by Janice Nix
Mummy stood absolutely still.
‘Janice – wha’ you jus’ say?’ She sounded as if I must be making it up.
‘Terry saw too!’ I cried indignantly. ‘Terry saw too!’
In the New Year, Mummy told us that we were leaving England. We were going home with her, to Antigua. We would have a house and go to school, and when everything was ready, Daddy would come and live with us. When we got there, we waited months and months. Every day, we expected her to tell us when Daddy would arrive. But he was never coming. My parents had split up and now they were getting a divorce. No one told us anything about it. I had to work it out for myself.
From the moment we landed in the dark at V. C. Bird International airport and stepped from the plane into the warmth of the night, I loved Antigua. All I’d known up until then was the city. Here there was open space around us. The windows stood open and we felt the soft wind stir instead of huddling indoors. In spite of my parents’ separation, life was good. It quickly felt like home. I decided I was never going back, not ever.
So when Mummy told us we were moving back to England, I was furious. As usual, she didn’t tell us why. Why did no one explain or give a reason for anything? Why did my opinion never matter? Why did I have to return to that cold and wretched place?
This time, we went to live in Leicester. We had relatives there who helped us out for a while. But by now I was so angry with Mummy that we could barely speak without getting in a fight. I hated everything and everyone. I loathed the bitter English winter and the dull brown Midlands city under dull brown clouds and rain. When I saw the girls who stood around selling sex at the end of our street, I felt embarrassed and ashamed. In the cramped house my family shared for months on end, there seemed to be no air at all to breathe. Worst of all were the times when my uncle’s friend tried to stroke my knee with his hot, dry hand and push himself against me when nobody else was around. But there was no one I could tell – and if I had, I knew they wouldn’t believe me.
The local school didn’t have a place for me. My education ended, but no one seemed to care. If I had hopes for my future, they didn’t notice. I went to work at Woolworth’s in Gallowtree Gate.
Two thousand one hundred pounds … two thousand two … two thousand three … two thousand four …
Then one day, it all blew up. It was March of 1976. Our neighbour offered me a lift to the shops. His name was Talbot and he’d always seemed friendly up until then. But as soon I got into his car, without a word of warning he drove me all the way to Manchester. He parked outside a semi in the suburbs and told me to come inside with him. I was puzzled, but not yet really frightened because Talbot was a friend of my mother.
A smiling woman opened the door, said hello and asked me my age. Then she and Talbot left without a word. The moment they were gone, I realised that the front door was deadlocked. I was trapped in the house. Dusk was falling. Nobody knew that I was there. I thought of the street girls back in Leicester – and into my head came the wild idea that this was all a plot. Talbot had kidnapped me and brought me here to work as a prostitute.
Frightened and muddled, I panicked. I ran upstairs, climbed out of the bathroom window, scrambled across the kitchen roof and jumped down into the garden. I was breathless with fright, still thinking that Talbot or the lady would come back and stop me leaving. The gate at the side of the house was half open. Sobbing with relief, I ran away as fast as I could and found my way to the station.
I got back to Leicester very late. I hadn’t eaten for hours. I had no idea what had just happened. I felt dizzy with anxiety and shock. Bewildered and stammering, I tried to explain to Mummy what Talbot had done. But she was far too angry to listen. She started a tremendous argument about where I had been. Both of us were screaming and shouting. She threw a flowerpot at me. I picked up the pot and threw it back. Everything and everyone seemed crazy. There was no one in the world that I could trust.
A few days later, I packed a little bag and made my way to the station. This time, I caught the London train. No matter what – I was determined I wasn’t going back.
As I looked at the bundles of money I had hidden in Emmanuel’s house, I wondered how much more I would need before I got that secret shine – the one I always saw in the West End. The glow that came from people who knew that they belonged in the world. How much would it take? When could I put on that armour – the kind that you wear on the inside? That was what I wanted most of all – the unshakeable protection of wealth.
