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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  After coffee and mints were served, Naz caught Jen’s eye and suggested, ‘Why don’t you and I go powder our noses.’

  Naz was all saucy as she pointed her French-manicured acrylics at both men. ‘Now you two, don’t go away.’

  Once inside the ladies a triumphant Jen said, ‘I can’t believe I’m getting paid to sit with some geezer saying sweet nothings to me and knocking back Bolly like it’s been supplied by Thames Water.’

  Naz beamed back. ‘I knew you were a natural as soon as I saw you. You’re wasted on that estate you live on. You could be living it large like me.’ Then the merriment in her drained away, her face and tone turning serious. ‘Kareem said that Hari really likes you.’

  Jen shrugged. ‘He’s an alright fella. Seems decent.’

  Naz opened her bag and passed her an oncer, in crisp twenties. ‘That’s yours to keep for the night. If you want more come back to the table.’

  Jen’s hand folded around the cash. ‘I don’t . . . I don’t understand.’

  Naz’s gaze was as sharp as a blade. ‘I think you do. There’s a monkey going on top.’

  Jen’s confusion grew. Five hundred smackers? What for? Only when Naz laid two items near the sink did the penny drop. A condom and a tube of lubricant.

  Naz looked dispassionately at the tube. ‘That’s to get yourself ready, if you need to. No bloke likes to feel he’s having it away with a piece of sandpaper.’

  Then she was gone. To say Jen was stunned was putting it mildly. And disgusted. Disgusted with her so-called new friend. She should’ve known it was all too good to be true. That dropping her knickers was part of the deal. To be fair to Naz she had helped out money-wise with Courtney. But five hundred nicker waited for her if she returned to the table. Temptation clawed away at her. But that’s what prossies do. The thought of Hari on top of her made her skin crawl.

  Five hundred quid . . .

  No, take the hundred and never look back.

  Jen straightened her shoulders and opened the door.

  Less than thirty minutes later Jen winced and whimpered in pain as Hari fucked her.

  ‘You’re just a dirty whore,’ he rasped like a maniac as he sweated and pumped away. His fingernails bit into her hips as he got his rocks off. Jen’s face screwed up tight. This was much worse than she thought it would be, tons worse. She was almost prepared to tell him to fuck right off . . . but she needed that dough. The one bit of luck she did have was he was doing the dirty from behind, which meant she didn’t have to look at his ug mug as he mauled her.

  She had left the loo in the restaurant earlier with the best of intentions, marching with purpose towards the exit, but the promise of five hundred nicker had dogged her every step. The leccy and gas bill were due in a week’s time and she could use a serious cash injection. When would she get another chance to earn money as quick and as easy as this? All you have to do is sleep with the guy. Squeeze your eyes tight, pretend he’s Brad Pitt and it will be over in no time. Simple. And no one has to know. Plus, this would be a one-time thing only, so it wasn’t like she was becoming a Tom or anything.

  Jen had fought hard within herself until, as if by magic, her feet were backtracking to the Ladies. She’d grabbed the condom and lube and touched up her slap. Naz couldn’t resist a triumphant grin when she got back to the table. Ten minutes later she was riding in a chauffeur-driven black Merc on her way to his hotel room. To give the guy his due he didn’t pounce on her in the car. No, that had happened as soon as they entered his hotel room. He’d been all over her like a rash, slobbering over her cringing skin. Once her kit was off he’d made her kneel on the bed and he was off. Hadn’t even bothered to properly get undressed. And the sweet, respectful Hari who’d so chivalrously kissed the back of her hand was gone, replaced by some raving nutter who kept calling her vile names. She knew there were some fellas who could only get their rocks off by degrading the women they went with, but in all honesty she’d never expected to be shagged by one. Even that cretin Nuts, who was as rough and ready as they came, had kept it all upbeat and clean in the bedroom department.

  ‘You like it rough?’ he grunted behind her and to emphasise his words he thrust very hard.

  Jen had no idea what she was meant to say, but if agreeing with him made him shoot his load quicker she was all for that. Her fanny felt like it was cut to ribbons.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she hurriedly agreed. ‘Naughty birds like me like it any which way they can get it.’

