by Martina Cole
‘If you want to talk, I’m always here, you know.’
Marie smiled.
‘I know that, Amanda, thank you. But I’m just sore and tired, that’s all.’
Marie didn’t know how the hell she was sounding so reasonable. All she wanted to do was go to her child and try and undo some of the damage she had inflicted on Tiffany all those years ago with her lifestyle and her drugs.
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘You’re worn out. Let me walk you up to your room.’
Ten minutes later she was tucked up in bed in the dark. She was a friend of the dark. You could think, hide and scheme in the dark.
But tonight she couldn’t settle. Her daughter was out there with Patrick Connor, who had been the cause of every bad thing that had ever befallen Marie. Jason’s little face came into her mind. His beautiful eyes and soft curly hair. His hot little body as he slept in her arms. After his birth she had started to get herself together. It had forced her to take a look at her life. She had told Patrick she was giving up the drugs and going to rehab.
He had laughed at her.
She could see him now, in his rude boy suit. Being the big man.
‘You ain’t going nowhere, Marie. You just shaking your tail for me, baby.’
His perfect teeth and flawless skin, shining with good health, were an affront to her. She herself was pasty-faced and ill from heroin abuse. It was Jason’s having to be weaned off it after his birth that had frightened her so much. That she had made her unborn child an addict had really brought home to her what her life had become.
Patrick was doing his American pimp talk again, he knew how it wound her up.
‘Stop that talk! You know you’ve never been out of East London in your life. You’ve never even been to Jamaica on holiday so stop the stupid talk. You think you’re fucking Desmond Decker – 007, eat your heart out. You look a prat and sound like one.’
She remembered that beating from him. Every blow, every kick. She had insulted him and what he wanted to be. The strange thing was she had felt so sorry for him. She had always felt sorry for him. His desperate need to be someone had made him vulnerable and he knew she sensed that. He saw kindness as weakness. Now her little daughter, who had grown into a lovely young woman and a mother herself, was hooked on him as Marie had been. Maybe it was in the genes. Maybe it was socialisation as she had been taught.
Whatever it was, it was her fault, she knew that much.
She had never gone to rehab, she had been back on the street within three weeks of her son’s birth. When she thought about it now, she wondered who that person had been. How had that happened to her, Marie Carter, the prettiest girl in her school? The most desired friend, and of course the hardest nut in the whole area. What had she been looking for all those years? What was her daughter looking for in Patrick Connor?
Every time she thought of that child, that little child Anastasia, who was her uncle’s sister, she felt sick inside. That she was her flesh and blood made her feel sick. That her daughter could have had a child with the man who was her brother’s father was beyond belief. But then, Marie knew just how persuasive Patrick Connor could be. He probably saw it as funny, a big joke.
Yes, that would have appealed to him. He’d had the mother, now he had the daughter. He would have got off on that and she knew his sexual preferences. Knew what he was all about, what he was capable of. The thought of him doing that to her child, the girl who had once called him Daddy, aroused a rage in her so acute she felt she could kill him with her bare hands.
Well, that’s what she would do if she had to.
She would kill him.
It was the least she could do for her daughter. Christ Himself knew she had done little enough up to now.
The thought took hold. As Marie went over everything in her mind, she decided that if there was nothing else for it then that was what she would do. A decision reached, she felt better. Finally she slept.
Chapter Nine
Tiffany awoke in the dimness of a strange bedroom. She was hurting, really hurting, and when she tried to bring her hands up to her face she realised that she couldn’t move. They were tied behind her back.
She had no knowledge of where she was, or how she had got there. Her head felt as if it was full of cotton wool and her mouth was so dry her tongue was sticking to the roof of it. Terror made a scream spiral through her body, but no sound came out of her mouth. She was assailed with smells, faeces and blood being the strongest. As tears slid down her face she heard the door open and footsteps coming across the room towards her.
Tiffany squeezed her eyes tight shut.
‘Here, let me help you, mate,’ a gentle voice said.
She felt her hands being released and the pain in her shoulders was so acute she did cry out then.
The girl put a hand over her mouth.
‘Shhh! Don’t wake him up.’
Tiffany felt her arms being massaged and was aware that the strong fingers knew exactly what they were doing. The girl helped her to sit up properly.
‘I’ve run you a bath, OK? It’s got Dettol in it so it might sting at first.’
Tiffany allowed the girl to help her to the bathroom. She still felt groggy, and still had no knowledge of what had happened to her or how she had arrived at this place. All she could remember was drinking a glass of wine, and having a pipe with Patrick.
‘Who are you?’
Tiffany’s voice felt as if it had not been used for years, it was croaky and it hurt her to speak.
The girl smiled in a friendly manner.
‘I’m Sarah. And you?’
‘Tiffany - Tiffany Carter. What am I doing here? Have I had an accident?’
She sounded childlike, she was still so disorientated. Sarah didn’t reply but started to wash the blood and faeces off Tiffany’s body. The hot water made her feel more alive. As she woke properly, she saw the wounds all over her. The Dettol did sting, it was making her body feel that it was on fire, especially between her legs and in her anus. She started to cry, little sobs of pain.
