The question was how to deal with it. Giving me Anne as a middle name was a good sign of course, but I’d have to remember that Anne Donavan herself hadn’t sent me the letter and what that implied. A mother doesn’t give up her baby without a very strong reason. Whatever her present circumstances, whether she had a husband and children who didn’t know about me, or was unable or unwilling to trace me, I would have to approach her in such a way that she wouldn’t see me as someone who would upset the life she had now made for herself.
It required a good long think.
RED DOCK
I now needed to know how Lucille would react to receiving that birth cert. If she went out to Clonkeelin to see who she thought was her mother, I could follow her. But that wouldn’t tell me what they’d said to one another. And it wasn’t as if I could ask her. I could do the next best thing. I could ask her flatmate, Gemma Small. She’d know. But first I’d have to get to know her and gain her confidence.
By this time, I had pubs and hotels. (Whoever said crime doesn’t pay can’t have been any good at it.) I’d built up a few over the years, all paid for courtesy of outwitting Chilly Winters. Crime seemed to be the only option for me when I came out of that home. I couldn’t think of any other way to get what I really wanted (going to the law wasn’t gonna get me it), and I’m not talking about personal wealth. I found villains refreshingly honest. They knew what they were and didn’t try to paint themselves as saints. I did the odd bit of work for Charlie Swags, but nothing like I used to. The money for the hotels had mostly come from surveillance work. It was an old scam – catch people with money fucking women on camera. The trick was not to let them know I was behind it, amusing myself. I had two hotels. Small-scale. The odd whore brought in the odd celeb and I made sure they got a room next to the one I use for recording embarrassing goings-on. I even had photographs of Chilly himself in bed with a girl. And her name wasn’t Mary. But that’s another story.
Anyway, Gemma Small went to the job centre a lot … interviews … back to the centre. Wanted work but didn’t seem to be having much luck. So I waltzed in behind her one morning, saw her looking at the vacancies and went up to her.
‘Mind if I ask you a question?’
‘No.’
‘I’m looking for bar staff, and I’m in a hurry. If I put the job through here, they’ll take days to find someone.’ I’d actually seen a TV programme about employers doing this; apparently it wasn’t uncommon. ‘What d’you think? It’s hard work and long hours. If you’re not up to it, say.’
‘Where?’
‘The Copper Jug. Usual rates. Nick and you’ll get my boot up your arse.’ A bit of humour goes a long way with kids. ‘Graft and I’ll bung you the odd few quid extra.’
Big smile. When they start palming their locks and blushing, your bullshit’s hitting home. Still, there’s a lot of dodgy characters around – a girl has to be on her guard. The cops were warning girls – particularly small-chested ones, for some reason – about some nut the newspapers had nicknamed ‘Picasso’, who was going around leaving them in serious need of sticking plasters. He’d helped himself to over twenty so far, and now he’d started taking them in pairs.
‘Check with yer woman behind the desk, if you like. She’ll tell you I’m straight up. I’ve employed the odd few from here before. If you tell the taxman about the bung, OK by me, but you’ll go down in my estimation. Am I tempting you?’
The left lock went into her mouth and got on giggling terms with her tongue. Nice little thing – blonde and fuckable.
‘One thing – can you add up?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good. Make sure you get your fair whack of the tips.’
Another little giggle. ‘When do you want me to start?’
‘Right away.’
‘Will I be all right like this?’
‘Why wouldn’t you?’ Nice lemon sweater and jeans. Very presentable. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Gemma Small.’
‘Red Dock. C’mon.’ I’d the motor outside. Still with the Mercs. ‘I’ll ask you some questions about yourself on the way over. Is that all right? Usual employment stuff for the paperwork.’
‘OK.’
‘That’s not a Dublin accent you’ve got. Where you from?’
‘Galway.’
‘Great pub town. Your people still live there?’ I knew she had none.
‘I was brought up in a home.’
‘Oh, you’re an orphan?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘Find out. Go to the health board. Listen to me going on. Sorry. It’s your own business.’
‘The health board are useless.’
‘I know.’
She wondered how I knew.
Thinking on my feet here, improvising to keep the topic going. ‘A mate of mine called Ted Lyle has a couple of girls working for him in your position. One of them went to a support group.’
News to her. ‘A support group?’
‘They have them for everything: booze, dope, kids in trouble and kids like you. I’ll get Ted Lyle’s girls to have a word with you, fill you in.’
‘Thanks.’
So far so good. Red the Revelation. The health boards are a fucking joke. Kids go to them and get told sweet fuck all sometimes.
I left the conversation like that. I’d only wanted to know how she felt about her background so I could use it as a talking point to learn Lucille’s feelings on the subject.
Then I rang Ted Lyle and told him I’d a young girl – ‘Pretty little thing, she is’ – who’d like a word with one of his. The ‘pretty little thing’ would make him take a look. No need to make it any more obvious
