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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Babs rippled with disgust. She’d never had a vibrator in her life, but she was sure you weren’t meant to share them. She needed Pearl out now. But if an old timer found a friend she stuck to them like a conjoined twin.

  Babs needed to find the right excuse to get her to sling her hook. ‘I don’t wanna put the frighteners on you or nuthin . . .’ Pearl’s eyes opened wide with concern, ‘but Knox is paying me a visit soon . . .’

  The older woman was near the door in record time. ‘Be seeing you Babsie.’ And was – mercifully – gone.

  Babs wasted no time getting the mobile out. Tiff’s number was on the screen. She’d warned her daughters to only call if there was an emergency. Something was going on. Flippin’ hell, she hoped Tiff wasn’t up to her old tricks again.

  Babs returned the call and asked in a hush-hush voice, ‘Love, is everything alright?’

  ‘I’m gonna fucking well tear her head off if she even dares look my way,’ Tiff stormed. ‘I’ve washed my hands of her.’

  Babs was almost struck dumb by the venom spilling from her daughter. She found her voice. ‘Calm down hun, don’t upset yourself.’ The line filled with Tiff’s sharp, rapid breaths. ‘Now tell me what’s gone on.’

  ‘My ex-sister, that’s what’s gone on.’

  ‘Jennifer?’ That didn’t sound like Jen. As gentle as a breeze on a summer’s evening, that was her Jen. She frowned. ‘Has something happened to her?’

  ‘She’s a greedy bitch who wants you to divide your houses so that her kids get a share.’

  ‘But they are getting some through Jen’s share.’

  ‘That’s what I told her, but she wouldn’t have it.’ Tiff’s voice developed a bite. ‘She’s pure greed. Just coz I made a go of my life and managed to get off The Devil, she wants to diddle me outta my share.’

  Babs sighed wearily. How had the generous offer she’d put on the table in front of her girls ended up such a Godawful mess? The tiredness she was feeling came strong through her words. ‘But I explained to all of you that it’s a three-way split.’

  ‘And that weren’t all,’ Tiff marched on, ‘she spat in my face.’

  Babs sucked in her breath. ‘Tiff, no.’ Her hand covered her heart. ‘What did you say to her? I can’t even picture my Jen doing that.’

  ‘See, that’s the problem Mum, Jen’s always the innocent one. The one who can do no wrong. Whereas me, I’m always seen as the troublemaker.’

  Babs almost said, ‘If the shoe fits . . .’ but stopped herself. ‘You know I love you both the same way—’

  But Tiff was already blasting again. ‘She’s a conniving, money-grabbing, heartless, scrounging, despicable human being who wants everything handed to her and her kids on a platinum plate.’

  ‘Now stop that.’ Babs grew stern. ‘You don’t chat about your sister like that, you hear me. You keep words like that for those that deserve it, not your own flesh and blood.’ She might be doing bird for manslaughter but she was still the mum in this family. Her daughter had the grace to keep quiet. ‘Leave Jen to me. I’ll get this sorted.’

  Tiff spoke with a tremble in her voice, but laced with defiance. ‘Well, it ain’t fair.’

  ‘What? Me putting Jen straight?’

  ‘That you’re bothering to get the houses done up. There’s this course I wanna do. You’re always going on at me to better myself. You know what these college fees are like now. It’s gonna cost a cool nine large, but I don’t have that type of dough.’ Her voice dipped to an enticing pitch. ‘If you sold the houses NOW . . .’

  Not this again, for crying out loud. ‘We’ve already been down that dead end street. You can do this course next year when the money’s in from selling the houses, after they’ve been done up a treat.’

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Then, ‘You always think I’m out to scam you Mum.’

  ‘No love.’

  ‘Well, I’m pissed to the teeth with it. I need a helping hand and the plain truth is, you can’t be bothered. Thanks a bunch.’ And on that incensed note, Tiff ended the call.

  The violence of their conversation drove Babs to slump on her bed. She clutched the phone, trying to figure out how everything had gone so wrong. All she wanted to do was give her children a leg up in life and all she was getting back was a load of grief. Maybe Tiff was right. Maybe she should get the houses on the market as soon as. And what about what Jen wanted? Maybe she should be giving a cut to Little Bea and Courtney. Especially Courtney. And poor Jen had had such a hard life . . . No. Babs shook herself out of it. What she was doing was right and fair. If Tiff and Jen couldn’t deal with that then that was their lookout.

