Schemer (21 page)

Absolutely seething that Stephanie had slept with her first love, Angela forced a smile. She felt like going downstairs, getting a knife out of the kitchen drawer and stabbing her slut of a sister in the gut with it, but instead she kept up the façade and hugged her. ‘Of course I forgive you.’

Barry Franklin sat on the desolate beach and stared at the angry-looking waves. He found it rather therapeutic because the waves seemed to match his mood exactly. Since moving to Spain, his life had been awful, and now it had turned into absolute hell.

Picking up a pebble, Barry chucked it resentfully into the sea. The weather was bitterly cold and Barry only had a T-shirt on, but he couldn’t give a toss if he caught hypothermia. Illness was the least of his problems. Unable to suppress his feelings any more, Barry put his head in his hands and, for the first time since he actually was one, sobbed like a baby. He had loved Stephanie, loved her more than anyone or anything else in the world, and how had she repaid him? By betraying him in the worst possible way, that’s how.

Picturing Jacko’s smiling face, Barry forced himself to stop crying. He cleared his throat and spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the damp sand. For years, Barry had considered Jacko a real hero for rescuing him when he had nearly drowned that time, but now he hated him with a passion. Wayne Jackman was a Judas, a wrong ’un, and Barry knew if he lived to be a hundred, he would never, ever forgive him for what he had done. Putting his hand on his chest, Barry fingered the gold piece of jagged heart he had once worn with pride. He hated it now, wished he had never bought it. It was meant to mean something for both him and Steph, but it was obvious his slag of a girlfriend had already forgotten about him.

Shivering, Barry stood up and walked towards the sea. He stared at its coldness and made a vow to himself. Never would he let a woman break his heart again, and never again would he shed a tear over one either. Ripping the gold necklace from around his neck, Barry threw the chain and pendant as far as he could into the ocean. He scowled as he watched it disappear under the water and chose to say a few words, as though he was speaking at a funeral. ‘You might think you’ve seen the last of me, but you ain’t Steph. Neither has that other two-faced cunt. One day, I shall return to England, and when I do, both of yous better be watching your backs. Barry Franklin ain’t no mug and I’ll make sure you learn that the hard way.’

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

1994 – Ten Years Later

Pamela Crouch felt physically and mentally drained as she sat on the sofa and soaked her aching, swollen feet in a bowl of soothing warm water. Organizing her father’s funeral had taken its toll on her, and attending it had brought back all the memories of her mother’s death as well.

‘Cooey, it’s only me. How did it go?’ Pam’s next-door neighbour Cathy asked, as she let herself in with her own key.

‘As well as can be expected. He had a good turnout and all his pals from the Rose of Denmark were ever so nice. I gave the landlord the money he asked me to in his letter, and I should imagine his wake is still in full swing as we speak.’

Seeing Pam’s lip start to wobble, Cathy opened up the bottle of wine she’d brought with her. She poured her friend a glass and sat down next to her. ‘You should have let me come with you, Pam. I said I didn’t mind cancelling me hospital appointment. Where are the girls? Didn’t they come back home with you?’

‘They’ve gone to pick the kids up, then they’re both popping back.’

‘What! Don’t tell me Angie’s gone to pick Aidan up. That’s a first, ain’t it? Is she ill?’

Pam shook her head sadly. Usually, she and Cathy would have a private joke over what a terrible mother her youngest daughter was, but today Pam wasn’t in the mood for cracking funnies. Her dad’s death had been quite sudden. He had been taken into hospital with a suspected angina attack, and five days later had died of pneumonia. He was only seventy years old, and had been as fit as a fiddle up until two weeks ago when he had keeled over in the Rose of Denmark pub.

‘Drink your drink. You look like you need one,’ Cathy said, handing her pal the glass of wine she had poured her.

Pam shook her head. Apart from when he stayed with his other grandmother, Aidan was her sole responsibility, and Pam didn’t like to touch a drop of alcohol until he was safely tucked up in bed at night.

