Kimberley Chambers - The Feud

‘Where is your Stan? We haven’t seen him for ages. My Arthur said he rarely goes down the bookie’s any more.’

Joyce sighed. ‘Out the back with them bleedin’ pigeons of his. Thinks more of them birds than he does of me. Keeps talking about getting himself a new cock.’

Hilda and Rita roared with laughter. Eddie had bought Stanley his first racing pigeon a couple of years back and he’d been hooked from day one. Joyce had hated his new hobby from the word go, but had put up with it because it was Eddie’s idea.

‘Dirty bastard things they are. Full of shit me garden is and I’m sure it’s them that’s killed me roses,’ Joyce moaned.

Rita smiled politely. ‘Well, I suppose it gives Stanley an interest. The only interest my Arthur’s got is the pub and the horses,’ she moaned.

‘Maybe you’re right. My Stanley don’t even bother going to the pub that much any more,’ Joyce said proudly, knowing full well that Rita’s Arthur was a borderline alcoholic.

Glancing at the clock, Joyce realised the time was getting on. ‘Please don’t think I’m being rude, but I’m gonna have to start sprucing meself up in a minute. Jess’s mansion is in the country and it takes us about half-hour to get there. She’s expecting us at seven, so I’d best get me skates on.’

Rita and Hilda immediately stood up. Talk about outstaying your welcome, they both thought.

‘Thanks for the tea and cake. See you soon, Joycie,’ Hilda said.

Joyce did her queen wave at the door. ‘Don’t forget, anything you want to watch, come and see me and I’ll record it for you.’

Slamming the front door, Joyce marched into the back garden. ‘Stanley, stop cuddling your cock and get yourself bathed and changed.’

‘Just give me ten minutes, dear, and I’ll be with you,’ Stanley said.

‘No, Stanley. Put your cock away now, pronto.’

‘SO WHEN IS that cheeky old cunt gonna pay up then?’ Ronny asked Eddie.

Eddie pulled into the pub car park. ‘Next week. I’ll go round and collect it myself,’ he lied.

‘Ain’t you coming in for a quickie?’ Paulie asked him.

Eddie shook his head. ‘Got the in-laws coming round for dinner. I promised Jess I’d be home early.’

Eddie sighed as his two brothers walked away. He daren’t tell Paulie and Ronny that he’d just wiped the geezer’s debt. They wouldn’t understand his reasons, they’d think he’d lost his marbles. It was only a monkey and Ed would rather ensure that the disabled wife was properly cared for than worry about a pittance.

Financially, Eddie was doing very nicely indeed and five hundred quid was no more than loose change to him. It hadn’t always been plain sailing. When his dad had first retired and handed him the reins a few years back, he’d worked his plums off to get where he was now.

Becoming a loan shark had never entered Eddie’s mind, but with the pub protection game becoming harder than ever, he’d sort of fallen into it by accident. A chance meeting with an old pal of his, who was coining it in, had put the idea in his head. Obviously, he’d consulted his father first. Although Harry had retired by then, Eddie still looked to him as head of the family and respected his wisdom.

Within months of becoming a loan shark, business was booming. They lent to any bastard they could. Businessmen, builders, milkmen, dustmen: as long as they could afford their weekly repayments and agreed to the hefty interest charges, they could borrow.

With the Mitchells’ reputation, the majority of their clients paid up on time, and it was an easy life compared to smashing up boozers. There were the odd one or two who needed time to pay, or a couple of clever dicks who tried to knock them, but they always got their dough back eventually. A bullet lodged in the kneecap or the odd finger chopped off always seemed to do the trick and, like magic, their money would reappear within days. ‘Abrafuckingcadabra,’ Eddie would say, laughing his head off.

Both Paulie and Ronny had had their noses put out of joint when their father had retired and insisted on Eddie taking control. But their whingeing fell on deaf ears.

‘I make the decisions in this fucking family and if I decide that Eddie’s the man to take over, then that’s how it’s gonna be. If yous two don’t like it, tough shit – you know what you can do,’ their dad told them bluntly.

Eddie could sense the resentment, especially Ronny’s, at the way things had turned out. Eddie was the baby of the family and should have been bottom of the pecking order. Now a couple of years on, all was forgiven. Eddie’s loan-shark idea had turned up trumps and made him and his brothers very wealthy indeed. They still did a bit of pub protection here and there, but a lot of boozers had been bought by bigger breweries, so they just stuck with their remaining handful of privately owned ones. Uncle Reg was still working with them but, due to health problems, was on the verge of retiring. His walking was giving him gyp, and he was waiting to see a specialist. The poor old sod could barely get about any more and he certainly didn’t need the money, as he’d earned plenty over the years.

‘Uncle Reg wants to pack it in, so I think we need to take someone else on,’ Eddie had told his brothers only yesterday.

‘We don’t need anybody else. The three of us is more than enough,’ Ronny insisted.

Eddie disagreed. They needed a bit of young blood and he had just the right person in mind. All Ronny was worried about was his wallet. He was a greedy bastard and wouldn’t want to share out any of his profits. Ronny had recently bought a house and moved in with Sharon, and all he did was brag about paying cash for it.

The Mitchell family still owned the salvage yard in Dagenham, but Harry had now sold off all the others. He’d made a handsome bit of dough on a couple of them. He’d flogged two to property developers and had come out with well over a million in profit.

Eddie put his foot down as he hit the A13. He’d recently treated himself to a Porsche 911 and loved the fact that its turbo engine left every other car on the road standing. He turned off at Barking and headed towards his old address. When he and Jessica had moved out, he’d allowed his ex, Beverley, and his two boys to move in. Gary and Ricky were now fourteen and twelve and had both been expelled from two schools in Canning Town, where they’d previously been living. Neither were particularly bad lads, but it had hit them hard when Eddie had left home. Without a man around they were forever getting into scrapes and fights, and trouble seemed to follow them.

Beverley had been an awkward bitch to deal with when Eddie had first remarried. She had stopped the boys going to the wedding, and many a time she had cancelled arrangements when Ed was supposed to be having them for the weekend.

Eddie had wanted to kill her with his bare hands on many occasions, but in the end he’d done the sensible thing and hit her where it hurt. ‘I’ve got a right to see my boys every weekend and take ’em away in the summer. You’ll not get another penny out of me, Bev, until you agree to my terms,’ he’d told her.