The Betrayer

Maureen tutted as she watched him sprint down the road. He’d be the death of her, that boy. He drank like a fish and the way he was going he’d have no liver left by the time he was twenty-one. The selfish little bastard hadn’t even wished her happy birthday.

James woke up, got dressed and fished in his drawer for his new-found wealth. It was his mum’s birthday today and he wanted to creep out and buy her the best present ever.

Maureen was busy preparing for her party that evening. She had dozens of eggs, plenty of cheese and, with Ethel’s leg of lamb, Spam and corned beef, she could really push the boat out for once.

James quietly let himself back in. ‘Happy birthday, Mummy.’

Maureen had tears in her eyes as her youngest handed her a card, a small cake and a beautiful potted plant. ‘Oh James, you little darling, you’ve made mummy cry now. Where did you get these from? Where did yer get the money, love?’

James had already prepared himself for this particular question. ‘I saved all my pennies that Nanny gave me for ages and ages,’ he said confidently.

Maureen picked him up and smothered him in kisses. ‘You are a very special boy, James, and your mummy loves you very much.’

James wriggled out of her arms. ‘I’m going to play on my space hopper now.’

Susan stood at the kitchen door with a sullen expression firmly intact. ‘I’m starvin’. Can I ’ave some breakfast?’

James turned to his sister. ‘It’s Mummy’s birthday today.’

Susan scowled at him. ‘So what?’

James squeezed past his nasty sister and ran into the garden. He’d had just enough money left to buy himself a gobstopper and he wanted to suck it in peace and savour every moment.

Tommy sprinted to his pal’s house in record time. Tibbsy shot straight out the door and the two of them ran round to Benno’s. Dave Taylor was already there, but no one said a word about the previous evening until they had reached the serenity of the park. Searching through the bushes, Tibbsy pulled out a bottle of sherry. His nan, bless her soul, was senile and he’d chored it from her house and stashed it a couple of days ago.

‘Don’t think bad of me,’ he said, as he unscrewed the lid. ‘Me nan don’t even drink, someone must ’ave bought it for her.’

All four lads took it in turns to swig from the bottle. None of them had slept well, and their nerves were shot to pieces.

Tibbsy stood up. ‘Right, what we gonna do? Has anyone heard anything yet?’

The other three shook their heads. ‘Me muvver had the telly on – there was nothing on the local news,’ Benno said.

Tommo took another large gulp from the sherry bottle. ‘What we should do is send someone down that way. Maybe Smiffy was just unconscious. He might not be dead.’

Dave Taylor shrugged his shoulders. ‘We’ve never seen a dead person before, so none of us would know what one looked like.’

Tibbsy shook his head. ‘I’m telling yer now, the cunt was dead. Someone must ’ave found him by now, and I bet yer it’s swarming with police down there.’

‘Who can we send down there to ’ave a nose?’ Tommy asked. ‘We don’t wanna involve any of the other lads that weren’t with us last night. It’s a good job we kept the meet a secret, and never told any of ’em.’

Tibbsy agreed. Sometimes their gang consisted of about twelve but last night’s pre-arranged encounter was top boys only.

‘If we’re not gonna tell anyone else, the only one we can ask to go down there is Lenny Simpson.’

Tibbsy slapped Benno on the back. ‘Good thinking, Batman. We’ll finish this booze, then we’ll go and find him.’

Lenny Simpson was at home looking after his younger brother when the lads knocked. ‘I’ll go and check it out for yer, lads. I’m gonna have to take Matty with me though, there’s no one else to look after him.’

Lenny Simpson was one of the put-upon people of this world. His mother sold her body to fund her drug habit, and his two sisters were selfish and a complete waste of space. Lenny’s younger brother, Matthew, was fifteen and mentally retarded. It had been him that Smiffy had taunted and terrorised for years. Lenny looked after Matty almost twenty-four seven, and if it wasn’t for him, the poor little sod would have been stuck in care years ago.

‘Right, what’s the plan then?’ Tibbsy asked, as Lenny appeared with his little bro.

Lenny grabbed Matty’s hand. He had a terrible habit of running into the road. ‘I’ll go down there with Matty. You and the lads go to the park and I’ll meet yer back at the shelter.’

Tommo searched through his pockets and ordered his gang to do the same. Counting up the money, he handed it to Lenny. ‘Get us some cider, Old Man Tatler won’t serve us. Whatever’s left over, you can spend on sweets for Matty.’

