The Jump (10 page)

Donna laughed.

Pa Brunos hugged her again. ‘Don’t you be a-worrying, you hear? Before you can say Jack Robinson my Georgio will be home and this restaurant will be having the biggest party in the world.’ ‘Of course it will, Pa. I just wish it was soon.’ Pa Brunos went back to his work and shrugged. ‘I think sometimes that this will do Georgio a bit of good, eh? I think he is a bit too cocky as the Londoners say.’

Donna slipped off the stool and went to her father-in-law. ‘What makes you say that, Pa? What do you mean?’

Pa smiled at her, an ear-splitting smile, showing off his teeth. ‘Never mind, my little Donna. Forget I spoke. Sometimes I say things to the air that I should leave inside,my head.’

Donna looked into the big, open, honest face and felt an urge to weep. Not because of what Pa had said, but because he had put into words what she had been thinking on and off since Georgio had been sentenced. Only, until this moment, she had not admitted it to herself.

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Chapter Five

Stephen Brunos was with his close friend Hattie Jacobs. She was fifty-five, big, voluptuous and jolly. When Stephen looked at her he felt happy. Hattie had a way of smiling all over; her eyes smiled even when her mouth was still. She exuded camaraderie, happiness and kindness. It was the last that attracted Stephen to her. Hattie never badmouthed anyone. He knew that his mother would class her as a big blowsy tart - most people would who didn’t know her - the main reason being that Hattie was a tart. Though she no longer walked the pavements of Shepherd’s Market, and only reminisced about the days she strolled along Park Lane; she worked now as a telephone tart.

All day long, she sat on her big double bed talking to strange men over the phone. The men were faceless, they paid by credit card and they explained exactly what kind of call they wanted. Hattie always obliged. She could be a nervous virgin, breathless and frightened, or she could be a mature woman who told her callers off, threatening them with corporal punishment and sighing happily when they promised to be good boys. Hattie was also adept at being a naughty housewife, a tantalising/ewwne/ate/e, or in extreme cases a transvestite. The only thing Hattie would not be was a child. She drew the line at child sex even over a telephone line.

Stephen watched as Hattie ‘finished off the caller. Picking up a Mars bar, she pushed it into her mouth and sucked on it, making slapping”, slurping noises, talking into the phone with her mouth full of chocolate about how big and hard it was. She saw Stephen watching her and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. She held the phone away from her ear, disgusted with the noises emanating from the receiver.

When she put the phone back to her ear the line was dead.

‘I thought he was never going to come!’ she told Stephen. ‘I’ve been through about six Mars bars this morning! Put the kettle on and I’ll take me phone off the hook. I’ve more than had enough, I can tell you.’

Stephen plugged in the small white kettle and grinned. ‘That was

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them excellent, Hattie. You nearly had me going then.’

She pushed her huge bulk from the bed and waddled over to him. ‘Listen, sunshine, twenty years ago I could have had you going all night and into the next afternoon.’ N

Stephen kissed the florid cheek and said gently, ‘I believe you, Hattie. You know I do. You’re still a good girl, my lovely.’

Hattie grinned with pleasure at the pretence. Stephen still treated her with respect; he kept up the fiction that she was someone worthwhile, even though she knew in her heart she was no one, a nobody. The only thing was, Stephen did believe everything he said. He loved Hattie Jacobs in a strange, unaccountable way. Since he had taken her on to the books, he had felt an affinity with her. He looked at her fat jowly face and saw radiant beauty. In her huge cumbersome body he saw warmth and comfort. Twice he had shared her bed; neither attempt had been satisfactory, but the feeling he had for her was still there.

‘What can I do for you, Stephen? Or is this a social visit?’

He laughed gently. ‘A bit of both actually, Hats. I want you to take on a couple of learners. One’s nineteen, got a little baby so she’ll bring it with her. The other’s in her forties, out to make a few bob while the old man’s out at work. She knits, I understand. So she’ll be knitting her head off while spouting filth over the trombone. It never ceased to amaze me what the girls get up to while they’re working. What I want is for you to learn them the “Starting ups” and “finishing offs”. Both girls have an aptitude for this kind of work. They just need to learn the tricks of the trade.’

Hattie made the tea and nodded. ‘Okey doke, Steve. I’ve got some oranges in, I’ll show them the lot. Oral sex, anal sex, whatever. I hope they’re not easily shocked though. They do realise this is one of the more exotic call lines, don’t they?’

He nodded. Taking out his wallet, he extracted three fifty-pound notes.

‘This is for your trouble, Hats.’

Hattie took the money and slid it into her slipper, a habit she had acquired on the streets. Even if a punter ripped off your gear, providing you kept your shoes on you didn’t lose your dosh along with everything else.

