Serious People (3 page)

Charlie looked again at his wife, trying to ignore the monitor. It was days from her fortieth birthday, but she could easily still have passed for at least ten years younger than that, even in her current condition. 

Charlie looked at her face, and it had an almost translucent paleness to it. He had to steady himself on his feet. A tear ran down his face. “Jackie,” he said.

Jackie started to wake, as if roused by the sound of her name. Charlie sat down by her bed, hurrying to take hold of her hand.

“Charlie?”

“Hello Princess,” Charlie smiled back at his wife. Her eyes were still beautiful, still full of life.

Jackie looked at him. “Have you been crying?” she asked.

“What? You joking?” Charlie said, and then almost unconsciously wiped his face.

Jackie smiled knowingly. “I was having a lovely dream!”

“What were you dreaming about princess?” Charlie said, trying to smile as well.

“About when we first met—remember it was at that concert,” Jackie said testing her husband’s memory. “What was that great band called?”

“I don’t remember them,” Charlie replied, faking irritation. “I just remember they were too bloody loud.” 

“That’s only because you were busy trying to do some dodgy deal with someone,” Jackie reminded her husband, still smiling.

Charlie felt ashamed. He looked down.

“Always doing some deal, even on the day we met! You, Robert and Mickey, your two little soldiers,” she added.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, not looking up.

“Don’t be sorry. That’s who you are; I always knew that.” Jackie replied.

“You deserved a better husband,” Charlie said, looking back at his wife.

“You were like Prince Charming the night we met. You seemed to be in command of everything,” Jackie said, her eyes filling with tears now. “You’ve given me everything a girl could want.”

“That’s because you’re my queen. I would give you anything in the world,” Charlie said trying to fight the emotion.

“I’m sorry I never gave you a child Charlie,” Jackie said, a tear falling to her pillow.

Charlie looked back at his wife.

They had never discussed the subject before; although it had crossed his mind many times. After all, they had frequently not used any form of protection against pregnancy. But they’d never knowingly tried to conceive—or at least so Charlie thought—until now. Now, he looked at his wife and realised that he must have been too busy to notice.

He looked at his wife unsure of what to say.

“I remember you trying to dance that first night,” Jackie smiled. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dance since.”

Charlie smiled back at his wife. He remembered the night well. He had been transfixed on her from the moment he saw her; and because she was on the dance floor meant that he hadn’t thought twice about dancing as well. All he could see was her, making everything else grey into the background. He was there doing a deal, and it was a big deal at that. But, as soon as he saw her, nothing else mattered. When he thought back on that night, he wasn’t now sure what were his memories and what his imagination.

“I reckon we could make that work,” Robert had said, about to shake hands with the older man who, together with Charlie and Mickey, he was standing with. Yet he stopped as he saw Charlie move away. “Charlie, where the fuck are you going?”

“I’ll be right back,” Charlie replied, moving towards the dance floor.

She looked like Michelle Pfeiffer’s more beautiful sister. She was with some friends, but still shone out like a star, surrounded by empty space. Charlie had watched, transfixed, as the small black dress she was wearing clung to every angle of her body. In a moment he was dancing beside her; he’d barely consciously moved between her friends.

“Shit, you’re Charlie O’Neil,” he heard one of her friends say.

Jackie’s eyes fell on him and he felt like he had just been born. Her eyes were beautiful; they had a sparkle in he had never seen before.

“Who? Are you some kind of film star?” he could hear the beautiful girl say.

“You ain’t heard of me?” he asked, suddenly desperate for her recognition. It was as if every bit of infamy and local talk about him had been built towards this point. Just so this girl should know his name. As if this moment was the whole point and purpose of his reputation.

“No?” she smiled.

“He’s some big time gangster,” another of the beautiful girl’s friends explained.

“Oi! Charlie, what the fuck?” Robert shouted from the side of the dance floor, hands in the air in disbelief. Mickey, standing next to him, looked equally confused.

“Is that your gang?” the beautiful girl asked, almost mockingly.

Anyone else who had dared used this tone with him would be on the floor, but her words brought a smile to his face. It was as if his firm now meant nothing to him—it was all a joke in comparison to being near her.

“They don’t look very scary,” she said with a laugh.

“You’d be surprised,” he replied.