  ‘And hard.’

  Fucking hell, was this man going to keep talking for England? ‘Yeah, that too.’ Jen’s voice rose as pain laced through her.

  Please let this be over soon. Puhleeeeeze.

  ‘I’m a whore. A cunt. Like getting shafted all over the shop . . .’ Jen kept up the filthy patter until, less than a minute later, his hairy hands gripped her hips tighter and he came, his breath hot and wheezing in her ear.

  He collapsed onto the bed in a puffed-out heap. Jen was off it in a flash. She already had the five hundred in her bag, having made him pay up front.

  ‘My dear, I do hope you’ll excuse me calling you a whore,’ a hard-breathing Hari said as she chucked on her clothes.

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ Jen didn’t even look over at him; she wanted out.

  ‘Maybe I can tempt you to earn some more cash?’ She looked up sharply to find him waving a wad of notes in the air. It had to be at least a grand. She was transfixed by the money.

  Jen knew she should get out of there but, like the Devil was whispering in her ear, couldn’t help asking, ‘Oh yeah, what’ll I have do?’

  He rolled his fat flesh to the edge of the bed and pointed to a holdall. ‘I always bring a friend along to spice up the party.’

  Get out now! But she didn’t; she walked over and opened the bag. Her breath caught as she gazed down at an assortment of vibrators. The dirty beggar was no doubt expecting her to put on a show diddling herself for his personal entertainment. Nah, that wasn’t gonna be happening. The words on her lips, she staggered back when she saw he was kneeling on the bed with his pudgy bum in the air.

  Breathlessly he told her, ‘I like playing the whore as well.’

  There was no mistake about what he was asking her to do. Bloody hell, I’ve got a right one here. Her fretful gaze strayed to the cash he’d laid on the bed. If she did this, she’d leave with nearly two large.

  Jen took out a vibrator and held it in the air.

  ‘Black and in the back,’ she said in an authoritative voice and then moved towards the bed. For the first time she smiled. She’d show him a good time where the sun didn’t shine . . .

  An hour later Jen was tempted to sag against the back of the lift as she made her way downstairs, but she didn’t. She no longer felt dirty, but powerful. Alright, so she’d let some pot-bellied geezer have his end away with her, but she had more cash than she’d held in ages. And she could afford to get her kid some sessions to stop her going off the rails. What had Tiff called her . . . Oh yeah, a lonely, bitter cow that no one would want. Well, she’d show her smart-arsed sister.

  Jen pulled out her mobile and called up Naz. As she walked into the night cold the call connected and Naz got straight to it. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘He got what he wanted, plus a bit extra with knobs on.’

  Naz let out a low, throaty laugh. ‘Told you you’re a natural. I’ve got a couple of other clients—’

  ‘Thing is Naz, as much as I thank you for the opportunity, I won’t be doing it again.’

  Jen punched off. This type of work was one up from being on the game and it just wasn’t her style. Now she had a taste of the good life she wanted more and that meant making her mum understand that she and her girls were due more of a cut. Jen was done playing the good girl. In fact, she was going to take some of the lolly in her purse and get some new clobber. After she’d paid for Courtney’s counselling sessions of course.

  Twenty-Six

  The next morning, Dee grabbed a sno
ring Nicky by the ankle and yanked him off the bed. He sat on the floor in his boxers, staring up at his mum with such a stupefied expression it looked like someone had smacked him with a dead fish. She slapped her fists onto her hips.

  ‘What’s going on?’ He blinked rapidly trying to get fully awake. There was no doubt about it, his mum was on the warpath.

  She stepped menacingly forward and loomed over him like a crow about to pick at her prey. ‘I’ll tell you what’s up. It’s gone eleven and if you think you’re dossing about the place, you’ve got another think coming. I wanna know what you’re doing back here.’

  He gritted out, ‘Because I hate it.’

  That took her by surprise. ‘Whatcha mean, you hate it? It ain’t something you love or hate, it’s something you just have to do to get on in life.’

  He let out a huge puff of air as he picked up a T-shirt, shoved it on and got up. Then he plonked himself down on the bed, reached for his fags on the side table. He offered her one, which she took. They lit up at the same time.

