Gangster Girl

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Deciding that he couldn’t argue with someone who’d already made up her mind he moved the conversation along. Back to the job they had to do. ‘Let’s go and pick up some new clobber to play the loving couple in the bank.’

  Ricky gave Daisy a slow once-over that made her feel like he was peeling off her new clothes one layer at a time.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ she asked as an unwanted heat crept up her body as she stood in front of him in the bustling clothes store on Oxford Street. She had no right to be blushing like some silly teenage girl looking at her first date because she already had a man she loved; and she did love him. She wore a fitted black number with a lace trim that fell just below her knees and a black no-nonsense jacket. The type of clothing she hoped would make her forgettable when they met the bank manager later today.

  Ricky said nothing. Instead he tilted his head to the left and deepened the look he gave her. Shit, she could feel her nipples going into autopilot, moulding into the material of the dress. Quickly she grabbed the edge of the jacket over her chest and said, with a huge dollop of irritation, ‘I take it that it looks OK?’

  Ricky straightened his head. ‘You’ll do.’

  Flustered, Daisy swiftly turned around and re-entered the changing room. As soon as she was safely back inside the cubicle she slumped against the wall. She closed her eyes, her heart beating to the rhythm of a race it ran on its own. She flattened her palms against her breasts and muttered, ‘Down, girls,’ desperately trying to get her nipples back under control. Herself under control. She didn’t like the way that Ricky made her feel. Only one man had the right to do that to her. The man she was hoping to have a family with. She was going to be mummy and Jerome was going to be daddy and there was no room for these hot feelings she had every time Ricky looked her way. Dismissing Ricky from her mind she got dressed.

  Ten minutes later they were on the escalator to the menswear department, her new purchases in a large bag in her hand. They reached the floor and took in the clothes around them.

  ‘I think you need to get a suit, black, of course,’ she told Ricky. ‘And a tie. Formal shirt as well.’

  ‘You still mad at me?’ His question took her by surprise. She stared up at him and could’ve slapped his face when she saw the know-it-all grin playing across his lips.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve got a job to do so let’s do it.’

  ‘So you ain’t mad that your raspberry ripples went on high alert when I looked at you in your new threads?’

  A deep heat of embarrassment stained her. As she opened her mouth to give him a tongue lashing a body bumped into her at the top of the escalator. Only then did she realise that she was standing at the edge of the escalator blocking the way. She fell forward slightly as an arm snaked around her to steady her.

  ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ the other person apologised as she righted herself. She looked up and said, ‘Don’t worry about . . .’ Her words dried up when she saw who she was talking to.

  Jo-Jo entered her mum’s private office knowing she should have taken a tin hat. No doubt about it, her mum was going to go ballistic when she saw her again. Stella’s head was lowered as she read something on her desk. Jo-Jo quietly closed the door behind her.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  Stella froze. Didn’t raise her head. Jo-Jo didn’t have to see her mum’s face to know she was re-shaping it into a very nasty expression. After a beat Stella slowly raised her head. She levelled her deadly grey eyes on her daughter.

  ‘You tired of living?’

  ‘Mum I—’

  But Stella never let her finish. ‘Don’t make me get up because if I do it means you’re going to be lying down.’ She paused. ‘Permanently.’

  Jo-Jo ignored the threat and moved towards the desk. ‘I’ve got something I think you should know.’

  Stella crossed her arms, which was never a good sign. ‘I’m gonna count to three. One . . .’

  ‘Tommy told me all . . .’

  ‘Two . . .’

  ‘. . . about the bank job.’

  ‘He what?’ Stella rose to her feet. Jo-Jo inched closer. ‘I know all about the safe-deposit box. About Daisy . . .’

  ‘That boy is going to wish he’d never been born.’ Stella stormed towards the door, hair flip-flapping at her shoulders.

  ‘And do you know what else he said?’ Stella stopped at her daughter’s words, hand midway to the door handle. ‘You made him look like a total tosser because you won’t let him take the money in the bank.’

  Stella’s hand dropped. She turned back around. ‘Oh, did he now? That boy needs a lesson in family manners. Quite a sharp one.’

