Taking Liberties (Liberty Chapman)

by Helen Black

  When we finally get to the front, the guard takes the paperwork from Darren. ‘Did no one get in touch?’ he says.

  ‘No.’ Darren shakes his head so hard it might fall off. ‘No, no one got in touch.’

  The guard sighs and scratches his chin. ‘You’d better come this way.’

  Darren gives me a smile that’s supposed to say Nothing to Worry About. I don’t know why he’s bothering cos I’m not especially worried. If the visit’s cancelled I’ll be perfectly happy. I won’t have to see Dad and I’ll have missed double maths.

  The guard leads us down a corridor to a metal door that he holds open for us. To get inside I have to sort of duck under his arm and get a whiff of his BO. He tells us to sit down while he fetches someone ‘more senior’ so I take a chair, but Darren paces up and down. ‘I honestly don’t think there’s any need to worry,’ he says.

  I sigh.

  At last the guard comes back with someone else. As far as I can tell it’s just another guard in the same uniform, only a bit taller and a bit balder. ‘I’m afraid we’ve got some bad news,’ he says.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Darren.

  ‘Mr Greenwood has been involved in an altercation.’

  Darren flaps the paperwork around his face, fanning himself as if he might faint.

  ‘You mean a fight?’ I ask.

  The guard nods.

  ‘Is he all right?’

  The guard looks at Darren, quickly works out that he’s worse than useless and walks over to me. He puts a big hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, love, but he was stabbed.’

  ‘Is he dead?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, love, he is.’

  The Black Cherry was busy when they arrived. A couple of stag parties were in full swing. One group, all in red T-shirts declaring them part of the Pussy Party, ordered pitcher after pitcher of watered-down beer. The girls, sniffing easy money, were circling like vultures.

  Jay caught sight of their arrival and strode towards them. He looked at Frankie with relief that soon turned to anger. God, he reminded Liberty of Dad, the way his emotions could turn on a penny. ‘You’ve got a lot of talking to do,’ he barked at Frankie.

  Mel put a bony hand on Jay’s arm. ‘Not now, Jay. Not here.’

  Jay was still growling, but he allowed himself to be led to the bar.

  ‘What’s everybody having?’ asked Len.

  ‘I’ll sort this, Len,’ said Mel, scooting behind the bar. ‘You go and clear a few tables. That mob over there are spilling more than they’re drinking.’

  Len nodded and made himself scarce, while Mel pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and lined up five shot glasses. She filled each one with dark brown liquid. Liberty didn’t particularly like bourbon, and she never drank it without ice and Coke, but tonight she picked up her glass and downed it in one. The burn in her throat was shocking but not unpleasant. Mel filled the glasses for a second time.

  ‘This is a mess,’ said Jay. ‘How likely is it that Brixton Dave will be looking for come-back?’

  Liberty knocked back the second shot. ‘He’s a nutter, so who knows?’

  ‘Then there’s the copper,’ said Crystal. ‘What’s he going to do?’

  Liberty shrugged. She had no idea how Connolly was going to play this.

  ‘Maybe we can pay him off,’ said Jay.

  ‘He doesn’t seem that type,’ said Liberty.

  Mel poured more Jack Daniel’s. ‘Everyone has a price, love. Though it’s not always money.’

  The stag party in the red T-shirts roared behind them. Liberty turned to see that a man had jumped up on stage and was dancing around with one of the Lithuanian girls, sloshing beer from his glass down her black-and-pink basque.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Mel. ‘If this lot can’t behave we need to turf them out, Jay.’ She came around the bar. ‘Let’s all do what we’ve got to do tonight, get some kip and meet back here first thing.’ She gave Frankie a stare. ‘And that includes you, so don’t even think about taking off to see Daisy the fucking Dog.’

  Crystal grabbed Frankie’s collar. ‘He’s coming home with me.’

  Mel nodded. Then she and Jay stalked away to control the punters.

  Crystal pulled out her phone. ‘Do you want a cab, Lib?’

  Liberty shook her head.

  ‘Well, you can’t drive,’ said Crystal. ‘We’re already in enough shit without you getting nicked for a DUI.’

