Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  She wasn’t scoffing as she headed towards the teller, a blonde woman.

  ‘Just one moment,’ the woman said, her head down.

  Tiffany gazed at her in horror. She knew that voice. Oh shit! One of the reasons she’d come down Whitechapel way and not done her business in Mile End was so she wouldn’t see anyone she knew here. The shame of people seeing her with her hand out begging for money. And of all people . . .

  Tiff did an about turn, but she was too late. ‘Tiffany? Tiff?’

  She cursed under her breath, and turned back. She stared into Stacey’s Ingram’s gorgeous face. The Ingrams and Millers had bad blood between them but that hadn’t stopped the girls becoming secret, best mates in school. Of course the shit hit the fan when they were found out. Babs had given Tiff a stiff talking to, but things hadn’t gone so well for Stacey. Just thinking back to that awful time made Tiff’s head and heart hurt. Stacey still resembled a small doll, with her fine white-blonde hair. Back in the day she’d been delicate too, but the horrors she’d been through had knocked that out of her. She didn’t look hardened, but there was something in those pretty eyes of hers that said she’d seen too much of life. Way too much.

  Tiffany stepped back to the counter. ‘Alright Stace. Didn’t know you’d become a head and shoulders in a loan joint.’

  Stacey self-consciously tugged down the end of her long sleeves where Tiff knew the old tracks of her past drug habit were hidden. ‘I got myself sorted out. Mum getting attacked three years ago really shook me up. I knew if I didn’t sort my sh—’ Realising she was on the job, she cut the word off. ‘I got myself into rehab or I would have ended up six feet under.’ Her face covered over with pain. ‘Then Mum had a stroke . . .’

  Tiff had heard that Mel Ingram had never really recovered from the beating someone had doled out to her. There was no love lost between her and the woman she saw as a witch starting with a ‘b’, but she didn’t like to see Stacey looking cut up like this. Even though they hadn’t been tight since school days the other woman still had a hold over her. The plain truth was that Tiff had been bang in love with her best friend and hadn’t even figured it out until it was too late. When they’d drifted apart she’d been heartbroken.

  ‘I heard that you’re doing alright for yourself,’ Stacey said, perking up. ‘Got a nice gaff near Canary Wharf. I’m right glad for ya. You’ve come a long way since we used to knock around in the cemetery.’

  Tiff’s face heated up. Her former best friend wouldn’t be so proud if she knew the wheeling and dealing Tiff had done to get it all. And then gone and fucking blown it. Her embarrassment deepened when she realised that the person she was going to have to beg for a handout thought she was living the good life. Shit. She couldn’t do this.

  ‘Well, nice seeing you ’n all.’ Then she was on that exit like she’d robbed the place blind.

  She hadn’t taken three steps into the street when she felt a small hand grip her arm. With a huff she turned, but closed her mouth when she saw that Stacey had a pack of ciggy’s in the other hand.

  She let go. ‘It’s nearly my break time.’ She held the pack of Silk Cut out to her. Tiff’s gaze roamed fretfully over her. Bloody hell, she was still so achingly beautiful.

  ‘Why not.’ She pulled a fag out and followed her former bestie around the side of the building. Soon they were puffing away in an awkward silence. Stacey broke it by asking, ‘You settled down then . . .?’

  Tiff spluttered as the smoke caught in her throat. ‘You know me. I’m Tiff from the cemetery. Not likely, is it?’

  ‘Why not? You always talked about wanting to build your nest.’

  Tiff wasn’t one of these people who were still stuffed in the closet. Fuck what anyone else thought about her; she was what she was. Anyone who wanted to make noise about it could dick off. But there was something awkward about meeting your one-time bestie from school and having to say point blank that she liked girls. They’d probably think you were coming on to them. Mind you, in Stacey’s case . . . Stop that!

  ‘I’m one of them lesbians, ain’t I.’

  Stacey rolled her eyes. ‘I know that. I’ve got ears you know and heard the whispers on The Devil. Plus you tried to snog me in the playground that time.’

  The tips of Tiff’s ears went red. ‘I did not . . . That was only to shake things up coz the kids in the playground were so effing boring.’