  Jo-Jo moved to stand nearer to her mother, but not too close because she knew when Stella was in one of her moods she was liable to lash out at the nearest thing to her.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you let me stick around and I can report back everything he says to you.’

  Stella reared back, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Oh, I get it. This is your way of trying to get the name King back on your birth certificate.’

  ‘I know I owe you, Mum, and it makes sense. You can’t afford for Tommy to fuck up this job.’

  Stella looked at her youngest child and thought for a while. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, Jo-Jo made sense. If Tommy was stepping out of line she needed someone on his back. She made up her mind. Without warning, she raised her hand and slapped Jo-Jo sharply twice across the face. Jo-Jo gasped as pain shot through her. She felt a trickle of blood seep from the corner of her mouth. She held her hand across her mouth as she raised her head.

  ‘Now you’re back that’s just to remind you that there’s only one queen bitch in this house.’

  Daisy knew she was in deep shit. Miss Misty was the last person she wanted to bump into on a day like this. The older woman was decked out in casual clothes – jeans and hooded top. The only things that stood out were her lime green heels and the surprise on her face.

  ‘Daisy?’ Misty raised her finely plucked eyebrow. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

  Daisy recovered quickly. Settled a welcoming expression on her face. ‘I could say the same for you. I didn’t think the menswear department was your style.’

  Misty let out a throaty laugh. ‘I’ve still got me meat and two veg between my legs, you know.’ Then she clocked Ricky. Her eyes squinted as she stared at him, making Daisy swallow convulsively. Misty folded her arms across her chest. Looked back at Daisy, her eyebrow shooting higher. ‘So who’s your friend?’ The tone she used made it very clear she didn’t like what she was seeing.

  Daisy’s brain went into overdrive. Quick. Quick. Think. Think. Who could she say Ricky was? But before she could answer Misty stepped closer to Ricky and peered at his face, her eyebrow dropping and wrinkling with concern. ‘Don’t I know you?’

  Ricky straightened his shoulders and gave Misty a who-cares look. ‘Not unless you’ve spent the last couple of years inside Belmarsh prison.’

  Daisy could have socked him one right there on the spot. If there was anything guaranteed to arouse Misty’s suspicions it was discovering that Daisy was hanging out with a former jailbird. But, surprisingly Misty took no notice of his words. Instead she took another step closer to him. Peered harder at his features. ‘I never forget a face.’ Suddenly Daisy noticed the worried look that covered Ricky’s face. ‘Got it,’ Misty whispered. ‘Bloody hell, you’re Jenna Smart’s little brother. Ricardo, that’s it.’

  Ricky’s face lost its smooth, brown glow.

  ‘You might not remember me but Jenna would bring you to a club I once performed at. The Groove Palace, remember, it was around the corner from Stepney Green station.’

  ‘I remember,’ Ricky whispered in a tone that said he didn’t want to.

  ‘I heard what happened. That she took off one day. Did she ever come back?’

  Ricky just shook his head as if the words were too hard to say.

  ‘I t
old her she was better off working the streets than getting involved with a nut job like Stella King.’

  ‘You know Stella King?’ Daisy’s eyes widened in surprise.

  ‘Everyone knows her.’ Misty’s hands waved around. ‘She’s got a mouth as big as from here to Southend. Drugs, prostitution, nicking the bibs off babies, she’s been involved in the lot.’ Misty’s hands fell to her side as she peered suspiciously at Daisy. ‘How do you know her?’

  ‘I don’t, really,’ Daisy quickly denied. ‘I heard one of the other lawyers talking about her, that’s all.’

  Misty pointed a finger at her. ‘You keep it that way, sweetheart. Stella and that psycho son and doped-up daughter of hers are bad news. What I still don’t get is what you two are doing here and how you two lovebirds know each other?’

  Ricky quickly glanced at Daisy. Her gaze back at him said, ‘You better get us outta this.’ Ricky pinned his eyes back on Misty. ‘Miss Sullivan is my brief. Unfortunately I got into a slight bit of bovver.’

