The Good Life

by Martina Cole

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

The best things in life are never free.

Cain Moran wanted Jenny Riley more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything before in his life. But loving Jenny Riley was the easy part; it was telling his wife he wanted a divorce that was going to be the killer....

Jenny is not just any girl. She cares nothing for Cain's hard-man reputation—she just wants to be with him. But Cain is not a free man. And he's about to find out that when his wife Caroline said 'til death us do part, she meant it.

When Cain is sentenced to life in prison it seems that Caroline might have got her wish. All Cain and Jenny know is that if their love can survive such separation, then one day they will have a chance at the good life together again.

But there are greater trials ahead than either can foresee. They're about to learn the hardest lesson of all: live the good life. Pay the price.

Release date: October 9, 2014

Publisher: Headline

Print pages: 512

Sample

Cain Moran was fit to be tied. His anger was legendary even in a world where a legendary temper was a requisite. He turned now and faced his antagonist.

‘He fucking blinded him?’

Johnny MacNamara, affectionately known as Johnny Mac, sighed. He saw exactly where all this was going. ‘Only in one eye, Cain . . .’

Cain Moran laughed at that, a deep, sarcastic laugh. ‘Oh, why didn’t you say that before! He’s only half blind, then? What a cunt I am, eh? There was me thinking that my mate’s boy was blinded completely, but it was only in one fucking eye.’

Johnny Mac instinctively stood in front of Sean Bowers, attempting to defuse the situation, but Sean, a nice enough lad prone to talking before he had fully engaged his brain, said plaintively, ‘You told me to teach him a lesson, Cain. That lesson was well and truly administered. End of.’

Cain Moran was shaking his head in utter disbelief. Johnny Mac stepped deftly out of the way of Cain’s fist, and it landed heavily in the centre of Sean’s eyes, sending him careering across the office, landing heavily against the iron filing cabinets. Johnny Mac could only look on helplessly as Cain administered a well-earned beating, culminating in Cain picking up a heavy cut-glass decanter filled with brandy and crashing it on to the unfortunate man’s head.

‘You fucking idiot! Do you know the fucking aggravation you have caused me? Do you? His dad is my fucking mate.’

Johnny Mac went to the door and motioned for two young men, both looking severely uncomfortable, to remove the offending object. Sean was covered in blood now, and was having difficulty breathing. It was a definite hospital job.

When the man had been removed, Johnny Mac poured two large whiskies and gave one to his friend. ‘He meant well, Cain, he was just trying to impress you.’

Cain laughed. His shirt was splattered with blood and his knuckles were grazed, but Johnny could see that his temper was subsiding.

‘Oh, he did that. Fucking moron. He blinded Vic Malone’s lad. I know he took the piss, owed a couple of quid, but that wasn’t any reason to fucking remove the poor little fucker’s eye. Now I have to placate fucking Vic, one of me oldest mates!’

Johnny sighed. ‘Fuck Vic, he shouldn’t have let it get this far.’

Cain laughed. ‘Oh, Johnny, it was fucking Vic who requested the lesson in the first place. He wanted his lad to realise the seriousness of getting in over his head.’

They both started laughing at the irony.

‘Well, look on the bright side, Cain − lesson well learned there, I’d say.’

They both dissolved into loud laughter again.

‘Let me change this fucking shirt, I hate the smell of blood. I’m going to have a quick shower. Get someone to clean this place up, will you?’

Cain left the offices and made his way up a rickety flight of stairs to his makeshift bedroom and bathroom. He had made sure he had these facilities for just these kinds of encounters − encounters that were becoming more and more prevalent, if he was honest.

Jenny and Bella Davis were sitting in a pub in Dean Street, both dressed to the nines, and sipping vodka and tonics as if they did it every day of their lives. In truth it was their first real foray into Soho and, at sixteen, they were both completely unaware that they were basically sitting targets. If there was one thing a predator in Soho liked, it was a good-looking girl with no real understanding of the world. Young girls craved excitement, and there were men willing to do everything in their power to see that they got it.

