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  ‘Thanks, Carol, I appreciate it.’ The truth of the statement came over in her voice and Carol smiled.

  ‘You find out who your mates are at times like this, girl. I remember when me brother got a big one. Twelve years. Mind you, he had done the robbery - got caught red-handed with the guns and the money. But all that aside, his wife really took some stick. Mind you, for saying that, she was batting away from home within six months. Takes some of the wives like that. Lonely, see. You keep your mind occupied and your legs crossed, girl. The filth will come out of the woodwork now. A few of Georgio’s mates would have liked a crack at you. Now he’s banged up they’ll think the field is clear. So be careful when men start offering you a bit of help. When is the appeal? I take it he is appealing?’

  ‘Oh, yes. As soon as we get a date I’ll let you know. Can I offer you some refreshment?’

  Carol Jackson laughed her loud, cackling laugh. ‘ “Can I offer you some refreshment”! You’re a riot, Donna, if you only knew it. I’ll have a cup of Rosie. I’ll just pop in and see old Dolly for a bit. Leave you and Davey to sort out your business.’

  Donna watched her plump frame, encased in skintight leather, wobble from the conservatory on impossibly high heels. Her long bleached-blonde hair, screaming with split ends, was backcombed into a mass of knots visible from behind.

  Davey finally spoke. ‘She ain’t a bad girl really, my Carol. You’ve just got to know how to take her. She’s a good wife and an excellent mother.’

  Donna nodded. ‘I realised that a long time ago. You don’t have to defend her to me, Davey. In fact, she’s one of the few people who actually seem concerned about me and Georgio.’

  ‘She’s right in what she says, you know, Donna. You’re an attractive woman, so be careful. Even Georgio’s mates are now suspect, remember that. That’s why I brought Carol with me this morning. Georgio will hear everything, who’s in here and who ain’t. Don’t ask me how he’ll know, but believe me when I say that he will.’

  Davey paused for breath and drew on his cigarette before continuing. ‘If any of his business associates come round, make sure you’re not alone, or that they bring their wives. If possible, meet them in a pub or a restaurant. It’s the rules you live by when your old man’s banged up. Be especially wary of blokes who turn up on spec. Don’t let them over the doorstep. Georgio’s brothers will keep an eye on you, so don’t be too worried, just wary. You understand?’

  Donna was stunned. Davey was talking as if she was some kind of gangster’s moll. As if Georgio really was a villain.

  Carol tripped back into the conservatory with two mugs of tea. She gave one to Davey and sat down at the table. Lighting herself a cigarette, she picked up Donna’s Sunday Times and began turning the pages.

  ‘What’s happening with the car lot, Donna?’

  She shook her head. ‘I really don’t know, Davey. Stephen wants to look over the books and that. He thinks I should run it.’

  Davey looked at Donna as she spoke. Her face was heart-shaped, her cheekbones prominent. Her thick brown hair fell loosely across her shoulders, and her deep-set blue eyes were framed with thick black lashes. Her full mouth moved gently. Economical with words and movement was Donna Brunos, and as Davey looked into her beautiful face he felt a stirring in his guts.

  Carol Jackson watched her husband as he looked at Donna and sighed inwardly. She didn’t blame him one bit. She had always resented Donna’s looks, her poise, her natural grace. That’s why they had never hit it off. Now, though, poor old Donna was on her own, and she was as green as the proverbial grass. Carol would keep an eye on her, and at the same time keep an eye on Davey boy. He wasn’t much, she admitted that to herself, but he was all hers. Women were vulnerable when the old man was banged up for a long stretch, and Donna had never had to look after herself before.

  ‘I think you should learn the business, Donna,’ she said now. ‘We sell at least one car a month, that’s when business is bad, but with the cheapest car coming out at nearly twenty grand, that ain’t a bad living. You’ll need something to keep you occupied. Believe me, I know from experience. If I can grasp the business, I’m bleeding sure you can.’

  ‘Everyone keeps telling me I should take over where Georgio left off. But I don’t think I’m cut out for all that . . .’

