Taking Liberties (Liberty Chapman)

by Helen Black

  Raj sighed and dropped his éclair back into its paper bag. ‘According to you, the whole world looks at you funny. It’s a wonder there aren’t more car crashes and people falling down man holes, what with everyone not being able to take their eyes off you.’

  ‘Now you’re taking the piss,’ said the girl.

  ‘Maybe we should both piss off and be on our way?’ he replied.

  The girl grunted. ‘It’s a good thing you’re such a top brief, Raj, or I’d have to kick your head in.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, tell it to the bloody judge.’

  The girl gave an exaggerated eye roll and sloped away, her friend bringing up the rear.

  ‘Her temper’s going to bring some trouble,’ said Liberty.

  ‘That particular ship has already sailed and sunk,’ Raj replied. ‘She’s got a trial coming up for glassing some bloke in Pizza Hut. She’ll go down this time, I reckon. He’s a nasty piece of work himself, but that won’t help her.’

  Liberty felt a twist in her guts and nudged the abandoned sausage roll with the toe of her shoe.

  ‘So what are you doing here, Miss Chapman?’ Raj flashed a grin. ‘I thought you’d have legged it back to the big smoke at the first opportunity.’

  Liberty smiled back. ‘I had to question a witness this morning and now I’m starving.’

  ‘Well, you could take your chances with a steak and onion slice, but I guarantee it will have been there since yesterday afternoon,’ he said, and Liberty wrinkled her nose. ‘Or I can offer you some of Mrs Singh’s finest Ruby Murray.’

  Liberty must have looked nonplussed because Raj took her by the elbow and spun her round so that she was facing the road. On the other side, next door to Vicky’s Star Nails, was a solicitor’s office. The windows were frosted and only the words Singh & Co were painted across them in gold lettering.

  ‘Mi casa, su casa,’ said Raj.

  If the outside was a study in sparse, the inside was a cornucopia of clutter and chaos. The reception area was strewn with papers, files and empty Diet Coke cans. The bin was overflowing, a black banana skin hugging its base. ‘Excuse the mess,’ said Raj, cheerfully. ‘The and-Co has called in sick today.’

  They moved along a corridor, which housed more piles of paperwork, towards a small kitchen, the sink full of cups. Raj reached into the fridge and pulled out a Tupperware box, whipped off the lid and flashed the contents at Liberty. ‘The missus packs me up last night’s leftovers for lunch. Somehow they taste even better the next day.’ He winked. ‘Not that I mention that to her, of course. Want some?’

  The contents of the box looked and smelt delicious. Liberty’s stomach growled audibly.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ said Raj, and flapped his hand back down the corridor. ‘Second on the right is my office. Make yourself at home and I’ll heat this up for you.’

  Raj’s office was worse than the reception area. There was barely a clear square centimetre on the floor or the desk. Liberty picked her way to a chair, moved the books piled on it and sat down. Her elbow brushed a potted plant that was slowly withering.

  ‘Here you go.’ Raj arrived with a steaming bowl, tiptoed through the obstacle course and plonked it in front of her. ‘Bon appétit.’ He reached into his suit-jacket pocket and pulled out a spoon.

  All thoughts about poor hygiene disappeared as the aromas drifted up to Liberty and she dug in. The spices had a rave on her tongue. ‘This is so good,’ she said.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Raj, and jiggled his spare tyre. He sat in his own chair opposite and shook off his jacket. ‘So, you went to see a witness, eh?’

  ‘It was a bit of an eye-opener, really,’ Liberty replied. ‘She retracted her statement, said she’d made it under the influence.’

  ‘Any other evidence?’

  ‘Nothing much. Medical report, but that just proves the what, not the who,’ said Liberty.

  ‘Your boy say anything in interview?’ Raj asked.

  Liberty shook her head. ‘No comment all the way.’

  ‘Then you’re home free.’

  She smiled and scraped out the last of the food from the bowl. Soon she would be home. Soon she would be free.

  Raj produced a paper bag and placed it between them. ‘Éclair? I bought two, so you’d be doing me a favour.’

  Why not? Today was working out very nicely indeed.

  ‘Of course you’ll need to hassle the CPS to get the case withdrawn.’ Raj bit into his éclair, cream squirting through the edges. ‘They can take bloody ages if you don’t make a nuisance of yourself, which wouldn’t be a big deal in the usual scheme of things, but seeing as how your boy’s in the Mansion . . .’