Bella Davis was tiny, with long dark hair and hazel eyes; she had good legs and she knew how to make the best of herself. Jenny Riley, however, was a completely different kettle of fish. Tall for her age, she had the body of an old-time film star, long thick blond hair, and deep blue eyes. She was a real head turner, and men had been looking at her all her life. It was something she accepted now, even though it made her very uncomfortable.

The girls had been smiled at by some good-looking young men, but mainly by not very good-looking older men, who had propositioned them into the bargain. While finding this wildly amusing, both were also becoming a bit scared as the night wore on. They had slipped into this pub in the hope of looking glamorous and sophisticated. The barmaid, a strange-looking woman in her forties with non-existent breasts and a suspicious-looking five o’clock shadow, had been watching them like a hawk since they had come in.

The place was livening up, and a tall man wearing a crumpled suit and a practised smile came and sat beside them. He was balding, had tobacco-stained fingers, and smelled like a week-old ashtray. He also sported a gold tooth and a scar that ran from his right eye down to his lip.

‘Hello, ladies, can I get you a drink?’

They both shook their heads in unison.

‘Don’t be shy, girls −’ he placed his hand on Jenny’s knee now − ‘I won’t bite you. Well, not unless you ask me nicely anyway.’ He laughed at his own humour.

‘Leave them alone, Doug, they’re only kids.’ The barmaid was motioning with her head for the girls to leave as she spoke.

Doug gripped Jenny’s thigh harder as he shouted angrily, ‘Keep out of it, you fucking freak, and bring another round of drinks.’

Jenny tried to remove his hand but it was like a claw. ‘We don’t want another drink, thank you. In fact we were just going.’ She tried to sound in control, but she was frightened now, and Bella was pale with fear.

‘You stay there, madam. If you come in here like a couple of fucking tarts, then you should expect to be treated as such. This is Soho, darling, and it’s a different world. Now, if you were thinking of joining the tart brigade I am the very man you need. It’s what I do, see. I recruit.’

Jenny swallowed noisily, unsure how to answer. The barmaid brought the drinks over and sighed at the two girls as if to say ‘I tried’. ‘Drink up, girls, next stop Club Louise, eh? DJ Rudy’s in tonight.’

Doug pushed the barmaid away roughly. ‘Why don’t you go and find someone to give a blow job to, and leave us alone, you fucking bender.’

‘Doug, for the last time, they are just kids, leave them alone.’

Doug stood up menacingly, and the barmaid made a hasty retreat. ‘Fucking animals! Men dressed as women, against the laws of nature. Fucking freak.’ The last two words were said loudly, and with as much disgust as he could power into his voice.

Jenny and Bella were truly frightened; their little foray into Soho had turned into a nightmare. Why didn’t they just go to a club? Why did they have to go walking around looking for excitement? No one else in the pub seemed bothered by their obvious distress; in fact, most of the men were trying to act as if they didn’t exist. They sat mutely, neither of them knowing how to extricate themselves from the situation they’d found themselves in.

‘Well, drink up then, girls, the night is young!’

Doug was enjoying himself; these two little girls were prime meat as far as he was concerned. The young ones thought they were something special with their cheap bags and heavy make-up. But he had been in the Tom game for many years and he knew that they had maybe eight good years before the Life would begin to take its toll on them. Youth dried up − it was the law of nature. He had forced two drinks down them and now they were on their third. When they were pissed enough he would make a quick call and get them picked up. Once they were out of here they were his.

As Cain Moran and Johnny Mac walked in the pub with Jack Barton in tow, the barmaid, Jasmine, as she liked to be called, breathed a sigh of relief. When Cain got to the bar, she said breathlessly, ‘Just the man! Mr Moran, that Doug Havers has earmarked two lovely little girls, and they ain’t Tom material, only kids. Could you . . .’ She left the sentence open.

Cain sighed. ‘Do I look like a fucking social worker to you, Jas?’

Jasmine fluttered her eyelashes at him. ‘Pretty please! They are good girls, I can tell, and they are fucking terrified. He’s forced three drinks on them already, large ones and all. Be on their backs in some sleazy hotel before they know what’s happened to them. He’s fucking scum.’