  ‘I’m not going to drive,’ said Liberty. ‘I just need a bit of fresh air to clear my head.’

  The night was actually hot and humid, the air damp. The street-lights cast a sickly yellow glow. Never mind. Liberty needed to walk. And she needed to be away from Crystal and Frankie. Just for now. It was too far to walk the whole way back to the hotel, so she took the road heading into town. She’d get a cab there.

  As she strolled past a pub, she noticed a couple outside. He was young, handsome. The girl was standing very close to him, almost touching but not quite, blonde hair in a messy bun, one escaped tendril falling down her back to meet the zip of her short red dress. She said something to him, which made him smile and kiss her. Liberty tried not to stare, not that it mattered: they were oblivious to her, totally in the moment.

  At the next T-junction, Liberty crossed into Carter Street. It had always been a dodgy area, the red-light district, and nothing had changed. Working girls were huddled in groups, chatting, lighting fags, keeping a look-out for clients and cops. At this time of night, the shops were all shut, but light spilled out from an all-night café. Liberty smelt hot fat and bacon and, remembering how hungry she was, she went inside. She took an empty table and checked the plastic-backed menu.

  ‘Be with you in a minute, darling,’ called the owner, in a strong Glaswegian accent, as he carried sausage sandwiches over to a couple of skinny rent-boys in the corner.

  ‘No rush,’ Liberty called back. She was just weighing up whether she wanted fried eggs on toast or burger and chips, when a man stumbled in, hot and drunk. ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Chapman,’ Connolly slurred back. He staggered towards her table and wobbled in front of her.

  ‘Everything all right, Sol?’ the owner shouted.

  ‘Never better, Tony.’ Connolly saluted with two fingers. ‘I’ve been punched in the kidney, had a bag put over my head, threatened with a knife and a gun. A pretty good day all told.’

  Tony laughed and shook his head. ‘You’re a funny man for the polis.’

  ‘A compliment indeed,’ said Connolly, taking a bow.

  ‘You’re also pished, I see.’

  ‘That I can’t deny,’ Connolly replied.

  ‘I’ll bring you a strong coffee,’ said Tony.

  Connolly gestured to the chair opposite Liberty and she nodded. He sank into it, pushing his hair from his eyes. Liberty noticed that one eye was slightly more oval than the other and had an old scar running under it, like a perfect smile. When he noticed her looking, he shook his head so that his fringe masked him again.

  ‘Been on a bender, then?’ she asked.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I’m not lecturing,’ she said.

  Tony came over with tea for Liberty and a coffee for Connolly. ‘It’ll help you sober up,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to sober up,’ said Connolly, but he took a sip all the same.

  Liberty ordered fried eggs on toast. ‘And some bacon.’

  ‘Don’t ask me what I’m going to do,’ said Connolly.

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’

  ‘Because I don’t know,’ he said, putting down his coffee with exaggerated care. ‘I need to work it all out.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Process it.’ He put his elbow on the table and tried to rest his chin in his palm but missed. ‘I need to get everything under control.’

  ‘Control’s an illusion,’ Liberty told him. ‘We try to control things to make ourselves feel better. But we’re just in denial.’

 
‘Denial about what?’

  Liberty laughed. ‘About everything. That the world is spinning in spite of what we do. That our understanding of it is tiny. That we’re all just a bunch of needs and wants and urges.’ The food arrived and she cut a huge forkful, cramming it into her mouth.

  ‘You remind me of my ex-wife,’ said Connolly.

  ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ she said, through the food.

  Connolly patted down his pockets, took out a packet of Marlboro, put one in his mouth. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m assuming there’s a reason she’s the ex.’

  Cigarette between his lips, he searched his pockets again, presumably for a light. When he couldn’t find one, he sighed and put the fag behind his ear. ‘She’s the ex because I’m trying not to be a bunch of needs and wants and the other one . . .’

  ‘Urges.’ Liberty picked up a rasher of bacon with her fingers and took a bite. ‘Trouble is,’ said Connolly. ‘I’m fucking rubbish at it.’

  * * *

  Sol woke with a headache and a sore throat. Natasha had already gone out but had left a bottle of water and a packet of paracetamol on his bedside table. He took two before throwing off the duvet and heading into the shower.