  Liberty felt the choux pastry melt on her tongue. Letting Rance stew in prison for a few more days seemed like a reasonable option.

  ‘You might not like him,’ said Raj, ‘but he’ll be shouting ten kinds of negligence if you don’t get him out of there pronto.’

  Rance was just the sort of little toerag to make a complaint, wasn’t he? And his father had the money to see it through.

  ‘My advice would be to put a rocket up the arse of the CPS.’ Raj crammed the last of his éclair into his mouth so his already plump cheeks bulged. ‘And in the meantime make an application for bail.’ He rummaged under a pile of crime-scene photographs and pulled out a telephone. ‘If you do it now, you might get listed first thing tomorrow.’

  Tomorrow? Christ, that would mean she’d have to stay another night. Her heart sank. But what choice did she have? She reached for the phone, the receiver sticky from Raj’s fingers.

  Chapter 5

  August 1985

  ‘Ow.’ Crystal screams. ‘That hurts.’

  ‘It wouldn’t if you’d just sit chuffing still,’ I tell her. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes trying to brush her hair into something that doesn’t look like a wasps’ nest. If she wriggles away from me one more time, I swear I’ll bat her with the hairbrush.

  ‘Shut up, the pair of you,’ Mam shouts down the stairs. ‘My nerves are already shattered.’ She’s tried on at least ten different outfits, wondering which one gives the best impression. She thinks her jeans are too casual, like she doesn’t give a shit, but all her skirts are too short.

  We managed to put off social services for a few weeks, telling them the kids were sick one after the other, but then we got a letter telling Mam that if she didn’t keep the next appointment, the social worker would turn up unannounced. So here we are, buzzing around like blue-arsed flies getting the house cleaned up and making the kids presentable.

  Dad comes into the kitchen, scowling. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’ He’s been saying that ever since Mam told him they were coming. ‘These people want to keep their fucking noses out of other people’s business.’

  I look up at him and try to smile. ‘Once they’ve seen we’re all right, I bet they’ll just leave us alone,’ I say.

  ‘But why do they need to see we’re all right?’ Dad looms over me. ‘That’s what I want to know. Who’s been telling fucking tales?’

  Mam hops in, trying to put her other court shoe on. White. To go with her white dropped-waist dress. A bit over the top, to be honest, especially with a pair of earrings the size of chandeliers. ‘Come on, Jimmy, nobody here’s said a word.’

  Dad’s eyes flash. ‘They’d better not have done.’

  Mam takes over with Crystal’s hair, pulling the sides back and pinning them with glittery purple clips. She shows Crystal her reflection in the mirror. ‘What a bobby dazzler.’ Crystal grins back at herself. ‘It was probably the old cow next door,’ Mam says.

  I know she’s just trying to put Dad off the scent, but it’s a bit unfair on Mrs Cooper, who’s helped us out with teabags and ciggies many a time. Sometimes she asks me or Frankie to go to the shops for her and she always tells us to buy ourselves a bag of crisps for going.

  ‘Well, she’d better stay out of my way if she knows what’s good for her,’ says Dad. />
  Mam rubs his arm. ‘Come on, now, let’s have a quick coffee and a fag before the social worker gets here. Put the kettle on, Lib.’

  I do as I’m told.

  ‘And let’s give Frankie his bottle of pop now,’ she says. ‘I don’t want anyone wagging their finger about that.’

  I make up the bottle, call for Frankie and Jay arrives, carrying him. Mam’s done both their hair in side partings and wet it down. They look like them evacuees we’ve seen pictures of in history class.

  ‘I’m going to ask this social worker who’s grassed us up,’ says Dad. ‘They don’t just start something like this off their own bat, do they?’

  Mam and I shoot each other a look.

  ‘It’s probably just standard procedure,’ I say. ‘When somebody gets out of jail.’

  Dad narrows his eyes, mulling that one over.

  ‘I bet she’s right, Jim,’ says Mam. ‘I bet they have records of people when they’re released. Paperwork and that.’

  Dad lets out a snort but doesn’t say anything else. It seems a fair enough scenario. Doesn’t it?