  Although she decided to stick to her guns, the idea of her two girls falling out with each other was tearing her up. She’d more or less brought up her daughters single handed and she wasn’t about to let them both piss their family ties down the toilet.

  With determination Babs punched another number into the mobile. ‘Dee, it’s Mum. Your sisters are going at it like two ferrets in a sack. I need you to get round there and put a stop to it.’

  After she’d explained the situation, her eldest concluded, ‘You should give the lot away to some cats’ shelter. That’ll show the ungrateful pair what it’s like.’

  ‘Leave it out. I couldn’t do that in a million years. All I need you to do is to arrange a family sit-down and lay the law down.’ Her voice ended in a painful hitch.

  ‘Babs, you alright?’

  She wiped a finger against the tear that dropped from her eye. ‘I should be doing this on the outside. What a complete fuck-up I’ve made of my life.’

  ‘Don’t cry. Babs don’t,’ Dee said softly. Then steel entered her tone. ‘Leave it to me. I’ll knock their heads together and get them to see sense.’

  They chit-chatted for a minute longer and then said their goodbyes. And it was just as well. An unusually flustered Knox rushed into her cell.

  ‘The kangaroo squad are coming. They’re having a spin.’

  An unannounced search of cells. Both women looked at the mobile phone in Babs’ hand.

  Twenty-One

  John let out a low whistle of appreciation as Dee slowed the four by four outside number 9 and 10 Bancroft Square in Mile End.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said, ‘where did your old lady get the kind of poke to buy places like these? We ain’t talking beer money here.’

  Dee unbuckled her seat belt and closed her eyes for a few seconds. Her stomach was playing up. No doubt about it, if she couldn’t shift it she was going to have to pay the doctor a visit.

  ‘You alright love?’

  John’s concerned voice made her reopen her eyes. She sent him a weak smile. ‘Yeah. Just a touch tired is all.’ She deliberately turned her smile into something more brilliant. She didn’t need a worried John on her hands. She gazed at the houses and frowned. ‘Babs used to clean these houses. I know because we had Courtney’s tenth birthday bash at number ten. I’ve never set foot inside the other. I don’t get it. Why would she be cleaning houses that she owned?’

  ‘We’ve all got our secrets.’ Typical John. His life in the underworld had taught him that you only needed to know as much as you needed to know. Dee couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something about these houses that Babs wasn’t sharing. Oh well, she wasn’t going to find out what it was sitting in their motor worrying about it.

  She reached for the door. ‘Come on then, let’s go see what Babs’ Aladdin’s Cave looks like.’

  John had insisted she take him on a tour of her mum’s properties. She hadn’t been keen at first, but he kept going on about her being the eldest and needing to be Babs’ eyes on the builders. Only after he had told her a few cautionary tales about the shortcuts builders took did she relent.

  She was surprised that the first thing John did was inspect the overflowing skip outside.

  ‘What are you doing? If they’re off the clock they won’t be hiding in there.’

  Joh
n shifted through the skip. ‘Just making sure that they aren’t chucking out anything that they shouldn’t.’

  ‘Oi,’ a man screamed from number 9, ‘what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing? Sod off.’

  They both looked up to find a man with a ruddy face and little hair glaring at them.

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ John growled. ‘No one talks to John Black’s wife like that. You know who am and if you don’t you should.’

  Dee placed a restraining hand on his arm. ‘It’s alright.’ She looked back up at the man. ‘I’m Mrs Miller’s daughter. We’ve come to inspect the houses.’

  His face turning white, the man disappeared from the window. Dee and John walked up the stone steps and by the time they got to the plain black door the man was there to greet them.

