Trapped

Maggie had looked at the Tom behind the reception in the sauna and smiled. She’d known her for years; the last thing she wanted though was Gina to know she was looking for her.

‘No, don’t say anything. I want to surprise her.’

That’d been at half past six. It was now nearly half past eight. She wasn’t sure Gina was even going to turn up at the walk-up, but watching Soho life go by was better than going back home and worrying.

In the two hours she’d been sitting on the stone steps, she’d only had to shuffle over to make way for three punters, eager to make their way up the bare wooden staircase and along the unpainted corridor to be ‘serviced’ for twenty quid by Joanie. Business was clearly down.

As Maggie saw it, Soho was divided into three different levels and it was down to the individual to see what they wanted to see. The first level was for the tourists, who gazed about with excitement, soaking up the sounds and the smells of the cramped one square mile. Feeling a part of the magic but not getting close enough for it to cast a deadly spell on them.

The second level was the mix of communities; real people trying to live in harmony amongst different cultural and social backgrounds, all attempting to be sympathetic to one another’s beliefs. Most of the time everybody managed to be tolerant, but occasionally it kicked off. Then the air would be heavy with tension until the community leaders sorted it out.

And finally there was the deepest level of Soho. The darker level which Maggie had been born into, and doubted she’d ever escape from. The protection rackets, the drugs, the sex trade, and the gangsters. The faces of Soho who ran the areas weren’t seen until they wanted or needed to be. That was the part Maggie felt she belonged to. She knew everyone; knew who to avoid and who to take the time to speak to. Soho was in her blood as strong as being a Donaldson was. Whenever she left it she missed it; and whenever she was in it she wanted to get as far away from the place as possible.

‘Touting for business, love? I’ll give you a quid and even then I’m being generous.’

Maggie looked up and saw the grinning face of Lola Harding who owned and ran a cafe round the corner in Bateman Street. Lola was a good ’un; she’d been a brass most of her life and lived in the area for all of it.

Maggie remembered Lola’s kids from when they were little. They’d all played together, though they’d been slightly older than her. One Christmas Eve Lola’s kids had been taken into care by social services, and Maggie could still hear the desperate screams as Lola and her kids physically hung onto each other in the street as she tried to stop them being carted off.

When Maggie had seen what’d happened to Lola’s kids, she’d envied them. Wishing someone could swoop down and take her away from her childhood. She would’ve happily traded a place in the Donaldson household for a place in care on any given day.

‘Whatever’s troubling you babe, it won’t help any sitting with your bum jammed to the floor. When you’ve got an arse full of piles from sitting on that cold step, let me tell you, you’ll really have something to cry about. Come on love, why don’t you come and have a cup of Rosie Lee with me?’

‘No thanks, Lola. I’m waiting for Gina.’

‘Well I reckon you’ll be waiting a long time. She’s probably got her knickers off somewhere.’

Maggie scrunched her forehead into a scowl.

‘I thought she only worked as a maid now, thought she was off the game.’

‘She says she is, but nobody ever really is.’

‘You are.’

‘That’s because no one will have me. I’d end up having to pay the bleeding punters.’ Lola roared out a cackling laugh, making the passing Chinese couple huddle together and quickly cross over to the other side of the street in fright.

‘Sure you don’t want that brew, Maggie?’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Okay love, but you know where I am if you change your mind and want a chat. Say hello to your mum won’t you, and ask her why she hasn’t left that rotten bleeder yet.’

Another roar of laughter left Lola’s mouth and Maggie watched her walk away towards Soho Square. She wondered how after such a hard life Lola could still always find a joke; still see the bright side in the darkest of situations.

Maggie sighed, closing her eyes when she lost sight of Lola to the throng of the crowds. It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since she’d been back in Soho, yet sitting waiting in the filthy doorway, surrounded by the smell of piss, made it feel like she’d been back a lifetime. But however bad the homecoming, she was still glad to be home. A year away had been a year away too long.

