The Runaway (73 page)

‘Just keep a weather eye out, that’s all you have to do. Once she turns up we can all breathe easily again. I mean, she might be sweet as a nut. We really don’t know.’

Cathy laid her hand on top of his. ‘You’re so very good to me. What would I do without you?’

‘You’d have survived. You’re a survivor like me.’

‘I nearly didn’t the day I first met up with old Desrae, but that’s a story for the dark winter nights. But all that aside, I’m worried. Not for me, for Kitty. I’ve never told her about her granny. There didn’t seem any point.’

‘Well, there is now, and she’ll cope with it. I mean, think about it. At fourteen she’s seen more of life than most adults. More than you wanted her to see, I know but you’ve brought her up smashing, she’s a credit to you, darlin’, and you should appreciate that fact. You done a blinding job with her. She’ll cope.’

Cathy finished her coffee before answering him.

‘I’ll see what happens first. If I hear from my mother then I’ll have to sort something out, won’t I?’

Richard nodded. ‘I suppose so. Like you say, worry when there’s something to worry about, eh? Now I’d better go. I have to work for a living - which is more than I can say for you lot.’

After he’d left Cathy sat at the table and pondered this new situation. She wanted to see her mother, and she didn’t want to see her mother. It had been a long time. Far too long really for either of them to know the other. Remembering her childhood, she tried to concentrate only on the good bits, the fun bits, but it was hard. Ron’s face swam before her eyes and she shut them tight, trying to blot out the image.

So much that was bad had happened in her life, and all because of Madge and her job. In reality Cathy should hate her, but she couldn’t. Madge was her flesh and blood, her only relative after Kitty. Her only family.

 

Desrae opened his front door with a wide smile on his face. He had been expecting Kitty. Instead he found a shabby woman with dyed red hair standing on his doorstep.

‘Can I help you, love?’ Desrae took a quick look down Greek Street in case someone saw him talking to this old bag lady.

‘Are you Desrae?’

He nodded. ‘What can I do for you, my love? Collecting for something, are you?’

The woman shook her head. ‘I am here about Cathy Duke, or Connor as she was known.’

Desrae narrowed thickly mascaraed eyes and said in a deep voice: ‘What about her? And it’s Pasquale these days.’

The woman sighed. ‘I ain’t here for trouble. I just need to see her for five minutes, that’s all. I have some information for her.’

‘And what kind of information would you have, dear, if you don’t mind me asking?’

She sucked on her teeth a moment before answering. ‘Important information, that’s what.’

Desrae rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘You trying to wind me up, love? Now who are you? When I know that I’ll decide if I’m going to tell her anything. I can’t be no fairer than that, can I?’

‘My name is Betty Jones, I’ve known Cathy since she was born. I was a friend of her mother’s. Maybe she’s mentioned me? I see her now and again. She visits me like.’

‘Well, why didn’t you ring her?’

Growing impatient, Betty said sarcastically: ‘Because what I have to say is best said to her face. I have never known her address. I was never invited to her home. But I still care for her, as I always have, and I need to see her urgently. I was told you could get me to her.’

Desrae was in a quandary. He wanted to know what was going on, but he didn’t want it to seem as if he was interfering. He had heard of this Betty Jones all right, but wasn’t sure what to do now that she was actually on his doorstep.

‘What’s this all about then?’ he pressed.

‘It’s about Madge, her mother. That’s what it’s all about.’

Desrae stepped back. ‘You’d better come inside.’

As they walked up the stairs, his mind was working overtime. If Madge were back, then that could only mean trouble for Cathy. And what about Kitty? The girl had no idea that her grandmother had been in prison for murder. She was not going to know either, if it was up to Desrae. That youngster had been through more than enough.

Betty stared around her at the gaudy colours in the sitting room and finally perched on the edge of the two-seater settee. Desrae sprawled in a chair and for a few moments the two weighed each other up.

‘Madge turned up at my house two days ago,’ Betty began. ‘I’ve been trying to decide what to do with her ever since. I know she’s been up here, watching out for her daughter. I’m worried about her. Madge isn’t all the ticket these days. Not that she ever really was.’ Betty sighed heavily. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her to do Cathy a damage if she could. Not that she’s said anything, it’s more a feeling, you know?’