Oh my God – where is it? Where has it gone?
The next time I went to count, I thought at first I’d made a mistake. Maybe I’d moved the money myself then forgotten where I’d put it. Frantically, I opened drawers and cupboards. I lay flat on the floor and peered into the dust under the spare bed. I scrabbled through the heap of scuffed-up objects in the bottom of the wardrobe – old winter boots and shoes, scarves that had slid from their hangers up above, old jazz records, a biscuit tin full of family photos. Nothing. My money had vanished. Maybe the house had been burgled, I thought wildly. But what sort of burglar breaks in, ignores everything else and just opens the spare bedroom wardrobe?
It had to be Emmanuel who’d taken it. But how had he found out that it was there? Why hadn’t he said anything? What would he do next? My mind was in a whirl. When he came home, he seemed quite normal. I didn’t dare say a word. The longer I wondered and waited for him to speak, the more worried and confused I became.
Next day, Lucy dropped round for a visit – just a friendly call to catch up and make some social plans. I made us tea in the kitchen and tried to keep things casual, hoping she wouldn’t notice how distracted I was.
Then I heard the crunch of Emmanuel’s key turning in the front door – two hours before he normally came home. The moment I saw his expression, I knew that this was trouble.
‘She’s here, isn’t she?’ he asked me. ‘Lucy is here?’
‘Uh …’
‘She’s been visiting, hasn’t she?’ His face was grim. ‘I should have known she’d try to make friends.’
‘She’s upstairs,’ I told him.
‘And how long has this been going on?’
‘Has what been going on?’
‘Don’t play games, Janice!’
‘Please don’t be angry!’ I said to him. ‘She’s not –’
‘Don’t you tell me about her!’ Emmanuel said to me. ‘You don’t know anything! You’ve no idea at all what she’s like!’
None of this was making any sense. But before I could think how to reply, Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs. She stepped slowly down towards us.
‘What d’you think you’re doing here?’ Emmanuel demanded. His voice was tight with anger.
‘Getting to know Janice.’
‘Well – Janice doesn’t want to know you!’
‘I think that’s Janice’s decision, not yours.’
‘I told you already – you’re not welcome in my house.’
‘Well now, Janice said I was welcome.’
‘Look – what’s going on?’ I asked them both. ‘Do you two – I mean – uh …’
Emmanuel ignored me. His eyes were fixed on Lucy.
‘Janice doesn’t know what she’s doing!’ he said.
‘Don’t treat her like a child. She can make friends with who she likes.’
‘Just get out of this house,’ he said to her. ‘Get out!’ I’d never heard him speak that way before, in such a low, cold voice.
Lucy just shrugged. She didn’t seem too bothered.
‘I need to get home. Catch you soon, Jan.’
She lifted her jacket from the hook on the wall by the front door. ‘Bye, babe,’ she said to me lightly. When she was gone, Emmanuel let out a sigh and walked straight past me, into the kitchen. He sat heavily down at the table with his head in his hands. Nervously I followed him, not sure what he was going to say.
‘D’you think I’m a fool, Janice?’
But I had some
questions of my own.
‘I don’t understand what’s going on! How exactly do you know Lucy?’ I demanded.
‘D’you think I wouldn’t notice this behaviour?’ Emmanuel replied. ‘Your dodgy movements? And the money?’
I flinched. So he knew.
‘Maybe now you’re going to say you’ve got a job but you just forgot to tell me!’ he said.
‘I – um –’
‘Why did you lie, Janice?’ Then suddenly I saw that he was very close to crying.
‘I’m sorry. Em, I’m so sorry. Lucy said –’
‘Lucy said? Lucy said bloodclart what?’ He sounded weary now. He pushed back his chair and stood up, shaking his head. Again he muttered, ‘Bloodclart Lucy.’
Only one explanation made sense. I remembered what Ida had told me. Emmanuel had a bad experience with a woman. I’d never thought that the woman might still be close at hand.