It’d been her own fault she’d been sent down. When the police had raided the house as they often did, hoping to find something they could pin on her father, she should have let them just get on with it. It was nothing new. Since she could remember the house had been raided. Every six months or so there’d be a hammering on the door, before it was booted in by a dozen or more boys in blue who charged through the house like elephants on crack.

The law knew who Max Donaldson was and he knew the law. He had his fingers in lots of businesses but first and foremost her father was a loan shark and a bag man. He extorted payments off landlords and shop owners. Charging a thousand per cent interest to old ladies who hadn’t been able to pay their winter fuel bills. With no strong credit history to take out a loan from a bank, they turned to her father for a hundred pound loan, only to find themselves paying back thousands of pounds from the interest on the interest on the interest. And if they couldn’t pay, her father would happily pay someone to break a bone as a warning. A taste of what was to come if they messed him about.

Her brother Tommy had been recruited by her father to join the family business. He hadn’t had a choice. And he hadn’t been able to drop out of it like Nicky had by default.

Nicky was soft like freshly picked cotton but his drug habit was out of control. It had been since he was twelve. It was this, not his soft kind nature which made him unreliable. Their father had eventually given up with him, giving him only the odd job to do now and again. Therefore it was poor Tommy who took the brunt, forced to work day in day out with their father.

Even though Maggie didn’t work for her father, she might as well have done. Everything came from him, whether she liked it or not. Her father owned their house, paid the bills, paid for food, for clothes, for the lot. Everything which was bought had to be run by him before he decided to put his hand in his wallet. She had nothing he didn’t own or possess. Including her.

Maggie had never had a job. She’d never been allowed to – a daughter of a face couldn’t be seen working outside the family business. Her father however didn’t want her working with or by him. Though she wasn’t complaining; she’d no desire to be involved in a business which thrived on exploiting the vulnerable.

Consequently, she should have been of use to the police coming into her room, turning it upside down and leaving it a mess. But for some reason, on that day it’d irritated her more than usual. When she’d objected, the copper had just sneered at her. She’d felt her temper swimming through her veins and she’d wanted to clout him, just to take the smug sound out of his voice. But she hadn’t, well not until they’d found the bag of pills which she didn’t know anything about. ‘I’ve never seen them before.’

‘Well then whose are they, Maggie?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know what they are either and neither do you. They could be Smarties for all you know.’

‘I’ll need you to come down to the station whilst we check.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve got no choice.’

‘You don’t understand; I can’t.’

Maggie remembered she’d looked over to see her father coming to stand at her bedroom door. There would’ve been no way she could’ve talked to the coppers in front of him. To tell them what she needed to say and explain why she couldn’t get banged up then. ‘Listen, give me an hour and I’ll come. I promise.’

They’d grinned at each other, bursting out into laughter. ‘This isn’t a social engagement. You know the routine, Maggie; you and your family have certainly had enough practice. You’ll probably be bailed by tomorrow.’

Tomorrow. Her mind had raced. Wondering where her mother was. Then Maggie had looked over again to her father, and by the look in his eyes she knew he knew something about the pills. She’d stared at him harder, and out of view of the sergeant her father shrugged his shoulders, mouthing a mocking apology.

It was then she’d acted like a fool. And once again he’d managed to wind her up to the point of her behaving stupidly and rashly.

It’d actually been her father she’d flown at, not the Sergeant at the door standing next to him. But her fist didn’t differentiate between the two of them. It was a genuine mistake. But a mistake which had made all hell break loose.

A wall of blue uniforms had rushed towards her. For the next ten minutes Maggie Donaldson had kicked and struggled, pushing the men away, surprising them with her force. Then she’d felt a heavy weight on her back as she was forced to the ground by a knee. She’d slammed to the ground, banging her chin on the corner of the open drawer. The blood had sprayed everyone and Maggie had felt a burning pain as her chin split open. She’d howled a deep stomach churning cry, not for the pain, but for what she knew she was about to leave behind.