‘I ain’t teaching them the baby talk though, you can get someone else to do that. You know how I feel about that, don’t you?’ Her big moon face was troubled.

Stephen pulled her into his arms and cuddled her, breathing in the scent of 4711 and sweat. ‘Don’t worry, Hats, you know I’d never ask you to do something you didn’t want to.’

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Hattie cuddled him back, her strong arms gripping his waist like a vice. ‘Fair enough, Steve. They’ll be experts in twenty-four hours.’

That, Hats, is what I’m counting on. Now then, let’s have our tea. How’s your boys?’

Hattie turned back to the little table and sugared the two mugs of tea. ‘My Brian’s on the Island. Says your brother’s there, Georgio. Someone striped his arse by all accounts - that slag Lewis. Never liked him, even when he was a boy. Weird, he was. I remember when we was all kids, about thirteen, he killed all his mum’s kittens, drowned them, he did, in a puddle of all things. His mother nearly murdered him. Pity she didn’t, she’d have saved herself a lot of grief.’

Stephen nodded absentmindedly. Georgio had mentioned nothing to him of a striping. He took the tea from Hattie and said, ‘You sure it was my brother?’

Hattie nodded vigorously. ‘Oh yeah, it was him all right. My Brian was shipped to the Island from the Scrubs with him. It might have happened in the Scrubs, now I come to think of it.’

‘Oh, well. It’ll,all come out in the wash, Hats.’

‘How’s the phone business going then, Steve?’

Stephen grinned again. ‘Going like the clappers, Hats. Can’t get enough lines, in fact. The demand is phenomenal.’

‘All this safe sex, I suppose. Better a wank over the trombone than a shag and a dose. That’s the logic behind it.’

Stephen laughed out loud at her resigned voice. ‘I expect you’re right, Hattie, old girl. I expect you’re dead right.’

Hattie punched him playfully on the arm. ‘Not so much of the bleedin’old, if you don’t mind.’

Stephen was back in his office in Soho within the hour. He walked past his secretary and told her to hold any calls until he said otherwise. Then he locked his office door and picked up his private line. He dialled and lit himself a cigarette while he waited for the connection.

‘Hello, Hinckley? This is Stephen Brunos. I want a bit of information and I want it soon. It concerns my brother Georgio and Donald Lewis.’

He stubbed out the cigarette and listened carefully, his face growing redder by the second.

Nuala and Donna were going over the invoicing for the building sites. The two women worked in silence. Nuala glanced at the clock every few minutes. ‘He’ll ring, Nuala, don’t worry.’

them Nuala smiled wryly. ‘He’d better.’

Donna picked up the folder she was working on and passed it over the table. ‘What do you make of this?’

Nuala opened the file and stared at the columns of figures, then she looked at the front of the file once more, scanning the writing as if it might tell her something.

‘I don’t know what this is about, to be honest. What site is the Armageddon site? Never heard of it.’

Donna frowned. ‘Neither have I. Look at the figures, Nuala - they’re running into millions.’

Nuala scanned the closely-typed figures once more in silence. ‘I can’t make head nor tail of them. It seems to me to be one of those projection tables. Maybe it’s something Georgio was working out on paper. I mean, Armageddon site - that sounds fanciful in itself. It’s probably just a projection table he made up. You know, if I build so many houses, I can double up. Treble up. Build the last thirty houses for next to nothing. Builders do this sort of thing all the time.’

Donna nodded impatiently. ‘I understand’ that, Nuala, but this starts with single pounds - look.’ She pointed to the first table of figures.

Nuala sighed heavily. That definitely goes to show it’s only pretend then, doesn’t it? How many houses do you know get sold for a quid?’

‘Maybe it’s not houses. Maybe it’s something else?’

Nuala looked into her sister-in-law’s face and shook her head. ‘Well, whatever it is, we’ll never know about it. I’ll sling it in the bin.’

Donna took the file and put it into her large shoulder bag. ‘No, I’ll take it home with me. You never know with Georgio, he might want it one day.’

Nuala smiled sadly. ‘Yeah, you never know. You’re missing him, aren’t you? I mean, really missing him,’

Donna nodded. ‘More each day, if that’s possible.’

Nuala grasped her hand gently. ‘I know my brother wasn’t strictly on the level with a lot of things, but he wouldn’t have hurt anyone, anyone at all. Duck and dive a bit with the businesses, yeah. But nothing like they’ve accused him of. Before you know it, he’ll be home.’

‘You know what really hurts, Nuala? The way that judge said he ruled his empire with fear. What empire? It was all on the say-so of Wilson.’

‘Well, Wilson’s paid the price for his skulduggery now.’

Donna frowned. ‘In what way?’