‘What happened to me, Sarah? What the fuck happened to me?’
Sarah saw the shallow knife wounds, and knew that Leroy had gone over the top again. She also worried that Patrick Connor was not going to be happy about the state of his girl. He had a kid with this one, she knew, but then he had kids all over the place.
Sarah had flicked through last night’s video and what she had seen had made her feel squeamish so fuck knew what this girl would be like when she started to remember - and she would remember. That was the thing with Rohypnol. You got your memory back in bits and pieces over weeks, sometimes months. Sarah hoped the girl didn’t remember what had happened to her.
Leroy had never done it to her, only to the girls he bought, and normally when he had them here he didn’t use the drug on them. She assumed he had used it on this girl because of Patrick.
It was the Patrick Connor connection that was bothering Sarah. He sometimes passed girls on to Leroy, she knew, they bought and sold between them. But she had heard about this one, this Tiffany. Her mother had just come out from a double lifer, and Tiffany was also supposed to be Patrick’s daughter. Now if that bit of gossip was true then she had a child by her own father. Sarah shook her head. That was one barrier even Leroy wouldn’t cross.
The knife wounds all over Tiffany were scabbed over, but some had started to bleed again because of the washing. She had evacuated all over herself and the bed so the stench was overpowering. Sarah would dump the sheets, not bother to try and wash them. As she was cleaning Tiffany’s hair Leroy walked into the bathroom and urinated into the toilet. He ignored them both.
Tiffany looked at him. Suddenly she didn’t want Sarah to tell her anything. She had a feeling she didn’t want to know. But she didn’t say anything, just kept her head down and made sure she didn’t make eye contact.
‘Get her a cab and get her out.’
His voice was gruff, uncarin
g, and Sarah nodded at him without speaking. When he was in one of his moods it was the only way to deal with him. Twenty minutes later Tiffany was dressed and on her way home. She was still unable to walk without help and her whole body was aching.
She was amazed to see Patrick in her flat giving Anastasia her breakfast. He had cooked her an egg and made her toast. She also had a beaker of milk and some fresh fruit. He helped Tiffany into a chair and gave her a strong cup of coffee with plenty of sugar and cream. She sipped it as Anastasia gabbled to her. She found it in herself to smile at the child and stroke her hair.
Patrick chatted as if this was all perfectly normal. The mere fact that he was waiting on her was enough to disorientate her, without all this kindness and playing the perfect father. She was coming round now and watched him warily as he played with his daughter and made her laugh.
He kissed Tiffany gently on the mouth. ‘All right, babe?’
His voice was soft, gentle; he looked genuinely concerned.
‘He hurt me, Pat.’
Her voice was so quiet he had to bring his head forward to catch what she said. He knelt in front of her and wiped away the tears with his fingers.
‘I know, darling.’
He was undoing her clothes and looking at the marks on her body. He kissed her shoulders and breasts as he buttoned her back up. She was starting to sob at his kindness. When he put his arms around her and hugged her close she really started to cry. And as she cried he rubbed her back and kissed her face and hair, murmuring endearments all the time. He looked so forlorn, so sorry for her, that she felt herself respond to him. She needed this now, a strong man to tell her everything was going to be OK.
Then he pulled her face up to his and kissed her nose. She stared into his eyes as he stared into hers. She saw the love in his eyes and felt a lifting of her heart as he smiled at her.
He carefully prepared her a pipe, holding it for her as he urged her to breathe deeply and take in all the crack in one go.
‘Come on, Tiff, this will make you feel better. Breathe it in, sweetheart.’
She took it in quickly, needing the release the crack would give her, desperate as she was to feel better again, to forget her pain and discomfort.
He smiled as he saw her body relaxing. He laid her carefully back in the chair, watched as her eyes glazed over and the lines disappeared from her brow.
Then he said seriously, ‘Don’t worry about last night, Tiff. You’ll get used to it.’
Kevin sipped at his tea and ate his toast. He had had to make his breakfast himself which spoke volumes. Louise was one of those women who felt that no one could do anything as well as her. She made all meals, all drinks, and nine times out of ten complained all the time she was doing it because she had no help and had to do everything herself.
Today she watched him as he opened the Sun and started to read. She hated him, she realised now. All her natural animosity was focused on him and what he had done.
‘Do you realise the trouble you caused our Lucy yesterday with your stupid heroics?’ she snapped at him.
He shrugged.
‘Do I look like I give a fuck, Lou?’
He didn’t even raise his eyes from the newspaper.
‘We’ll have the Blacks after us now. You know what they’re like . . .’
Kevin was enjoying her discomfort, he realised. A small part of him was ashamed of that but, after all the years spent listening to her go on and on about Marshall when they still had two daughters and grandchildren that needed them, it was sweet revenge.
‘Like I say, Lou, do I look like I give a fuck? We are harder than they think. I am not sitting back and letting the likes of them dictate to me and mine. I have kept me trap shut and me head down too long. That goes for you and all.’
Louise felt like she was about to explode. She stood up and pointed a finger at him. Her voice quivering with rage she said, ‘How dare you speak to me like that? All I do for you . . .’