Aidan’s conception and arrival into the world had caused mayhem back in the day. Angela had only been fourteen years old when she had fallen pregnant by Jason O’Brien, and she had been six months into the pregnancy when Pam had finally recognized the sordid truth. For months, Angela had hidden her ever-growing stomach under baggy clothes, and it wasn’t until Pam had walked into her daughter’s room when she was partially naked one day that she realized the well-behaved boy Angela had been dating was actually anything but. Jason’s parents were staunch Catholics, more appalled over finding out that Angela wasn’t a Catholic than learning she was pregnant. Obviously, at six months, it was far too late for Pam to force Angela to have an abortion, so adoption was discussed in much detail. However, when young Aidan made his much-gossiped-about entrance into the world, both grandmothers took one look at him and made a pact to overcome their religious differences and bring up the baby between them until their own children were mature enough to cope with parenthood.

Aidan was eight years old now and, in Pam’s words, was a dear little soul. He was a sturdy child who loved nothing more than playing football or riding his little bike. With his jet-black hair, he possessed a definite Irish look about him, but he had Angela’s bright green eyes and petite button nose. Angela and Jason had split up three months after Aidan’s birth. Both had been too young to cope with the responsibility of having a baby and their relationship had quickly become untenable. Jason was now quite a good parent, but Angela most certainly wasn’t. She had little patience with her son and rarely ever saw him. Sometimes a month would pass between her infrequent visits, and even then she would never spend more than a couple of hours in Aidan’s company. She proclaimed she found it too stressful.

Pam worried immensely about her youngest daughter. Angela was twenty-three now and supposedly lived in an opulent apartment in Soho with a female friend. Nobody had ever seen the apartment or the friend, and when Pam had recently asked if she could visit her, Angela had rudely refused. ‘Leave it out, Mum. Look at the size of you and the way you dress. All my friends think I come from a posh house in Chigwell. I don’t want ’em knowing I was brought up in a council house in bloody Dagenham, and if they see and hear you, they’re bound to guess,’ were Angela’s exact words.

Another thing that had caused Pam many sleepless nights over the years was the career path that Angela had chosen. Her daughter insisted that she was working as a professional dancer at Stringfellows and was doing a bit of glamour modelling on the side to fund her luxury lifestyle, but since Lairy Mary had told Cathy that one of her son’s friends had seen Angela cavorting partially naked around some pole in a seedy bar in Soho, Pam had often wondered if there was more to her daughter’s career than met the eye.

‘So, how is your Ange then? First time you’ve seen her in weeks, ain’t it?’ Cathy asked, snapping her pal out of her obvious daydream.

Pam sighed. ‘Same as bleedin’ usual. Turned up in a red convertible Mercedes sports car this morning, she did! You’ll see it when she brings Aidan back. She said she was taking him for something to eat after school. Was rambling on about some glamour modelling shoot she’s doing in Spain next week. Worries the life out of me she does, Cath. Kids, eh? Sometimes I wish I’d kept me legs bloody closed, don’t you?’

Cathy nodded understandingly. She had her own worries at the moment with her youngest son, Michael. Since splitting up with his ex-girlfriend, Michael had moved back in with her and was a different person to the bubbly, fun-loving lad he had once been. Her son now spent his days alone in his bedroom, smoking dope and drinking beer in a haze of depression. ‘I know how you feel, Pam. My Michael’s getting worse and worse, but he still refuses to see a doctor. I’m sick of the sound of Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin, but what can I do if he don’t wanna help himself? I wouldn’t worry too much about your Angie, mate. She’s always been able to look after herself. Knowing her, I bet she’s met another rich bloke and he’s bought her that bleedin’ car.’

Pam shrugged. Her daughter’s love life was complex to say the least. Angie seemed to have a new man on the scene whenever Pam spoke to her, but Pam was yet to meet one and Angie’s relationships never seemed to last long. With her long dyed-blond hair, large pert breasts, false black eyelashes, and size eight figure, Pam was only too aware of how stunning her youngest daughter was. Angela had been gifted with beauty and had the world at her feet if only she would realize it. All Pam could do was hope and pray that one day she would fall in love with a nice chap and settle down with him. Only then could she finally stop worrying.

‘So, where’s Lin? She still at the wake?’ Cathy asked.

Pam raised her eyebrows as if to say, what do you think? Whenever alcohol was flowing freely, you could guarantee Lin wouldn’t be too far away. Linda still lived with Pam, but just recently had met a man called Keith and she now spent a lot of her time around at his flat in Barking. This worried Pam dreadfully. Her sister had never had a proper relationship before and not only was Pam concerned that Lin would end up with a broken heart; she was also at her wits’ end because Keith was a heavy drinker as well.

