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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Mags gasped. But Babs didn’t have time for any more drama. ‘We need to find something to do it with.’

  Kieran let out a sigh of resignation. They began searching through cupboards, trolleys, shelves . . .

  ‘Got it,’ Kieran announced brandishing a small hammer, the type used to test knee reflexes. ‘Mags, stuff the bandage in Babs’ mouth; if anyone hears you screaming the ozzie down, we’re sunk.’

  Babs swallowed convulsively as she laid her ring finger on the counter by the sink. It seemed fitting because every last bit of trouble she’d ever had came back to the day she’d tied the knot with Stanley Miller. The sweat beaded on Kieran’s forehead. He raised the hammer. Babs squeezed her eyes tight. And waited. And waited. Nothing happened. She snapped them open to find Kieran like the statue of a labourer, his hammer frozen in the air.

  ‘I can’t,’ he gritted out.

  It was Mags who stepped in. ‘Boy, if you don’t I’m gonna take that hammer and ram it . . .’

  He slammed it down on Babs’ finger. Her scream was an awful muffled sound behind the bandage. Hot and terrible pain sliced across her hand. Her eyes watered and her legs wobbled, making her sag against the counter.

  ‘I’m sorry Babs,’ Kieran said in an agonised voice showing that Babs wasn’t the only one in pain.

  He chucked the hammer down when Babs muttered, ‘Take it out.’ They looked at her baffled. She said it three times before they twigged that she wanted the bandage out of her mouth. Mags did it.

  Babs stared at Kieran, the air hot and aching in her chest. ‘You need . . .’ she sucked back the pain, ‘to do it again.’

  ‘Are you going potty or something?’

  ‘Look at my finger.’ All three of them stared at it. It was red and slightly battered. ‘It’s not broken. You’re gonna have to do it again. With a bit more welly this time.’

  He wasn’t happy, but there was no arguing as he picked up the hammer again. She didn’t close her eyes, but held them steady. He raised the hammer and smashed it hard against her finger. There was the sound of a crack as pain exploded in Babs’ hand and head. Kieran quickly took the bandage out of her mouth and held her close.

  ‘Don’t ever ask me to do something like that again.’

  Mags checked her watch anxiously. ‘Babs, you’re already in serious bovver. We need to go.’

  Mrs Field, the Number One, was giving Babs the eye and so was her poodle. When some of the other girls had told her that the Governor sometimes brought her dog to work she thought they were having a laugh. Now she could see they weren’t. The poodle’s black fur looked like it had just had a shampoo and set and all it needed to top off the look was a bright, pink bow tied round its neck. Its owner wasn’t so fortunate with her looks, all angles and sharp bones with a colour that made her seem a few steps away from death.

  Babs stood in front of the Governor after seeing the prison doc who had confirmed that her finger was indeed broken. She’d given Babs some painkillers and splinted it. Mrs Field looked at her through horned rim bifocals. ‘The funny thing, Miller, is that according to the doctor the break in your finger is not consistent with it being shut in a garden shed door or any other door.’

  Babs should’ve figured out that the one thing the prison quack would be an all-time expert on was fingers slammed in doors. It was the standard punishment doled out to anyone lifting stuff from someone else’s cell.

  Babs played the wide-eyed innocent. ‘I don’t know much about doctoring Miss, except having to nurse my girls’ scrapes and grazes when they were little.’

  ‘Well, you no longer need worry your head about shed doors. I’m revoking your outside work permit.’

  That took Babs’ breath away. ‘You can’t do that Miss.’

  The poodle bared its teeth. Babs was tempted to do the same back.

  ‘Is there any decision on my parole?’ Maybe it wasn’t the best time to be putting the Governor on the spot about it but she just wanted to get out of this place.

  The Number One lifted her nose. ‘I believe there are a backlog of cases. When I know I will let you know. You may leave, Miller.’

  What an HMP bitch. Babs turned grudgingly towards the door. Now she had no way of getting out of the prison. And she was worried. What she’d witnessed today at the hospital was bad.

  She whispered fretfully under her breath, ‘My family are at war.’

