The Feud. Kimberley Chambers
As they approached the house, Jessica squeezed Eddie’s big hand. Clocking Ginny and Linda staring at her from the house across the road, she waved proudly. Jessica couldn’t stop grinning. To say Eddie was a looker was an understatement. The expression tall, dark and handsome could have been created just for him. She was dying for her parents to meet him, especially her mum. The only worry she had was the age gap between them. Eddie was thirty but she had told her dad he was only twenty-five. Her mum knew the truth and once her dad got to know Eddie and like him, she would tell him the truth as well.
‘This is it, number eleven. Now, remember what I told you about my dad. He still thinks of me as his little baby, so if he’s not overly friendly, please don’t take it personally.’
Eddie kissed her on the nose. ‘You worry too much, Jess. I’ll have a chat with your old man, just leave him to me.’
Unable to contain her excitement any longer, Joyce flung open the front door.
‘Ed, this is my mum. Mum, this is Eddie,’ Jessica said, beaming.
Eddie shook Joyce’s hand and politely kissed her on both cheeks. ‘It’s a delight to meet you, Mrs Smith. Your Jessica’s told me so much about you.’
Joyce giggled. ‘All good, I hope?’
‘Most definitely,’ Eddie said, winking.
Joyce led them into the living room. ‘We’ll have a nice cup of tea, Jess, and let the men have a beer,’ she said.
Jessica smiled as she noticed her mother had got the expensive china out. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she asked.
Joyce offered Eddie a sandwich. ‘Gone down to the shed to get some beers. Speak of the devil – here he is now.’
Eddie put his sandwich down and stood up as Stan entered the room. ‘Dad, this is Eddie who I’ve been telling you about,’ Jessica said nervously.
At five feet eight inches tall, Stanley felt inadequate as he shook Eddie’s strong hand. He thought of the jockey who had lost him the race earlier and, for some reason, felt like his twin brother.
‘Would you like a piece of homemade fruit cake, Eddie?’ his wife asked.
Stan flopped into his armchair and studied the object of his daughter’s affection. He’d been right all along. He didn’t like the look of him one little bit. Jessica had told him that Eddie was twenty-five, but the bastard looked old enough to be her dad. He was broad-shouldered, with dark hair and was wearing tailored grey trousers with a long black Crombie coat. As he turned his head, Stan noticed the massive scar that ran from the outside of his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Stan knocked back his bottle of Double Diamond and opened another. Eddie looked an out-and-out villain. He certainly wasn’t the sort of chap he envisaged or wanted his beautiful daughter going out with.
As the conversation flowed, Stan could tell that Mr Fucking Charming Bollocks had Joycie eating out of his hand.
‘That fruit cake was amazing, Mrs Smith. So much better than the cakes I’m used to,’ the smarmy bastard said.
‘You’re ever so quiet, Dad. Are you OK?’ Jessica asked, as she handed him and Eddie another beer.
Knowing that he was expected to join in the conversation, Stanley cleared his throat. ‘Jessica said that she met you at a local party. Do you come from round here, Eddie?’
‘No. My family are out of Canning Town and I live up that way. I share a flat with me brother, Ronny. It’s nothing special, we live above a pet shop along the Barking Road.’
Stanley carried on prying. ‘And what do you do for a living? If you don’t mind me asking?’
Eddie smiled. The old boy didn’t like him, he could sense it a mile off. ‘My dad owns a load of salvage yards. He’s retired now, so me and my brothers run them for him.’
Stanley felt fear wash over him. Canning Town? Salvage yards? Surely he wasn’t one of the Mitchell boys – please God, no.
Dreading the answer, it took Stan a while to pluck up the courage to ask the all-important question. ‘Before I met Joycie, I used to live in Canning Town myself. I remember a lot of the old school. What’s your father’s name?’
Eddie smirked. ‘Harry Mitchell. You probably know him, most people do.’
Stanley took a large gulp of his drink and started to choke. Unable to breathe properly, he fell off the chair and onto all fours.
Aware of her husband going redder and redder in the face, Joyce stood up and repeatedly thumped him on the back. Embarrassed that he’d made a show of her in front of Eddie, she tried to make a joke of it. ‘He spends so much time watching them bleedin’ horses on telly, he’s started to behave like one now. Giddy up, giddy up,’ she said, laughing.
Feeling as though he was about to have a heart attack, Stan managed to heave himself up and stand on two feet. ‘Went down the wrong hole,’ he gasped, as he legged it from the room.
Joyce smiled at Eddie. ‘You’ll have to excuse my Stanley. He’s not used to having visitors, but he’s a good man deep down, and once you get to know him, I’m sure you’ll like him.’
Eddie grinned. He doubted that very much. ‘I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire, Mrs Smith. Now, is there any chance of having another piece of that wonderful fruit cake?’
Joyce beamed as she handed him a slice. What a charming chap, she thought.
Stanley sat in the shed and tried his best to compose himself. Canning Town had a notorious reputation for producing villainous families and they didn’t come much worse than the Mitchells. Bootlegging, pub protection, illegal boxing. Rumour had it that over the years the bastards had had a finger in every pie going.
Stanley remembered Harry Mitchell as though it were yesterday. He’d been standing in a pub in East Ham having a drink with Roger Dodds, his old school pal. All of a sudden the door had burst open and the pub had fallen silent. A man in a suit and trilby hat walked towards them.
‘Which one of you is Roger Dodds?’ he’d asked menacingly.
Crapping himself, Stan had nodded towards his friend. Seconds later, Roger Dodds had his face slashed and his right eye taken out with a broken bottle.
The man in the trilby hat had then ordered a Scotch, downed it in one, apologised for any inconvenience and casually strolled out of the pub.
That man in the trilby was Harry Mitchell. Apparently, Dodds’s father had fucked him over for a load of money and that was payback time.
Deep in thought, Stanley didn’t hear the shed door creak open. It was Eddie. Stanley leaped up. ‘What’s going on? What do you want?’ he asked nervously.
Eddie stared at him. ‘Calm down, you’ll give yourself a cardiac. The girls were worried about you. They said you’d be in the shed, so I thought I’d check you were OK.’
Stan nodded. ‘I’m fine now. It took me a while to catch me breath, so I came out here for a sit down.’
Desperate for some fresh air, Stanley led Eddie away from the shed. He locked the door, then was horrified as he felt a massive arm go round his shoulder.
Eddie smiled. He could almost smell the old man’s fright. ‘Actually, I wanted to have a quiet word with you, man to man, like.’
Stan looked at him in horror. He’d only been dating Jessica for a month; surely he wasn’t going to ask his permission to marry her.
Eddie stood in front of him and looked him straight in the eye. ‘The thing is, Mr Smith, I think you should know that I’m really serious about your Jessica, so I wanna get a few things straight. I’m not twenty-five like Jess told you, I’m actually thirty years old. I’ve also been married in the past and I’ve got two little boys, Gary and Ricky, who I dote on. Obviously, they don’t live with me –