Johnny and Cain looked over to where the girls were sitting and, as he saw the really good-looking one trying to extricate Doug’s hand from near her crotch, Cain sighed heavily and went over with Johnny close behind him.

‘Leave the girl alone, Doug. Take your fucking hands off her.’

Doug looked up in surprise at Cain’s words. ‘Look, Mr Moran, I work for Kenny Barker, and Kenny don’t like his business being interfered with, if you get my drift.’

Cain started to laugh. He could sense the two girls’ fear as if it was tangible. ‘Kenny Barker, that fucking fop. Ooh, I’m fucking shitting it.’ He picked up Doug by the scruff of his neck and marched him out of the pub, throwing him into the gutter. ‘You tell Kenny my offices are just up the road and my fucking door is always open. If I don’t see him by tomorrow with an apology for making threats, I will be coming to visit him. You got that, you fucking imbecile?’

He went back into the pub where Johnny was already sitting beside the little dark-haired girl with the big eyes, holding a steady arm around her shoulder as she cried with relief. The other one, the blonde, was staring at him with a white face that looked so terrified he thought she might faint. Sighing heavily, he sat beside her and, smiling a little, he said lightly, ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be hearing from him again, love.’

Jasmine brought over large whiskies for Cain and Johnny. ‘On the house, boys, for saving our little damsels in distress.’ Looking at the girls she said seriously, ‘Stick to the clubs in future. Much safer, OK?’

The two girls nodded and tried to smile. Johnny put a finger under Bella’s chin and pulled her face towards his, saying, ‘What these two need, Cain, is a bit of food inside them to soak up all that alcohol.’

Cain sighed. Johnny was his best mate and he loved him, but he was always on the lookout for strange. Caroline would kill him if he was late home tonight of all nights. But he was peckish so, swallowing down the whisky, he said resignedly, ‘We can take Jack with us. Let’s go to the Italian around the corner.’

He had to help the blonde to stand up, annoyed that he had been put in this position in the first place. In all fairness she was a lovely looking girl − young, but still a stunner. Even half pissed and with her make-up smudged, she was a definite nine on anyone’s scale. He thought of Caroline and sighed. He hadn’t wanted this new house. She was the one who thought they needed a great big fuck-off place, so he let her deal with it all. The last thing he needed today was her mother Jane and her aunt Dolly scurrying about like worker ants.

He half carried Jennifer Riley out into Dean Street and manoeuvred her to the restaurant with the help of Jack. He was being a good Samaritan and, as his old mum always said, you have to help people when they are vulnerable and in need.

Despite his protestations, he knew what he would like to help this one with, young as she was.

‘If I never see that ponce’s face again it will be too soon!’

Cain Moran laughed at Johnny’s words. ‘You sound like your mother!’

Johnny grinned, because it was true. One of his lads, big Paulie Jameson, opened the office door and said quickly, ‘Kenny the Pimp’s downstairs and said he needed to see you.’

Cain and Johnny exchanged startled looks, then both started to smile remembering the excitement of the night before.

Johnny turned back to Paulie. ‘Send him up, Paul.’

Cain sighed. ‘That’s all I need, Johnny, but I suppose it has to be done!’

‘Lovely little pair though, weren’t they?’

‘What the girl or her tits?’

Johnny grinned. ‘Both.’

Kenny the Pimp walked into the room like Uriah Heep on Valium, the fear on his face was visible and, as he looked at Cain Moran, he attempted a smile. Cain Moran knew how to play the game and he just stood there towering over the other man and looking seriously menacing.

‘You wanted to see me?’

Kenny nodded. ‘I heard about last night, and I can assure you that I have spoken sternly to Doug. He realises he was out of order. Blames the booze − you know how it is.’ He was warming to his theme now, and carried on in the same vein. ‘I’ve told him to be careful, make sure he don’t step on anyone’s toes, but what can I say, Cain? He’s a cunt.’

Cain laughed. ‘Lot of them about, Kenny.’

The insult was taken on board, but there wasn’t going to be any retaliation, they all knew that. This was an exercise in diplomacy, nothing more.

