by Martina Cole
‘Where’s your brother, do you know?’
She carried on walking; she wouldn’t even dignify that question with an answer. She tried ringing Kira’s little pink mobile. Nothing but the message service. She sighed once more; this was all she needed. She talked angrily into the phone.
‘Kira? It’s me. Fucking ring, will you? And when Mum and Jon Jon find out that we’ve been raided without you letting anyone know, you are in deep trouble, lady!’
She turned off the phone feeling better for her outburst.
Maybe Kira was with one of the neighbours. As she walked down the stairs she texted her brother’s mobile to alert him to the danger awaiting him; she also texted her mother. Each text omitted to say she had misplaced her sister.
But half an hour later she had to admit that ‘misplace’ was not exactly the right expression. Kira was literally nowhere to be seen.
Jeanette was actually starting to feel worried. No one had seen her sister, spoken to her or heard anything about her. They had seen the filth, though, that much was evident. But, she consoled herself, Kira was sensible enough to disappear if the police arrived. She had to be somewhere nearby. Bethany’s phone was turned off so Jeanette began the walk to the girl’s house a few streets away. It was the only other place Kira could be, and when she got her hands on her she would wring her neck for causing so much worry.
But there was that niggling fear still because her sister had not tried to contact her at all . . .
Fortunately no one had called her back since the texts so she knew she had a while yet to locate the missing child. Once the balloon went up there would be murders. She was beginning to wish she had stayed in as arranged. It would be tonight of all nights that it all fell out of bed.
Jon Jon was in a bed-sit in First Avenue, Manor Park, working out a scam to bring in drugs from Amsterdam with Sippy Marvell, a young Jamaican dealer from Brixton.
Sippy had rented this room for years and it was only ever used for business dealings. It was scruffy but clean and he had laid in a good stock of drink and puff; both essential requirements when doing any kind of planning. At least Sippy thought so anyway. Both of them had their phones turned off, another thing Sippy insisted on, and they were getting on like the proverbial house on fire.
Sippy was a bona-fide Rasta; he accepted Jon Jon for the half-white Rasta he was trying to be, and they understood each other.
Jon Jon was interested in the way Sippy incorporated his religion into his everyday life. He loved the Rasta philosophy even though his own line of work, drug dealing, didn’t really match up to the beliefs he wanted to make his own. Then there was the problem of violence. Look at the morning he had had for a start. But he could listen to Sippy talking about Marcus Garvey and quoting the Scriptures for hours.
He wasn’t disappointed now as Sippy whispered while building a joint, ‘ ‘‘And the earth brought forth grass and herb yielding seed after this kind, and trees yielding fruit whose seed was itself after this kind, and God saw that it was good.’’
He grinned at Jon Jon as he said louder: ‘Genesis, man. The Bible, for fuck’s sake.’
His thick Jamaican accent gave the words extra resonance so far as Jon Jon was concerned. Those words in a South London accent just didn’t hold the same appeal.
‘We need to sort out the finer points, Jon Jon, before we make any more plans. So ring me friend James Grey and ask him to pop over for a little chat.’
He loved the slow drawl that was Sippy’s way of talking; it was quiet yet held far more authority than if he’d screamed out the words at the top of his voice.
‘Knowing you, Sip, your ancestors were the first dealers then!’
Sippy laughed at the compliment.
‘We smoke to meditate. Remember that if you is banged up in Brixton! It’s a religious thing.’
Jon Jon laughed. He turned on his phone and the texts rang out loudly. Peter Tosh was playing quietly in the background and the sudden noise was an intrusion into the little world they were occupying.
He read the texts quickly before looking at Sippy and saying, ‘I got big trouble.’
His friend shrugged.
‘You sort it, I ain’t going nowhere. The evening is young yet.’
Joanie cabbed it home as soon as she received the message from the parlour receptionist. Jeanette had phoned there in the end out of sheer desperation.
As she entered the flat she dimly registered the police’s mess and swore under her breath. The Execution of Warrant notice was screwed up on the floor where as far as Joanie was concerned it could stay.
She aimed the PC out of the door in minutes and then, grabbing her eldest daughter by the front of her jacket, bellowed, ‘Where is me baby?’
Jeanette shook her head.
‘I don’t know, Mum. I can’t locate her.’
‘Have the filth took her? I assume you’d left her on her Jacksy, they might have done. Was there anything here from Social Services?’
Jeanette shook her head.
‘No, nothing, just the warrant notice. Let go of me, Mum!’
But Joanie was not listening; still grabbing her daughter’s jacket, she closed her eyes and willed herself to calm down.
‘What did Old Bill say?’
She shook Jeanette’s jacket once more, nearly unbalancing the pair of them.
