminding him.

Their little flat was furnished and ready for them to move into and, as of tomorrow, it would be their home. He was excited at the thought. ‘Playing at grown-ups’, according to Ivy Conway, which had annoyed him when she’d said it. He pushed the thought from his head and carried on drinking, the atmosphere making him feel relaxed and excited at the same time. After tomorrow he and Sharon could do what they liked, when they liked. It was a heady feeling. Being able to take her ripe body at any moment of the day or night, with no worry about anyone interrupting them – that was going to be the best bit of marriage. They were adults at last, soon to be parents. He hoped Sharon was carrying a boy. God, but he wanted a son.

He downed the last of his yard of ale to the sound of clapping and cheers from the boys. One of them – Keith Smith, a tall, bony-looking lad in possession of a large hooked nose and known for his jokes which were funny as well as nasty – shouted out clearly and loudly, ‘Strippers are here, lads.’

The men looked around, waiting expectantly for the females to come into plain sight. There was a lot more cheering and shouting from the young ones, while the older men were laughing nervously, knowing that when their wives found out there would be murders.

Suddenly, a huge older woman with a heavily made-up face came into view from a doorway behind the bar, as the music boomed out of the speakers. She was laughing delightedly as she wobbled out on to the bar room floor wearing a red and black basque and high-heeled stilettos. Her stockings had rolls of fat hanging over the tops and she began gyrating alarmingly as she shouted out good-naturedly, ‘All right, boys, which one of you is the groom?’

Lenny Scott couldn’t believe his eyes; the woman was grotesque. In his drunkenness all he could hear was the laughter around him. He found himself being pushed towards her and, as she raised her arms up to put the feather boa around her neck, the sweet smell of sweat and deodorant made him feel sick. He looked around and saw everyone laughing, even his dad. But the loudest laughter was coming from Keith Smith, and Lenny sensed instinctively that this was down to him. Keith Smith had arranged this. It was just the kind of nasty stunt he would pull – he was always trying to make everyone around him look a cunt.

Pushing the woman away from him roughly, making her overbalance on her high heels, he lunged himself at Keith Smith. Never in his life had Lenny felt such a powerful anger, and never before in his life had he had so much to drink. He wasn’t aware of picking up a pint glass from the crowded bar. The only thing he remembered was smashing it with all his might into Keith Smith’s face.

The real strippers, a blonde and a brunette who had just walked in, watched in morbid fascination with the rest of the pub, before putting their coats back on and exiting to their waiting car quick-sharp.

Big Lenny Scott was rooted to the floor. He had never in his life seen his son act like this. He saw Lenny’s friends dragging him to the floor, eventually sitting on him to try and contain his anger. He shook his head slowly in abject disbelief at his son’s actions. His boy could have a row, there was no doubting that, but he had never been vicious for the sake of it. And tonight of all fucking nights! Lesley would have his balls for this. He was still feeling thunderstruck when the Old Bill arrived – along with the ambulance.

‘My Lenny? Are you sure that it was
my
Lenny?’ The incredulity in Sharon’s voice was clear.

Ivy Conway was standing behind her in the small hallway, in her rollers and a candlewick dressing gown, unable to believe what she was hearing.

‘Well, that’s fucking lovely, that is! Arrested the night before the wedding. Augurs well for the future that does, my girl!’

Sharon wasn’t listening to her mother; she was reeling from the news Big Lenny had delivered. She couldn’t believe it. Her Lenny was a gentle giant – everyone knew that. He was one of the gentlest people she knew. But now her husband-to-be was banged up in Barking nick.

Sharon picked up the phone and dialled a number quickly. It was Jack Johnson’s. She was near to tears as she told him the events of the night.

On the other end of the phone, Jack Johnson was thinking fast. He calmed her down as best he could, then he rang off. But, like the young girl who had called him, he was having trouble believing that any of it was true. He hoped it wasn’t, because uncontrolled violence wasn’t what he was paying that lad for. He could get a thug on any street corner. He had admired the boy’s acumen, his level-headedness – it was the main part of his charm.
That
was what he paid the little fucker for, not to go round glassing people in his spare time.

Jack sighed heavily, and started to make some phone calls of his own. Wonders would never cease. It was fucking outrageous, that’s what it was, and it meant he might have to have a serious rethink where the lad was concerned.