  Misty balled her fists onto her hips. ‘First time I’ve heard of a jailbird playing dressing up with their lawyer. Besides, I thought I heard on the grapevine that Jenna’s brother had gone straight. That his grandma’s really proud of him.’

  ‘You heard wrong,’ Ricky quickly cut in. He turned to Daisy. ‘I’ll get myself sorted out, Miss Sullivan. Don’t forget we need to get my statement together by two o’clock.’

  Then he was gone, weaving his way towards the suits.

  ‘Daisy, what’s going on here?’ Misty held up her hands before the younger woman could answer. ‘And don’t bullshit me.’

  Daisy took a deep breath. ‘OK, this is the truth.’ She crossed her fingers behind her back. ‘Ricky is going up before the judge tomorrow, but he hasn’t been long out of prison so he doesn’t have any decent clothes. I’m just trying to help a client out.’

  Misty peered hard at Daisy as if trying to read between her words. ‘Be careful. You don’t want to get personally involved with his kind of people.’

  ‘So what’s the story on his sister?’ Daisy swiftly changed the subject.

  ‘Well, she disappeared years ago. That’s all I know.’

  ‘I need to go.’ Daisy pushed herself onto her toes, flung her arms around Misty and gave her a huge smacker on the lips.

  Misty ran her thumb gently down Daisy’s cheek. ‘You take care of yourself. And if you need me, give me a bell.’

  As Daisy strode away, bag flapping by her side, Misty kept watching her. First time she’d heard of some crim playing dress up with their lawyer. She didn’t like this one bit. She pulled out her phone. Cursed when all she got was an answerphone.

  ‘Jackie, sweetheart, it’s me. Sorry to drag you away from your sex and sangria, but you need to get back here pretty pronto. Daisy’s in trouble.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ‘You never said anything about your sister working for Stella.’

  Daisy looked at Ricky as they sat in a quiet café, in a court off Dean Street in Soho, her statement placed squarely on the teak table between them. Daisy sensed Ricky’s foul mood as soon as they met up just outside the clothes store. She suspected that the strained expression on his face, as if the blood was slowly draining away from his heart, had something to do with Misty mentioning his sister. So she’d pretended that she was tired and needed a quick pick-me-up drink. And now, here they were, sitting opposite each other, with her playing the role of chief prosecutor.

  His dark eyes flashed at her. ‘And I never told you that Belmarsh was a bit short on nightlife. No big deal, right?’ He pulled out a spliff, then remembered where he was and shoved it back into his pocket. ‘And if you know what’s good for you, you won’t mention it to Mrs King either.’

  ‘Sounds like I’m not the only one with secrets.’

  The silence hung between them as the waiter arranged their refreshments in front of them.

  ‘Can I get you anything else?’

  They both answered the waiter together. ‘Bangers and mash.’

  They each shot the other an amused look. The waiter quietly told them it wasn’t on the menu and left. Ricky looked at her with a cheek-popping grin. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a bangers-and-mash type of gal.’

  She smiled back. ‘And being black I wouldn’t have taken you for a bangers-and-mash type of guy. Rice and peas, shouldn’t it be?’

  ‘My sister used to make it for me.’

  ‘My dad used to make mine.’

  A tingling intimacy flowed across the table.

  He fired at her, his whole face sparkling. ‘Bet you can’t beat my best ever, ever in the world, mash potato recipe. My sister taught me it.’ He leant forward, jacking both his elbows on the table. ‘Potato, sweet potato, one of them ones with the orange flesh inside, butter, milk and a little bit of coconut milk and Bob’s your uncle, girl, your mouth will come alive.’

  She leant forward, shaking her head as her smile grew. ‘No way. You can’t touch my dad’s recipe. Red potatoes, a hint of garlic, butter, condensed milk and cream. Always mash it while it’s still on the cooker. Bob’s your uncle, your mouth will simply die.’

  They looked at each other and started laughing. His hand settled next to hers on the table. Suddenly he grabbed her arm and pulled it towards him. ‘Why do you always rub your fingers over your bracelets?’