  ‘I’m waiting Nicky.’

  He gazed back, his face coated with confusion, which made her feel bad about getting mad at him. In that moment she was reminded of the cute little boy she and John had taken into their home. He’d stolen her heart from the get-go. His dad Chris, who had been John’s right hand man, had died. Yes that was the word that Dee always used to describe his passing. She wouldn’t think of it as murder because then she’d have to think about the part she’d played in it all. But that was why she enfolded this young man in as much love as she could give. Guilt was such a nasty emotion, always clinging and needy, reminding her of the people she had sacrificed to get to the top. Most people thought that her husband was her weakness, the person she’d fight tooth and nail for. They were wrong. Her weak spot had always been kids and her boy was at the top of the list.

  She couldn’t help feel the pain she saw etched in his expression. ‘Has one of them beardy lecturers been giving you a hard time?’ Her voice grew fierce. ‘Coz if they have I’ll go up there and batter him with one of those fat books they’ve got you reading.’

  He grinned, but she could see the wistfulness in it. ‘University ain’t for me. All that study gives me a proper headache. And I’m bored out of my box.’

  ‘Have you had a word with your – what do ya call it? – form tutor?’

  ‘Tutorial lecturer,’ he said and then shook his head. ‘Waste of time. She don’t get me. Don’t understand where I’m coming from.’

  Dee’s face scrunched in sympathy. Poor boy! His school hadn’t understood that he was artistic when he did that graffiti on the wall of the headmaster’s office. And the next school they’d paid top dollar to get him into hadn’t got it when he whacked that kid with the hockey stick. Why didn’t folk get that her darling lad was full of talent but just didn’t like playing by the rules?

  ‘And I’ve been thinking about my dad. You know, Chris,’ he added.

  Dee stiffened in shock. Christ Almighty! Do. Not. Panic. Nicky had rarely asked about his real mum and dad when he was a kid, seemingly happy with the story John and Dee had told him. That his mum had passed with cancer when he was a babe and that his dad had died in a tragic accident. The first was true, the other one not. If Nicky ever found out the truth about Chris . . .

  She made her voice sound calm as she asked, ‘What’s brought this on, eh?’

  He puffed on his ciggy. ‘Dunno really.’

  Dee laid her palm over her son’s hand. ‘You know your real dad was a good mate of John’s and worked for him too. I knew Chris as well. A more upstanding bloke you would never meet. I didn’t know your dear mum, but John did.’ Dee ran her hand over Nicky’s hair. ‘And from what he says you get those killer looks from her.’

  The old Nicky would’ve pushed his chest out with pride at that, but this new Nicky just sighed heavily. ‘My dad never went to no posh college so why should I?’ His gaze fired up. ‘Remember when you got Tiff to sort me out?’ She nodded. ‘She used to take me to that garage she worked at under the arches in Bethnal Green and I got a flavour, an understanding, of what Chris’s life must’ve been like growing up. The East End’s in my blood Mum, it runs through my veins . . .’

  ‘Are you saying you wanna become some kinda of ghetto rat, playing the Big I Am?’ As much as she understood what her son was telling her, no way did she want him mixed up in that world. She’d given him everything but this would not do. See him end up like his blood father? An icy shiver shot through her just thinking about it.

  He stubbed his smoke out. ‘Most of the other kids talk different from me. I feel like an outsider. I’ve been asking myself, who am I really? Where am I from? Where am I going? Down the arches with Tiff I felt like I really belonged. I didn’t have to strain to hear what the guys were saying – it was my lingo. My world.’

  Despite the shockwaves going through her Dee couldn’t help but sympathise. ‘I know how you’re feeling. I felt the same when I was your age, wanting to find out who my real parents were—’

  ‘And if you hadn’t,’ he jumped in, ‘you’d never have found Babs and Tiff and Jen.’

  He was spot on. Dee had been such an angry and rebellious young woman, wanting to find her birth mother to punish her for dumping her as a baby. But that wasn’t what happened. When Babs Miller had finally spilled her side of the story Dee had clung to her like she was her only lifeline in this world. That was the problem with digging up the past – it never turned out to be the way you thought it was. Nicky’s past was no different. Except Dee knew he wasn’t going to be clinging to her when he discovered the truth.