  They shared a smile. Stacey said, ‘But being . . . what you are . . . that don’t mean you can’t have someone special at home.’

  ‘I like being a one-woman show.’ Tiff was almost too frightened to ask the question, but she pushed her courage forward. ‘You got anyone?’

  Stacey went so pale, Tiff thought she was going to faint. ‘I went with so many fellas to keep my habit alive . . .’ Her shoulders shook with the shiver that went through her. ‘Truth is, I don’t really like no one touching me, you know.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘One day, maybe I’ll meet someone, but for now, I’m happy to work and look after my mum and my cousin Dexter.’

  Tiff was so appalled she was speechless. Of course she’d heard how Stacey was selling herself to anyone with a cock and a wallet, but hearing it from her mouth made her feel sick to her stomach. How could any man take a woman in the state Stacey had been in? They needed putting down, that’s what.

  ‘Sorry—’

  But Stacey cut her off. ‘Don’t say it. It happened. I’m over it. Have moved on. So what did you want? Can’t believe you need a loan?’

  ‘Nah, nothing like that,’ she shot out. ‘My sister Jen, she’s a bit hard up and wanted me to find out what she needed to do to get a loan on the side. She couldn’t face coming down here herself. Pride and that.’

  ‘She got any C.C.Js?’ Seeing the confusion on Tiff’s face she added, ‘county court judgements. Or owe any companies money?’

  ‘Yeah. Quite a few.’

  Stacey shook her head. ‘We won’t be able to help her then. She’ll be on our creditors’ blacklist.’ She shrugged. ‘My hands are tied.’

  Tiff dropped her fag and mashed it under her Nikes to conceal her face. What an all-time idiot you are! She should’ve figured out she’d be on some ‘don’t touch ’em with a barge pole’ lists with the number of firms on her case. Just as well she hadn’t asked Stacey; not only would she’d have ended up looking like a proper prat, she’d have done it in front of the first love of her life.

  ‘I’d better be off then.’

  Stacey took an urgent step towards her. ‘I can still get Jen some leaflets—’

  ‘Don’t worry yourself. I’ll be seeing ya.’

  Tiff quickly strode away before Stacey could answer. Although it had been good to see Stacey had rejoined the human race, it had hurt as well. But what was going to hurt even more was if she didn’t get the money for those pair of pricks. She’d be royally fucked. There was nothing else for it. She was going to have to tighten the thumb screws on her mum about getting those houses sold pronto.

  Nineteen

  ‘Mum?’

  Jen didn’t hear Courtney because she was so engrossed in watching Celebrity Big Brother from the night before. That Pete Burns had a right gob on him. Jen was standing at the ironing board. She took in other people’s ironing at twenty-five quid a bag to help make ends meet. She’d been slogging through this mountain of clothes for what felt like eons and her arms were fit to drop off. Her darling eleven-year-old, whose given name was Sasha, but who everyone called Little Bea because she’d been her Nanna Babs’ shadow, had her head stuck in a book. She was so proud that her baby enjoyed a good read. Although what she would’ve said if she’d known Little Bea had another book hidden behind it – one about serial killers of the twentieth century – was another story!

  ‘Mum? Mum? You hear me?’

  Finally Jen flicked her gaze away to find Courtney hovering in the doorway. ‘Thought you were doing your homework. Maths ain’t it?’

  After they’d left Tiff’s the other day
and got home Jen had laid into her about the evils of booze. Courtney had politely said, ‘Yes Mum’ to all her warnings, but Jen wasn’t sure she believed her. But what could she do? What could any single mum do? She’d told her under no circumstances was she to contact that ungrateful mare Aunty Tiff. Aunty my arse; if she had her way she’d scratch the Aunty part for eternity.

  ‘Sorted ages ago,’ Courtney answered, wearing a sweet expression that reminded Jen of the lovely girl she’d once been. ‘Do you want me to help you?’ Without waiting for an answer she got into eager beaver mode, picking up a pillowcase and folding it.

  Jen threw her an arch look. What was her girl up to? She never helped with the ironing. In fact, truth be known, Courtney’s mouth often turned down with disgust as she watched Jen work her fingers to the bone, her gaze on the iron as though it were some kind of reptile. Jen was humiliated that her kid witnessed her being a skivvy, but what could she do? They needed the extra money.