He started to laugh at her.
‘Listen to yourself. What do you do then? A bit of washing and ironing, a bit of cooking? Millions of women do that and they don’t go on and on about it. Shut the fuck up until you have something to say! Get off your fat arse and do something constructive with your life. In fact, I will rephrase that - Get A Fucking Life. Because I intend to.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He could hear the fear in her voice, the uncertainty creeping in.
‘What it says. You made your intentions perfectly clear to me yesterday. Well, in my book that means I have to get me conjugal rights somewhere else, don’t it? And I will, Lou. I can’t live like a fucking monk. If I got a habit you’d have me out monking for a few quid, wouldn’t you? Money mad you are. Well, in future, I pay the bills and that’s it. You want a few quid to go to Bingo, you better get a job, girl. This house is changing and you had better learn to change with it. There’s a new order here and it’s mine.’
He finished his tea. Picking up his car keys, he strolled from the kitchen. He didn’t even slam the front door, though he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to.
Louise stood in the kitchen staring at the door for long moments. Then Lucy came into the room and said nonchalantly, ‘You caused all this. What’s the next step for him, Mum, eh? What’s he going to do next?’
Louise couldn’t answer her.
She was still in shock at her husband’s words. He meant them. She realised he meant every word he’d said. And he would do exactly what he’d said. That was one thing you could guarantee with Kevin Carter: if he said he was going to do something it was done. The thought of all her friends and neighbours knowing he was out and about almost gave her a coronary with embarrassment. She had managed to live down what Marie had done. Looking people in the face as she gave them a piece of her mind. Making them understand that her daughter was nothing to her. Nothing. In the end they had managed to make a life of sorts. But it was still there, underneath the surface. She knew her daughter was a legend in some respects. A double murderess, a whore who had drugged and drunk herself into oblivion. But she had made people respect her, she had forced them to give her what she saw as her due. Now Kevin was making it hard for them again. He was going to wreck the little bit of respectability she had left. She would be a laughing stock.
It was Marie’s fault. Since she had been let out of prison Kevin had changed. She was working her evil magic again like she always had. Like all men, he would do what she wanted.
Well, Louise would see them all get their comeuppance. If it was the last thing she did, she would sort that bitch out once and for all.
As she watched Lucy making a pot of tea she started planning, and the act of working out her revenge calmed her down. She would get even, not mad, that would become her motto from now on.
Marie had been brought tea and toast in bed by Amanda, who remarked that she looked better. Marie had smiled at the kindly woman. She had eaten the toast and drunk the tea as the woman chatted to her. It was true what Amanda had told her, she did look much better, yet how that could be she didn’t know with the knowledge she had inside her head.
The swelling in her face had gone down considerably and she knew that skilfully applied make-up would hide the worst of it. But nothing would cheer her up. Seeing the nightmare that had been her own life re-enacted in her daughter’s had brought her to an all-time low. Even at her lowest ebb in prison she had never felt this badly about anything.
How many times had she lain awake trying to remember the night her friends had died so horrifically? How many nights had she tossed and turned trying to fathom what had made her capable of such an act? She had always come to the same conclusion: it had been the drugs and the booze. She had had so many blackouts by the time of the deaths that it had become normal for her not to remember days at a time. She would forget to feed her children, forget everything but the constant urge to obliterate her demons. She had fought punters as well, and started fights in pubs and club
s until she was notorious for being trouble. For being a druggie. An addict. A lunatic.
Yet the act of burning heroin made her calm; the knowledge it would take her out of the ball game gave her strength. As she injected it, the feeling of the drug taking over was preferable to any other feeling she had ever experienced. It made her euphoric for a few moments, made everything seem beautiful for a while. It calmed her and made her happy.
But that feeling had lasted for shorter and shorter spaces of time. In the end she was chasing the dragon and chasing the feelings because they were overtaken by her addiction. But whacked out of her brains was still the only time she felt entirely safe. Heroin was her friend, her only consolation. She didn’t want people, she didn’t need people, all she had needed was the skag.
Prison had been her wake-up call. The drugs in there had been so badly cut they couldn’t get a cat high, let alone a full-grown woman. She had realised then she had lost everything and had gradually come off drugs. Nights spent sweating and heaving had become rarer, and then she was seeing the world as an adult instead of a junkie.
Her children’s faces had haunted her; the fact she had left them behind and would never get the chance to make it up to them had been a stick she had beat herself with constantly. But she had consoled herself with the thought that they would be taken care of. Finally be part of real families, see normal life and learn from that. Instead they had been parcelled out and Tiffany had become just like her mother without even realising it. Patrick’s fault. He was clever and devious, she knew that better than anyone.
Now she must find Jason and see what had happened to him. He was still only a boy - please God let him be a good one, she prayed. A happy, well-adjusted boy. Don’t let any part of his father be replicated in him, or any part of herself for that matter. Don’t let the drugs have taken him too.
She had murdered while high. Everything bad in her life had happened to her while she was high. Now she was going to kill again, but this time she would be stone cold sober and if she got a capture afterwards it would be worth it.