Читать книгу Kimberley Chambers 3-Book Butler Collection: The Trap, Payback, The Wronged - Kimberley Chambers - Страница 14

Bored with doing the washing up and spending their lives confined to the café, young Nancy and Christopher Walker begged their parents to allow them to go out to play.

‘You’re to go no further than a short walk away and you are to be back here by five at the latest,’ their father ordered them.

Missing her friends from Stoke Newington dreadfully, Nancy tagged along reluctantly behind her brother. All day, Christopher had been harping on about the rich men with the posh cars whom he had seen the previous day when he had taken a trip to the sweetshop, but Nancy wasn’t car-mad like her brother. She wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a Sunbeam Tiger and an Austin Healey.

‘This is it,’ Christopher said, plonking himself down on a doorstep opposite the snooker club.

‘But there ain’t no rich men here, nor is there many cars,’ Nancy complained.

‘Well, there was yesterday. That Jaguar Sedan is the car that I want when I’m grown-up.’ Christopher pointed to the shiny black car that belonged to Vinny Butler.

Nancy took a strawberry bonbon out of the paper bag and popped it into her mouth. ‘What do you want to be when you grow up, Christopher? I think I would like to be a hairdresser and do famous people’s hair like Twiggy.’

Sucking on a Kola Kube, Christopher wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Twiggy would never have let his sister near her hair, but it was good Nancy had dreams, because he was determined to fulfil his. ‘I’m gonna be a policeman and catch people like Jack the Ripper. He killed loads of women round ’ere, you know.’

‘What’s that man doing, Christopher?’ Nancy asked, bemused.

Christopher had no idea who the Italian-looking man was, but when he punched a nearby wall and then glared at him and Nancy, the boy’s intuition told him it wasn’t safe to be there. He grabbed his sister’s hand. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the café.’

Michael Butler entered his mother’s house wearing his trademark green parka and a big grin on his face. ‘Urgh. What’s that smell?’

‘Lavender bags. Dotted them all over the house, including that stinking bedroom of yours,’ Queenie informed her son.

Michael screwed up his nose and plonked himself on the Dralon sofa. His mother was the most house-proud woman that he knew. Years ago, their lounge had looked like anybody else’s. But since Vinny had been earning good money, it had had a complete transformation. The new floral wallpaper now matched the mustard three-piece suite, and the rest of the room featured dark teak furniture, a posh rug and floor lamps, a modern round coffee table and, his mother’s pride and joy, a glass ornament cabinet which was now full to the brim with expensive pieces of china that Vinny was forever bringing home.

‘So, how was Carnaby Street?’ Vivian asked excitedly. She had never been there herself, but knew it was all the rage at the moment for the youngsters.

‘Yeah, hip. Met a nice bird, and Kev got himself a well ace pair of two-tone shoes. If my brothers give me money for my birthday, I wanna go back up there and get a pair too,’ Michael replied.

Knowing full well that Vinny and Roy had clubbed together to buy Michael his much-wanted moped, Queenie winked at her sister. ‘Don’t know what they are giving you, son, you’ll just have to see what tomorrow brings.’

‘I wish I was going to be sixteen tomorrow. I hate being eleven. It’s so boring,’ Brenda piped up.

‘I wish I could be eleven all over again, sweetheart, and know what I know now. I certainly wouldn’t make the same bleedin’ mistakes again,’ Vivian told her niece.

‘By saying mistakes, she means my dad,’ Lenny said casually.

Michael looked at his mum and aunt. Knowing that a truer statement had never been spoken, all three burst out laughing.

Roy was shocked to see Vinny sitting on the concrete steps of the club looking extremely dishevelled. ‘Whatever’s happened?’ he asked, staring at his brother’s ripped blood-splattered shirt.

Vinny took a long drag from his cigarette and flicked the butt onto the kerb. ‘I’ve given Dad a good hiding,’ he admitted bluntly.