  I make a coffee for Mam and Dad and hand them the mugs. Dad blows over his rim, silently. When all this is over and the social worker is off on her way, Mam can get her abortion and we can go back to normal. There’s even been talk of Dad being offered a job as a bouncer in one of the pubs up in town.

  ‘I think I know why the social worker is coming today,’ Crystal pipes up.

  We all look at her. What the hell is she going on about?

  ‘Hush now, Crystal,’ Mam tells her.

  ‘Let her speak,’ Dad snaps.

  Crystal’s cheeks go pink and she drops her head.

  ‘Come on lass.’ Dad moves towards her. ‘Spit it out.’

  I step between them. ‘Leave her, Dad. She’s being daft.’

  ‘Daft? I’ll give her fucking daft.’

  He tries to dodge round me, but I’m too quick and block his way. Behind me Crystal starts to cry.

  ‘Not now, Dad,’ I say. ‘The social worker will be here any minute.’

  He jabs a finger in Crystal’s direction. ‘Well, maybe that little bastard should have thought about that before she started creating.’

  I shake my head at him. I mean, it’s one thing to be mad at Crystal, and I do get mad at her a lot, because she’s a law unto herself, like the frigging Queen of Sheba, basking in the admiring glances of all and sundry. But she’s only five and, well, she’s not actually the reason we’re in this mess, is she?

  ‘What?’ Dad’s right up in my face now. ‘What?’

  What? Is he really me asking me that? Does he not see for one second that the social worker is coming round because he put Mam in hospital?

  ‘Nothing,’ I say.

  ‘Good.’ He’s so close to me that his spit flicks all over my face and I have to close my eyes. ‘Because I’m not in the fucking mood for this.’

  He pushes me. Hard. I fall to the side, clattering to the floor, banging my head on the radiator. Crystal screams. Mam jumps between her and Dad. ‘For God’s sake, Jimmy,’ she shouts. ‘Stop it.’

  Dad goes wide-eyed. ‘Me?’ He points at himself with his thumb. ‘You’re blaming me?’

  ‘I’m not blaming anyone.’ Mam’s gabbling now, tears pouring down her face, bringing electric blue mascara with them. She looks like Frankie’s coloured her in with a felt tip. ‘We’re all on edge and no fucking wonder. So let’s calm down.’

  Dad lowers his voice. ‘I’m perfectly calm.’

  ‘Good.’ Mam smiles and swipes at the makeup melting down her face. ‘We can always rely on you in a crisis.’ She holds out her hand to me and pulls me to my feet. ‘Why don’t you take Crystal upstairs and clean her up? Will you do that, Lib?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply.

  ‘Good girl,’ she says. ‘And I’ll make your dad a fresh coffee.’ She moves to Dad’s still full mug, left on the side. ‘That one must be cold by now, Jim.’

  Dad nods.

  Mam reaches for the mug, empties it into the sink and flicks on the kettle.

  ‘Paula,’ says Dad, his voice soft.

  Mam turns to him, jar of Nescafé in one hand, teaspoon in the other. ‘Yes, love?’

  They look at one another for a second, then Dad pulls back his right arm and punches her in the stomach. There’s a horrible smacking sound and then a whoosh of air comes out of Mam’s mouth and she doubles over, clutching her belly.

  Dad watches her, flexing his knuckles. Mam lets out a low groan from somewhere deep inside her. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ says Dad. ‘Don’t overreact.’

  Mam is still bent at the waist, her hands clawing at her middle, gasping for air.

  ‘Seriously, Paula, don’t piss me off any more than you already have.’ Dad grabs Mam’s chin and forces her upright. ‘I barely touched you, woman.’

  Mam’s eyes are squeezed shut and her face has turned grey. Her lips are pulled tight over her lips. And she’s making this awful noise. I wish she’d stop because it’s just making Dad even madder, and if she’s not careful he’s going to kick ten bells of shit out of her.

  ‘Mam,’ I warn.

  But it’s like she can’t hear me, like she’s locked into herself.

  ‘Mam!’ I’m shouting now.

  Then I see it. A river of blood pouring down Mam’s leg, pooling in her best white court shoes.

  The morning was hot and airless. The sort of weather that put everyone in a bad mood. Not that the people queuing outside the magistrates’ court needed anything to put them in a bad mood. Their feelings were almost palpable, a constant grey bleakness that occasionally bubbled up into purple fury.