  Carol waved a hand at her. ‘No one knows what they’re capable of until they try. Your trouble is you never had to do a day’s collar in your life. Well, now you can have a go. Might find you surprise yourself. I mean, do you honestly want to spend the next twelve months looking at this house, as nice as it is? You’ll soon go stir crazy. I’ll expect you at the car lot tomorrow morning at nine. Then, once you’ve had a look-see, I’d advise you to get on to a few of the building sites, show your face like. Georgio will be much happier finding out the state of play from the horse’s mouth. Think about that. You could run everything through him. If I know Georgio, he’ll want someone he can trust in the driving seat.’

  Donna looked into the face opposite hers. It was a harsh face, yet at this moment Donna was also seeing it as a kind face.

  ‘I’ll see you in the morning then.’

  With those few words, Donna immediately felt better. The decision had been made. She would look into the businesses. Georgio would be proud of her. At the end of the day, that was the important thing.

  She would do anything for Georgio, and as everyone kept saying, he would feel much better if he had someone he could trust in the driving seat.

  A decision, once made, makes everything seem much easier. For the first time in days Donna felt a stirring of life inside her. She would work for Georgio until his appeal was over. Then, when he got home, she could go back to being just plain Donna Brunos, wife.

  Her biggest regret was that she couldn’t add the accolade of mother.

  Chapter Three

  Georgio stood under the cold water of the shower, and rubbed his body vigorously with a sliver of dark green soap. He gritted his teeth together in an effort to force away the goose pimples covering the whole of his skin. The white tiles were cracked and broken, the small crevices between them black from years of dirt and neglect. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and imagined that he was in his ensuite bathroom at home. He would leap out of bed for a hot shower, then downstairs to Dolly for coffee and croissants. If he told the blokes in here what he ate for breakfast they would assume he was a shirtlifter, a homosexual.

  He was brought back to reality by the voice of Peter Pearson saying: ‘Crying shame, Georgio, eighteen bloody long ones. A crying shame. Should have shot the blooming lot of them.’ His voice was lost in a bubbling sound as he stuck his head under his shower nozzle, words still coming thick and fast. Georgio didn’t answer; there was nothing to say.

  Turning off the shower, he wiped the excess liquid from his body and, pulling a towel around his waist, walked out into the toilet area. He was bending over the sink and cleaning his teeth when he felt a stinging sensation across his buttocks. Straightening up, he put his hand to his behind. When he looked at his fingers a second later they were red with blood. Clenching his fists, he turned and pulled off the towel, looking into the plastic-framed mirror above the washstands. He had a stripe about ten inches long across both buttocks. It was a fairly deep wound, but he knew it wouldn’t require stitches. It would be sore for a while; he would not enjoy sitting down. That was the whole idea of it.

  Mr Gantry the warder smiled and shook his head slowly. ‘I get the impression they don’t like you in here, Georgio. Now I wonder why that is?’ He turned to a young boy of eighteen who was shaving but watching the commotion, and shouted: ‘Want to kiss it better for him, do you?’

  The boy shook his head in fright.

  ‘Then finish your shave and piss off!’

  Georgio was holding the towel to the wound to stem the bleeding. When the boy picked up his shaving gear and rushed out, Gantry said through gritted teeth, ‘That’s a taster from Lewis. He asked me to tell you
he don’t like you, and when they ship you to the Island, he wants a word.’

  Georgio looked into the man’s face and said directly, ‘You know, a lot of accidents happen in these places, and not just to the cons either. You tell whoever striped my harris that I’ll be seeing them. And you can also lay money on the fact that sometime, in some place, Mr Gantry, I’ll also be seeing you.’

  Gantry laughed loudly, showing expensive false teeth. ‘You’re finished, Georgio, the word’s already out.’

  Now it was Georgio’s turn to laugh, and he gave one of his handsome grins. ‘Finished - me? I ain’t even fucking started.’

  Gantry grinned back. ‘I’d say you’ve started. Eighteen years sentence, that’s what you’ve started. And you’ll have to look over your shoulder for the whole time.’

  Georgio’s face was serious now, hard-looking. ‘In that case, Mr Gantry, then so will you. Tell Lewis it will take a bit more than a kid with a razor to scare me. If I’d been in his shoes I’d have had the razor wiped clean across my throat. In fact, I’d have done it myself.’