  He’d spent hours last night in Scottish Tony’s, drinking coffee with Chapman. They’d talked. A lot. She’d told him what had happened to her parents, her brothers and sister. He’d told her all about his mum and Angie, and a whole lot of other things he never even thought about most of the time, if he could help it.

  Eventually, when he was virtually sober, she’d stood to leave and given him a slow, sad, secret smile. ‘Be kind to yourself, Sol Connolly,’ she said.

  And he’d stood too, facing her across a greasy table piled with chipped cups and ketchup-smeared plates. He’d wanted to kiss her then, full on the mouth. He didn’t think she would have stopped him, but in the end he stopped himself.

  He groaned now and poured a huge dollop of shampoo directly onto his head from the bottle – some peppermint stuff Natasha always bought that felt weirdly cold even in hot running water. Why couldn’t life be straightforward?

  Daisy headed to the Black Cherry in a taxi. It was too early and it wouldn’t even be near open yet, but Jay had summoned her and she was in no position to argue. ‘Hurry up, would you?’ she told the driver, who was watching her through his rear-view mirror. ‘And keep your eyes on the bloody road.’

  There were some drivers who would knock off the fare for a blow-job. And, yeah, she did it sometimes, when she was skint. But today she was in no mood. She was already in a truckload of trouble with the Greenwoods and the last thing she needed was to be late.

  The car park was a mess. Pools of vomit, discarded T-shirts and a blow-up doll tied to a lamppost. Mel was already at the door, face like a dying monkfish. ‘Get in,’ she said. ‘They’re all here.’

  Once inside, all four Greenwoods turned to look at her. Daisy’s hands were already sweating and she wiped them down her top. Crystal glared at her, as if she could cheerfully have killed her on the spot. At least Jay was behind the bar, pouring everyone an orange juice. Though she wouldn’t have put it past him to vault over it and knock her head off. At least Frankie looked as nervous as she felt. As for Liberty, well, it was impossible to tell what she was thinking. ‘It weren’t my idea,’ she blurted out. ‘Sorry,’ she said to Frankie, ‘but you know it weren’t.’

  ‘We know that,’ said Liberty.

  ‘You can’t blame me,’ Daisy said.

  Jay gave a growl in his throat but Liberty spoke again. ‘No one’s blaming you for anything.’

  ‘Then why am I here?’

  ‘We need to work out what we’re going to do now,’ said Liberty. ‘We need to make a plan.’

  Daisy almost laughed. She hadn’t made a plan for over ten years. Each day she got up and made herself feel better the best way she could. Then, when she felt worse, she made herself feel better again. Sometimes it was easy. Sometimes it was harder. She just reacted to what came along.

  ‘We think maybe you and Frankie should go away for a bit,’ said Liberty.

  Daisy’s scalp began to itch and she raked it with her nails. The Greenwoods wanted her gone. But where would she go? She didn’t have anywhere else to go. She didn’t know anyone, except a few junkies and working girls living in a two-mile radius.

  ‘We were thinking that rehab might be a good idea,’ said Liberty.

  The soundtrack of Daisy’s life came to a scratching halt as someone lifted the needle.

  ‘We’d pay,’ said Liberty. ‘Obviously.’

  Daisy glanced at Jay, who was still scowling. This was definitely not his idea and she doubted it was Crystal’s either.

  Frankie lifted his head to look at her. He seemed tired this morning, his hair a bit dirty, crusts of yellow sleep in the corners of his eyes. ‘We both know we need to,’ he said.

  Daisy blew air through her mouth. Rehab? Obviously, she’d thought about it. Usually when she was up in court and needed to tell the magistrate something. It was easy to think about it when you knew there was no chance in hell of getting funding. ‘How long?’ she asked.

  ‘Seventy days,’ Liberty replied.

  Seventy days! Christ, she hadn’t been without class-A drugs for seventy hours since she was seventeen. Even in jail she’d always managed to make sure she packed enough in her arse to last her until she got bail. ‘Can I think about it?’ she asked.