  She tried to yank her arm back but he was already using his other hand to unfasten the chunky gold bracelet. In dismay she watched as it fell onto the table revealing the one thing she never showed anyone – the ugly scar that ran across her wrist like the set of a thin, sad mouth on an even sadder face. An overwhelming wave of shame pulsed in her body at the idea of someone else looking at it. At the memory of what she’d done. Before she could make a move or say a word he pulled her wrist closer to him as he stretched across the table. He raised her wrist and kissed the scar.

  Jerome grinned as if he were enjoying the best day of his life as he stepped out of the jeweller’s. The jewellery shop wasn’t your usual high-street outfit, but an exclusive business in Soho that his family had used for years. He’d come straight from the airport to London’s West End. He whistled as he moved along with the crowd outside, the lukewarm sunshine beating down on his back, even though he felt such disappointment at not finding Maxwell Henley in Spain. He couldn’t wait to see Daisy. Couldn’t wait to see her face when he gave it to her. He laughed out loud, pushing his head high, which made a few people look at him as if he was out on day release from the nearest psychiatric hospital. But what did he care? He had the girl he’d been dreaming about all his life. As he passed a café window he did a double take. Froze. He stared hard, not believing what his eyes were telling him. There was Daisy – his Daisy – sitting at a table with some tall, good-looking guy who had his . . . No, Jerome told himself, he couldn’t be seeing straight because it looked like the man was kissing her wrist. Shit, damn, he was. Jealousy, hot and quick, gripped Jerome.

  Sweat beading against his forehead he moved quickly to the side, deciding what to do. First reaction was to storm in there and demand what the hell was going on. He shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to do that because the one thing a McMillan never did was make a scene in public. Dirty washing should always stay inside the home. No, he’d talk to her later. He was sure it was all innocent. The guy might be one of her clients he reasoned. His Daisy was a straight-down-the-line kind of girl, one of the many things he adored about her.

  He opened the small bag he was carrying. Took out the purple, velvet box. Flipped it open. Stared at the gold ring with sapphires that matched the colour of Daisy’s eyes. The ring he was going to present to her at his parents’ cocktail party this Wednesday when he asked her to marry him.

  Daisy sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of Ricky’s lips against the reminder of what had once been one of the most painful times in her life. He raised his head and stared at her. Maybe it was the compassion she saw in his eyes, maybe it was becau
se she knew he’d lost his sister, maybe it was because she finally wanted to share the pain.

  So she told him, in a quiet, faraway voice. ‘After my dad died I was heartbroken. I wanted to be with him.’ Her free hand pressed underneath the pulse in her throat. ‘So I slit my wrists.’

  Every word she spoke cut into her throat so deeply she was forced to remember the pain. She remembered thinking, dazed out of her mind, she should have cut the left one first not the right because she was right handed. She’d laid down, fifteen years old and wanted to die. And almost had except Jackie and her husband Schoolboy had found her. She’d never had a woman weep over her before the way Jackie had. And that’s why she loved Jackie so much, because she’d saved her life in more ways than one.

  ‘When Jenna disappeared,’ Ricky spoke softly still holding her wrist, making her heart-wrenching memories fade, ‘I went crazy. Started hanging out with ghetto rats on the street. Getting into bovver with the cops. Bunking off school. I didn’t realise it at the time but I was slowly cutting my own throat. We all deal with the bad times in our own way.’

  Finally he let her arm go. Quickly she refastened her bracelet. ‘This is between me and you.’

  ‘Bangers-and-mash honour,’ he replied, giving her an aye-aye captain salute.

  He flicked his gaze at the diamond-shaped clock on the wall. ‘We need to get that clobber on or we’re going to miss our appointment with the bank manager.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘You’re playing the little lady of the house and I’m the one who wears the pants with the big wallet. Agreed?’ She gave him another nod. ‘You still got that high-tech phone of yours?’

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘Our job is to check out details. How many security guards, how many cameras, and if we get down to the vault with the deposit boxes what it all looks like. I want you to use the video camera facility on your phone to capture as much of it as possible.’