Authors: Mark Timlin
Mark
shook his head.
'It's
bloody horrible. You don't want to.' He looked at him suddenly. 'I know you saw
your mum dead,' he said. 'And I know what that must've been like, but I think
this was different. I slept with her for so long. I used to watch her asleep
sometimes.' He smiled. 'I knew she'd never tell me to piss off again. Or that
she loved me. Or even ask me what I wanted with my eggs. It was over. Finito.'
'I'm
sorry, Uncle,' said Mark.
'Is
my wallet here?' Jenner asked suddenly.
Mark
saw it on a side table. 'It's here,' he said.
'Show.'
Mark
leaned over, picked it up and put it on the bed. Jenner found it, opened it
without looking and pulled out a photo of his late wife. 'I've carried this
with me for ten years,' he said. 'Put it on the table where I can see it.'
Mark did
as he was told, and Jenner turned his head painfully, then smiled. His lips
were white and Mark offered him a drink. He sucked at the straw greedily, then
lay back. 'That was good,' he said. 'You know, when she died a bit of me died
with her. It's never been the same since. I tried other women afterwards too,
but they never knew what I was talking about. Not like Hazel. So I gave up.
Christ, but I was lonely, but you can't force things like that. Did you ever
read a story called
The Ice Queen?'
'When
I was a nipper.'
'It
frightened me when I read it when I was a kid,' said Jenner. 'The fact that
someone could have their heart replaced by a sliver of ice. I hated that. But
when Hazel went, it happened to me. It's still there. Sometimes it's so cold in
my chest, it hurts. So you see, I'm not scared of dying. I'm scared of being in
this place, but dying, no. In fact, I rather look forward to it. Do you believe
in heaven and hell, Mark?'
The
young man shook his head. 'No, Uncle. I don't think so.'
'People
who do, say there's many gates to hell,' said Jenner. 'And I've looked at some
of them. I've killed people, Mark. Looked in their eyes and just blown them
away. I wish now I hadn't done that too. But I could never have stayed in the
job I had, all those years ago. I was always a wrong 'un. Your dad got it
right. He joined the police to make things better.'
'It
didn't work though, did it?'
'Maybe
not. But he tried.' John Jenner lay back on his pillow and his eyelids
fluttered. 'You won't leave me, will you?'
'No,
Uncle.'
'Where's
Chas and Martine?'
'He
took her home for a bit. She blames me, you know.'
'No,
she don't. She loves you, Mark.'
'Not
any more, Uncle. I think I spoiled that, like I spoiled so many things.'
'Don't
be so hard on yourself. You're a good boy, Mark.'
'I
doubt the cops would agree with that.'
'Bloody
coppers. What do they know? They done me up in the end, didn't they though?'
'Yes,
Uncle John. They did. But I didn't help.'
'Forget
it, son. I love you. Always have. You've got the same eyes as Billy. He always
was my best mate. Apart from Hazel, of course. I'm tired now, son. I want some
kip. Will you stay?'
Mark
nodded.
'Hold
my hand, son and I won't feel so lonely.' And his eyes shut and he slept, and
the only sound in the room was the gentle bleeping of the machines he was
connected to. Mark leant over and replaced the mask on his mouth and sat with
his uncle's hand in his.
John
Jenner dreamt of his ex-wife as he lay there. In his dream it was that first
Friday night at the Bali Hai in Streatham. He was all done up in the latest
King's Road fashions. Sharp suit, flowered shirt and tie, and zip up boots with
a slight heel. And Chas was there. And Chas's sister too, and her mates. And
one of them was Hazel. Red hair in a bob, the shortest skirt he'd ever seen.
Bare legs because it was a warm night, and high boots with stiletto heels. He'd
never seen anyone like her before or since. The minute he clapped eyes on her
she had to be his. And the feeling was mutual. He'd bought her champagne and
they'd ended up on the back seat of the big old Pontiac he'd been driving that
year. He never could get the stains off the leather. Jenner smiled in his
sleep. And the machines kept up their bleeping.
Mark
saw the smile and was glad, until he heard a commotion in the corridor outside.
Chas's deep voice and Marline's too, almost hysterical. The door burst open and
she came in like a small whirlwind. 'What are you doing here?' she shouted.
'It's all your fault!'
Mark
disentangled his hand, stood and saw Chas in the doorway with the young nurse
he'd met earlier behind him. 'Leave it out, Martine,' he said.
'Leave
it out?' she shouted even louder. 'Leave it out, you bastard? You came back and
look at the state of him.'
'I
didn't mean…'
'Didn't
mean?' she interrupted and began to beat on his chest with her tiny fists so
that the pain in his back came flooding back and he winced.
'Please!'
called the nurse from behind Chas's huge back. 'Please don't. You'll only make
it worse for him.'
'She's
right,' said Chas and almost lifted Martine off her feet, dragging her into the
corridor and marching her to the relatives' room which, thankfully, was
deserted, followed by Mark. 'In here,' he said.. They all went in and Chas
closed the door firmly in the nurse's face. 'Stop it, both of you,' he said
quietly. 'Let's give the old man some respect.'
Martine
sat on a chair, head in hands, and tears leaked through her fingers. Mark put
his hand on her shoulder, but she shook him off. 'I'm so sorry, Marty,' he
said. A name he hadn't called her since they were much younger. 'If I'd only
known.'