  Pushing past Gantry, he went back into the shower room and took another towel from the rail. Tying it around his waist, he returned to his cell. He knew that everyone was waiting for his reaction, so he whistled nonchalantly, smiling in a carefree way.

  Once inside the privacy of his cell, he wiped a hand over his face in agitation. Lewis had come straight out into the open. His arm was long. He was doing a twenty in Parkhurst yet he’d arranged this welcome in the Scrubs within twenty-four hours of Georgio’s sentencing.

  One thing was imperative: he had to get out. Whatever happened, he had to get out. Once he hit the Island he was as good as dead.

  Petey Pearson walked into the cell and grinned. When Georgio didn’t grin back, Petey slapped his shoulder and said jovially, ‘Cheer up, Georgio. You’re like a con with a sore arse!’

  Worried as he was, Georgio had to laugh.

  The laughter was heard along the wing, noted and commented on. Lewis knew about the aftermath within an hour of the attack taking place.

  He wasn’t in the least amused.

  Donna dressed herself in a dark grey suit, low-heeled black shoes, and tied her hair back with a piece of black velvet ribbon. When she walked into the car lot, she was whistled at by a passing motorist and Davey shook his head. He was already regretting asking her here; she would be like an albatross around his neck. Even done up like this, all businesslike and covered up, she looked what she was: vulnerable. Her open face was the last thing he needed when selling cars. Especially the special cars, the ringers, which he supplied to bank robbers or even kidnappers on some occasions. He saw the crew in the workshop smiling at her and sighed again. The silly mare had smiled back and waved.

  As she walked into the small office he commented: ‘You got here, then?’

  Donna smiled widely, her innocent face devoid of make-up, and his heart ached for her.

  ‘Yes, I got here, Davey. Though what I’m supposed to do now I’m actually here, I don’t really know.’

  ‘I’ve just made a coffee, you want one?’

  She nodded. Then, putting her bag on the floor, she sat at the desk, looking around her in bewilderment. The place was a shambles.

  Ten minutes later, Davey was still trying to make conversation with her when the phone rang. After a mumbled discussion he said awkwardly, ‘I have to go out for a while. You can answer the phone and make appointments. If anyone asks something, just say you’re a temp - that’s what Carol does. They’ll call back if they’re interested. ’

  Donna fixed a large smile on her face and tried to look in control. She failed dismally. As she watched Davey drive off her heart sank.

  The office was a pit. There were papers everywhere, folders full to overflowing on the chairs, on the floor, even under the desk. Letters were stuffed into drawers that no longer shut, they were so full up. Walking into the small kitchen area to wash up the cups, she shuddered. Tea bags were piled in the sink and on the draining board, old milk cartons lay scattered everywhere. The smell was ripe. Going back into the office she nearly cried. Then, taking off her jacket, she hung it on a hook on the door and rolled up the sleeves of her blouse. She gritted her teeth. Her natural tidiness coming to the fore, she began clearing up, starting with the kitchen.

  Two hours later when Davey came back she was in the office. He walked through the door and nearly passed out.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  After taking four calls from people who demanded to speak to Davey and had put the phone down on her in mid-conversation, then experiencing the fright of her life when she touched an old black bag in the kitchen and saw it move of its own accord, courtesy of a maggot-ridden sandwich, she turned on Davey. With two high pink spots on her cheeks she snapped. ‘What the hell does it look like?’

  Davey, taken aback at her sharp tone, said gently, ‘I know where everything is. Carol never touches anything, Donna. You should have left it.’

  Near to tears and upset by his attitude she said, ‘This pile of letters here is for answering, this pile is for filing. These are bills - and incidentally they’re cutting the phone off tomorrow if that bill’s not paid. In the filing cabinet there are now files instead of old pizza boxes, and the notepaper and envelopes are all in this top drawer here. I found them under a pile of old brochures behind the door to the kitchen. Also, I have taken three appointments and actually put them in the diary. In addition I also took four calls from a man called Briggley, and I have ordered new binders and invoices from the wholesalers. On top of all that, I have cleaned out the kitchen, which was practically on the verge of being condemned by the health people. That, Davey, is what I have been doing. And, I might add, not before bloody time!’