‘Will you answer me!’
‘She wasn’t here, Mum. Now let me go!’
Joanie threw her daughter none too gently on the sofa. Then she punched her across the head, hurting her own hand in the process. It was a hard punch and it said a lot for her daughter that she didn’t even wince with the pain.
The phone rang and Joanie made a dive for it.
‘Hello.’
Her voice was strained.
‘Yeah, who’s this? Where the fuck is my baby . . .’
Jeanette watched the worry wiped from her mother’s face.
‘Oh, thank God! Yeah, thanks. I’m on me way over.’
She replaced the receiver and sank down on the floor in relief. Her legs had literally given way under her.
‘Is she all right, Mum?’
Jeanette sounded genuinely concerned.
‘No fucking thanks to you, you fucking little mare!’
Joanie lit a cigarette with shaking hands. It was taking all her will-power not to punch her daughter’s lights out once and for all. Christ Himself knew she had been building Joanie up to it for a while now.
‘I am going to pick her up. You better start clearing this place up, and when I get back I am going to fucking muller you! I ask you to do one thing for me and you can’t even fucking do that. You wait till your brother gets in; he at least knows how to look after his little sisters. You included, you lazy, selfish bitch!’
‘Where was she?’
But the words fell on deaf ears; Joanie was already walking out of the door.
One good thing as far as Jeanette was concerned: Jon Jon wasn’t coming home tonight. Not while the warrant was still out on him anyway. So at least she had some respite there.
‘She’s been here all evening.’
Joanie was staring at the grotesquely fat man before her and smiling nervously. Kira was asleep on a dilapidated sofa behind him, but at least it looked clean. That was the first thought in her head.
He had placed a blanket over the sleeping child and now absent-mindedly pulled it up over her like a mother would. There were crisp packets and empty Coke cans on the battered table, also the remnants of a sandwich. He had obviously taken good care of her and Joanie was grateful for that.
His strange high-pitched voice was kept deliberately calm and slow as he explained the situation. He sounded like Dale Winton on helium.
‘I sit on the balcony, see? It’s the heat. I saw your other daughter go out, and then Kira was on her balcony, I mean your balcony, so I asked her over for a cup of tea. Then the police arrived and I didn’t know what to do. She didn’t have her phone and the only number she knew off by h
eart was her home one, but I didn’t like to call that until I saw you were there, what with the police and everything. I mean, I can see in your front room if the curtains are open.’
He said the last bit rather nervously and Joanie grinned.
‘Thanks, mate. I appreciate it. You did the right thing.’
He went out to the kitchen to make tea and Joanie thanked God for this man who had inadvertently staved off disaster. Social Services would have whipped Kira away if they had seen her alone in the flat. He clearly didn’t know what a big favour he had done her.
Tommy came back in with the tea.
‘Listen, if you’re ever stuck, I’ll come to yours and watch her. She’s a good kid. Very polite and well-spoken. Her manners are impeccable, as my old mum would have said.’
For some strange reason, Joanie took to him.
‘Thanks, mate, I’ll bear that in mind.’
In fact she would never even contemplate it but she wouldn’t say that to him. He had done her a favour tonight and so she could afford to be nice. Plus the tea and the tranquil atmosphere were doing her good.
She felt calmer than she had for a long while. It was his quietness. She guessed he had cultivated his calm, soft-spoken demeanour to compensate for his weight problem. In fact, he sounded like a queen, and not one that ruled any country she knew of.
Reading her mind, he said simply, ‘It’s glandular, but I also overeat so I don’t help meself.’
His open face was so honest she felt a moment’s sorrow for the hulk of a man before her.
‘I get on very well with Kira, you know. You’ve done a wonderful job with her.’
Joanie smiled at the compliment. He was like a big kid himself. A very big kid.
‘Well, I’d better carry her home. Thanks again, Tommy.’
‘You’re welcome, Mrs Brewer.’
‘Call me Joanie, everyone does. By the way, where’s your dad?’
Tommy looked uncomfortable for a split second.
‘He stays out sometimes, I don’t know where. Don’t like to ask.’
He was clearly as green as grass, and Joanie smiled at him. She knew from the neighbours that his father treated this poor man like dirt. She had heard him going off herself at times. Suddenly she felt incredibly sorry for this overgrown boy before her.
‘Pop over for a cuppa tomorrow, if you like?’
He grinned from ear to ear and she could see him swelling with pride.
‘I would love to take you up on your invitation, thank you.’
She smiled again and then picked up her daughter easily. Kira was as light as a feather. She settled into her mother’s body and Joanie could smell cheese and onion crisps mixed with butter. She hugged the child to her, happy now she had her back safe and sound.