But
it was no good and he could see that.
John
Jenner went flatline alone. No family, no medical staff in the room. The nurse
heard the panic siren go off and called a code but it was no use. His body
couldn't take any more and it just shut down. He was still smiling when he
died. Still dreaming of Hazel and better times.
The
trio in the family room heard the commotion too and, differences forgotten,
rushed to Jenner's room. But they were forbidden entrance and had to watch the
doctors and nurses attempt a resuscitation through the window. When it was all
over, Martine staggered, and Chas helped her back to the relative's room where
she curled up on the uncomfortable sofa there. She was inconsolable and, after
a few minutes, he left her and joined Mark, still looking through the window at
Jenner's still body.
'Did
you talk to him?' asked Chas.
'Yeah.
He was talking about Hazel.'
'He
never did get over her dying, you know.'
'I
know. Martine said that he met her through you.'
'Yeah,
that's right. She was a friend of my sister's. I fancied her like mad, but I
was too young. Then when she saw John, it was all over. You couldn't get a
cigarette paper between them.'
'It
was at some club, wasn't it?'
'Yeah,
the Bali Hai in Streatham. What a place. We had some laughs there, I can tell you.'
'You
met him there too, didn't you?'
- 'Yeah.
I was just out of borstal. I got nicked for stealing motors. Blimey, what a
sodding place. Long shorts, vests and cold showers there, my boy. And they
chopped all your bloody hair off. And the buggers who ran the place… All
ex-army who'd give you a good hiding for looking at them sideways.'
'How
long were you there?'
'Three
months with no time off for good behaviour. Then when I came out, I got all
booted and suited and went to the Bali to see what was happening. All the young
villains went there. But there wasn't much trouble. It was like an open city in
a war. We left our differences at the door. Well, most of the time anyway.'
'So
how did you meet him?'
'He
made some comment about the barnet being so short. His was halfway down his
back then. Hard to believe now, I know. He reckoned I looked like one of the
Krays. I had this smashing navy blue suit, see, with a white on white shirt. I
thought it was the business. He was like some kind of rock star. But we had a
drink and he asked me to help him out with some villainy. I was skint, so I
said yes. Anyway, who turns up but my sister and some mates including Hazel.
She was a bit posh see, but the family had fallen on bad times. Anyway, she's
got the shortest mini you've ever seen and John asked her to dance… the rest's
history.'
'You
fancied her?' asked Mark.
'Every
fucker fancied her, but she was particular. When she found out that John was a
naughty boy, she liked him even more. She liked spending money, see. And she
didn't have any. But John promised her the world and he come good.'
'I
never knew.'
'John
don't talk about it much. He's never really been the same since she died.
Always blamed himself.'
'But it
wasn't his fault, was it?'
'No.
You don't expect a young woman like that to have heart problems. And she'd
never let on. She never even went to the doctor 'til it was too late to do
anything. John called in all the big guns to try and do something for her but
she was too far gone.'
'I
thought she was the business, too,' said Mark. 'It all fell apart for me after
she died.'
'For
a lot of us.'
'Listen,
Chas,' said Mark. 'I've got to go. I shouldn't be here. It's screwing up
Martine.'
'Whatever
you think,' said Chas.
'I'm
Staying in a hotel in Crystal Palace. Keep in touch by mobile. Let me know when
the funeral is.'
'I'll
do that.'
'And
Chas…'
'Yeah.'
'Look
after her. She's special.'
'You
can say that again. She's got both of them in her.'
Mark
smiled a rare smile for that day. 'I know.'
And
then he left.
Once
back in his car, he sat for a while and let the tears flow. But who was he
crying for? he wondered. For John Jenner or for himself? He was truly an orphan
now. Alone and on the run. Eventually he dried his eyes on a tissue from the
glove compartment, shrugged, grinned a wry grin, and drove back to the hotel.
It
was the biggest funeral south London would see for years. Maybe decades. Maybe
ever. John Jenner had been well known in the area, and well liked. At least by
people who hadn't crossed him and paid the price. And, as if to join in the
mourning early on that Friday, less than a week after he died, the rains came.
But it did little to dampen the enthusiasm of the locals. The service wasn't
until noon, but as early as ten am, the first spectators had begun to line the
route between the funeral directors in Camberwell and the church beside the
cemetery in Greenwich where Hazel was buried. When his wife had died, Jenner
had bought adjoining plots so that one day he could lie next to her, for
eternity.
That
part of the capital has never been the most attractive, even in bright
sunshine, but as the clouds thickened and the rain became heavier and the
street lamps clicked on, it took on the air of desolation that suited the mood
of the day for the mourners.
Jenner's
body had been lying in rest at a funeral home in Walworth, and Chas, Dev and
Martine drove there in Jenner's Bentley, with Chas at the wheel.
A few
reporters and cameramen from the local papers and TV, who had been outside
Jenner's house, followed the car in convoy. Dev suggested shooting a few tyres
out to detain them, but Chas put the block on the idea. 'Not very good PR,' he
remarked.
When
they arrived at the undertaker's premises, it was like a circus outside. As if
to underline the gloominess of the occasion, the rain had become heavier and,
as they ran from the car to the entrance, they sheltered under a massive golf
umbrella, its red and white stripes and the flashes from the photographers'
cameras, contrasting with the greyness of the day.