The Liverpool Trilogy (147 page)

He grabbed her and placed the car rug across her shoulders. ‘We’re all here, love. Me, Maureen, Seamus and Dad. We couldn’t let you do this on your own. Don’t cry.
Don’t let them see how tired and worried you are. Remember, Finbar and Michael are our sons, so we should be involved in getting them back.’

She sniffed back wetness created by cold air and emotion. ‘I’m just so tired, so completely worn out.’ She couldn’t be bothered to ask how they’d discovered her
plan and why they were here. Nothing mattered now. With her family around her, she could cope with just about anything. Tom led her across the car park to Kevin’s van. Kevin, having taken one
look at his wife, came at her with medicine bottle and spoon. ‘Here, love. You forgot it.’

Seamus joined Tom while Gran was helped into the back of the van. Even the child was quiet because he could see that she wasn’t quite herself. He walked with his dad back to the car, where
he climbed into the rear seat. This was one time when he decided to keep his mouth nearly shut, because the less Mam knew, the better.

‘She’s with your dad,’ Tom said.

‘I know, I’ve been watching. Is she all right?’

‘Just tired,’ Seamus said helpfully. ‘She can rest stretched out in the van.’

Paddy, prone on the mattress in the rear of her husband’s vehicle, fell asleep almost immediately. In her dream, she saw her brothers and her sons, all four lost to the London gangster and
boxing communities. But her grandsons were alive and well, as were her great-grandchildren. The trouble with having strong and combative boys was that they started with boxing clubs, went to
London, and . . .

Groaning, she rolled over and pulled the covers up to her chin. She reached out for Finbar and Michael, for their wives and children, but they were dragged away by an invisible hand. Her arms
weren’t long enough to grab them from the jaws of criminality. It couldn’t happen again, mustn’t be allowed to . . .

The woman smiled and poured tea into delicate china cups on a tray. ‘Call me Violet, dear. Now, I know all about troublesome boys, because I’ve three of my own. Turn your back for a
minute, and they’re either knocking somebody about in a boxing ring or, worse still, bare-knuckle fighting. And they don’t look after themselves properly, do they? What rubbish would
they eat if we weren’t here to feed them?’

Paddy tried to answer, but the woman rattled on. She had a lovely smile and was possessed of a kindness that was real. She was also strong and overflowing with love for her twins.
‘Charlie’s a lovely chap,’ she said. ‘He’s my eldest. But my twins is special. You just know, don’t you, dear? That moment when you hold them for the first time,
you just know these things. Instinct, you see.’

Paddy took the line of least resistance and continued to listen. ‘Men?’ The lady of the house chuckled mirthlessly. ‘Best left out of it altogether, my love. Oh yes, we have to
remember them ladies that threw themselves under horses and tied themselves to railings and got force-fed in clink. Only when this country’s run by women will we get any sense.’

The sleeping Paddy moaned. Didn’t Violet understand that her children were now grown and members of the gender she dismissed as stupid and dangerous? Had she no true perception of the
crimes that were being perpetrated out there on the streets of the East End? Or had she simply turned her back on reality; was this woman living in a parallel universe?

Ronnie Kray came in. The smile he donated didn’t reach his eyes. There was something cold in his stare, as cold as the unidentifiable and unquantifiable Epping Forest graves. Yet when he
looked at Violet, his whole demeanour softened. It was clear to Paddy that whatever else Ronald was guilty of, he adored his mother.

‘My Ronnie misses his twin, don’t you, dear? They hate being separated. Reggie’s away for a while, isn’t he?’

Ron nodded. ‘A little holiday,’ he said. Paddy knew they meant prison. He turned his attention to the visitor. ‘It’ll be all right, missus. I’ll sort it. Tell the
boys not to worry about a thing, but they’re better out of London.’

Sort it? Would sorting it mean further death and destruction? The man wasn’t dressed for killing. His suit was very posh, probably bespoke, with bright red silk lining the jacket. There
was money here, so perhaps he would use some of it to ensure her grandsons’ safety. No. She wasn’t like the adorable Violet Kray. Paddy O’Neil was sure that the payment for the
freedom of her grandchildren was likely to involve a few corpses. She shivered.