Joanie walked home quickly and quietly. The less the neighbours knew the better. People only know what you tell them. Her mother had drummed that into her from a kid and it was true. It had stood Joanie in good stead all her life.
Especially since she’d lived round here.
Jon Jon was in the interview room at the police station.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What serious assault?’
He shook his head once more and settled back in his chair.
‘Come off it! Your best mate is in intensive care, you were seen going into his squat and now you’re trying to tell us you know nothing about it?’
Jon Jon grinned.
‘Catches on quick, your mate, don’t he? I said, I don’t know what you’re talking about and I’m telling the truth. I was with Cherise, one of me birds. So who exactly saw me there?’
The DC was getting annoyed.
‘Never you mind.’
‘If I had been seen there, which would have been a lie, you would have arrested me by now, wouldn’t you? I know my rights, see.’
‘You can also afford the best brief there is. Fuck me, Giros must be worth a fortune these days. Only as far as I know you ain’t got a job, have you?’
Jon Jon’s solicitor Jeffrey Callington raised his hand and said: ‘You don’t have to answer that, Jon Jon. They found nothing at your home, and they have nothing even to put you at the scene. Now, if it’s all right with you gentlemen, I think it’s about time we left. My client came here of his own volition . . .’
The DC blew out his lips noisily as he interrupted.
‘With his solicitor in tow!’
Callington stared at the younger man disdainfully as he said, louder now: ‘Is there a law against that then? Only if so, I have never heard of it. If you aren’t careful we might be taking this further ourselves. This is the seventh occasion on which you have pulled my client in and each time you’ve wasted valuable hours of both his and my time.’
He smiled coldly.
‘I take it we can leave?’
The DC smiled back sarcastically.
‘Be my guest.’
Jon Jon grinned.
‘No, ta, I’d rather go home, but thanks again for the offer.’
Callington was still smiling as they walked from the room.
When the door shut on them the DC said through gritted teeth, ‘He was lying his head off.’
DI Baxter, a veteran of twenty years’ standing, answered him sarcastically, ‘No! You don’t fucking say?’
‘He’s alibied, sir, it checks out. The girl and her parents are willing to make statements.’
The WPC was still green enough to give people the benefit of the doubt. She smiled as she said: ‘Who do you think did attack the victim, sir?’
‘Well, I think it was that lying little bastard who just left, but I suppose Professor Plum in the library with a candlestick is a better bet at this particular moment in time. That is one slippery little fucker but I’ll have him! One of these days I will have him bang to fucking rights. Black bastard he is.’
Baxter rubbed at his tired eyes.
‘I hope the Carty kid dies. Hopefully we’ll kill two birds with one stone then.’
The DC grinned once more, his young face hopeful at last.
‘Be a touch, no doubt about that.’
Joanie tucked Kira in for the tenth time; she had never been so frightened in her life. Jeanette was still subdued after the massive clump she had distributed earlier. If Social Services got her younger daughter she would never see her again, Joanie was aware of that. Unlike the older two, Kira had never been in care, ever. In Joanie’s younger days the courts had imprisoned prostitutes at the drop of a hat, and consequently her elder kids had paid a high price for their mother’s way of earning a living. With so many counts against her already, they wouldn’t hesitate to take Kira into care.
Well, it was never going to happen to her baby. This was one child she would do right by if it killed her.
Going into the front room again, she saw her elder daughter sitting forlornly smoking a cigarette and felt a moment’s sorrow for her.
Jeanette, God love her, was her own worst enemy. Her attitude was always going to be her downfall. Even as a kid she had been a right stroppy little mare. Fight her own fingernails if the fancy took her. But if nothing else good had come of tonight, Joanie knew it had frightened her elder girl and so in that respect it wasn’t a complete disaster.
Jon Jon was quite capable of taking care of himself; she didn’t need to worry about him or Jeanette like she worried about Kira. Where they were naturally streetwise, her youngest wasn’t. She was not backward exactly, but she had what were called learning difficulties. She went to a mainstream school but barely kept up with the other kids. Her naturally sunny personality made up for a lot, Joanie knew that, but Kira could not be left alone. She had no street sense whatsoever and that was what worried her mother so much.
‘How could you leave her like that, Jen?’
Jeanette’s face screwed up into a tight ball as she whined, ‘Oh, Mum, be fair. I hate looking after her all the time. I’m fourteen, I want to be out with me mates.’
�
�You mean, shagging. I hear everything, remember that.’
Jeanette looked so young, underneath the thick makeup, that her mother’s heart went out to her. She had had a fright and it showed.
Joanie stared at her daughter’s profile; she could be really pretty if she didn’t look so much like a candidate for The Trisha Show.
She tried to hug the girl, but was shrugged off.