Standing to the side of her husband, Gloria Reynold smoothed down the dark pink skirt of her tailored suit and fidgeted. She eyed the array of perfectly dressed, young and beautiful women surrounding them and hoped she didn’t look like mutton dressed as lamb.
Never one for the limelight, over the years she’d made a consistent effort to take a back seat where her involvement in Len’s casino was concerned, only ever venturing into the glitzy world her husband frequented when she really had to or when it was important for him. She’d been there when he’d first opened the Violet Orchid, and although it had been a huge source of pride that Len had progressed so well with his business to warrant purchasing a casino by the age of twenty-eight, this world of fancy clothes, big spenders and over-confidence was as far removed from what she found comfortable as it could be.
However, even Gloria’s crippling nervousness of being surrounded by all these people so vastly different to herself could never do anything to dilute the love and pride in the man she’d married.
She studied Len’s side profile as he towered above her; his concentration honed on when their daughter would burst through the doors. Devilishly handsome, even at sixty-eight, he cut an impressive figure in his tailor-made tuxedo, his physique still remarkably good.
Gloria had never dreamt a man such as Len would have been interested in her. Growing up in Erdington, they’d lived in the same road of back-to-back terraces. Len was good pals with her older brother Jimmy and a frequent visitor to their little family home.
It was only when she reached twelve that she’d developed a private fascination for the dapper, confident and grown-up seventeen-year-old Len had by then become. At twelve, the difference between her and someone of seventeen or eighteen was immense. Plus, after working odd jobs for local firms, both Len and her brother had progressed into something called ‘runners’. Proper jobs, not errand boys for the local butcher or anything like that.
Gloria never knew exactly what runners were because both Jimmy and Len always stopped talking whenever she was in earshot, but whatever it was, her parents hadn’t been too happy about it. She remembered the many earbashings Jimmy received from their mother about his line of work.
Her mother had changed her tune somewhat when Jimmy began bringing home more money in a week than their father earnt in a month and, soon after that, Gloria noticed her parents found themselves more accepting of her brother’s trade.
Throughout all of this, Gloria successfully managed to keep her fascination for Len to herself. This was probably best, being as her brother and Len attracted a constant stream of older girls – girls a lot prettier and more grown-up than her.
Gloria smiled to herself as Len placed his arm around her and gestured towards the waiting photographer. She hated photos and had never been particularly photogenic – so her mother had always liked to say – but turning, she reluctantly smiled for the press.
No, her fascination for Leonard Reynold had started over half a century ago and hadn’t waned since. She’d been unable to believe it when, after she turned sixteen, Len had suddenly asked her to the pictures. Gloria had been convinced it was a wind-up. Flushing crimson, she’d looked around for a bunch of Len’s mates, including her brother, to jump from their hiding places and laugh hysterically at her gullibility for thinking it could ever be a remote possibility that someone like Len Reynold would be interested in a shrew-like boring person, such as her – Gloria Maynard.
But Len was very much interested and within the year they were married. Not only were they married, but with Len’s fantastic earnings, they’d even bought a house – only a tiny one around the corner from her parents, but they’d bought it all the same. Everyone else she knew – every single person – rented, yet they owned theirs.
On top of this, Len was progressing fast in the firm he worked for. He’d done well, as had her brother.
Gloria never asked too much about what they did – that was men’s business. All she knew was, as well as being gorgeous, kind and funny, Len loved her and treated her like a princess.
After ten years, Len had his own company – his very own business, with her brother Jimmy as his right-hand man. He’d even risked every penny they had buying a building in the city centre. It was a rundown dump of a place, but within a year and a lot of hard graft, it was a fully-functioning, sparkling casino – the very one she was standing in right now.
Len’s firm and casino had gone from strength to strength and his business empire had expanded fourfold. Len had been one of the youngest men ever to own such a fabulous club and had set the precedent for the area, spawning several other casinos and clubs to spring up around him. But the Violet Orchid was by far the most glamorous, popular and successful one in the city.
Of course, they’d bought a bigger house, the first of three, and with money being no object, Gloria used her time organising the decoration and furnishing, which she enjoyed immensely. But this day was the most important. It was this day thirty years ago when her life had become complete – the day that marked when her darling daughter had arrived.
A flicker of sadness passed over Gloria’s face. It was also the twelfth anniversary of the day that her rock of a brother had died.