He beamed at her when she thanked him. But he still had flat, empty eyes. Fear continued to shudder its silent way through every fibre of her being. Tom, her much-loved son-in-law, had killed,
and he’d been hollow-eyed for months, but this was different. Some inner instinct told Paddy that Violet’s Ronnie had always been . . . well . . . odd and possibly dangerous. Yet there
was something endearing about him. He was gentlemanlike in the presence of older women, so there was a level of respect rooted deeply beneath all the negative stuff.

Ah yes, the present. She rooted round in her bag for Violet’s gift. It was a framed print of Liverpool’s waterfront. Violet’s smile was a hundred per cent genuine. ‘I bet
it looked nothing like this after the Germans had rearranged it. But it’s lovely now, eh?’

Paddy tried to tell her that the Liver Building and most of its stalwart companions had survived with very little damage, but her throat seemed paralysed when it came to delivering a speech of
any length. In return, she was given a photograph of Violet’s boys. All beautifully dressed, Charlie in the middle, Ronnie with what looked like a huge boa constrictor draped across his
shoulders. The snake looked settled; its eyes were reminiscent of those of its owner.

He was saying something about liking snakes, about a person knowing where he was with a python. ‘If he doesn’t like you, you’re dead,’ he said. ‘If he doesn’t
like you, you’re dead. ‘If he doesn’t like you—’

‘Paddy!’

She woke with a start. ‘What?’

‘You’re dreaming and shouting.’

‘Am I? It’s a wonder I can sleep at all in this boneshaker.’ She was still tired, but she wasn’t afraid any more. And Mrs Kray’s blue-and-white front-room wallpaper
was beautiful.

At last, the journey ended. Paddy’s Irishman, who had expected just one woman, was typically unfazed by the increased head count. Like most Irish folk, he liked plenty of
company, and he took them for a good breakfast in a café not far away. After booking them into a small hotel, he left and promised to return that afternoon. ‘Then I’ll take you
to see Mrs Kray,’ he told Paddy.

‘And we’ll follow you,’ Tom said. ‘Maureen can go in the house with her.’

Atypically, Paddy said nothing. She knew exactly what was going to happen, because God had sent her the dream. How did she know? She didn’t know how she knew, but she knew.

‘Mam?’

Paddy looked at her daughter in the crumpled pink suit. ‘Thank you for coming,’ she said, her voice unusually quiet. ‘I felt so ill and tired last night, but look at me now.
Sometimes, I forget to remember how much I need all of you. The best moment in my whole life was when I saw our lovely Tom walking towards me. Now, we should all rest and get changed later.’
She paused. ‘This is a big day for all of us, especially for Finbar and Michael.’

Seamus stood at the window of the room he was sharing with Mam and Dad. So this was London? It was just like Liverpool: buses, houses, shops and people. ‘Where’s the soldiers in daft
hats?’ he asked. ‘And the soldiers stood in boxes? They can’t talk to you, and if you pull faces they’re not allowed to laugh.’

Paddy opened the door. She was on her way to the next room, where Kevin was already asleep. ‘Seamus, this is a big, bad city with a lot of good people and beautiful places in it. I tell
you this now for your own good. It killed two of your great-uncles and two of your uncles. It’s put your brothers in a difficult situation. Let the soldiers in daft hats stay where they are,
horses and all. The royals are a long, long way from here.’ She left the room.

Kevin opened one eye. ‘You all right, queen?’

‘I am,’ she replied. Queen? Hadn’t she just told Seamus that royalty was miles away? Oh well, never mind – at least she was smiling. Her chest and mind were both clearer,
and she felt better than she had in weeks. Taken all round, it was going to be a great day.

‘Why wouldn’t she let me go in with her?’ Maureen, reasonably well kitted out in her navy suit, felt like a bridesmaid who hadn’t been allowed to
accompany the bride up the aisle. Not that the house looked up to much. It was yellow, for a start. Why the heck would anybody build rows of terraces that looked as if they had liver disease?

Tom worked hard at remaining patient; after many hours in a confined space with his wife for company, he needed the forbearance of Jesus Himself. ‘This is the bit she has to do on her own,
love. She needs us here, within reach, but she doesn’t want to upset the family. Mrs Kray expected one visitor, so she’s got one visitor. Now, give it a rest, will you? I’m going
on no more long journeys with you, Maureen. Can you not sit still?’ Tom glanced over his shoulder at Kevin and Seamus, who was clearly bored. He wanted to see soldiers and Buckingham Palace,
but he was stuck somewhere with a daft name, Bethnal Green. There was nothing green about it.

