Schemer (24 page)

‘That’s such a shame, mate.’ Cooksie said, sincerely.

Wayne stared at his pals. They were the oldest friends he had now, so he’d chosen to spill his guts to them rather than anyone else. ‘If I tell you something, promise me you won’t say nothing to Steph?’ he said.

When all three men vowed not to, Wayne continued. He turned to Danno. ‘You know I sold me house in Collier Row to move to Chigwell?’

‘Yeah,’ Danno replied.

‘Well, I sold it and rented because I had to. I’ve told Steph that we’ll rent in Chigwell for six months before we buy, so we can make sure we like it before we take the plunge. But, the truth is, I was in so much debt, I didn’t have much choice. When things hit rock bottom last year, I borrowed money against the gym and the shop. Even that new BMW I’ve bought is on the never-never.’

To say Danny was astounded was an understatement. He knew a few blokes who knew Wayne, and all of them had been under the impression that he was a millionaire at least. ‘I can lend you a few bob, mate. How much do you need to tide you over?’

Wayne immediately shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer, Danno, but I’m a man not a mug. This cash-flow problem I’ve got is just a temporary hitch and, in hindsight, perhaps I should have come clean with Steph. She bought our little Tyler an outfit that cost two hundred sovs the other day, and the money she’s spent on the bridesmaids’ clobber, you don’t wanna know. The price of her wedding dress was absolutely scandalous, but what can I do? I love the girl, it’s the biggest day of her life and I can’t spoil it for her.’

‘You poor bastard,’ Danno said, as he slapped Wayne on the back.

Wayne’s eyes welled up. ‘Look at me getting all emotional. What a prick! Seriously guys, I know we’re pissed, but getting that off me chest has done me the world of good. I ain’t told no other bugger and I ain’t gonna. Let’s just keep it between ourselves, eh?’

When Danno, Potter and Cooksie all nodded, Wayne toasted them with his glass of champagne. ‘To true friends.’

Stephanie Crouch arrived home at twelve o’clock on the dot. She was merry rather than drunk and had really enjoyed her evening with Tammy. It was sad in parts but, now she understood why her mate was taking such a risk, she could finally be happy for her. As Steph put her key in the door, she could hear her home phone ringing. Guessing it was probably Wayne, she ran into the lounge to answer it. ‘Hello.’

‘It’s me, Steph. You only just got in?’ her mum asked her.

‘What’s up? Are the kids OK?’ Steph asked, ignoring her mother’s question.

‘Yeah, they’ve been asleep for hours,’ Pam replied.

‘What’s wrong then? Angie ain’t been performing again, has she?’

‘No. Is Wayne home?’ Pam asked. She had something important to tell Stephanie and she didn’t want to cause any trouble.

Feeling anxious and annoyed at the same time, Stephanie couldn’t help but lose her patience. ‘No, he ain’t! For Christ’s sake, just spit it out will you, Mum?’

‘I would have rung you on that new mobile thing you’ve got, but I knew you were out with Tammy and I didn’t wanna spoil your evening. It’s Barry, he’s come back home.’

‘Barry who?’ Stephanie asked, dumbly.

‘Your ex-boyfriend, Barry. You know, Marlene’s son. She’s back an’ all. They pulled up in a cab a couple of hours ago and went in their old house. They had two suitcases with ’em, so they must be planning on staying for a while.’

Feeling as if she had just been struck by a bolt of lightning, Stephanie gasped and dropped the phone in shock.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The following morning, Steph was a bundle of nerves as she drove towards her mother’s house. She had barely slept a wink last night and when she had finally managed to nod off, she had dreamt that Barry Franklin had turned up at her wedding with a gun in his hand and tried to shoot Wayne. Beside herself with worry, Stephanie let out a deep sigh. Wayne hadn’t got in until half three this morning and had been in no fit state to have a serious conversation with. Stephanie knew she had to tell him that Barry was back home. If her ex was staying bang opposite her mother, she could hardly not bloody tell Wayne.

As Stephanie neared her mother’s house her anxiety started to heighten. Whether she would ever have dumped Barry in favour of Wayne, she really didn’t know, but in the end the decision had been made for her.

Swerving onto a kerb, Stephanie slammed on the brakes and repeatedly banged her head gently against the steering wheel. She had two beautiful children, would soon be marrying the man of her dreams, she was financially secure and healthy; so why did this have to happen to spoil her perfect life? Picturing Barry Franklin’s face, Stephanie took the mobile phone Wayne had recently bought her out of her bag and rang her mother. ‘Are you ready?’ she asked, when Pam answered the phone.