“You like the music?” she asked, gesturing to the band on stage behind them.

Charlie was barely aware of them, barely aware of any music.

“They’re pretty shit,” he said.

“What?” the beautiful girl said, looking shocked. “They’re fucking great!”

Was that how it went? One thing he knew for sure was he spent the rest of the night by her side—and then as much of the next twenty years as he could. She was his angel; the only part of his life that was clean, untouched.

“My John Travolta,” Jackie said, stroking Charlie’s hand, pretending to be oblivious to the tremble. The monitoring device continued to bleep, but no longer had his attention now.

He looked at his wife closely, holding her gaze for what seemed a long time. Jackie was still the same girl; the sparkle was still in her eyes, despite her condition. And all that mattered was her. He gripped her hand, hoping the energy in his body would somehow enter hers and fight away everything bad, everything that was infecting her.

“Listen, enough of this depressing talk!” Charlie said, breaking the silence. “It’s your birthday at the end of the week, and we are going to have one hell of a party!” 

“Charlie, I’m in the hospital,” Jackie reminded him through a grim smile.

“We’ll smuggle you out for one night,” Charlie replied.

“How will you do that?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. I'm a gangster,” Charlie said, sitting back in his seat. He felt more comfortable now. “Some say that I run most of London,” he said, with pride in his voice. Somehow, gripping her hand had had the opposite effect to that which he intended; it was he that had been re-energised.

Jackie laughed.

“And I’ve got an even better idea; I’ll get that band to play at the party,” he continued, looking pleased with himself.

“You said you don’t even remember their name?” Jackie said. “You said they were shit!”

“Wild n’ Weird,” Charlie boasted. “I remember everything about that night.”

He could feel the power returning to his body now. Making Jackie smile had brought the old Charlie back—his angel had saved him again.

“Is that the lot?” Emma asked, calling from inside the house.

John Blake peered into the back of the empty van.
I guess that’s me committed then,
he thought, as he closed the van doors. And he walked into the house that he was now going to call home, nodding approvingly as he looked around. It was a well-maintained house, decorated by a mind driven by a minimalist nature just like his own.

Emma leant over the banister. “Are you looking for man tasks that might need doing?” she smiled as she walked down the stairs.

“I’m not really that type of guy. I'm more of a thinker,” John replied.

“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly looking disappointed. “I was hoping you were more of a lover...” she added, with a wink, and started to walk back up the stairs.

John hurried after her.

An hour later, John was carefully getting out of bed. He was doing his best not to wake Emma as he started to pick up his clothes that were now littered around the bedroom.

“Hey, where are you going?” Emma said from the bed.

He jumped, thinking she was asleep. He had hoped to avoid this conversation through the type of silent steps the career he was leaving behind had been built on.

“I thought you were still asleep.”

“Really?” Emma said, now sitting up. “Well. I think it’s important for you to note that I’ve only let you move in on very strict criteria.”

“Babe, seriously I’ve got things to do,” John pleaded.

“You’re telling me,” Emma replied. “You’ve got to get back to bed.”

“I should get back to the bar. The guys are probably wondering what’s happened to me,” John added, as he checked himself in the bedside mirror.

“Your brothers! I thought you were moving on from them!” Emma said, burying her head under the duvet.

John looked at the door momentarily, then back towards his girlfriend and sat down on the bed again.

“They’re my brothers. I can’t just move on from them.” John said, uncovering Emma.

“John that is exactly what you promised you were going to do. You told my father. You were going to take that job at the bank.”

“I am. But I can’t walk out on my family. I need to break it to them gently. I mean Auntie Mary’s only just met you,” John said.

“Auntie bloody Mary!” Emma said, sitting back up. “She’s mental! John you’ve got to understand. These types of people; they put their hooks into you. The only way to get away from them is to just walk away!”

“It’s not just her, but my brothers...” John pleaded.

He could hear the determination in Emma’s voice and wasn’t sure himself why he was arguing with her. He knew she was right. His family was nothing good—to him or to anyone else.

“Oh your brothers, of course. Who could forget? Here babe, this is my brother Billy. He's spent most of his life in a young offenders’ prison. What? What for? Oh he just got himself in a few scraps. You know, stabbed a few people... A couple of teachers at school! Oh nice to meet you Billy...” Emma jumped up and mimed shaking hands with John’s brother.