‘There’s another fidget here in the back,’ Kevin said. ‘Like a cat on hot bricks. If he doesn’t slow down, we’ll need to get him checked for St Vitus’s
dance. Or he may just have ants in his pants. Again.’

Seamus puffed out his cheeks and blew hard. He wanted to see Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus, Westminster Cathedral, the palace. There were big shops, bigger than anything in Liverpool, but here he
sat outside a boring yellow house in a boring yellow street—

‘Seamus!’ Maureen snapped.

‘What?’

‘Stop breathing.’

‘I can’t. If I stop breathing, I’ll die. Beetroot says oxygen is a requirement if we’re going to sustain life.’

‘Sister Beatrice, you mean. I’m not talking about ordinary breathing, but the huffing and puffing is getting on my nerves.’

Well, she was getting on Dad’s nerves, but at least Seamus was fast learning the benefits of near-silence.

They all stared at the door through which Paddy had disappeared some forty minutes earlier. A huge black car sat outside the house. Inside, Paddy would be thanking the Krays for helping Finbar
and Michael to get out of London. ‘What will it cost?’ Maureen mused aloud. She kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. Would Mam find out the names of the three dead? Would the men
killed on Reen’s wedding day become real people with widows and children?

‘It won’t cost anything,’ Kevin replied.

‘I wasn’t meaning money.’ Maureen found her rosary. At times like this, the only help available came from a different dimension.

Tom watched his wife while she closed her eyes and began to move her lips through a Pater, ten Aves and a Gloria. His own prayer was, as usual, less conventional; he simply begged the Lord to
bring home his boys and make his family whole again.

The door opened. Paddy emerged with a man and a woman in her wake. The Krays waved at the people in the car; Seamus waved back. Violet crossed the road, and Tom opened his window. She told them
it had been lovely to meet Paddy, and invited them all to come in next time.

Then it was Ronnie’s turn. ‘Any time you want a holiday in London, let us know and we’ll fix it for you.’

As they drove away, Paddy began to cry. Wedged in the back seat between Seamus and Kevin, she didn’t really have enough space when it came to sobbing. After a couple of minutes, when the
Kray street was behind them, Tom parked again. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

Paddy shook her head. ‘Back to the hotel,’ she achieved finally. ‘Book another night and we’ll travel home Sunday, after Mass. There’s a Catholic church nearby. If
ever God wanted a visit from us, this is the occasion.’

Seamus kept quiet. Now was not the time to start going on about soldiers who appeared to live in standing-up coffins outside the palace.

When they reached their hotel, they all piled into the room occupied by Maureen, Tom and Seamus. The extra bed meant extra seating. A maid brought up tea and sandwiches, and everyone waited for
Paddy to speak. Still clearly distraught, she described the dream she’d had in the van. ‘Everything was right except for the wallpaper and the photograph of Violet’s sons. But
even so, Ronnie was talking about getting a snake. And until three weeks ago, the wallpaper had been blue and white, so—’

‘Great,’ cried Seamus. ‘Can I have a snake?’

‘No, you can’t,’ came the answer from four adult throats.

Seamus sighed. The Shadow might have had a python to play with between chapters. He could imagine himself sitting at a typewriter with a cold-blooded friend keeping watch.

‘But after breakfast in the morning, Seamus, you’ll get your precious tour of London. I’ll book a car to take you and your dad to see the sights. It will have to be quick,
because daylight hours are short and we need to get back to Liverpool the next day after Mass.’

The lad wanted to kiss Gran, but he restrained himself. There was no point in complaining about kisses if he started to dole them out. ‘Thank you,’ he said. He would see London after
all.

‘What upset you, love?’ Kevin asked his wife.

Paddy scarcely knew where to find the words. ‘Seeing a good, kind man with something wrong in his eyes,’ she answered eventually. ‘Reggie wasn’t there. They said he was
away, and I think they meant prison. Ronnie’s generous, kind and helpful. I know in my bones he would never hurt a woman, a child or an elderly man. He’d be the first one there if I
needed to cross a busy road. He’d never see a child without food or something to play with, and he worships Violet.’

‘So what’s the but?’ Maureen asked.

‘Gangs,’ came the reply. ‘Rivalry. There’s a great, gaping maw that swallowed my brothers and my sons. But Finbar and Michael will soon be safe, because Violet ordered
it.’

‘And your dream?’ Kevin asked.