Lenny was sheepish as the wedding party stood in the church waiting for his bride to arrive. He had the hangover from hell, and he was still unable to believe his actions of the night before. He put it down to the drink – that was the only thing it could be. He couldn’t hold it, didn’t even like it. He was deeply ashamed and, even though Keith had refused to press charges and Jack Johnson had somehow managed to get him back out on the pavement, he still felt he had got off too easy. Keith Smith might not have been his favourite person, but he knew the stripper had just been a joke. Normally he would have seen the humour of the situation, but last night it was as if he had been possessed by a devil. As his dad said, that’s why it was called the ‘demon drink’! He felt so embarrassed, and the worst thing of all was he had shown himself up in front of Sharon’s family. Her mum wasn’t exactly his biggest fan as it was – now she would use this against him at every opportunity. He closed his eyes in distress.

The music started and he opened them to see Sharon walking down the aisle towards him. He could sense the fear and disappointment in her lovely blue eyes. Well, that was it now – he wouldn’t be drinking again any time soon, he swore that to everyone in his orbit. As Lionel Richie sang ‘Hello’, Lenny looked into his bride’s face and hoped against hope that she could see the genuine sorrow there.

Lesley Scott was eating a small plate of sandwiches and she felt like she was chewing on sawdust. The fact that her son, her Lenny, had been able to inflict that kind of damage on another human being had really hit her hard. As she looked around the Irish club in Ilford, at the young ones dancing, and the older ones settled at tables with large drinks before them, she felt the urge to scream. Oh, Ivy Conway would be loving this! She had not wanted this wedding, but then, neither had Lesley really. But Lenny was besotted with young Sharon, and she was a good girl – she couldn’t take that away from her. Hopefully she would be a steadying influence on her son. Like her husband, Lesley blamed the drink for Lenny’s actions. Lenny was like her: she had never liked alcohol, not the taste nor the feeling of abandonment it gave to a body. Coming from Irish stock, she knew the trouble it could cause if you got a liking for it. It destroyed people’s lives.

She looked around sadly. Her husband was propping up the bar with Jack Johnson and his other cronies. He had a large Scotch in his hand and he was laughing loudly. It was as if last night had never happened. She was pleased to note her son was drinking a shandy. She had not been looking forward to this day; if she was honest, she didn’t hold out much hope for these two. For all their proclamations of undying love and affection, they were just kids playing at grown-ups, as Ivy Conway had succinctly put it. But Lesley nailed a smile on her face – after last night’s debacle she was determined to front this out. She saw young Sharon slip her arms around her new husband’s waist, and watched as he smiled gently and kissed her, holding her to him tightly. For some reason the sight made Lesley feel tearful. She was a nice lass, young Sharon.

The Irish club was packed by eleven o’clock, and even though he hated the fact, Lenny could see he was being hailed as a hard man for his antics the night before. Keith Smith wasn’t a popular guy – he’d rubbed too many people up the wrong way.

He was relieved that everything had gone off very well, considering. Sharon looked lovely in her white dress; it was simple but it suited her down to the ground. She was a great little dresser, was his Shaz, and she had the figure for anything. The dress, which had been purchased from a stylish new shop in Ilford, fitted her like a glove and, even though there was nothing revealing, she looked sexy. She wasn’t showing yet, but her breasts had filled out nicely. Lenny felt the pull of her, and decided it was time they went back to the flat; he was looking forward to his wedding night. He watched her with her friends, dancing to Wham! and he felt a surge of pride. She was his wife, she was having his baby, and he loved her.

Jack Johnson came up to him and pulled his arm gently. Lenny followed him out into the night air, nervous now.

Jack lit a cigar noisily, and puffed on it for a while before saying harshly, ‘Look, son. I like you, you know that. But last night had better be a fucking one-off. Because I ain’t bailing you out again, do you hear me?’

Lenny had the grace to look sheepish, and this endeared him to Jack all over again.

‘I can’t have loose cannons, son, not in my line of work.’

Lenny nodded; his whole demeanour was contrite, sorry-looking. ‘I know, Jack . . . I mean, Mr Johnson. I can only say again, it was the drink. I ain’t a fucking drinker. I don’t even like it. I could cut me hands off. It is not me, that kind of carry-on . . .’

Jack held his hand up. ‘All right, all right, I get the picture. Some people can’t hack a drink. You are obviously one of them. But this is a warning, OK? I had to lay out some serious fucking bunce last night. Consequently, I ain’t a happy fucking bunny. Do you get my drift?’

Lenny nodded, another wave of shame washing over him. ‘I can’t thank you enough, Mr Johnson . . .’

Jack Johnson sighed. ‘Relax, son. But you need to make me believe you are a changed boy. You’re on a warning, son, OK?’

Lenny nodded. ‘I promise you, I will work my bollocks off.’