“Oh and hello Nick. What? You don’t talk? You’re just some kind of mute psychopath? However, you would like to show me that big bloody knife that you carry with you everywhere. Wow! That is normal. These truly are the type of brothers who are really difficult to leave behind. I mean they’re just like the Waltons when you think about it!”

Emma looked at him, watching for a reaction; John looked away. She was right, as always. There was nothing he could say. What he wanted to say was he needed to go back to finish it with them, finish it for good. To seal the door behind them. What he couldn’t tell her was how her description of his two brothers was actually just the tip of the iceberg; they were far worse than even she imagined. And if he didn’t end it with them the right way, then
everything
could go wrong. He could imagine Nick slipping in through the bedroom window with a knife in his mouth, ready to slit Emma’s throat. This would all be on Billy’s say so; this would be his plan to bring their elder brother back home to them, to where he belonged.

So he had to go back and make them understand. To get them to understand how he and Emma felt about each other, that they had to move on—for good—and start their new life together.

“I’m sorry John, but your family has some serious issues.” Her voice seemed calmer now. “It's a miracle you’re so normal.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t just walk out on them.”

Emma stared back at her boyfriend.

“They know I’m going to be moving on. I've been talking to Uncle Roy, and he understands. He knows I’ve got to live my own life,” John said in an apologetic tone. “Even my brothers are behaving differently; we haven’t been out doing any of that money collection stuff for weeks. I think they’re turning a corner.”

John hoped Emma believed this statement more than he did. He wasn’t sure why Billy and Nick hadn’t been carrying out Charlie O’Neil’s money collections of late, especially as Billy had treated it as such a coup when they’d got the gig in the first place, talking about how they were now part of the O’Neil firm. It had been more than a little weird when he had recently decided to stop doing the collections. John had no idea what had caused this but was fairly sure it was not down to a new need to go straight.

But Emma wanted to believe her boyfriend. “Really?” she said, unable to hide the hope in her voice.

“Really,” John replied, trying to convince himself. “I think my moving out the bar has kicked them into looking at their own lives. Even so, I can’t just up and leave right now. They need me to steer them back to a better path, and then I can start my own life.”

Emma managed a smile. “I had to find myself a Saint didn’t I?”

“Emma, I owe them. I am walking away, but it needs to be at the right pace,” John said, putting his jacket on. “I love you.”

“Good,” Emma said going back under the duvet. “I expect you back for dinner. I don’t care what your bloody aunt might say.”

John smiled and walked out of the bedroom.

Blake’s Bar was situated on one of Hammersmith’s more run down streets. It had a vacant shop on one side and a Chinese take-away on the other, and was well away from any footfall that would have given the establishment any kind of drop in business. Though it did stand out at a distance owing to its murky green painted fascia.

Above the bar, was the two-floor apartment that John and his family had used for over forty years as both a home and a base for the family business and his Ma’s previous—this being a brothel.

John saw a familiar sight as he walked through the front doors; his Uncle Roy was behind the bar and there was no sign of any patrons. Roy was conducting his favourite task, polishing glasses, one that he took great pride in. The irony of this cleaning job was it made the poor cleanliness of the rest of the bar even more obvious.

Roy looked up from polishing a whiskey glass and shook his head with disappointment as John approached. “John, what are you doing back here?”

“Oh hello to you too Uncle,” John said, taking a stool and sitting in front of the bar.

“You’ve just this day moved in with that lovely girlie of yours and you’re back here already—on the very same day?” Roy said, looking almost angry.

“Uncle Roy, I was hardly never coming back,” John replied.

Roy’s face grew sterner as he put down the polished glass. This was the normal sign, John knew, that there was a lecture coming from the old man.

“Now John, you need to listen to me,” Roy said, prodding his nephew in the chest. “You have an opportunity to get out. You've a lovely girl, a job offer from her father. Your future’s out that door.”

John knew his uncle was right but put this to the back of his mind. “Uncle, that's as may be; but I’m still needed here. Billy and Nick need me…”

“Need you! Your brothers need no one! They’ll be out murdering and robbing with or without the benefit of your assistance! And it doesn’t need to be like that for you, get out that door now and don’t ever look back!” Roy said pointing to the door.

