she’d said, Gina leaned towards her husband’s ear. ‘I know he’s your business partner, but I feel sorry for that poor woman. Vinny’s not like you. He’s possessive and arrogant.’
‘More like nosy and pissed. Vin’s OK, Gina. He’s got a good side, very loyal – he’s offered to watch my back many a time if I needed him to. You’ll get used to him in time. He’s just not used to being with a woman. Jo died years ago and this dating lark is all new to him,’ Ed whispered back.
Gina wasn’t a big drinker as a rule. She was devoted to being a mother these days, an odd glass of wine occasionally once the children were in bed was all she consumed. Forgetting to whisper, she blurted out, ‘I don’t care what you say, Felicity won’t be happy with him.’
Vinny smashed his glass against the table. ‘Sorry, Gina. I didn’t quite catch that, love. If you’ve got something to say to me, I’d prefer you to say it to my face.’
Eddie Mitchell leapt out of his chair, grabbed Vinny by the arm and marched him out to the toilets.
‘Don’t be getting bolshie with me, Ed,’ Vinny spat, his eyes blazing. ‘It’s your old woman you want to be having a word with. I heard every fucking thing she spouted,’ he added, releasing his arm from Eddie’s grasp like a petulant child.
Once inside the men’s a furious Eddie Mitchell grabbed hold of Vinny’s lapels and pushed him against the wall. ‘You need to man up, you do, and start acting like a gentleman. We’ve all had a skinful tonight, but that doesn’t excuse your lack of respect. Gina isn’t a “love”, as you so nicely put it; neither is she an “old woman”. Gina is a Mitchell. My wife and the mother of my kids – and don’t you ever forget that, Vinny. Because if you do, me and you are gonna fall out big time. Under-fucking-stand?’
‘I think it might be three, six, four, Harry. Keep those numbers firmly in your head and as soon as we get a chance, we’ll try them,’ Georgie O’Hara said.
Desperate to return to the family that had raised her, Georgie O’Hara had been racking her brain for weeks trying to remember her boyfriend Ryan’s phone number. She knew it started in 07973 and ended in 187, but the middle numbers she could not seem to fathom.
‘I reckon Dad and Granddad Jimmy are dead ya know, Georgie. They would have come and rescued us by now if they were still alive. Eddie telling us they went back to Scotland is a load of bollocks. No way would Dad go back to Scotland without us.’
Eyes welling up, Georgie squeezed her brother’s hand. She feared the same but prayed she was wrong. She knew her father and Granddad Jimmy had followed her and Harry on the day they’d been abducted because she and her brother had heard the mumblings of Eddie and the others. ‘I’ve got a plan. Why don’t we say sorry to Mum for being bad yesterday, then beg her to take us to Joycie’s birthday party. We can’t use the phone here ’cause the numbers will show up on the bill and we’ll get into trouble like we did before. But we can use Joycie’s. She must have a phone upstairs. Most gorgers have phones in their bedrooms.’ Joyce Smith was their great-grandmother, their dead Nanny Jessica’s mum, but neither Georgie nor Harry really remembered her from the past. Neither did they like her very much, which was why they called her ‘Joycie’ rather than ‘Nan’.
Harry shrugged. ‘I ain’t saying sorry to Frankie though. I wish she’d die.’
Backcombing her dyed-blonde hair into a bouffant, Joyce Smith repeatedly yelled her husband’s name.
Stanley Smith puffed out his cheeks as he ambled up the stairs. Today would be the first time he’d been forced to socialize with the man who had murdered his daughter since she’d died, and Stanley was dreading being in close proximity to Eddie no-good Mitchell.
Jessica’s death had been a tragic case of mistaken identity, but that didn’t lessen Stanley’s hatred towards the man who’d snuffed out her life. Eddie had thought it was Frankie’s gypsy boyfriend hiding under the bed in a trailer in Tilbury when he’d manically fired that machine gun. Jessica had been pregnant at the time with her and Eddie’s third child, so Mitchell had two lots of blood on his hands. In Stanley’s eyes, a judge and jury should have locked Eddie up for life, but they didn’t. He got found guilty of only the firearms offence and was let out of prison far too soon.
‘You’re not wearing that, Stanley. You look like a bundle of shit tied up ugly. Go and put your blue suit on, and wear that new tie I bought you.’
‘I’m not wearing a suit and bloody tie indoors. I’ll look like a poxy doctor’s clerk,’ Stanley complained.
‘I bet you wore a suit for the old slapper. Now go and get changed. Chop, chop.’ Joyce had been equally appalled and devastated when Stanley had once left her and moved in with that brazen old bag, Pat the Pigeon. To this day, Stanley insisted they’d been just good friends and their relationship was platonic, but Joyce wasn’t a forgiving woman. Most days she would remind her husband of his infidelity, especially when she wanted her own way, or jobs around the house doing.
Mumbling obscenities, Stanley took his suit out of the wardrobe.
‘Answer that phone. I’m doing my make-up,’ Joyce shouted out.
Stanley did as he was told, then relayed the message to his wife. ‘That was Eddie. He said Frankie’s bringing Georgie and Harry with her, but you’re not to worry as he’s invited some other kids to keep them occupied.’
Dropping her make-up brush, Joyce looked at her husband in despair. ‘But they can’t come. I’ve invited Rita and Hilda now, and Jock and your pigeon club mates. We can’t have the monsters running riot amongst friends, Stanley. Whatever will they think?’ Joyce wasn’t a big fan of her gypsy great-grandchildren. They were terribly behaved and reminded her of all the bad things that had happened over the years. If Frankie hadn’t got in with that Jed O’Hara, her Jessica would still be alive today.
Stanley shrugged. ‘Eddie better not be bringing his kids by that other woman. He’s not, is he?’ Eddie Mitchell was remarried now to a woman called Gina and Stanley had no wish to meet her or her children.
‘No. Eddie’s coming with Vinny Butler and his mum, Queenie.’
‘Vinny Butler! Jesus wept, Joycie! I know you love mixing with the criminal fraternity, but you’re asking for bleedin’ trouble inviting those Butlers to our home. They’re rotten to the core, you silly woman.’
‘That was my dad. Vinny Butler’s son is coming and bringing his kids, so Georgie and Harry will have some company. I do hope they don’t start performing, Stuart. I can tell my nan don’t like them very much.’
Stuart held his pretty fiancée in his arms and stroked her long dark hair. Frankie had changed since Georgie and Harry’s return. She’d lost a lot of weight and her once happy persona had all but disappeared. ‘Today will be fine. Kids will be kids – there’s no point worrying about it, babe.’
Frankie clung to Stuart, taking in the smell of his familiar aftershave. What she would have done without him these past six months she did not know. He was her rock and she could never have coped alone.
In Queenie Butler’s opinion, she looked bloody good for her seventy-four years. Her shoulder-length straight hair was regularly dyed blonde and she wouldn’t be seen dead without her
