‘Yes, Jason. Just keep your penis in your pants and give up anything dodgy you’re doing. I don’t mind you keeping the market job and a few sensible little earners. In return, you take care of my daughter, be loyal to her, and I will ensure you all live a life of luxury in comparison to what you’re used to.’
Jason held out his right hand. His mother had always said he was a nobody, and he could not wait to prove that fat cow wrong. His teachers in school had been the same. One had even told him: ‘It’s a waste of time trying to educate council estate kids like you – you’ll never amount to anything. You were born on the Mardyke, and you’ll end up dying there.’
‘So, when can we start house-hunting? Mel’s gonna be so excited. Have you mentioned any of this to her yet?’ Jason asked. He truly could not believe his luck – and to think he’d been on the verge of dumping Melissa. Thank Christ he hadn’t. She was perfect to bring up Shay and he was thrilled he’d now be able to send his daughter to a good school. Perhaps he could even get custody of his brothers and sister, offer them a better life too. He would work on Melissa with that one. Make up loads of stories about how bad things were at home until she felt so worried for the kids she’d agree to let them move in as well.
‘I’ll find you an appropriate property before you get married. Be good for Carol, that will. A bit of house-hunting will take her mind off the inevitable.’
‘Married!’ Jason laughed.
‘Yes, married, lad.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
Johnny frowned. ‘Nope. I am deadly serious. What did you think I meant when I said Carol wanted to see Melissa happy and settled?’
Jason shrugged. Living with Melissa was one thing, but marrying her was a completely different kettle of fish. ‘I dunno. Living together, I suppose. No disrespect, Johnny, but we’ve not been dating long enough to get married. Can’t we give it a bit more time before getting hitched? Say we move in with one another, then argue like cat and dog?’
‘Then you’ll work at your marriage and stand by your vows. Indians have arranged marriages and they make it bloody work. So can you. It’s Carol’s dream to be mother of the bride, so if you’re not willing to marry Melissa then I’m afraid the deal is off. I’m going to the toilet, so have a little think. Nice home, job, life – or you sod off back to the Mardyke Estate and live with your drunken mother. Your future is up to you, lad.’
Having barely slept a wink, Jason got up at dawn, pocketed the envelope with the five grand in it that Johnny had given him, and drove towards his grandmother’s house in Dagenham. He’d agreed to marry Melissa in the end, hadn’t had much choice with Johnny’s tactics. He really was up the creek without a paddle and all he could do now was pray Melissa knocked him back. They barely knew one another after all.
‘That you, boy? What you doing ’ere at this unearthly hour? Not been nicked, have ya?’ Peggy Rampling asked, putting on the pretty pink dressing gown she’d pilfered out of Marks and Spencer’s the previous day. A doddle to rob, M&S was. They exchanged stuff without a receipt, so all you had to do was shove something small in your handbag, then take it back and get what you wanted. She’d usually flog whatever she got at half the marked-up price to the women down the bingo hall, but now and again would choose something for herself.
Jason paced up and down his nan’s front room. ‘He wants me to marry her. Given me an address in Hatton Garden of a pal of his and the dosh to buy her a ring today. I don’t love her. She ain’t even my type. What the hell am I meant to do, Nan?’
‘For Christ’s sake, boy, calm down. You sound like you’ve inhaled helium. Who wants you to marry who?’
‘That Melissa I told you about. Put it right on me, her father did. He’s even got me a job with a mate of his on a building site. A proper job. I can’t do that. I don’t do proper jobs. Reckons he’s gonna buy us a house to do up and put it in mine and Mel’s names. But I don’t love the girl. I barely know her.’
‘Bit hasty, ain’t he? Why the rush?’
Jason flopped on to the armchair and put his head in his hands. ‘Mel’s mother’s dying and apparently it’s her wish to see her daughter married off. Why me, eh?’
‘How much did he give ya to buy the ring?’ Peggy enquired.
‘Five grand.’
‘Well, the way I see it, you got two choices. You either do a runner with the five grand. Or you marry the tart, stay with her a couple of years and cop for half the house. Is she that bleedin’ ugly?’
‘No. Well, I dunno. More plain than ugly, I suppose.’
‘Any brothers or sisters?’
‘One brother. But the old man don’t get on with him.’
‘Sometimes in life, Jason, you gotta look at the bigger picture. If the old girl’s on her last legs, you’re one death away from a wonderful inheritance.’
Johnny put the mug of tea on his wife’s bedside cabinet, smiled and kissed her on the nose. ‘How you feeling? I thought I’d cook a fry-up this morning. Bet poor little Shay will think it’s Christmas, bless her.’
‘Aww, my little mate.’
Desperate to make his wife as happy as possible, Johnny said, ‘If I tell you a secret, you got to promise me you’ll keep schtum about it. We don’t want to spoil the surprise.’
‘I won’t say anything. What surprise?’
‘When we was in the pub last night, Jason asked for my permission to propose to Mel.’
Carol sat up and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Really! What did you say? I mean, they haven’t known one another long. But it’s so romantic. Did you tell him it was a bit too soon?’
‘No, love. I gave him my permission. I hadn’t been with you that long before I proposed. When you meet the right one, you just know, don’t you?’
‘I’m so pleased he asked your permission, but it’s a bit quick – we were together five months, not weeks. I’m not sure she’ll say yes, you know. It’s a big step, but oh wouldn’t it be wonderful.’
‘We will find out soon enough. He’s proposing this Friday.’
‘Not again. What am I meant to have done now?’ Jason asked, as the police ordered him to step out of his XR2. This was the third time he’s been pulled over along Dagenham Heathway in the past six months.
‘We know it’s you peddling filth, Rampling. Only a matter of time until we catch you red-handed,’ an officer informed Jason as his colleague searched the car.
Jason looked at his watch. He never argued with the police. It wasn’t worth antagonizing them. They’d once planted drugs in Lenny Anderson’s car because they couldn’t catch him outright. Lenny had given them a load of gyp whenever he got tugged, the silly boy. A three-stretch he’d ended up with because of that.
The van Jason used when carrying anything illegal was kept in a mate’s garage and wasn’t registered to him. A local headcase, Mickey Two Wives, had sold him the vehicle and it was registered to an address in Wolverhampton. Following Mickey’s advice, Jason had never sent off the logbook. It was easy to get a bent MOT and insurance certificate to tax the van. Mickey lived in a caravan just off the A13 in Purfleet and would get his gypsy mates to sort the paperwork for a oner a pop. The van was sign-written, had once belonged to an electrician and still had the company’s details plastered down both sides. Jason always wore a dark baseball cap when driving it to cover up his distinct blond hair and not once had he ever been tugged. The Old Bill thought they were so clever, but they weren’t.