Maggie stood up from the cold step, rubbing her chin to feel the small scar. A reminder of her stupidity. She should’ve known better. But her father’s mocking scorn had hurt and made her feel humiliated, which always turned into anger.

At the time it’d crossed Maggie’s mind her father had deliberately put the pills – which turned out to be ecstasy tablets – in her drawer. But when she found out the truth, she’d seen it for what it was; a series of unfortunate events which had cost her dearly.

The pills had been confiscated from one of her father’s clients, who hadn’t been able to pay his weekly instalment.

Nicky had been given the task of picking them up to sell at the clubs. Their father, counting on Nicky to come within the hour hadn’t bothered being cautious and had left the pills in the house, which he never usually would’ve done, putting them in her drawer for an hour’s safekeeping. What he hadn’t counted on was Nicky’s insatiable appetite for drugs, his need for a hit being greater than the fear of the brutal consequences of disobeying their father’s orders.

Waiting for Nicky to turn up, Max had snorted some lines of coke, cracked open a bottle of whiskey and drank himself into a stupor. He was oblivious to the fact that Nicky hadn’t turned up until he was woken the next morning by the sound of the front door being broken down.

They didn’t charge her with possession. Her father had made the pill owner claim he’d left them in her room. The police didn’t believe the story, neither did anyone else, but the judge had given the man thirteen months, and Maggie suspected the terrified man had seen being behind bars as a preferable option to owing Max Donaldson money.

Nicky had been inconsolable at playing, as he saw it, a monumental role in putting her behind bars. But when Maggie had seen him in the prison visiting room she hadn’t been angry. She’d just hugged him until the prison officers had come over, warning her if there was any more physical contact the visit would be over.

Maggie’s heart had gone out to Nicky. Not just because of the engorged black eye and the cuts and bruises he’d received from their father, but because he was a Donaldson and how Maggie saw it, being born into her family was simply part of the series of unfortunate events.

It wasn’t in the name of love her father had helped get her off the charges. She’d no doubt if it was purely down to him he’d have let her take the rap for the pills and left her to rot in the cells. The reason her father had done what he did was because it was the thing to do; the thing expected of him. Max Donaldson couldn’t have been seen not to do the right thing.

Reputation was important. It was fundamental in his line of business; to him and to the other faces in London. Reputation got them to where they were. It helped keep them there. If word had got out that Max had left his own daughter to languish between the walls of Highpoint Prison, his reputation wouldn’t even be worth the paper he wiped his backside on.

The one thing he couldn’t do though was get the charges of attacking a policeman dropped. She, as her father had gladly pointed out, was to blame and ‘There’s fuck all I can do about you smacking a copper in the mouth, Maggie. There’s nobody to blame except yourself. My advice is, pack a decent toothbrush.’

She’d got eighteen months but had served only twelve and a half. Though every second, every minute hand of the clock going round had been akin to a life sentence.

Dusting off her G-star cropped jeans, Maggie started to leave but as she turned the corner into Bateman Street, a small round woman bumped into her. It was Gina Daniels.

Throwing her newly found resolve to the side, Maggie grabbed her, pushing her hard against the wall, slamming her spine into the red bricks and letting her built-up anger spill out. She spoke in a low growl, curling her beautiful lips into a snarl.

‘Tell me what is going on Gina, or I swear to God I won’t be responsible for my actions.’

Gina stayed silent, clearly shocked by the unexpected confrontation. The silence infuriated Maggie. She wanted answers.

About to shake the information out of Gina, Maggie remembered why she’d got herself into this predicament in the first place. Her temper. Her damned fiery temper. She closed her eyes, silently beginning to count to ten. Desperate to keep the Donaldson curse under control. As she counted she felt a slight tug on her jacket then heard a tiny voice.

‘Mummy!’

Maggie turned. Immediately falling to her knees. Her anger disappeared at once as she gazed into a pair of blue eyes full of warmth and love for her.

‘Harley! Oh my God. Oh my God.’