‘Do you think Cathy should be told, is that it?’ Desrae asked, feeling dismayed at the news.

Betty shrugged. ‘Look, here’s my number. I have to get back, I want to keep me eye on Madge. She thinks I’ve gone out shopping. I’ll have to cab it back as it is. Do what you think is best, and then let me know. Here, give me your number and I can tell you what’s going on from my end. Whatever happens, we have to protect Cathy and her daughter. Madge is as mad as a hatter. Years ago, she was a laugh: not any more. She scares me, mate.’ Betty shuddered. ‘I don’t really want her at my place but there’s not a lot I can do, is there? I can’t ding her out, can I?’

Desrae shook his head understandingly. ‘Look, take this.’ He thrust a twenty-pound note into the woman’s hand. ‘Get a cab. And write me down your address as well. I’ll pop on me thinking wig and try to come up with something, OK? I don’t like to rush you off like this but Kitty, Cathy’s girl, is due here and I think it’s best if she doesn’t see you,’ Desrae said tactfully.

Betty nodded. ‘I bet she’s a beauty. Cathy was stunning as a child - really stunning. I envied Madge that little girl, I really did. Maybe I should have taken her over . . . Madge probably would have let me. But the past’s the past, isn’t it? Not a lot you can do about it once it’s gone.’

Desrae shook his head sadly. ‘No, you’re right there. Leave the past in the past, as my old Joey used to say, Gawd love him. We’ll all look out for Cathy and then she’ll be fine, eh?’

Betty smiled, happier now she felt someone else was involved. ‘You’re a very nice woman, Miss Desrae, Cathy was lucky to have found you.’ The words were sincere and Desrae smiled sadly.

‘No, I was the lucky one. But thank you all the same.’

He showed her to the door then picked up the phone. There was only one person to deal with this effectively, and that was Susan P. If anyone could sort out this mess, then she was the woman to do it.

 

Madge looked terrible. As she walked along the Roman Road, people stared at her. Years before she would have known everyone, and indeed she recognised a good few faces now but she knew no one would recognise her. Her face, striped up in prison, had puckered scars along each cheek. Her hair was grey, straggly and unkempt. Her eyes had disappeared into the bags beneath them.

She looked what she was, and she knew it.

As she hit the second-hand stall she sorted through the clothes, looking for a dress or a suit, a good coat and maybe a pair of shoes. Her clothes from prison were well past their sell-by date and she knew she needed to tidy herself up.

Especially if she was going to see her girl. Madge smiled at the thought.

A woman looking for a new top jostled her and Madge, used to prison life, knocked her flying with one meaty forearm.

The stallholder stared in amazement at the old lady with the face like the back end of a bus. ‘Calm yourself down, love . . .’ Her words were cut off by the expression on the old woman’s face. Madge looked ferocious, and her scars, a sure sign to any East Ender of a prison sentence served, stilled the stallholder’s tongue.

Madge carried on looking, undisturbed. After twenty minutes she had what she wanted, and when she bartered the stallholder down the woman didn’t say a word. As Madge moved away with her purchases, the woman looked after her and breathed a sigh of relief. The youngsters were aggressive enough, without old-age pensioners jumping on the bleeding bandwagon!

Madge stayed down the Roman all afternoon, enjoying the familiar sights and smells. She treated herself to a few eels and ate them standing by the stall, eyes taking in everything around her.

She was really out, she was home. But she still had old scores to settle and settle them she would.

 

Betty made them a pot of tea. She had arrived home before Madge which had pleased her. Her friend need not know she had been anywhere.

‘Had a nice time, duck? The clothes look a treat on you. She does a good deal that young Marion, doesn’t she? Got meself a lovely lambswool coat off her last year.’

Madge nodded and sipped at her tea.

‘Come on, cheer up,’ Betty urged. ‘You’re out now. Soon you’ll have your own little place, and can pick up your life again.’

Madge stared at her friend for a while and then she began to laugh. It was a chilling sound that made Betty uneasy all over again.

‘Give over, Madge, that wasn’t meant as a joke.’