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‘Didn’t you know, Donna? He committed suicide in Camp Hill

prison about two weeks ago.’ Donna’s eyes widened. ‘He killed himself?’ Nuala nodded. ‘Stephen told me. I assumed he’d told you.’ Donna shook her head. ‘He never said a word to me about it.’ ‘Maybe he didn’t want you to worry, like. I mean, I shouldn’t have

said anything.’ ‘How the hell is Georgio going to get his parole if the only person

who can prove he’s innocent is dead?’ Donna’s voice was rising

dangerously. ‘Calm down, love. This isn’t going to help him, is it? You getting in

a state.’

‘But if Wilson’s dead … Did he leave a note of any kind?’ ‘I don’t know. Stephen never mentioned it if he did.’ Donna put her hands up to her face, her distress visible. ‘They’ll

never believe him now,’ she whispered. ‘The only chance he had -

Wilson was the only chance that he had. If he had decided to tell the

truth, or if we could have proved that Wilson was lying …’ Nuala went to her sister-in-law’s side and stroked the thick brown

hair. ‘We’ll prove it. In fact, it might even be easier now he’s dead. I

know that sounds hard, but he’s not around to call us liars now, is

he?’

Donna saw the logic in what Nuala was saying. ‘How did he die?’ The young woman shrugged. ‘Hanged himself, I think. Yeah, he

was found hanging in his cell.’ Donna was running her fingers through her hair in agitation. ‘I

hope you’re right. Maybe now they might believe Georgio. I’ll go and

see his lawyer. I mean, he would have been informed about Wilson.

He should have told me! He’ll know if Wilson left any kind of letter,

won’t he?’

‘Well, if he don’t he’ll be able to find out anyway.’ ‘I think you might be right, Nuala.’ Donna felt her spirits lift.

‘Maybe now this Wilson’s dead, it might be easier to prove he was

lying.’ Nuala smiled. ‘We can only try, darlin’. We can only try.’

Maeve and Donna sat before Mr William Booth, QC. His pinched face was devoid of any expression whatsoever. He wiped his beaked nose with a tissue and tossed it carelessly in the direction of a bin.

‘I am quite aware that Peter Wilson committed suicide, Mrs Brunos, but it has no bearing on your husband’s appeal. It seems that it was suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed.

them The sentence and the prison he was in contributed largely to his Depression.

‘But he only got five years.’ Maeve’s voice was loud in the small chamber.

‘Five years is five years too long for most people, Mrs Brunos. You have to understand, the man was suffering from clinical depression. It was an unfortunate thing to happen, granted, but unavoidable. If a man wants to kill himself he will. In fact, according to the coroner’s report, Wilson had to hold his legs up in the air until he was unconscious. He was very determined by all accounts. The ceiling of the cell had nothing which he could use for his act. He had to use the iron coat-peg on the back of his cell door. Wilson was five ten, the door a standard six-foot-six. He couldn’t actually hang, if you see what I mean, so in order to maximise his weight, he had literally to hold his legs up a foot or eighteen inches from the floor. Once unconscious, he slumped down - and this action actually finished off the strangulation. His own weight finally crushed his windpipe.’

Maeve closed her eyes in horror. ‘What did he hang himself with?’ she said faintly.

‘A child’s skipping rope of all things. Taken from the visiting room - probably when his wife and children had come to visit. As I say, he was very determined.’

‘So how will this affect my husband’s appeal?’ Donna asked breathlessly.

Booth sighed heavily. ‘Your husband’s appeal is in hand, Mrs Brunos. Once we have collated the statements again, gone into the actual robbery once more and collected more statements, we shall be ready to proceed.’

‘Do you hold out much hope for his acquittal?’ Maeve’s voice was low.

William Booth gave her a pained smile. ‘I never make promises unless I can keep them, Mrs Brunos. I can only do my utmost, nothing more.’

‘But surely with Wilson being dead and everything … Maybe he killed himself because he lied?’

‘With respect, Mrs Brunos, without the aid of a medium I doubt very much we could prove that. Hint at it certainly, but we could not use that as the basis for the appeal. What we need are strong hard facts. Evidence. The evidence the police have is all circumstantial, and of course the statements from Wilson. Without him, it would seem our case is stronger, I grant you. But, as I said, I don’t make promises, and I never give people false hope.’

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Maeve and Donna rose from their seats.

‘Well, thanks for your time, Mr Booth. By the way, are you still on a retainer?’ This time, Maeve’s voice was loud.

‘lam.’

Donna watched the man’s confusion.

‘Then I suggest you start earning it. Good day, Mr Booth.’

Maeve bustled to the door of the office. Donna, scarlet-faced, nodded at the man and followed her mother-in-law out of the room.