Lenny went into the shop, handed the lads their booze and said goodbye. He couldn’t wait to find out what had happened to his brother’s tormentor. With a bit of luck Smiffy was brown bread and would rot in hell.

Tommy and the boys sat anxiously in the shelter, drinking and chain-smoking. The hour they waited for Lenny to come back seemed more like an eternity, and as they spotted him and Matty in the distance, they sprinted towards them. Tibbsy was the fastest runner and reached them first.

‘Well?’ he asked expectantly.

Lenny Simpson loved a bit of excitement. If it hadn’t been for having to take care of Matty, he would have been a gang member himself. Plonking himself on the grass, he relayed the full story.

‘Smiffy was found at ’alf six this morning, apparently. Old Mother Kelly said he was as stiff as a board. It’s swarming with Old Bill down there and they’ve even shut off part of the Mile End Road. I saw Graham Roberts, he said the Old Bill had been round his asking lots of questions. He reckons they’re doing loads of house-to-house enquiries. There’s tons of people hanging about, but the police ’ave put tape round. Everyone down there reckons that Smiffy had so many enemies, they’ll never find the killer.’

‘Wee wee, Lenny. Wee wee.’

Lenny glanced at his brother. He’d already got his cock out and was pissing on the grass.

‘Don’t piss ’ere Matty. Be a good boy and go over there by that tree.’

Cock in hand, Matty shuffled away.

Overcome by shock that he was actually a murderer, Tommy sank to his knees.

‘Move over Tommo, you’re kneeling in piss,’ Tibbsy said, laughing.

Tommy ignored his pal and put his head in his hands. Fuck the piss, that was the least of his problems. He was a killer, he’d wiped out someone’s life and he didn’t have a clue what to do about it.

Lenny put an arm around him. ‘You’ll be OK, Tommo, just stick to the story. Mine, records, beer, Bowie. Me mum and sisters weren’t about and I’ve clued Matty up on what to say.’

Tommy looked at Matty who was waddling towards him with his cock in his hand. That imbecile’s gonna be a lot of fucking use, he thought inwardly.

Dave Taylor downed the last of the cider and chucked the empty bottle. ‘I’m starving, who’s up for some chips?’

Tommy shot him a look of hatred. ‘I don’t believe you, Taylor. I’m looking at life and all you can think about is your gut.’

Taylor shrugged. ‘It was just a suggestion.’

Tommy stood up. These pricks were doing his head in and he needed to be alone. He forced himself to be polite. ‘I’m off now, lads. It’s me mum’s birthday and she’s having a party, she needs me to give her a hand with some stuff.’

The crew nodded.

‘See yer, Tommo. If we hear anything we’ll let yer know,’ Tibbsy said.

Tommy dug his hands deep into his pockets and trudged away. He couldn’t believe what had happened. He wasn’t that bothered about Smiffy – he hated the cunt, always had. It was himself he was worried about. Say the police found some evidence? Or the Bethnal Green wankers grassed him up?

Tommy’s instincts told him he was in shit street. Filled with worry, he took a slow walk home.

THREE

‘SUSAN, WHAT YER doing? Three times I’ve asked yer to help me with these sandwiches. Now move your fucking arse.’

Susan lolloped into the kitchen, picked up the knife and lunged at the bread as though she’d had an argument with it. She hated doing favours for anyone and on the odd occasion she was forced to, she made her feelings known.

Seeing the mess that her daughter was making, Maureen grabbed the knife and ordered her to go and get changed. ‘And make sure you ’ave a wash, yer dirty little cow.’

Tommy sat on the back step and lit up a fag. It was only recently that his mum had allowed him to smoke indoors. She wasn’t happy about it, but had told him he was old enough to make his own choices. ‘If you’re gonna do it behind me back, you may as well do it in front of me,’ she said.

Tommy’s ears pricked up as he heard his gran arrive. Her voice was like a foghorn and you couldn’t miss it. ‘There’s been another bloody murder down the road, Maur,’ she exclaimed. ‘You know Mary Smith, dontcha? Her lad, Terry, was found this morning. Apparently, the poor little bastard had been laying there, brown bread for hours.’

Maureen was preparing the pickles and nearly dropped the Tupperware dish in shock. She knew Mary Smith very well. She was a regular at the bingo hall and they’d often sit together and have a chinwag.