  Mel looked at her watch, a big gold face with a leopard-print strap. ‘You’ve got about ten seconds, sweetheart, then the offer’s off the table. So I suggest you go back to that shithole you call home, pack your tut and get your arse back here in an hour. Otherwise, you’re on your own.’

  Liberty watched Daisy leave. ‘Do you think she’ll come back?’

  ‘Who knows?’ said Mel.

  ‘Who cares?’ said Jay.

  ‘I do,’ Liberty replied.

  ‘And I do,’ said Frankie.

  Jay rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a bit late to be coming over all caring and sharing now.’ He pointed at Frankie. ‘You got her into a heap of shit and now we’re having to pay to get her out.’

  ‘I said I’d pay,’ Liberty muttered. It had been her idea to send Daisy and Frankie to rehab. They needed to be out of the way in case there was any come-back from Brixton Dave. Rehab seemed to kill two birds with one stone and she’d offered to foot the bill numerous times.

  ‘This is a family problem, so the family is paying,’ said Crystal. ‘End of story. To be honest, we’ve got bigger fish to fry here.’

  Jay nodded from behind the bar. ‘The copper. What’s his name again?’

  ‘Sol Connolly,’ Mel replied, tapping acrylic nails against the granite worktop.

  ‘And we don’t have anything on him?’ Jay asked.

  ‘Not a thing,’ said Mel.

  ‘I say we make him an offer he can’t refuse,’ said Crystal. ‘Put him on the books.’

  Liberty shook her head. Sol was not someone who could be bought. She’d known that from the start and last night had only confirmed it. If they offered him cash for his silence, he’d be furious. ‘I think that’s a bad idea,’ she said.

  ‘You would,’ Crystal snapped.

  ‘We don’t even know if he intends to do anything yet,’ said Liberty. ‘I mean, he didn’t actually speak to Rebecca, did he? And he didn’t pursue me for harassing Daisy either. So what makes us think he’ll do anything about what happened in Brixton?’

  Crystal snorted and Mel leaned over and tapped Liberty on the arm. ‘You’re worth a bob on, love,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Jay sighed. ‘We’re the Greenwoods, Lib. The police will use any leverage they have. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day, trust me, this will come home to roost.’

  ‘But how?’ Liberty asked. ‘We didn’t actually do anything wrong. We were the victims here.’

  Jay put up his left hand and touched the thumb with his
right index finger. ‘First, I got Daisy to retract her statement for you.’

  ‘I didn’t ask you to do that.’

  He waved that away and went back to his list, touching index finger with index finger. ‘Second, I lied to police about visiting Kyla.’

  ‘And I might have lied about her working here,’ Mel added.

  Jay tapped the middle finger of his left hand. ‘Third, there’s the small matter of you giving a false alibi.’

  ‘And us paying off your speeding ticket,’ said Crystal. ‘And all that’s before Bonnie and Clyde here went down to London with guns.’

  Liberty deflated. ‘So what do we do?

  Jay took a sip from his glass of orange juice, winced and opened an ice bucket. Inside there was just a pool of water. ‘Let’s get him down here and ask him. See what he’s after.’

  Chapter 25

  October 1986

  I was right about Darren. He’s put in for a transfer to another team. I’ll be allocated a new social worker soon, but in the meantime someone temporary comes with me. Rachel Something. I like the way she’s done her eye-liner, all flicky, like Cleopatra.

  We pull up outside the mortuary.

  Rachel stabs at the bell.

  At last a bloke comes and opens the door. He’s wearing them white and green overalls you see on the telly. He’s even got a pair of thin plastic gloves on his hands. Not the yellow ones for washing-up. ‘Can I help you?’ he asks.

  ‘We have an appointment,’ says Rachel. ‘To see a Mr James Greenwood.’

  The man looks puzzled. ‘No one by that name works here.’

  ‘Mr Greenwood isn’t an employee,’ says Rachel, with a smile. ‘He’s dead.’

  The man’s eyes open wide as if the thought of someone being dead is shocking. Which is a bit weird, considering where he works.

  ‘We’ve come to view the body,’ says Rachel.

  ‘Right.’ The man seems flustered. ‘Unfortunately no one told me you were coming.’