  ‘I didn’t know it was you, Mr Black.’ With a trembling hand he shook John’s fist. ‘I’m the foreman. The name’s Freddy Baxter but most people call me Shorty.’ Dee could see why. The guy couldn’t be more than five-four with a small head, tiny hands and beady little brown eyes that would have given a teddy bear’s face the finishing touch. He led them into a long hallway that Dee couldn’t help staring at in wonder. Black and white tiles adorned the floor, nicely setting off the cream walls, and there was fancy plasterwork on the ceiling. A staircase, covered in light green carpet, led to the upper floors.

  Shorty puffed his chest out slightly as he caught Dee still giving the place the once-over and with a pleased as punch voice informed John, ‘I can see that the missus likes our work. Me and the boys have been working day and night to get the place up to scratch, so there isn’t much more left to do. Even found the parts to fix up the original radiators.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Mind you, the way I hear it, back in the day both places generated their own heat.’

  Both John and Dee looked at him puzzled. He persisted, ‘Know what I mean, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.’

  Dee finally said, ‘What are you going on about?’

  Seeing their baffled faces he pulled himself straight again. ‘There’s an old biddy that’s lived in the square for fifty years. She claims that both of them used to be one big knocking shop, back in the ’70s. Claims a lot of high kickers used to frequent it.’

  Dee’s mouth tipped open. ‘You’re having a laugh.’

  With a twinkle in his eye John teased, ‘Maybe that’s why your mum won’t spill the beans how she got them. Trying to cover up her scandalous secret life as Madam Miller.’

  She elbowed him in the side. ‘Stop talking stupid. My mum connected to a cat house? That’d be like the Queen Mum running a gambling school at Buck Palace.’

  John turned back to the foreman. ‘We’re just gonna have a bit of a nose around, so we won’t keep you.’

  Dee oohhed and ahhed as they checked out the downstairs. She had grown up in an East End house with Aunty Cleo but it was nothing like this. There were fireplaces everywhere, including one with a large surround and mirror in one of the reception rooms. She couldn’t imagine in a million years that this place had ever been a brothel and said as much.

  ‘Back in the ’70s,’ John told her as they made their way upstairs, ‘you couldn’t have paid this trendy, latte lot who are moving in to live in Mile End. Or any other part of the East End for that matter. These houses looked like Hitler had just finished with them. A lot were bombed in the Blitz. No one wanted to live here, least of all the people who ended up here.’

  ‘How do you know so much about it?’ Dee asked as they entered a large room with no furniture in it. ‘Knocking around here after the war were you?’

  She could’ve bitten her tongue off when she caught the strained expression on John’s face. There were nineteen years between them and lately he’d got very touchy about his age. He’d started wearing leather jackets, like the one he had on today, and sunglasses like he was the same age as their son. She was waiting for the day he’d come roaring home on a motorbike. God forbid.

  Dee smoothed things over by grabbing his hand so they could continue their tour. When they got to the next floor, her tummy started going into meltdown again. She tried to ignore it at first, but when she felt her belly turn over she looked at John and said, ‘Fuck, I need to find a Ladies, like now.’

  Startled, he stared at her, looking green himself. ‘You going to chunder?’

  ‘Right on your effing shoes if you don’t find me the khazi.’

  They made it just in time to a tiny toilet the size of a broom cupboard. Dee refused to have John present as she threw up. Afterwards she held on to the wall, her skin hot and clammy. She couldn’t understand what was going on. She wasn’t the type of person who got sick.

  ‘Dee? Dee?’ John called out. He banged on the door. ‘You ain’t gone and collapsed on me?’

  ‘If I had, you pillock, I wouldn’t be speaking to you, would I?’ Her voice was ragged. She felt like death had come calling. She splashed some water on her face and slapped her Tom Ford shades on. She might be feeling terrible, but that didn’t mean the rest of the world had to see her looking like it. She shook her hair back before she opened the door. Poor John’s face was pale with concern.

  ‘I’m fine babes,’ she reassured him with a feeble smile. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you check things over with mister builder downstairs and I’ll make myself nice and comfy in the motor until you’re ready to go.’

  ‘You sure love?’ That surprised her. She’d have staked her life that John would’ve wanted to take her straight home. Then again they were here, so might as well make sure everything was ship shape.

  Once she was in the car, Dee leaned back with a sigh.

  She couldn’t put it off any longer – she was going to have to pay the doctor a visit.