‘Yeah. Why? You ain’t running late, are you?’

‘No, I’m parked up in Ford Road. Walk the way you normally go to work and you’ll see me by the crossroads,’ Steph replied.

‘Why can’t you pick me up from home? I’ll be late if I have to carry Tyler.’

‘Because of Barry, Mum. If I bump into him, I’ll die a death, and I really can’t face the embarrassment of it all.’

Barry Franklin woke up in his old bedroom and stared at the surroundings in utter disgust. He had been rather inebriated when he’d gone to bed last night, so hadn’t taken much notice of the room, but in the cold light of day it looked awful. There was dust everywhere, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and pieces of stale food scattered about on the carpet. Looking at the colour of the filthy, stained quilt he had slept under, Barry sat up and immediately began scratching at his skin. Compared to his current surroundings, he lived in what could only be described as a palace back in Spain, and Barry knew without a doubt that he could not spend another night at his sister’s house. He would rather shell out for a hotel somewhere.

As a little mixed-race head poked out from under the quilt in the bed opposite him, Barry smiled. Chantelle had three children now, all by different men. AJ was the oldest. He was nearly ten and was the son of the Indian guy Chantelle had been with when Barry had moved to Spain. Ajay senior was now in Belmarsh. He had been caught with a big stash of heroin and was doing a fifteen stretch. The child currently staring at him with a look of bewilderment on his face was Chantelle’s middle one, Jermain. His father was of Jamaican origin, but had wanted little to do with his son and had only seen him twice since his birth.

‘You all right, boy? I’m your Uncle Barry.’

‘Get out my room,’ the child replied, glaring at him.

Barry got out of bed. The bedroom had the same odour as a public toilet, and he guessed that one if not more of the kids must wet the bed on a regular basis. Barry hadn’t even met his youngest nephew yet. Daryl was only two, had an English father, and Chantelle was happy to let his dad bring him up. Apparently, she only saw Daryl every other weekend and had even cancelled the child’s last visit.

‘I said get out my room,’ Jermain repeated, angrily.

‘Chill out, boy. I’m going in a tick,’ Barry replied. He walked over to the window and stared through the grimy glass at the house across the road. He knew Pam still lived there and Stephanie visited her regularly with her two children. He also knew that Stephanie and Wayne were getting married in three weeks’ time. He might live thousands of miles away, but the grapevine was a funny old thing, and there wasn’t much that went on that he didn’t get to hear about. Barry let go of the shabby curtain. Steph had killed his faith in the female gender for a very long time, and after spending years screwing everything in sight, Barry had finally met the girl he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Jolene, her name was. She was eighteen years old, a real stunner, and after being together for just over a year, they had recently got engaged.

‘If you don’t go, I’m gonna get my mum to beat you up,’ Jermain growled, appearing by Barry’s side.

Ruffling the child’s short Afro hair, Barry chuckled and hurriedly left the room.

After disclosing her fears to her mum, and Pam reassuring her that Barry had not come back to ruin her wedding or carry out some sort of revenge attack, Stephanie drove back to Chigwell in a much better frame of mind. Wayne had still been in bed when she’d arrived home, so she had got Dannielle ready for school, dropped her at the gates and was now on the way back home again with Tyler.

‘All right, babe? Cor, I was bladdered last night, girl. Did you hear me come in?’ Wayne asked as Stephanie shut the front door.

‘Yeah, I spoke to you, don’t you remember?’

‘I can’t remember Jack shit,’ Wayne said, hugging his wife-to-be.

‘So, did you have a good night? How were Potter and Cooksie? Are they still a pair of wankers?’ Stephanie enquired, genuinely interested.

‘Yeah, a bit, but they’re OK. Cooksie is unemployed and is living with some old bird in Elm Park who has three kids by some other geezer, and Potter works for the Underground. I dunno what he does there, he didn’t say. He’s got kids of his own and lives in Southend, but he ain’t married. Right, I’d better get off to work now, babe. I’ll probably be late tonight. I’ve got a business meeting with some geezer.’

‘Par, Daddy, par,’ Tyler said, grabbing hold of his father’s leg.

‘Not today, boy,’ Wayne replied, ruffling his son’s head. He knew Tyler’s language well enough now to realize his son was asking to be taken to the park.

‘I need to talk to you, Wayne,’ Stephanie said, nervously.