‘Did Keith go to the funeral with her?’ Cathy asked, reading her friend’s mind.

Pam nodded. ‘I dunno what to make of him, Cath. He’s pleasant enough, but I just find it so weird that a geezer who’s over six foot would fancy someone as tiny as Lin. I mean, is he some kind of freak?’

Cathy knew how protective Pam was over her sister, but she had met Keith a few times and believed he genuinely liked Linda. ‘Lin’s nearly forty now, Pam, and she ain’t silly.

Pam shrugged. She rued the day that the Butterkist factory had closed down and Lin had got a job in another factory in Barking. It was there where she had met Keith, in some grotty old pub she had started drinking in after work. ‘I am happy she’s met someone, I just wish it weren’t Keith. That Harts Lane Estate he lives on is an absolute shit hole and I know he’s an alkie, he looks like one. I mean, he ain’t even got a job and I don’t want him dragging Lin down to his level. Next thing you know, she’ll be on the dole an’ all.’

‘So, how’s Steph? She still stressed out with all the wedding plans?’ Cathy asked, cleverly changing the subject.

About to answer, Pam was stopped from doing so by Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Chile’ pumping through the wall.

Cathy leapt up. ‘I’ll get him to turn it down, mate. He’s probably stoned and don’t realize how loud he’s got it.’

When her pal made an embarrassed dash from the room, Pam picked up her untouched glass of wine and took a large gulp. Angela and Lin she was used to worrying about, she’d had years of it, but the past week or so it was Stephanie who was causing her more sleepless nights than anybody else. Her eldest daughter wasn’t herself; she seemed anxious and unhappy and Pam couldn’t rest until she found out the reason why.

Stephanie and Wayne Jackman had been a couple since their schooldays. Pam had been elated at the start of their relationship as it had got her daughter over that Barry Franklin. For that reason alone, Pam had welcomed Wayne into her home with open arms, and even when Stephanie had fallen pregnant at eighteen and had had to give up her wonderful job in London with NatWest bank, Pam had accepted the situation. After Angie getting pregnant at fourteen, she could hardly tell Steph she was disappointed in her, could she?

Dannielle was six years old now and was the image of Stephanie at the same age. She had glossy, long dark hair, pale green eyes and an infectious laugh, just like her mother’s. Danni, as most people liked to call her, looked nothing like Wayne, but Tyler did. He was nearly three now and with his blond hair and piercing blue eyes was the absolute spit of his father. Unlike Dannielle, who had always been a joy to look after, Pam found Tyler a bit of a handful to babysit. He had terrible temper tantrums that seemed to appear out of thin air, but Pam loved both children the same amount, like any decent grandmother would.

From a mother’s point of view, Stephanie’s life seemed absolutely idyllic. Wayne was a successful businessman who owned a gym in Leytonstone and a sports shop in Barkingside, while Steph had recently trained to become a fully qualified beautician. Wayne had promised to buy Stephanie her own salon as a wedding gift and Pam was sure that her daughter was more excited about that than the actual big day itself. Deep in thought, Pam didn’t even hear Cathy let herself back in.

‘You all right? You look like you’re in a trance,’ Cathy joked.

‘I was just thinking about my Steph. She was ever so withdrawn again today. Something ain’t right with her. I mean, you know your own kids, don’t ya?’

‘Fuck me, Pam, you were at your dad’s funeral! Anyway, we spoke about this last week and both agreed that the wedding’s probably playing on her mind. It must be ever so stressful planning a big bash like that. She’s probably in turmoil over who she’s gotta invite and stuff. I mean, it weren’t like that in our day, was it? Fifty quid my wedding came to and I did the bleedin’ catering meself. Got up at five in the morning to make me sausage rolls and poxy sandwiches, then the bastard I married had the cheek to get some old slapper up the duff.’

Pam had to smile. Cathy had a wonderful way of telling a story at times. ‘I don’t think it’s the wedding that Steph’s worried about. It’s something else, I know it is, but she clammed up and changed the subject when I asked her earlier. The only thing I can think of is that she don’t like where she’s moved to. It can’t be the house, you’ve seen it, it’s beautiful, so I’m wondering if she ain’t getting on with the neighbours or something. I know it’s a posh area, but you can get arseholes living anywhere these days, can’t you?’