‘Gordon Bennett! I can’t believe it, Mum. It’s terrible, she’s such a nice woman, is Mary. She idolised her Terry, was forever talking about him. What must the poor woman be going through?’

Ethel shook her head. ‘Poor fucker. I dunno what this bleedin’ world’s coming to. There was none of this in my day – yer could leave your fuckin’ door open then, yer know. If yer left it open now, some bastard would rob yer and murder yer in your bed.’

Maureen agreed with her. ‘I feel so sorry for Mary. I’ll have to pop round to her house in the next couple of days and offer my condolences.’

Unable to listen to any more, Tommy felt physically sick as he jumped next door’s fence and clambered into their back alleyway. Crouching down by the bushes, he held his head in his hands. He never had a clue that his mum and Smiffy’s mum knew one another. Learning they were friends was like a smack in the face to him. What the fuck was he meant to do now? If he was rumbled, his mother would skin him alive. Wishing more than anything he could turn back the clock, he sat deep in thought. He had to force himself to go back home, get changed, and join in with the birthday party. If he didn’t, it would look odd and he didn’t want anything to look suspicious.

DC Perryman and PC Rogers had been sent to investigate a black bag that had been found by a dog walker. The bag had been spotted amongst some bushes in an alleyway that backed onto the Ocean Estate. DC Perryman had been desperate for promotion for a very long time and couldn’t hide his delight at the contents.

‘Look at this, Rogers. Bingo!’ he said, as he looked at the blood-stained windfall.

The party was in full swing by the time Tommy arrived back home.

‘Where yer been, yer crafty little bastard?’ Maureen wanted to know.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I popped round me mate’s and …’

Cutting him dead, Maureen shoved him towards the stairs. ‘You look like a tramp and I will not have you showing me up on my birthday. There’s hot water in the immersion, get upstairs and get washed and changed.’

Maureen’s anger at her eldest diminished as James flung himself at her. ‘Uncle Kenny’s here, Mum. He’s over there with Nanny.’

Feeling flustered, Maureen dashed into the kitchen to pour herself a drink. She was having one of her funny turns again.

Kenny was her husband Tommy’s younger brother, Ethel’s other son. He and his wife, Wendy, had done well for themselves. A scrap-metal dealer, Kenny had recently brought a posh house in Essex, much to Ethel’s annoyance. ‘What’s a matter with bleedin’ Stepney? Not good enough for him any more? That’s her doing, Lady fuckin’ Penelope,’ she moaned. Wendy came from Upminster and her parents were quite well-to-do. Ethel had disliked her from day one.

‘Look what Uncle Kenny brought me,’ James said, as he ran into the kitchen and thrust a toy police car at her.

Maureen looked at his happy face. The poor little sod didn’t get many toys; they couldn’t afford them, as a rule. ‘Go and put it in your bedroom and you can play with it tomorrow. It’ll get broken if yer leave it laying around tonight.’

James did as he was told. On reaching the bedroom, he was surprised to see Tommy there. ‘Why are you lying down?’

Tommy sat up. ‘I’m fine, just tired, that’s all.’

‘Do you like my present? Uncle Kenny brought it for me. He’s brought you summink, and Susan.’

Tommy smiled. Ruffling his brother’s hair, he stood up. ‘I’ll race yer downstairs, Jimmy boy.’

The Old Bill shop was brimming with excitement. Bloodstained clothes, a murder weapon and a dead body found. Even Benny out of Crossroads could have put two and two together and come up with four for this one. The icing on the cake came five minutes later when a letter from the school was discovered in the back pocket of the trousers. Addressed to a Mrs Hutton, it was a letter asking why her son, Tommy, had not been attending school. DC Perryman picked up the envelope and danced around the station. Like a cat that had got the cream, he eagerly awaited his promotion.

Back at the party, Ethel encouraged James to stand in the middle of the circle. He was dancing to ‘Simple Simon’ and knew all the actions and words, bless him.

Ethel nudged Maureen. Normally she loved nothing more than to watch James perform his party piece, but tonight she seemed uninterested.

‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m just keeping me eye on the other two. Tommy’s been acting strange all night. I’m sure he’s pissed and I’ve just seen Susan clump Sylvie’s little girl.’

‘Who the fuck is Sylvie?’

Maureen pointed her out. ‘She’s new round ’ere. Comes from Hackney, she does, and has just moved into the flats round by Old Man Tatler’s. I caught Susan picking on her little ’un the other day as well. Pushed her off the swing in the park, she did.’