Suddenly hearing hushed whispers, Gloria knew Samantha was about to appear. Clutching onto Len’s arm, she stood in readiness.
‘SURPRISE!’ the chorus echoed, along with a cacophony of exploding party poppers, flashbulbs and the sudden thumping of music.
Gloria smiled, watching Sam making her way over the thickly carpeted floor of the casino towards her. Tears pricked her eyes. Sam was wearing the flower – the orchid – those flowers that marked her birthday and the club’s namesake.
‘I can’t believe you’ve done all this!’ Sam smiled, enclosing both her parents in a hug, her beautiful face lighting up with a wide smile. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you!’
‘Happy birthday, sweetheart,’ Len said, planting a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. ‘How does it feel to be thirty?’
‘Old!’ Sam laughed.
‘A photo of all three of you, please?’ a photographer asked, gesturing in Sam’s direction.
Len, Gloria and Sam turned towards the camera, flashbulbs exploding as other photographers bustled into place to catch the moment.
Len kissed Gloria on the cheek. ‘I’ll be back shortly.’
‘Where are you going?’ Gloria asked, her fingers itching to keep hold of his tuxedo sleeve. ‘It’s Sam’s birthday.’
‘John needs a quick word, but I won’t be long, I promise.’
Gloria watched Len stride towards John Maynard standing at the brightly illuminated bar before turning her attention back to her daughter.
Tom Bedworth shoved the remains of a microwaved burger into his mouth as he left the late-night café. He could have really done with something more substantial, like his usual egg and chips. This place wasn’t skimpy on the chips and they always chucked in some bread and butter as well, but tonight he had a thirst on, so he’d just grabbed something to go.
Skirting around a couple arguing on the pavement, he haphazardly crossed the road at the Horsefair roundabout, narrowly avoiding getting clipped by the back end of a double-decker.
Reaching the other side of the road, he hesitated, contemplating whether to return to the Aurora first. Shrugging, he continued to the Gun Barrels. The Aurora could wait.
Yanking open the stiff door of the pub, Tom walked into the tap room, his ears immediately assaulted by the raucous chatter and tinny music blasting from the jukebox.
Grinning, he sauntered up to the bar. ‘Evening, Dave. The usual, please.’
Dave pulled a pint glass from a shelf under the wooden bar and held it under the Carling tap. ‘Back again?’ he laughed. ‘Thought you’d called it a night when you buggered off nigh on half hour ago.’
‘Nah,’ Tom winked. ‘Just needed some grub. I’m only having a couple more and meeting Jock. Is he in yet?’
‘Jock? No, not yet,’ Dave replied, placing Tom’s pint on the brass drip tray.
Picking up the pint, Tom scowled as he leant in a pool of lager on the sticky bar top. He pulled his cigarettes from his pocket and glanced around. It never hurt to keep his eyes open for suitable contenders. He needed a good range of women for the punters to choose from. They couldn’t all be oriental birds and that was all Jock had managed to get on the books so far. They might be as cheap as chips, but he wanted variety – choice. Classy birds, too. He wanted to provide just as much eye candy as the places he would shortly be wiping off the map.
But wasn’t that what, amongst other things, he paid Jock for? To sort the wheat from the chaff and make sure that side of the business ticked over nicely? That had been the point of looking the man up again, hadn’t it? To help put his plan into motion?
But on the whole, everything was going well. Despite being off the scene for three decades, Tom found his native accent flowed without having to try too hard and it had been pleasantly straightforward digging out the word on the street.
It had been a bit of a gamble after all this time. Birmingham was a big place, but picking this side of town was purposeful. His flutter had paid off and it hadn’t taken long to locate people he knew of old who were still in the business. Some he’d been able to accost for favours and others he’d pulled in to work on his behalf – like Jock Sawyer, which enabled him to quickly step back into the game. It was amazing what flashing the cash did around these parts, and he had enough of that – at least at the moment.
Now he’d established a good supplier, he could encroach on some of the better-known dealing patches. That part was most important because it was a vital stage of his game plan, which was already well underway.
Tom’s eyes glistened with excitement. After all this time – all this bloody time of sitting on his hands waiting for enough time to pass since the first fuck up, it had finally arrived. This time he was not ballsing up. This time there would be no mistakes and he would get a proper pay-out. He would not be ripped off again. Furthermore, he would recoup every single penny of interest he would have accrued had he been given his proper dues in the bloody first place.
This time he would take everything.