‘What! You fucking promised me that you weren’t gonna touch him, Vin. I thought we’d agreed that we was gonna confront him together at the restaurant tomorrow?’

‘That’s before I knew he’d got his young bit of skirt up the spout,’ Vinny spat.

Gobsmacked, Roy sat on the step next to his brother. ‘For fuck’s sake. Mum’s gonna go off her rocker when she finds that out. Where is Dad now?’

‘Lying on the floor in the club. Mum can’t find out that it was me who done him over. We tell her nothing now, do you hear me?’

Roy nodded. ‘What about the bird he’s knocked up? I take it she is getting rid of it?’

Vinny stood up. ‘Me and you will have to pay her a little visit to help her make her mind up.’

Roy followed Vinny inside the club and bolted the door. ‘What about her brother, Johnny? He’s meant to be a bit handy, ain’t he?’

‘There’s two of us and one of him, but that’s another reason why everything that’s happened just stays between me and you now. You say nothing to no-one, not even Michael, because if Johnny Preston does start playing up, we might have to get rid of him.’

‘I’m in agony. I think I’m dying. I can’t breathe properly,’ Albie Butler cried out.

Roy gasped when he saw the state of his father. His face was covered in blood where his nose had caved in and Roy could tell immediately that his right leg was broken below the knee as the bone was poking through his skin. ‘Fucking hell, Vin. You shouldn’t have done that much damage to him.’

‘Help me, Roy. Please help me,’ Albie begged.

Ordering his brother to phone an ambulance, Vinny crouched down next to his father. ‘You got jumped by four lads outside the club who were after this, OK?’ Vinny said, taking the wallet out of his father’s pocket and putting it in his own.

In terrible pain, Albie started to cry. ‘I know I deserved a clump, but I can’t believe you broke my leg. How any lad could do that to his own flesh and blood is beyond me.’

‘You just wanna be grateful that I never broke your fucking neck. If the Old Bill question you, you say I heard a commotion, came outside, the boys had already legged it, and I dragged you in here, OK? Then in return, I’ll make sure Mum don’t find out your dirty little secret.’

‘You’re not a nice person, Vinny. You are one callous bastard,’ Albie spat.

‘And you are a dirty old pervert. Now, do we have a deal or not?’

Knowing that he had no option other than to agree with his violent offspring, Albie nodded his battered head.

Queenie was dishing up the sausages and bubble and squeak when Vinny and Roy let themselves into the house. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, putting her spatula on the worktop. Both of her sons looked ashen-faced and serious.

‘Look, don’t panic ’cause he is gonna be OK, but Dad got jumped outside the club by a gang of lads. They took off with his wallet,’ Vinny explained.

‘Well, I bet there weren’t much in that,’ Vivian mumbled, unfeelingly. She was no fan of Albie Butler and felt her sister could have done much better.

‘Is he OK? Where is he now?’ Queenie asked, her face etched with concern.

‘At the hospital. The ambulance man said they thought both his legs might be broken,’ Roy replied, feeling awkward.

‘Gordon Bennett! What is the world coming to if men like your dad are getting mugged? You better take me to him now,’ Queenie ordered.

‘Eat your dinner first, Mum, then Roy will take you up there,’ Vinny replied.

‘Ain’t you coming as well?’ Queenie asked, surprised.

Not wanting to be anywhere near his arsehole of a father, Vinny shook his head. ‘Roy’ll look after you, Mum. Someone has to be at the club, don’t they?’

Queenie eyed her eldest child with suspicion, but said nothing. Both Vinny and Roy had virtually blanked Albie during dinner the other day and Queenie wasn’t stupid. She could tell Vinny had fallen out with his father. Now all she had to do was find out why.

Humming along to Petula Clark’s ‘Downtown’, Mary smiled as the woman she and Donald had nicknamed Mad Freda approached the counter. ‘Hello. What can I get you?’ This was the first time Freda had visited the café since the day she had knocked at the door to warn them about the Butler family.