Ethel tutted. ‘Vindictive little fucker, that daughter of yours. I’d brainwash her if she was mine. ’Ere, get us another drink, Maur, I’m empty again.’

Maureen stood up. She was desperate for a top-up herself.

Clocking Wendy studying her, Ethel put her hand up her skirt and adjusted herself. ‘Cutting me ha’penny in half, these bleedin’ knickers,’ she shouted.

‘Do you have to do that, Mum?’

Ethel stared at Kenny with a devilish look in her eye. ‘It’s my crotch, I’ll do what I fuckin’ well like with it.’

‘Time to go,’ Wendy said, nudging him. She’d only come in the first place because he’d promised her a new fur coat.

Kenny sighed. ‘We’re gonna make a move now, Mum. Wendy’s not feeling too well, she’s got a touch of flu.’

‘Flu! Fuckin’ flu! More like miserableitis or stuck-up-cunt disease, yer mean,’ Ethel cackled.

Kissing her on the cheek, Kenny ignored his mother’s nasty comments and headed off to find Maureen. ‘Happy birthday,’ he said, handing her two tenners. ‘I’ve gotta go now, Maur. Wendy’s not well. Treat yourself to something nice, eh?’

Maureen angrily chucked the money back at him. She wasn’t a bloody charity case. ‘Look Kenny, you don’t have to make up for yer brother being an arsehole. Please don’t insult me, I don’t want yer money.’

Looking sheepish, Kenny pocketed the money, said goodbye and grabbed Wendy’s hand. The quicker he made an exit, the better.

As the police van drove towards the Ocean Estate, various orders were given out. All the officers present were more than aware of the Hutton clan. They’d had many run-ins with them over the years. The old man was a waster, a two-bit thief and a drunk, the eldest two of the three kids were shoplifters and bullies, even the gran was a well-known fence and on their wanted list. All the Old Bill were excited about the outcome of this particular arrest. To nick a Hutton for something big was fantastic news, kind of payback for all the years they’d run riot.

Back at Maureen’s, the celebration was in full swing and everyone was doing the Hokey Cokey.

With the help of a few alcoholic beverages, Maureen was now the life and soul of the party. Standing in a circle with Sandra and Brenda either side of her, she was enjoying herself immensely. James and a couple of the other kids were in the middle of the circle and Maureen’s heart was filled with emotion as she watched her youngest having a ball. Her other two were nowhere to be seen, but that was nothing unusual. Susan had never joined in with anything family-oriented in her life and Tommy felt he was far too old and too cool to be dancing with his mum.

Maureen bent down and tickled James’s waist. ‘Bend your knees, James, and shout, “Ra, ra, ra!”’

James giggled. He loved the party songs and knew most of the actions off by heart.

As the Hokey Cokey came to an end, a drunken Sandra decided it was time for a speech. ‘You see this woman ’ere,’ she said loudly. ‘This woman ’ere is the bestest friend I could ever wish for. I love ’er to death, we all love ’er to death and I think we should sing to her.’

Realising there was a party going on, the police decided to park away from the house. The last thing they wanted was to be seen and give young Tommy time to do a runner. Creeping towards the front door, they awaited their orders from their superior.

‘Right, lads. Go, go, go.’

Sandra was standing on a chair, waving her arms about as if she was conducting an orchestra. All eyes were focused on Maureen.

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday, dear Maureen,

Happy—

They never got to chant the last line. The police entering the house spelled the end of the singalong. Maureen Hutton’s birthday party was well and truly over.

FOUR

‘THOMAS ARTHUR HUTTON, I am arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Terence John Smith. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say may be put into writing and given in evidence …’

The party fell into a shocked silence as a screaming Tommy was dragged from the room.

Ethel was the first to find her voice. She hated the filth with a passion. As she leaped off the armchair, she laid into the coppers with her fists.

Maureen, who had initially felt her legs buckle underneath her, pulled herself together and followed suit. ‘Leave my boy alone, you no-good bastards,’ she screamed as she chased them into the hallway.

‘He’s only a kid, get your dirty hands off him,’ Sandra yelled, desperate to stick up for her pal.

One of the coppers pushed Sandra out of the way and sent her flying. A free-for-all followed as Sandra’s husband, Pete, went apeshit. Like true cockneys, most of the other guests quickly joined in. The fracas went on for a good ten minutes or so and there were four other arrests made, which included Ethel. The spirited old gran had smacked one officer in the teeth and kicked another in the bollocks.