  It didn’t sit well with John that he’d left his wife in their motor on her own when she wasn’t feeling the full ticket, but he still had business to take care of. And it was better that she wasn’t around to see him do it. The one thing he didn’t need was a barrage of questions.

  He found Shorty and two younger men at the kitchen table all nursing a cuppa that he was sure wasn’t only the PG variety. He could smell malt whisky in the air.

  Shorty scrambled guiltily out of his seat. ‘Me and the lads here were just taking five.’

  John smiled, nice and easy. ‘No problem bruv. Just wanted to ask you a question.’

  He moved to the hall so Shorty’s workmates couldn’t overhear.

  ‘My missus’ mum assures us that these houses are four- storey properties, so is there a basement or cellar?’

  The other man let out a long sigh of relief, clearly happy that he wasn’t going to be dragged over the coals about the tea situation. ‘Yeah, they’ve both got basements, which Mrs Miller’s brief wants us to convert into self-contained flats. The basement links up with a coal bunker under the front reception room.’

  John raised an eyebrow. ‘A coal bunker?’

  ‘Yeah. A lot of these older houses have them.’ Shorty’s face scrunched up. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘You could say that. I need the keys.’ He stretched out his palm, menace glittering in his eyes.

  ‘You what?’

  ‘You and the fellas are off the job.’

  Twenty-Two

  Babs stood like a soldier on parade outside her cell. She was quaking so much she thought her bones were going to crumble. All of the women on the wing were positioned just like her as the POs did a thorough sweep of everyone’s cell. She knew the routine well from the other prison. The kangas would go in looking for contraband – drugs, illegal drink, homemade brews, weapons and mobile phones. If they found that mobile not only would she be busted but she’d probably lose her shot at parole as well. Why, oh why, had she taken that phone?

  Well there was no point crying a river now.

  Two officers came out of Pearl’s cell and walked to her.

  ‘You got anything in there we need to know about Miller?’ Mrs Bradley was a scary piece of shit. A Yorkshire woma
n you would never dream of calling a lass. Built like a box, she had eyes so dark and deep Babs often felt like making the sign of the cross after gazing into them.

  ‘No Miss.’

  Bradley huffed. ‘In you go.’ All the searches were conducted in the prisoner’s presence to counter any accusations of planting evidence.

  Babs managed to stop shaking as she stood just inside the door watching them tear apart the cell, her little home from home. Flippin’ hell she couldn’t take her eyes off the mattress. But, thank God, they didn’t start there.

  They checked under her small table.

  Behind the toilet.

  Back of the pipes.

  Light fitting.

  Window bars.

  Toiletries.

  Finally they turned to her bed. Babs stopped breathing for a few seconds.

  Bradley turned to face Babs and squinted. ‘Miller, are you positive there’s nowt you want to share with me?’

  Her heart started beating like a drum machine was lodged in her chest. ‘No Miss.’

  The other woman’s lip curled. She took a stride to the mattress and yanked it off.

  Babs froze. The only thing visible was the iron frame of the bed. Bradley and her colleague got busy checking every inch of the frame: the sides, the legs. They even lifted it up. All clean.

  Bradley’s face was an angry shade of beetroot. Babs couldn’t help saying, ‘Is that all Miss?’

  Before the other woman could answer there was the sound of a loo being flushed a few cells down and all hell broke loose. Babs had been in prison long enough to know what the sound of the toilet meant – someone had been trying to flush drugs down the bog. The two officers flew out of the cell to join a group of kangas struggling on the landing floor with one of the younger inmates.

  A scarlet-faced Bradley turned to the rest of them and cracked, ‘Right, ladies, time to get back into your des reses.’

  Babs quickly closed her cell door. She almost collapsed against the wall. She pulled down the front of her jogging bottoms and, grimacing, pulled the tiny mobile out of her vagina. The mattress was no longer a good stash hole – nor was the other hole she’d just used. Babs knew exactly where to hide it. During the search she’d noticed that the officers had gone through her toiletries, including her stick deodorant, but they had only lifted the lid. Unknown to them there was only a tiny bit of deodorant left, leaving a space underneath where a small mobile could be hidden. She moved towards the deodorant as her cell door opened.