  Forty-Two

  A week later, shocked gasps and scandalised whispers greeted Dee as she walked into the church and people got an eyeful of what she was wearing to send her husband off. If they’d been expecting her decked out in doom- and gloom-laden black they didn’t know Dee Black. She wore a stunning, shimmering scarlet Saint Laurent sequin evening dress and Valentino mile-high heels. John had loved that dress. His eyes would light up in delight and chest-puffing pride every time she stepped out in it. She looked heavenwards and hoped that her adored man was smiling down at her now.

  She continued to move with dignity, spine ramrod straight. Inside she felt like she was choking. The day she had dreaded for so long had finally arrived. It was time to lay her John to rest. She was going to bury her husband the same way he’d lived his life – in style. Her legs trembled slightly as she reached him, laid out in a gold-plated coffin she’d got specially imported from New York. The scent of the wreaths of oriental lilies swam over her as she looked down at her much-loved man. He was dressed in his favourite, navy suit, a strawberry coloured hanky folded neatly in the top jacket pocket and, most importantly of all, a polished pair of his stacked heels. He was gone. Gone. Gone. She began to wail.

  ‘I’ve got ya,’ Tiffany said firmly as she wrapped an arm around her shoulder and Aunty Cleo, her foster mum, gently took her hand.

  Both women had walked behind her as she entered the church. Gently they led her away and got her sat down on the front pew.

  After she’d wiped her eyes Tiff whispered, ‘Blinding turnout.’

  Dee looked back over the packed church. ‘Yeah, my John had a lot of friends.’

  And a lot of enemies. And they’d all turned up. Half the mourners were Faces Dee didn’t recognise but who’d played their part in her husband’s long journey from scrawny street kid to retired crime lord. The other side of the law had put in an appearance as well. Greying and wrinkled ex-coppers who’d booked John in his younger days and others who he’d helped out with gambling debts or treats for the missus. There were some younger detectives who’d told the ushers that they‘d come to pay their respects but who Dee would bet her life were really there to keep an eye on this villains’ reunion and get some steers for their enquiries.

  Dee turned back to Tiffany. ‘If I was the law, I’d brick this building up during the service. The crime rate in town would drop by half. By the way,’ she squeezed her sister’s arm, ‘I haven’t said how much I appreciate you coming to stay with me since John closed his eyes. So I’m saying it now.’

  Tiffany looked embarrassed before giving Dee a pat. ‘I know we had words, but no way was I leaving my sister in the lurch.’ She didn’t add, ‘unlike our other sister.’ But then she didn’t have to. ‘Have you spoken to Jen?’

  ‘I sent a message saying she was welcome, but on the strict understanding that it’s just her and the kids – not him.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say Kieran’s name. ‘I ain’t having him here. And anyway,’ she looked around the church again, ‘he wouldn’t have the front.’

  Tiffany nodded and hesitated before saying, ‘No sign of Nicky either.’

  Dee drew breath. ‘Yeah. He’s been on the piss most nights. I know he’s hurting over John’s death, but if he don’t show he’ll find himself in the ground next.’ All the life seemed to suddenly drain from her. ‘Can you believe it? My Nicky and that good-time tart Flo? Jen and that plastic gangster? Mum’s right. What the hell is happening to this family? Mind you, she’s done a San Quentin with the prison barring her from coming.’ She squeezed Tiff’s hand again. ‘You’re the only
person I can rely on.’

  Just then another ripple ran through the congregation as an older man joined the proceedings, accompanied by two very tall, stunning women. For the first time that day a big smile split Dee’s face.

  ‘Uncle Frank. I didn’t know you were back in town.’

  ‘Didn’t John tell you I paid him a visit?’ On uttering John’s name his face became sombre. ‘My Johnnie going before me? That ain’t right. Tragic, Dee, really tragic. There’s not many of us left from the old days now.’

  She squeezed his arm, feeling his pain. ‘Tiffany, this is Uncle Frank. He took John under his wing when he was a nipper.’

  Uncle Frank smiled, then he seemed to remember something. ‘By the way, I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you after the service?’

  ‘OK – about anything in particular?’

  He became vague. ‘Oh nuthin, you know, just some loose ends I need to tie up. Is Kieran Scott coming to the service?’

  Dee was becoming nervous. Uncle Frank didn’t do small talk. This was business. ‘He’s barred so he’d have the nerve of the Devil to put in an appearance.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I was hoping to have a word with him. Still, I’ll chat to you later. Nice to meet you Tiffany.’