  Liberty took her place in the line and pressed a hand to her cheek.

  ‘Nice day for it.’ Raj nudged her with his hip, arms brimming with files.

  Liberty shook her head. ‘How are you always so cheerful?’

  ‘I grew up hearing stories about Partition.’ They inched forward to the entrance. ‘My grandparents lost everything. House, jobs, savings, the lot. When my dad was twenty-two he came to England with only sixteen quid in his pocket.’

  ‘That must have been tough,’ she said.

  Raj nodded. ‘He got a job in a biscuit factory. Quality control on the custard-cream line, not that he knew what a custard cream was until he got there.’ He laughed. ‘Worked his way up to Garibaldis.’ Liberty slapped his arm and he laughed some more. ‘I sometimes think that people are a lot happier in life if they haven’t been handed everything on a plate,’ he said.

  She was about to tell him she’d been handed nothing. That her own plate had been completely empty and chipped into the bargain, when an argument broke out between the woman in front of them and the security guard operating a metal detector.

  ‘I’m telling you now, you’re not getting in with that.’ The guard was over six foot and easily sixteen stone, with what looked like pure muscle straining the polyester of his uniform. ‘Not a chance.’

  His size didn’t deter the woman in front, her eyes black slits in a jaundiced face, most of her teeth missing, and she took a step towards him. He didn’t budge and rapped his left palm with his metal detector in rhythmic determination.

  Liberty craned her neck to look into the tray to see what the fuss was about. There, beside a mobile phone with a smashed screen and a pile of coins, was a syringe.

  ‘I’m registered disabled,’ the woman snarled.

  ‘You and every other junkie this side of Leeds,’ the guard replied.

  ‘If I was registered blind, would you say I couldn’t bring a stick with me?’ the woman demanded. ‘Or a dog?’ She pointed a finger at him, the nail bitten and black. ‘No, you wouldn’t do that, would you? Too scared of being done for discrimination.’

  The guard looked like he might speak, but instead he let out a huge yawn.

  ‘I know my rights,’ said the woman. ‘It’s against the law, this is.’

  The guard sniffed. ‘Well, there’s
plenty of police around, if you think I’m breaking the law. Why don’t we call an officer? And, while we’re at it, maybe get them to give you a body search. See what you’ve got hidden away in your nooks and crannies.’

  ‘Bastard.’ The woman spat and snatched up her syringe. ‘Complete fucking bastard.’

  ‘Who told you my middle name?’

  The woman scuttled away. ‘You’ll get yours,’ she shouted, over her shoulder. ‘I’ll make sure of that.’

  ‘I’m quaking in my boots, love,’ the guard replied.

  He was still chuckling as Liberty held out her arms and he waved the detector across her body, like a wand.

  Once inside, she waited for Raj, fingering the bottom of a poster explaining that there was a weapon moratorium in operation and anyone minded to divest themselves of gun or a knife could do so in complete secrecy at the local nick. How the hell could he stand this place?

  At last Raj waddled through, toothy grin intact. ‘So have you ever been in a court like this?’ he asked.

  An image flashed though Liberty’s mind. A waiting room with hard plastic seats and a witness liaison officer with a hard plastic smile. ‘Do you think the case against my client will have been dropped?’ she asked.

  Raj began climbing a flight of stairs. ‘Only one way to find out.’

  At the top of the stairs was the CPS room, door flung open, the smell of strong perfume, possibly Angel, and the sound of expletives pouring out. Liberty knocked on the door and stepped inside, a smile plastered across her face. ‘Hello, I’m Liberty Chapman, here for Mr Stephen Rance . . .’

  Her words trailed away at the sight of a very large woman with a white-blonde bob standing at the far end of the room in a suit jacket and blouse but no skirt or trousers. The skin of her thighs was pink and dimpled and she was bellowing into her mobile phone. ‘Listen, sunshine, I don’t care how pissing busy you are. I’ve split my kecks and I need you down here with a fresh pair pronto.’ She waved Liberty to approach. ‘Go in my locker and bring whatever’s in there. Understand?’ She hung up and turned to Liberty. ‘A shrinking violet I am not, but even I draw the line at facing the magistrate in my knickers.’