Finally, some kind of order resumed and an extremely pissed-off DC Perryman re-entered the living room. ‘Tommy needs an adult to accompany him down to the station. The four in the van are no use to him – any other offers?’ he asked sarcastically.

Cuddling a hysterical James, Maureen immediately stood up. ‘I’m his mother. I’ll go with him.’

‘Let me come too, Mum, I wanna see Tommy. Please, Mummy, please,’ James sobbed.

With the police waiting impatiently, Maureen had very little time to soothe her youngest. Assuring him that everything was gonna be OK, she handed him to Sandra. ‘Look after him and keep an eye on Susan for me, mate.’

Sandra nodded. None of the women would leave the house until Maureen returned. They were her friends and would tidy the place up and be there for her when she got home. ‘Good luck, Maur. There’s bound to be some cock-up. Your Tommy might be a little sod, but he’s no fucking killer.’

Maureen wasn’t allowed to travel with her son on the journey. The police had called in reinforcements and she was shoved into a car on her own. She didn’t know where Ethel or the others were, so maybe they were with Tommy. Everything had happened so quickly, she’d had little time to think about the actual accusation. It couldn’t be true. The Old Bill must have been desperate to pull someone in and, knowing her Tommy was a local tear-away, had picked on him. Maybe they thought her son was in the know. Being so streetwise, they probably thought that he’d heard a whisper and would grass up the real killer.

Sandra ordered Susan to put James to bed and then go to bed herself. She needed to discuss the situation with the others and didn’t want to say too much in front of the kids. James was too young to really take in what they were talking about, but Susan had ears like a bat.

Most of the neighbours had gone now. The men had been sent home with the older kids and the other little ’uns were up in the bedroom with Susan and James. There were now just four of them left and they all considered themselves to be Maureen’s best friends. Sandra had been insistent that they didn’t discuss stuff with anyone they didn’t know that well, or trust. Chatting amongst themselves, all the girls were positive that there had been some kind of mix-up. They all knew Mary Smith. Like themselves, she’d had it tough and was one of the old school. None of their kids, including Terry or Tommy, were angels, but none of them were cold-blooded killers. There had to be some mistake.

Tommy sat in the interview room next to his mum, feeling confident. ‘I’ve already told yer, I was round at Lenny Simpson’s all night. I was with Michael Tibbs, Ben Thompson and Dave Taylor. We had a few beers and were listening to David Bowie records. If yer don’t believe me, go and ask ’em,’ he said cockily.

Sitting next to her son, Maureen squeezed his clammy hand. Her Tommy might be a fucker, but he certainly wasn’t capable of what he was being accused of. The pigs had a bloody liberty, trying to put the blame on her son.

Maureen stood up; she’d had enough of this shit for one night. If it wasn’t bad enough that the bastards had ruined her birthday party, they now seemed content on keeping them there till the cows came home. ‘Look, you ain’t got nothing on him, so why the fuck won’t you let us go home?’

DC Perryman smiled at his colleague. He’d given Hutton twenty minutes to stew, wonder and make up stories. Now it was time to show him the real evidence and watch the little bastard crumble.

As the bag of evidence was shown, Maureen’s heart sank, and she let go of Tommy’s hand. Her son’s clothes she recognised immediately. He didn’t have that many and the ones he did have, she’d had to scrimp and save for. For months he’d driven her mad for a pair of flares and here they were, ripped and covered in blood. She stared at the knife – she didn’t recognise that, but he could have got it from anywhere.

‘The clothes aren’t mine. Tell ’em Mum. Tell ’em they ain’t mine,’ Tommy said frantically.

Maureen couldn’t speak. Her voice had disappeared and her mouth wouldn’t open.

As DC Perryman put the school letter on the table, Tommy broke down in tears. ‘I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me, I swear I didn’t do it,’ he sobbed.

DS Arnold tried a different tactic from his colleague. He was always a big believer in the nice and soft approach. ‘Look, son, we know the blood is Terry’s and we know the clothes are yours. All we need to know now is what really happened. Was it a fight that went wrong? An argument that got out of hand? You aren’t doing yourself any favours, Tommy, by not telling us. We’ve got you bang to rights and if you help yourself, the judge will be much more lenient with you.’