‘Mug of tea and a piece of that fruit cake, please. So, how’s it going?’ Freda enquired.

‘Ever so well, thanks. Donald and I have been run off our feet again today.’

‘Met the Butlers yet?’ Freda asked.

‘Two ladies who came in the other day introduced themselves by that name, but they were lovely, ever so polite,’ Mary replied, desperate to avoid getting involved with tittle-tattle.

‘Huh. Brady and Hindley was probably lovely and polite people too,’ Freda said sarcastically, referring to the couple who had recently been arrested for murdering children on the moors.

Thankful when Freda plonked herself at a table over by the door, Mary called her son over to the counter. Unlike his sister, who had been helping Donald in the kitchen all day, Christopher had done nothing but sit on his backside and read his Roy of the Rovers comics.

‘Two burgers and chips,’ Donald shouted out.

‘Get the plates off your dad and take them over to that table next to the jukebox, Christopher,’ Mary ordered her son.

Christopher stood transfixed to the spot with his mouth wide open. The rich-looking man with the posh Jaguar car who he had seen punching the wall earlier had just walked into the café.

Albie Butler felt terribly sorry for himself as he lay flat on the hospital bed with both legs up in traction.

‘Jesus, Albie. Whatever happened, eh?’ Queenie asked, marching into the ward with Vivian behind her.

‘Got jumped by a gang of lads for me wallet,’ Albie mumbled.

‘Why ever did they jump you? Everyone who knows you is aware you ain’t got a pot to piss in,’ Vivian replied, her voice as cold as ice.

Albie glared at his wife’s sister and, instead of calling her a fucking old trout like he wanted to, managed to bite his tongue.

‘I bought you some pyjamas up, and made you a ham sandwich,’ Queenie said, plonking a carrier bag on the bed next to her husband.

‘I can’t get pyjama bottoms over the plaster and I can’t eat nothing. I’m in too much pain. A small bottle of brandy wouldn’t have gone amiss though,’ Albie muttered miserably.

‘Ungrateful old bastard,’ Vivian mumbled under her breath.

‘I’ve just spoken to the doctor. They reckon you’ll be in here for a while, you know,’ Queenie informed her old man.

‘Thanks very much. Cheer me up, why don’t ya?’

‘So, what exactly happened? Have you spoken to the Old Bill yet?’ Queenie asked.

‘Yeah. Not much I could tell ’em. It all happened so quickly, I didn’t get a clear view of any of the lads. Where’s Vinny and Roy?’

‘Roy and Michael are waiting in the corridor. The nurse said we could only come in two at a time, so I’ll send them in next. You had a fall-out with our Vinny and Roy?’

‘No. What makes you ask that?’ Albie asked defensively.

‘Because I’ve sensed a bad atmosphere the past few days. What’s going on, Albie? I ain’t some silly old fool, you know, and I will find out, so you might as well tell me now. What you done to upset them?’

Albie looked at his wife with pure hatred in his eyes. Here he was, with two broken legs and three broken ribs, confined to a stinking hospital bed for Christ knows how long, and instead of concern, all Queenie was worried about was her precious sons. Was it any wonder he strayed at the drop of a hat?’ I ain’t done anything to upset the boys, OK? Now, please go and get me a bottle of brandy to help me with the pain. Killing me, my ribs are. I would give you the money, but the bastards who attacked me nicked me wallet.’

‘The doctor said you were on strong painkillers. You ain’t meant to drink with them, Albie. You might keel over and die in the night,’ Queenie advised him.

Hoping that her sister’s warning just might come true, Vivian put her hand inside her handbag. ‘Poor sod’s been right through the mill. I’ll treat him to a bottle.’

Knowing full well why Vivian had made such a kind gesture, Queenie had a fake coughing fit, then dashed out of the ward before Albie could realize she was laughing.

Little Christopher Walker was mesmerized by the dark-haired man in the charcoal suit.