  He took a seat while Dee whispered. ‘What’s that about? I didn’t even know he knew Kieran.’

  The sound of footsteps coming down the aisle ran round the church. Dee turned and saw Nicky in an ill-fitting black suit hurrying along with . . . Dee nearly cursed loud and clear. Stan Miller’s spawn of Beelzebub hung off him like a Top Shop accessory.

  ‘Can you believe it?’ Nicky spluttered when he reached her. ’Notting Hill tube was shut so we had to leg it to the next one. Have I missed anything?’

  Dee was speechless. His hair was all over the shop and he stank of leaf. After the day was done she was going to sit him down and read the riot act. Nicky quickly took a pew, but when Flo went to follow Dee and the others all shuffled their bums so that there was no space for her.

  Flo gave Dee a rude smile, blew Nicky a kiss and then flounced off to find a seat. Dee looked daggers at her and watched her go. But when she saw Flo had found a pew, she realised that her son and his so-called girlfriend weren’t the only late arrivals. Sitting near the back with her two children was Jen. She was dressed in an elegant black suit. She nudged Tiffany who told her, ‘At least she came and didn’t bring that fake-up villain with her. That’s something.’

  For a brief moment, across the crowded church, Dee and Jen’s eyes met. They held each other’s gaze before looking away. She had to admit that her sister looked the bizz in her new short hairdo and pricey clobber, but there was a harshness in her expression Dee hadn’t seen before.

  The poor vicar wasn’t used to this kind of crowd and seemed in a hurry to get the service over with. He knocked out a short speech, which included the phrases ‘much-loved man’ and ‘someone who touched many people’s lives’ together with a few bible readings. Before the first hymn, to his obvious relief, he invited Aunty Cleo to say a few words. Apart from a slightly arched back, Cleo didn’t look that much older than when she’d agreed to look after baby Dee. Dee knew that Cleo’s tribute would cause ructions but she’d asked her to do it anyway. Aunty Cleo was a truth teller and she knew that John would have wanted the truth told at his funeral.

  In front of the congregation Cleo got into her stride. ‘We mustn’t forget that John was also a sinful man who committed many terrible deeds. He was no stranger to thieving, violence, lying and all forms of law breaking.’ At first there was some half-hearted laughter in the congregation who thought this was a rather off-colour joke. But as Cleo went on, there was mumbling, muttering and finally some jeering. But like a stand-up in a rough club, she took on the hecklers. ‘And, of course, John was the proprietor of the Alley Club where drunkenness and lewd behaviour, fornication and adultery were not so much frowned on as encouraged.’

  The crowd didn’t like it but Dee gave Cleo nods of encouragement. John hadn’t left any instructions but she knew how he felt about funeral speeches. After one, he’d whispered to her, ‘You think they would have mentioned that the deceased was one of the biggest coke traffickers in Europe as well as talking about all that charity work he did. When I go don’t varnish it for the punters. I can’t stand all the lovable Cockney rogue stuff.’ In fact, he hadn’t seemed keen on the idea of a funeral at all. After one underworld interment, he’d said, ‘When I go, put me in a sack and chuck me off Southend Pier. Funerals? Wakes? Waste of money – spend it on a month in the Caribbean instead.’

  Aunty Cleo was finishing up. ‘Of course, who are we to judge? We are all humble sinners in need of redemption.’

  Dee gratefully squeezed her foster mum’s hand as she sat down. But it seemed Cleo’s unvarnished tribute had caused more trouble than Dee had bargained for. The vicar lifted his hands to indicate that everyone was to rise but as he did so, there was more murmuring and whispering and finally shouts behind them. She turned to see that Uncle Frank had gone to the rear of the church and was having words with someone. Other mourners nearby, who obviously didn’t know who big Uncle Frank was, were telling him to pack it in.

  Dee hurried along down the aisle. She couldn’t see Kieran at first; he must have slunk in after the service started. Her view was blocked by Uncle Frank, but as she approached, she heard the two men exchanging words.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get in touch with you Kieran but you seem to be keeping a very low profile at the moment. Funny that.’

  ‘Not now Uncle Frank, it’s a funeral.’