She gently stroked her daughter’s face, not quite being able to believe after twelve and a half long months she was finally seeing her again. She hadn’t allowed her mother to bring her to the prison. She hadn’t wanted Harley to be frightened. She’d been comfortable with that decision, imagining her daughter to be well cared for. Now as she looked at Harley’s unwashed face and tangled hair she could see this clearly hadn’t been the case.

Maggie scooped Harley into her arms. She’d waited for this moment. Waited to hold her daughter in her arms. To look into the eyes which were identical to her own. She’d been so selfish, so stupid to allow her anger to separate her from being with her little girl. From the one person who needed her the most.

Maggie glared at Gina. She still wanted the full story as to how Gina Daniels, a retired brass who Maggie didn’t know well enough to leave her pet goldfish with, let alone her daughter, had ended up caring for Harley. But first things first, they needed to get off the street. The last thing Maggie could afford to do was to let anyone see Harley.

CHAPTER NINE

Tommy Donaldson sat in the dark. What his father had done to Frankie Taylor had made him feel edgy. Bringing up memories he didn’t want to remember. To try to distract himself he’d come to his private place, to the place where he could think.

‘Move along sweetie, I know you’d like to stay up close and personal but we’ve got to be fair darlin’ and let these other passengers on.’

Tommy watched the woman whoop a hearty laugh as she indicated for him to move forward. He hadn’t wanted to go and sit in the front, he’d been happy standing and now he was stuck, squashed up against the window by an old woman with all her shopping bags. He hated buses, all the noise and the people; he much preferred being in the car but it was parked at the station.

Gazing out of the window and very much looking forward to getting back to Soho, Tommy heard the woman who’d been ordering everyone about laughing again. She was sitting directly behind him and he could hear her trying to get his attention by making jokes but he didn’t bother to look round.

Twenty minutes later they arrived at the bus terminal and as Tommy was walking away he saw a woman from the bus who’d been talking to another passenger about heading back to the West End.

‘Hang on, wait up darlin’.’

The woman turned around as she walked towards the main road and Tommy jogged to catch up. He smiled at her, his handsome face lighting up under the street lamps as she smiled back.

‘Seeing as though both of us are heading towards Wanstead High Street to catch the bus up West, why don’t we take the short cut across Hollow Ponds, it’ll save us having to go all the way round or wait God knows how long for another bus. And if the boogie man does come along, I can always jump behind you for protection.’

He listened to her talk and introduce herself and then he smiled at her, his beautiful eyes dazzling brightly.

‘Okay, hopefully we can get there before midnight.’

They began to walk as she chatted happily about her friend.

‘These big firms think they can treat people how they want to and they always seem to get away with it. My friend lost her job last week, oh, you should have heard the language on her. Still, I say she’s best off out of it.’

It was dusk but the path and the woods were still quite visible. She was still talking and Tommy let her go before him along the narrowed path, watching as her head moved whilst she talked.

They got deeper into the woods before he said her name and smashed his skull against her face. The force knocked her to the floor and the moonlight lit up Tommy’s face.

As she was about to scream he raised his foot and brought it down hard on her mouth.

‘No you don’t darlin’, no screams. We won’t have any screaming out of your mouth and we certainly won’t have any more of your incessant fucking talking.’

He dragged her through the bushes by clumps of her hair, knowing she was still conscious and feeling every scratch from the twisted thorns and twigs as he took her towards the car.

The sound of a distant alarm reminded Tommy he had to be somewhere. He really needed to get back home to see his mother. To make sure she was alright. His father was on the warpath after the fight with Frankie and he didn’t want her to be in the firing line.

Thinking about his mother made Tommy smile. He loved her so much but he didn’t think she’d ever noticed, or maybe it was just him she didn’t notice. Maybe he was as invisible as he felt.

CHAPTER TEN

It was a superficial wound but the police were sniffing around like pigs sniffing on an arsehole and Frankie Taylor watched them scribble down pointless notes.