Cain went and sat behind his desk and, lighting a cigarette, he blew the smoke out in a long stream before saying, ‘The thing is, Kenny, Doug had earmarked a pair of nice young lasses. They were pissed and scared but he wasn’t fucking bothered. If I hadn’t intervened they would have woken up in a hotel somewhere stinking of sweaty blokes and that would have been just the start of their destruction. If I ever fucking see that cunt within a five-mile radius of this street, I will kill him. Hand on heart. Then I will pop in my car and I will drive to Brixton and kill you. Because it’s cunts like you that’s causing the huge police presence in Soho and the surrounding areas. You’ve got to take your business off the streets and start using your loaf. It’s nearly the eighties, and it’s a different world here now. It’s my fucking world. Don’t fuck it up.’

Kenny the Pimp swallowed deeply; one thing that could be said for Cain Moran was that he never made idle threats. Kenny cleared his throat noisily, his nerves in shreds. ‘Fair enough, if that’s what you think is for the best.’

Cain Moran stood up quickly and saw the man flinch. ‘I do think it is for the best. So fuck off.’

Kenny the Pimp scarpered, the laughter of the two men following him down the rickety stairs.

‘I hate ponces, Johnny. Living off women like that. They are scum.’

Johnny nodded in agreement. Like Cain, his mother had been a Tom, and that was why their friendship had blossomed all those years ago. It was a terrible stigma to live down, but it was the truth and there was nothing anyone could do about that. Johnny remembered how hard it had been for them, and so did Cain, although it wasn’t something they discussed very often. It was normally late at night, when well in their cups, that they broached the subject and discussed the finer points of their upbringings. But both worshipped their mothers − that was the main thing. They understood the times and the pressures and the lack of money for single women left with kids.

Cain had always been the bigger of the two. At junior school he had towered over the other lads. Johnny, on the other hand, was small for his age and black, which didn’t exactly help his situation in those days. But between them they had conquered their particular world and their friendship was true and lasting. Johnny loved Cain Moran and he knew the feeling was reciprocated; they were closer than most brothers. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for the man.

‘I felt so sorry for those girls last night, but what I said was true − the new laws are going to clamp down on prostitution − well, for the younger girls anyway. The shrewd Toms rent a room and advertise as a model, or offer French lessons. The thing is, people like Doug and Kenny are a dying breed if they only knew it. They have to change with the times. I mean, if he invested in a house, he’d basically be legal. You can do what the fuck you like in a property you own. That’s how the letter of the law works. But that thick cunt can’t see it.’

Johnny put his jacket on. ‘Come on, Cain, we’re due in East London in an hour. Richie Jakobs is bringing his mate to offer us this marvellous business deal.’

Cain sighed. ‘I suppose we have to go, show a bit of willing, but I don’t trust that fucker.’

Johnny grinned. ‘No one trusts that fucker, but he can earn, and that’s all anyone really cares about.’

Cain nodded in agreement but he was still wary. Jakobs was a slippery bastard and, as such, needed to be watched closely. Cain Moran knew he wasn’t a man who could put that much effort into another person, especially not one like Jakobs. But he’d agreed to the meet, and so he had to go and at least hear what the man had to say.

Jenny Riley picked up the phone quickly, the ringing torture to her pounding head. She was still feeling the effects of the night before and every now and then she would remember the man who had saved her and her face would burn with humiliation. All the way back to her house he had lectured her on the perils of being a young good-looking girl, and the trouble that could get her in if she wasn’t a bit more savvy. The whole evening had since come back to her in stunning clarity and now she wished she could just forget it for ever.

‘Hello.’ Even her voice sounded fragile.

But instead of Bella as she hoped, it was the local publican Paddy Cartwright shouting that she had better come and get her mum or he was calling the Old Bill. Slamming down the phone, she grabbed her jacket and hurried out of the front door.

It was early evening and the weather was cold, but it cleared her head and, as she made her way to The Highwayman public house, she cursed her mother under her breath. She hoped Paddy didn’t phone the police; her mum was only inches away from a custodial sentence for brawling, drunk and disorderliness and shoplifting. The judge was sick of seeing her − this time he would bang her up no trouble. Paddy was a good bloke though − he tried to look out for her mother, Jenny knew that.