‘Can’t it wait till later, or tomorrow, sweetheart? I really have got a lot on me plate today.’

‘No, Wayne, it can’t!’

‘Wan go par,’ Tyler screamed, kicking Wayne’s leg, then throwing himself on the floor.

‘Tough shit! You ain’t going to the fucking park. Get that child away from me, Steph. I’ve got a banging headache, babe, and I can’t be doing with his little tantrums, today of all days.’

‘Just give me five minutes to calm him down, Wayne, and then we’ll talk. There’s something important we need to discuss.’

When Stephanie half dragged and half carried a hysterical Tyler up the stairs, Wayne sat anxiously on the sofa. Surely Steph hadn’t found out about his underhandedness? Because if she had, it would ruin everything.

Unable to fancy anything to eat or drink in his sister’s house, Barry offered to treat her and the boys to breakfast in a local café. Within minutes of arriving there, Barry started to regret his spontaneous suggestion. AJ and Jermain were playing up something chronic and Chantelle had a mouth on her like a sewer. Seeing Jermain pestering an old couple who were sitting on a nearby table, Barry urged his sister to control the child. ‘People are trying to have a quiet bite to eat, Chantelle. Make him sit down or play outside if he’s gonna be a pest in here.’

‘Jermain, get over ’ere you little cunt before I rip your fucking head off,’ Chantelle yelled at the top of her voice.

Barry felt himself squirm with embarrassment as he saw a tableful of workmen glance around, then snigger. Unlike himself, Chantelle had never had any style or class. She was twenty-six now, was overweight, had tattoos on her arms and an earring through her nose. Her hair was dyed a yellowy-blond colour and her clothes were far too skimpy for her size-sixteen frame. ‘I’m going outside to make some phone calls,’ Barry said, abruptly.

‘Don’t leave me sitting ’ere like a tit in a trance. Can’t you make your phone calls later?’

Watching in disbelief as AJ and Jermain started throwing chips at one another, Barry glared at his scumbag of a sister. ‘No, I fucking well can’t.’

After three weeks of playing the grieving widow to the police and her friends in Spain, Marlene was relieved to see her best friend, Marge. When Marlene had first moved over to Spain, Marge had come out for holidays twice a year, but three years ago she had had a drunken row with Jake and he had kicked her out of his and Marlene’s apartment in the middle of the night.

‘Right, start from the very beginning. I know we spoke on the phone, mate, but the line was shit, you were pissed, and I couldn’t make head nor tail of what you were saying,’ Marge said, opening a bottle of wine.

Marlene gulped greedily at the drink that was handed to her. Jake the Snake’s murder had come as a terrible shock to her. Even though she had never loved him, she would always be grateful to him for giving her the lifestyle she had always craved. Composing herself, Marlene began to explain exactly what had happened. ‘Jake got himself involved in drugs about five years ago. He bumped into some old pals of his from South London. They were fugitives and he went into business with ’em.’

‘Why didn’t you ever tell me all this before?’ Marge asked. She felt hurt that she’d been kept in the dark by her pal. They’d always told one another everything.

‘Because I only found out meself recently. Barry told me. That little bastard was probably involved in it an’ all. Jake was a real man’s man. He was a good provider, but he never talked business with me, Marge, and I’ve only found out the truth since he died. I always thought the bar paid for our opulent lifestyle, but Barry said Jake just kept that to cover his arse and keep the authorities off his back. Barry reckons it only brought in peanuts.’

‘What was he selling? Cocaine? That’s big ’ere now, you know. It’s took over from speed,’ Marge informed her friend.

Marlene shook her head. ‘Ecstasy tablets. They had a factory just outside Fuengirola where they were making hundreds of thousands of the bastard things, by all accounts. They had contacts in England and were importing ’em over ’ere by boat, so Barry reckons.’

‘So, why did Jake get shot then?’ Marge asked, slightly confused.

‘The factory got turned over and it happened to be on a day when Jake was meant to be there and he wasn’t. Two of the men got away, but three others got arrested. Barry says that the other men must have thought that Jake snitched on ’em and that’s why he got shot. A man on a motorbike killed him at point-blank range as we walked out of a restaurant near the harbour, Marge. Covered in claret, I was; it was awful for me. Died in me arms, Jake did. Well, sort of. I didn’t actually cuddle him ’cause of all the blood. He made these terrible gurgling noises, Marge, and then he just shut his eyes and croaked it.’