  ‘I know why we’re here mate – I know a coffin when I see one. I’ve seen plenty over the years. But there’s no need for us to have words now. How about you and me book a time for a chat instead?’

  ‘I’ve got nish to say to you.’

  Dee steamed in. ‘Kieran? What are you playing at? You’re not welcome here. And Uncle Frank? I can’t believe it, this is John’s funeral. If you want to row, do it on your own time.’

  Uncle Frank raised his hands. ‘Sorry, you’re right Dee, I’m being disrespectful.’ He turned to Kieran. ‘Get in touch mate. If you don’t, I’ve got other ways of communicating with people, as you well know.’

  Kieran was unimpressed. ‘Leave it out granddad, your day’s long past. You ain’t got that kind of clout anymore. Stick to golf and keep yourself out of trouble.’

  As Uncle Frank returned to his seat Dee shouted, ‘Carry on Rev!’

  The poor minister, who looked as if he wished he had a nice christening to go to, gestured at the organist and the opening bars of ‘Abide With Me’ kicked in. It was the only other steer John had given Dee. He’d told her he wanted that hymn because it reminded him of the Cup Final. When the singing started, Dee sat down next to Kieran. ‘You need to give those legs of yours some exercise and stroll right outta here.’

  Kieran was cradling a large bunch of red roses. He shrugged. ‘I’ve come to pay my respects to my old compadre John Black. It’s not up to you whether I come or not. You didn’t own John. Nobody did, it was one of the things I liked about him. Now why don’t you go back to your seat and start praising the Lord.’

  ‘Get. Out.’

  ‘I’ve got as much right to be here as anyone else. And anyway, I wanted a word with you.’

  ‘You ain’t getting one.’

  Kieran scoffed. ‘We’ll see about that.’

  Dee leaned into his face. ‘What was that about?’

  ‘What was what about?’

  ‘You and Uncle Frank?’

  Kieran shrugged again. ‘Dunno. Poor old Frank McGuire’s been in the Spanish sun too long. He’s confused.’

  Dee began to make her way to the front of the church as the organ and singing soared their way through the final verse. But as she went, a man she didn’t recognise, who’d been lingering nearby, realised that Dee had failed to persuade the intruder to go and he took the law into his own hands. He grabbed K
ieran by his lapels and dragged him to his feet, scattering his roses. Kieran broke his grip by forcing his hands up between the guy’s arms and pushing outwards while, in the same move, kneeing him in the privates. As he fell forward, gasping for breath, Kieran elbowed him on the cheek before stamping on him several times as he slumped down between the pews. The final bars of the hymn faded away and the only sound in the church was the whimpering of the beaten man. Kieran picked his roses up one by one and resumed his seat.

  In the distance, Dee heard one woman say to another, ‘A punch-up at a funeral? That’s so disrespectful.’

  But the neighbour smiled sadly. ‘Nah, it’s what John would’ve wanted.’

  Forty-Three

  After the service, Dee and Tiffany set off for the graveyard at high speed to make sure they were the first to arrive. They scented trouble. It was clear Uncle Frank had a beef with Kieran and wasn’t afraid to use a funeral to pursue it. Dee wanted to lay her husband to rest in peace.

  As mourners appeared and headed for the grave, Dee and Tiffany warned them, ‘Remember this is a burial, alright?’

  Dee hoped against hope that Kieran would do the decent thing and give the actual burial a miss. But she knew her man. He would think the decent thing would be to turn up, especially now he’d been warned off. While she waited for the hearse, she noticed Nicky and Flo hanging around by a grave topped with a tall statue of an angel looking upwards, her hands clasped together in prayer. Nicky was choking back the tears and Flo was giving him a hug, being supportive. Credit to the girl, she might have been a chiseller but at least she was being human about it.

  When the hearse arrived, Dee supervised the removal of the coffin and organised the pallbearers: five top villains and a disgraced former Flying Squad detective. The six men carried her husband’s body to the graveside. Overhead a police helicopter was keeping watch on proceedings and there were press photographers on hand to snap celebs from the underworld. A Merc parked up nearby and Kieran, still clutching his roses, got out. He was alone. There was no sign of Jen or the kids. He took up a spot near the back of the crowd.