‘Did you used to go out with Lucy?’ I asked him.
‘Yes. It was a long time ago. Before the children. Back then, I really thought – oh – I was a fool. Until I found out what she got up to. How she was out tiefin’ while I was out at work, trying to do the best I could.’
I didn’t know what to say.
‘And now you!’ Emmanuel shouted. ‘You too! Doin’ crime! Mashin’ up our lives! I thought you wouldn’t do it anymore!’
‘Look,’ I said, ‘you know what I do to make a living. You knew it when you met me.’
‘But I thought – I thought –’ Emmanuel shook his head despairingly. ‘Janice! I would never put you wrong. Why won’t you listen? Are you not aware of what Lucy is?’
‘It’s like she said,’ I told him. ‘I’ll make up my own mind about how to live my life.’
‘What can I say to you?’ he cried. ‘I don’t want to lose another woman, Janice!’
I acted tough, but I was terribly upset by our fight. Emmanuel’s words rang in my head for days. I was so tense and on edge that I got into a fight in Thornton Heath. A woman shoved a shop door open and it slammed right into me. Instead of keeping calm and accepting her apology, I lost my temper and slapped her. I was taken to court for assault.
Afterwards, I truly felt ashamed. My temper was fiery, but I knew how important it was to always stay in control. And I remembered what Ida had said to me. Anger can eat you up.
She was right. Even when life’s bullshit was bad, I was determined to master my anger.
13 November 1978, Croydon Magistrates’ Court.
Threatening behaviour and assault occasioning actual bodily harm. Bound over for 12 months and fined £50.00.
DECEMBER 1978
I felt a sharp tap on my shoulder. A cop was right alongside me.
‘You are under arrest on suspicion of intent to steal from persons unknown.’
Suzi Q and I had been working in New Bond Street, but she vanished like a shadow when she saw him moving in. He showed me his badge. Most West End dippers got picked up from time to time under SUS laws – stop and search. We would carefully check out the area before we went to work, spotting the formations the police used on patrol, usually a triangle of one in the front and two behind. Picking out the coppers wasn’t difficult in those days, when all of them had crew cuts. I’d started to recognise the guys who worked this patch, Shane and Willis. Willis was the one I liked the least – tall and skinny with his salt and pepper hair and a crooked broken nose.
This gruesome twosome was based in Marylebone police station in Seymour Street, just behind Selfridges. From there, they patrolled along Oxford Street, Bond Street and the tangles of wealth in between. Today, though, somehow we’d missed them. Dammit. I kept myself carefully disguised at all times, always changing my appearance. But I knew I was distinctive as a tall, black woman. I had started to recognise the boys, and the danger was growing that they had also started spotting me.
‘Name? Date of birth?’ asked Willis.
The police radio crackled as the information was relayed to the station. I knew that when my name came back with a criminal record, I was going to be arrested. When he got the word on me, Willis gave a smile of satisfaction. I was nicked.
‘We have reason to believe that you are part of a shoplifting ring. You are under arrest.’
They radioed for the van and took me to Seymour Street station. I was held in a cell until the shops shut – standard procedure. If you get nicked up West on late opening night, you won’t be back on the pavement until well after midnight. But as the evening wore on, they had no evidence against me. They had to let me go.
As I signed the release form, I stole a quick glance at Willis. He wasn’t happy at all to see me walking free. Somewhere down the line, I thought, this copper is going to be a problem.
‘Lamp-post – you were brilliant today!’ said Lucy.
In the back of a cab in Charing Cross Road, I sat blocking the driver’s view as usual while she counted our takings.
‘Thanks,’ I replied. I was watching her closely.
‘Can you count these?’ She handed me a bundle of travellers’ cheques.
Inside her big leather bag, Lucy had a small Gucci clutch and two purses. She opened the clutch and began transferring its contents. Her hands were out of sight.
‘How much travellers, Jan?’
‘Hold on. Eight hundred pounds.’