John turned almost instinctively toward the door, but just for a moment. “Uncle Roy. It doesn’t need to be like it for them either.”

“Oh John…” Roy started shaking his head.

“No Uncle, you’re wrong. I was talking to the guys a couple of nights ago, about me moving on. And they were listening. I could see they were starting to look at their own lives,” John said, trying to convince himself.

Roy made as if to speak but seemed to think better of it.

“For instance, take the work for Charlie O’Neil; we haven’t been out on any of his collections for three weeks! Three weeks—that’s a good as a resignation! I’m telling you Uncle, my brothers are turning a corner!” 

Before Roy could respond, he was distracted by the sound of footsteps and loud voices coming from the stairwell behind the bar.

“There goes your chance,” Uncle Roy said solemnly, picking up another glass to polish.

“…You’ve now left it just long enough to make your point,” Aunt Mary said, stepping into the bar. She was talking to someone behind her.

“You think so?” Billy Blake replied. The elder of John’s two younger brothers entered the bar behind her.

Aunt Mary stopped. Her eyes focused on John.

“Kicked you out already. I knew it…”

“No Auntie Mary, I’ve just popped back in for a few drinks and to see my family,” John said firmly.

“I’m just saying; your brothers are feeling a little overlooked and forgotten,” Mary said. Then started to wipe down some of the bar stools.

“Auntie Mary, I only left this morning,” John protested, trying to shield the hurt as he looked back at his Aunt, who was now ignoring him.

“I’m pleased you’ve found time in your busy diary to come back here for five minutes brother,” Billy said.

John turned to look back at Billy. To John, Billy’s eyes somehow always looked darker than they should. They were blue in colour but, to his older brother, the dark rings underneath absorbed the entire colour from them. 

Billy’s look was further hardened by a long scar that stretched the length of the right-hand side of his face. He had sported it like a trophy from his youth, which in the most part had been spent in and out of youth offender’s prisons. Apart from this, he was an average looking man. He was just under six feet tall and sported the same trademark crew cut hairstyle as did all the Blakes—courtesy of Auntie Mary.

This was until John had let his hair grow out a bit, to an almost shaggy look. Emma had said that was the way she preferred it. But John had known it was a mistake to offer this as the reason, as soon as he had let the words leave his lips. If Auntie Mary had needed an excuse to dislike his girlfriend, this had become it. From that moment on she had not missed an opportunity to say how this new little woman was driving a wedge through their family and how things would never be the same.

“Hey Billy, how’s it going?” John smiled.

“A lot better now I know I can call off the search party. I was getting worried about yah,” Billy said, making himself a mug of coffee at the bar.

Billy was two years younger than John but had always acted as the elder brother, much to John’s embarrassment when he thought back to his school days. His younger brother had always been his protector against bigger kids in his year. This, of course, in the days when Billy was there and not at some young offenders’ institute. 

Billy Blake had a fearsome reputation at school. It wasn’t like he was ever gifted with a large frame; but what he lacked for in physique, he more than made up for in terms of aggression and the sheer violence he was always happy to display. And even when he was young, he was lethal. John could never forget the day he had kicked the crap out of an older kid named Fattie Jones.

Jones, who had a reputation of his own for irrational violence when the mood took him, had walked up to Billy and John in the playground and called their Ma a dirty whore. He said that she was best off dead, so she couldn’t give the whole world AIDS.

On hearing this Billy had at first just smiled at the kid. He seemed pleased. And this was the most horrible part. He was pleased that he now had the opportunity to test himself against one of the school’s biggest bullies. Just at the moment when Jones had finished laughing and was turning to walk away, Billy leapt on top of him. Then, as if it had all been planned, Billy quickly straddled the large boy and took a pencil from his pocket, holding it aloft for a moment.

Billy held the pencil in the air for a few seconds, giving Fattie Jones just enough time to guess his fate. Then, before Jones had a chance to knock him off him, John’s brother gave a wicked smile and thrust the pencil into Fattie’s right eye.

It was horrific—there was blood everywhere. John could still hear Fattie’s screams now; they were akin to those of a dying animal, who screamed both from pain and also from terror at their bleak future.

Jones lost the eye completely, through the injury, and Billy lost his freedom. He was put into Feltham Youth Offenders for his first stint. It lasted eighteen months.