  Looking at her grubby face, her broken nails and white blouse covered in ink from the carbon paper he had stuffed into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, Davey began to laugh. Donna, to her surprise, began to join in. Only her laugh was high-pitched, on the verge of hysteria.

  ‘I’m sorry, Donna, I should have got Carol to have a sort-out here. She does that, now and again.’

  ‘Now and again being the operative words. It wasn’t like this when Georgio was here.’

  ‘I meant to employ someone, full-time like, but I never got round to it. You know what my Carol’s like.’

  Donna wiped her eyes and grinned. ‘Well, I think now I’ve sorted this place out, I can keep it under control. To be honest it’s the first time in ages I haven’t been brooding over Georgio. I’ll take on the job of secretary, it might do me a bit of good.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Donna. You and Georgio own more of this place than I do.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Davey.’ She put a hand gently on his arm. ‘Georgio respects you a lot. He’s over the moon at how you’ve kept the place running since he’s been away.’

  Davey nodded. ‘You’ll soon learn the ropes.’

  Donna walked through to the kitchen and began washing her hands. She shouted over her shoulder, ‘By the way, what’s a goer? A bloke rang up for an XJS. I told him I was a temp and he put the phone down on me.’

  In the now tidy office Davey closed his eyes in distress and said lightly, ‘One thing at a time, Donna. You’ll learn it all soon enough.’

  And that, he remarked to himself, was just what he was frightened of. He had envisaged her coming in and doing a bit of typing, maybe a bit of the legit book-keeping, but no way had he thought she would start to look through everything. If she had bothered to read the files under the desk . . . It did not bear thinking about. He would stay late tonight, and move them to the inner office. Thank God she had not gone in there; he kept it locked. Now he would have to keep a few more things locked up.

  Donna stood up as Georgio was brought into the visiting room. She was smiling widely but as he kissed her, felt the familiar sting of tears in the back of her throat.

  ‘Hello, darlin’.’ His voice was gruff with em
otion.

  ‘Oh, Georgio, it’s so lovely to see you!’

  While he went and got them both a coffee and a KitKat, Donna looked surreptitiously around the visiting room. Women with children were sitting chatting to their husbands as if this was normal, and to the majority it was. They lived an ‘outside life’, their own lives. As Dolly always had. A small half-caste child of about two was running up and down between the tables, playing peek-a-boo with a huge Rastafarian, her father. He was grinning at his little girl’s antics.

  As Georgio came back with the coffees he said casually, ‘That’s Big Black Joe, he murdered three men. He was a drug dealer - nice bloke actually, once you get to know him. Shot them in their house, three brothers, the McBains. Scum of the earth.’

  Donna bit her lip at what Georgio was saying, and how he was saying it. He smiled at her. ‘My old mum used to say, “Show me the company you keep and I’ll tell you what you are.” I shouldn’t have told you that, Donna, I’ve shocked you.’ He smiled disarmingly at her.

  ‘I hate the thought of you in here, Georgio, with these people. People like him, and sex offenders. Murderers.’ She was dangerously close to tears.

  Gripping her small hand hard in his he said, ‘It won’t be for long, love. I’ll be home before you can say knife.’

  ‘The appeal will sort everything out, won’t it, Georgio?’

  He grinned again. ‘Course it will. Now, shall I tell you my news first?’

  Donna nodded; she didn’t trust herself to speak just yet.

  ‘I’m off to the Island in the next few days. As you know, I’m Category A, so there will be a three-ring circus to take me there. Even a helicopter following the prison van. I dunno. They squander the taxpayers’ money away.’

  ‘Why do you need all that? It was bad enough at the trial, all those men on motorbikes and everything.’

  ‘It’s to make you look bad as possible.’ Georgio sipped his coffee and shrugged. ‘When the Old Bill want to send you down, they pull out all the stops. If that piece of scum Wilson hadn’t done a deal, I’d be home with you. He’s in Camp Hill on the Island, in with the nonces and the gas-meter bandits, the slag! He fitted me up, Donna. They had nothing, it was all on his hearsay. Gordon Bennett, I can’t believe the jury fell for all that old fanny. Wilson’s a lying toerag if ever there was one. I could kill him with me bare hands. I could throttle the bastard!’