She stopped laughing. Her voice hard, she said: ‘But it is a joke, isn’t it?’ Her face took on a mock-puzzled expression then. ‘I mean, I do the time for my daughter - my daughter the whoremaster - and she gets a good life, a nice husband, money, respectability, the whole fucking enchilada. And what the fuck do I get, eh? Fuck all, that’s what. And you can’t see the joke, Betty? You must be losing your sense of humour in your old age. I find it fucking hilarious, personally.

‘But I’ll sort her out, don’t you worry about that,’ she said ferociously. ‘I’ll sort her out once and for all. The spawn of the fucking devil her! Never knew a real day’s peace from the moment I birthed her. Should have put her down the toilet like I did the others.’

Betty was shocked and this made Madge laugh again.

‘All those fucking years and not a word from her. You don’t know what it’s like inside, Betty. It destroys you a little bit more every day. I had a long time to think about what that little mare did to me, and I’ll repay her, don’t you worry about that.’

Betty felt the sting of tears. Where was the old Madge? Where was the slapdash, haphazard friend she’d had for so long?

‘Coming up the pub?’ Madge’s voice was normal again.

Betty nodded. There was a phone there and she knew she had to get some help. She could no longer cope with Madge Connor on her own.

 

Madge and Betty sat in The Two Puddings in Stratford, sipping port and lemon. Madge had wanted to see it again after all the years inside. They had cabbed it there and now sat quietly watching the world go by.

‘It’s all changed, Betty,’ Madge was saying. ‘I mean, when they gave me the twenty quid as I left I thought I had a fucking fortune, but it’s fuck all these days, isn’t it? The price of everything is astronomical. How young girls manage with a couple of kids, I don’t know.’

Betty nodded in agreement. ‘I know, the prices are a joke. It’s that Margaret Thatcher I blame. Whoever voted her in needs treatment, if you ask me.’

Madge finished her drink. ‘Bit posh in here and all if you ask me - full of them yuppies by the looks of it. Read about them in the papers I did. The money they earn!’

Betty smiled. This was more like it, Madge was talking normally again. ‘You seem a bit better, love,’ she said.

Madge smiled, and there was a glimmer of a resemblance to the girl she had once been. ‘I am better now I have a plan. Yes, I feel much more relaxed.’

Just then, a young man walked past their table on the way to the toilets and eyed them with derision.

‘Had your fucking look, you ugly little cunt?’ Madge’s voice was loud and hard. The people in the bar turned to stare at her. The boy was shocked which suited Madge. Her face was screwed up into a mask of hatred.

‘Go on, piss off,’ she bawled. ‘Go and pull yourself, bleeding plonker. And on your way back, don’t you dare look in my direction again.’

Betty was red with embarrassment and shock. ‘Leave it out, Madge, it ain’t the old days now. You can get nicked for threatening behaviour these days.’

‘Up yours, Betty,’ Madge said scornfully, ‘and up his and all. Who did he think he was, looking at me like I was a piece of dirt? Who’s he, for fuck’s sake, that makes him better than me? Answer me that one if you can.’

Betty was distressed. ‘Come on, I’ll get us another drink.’ She walked up to the bar, keeping her eye on the door.

The barmaid said softly, ‘You’ll have to keep that old dear in line or you’re both out, love. I can’t have me customers spoken to like that.’

Betty mumbled an apology and ordered the drinks, all the time thinking that Carlos the Jackal would be hard put to keep Madge in line.

When the door opened and Richard Gates walked through it, Betty felt as though she had been given the keys to the Bank of England. Never in her life had she been so pleased to see anyone, especially an Old Bill.

Madge saw him too. She glared across at Betty and shook her fist threateningly.

Richard said quietly: ‘Long time no see, Madge.’

She stared up at him, and he saw the ravages that time had inflicted on her face.

‘Not long enough for me, mate.’ Animosity was coming off her in waves.

As he escorted her from the premises, Betty followed them, leaving the drinks on the bar. Outside, Susan P was waiting in her Lotus. Richard put Madge into the back seat and climbed in beside her. Betty watched as her friend was driven away, feeling she had done something bad, very bad. But she knew that if Madge had hurt Cathy, she would never have forgiven herself.

Going back into the pub, she drank both her drink and Madge’s, giving her friend a final toast as she did so. She had a feeling she wouldn’t be seeing old Madge again.