But as she approached the pub she sighed in distress. She could hear her mother’s big gob even from a distance, and she was in full fighting mode. Jenny ran as quickly as she could to try and defuse the situation; she was good at it because she had been doing it for as long as she could remember.

‘Mum! What the hell is going on?’

As Eileen turned to face her daughter, she still had hold of a dark-haired woman’s throat; she had been shaking her like a terrier and the woman was terrified.

‘Put the lady down, Mum.’

‘Will I fuck! She nicked me fucking drink.’

A small crowd had gathered to watch the debacle and Jenny turned to them shouting, ‘Had your fucking look? Grown men watching a drunken woman fight and you didn’t even step in to help?’

One of the men shouted back, ‘Eileen Riley don’t need no help, love, she fights like a man!’ Everyone laughed at that.

Jenny extricated her mother’s hands from the weeping woman’s hair, and tried to pull her away. But Eileen was having none of it. Knocking her daughter back, she set about the woman again, this time dragging her by the hair and raining punches down on her head.

‘I’ll fucking teach you a lesson, you thieving cunt.’

Jenny pulled herself off the floor just as the police arrived. It was chaos. Getting out of the car was PC Magnus Billings, a big man, running to fat to the extent that he looked like he was going to burst out of his uniform. He was much disliked, not only by the locals but also by the police force in general.

Jenny’s heart sank when she realised it was Billings who had come to break up the fight; he hated her mother with a vengeance bordering on mania. Eileen had once emptied a bucket of piss over him and he had never forgotten it. Neither had anyone else. It had gone down in the local folklore as those kinds of incidents generally do. Even his police colleagues referred to him as Pissy Bill, not a name he relished.

When he grabbed her mother in a chokehold, Jenny could see that he was really hurting her and, without thinking, she rushed to her defence.

‘All right, hold up a minute, you’re harming her.’

He laughed nastily. ‘Piss off. She’s fucking nicked.’

The other PC was a tall lanky young lad with dirty blond hair and bulbous blue eyes. He was attempting to help her mother’s victim who, it turned out, was even drunker than Eileen.

Jenny stood her ground. ‘You’re hurting her! She can’t even talk your hold’s so tight.’

Eileen Riley did look distressed. Billings was holding her at an awkward angle and it must have been agony.

‘If I’ve managed to shut this fucker up then that can only be good.’ He looked at the crowd for confirmation but they weren’t laughing now. The Filth were their natural enemy and, as bad as Eileen was, there was a strange affection for her. She brightened up many a dull day with her antics. Plus, if she was flush, she was always open-handed and willing to share her good fortune, even if it was earned on her back.

But now the police were involved, Eileen Riley was seen as the victim not the aggressor. A tall man with a bald head and a drinker’s belly shouted angrily, ‘Let her go!’

Billings retaliated by dragging her forcefully towards the patrol car, shouting over his shoulder loudly, ‘You want to fucking join her, mate? Because that can be arranged.’

Jenny launched herself at the man who was trying to force a kicking and fighting Eileen into the patrol car. Without thinking she jumped on to his back and, using all her strength, she dragged him away from her mother. Letting go of Eileen, Billings turned around and pushed her forcefully to the ground. Eileen, seeing this, launched herself once more at the officer, knocking his hat off and grabbing at his hair, cheered on by the crowd of onlookers who wanted to see Pissy Bill get his just deserts. Which he did, with honours.

Cain looked around Jenny’s home and his heart sank. It was a typical Tom’s house − empty bottles everywhere, the residue of half-eaten food and overflowing ashtrays. He should know; he had grown up in a place just like it. He could see there was an underlying cleanliness that he guessed, rightly, was from young Jenny trying to bring some normality to her surroundings. He felt heart-sorry for the girl. What chance did she have with loony Eileen, as she was affectionately known, as her mother?

He felt a deep sadness settle over his heart. He had suffered the humiliation of a mother on the game, and he had learne. . .