  ‘Don’t bother asking me if you can go running around with your mates outside. You know that’s a no-no on school nights.’

  Courtney’s bottom lip pushed out into a sulky pout, which she abruptly sucked back in as if remembering she was trying to get into her mum’s good graces. She became all wide-eyed and innocent again. ‘Kelly’s having a birthday party at her gaff at the weekend.’

  ‘Which one’s Kelly then?’ She couldn’t keep track of Courtney’s friends. Girls these days: one minute they were all lovey-dovey, linking arms, the next fighting like cats and cats, and then kissy-kissy chums again.

  Courtney’s hands smoothed over the pillowcase. ‘You know.’ She peered shyly through her eyelashes. ‘You met her and her mum at prize-giving up the school last year.’

  Jen screwed up her face. ‘Not the one with Death Wish tattooed on her arm?’

  ‘I don’t have any mates with—’

  Realising her mum was pulling her leg Courtney pursed her lips. They stared at each other and suddenly broke into soft laughter. Something inside Jen’s chest squeezed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her little girl laugh. Courtney had always been so filled with laughter, unlike Little Bea who was more intense and serious. Jen would kill to have that child back again.

  ‘The thing is,’ Courtney resumed, ‘it’s a cocktail party—’

  ‘A cocktail party? That sounds like an adult’s bash, the type where there’s plenty of alcohol.’ As if sensing the tension, Little Bea looked up from her book, peered at them, then dismissed it all as she was pulled back to what she was reading.

  Jen pulled out a shirt from the bag and laid it flat on the ironing board. ‘Let me guess, you need a cocktail dress.’

  Her daughter’s face began to glow. ‘I saw this killer dress down The Roman. Oh you should’ve seen it Mum. Dark blue, all shiny, backless with straps around the neck. Just like the one Rihanna wore in that video.’

  Jen couldn’t help smiling wistfully as she recalled the times she and Bex would go up West as teens and window shop on Bond Street. She’d wanted to be a fashion designer back then. Well look at you now, ironing other people’s clothes.

  ‘Rihanna’s a woman and you’re thirteen,’ Jen snapped, the pain of her lost dreams almost suffocating her. She could’ve kicked herself when she saw the hurt look on Courtney’s face. It wasn’t her daughter’s fault she’d given up her dreams for a man who turned out to have the morals of a back alley dog.

  Courtney chucked the pillowcase down furiously. ‘Mum, why do you have to be such a B.I.T.C.H?’

  They had Little Bea’s full attention now. Jen reared back. She was not putting up with that. Not in her own home. She raised her hand. ‘You’re big enough to talk to your mum like that, you’re big enough to get this across your face.’

  Her hand shook. What was she doing? She’d never raised her hand to either of her girls in her life. Bex’s advice had been to clout her one and remind her who the mum in the family was. ‘Spare the rod and spoil the child,’ was how she’d put it. Like Bex took her own advice, Jen scoffed; that boy of hers always running rings round her. More like, ‘Do as I say not as I do.’ Belt her daughter? Nah, that wasn’t her way. She’d never, ever, in a million years lay a hand on her kids. How could she after what their father had put her through? Her hand dropped to her side.

  Courtney looked at the clothing scornfully. ‘That’s all you do Mum, is work, work, work. And you never have any fucking money—’

  Jen moved towards her daughter. ‘I’ve warned you and you better heed my words coz there’s only one winner in this house. Me.’

  Courtney’s chest rose as she fought with her raging emotions, tears sprinkled in her eyes. ‘You know what Mum? I. Hate. You. Really, really hate you. I wish you were banged up, not Nanna Babs.’ She stormed from the room and slammed into her bedroom.

  Jen couldn’t have moved if she tried. She was frozen on the spot with shock. They’d had their rough patches but never had her girl said something as spiteful as wishing her gone. That she hated her. And the twisted expression on Courtney’s face as she’d chucked the words at her . . . She hated to say it but Tiffany was right; there was something seriously up with Courtney. And if Jen was truthful her baby hadn’t been right since her mum was sent to prison. Things had gone downhill when she told Courtney that Nanna Babs didn’t want her to visit her. The poor girl had cried herself to sleep for a whole week. And the nightmares after that. Jen shivered, remembering Courtney’s piercing screams.

