“That’s him,” he said, chin-nodding towards the photograph. “He calls himself Edward now, but I know that ain’t his real name. He’s been lying to me for weeks.”

“That’s a friend of the family,” the man said. “Really, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, just leave––I don’t want any trouble.”

“‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’” Billy mimicked. “They always say that.” He reached into his pocket and slipped the fingers of his right hand into a pair of brass knucks. “They don’t say it for long, though.” He closed his fist, took his hand out of his pocket and, without any other warning, rabbit-punched the old man. He went down, wheezing and gasping, falling to his knees. “Now then,” Billy said as he stood above him. “I want me and you to have a little chat, alright? You’re going to tell me everything about Jack Stern. Everything. I won’t lie and say I’d rather we could keep it civil. Your boy’s caused me a lot of problems. I’ve got what you might call a lot of frustration––I need to work it all out.”

54

SO JOSEPH HAD ASKED BILLY to be his best man. Edward knew that the two of them had grown up together, and that they had history, but he wanted to tell Joseph that that had been years ago, when they were both boys, that they hadn’t seen each other all the while he had been fighting and that, most of all, couldn’t he see, after all that time apart, that Billy was no good? Couldn’t he see that he was impetuous, unreliable, prone to jealousy, violent, and, most damning of all, that he was dull and stupid and just so awfully boring?

He had been irritated by the predictability of the news but he had quickly reminded himself that it did not really matter. He had been a little surprised to have been invited to the evening at all. He was grateful for that. He knew that he had very nearly lost his chance with Joseph altogether, and that he had been given a reprieve.

It had fallen to Billy to organise the stag party. The group had gathered for dinner at Claridges and, after enjoying the meal, they had taken a drunken tour of their favourite Soho haunts. The evening had been especially raucous. There had been a dozen of them at the start of the night and they had collected hangers-on as they stumbled around Soho’s streets and alleys. By the time they reached the Alhambra they were nearer thirty. They arrived at a little after midnight, everyone drunk except Edward. He was keeping a careful eye on the amount that he drank. He felt as if he was negotiating a high-wire above a precipitous chasm and he couldn’t risk losing control.

The upstairs room had been reserved for the party and the most attractive of the barmaids were deputed to serve them for as long as they had a thirst. Jack McVitie had spoken to the Malts and arranged for three strippers to provide the entertainment and a temporary stage had been erected at one end of the room for them. The first of the girls, a busty redhead who teetered on vertiginous heels, had just negotiated the shallow step up to the stage and was beginning her routine. Joseph, Jack and Billy were sat at a table that offered the best view of the performance. Joseph had been identified as the groom and the redhead was lavishing her attention on him. The girl finished her routine, festooning her underwear around Joseph’s head. He stood and kissed her on the lips, the men hollering their approval, and pressed a note in her hand.

Edward stood with his back against the bar and took it all in. Billy twisted around, craning his neck until he found him. He smiled at him for the third or fourth time that night: a cold smile laced with enmity and hatred.

Edward had not seen Joseph since Paris. They had shared a slightly rueful greeting at the start of the evening but they had not yet had the opportunity to speak properly. Now, though, he disengaged himself from the others and made his way across the room to the bar. Edward was suddenly nervous. He had the strange feeling that his brain remained calm and rational but that his body was out of control and that, unless he held himself tight, he would be unable to stop his muscles from trembling. He thrust his hands into his pockets, his fists clenched, and then took them out again, moulding his fingers around the shape of his glass.

Joseph sat next to him. “Keeping yourself to yourself, Doc. Having fun?”

“Just catching my breath. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I’ll say. You lads have done me proud.”

Edward looked over at where Billy was standing with Jack McVitie. “Billy’s done a grand job,” he forced himself to say.

Joseph looked thoughtful, his knees splayed and a hand pressed against his knee. “I know you don’t like him,” he said, “and I know he can be a right pain in the arse, but you’ve got to remember I’ve known him since we were nippers, and, when you think about it, what is the best man, anyway? It’s just a symbolic thing. Doesn’t actually mean anything. I thought it would be the right thing to do. He has his problems but I’ve treated him badly lately. I want him to see this as an olive branch.”

“You don’t think I’ve done anything to make matters worse?”

“No, nothing deliberate, but I think you probably need to cut him some more slack. You intimidate him––Jesus, Doc, you intimidate me some of the time. You’re an educated man, a University man, Billy knows you’re clever, more than he is, I think it makes him feel very self-conscious. Me too, sometimes, if I’m honest.”

“I’m sorry,” Edward said. This was all very annoying but there was little he could do about it now. He felt a moment of awkwardness but Joseph alleviated it by putting his arm around him and hugging him close. “Look, Doc, I’m sorry about what happened in Paris. It was bloody ridiculous. I said some awful things. I don’t know what came over me.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Edward admitted. “There’s been such a lot going on, it’s been difficult.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“No. But I’m sorry if you think I was interfering. ”

“You weren’t. You’re frustrated. I am, too.”

“But I shan’t mention it again.” He paused. “What about what you said about us working together?”

“No,” Joseph said, shaking his head. “We’ll finish Honeybourne and then call it quits.” He noticed Edward’s irritation and clapped him firmly on the shoulder. “Look, Doc, you just need to think about it for a moment. You’re a clever bloke, you know what the right thing to do is––it’s annoying but you know it’s for the best. You don’t really want to get involved with all that, do you? Not really. It’s got no future. I’m not daft, I know we’ll get nicked eventually. And I’ve been inside, Doc, remember: it’s bloody awful. Why would you want to take that chance when you’ve got all that other stuff going for you? If you get nicked, and you get yourself a record, that’ll be that for you, won’t it? There’ll be no medicine then. You don’t get doctors who are ex-cons, do you? You’ll have thrown away everything that you’ve worked for.” He paused again, and took a drink. “Don’t look be so glum. You know you’ll always be a good pal to me, don’t you?”

“You’re drunk,” Edward said, managing to smile all the same.

“Maybe a bit.”

“As you should be.”

They stood side-by-side for a moment, each of them taking a drink. Edward was satisfied. His apology had been accepted and, it seemed, the rift between them had closed. He wasn’t concerned about all the rest. Everything else would follow in time.

Joseph grinned at him. “How are things with my sister?”

“You know?”

He grinned. “You think I wouldn’t find out? My sisters have never been able to keep a secret. It’s all they’ve been talking about.”

“You don’t mind?”

“You say the strangest things sometimes, Doc. Of course I don’t bloody mind! You’re one of my best pals. You and her? It’s good, saves me having to worry about straightening out the dirty cowson I thought she’d end up bringing home. She’s a feisty one, though, much more than the other two. She’ll keep you on your toes.”