Lucy went on busying herself inside the bag. She started to chat, but I didn’t want to listen.
She’s creating a distraction, I thought. What’s really going on inside that bag?
‘Jan – can you count these as well?’
She passed me a second bunch of travellers’ cheques.
She’s making me count so that I don’t pay attention. What is she doing with the money?
I glanced into her bag. I saw a bundle of notes as Lucy moved them from one purse to another.
‘This clutch is lovely!’ she continued, with a smile. ‘I think I’ll keep this.’ I realised I had no idea now how much money was inside it, or how the takings were being shared between us.
I’m getting less than she is, I thought, despite the risks I’ve run. She thinks I haven’t noticed.
It wouldn’t matter in a law court who was dip and who was bloody cover. We’d all be going to jail. I took exactly the same chances as she did, but Lucy was cheating me. I thought of Emmanuel’s words: Are you not aware of what she is?
For now, I’ll let it go. But if Lucy believe she ah go tek mi fi eediot, time longa dan rope.
She was going to learn that I was nobody’s fool.
5
Cops and robbers
JUNE 2017
THE YOUNG MAN LOOKED frightened. He was still in his teens – gangly and slight, not very tall. I wondered how a baby like him could have got himself into this much trouble already.
Today was the first day of a new project for offenders on probation. Their community payback was to work at a nature garden in south London, tidying, digging and planting. The garden was a mini-oasis in a quiet suburban street, a green and tranquil place with two small ponds and wooden seats beneath the trees. I was there to work with the group, along with the project’s gardening manager who would teach them the skills they would need.
This lad still had a soft, boyish face. At least it looked that way from the tiny part of it that I could see. He sat hunched in his chair at the back of the hall, dressed all in black, hood up, baseball cap right down, hands thrust out of sight, deep into the pockets of his hoodie. We were hoping that some of the offenders might enjoy working in the garden. It’s a creative thing to do and it can be relaxing too. But this boy couldn’t have been further from relaxed. As I watched him growing more agitated, I realised that he had a problem. He didn’t want to be there. He was terrified someone was going to recognise him.
I stood up to introduce myself and the gardening manager, then explained the rules.
‘It’s your responsibility to attend your project on time every week,’ I told them. ‘Any absenc
es must be evidenced by a medical certificate or letter of appointment. If you fail to attend, you will be issued with a breach notice. You must contact your probation officer and explain. Should you fail to comply, you will be returned to court where your work order could be revoked and you could be re-sentenced.’
The service users listened in silence. Whilst I talked, I observed the boy in black. He wasn’t just avoiding eye contact with me. He wouldn’t look around the hall at all. He slumped lower and lower in his chair, raising his hand to the side of his face to shield him from view.
‘A bottle of water would be a good idea when the weather’s warm, like now, but only water is allowed,’ I continued. ‘We practise zero tolerance for any kind of drugs. One hundred and twenty hours of community service means seven hours work, one day a week. So most of you will finish in three months. That’s if you turn up every session and do your work consistently.’
To them, I knew three months seemed a very long time. To me, it was a tiny window of opportunity to reach them.
‘Before you leave today, I’ll have a word with each of you. That’s your chance to ask me questions and make sure that everything is clear to you.’
There was an unimpressed silence. Nobody wanted to be there. As they got to their feet and shuffled outside with the gardening manager, I picked the lad in black out first of all.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked him.
‘Harrison.’ He mumbled his reply from below the brim of his cap.
‘So, Harrison!’ I raised my voice, startling him. ‘Are we awake under there?’
‘What do you mean, miss?’ I liked his gentle London accent.
‘I can barely see you in that cap.’
‘Oh. Uh –’
He adjusted his cap by a fraction of one degree.
‘That’s not much difference! I still can’t see you.’
He didn’t reply.
‘So, Harrison, something’s worrying you.’
‘No, miss.’
‘From you step in the place, you’re moving dodgy. Come on, man. What’s going on?’