by making jokes but he didn’t bother to look round.
Twenty minutes later they arrived at the bus terminal and as Tommy was walking away he saw a woman from the bus who’d been talking to another passenger about heading back to the West End.
‘Hang on, wait up darlin’.’
The woman turned around as she walked towards the main road and Tommy jogged to catch up. He smiled at her, his handsome face lighting up under the street lamps as she smiled back.
‘Seeing as though both of us are heading towards Wanstead High Street to catch the bus up West, why don’t we take the short cut across Hollow Ponds, it’ll save us having to go all the way round or wait God knows how long for another bus. And if the boogie man does come along, I can always jump behind you for protection.’
He listened to her talk and introduce herself and then he smiled at her, his beautiful eyes dazzling brightly.
‘Okay, hopefully we can get there before midnight.’
They began to walk as she chatted happily about her friend.
‘These big firms think they can treat people how they want to and they always seem to get away with it. My friend lost her job last week, oh, you should have heard the language on her. Still, I say she’s best off out of it.’
It was dusk but the path and the woods were still quite visible. She was still talking and Tommy let her go before him along the narrowed path, watching as her head moved whilst she talked.
They got deeper into the woods before he said her name and smashed his skull against her face. The force knocked her to the floor and the moonlight lit up Tommy’s face.
As she was about to scream he raised his foot and brought it down hard on her mouth.
‘No you don’t darlin’, no screams. We won’t have any screaming out of your mouth and we certainly won’t have any more of your incessant fucking talking.’
He dragged her through the bushes by clumps of her hair, knowing she was still conscious and feeling every scratch from the twisted thorns and twigs as he took her towards the car.
The sound of a distant alarm reminded Tommy he had to be somewhere. He really needed to get back home to see his mother. To make sure she was alright. His father was on the warpath after the fight with Frankie and he didn’t want her to be in the firing line.
Thinking about his mother made Tommy smile. He loved her so much but he didn’t think she’d ever noticed, or maybe it was just him she didn’t notice. Maybe he was as invisible as he felt.
It was a superficial wound but the police were sniffing around like pigs sniffing on an arsehole and Frankie Taylor watched them scribble down pointless notes.
‘Mr Taylor, are you trying to tell us you didn’t see who attacked you and neither did your son, even though it was broad daylight?’
‘That’s exactly right Officer; that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a little time with my wife.’
The police had stayed another hour attempting to glean out any bit of information they could, but Frankie and Johnny had continued to say nothing. In the end the two officers had left somewhat exasperated at the same time as Gypsy pulled back the faded blue hospital curtains with more cups of tea.
‘The dirty rotten bleeder. Max Donaldson needs to pay for this.’
Gypsy was on a roll and Frankie loved it. When they’d moved into Berkley Square she’d decided to get elocution lessons. He’d looked at her in amazement. ‘Are you off your tits girl?’
‘No Frank, I just want to get meself talking proper.’
‘Christ almighty Gyps, this ain’t my fair lady you know.’
They’d laughed hard but she’d still insisted on taking the lessons, and over time her East End accent had turned softer until it was hardly there at all. Unless of course she was talking about two things. The only two things which brought back the East End girl back into her voice. His sister, and Max Donaldson.
Frank watched Gypsy, her mouth moving ten to the dozen. Thousands of pounds of elocution lessons out of the window. But he didn’t mind. The angrier she got about the situation, the happier Frankie felt. He loved that she cared. Loved she’d have no problem rolling up her sleeves to get into a fight to defend him. Not that she’d ever need to – he was more than man enough to look out for himself and his family, but he loved that she was strong.
It was one of the things that had attracted him to Gypsy in the first place. She was beautiful, but so were many other girls down the clubs in the East End. They were all fuckable but they were also unmemorable. Gypsy had been different; her strength had shone out from under the bleached blonde hair and false eyelashes. Her spirit for life had been intoxicating; making him a fool for her. He’d never met a woman like Gypsy. She was so unlike all the other women and so unlike his poor feeble mother.
As he continued to think, Frankie’s contentment turned into a scowl. As much as he loved her strength, the problem he had now was her strength was starting to make its way into her overall attitude. A little bit too much for his liking. He could see her starting to want to break away, to do things on her own, when she’d previously only wanted to do things with him.
At first he’d thought she’d some other man boning her but after he’d got some of his men to follow her about for a couple of days he’d realised there was no other man. Gypsy’s infidelity was freedom. A whole lot harder to deal with than putting a bullet in some lover’s head.
Frankie shifted his body on the hospital trolley trying to find a more comfortable position to lie in. The painkillers were wearing off and he was starting to hurt. He’d had to have thirty stitches but the doctors had told him the wound would heal easily. What couldn’t be sewn up so easily was the other kind of wound, the one Max Donaldson had opened up. He’d opened a new hatred between them and he was going to wish he hadn’t.
He couldn’t really believe Max had actually had the front to stab him in broad daylight off the Camden Road. He wasn’t going to send his men round for revenge; he would wait until he could do it himself. He would wait to be able to get his hands on Max’s scrawny neck. The hatred had grown into a cancer over the years between the two of them and as much as he wasn’t quite sure why it’d gone on for so long, he was sure he had Gypsy’s support in the vendetta; in fact sometimes he’d got the distinct impression she was egging him on. The few times he’d thought of stopping the feud Gypsy had had more than a few choice words to say about the matter with her voice as thick as the smog that used to be in the East End. ‘And why would you want to bleeding do that eh, Frankie? You’ll be the laughing stock of Soho if you start waving the white flag. That’s not like you to let some no-good bastard get the better of you – or maybe you’ve lost your bottle and you’re scared?’
‘Fuck off Gyps, you know it ain’t that, I’ve never been scared of anyone