‘Stop gawping at people. Go and collect any empty plates and cups,’ Mary hissed in her son’s ear.

Another person who had her beady eyes on Vinny was Freda Smart and when Christopher approached her, she couldn’t help but speak her mind. ‘Should be strung up by the balls, the lot of ’em. Bloody murderers,’ she said in a loud voice.

Vinny smirked. Freda had been extremely friendly with the café’s previous owners and was the only person in the East End who would have the nerve to accuse him of killing Old Jack and Ethel’s son. She was spot-on actually. Fifteen-year-old Peter had had a habit of exposing himself to young girls and had one day made the fatal mistake of touching up a neighbour’s eleven-year-old daughter and forcing her to touch him in an undesirable place. Absolutely fuming, Vinny had decided to rid Whitechapel of such an unsavoury character and a few weeks later Peter was found at the bottom of the Thames.

Vinny turned around in his seat. He loved winding the old battleaxe up. The café wasn’t packed, but Vinny could see the worried expressions on the other diners’ faces. ‘Spouting cock and bull again, are you, Freda? Can’t be long now until they cart you off to that funny farm,’ he said.

‘Sod all wrong with my marbles. I know exactly what yous Butlers are and unlike everyone else round ’ere, I ain’t bleedin’ frightened to tell you either. You can do me in next for all I care,’ Freda yelled, stomping out of the café.

Vinny chuckled and raised his eyebrows to fellow customers. It didn’t bother him that Freda accused him of being a murderer in public. In fact, she was doing him a favour as it just made people fear him more.

With no-one waiting to be served, Mary darted out into the kitchen to fill Donald in on what had just happened.

Aware that the young boy’s eyes were on him once again, Vinny smiled at Christopher. He had already recognized him as the one who had been sitting opposite the snooker club earlier. ‘Can you show me how to use your jukebox?’

Christopher ran over to the Wurlitzer. Vinny put on Roger Miller’s ‘King of the Road’, which happened to remind him of himself, then handed the child half a crown.

Absolutely ecstatic at the unexpected gift, Christopher ran out to the kitchen to show his parents.

‘Who gave you that?’ Donald asked, his face reddening with anger, knowing only too well who it was likely to be.

‘The man in the suit gave it to me because I taught him how to use the jukebox,’ Christopher explained.

‘Can I have some money too, Daddy?’ Nancy asked, tugging her father’s sleeve.

Donald was fuming. He wanted no involvement with this Butler family and he had always forbidden his children to accept money or gifts from strangers. ‘What have I told you about taking money off people, eh?’ he said, dragging Christopher out of the kitchen by his arm.

‘Stop it, Daddy. You’re hurting me,’ Christopher said, bursting into tears.

‘Donald, stop overreacting for goodness’ sake,’ Mary urged him. She didn’t want to upset or make a scene in front of their customers.

Vinny had just dotted his cigarette out and was about to leave when Donald marched up to him with Christopher in tow. ‘Is this the man?’ he asked his son.

The little boy was sobbing. He not only felt embarrassed, he wanted to keep his half a crown. Nodding his head, Christopher stared at his feet in shame.

‘Excuse me, sir. It was very kind of you to give my son this money, but I’m afraid I have brought my children up not to accept gifts off people they do not know, so I insist you take it back.’

Vinny stared Donald in the eyes and immediately disliked him. He could tell he was one of life’s do-gooders. ‘It wasn’t a gift. Your son earned it by showing me how to use the jukebox,’ Vinny replied casually.

‘Well, Christopher won’t be accepting it all the same,’ Donald said, putting the coin on the table and dragging his son away.

About to tell Donald that he should get off his fucking moral high horse, Vinny saw Christopher’s distraught little face glance around and decided not to bother. The old man was obviously a twat, so what was the point of upsetting the kid even more? Slipping the half a crown into his pocket, Vinny nodded politely at Mary, and quietly left the café.