‘Mr Taylor, are you trying to tell us you didn’t see who attacked you and neither did your son, even though it was broad daylight?’

‘That’s exactly right Officer; that’s exactly what I’m telling you. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like a little time with my wife.’

The police had stayed another hour attempting to glean out any bit of information they could, but Frankie and Johnny had continued to say nothing. In the end the two officers had left somewhat exasperated at the same time as Gypsy pulled back the faded blue hospital curtains with more cups of tea.

‘The dirty rotten bleeder. Max Donaldson needs to pay for this.’

Gypsy was on a roll and Frankie loved it. When they’d moved into Berkley Square she’d decided to get elocution lessons. He’d looked at her in amazement. ‘Are you off your tits girl?’

‘No Frank, I just want to get meself talking proper.’

‘Christ almighty Gyps, this ain’t my fair lady you know.’

They’d laughed hard but she’d still insisted on taking the lessons, and over time her East End accent had turned softer until it was hardly there at all. Unless of course she was talking about two things. The only two things which brought back the East End girl back into her voice. His sister, and Max Donaldson.

Frank watched Gypsy, her mouth moving ten to the dozen. Thousands of pounds of elocution lessons out of the window. But he didn’t mind. The angrier she got about the situation, the happier Frankie felt. He loved that she cared. Loved she’d have no problem rolling up her sleeves to get into a fight to defend him. Not that she’d ever need to – he was more than man enough to look out for himself and his family, but he loved that she was strong.

It was one of the things that had attracted him to Gypsy in the first place. She was beautiful, but so were many other girls down the clubs in the East End. They were all fuckable but they were also unmemorable. Gypsy had been different; her strength had shone out from under the bleached blonde hair and false eyelashes. Her spirit for life had been intoxicating; making him a fool for her. He’d never met a woman like Gypsy. She was so unlike all the other women and so unlike his poor feeble mother.

As he continued to think, Frankie’s contentment turned into a scowl. As much as he loved her strength, the problem he had now was her strength was starting to make its way into her overall attitude. A little bit too much for his liking. He could see her starting to want to break away, to do things on her own, when she’d previously only wanted to do things with him.

At first he’d thought she’d some other man boning her but after he’d got some of his men to follow her about for a couple of days he’d realised there was no other man. Gypsy’s infidelity was freedom. A whole lot harder to deal with than putting a bullet in some lover’s head.

Frankie shifted his body on the hospital trolley trying to find a more comfortable position to lie in. The painkillers were wearing off and he was starting to hurt. He’d had to have thirty stitches but the doctors had told him the wound would heal easily. What couldn’t be sewn up so easily was the other kind of wound, the one Max Donaldson had opened up. He’d opened a new hatred between them and he was going to wish he hadn’t.

He couldn’t really believe Max had actually had the front to stab him in broad daylight off the Camden Road. He wasn’t going to send his men round for revenge; he would wait until he could do it himself. He would wait to be able to get his hands on Max’s scrawny neck. The hatred had grown into a cancer over the years between the two of them and as much as he wasn’t quite sure why it’d gone on for so long, he was sure he had Gypsy’s support in the vendetta; in fact sometimes he’d got the distinct impression she was egging him on. The few times he’d thought of stopping the feud Gypsy had had more than a few choice words to say about the matter with her voice as thick as the smog that used to be in the East End. ‘And why would you want to bleeding do that eh, Frankie? You’ll be the laughing stock of Soho if you start waving the white flag. That’s not like you to let some no-good bastard get the better of you – or maybe you’ve lost your bottle and you’re scared?’

‘Fuck off Gyps, you know it ain’t that, I’ve never been scared of anyone in me bleedin’ life, just thought it might make things quieter round here.’

‘If I wanted quiet I’d put some frigging ear plugs in. Making peace with that piece of bleeding scum is the coward’s way out. Next thing you know you’ll be painting yourself yellow and there’ll be three white feathers stuck on the fucking front door.’