  Jen slumped down on a pile of clothes feeling defeated. Oh God, she was losing her little girl and there was sod all she could do about it. Then she remembered, maybe there was something she could do about it . . .

  She knew it was late but she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if she didn’t make this call. On the table in the compact kitchen she rummaged in her bag for the piece of paper the female cop had written the counsellor’s details on. She looked at the name – Sally Foxton. She hesitated and then took that great leap forward.

  She was surprised that the phone line connected instead of going to voicemail.

  ‘Sally here,’ a cheerful, very London voice answered.

  Jen coughed nervously. ‘I would like to . . .’ she fumbled around for the right words, ‘to enquire about your counselling services for young kids.’ She added, ‘Sorry about calling so late.’

  ‘No problem. First of all why don’t you tell me who you are?’

  ‘Oh yeah, of course. I’m Jennifer Miller and I’m looking for some help with my girl.’

  ‘I’d be more than willing to do an initial consultation. My fees are eighty pounds an hour.’

  Jen’s heart sank. This woman was talking about serious dough, the type she didn’t have. Feeling embarrassed she said, ‘I’ll call you back,’ and cut the call. Where the heck was she going to get cash like that? Whoever said that money didn’t matter had got that so very wrong.

  Feeling defeated she shoved the paper back in her bag. A small business card caught her eye. She pulled it out and read Naz’s details, the glamorous woman she’d met down The Knackered Swan with Bex.

  She heard her silky tones: ‘You’re the type of woman wealthy, older guys would pay top dollar to meet.’

  Jen didn’t want to do this but she had to help her daughter. She picked up her mobile and punched in Naz’s number.

  Twenty

  ‘Babsie girl, my boys don’t want to know me, nor do my daughters. Won’t even let me see my grandbabies. What am I going to do when I get out of here next week?’ Pearl Hennessy asked Babs on Monday then sniffed, the audible sound of snot making Babs wrinkle her nose.

  Pearl was the old lag from the cell next door. She gave the impression of being a tiny, harmless, Jamaican lady in her sixties but she was a proper nuisance, her constant bitching and whining ensuring she had few friends in HMP Hilton. Babs would’ve joined their number, but she felt sorry for the old girl. Pearl always looked so lonely and stooped that Babs hadn’t the heart to turn her away
the first time she’d come looking for company. But she suspected there was much more to this woman than met the eye. And she was well made up that Pearl was being released soon.

  Pearl leaned forward expectantly. ‘I can get rid of any unwelcome visitors in here so you sleep better at night.’ Her usually cloudy eyes cleared. She must’ve heard Babs tossing and turning because she had to ration the meagre number of Benzos the prison quack prescribed her. When Pearl got her teeth into a subject she was all exaggerated arm and hand movements that were very elegant and slow like she was trying to draw her listener in. ‘You should’ve seen me in my day. They used to call me Madam Pearl. I’d be decked out in this lovely shawl my Great Aunt Agnes left me – she had the gift too – and massive, chunky, silver bracelets. I cast this demon out of this woman’s house once. Well, it was a prefab really . . .’

  Babs let her rabbit on, restraining herself from rolling her eyes. Pearl had claimed, to anyone who had an ear, that she could get rid of evil spirits by waving some stick around. As if! If only life were that simple.

  Babs’ ears were burning from the non-stop chatter, so she cut in, ‘I sleep very well, thank you.’

  The mobile phone under her mattress vibrated.

  ‘What’s that?’ Pearl half jumped, wiggling her bum.

  Babs scrambled around for a plausible answer. ‘There’s something wrong with the mattress. I keep telling the kangas but they just fob me off.’

  Pearl gazed at her with a twinkle in her eye, the creases in her face folding as the muffled noise continued. ‘You ain’t got something naughty hidden under there? One of them vibrators with the bunny ears that—’

  Babs gave her a killer look. ‘Don’t be bloody stupid. Like I know where to even shove it.’

  The older woman cosied up to her. ‘Coz if you have, I wouldn’t mind having a go. I could do with a little buzz. Know what I mean, Babsie girl.’