  She needed to nip this in the bud. ‘We’ve paid a bundle on schools and university to set you on the right path. That’s what Chris would’ve wanted. He wasn’t your usual type of Face, he had a working brain.’ She tapped her temple. ‘And he would’ve wanted you to use yours too. So I’m gonna brook no more nonsense from you. You’re going back to uni.’

  He didn’t say yes, didn’t say no as she kissed his cheek. Suddenly her nostrils flared. She sniffed. His clothes reeked of perfume and not that rubbish going for a fiver on a market stall, but a pricey one called Opium Oriental. Dee would know; she’d fallen in love with it the first time one of those checkout assistants at Harrods had sprayed her with a freebie sample. Its limited edition status made it pricey; only women with dosh to burn could afford that. She frowned. If Nicky had a girlfriend that was not a problem, but she thought all those students were on their uppers, so how did one splash out on something as expensive as this?

  She looked deeply into his eyes. ‘You ain’t giving uni the push coz of some bint?’

  He threw his head back and roared with laughter. ‘Give over. As if!’ Now he did puff out his chest. ‘I’m a babe magnet, so it would be a crime to limit myself to just one.’

  ‘Babe magnet,’ she huffed. ‘Who do you think you are? Leonardo Di Capricock?’

  The tension in the room wafted away as they both chuckled. She didn’t press the issue of going back to his media degree; time enough to work on him. Plus she’d get John to have a word. Idly she began picking up the rest of his strewn clothes. Each time the aroma of perfume greeted her. No matter how much he denied it she knew there was a woman involved somewhere. But she kept her thoughts to herself.

  As she folded his jeans the smell of the perfume turned to an overwhelming stink and she started gagging.

  Her son was off the bed in a flash. ‘Mum? You alright?’

  She couldn’t help herself; she heaved her guts up right in the middle of his room.

  ‘Dad,’ Nicky yelled.

  ‘Will you stop with the Mother Teresa routine,’ Dee slammed out as she lay down on the bed, a damp flannel against her forehead.

  After she’d been sick in Nicky’s room a concerned John had swept her into his arms and carried her into their room. But then that was her John all over, always looking after her to the max. The silly sod had wanted to call their doc
tor, but she’d told him all she needed was a bit of a rest.

  ‘I must’ve been overdoing things or eaten something rotten,’ she continued, her voice quietening down.

  ‘Like that green juice you keep pumping into me,’ he answered in a sarky tone, although his features were anything but cocky. He looked ravaged, as if she was on her last legs.

  ‘I’m alright.’ She smoothed her palm over his and got some fresh air into her lungs.

  ‘No you’re not,’ he insisted. ‘You threw up when we went to your mum’s houses. I’m not having it Dee. You, my girl, are taking a trip to the doctor’s.’

  Dee didn’t bother arguing. When John got all man of the house there was no point. ‘I’ll go tomorrow. Satisfied?’ Then she frowned. ‘We’ve got a problem with Nicky. Says he’s jacked in college.’

  John cocked his head to the side. ‘I told you that you were making a mistake pressurising him into going. That boy ain’t built for books, he likes to use his hands. You should’ve let me sort him out a trade.’

  ‘What? Like with your mate Kieran, the so-called builders’ merchant?’

  ‘Don’t take the rise girl. There’s no point trying to fit something round in a square box.’

  She swiped off the flannel and threw it across the room. ‘He gave me all this flim-flam about needing to find himself, but I know there’s a woman involved.’ She squinted, which was always a dangerous look on Dee. ‘If some bird has pushed her double Ds in his face and derailed his chances—’

  He placed a restraining palm on her shoulder. ‘Calm down before you do yourself another mischief. I’ll have a quiet word with him. Find out what’s what.’

  John found his son floating in the indoor pool at the back of the house. He eased down with a cigar and Scotch in one of the poolside recliners and allowed himself one minute of peace. It felt like forever since he’d had a bit of downtime. Funny thing, when he was younger he’d always thought that by this time he’d be kicking his feet up, not a care in the world. But life hadn’t worked out like that.