too much, and concentrated more on the surrounding areas. Everybody, including the O’Haras, thought that John, the guv’nor in the Flag, paid them protection, but that wasn’t the case. John was their mate, he looked after them and vice versa.
Eddie turned the radio on as he made himself a sandwich. He hated silence, it gave him the heebies. Hearing the croaky voice of Rod Stewart, he cranked up the volume. He loved that song, ‘Maggie May’. It was all about a young boy having an affair with an older woman. Eddie thought back to his colourful past. He’d been in that position many a time in his youth, so much so that the song could have been written especially for him.
Smirking, Ed flopped onto the sofa and was just about to tuck into his doorstep special when the phone rang. ‘Fucking nuisance,’ he muttered, as he ran to the hallway to answer it.
‘All right, Dad? What you up to?’
‘I’m just leaving home. Have I got some news for you, Eddie, my boy. Meet me in the Flag, I’ll be there in half an hour.’
Eddie could tell by his father’s voice that whatever news he had was bloody good.
‘Don’t keep me waiting. Tell us now.’
Harry Mitchell laughed. ‘No way. I need to see the expression on your face when I tell you. Be patient and move your arse.’
Eddie shook his head as he replaced the receiver. He was a funny bastard, his father, a proper fucking character.
Jessica had a bath, dried her hair and sat on the bed in her dressing gown. She was dreading telling her parents the news, but the quicker she told them the better. Her mum should be OK; it was her dad she was worried about. Jessica wasn’t very good at lying.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ her mum asked her earlier.
‘Nothing,’ Jessica lied. Her dad wasn’t at home and she’d rather kill two birds with one stone than tell them separately.
Hearing the front door slam shut, Jessica chucked on some clothes and wandered downstairs.
‘Any chance of a quick word with both of you?’ she asked sheepishly.
Joyce and Stanley followed her into the living room.
‘Sit down,’ Jessica urged.
Stan said a silent prayer. Something was wrong and with a bit of luck Mr Fucking Charming Bollocks had kicked her into touch.
‘What’s up, love?’ he asked hopefully.
Jessica felt too embarrassed to look them in the eye, so she focused on the carpet.
‘Please don’t have a go at me, but I found out today that I’m pregnant. I’m really sorry if I’ve let you both down.’
Joyce hugged her daughter. The timing wasn’t perfect but, nevertheless, she was thrilled. She’d always fancied being a young grandma. She could barely wait to get dolled up and go out walking with the pram. As for babysitting, she would look after the child as much as Jess would allow her.
‘I’m so pleased for you, darling. Now, don’t you worry about being young and not being able to cope. Your old mum will teach you the ropes and I’ll be there for you as much as possible. Perhaps Eddie will buy you a house nearby, so I’m always on hand to help out and babysit.’
Stanley sat paralysed in the armchair. He’d had so many high hopes for his beautiful daughter and now she was up the spout by that Mitchell bastard.
‘Are you OK, Dad?’ Jessica asked him.
Stan nodded and looked the other way. He didn’t want her to see the tears in his eyes.
‘What about the wedding? Will you bring it forward or get married after the baby’s born?’ Joyce asked.
Jessica shrugged. ‘I’ll speak to Eddie tonight. He doesn’t even know that I’m pregnant yet. I don’t really want a baby out of wedlock, so the sooner we tie the knot, the better. I’d rather do it before I start showing.’
Joyce nodded. She could understand where Jess was coming from. Walking down the aisle with a stomach like a rugby ball never looked good on anyone. She squeezed her daughter’s hand.
‘Whatever you and Eddie decide, me and your dad are right behind you, aren’t we, Stanley?’
Stan said nothing. The quicker he got out of this bleeding nuthouse the better.
‘Stanley, what do you think you’re doing? Where you going?’ Joyce shouted.
Ignoring his wife, Stan put on his checked cap and slammed the front door.
Eddie ordered another drink and glanced at his watch. His bloody father was late and he was doing buttons to know what had happened.
Five minutes later, a beaming Harry Mitchell strolled into the pub.
‘Well, what’s occurring?’ Eddie asked him.
Ushering his son over to an empty corner of the pub, Harry sat opposite him. ‘They’ve gone.’
Eddie shook his head, ‘Who you on about? Who’s fucking gone?’
Harry started laughing. ‘The O’Haras. They’ve moved away, the whole lot of ’em. They’ve gone to Essex, by all accounts. Butch sent a message to me yesterday, via Ginger Mick. He told him to tell me that there won’t be any repercussions and he wants an end to the feud for good. Ginger Mick said the old cunt was petrified and he can barely fucking walk. Yesterday they went – the site’s completely fucking empty. Packed up their stuff and did a moonlight flit, apparently.’
Eddie couldn’t stop smiling. He would never have to see Jimmy O’Hara’s ugly boat race ever again.
‘Bring us over a bottle of champagne, Betsy,’ he ordered the barmaid.
Eddie shook his old man’s hand. ‘You know what this means, don’t you? We can take over the Stratford boozers. I can’t wait for us to bowl into the Chobham and demand money off that pikey-loving cunt of a guv’nor. I think we should stick the price up in there, charge him more than we charge anyone else.’
Harry laughed. ‘My sentiments exactly. Apparently, they had seven boozers in Stratford on their payroll, all told. In the next couple of days we’ll pay all of ’em a visit, get our foot in the door.’
Eddie sipped his drink. ‘Are you sure that Ginger Mick can be trusted?’
Harry nodded. ‘I’ve had him on me payroll since he was a young ’un. Safe as houses, he is. The O’Haras thought he was their Joey – what they didn’t know was that I set it all up. We needed a spy in the camp, and Ginger Mick was perfect.’
Reg, Paulie and Ronny’s arrival spelled the start of a glorified piss-up. Champagne corks went flying and there were pats on the back and handshakes all around.
‘Come and join us, John,’ Harry urged the guv’nor.
Ronny started the singalong and the rest of the lads joined in: ‘When the inbred O’Haras go run, run, a-running
