Her palm gently covered her tummy where her baby lay. Her baby. She still couldn’t get over it. She was going to be a mum. After all these years she was finally going to hold a little one in the crook of her arm. Nothing could happen to this kid. She waved the spliff away when Tiff offered it to her again.
The banging had stopped, but Tiff’s mouth hadn’t. ‘Come on, you can trust me.’
‘Last time I looked you had a pair of ears, so hear me again—’
Dee never finished. A violent thumping on the closed French doors startled her. When she saw Flo glaring at her through the glass she was fit to do murder.
She leapt up and marched over. ‘You’re looking for your death little miss. You’d never come near me otherwise. Now fuck off my property.’
Flo sounded fit to be tied. ‘Where is he?’ she yelled like a banshee. She looked like she hadn’t slept in an age, her hair all over the place and her slap half sliding off her face.
Tiffany had got up to stand next to her sister. ‘Take it easy Dee. Don’t forget about the next generation of hard girls you’re carrying.’
Dee carried on as if she hadn’t heard, all her attention focused on the woman outside. ‘He?’ She kissed her teeth long and hard, looking Flo up and down with disdain. ‘Like I’d know any wanker who’s matey with you.’
‘Try a wanker called Nicky.’
If there wasn’t glass between them Dee would’ve gone for her. Just hearing her son’s name on that cunning slut’s lips made her see red. ‘Done a bunk, has he? Finally seen through your posho tramp-stamp moves, has he? I brought my lad up to use his noodle.’
Tiff took a warning step towards the door. ‘Go on, sling your hook.’
‘Nicky,’ Flo bellowed, ‘what’s she effing well done with ya? I’m here babe. I ain’t moving an inch until the old crow lets you out.’ The Cockney patter Flo had learned from her dad Stanley Miller set Dee even more on edge. It wasn’t natural for a body to shift from uptown chatter to East End lingo, as far as she was concerned. But then there was nothing normal about Flo Miller.
‘What are you going on about?’ Dee shouted back. ‘Nicky’s not here.’
Flo fixed a fiery gaze on her. ‘I. Don’t. Believe. You.’
Tiffany started opening the French doors. ‘What are you doing?’ Dee blasted.
Her sister shrugged. ‘You don’t want the whole bloody neighbourhood to know your business.’
An agitated Flo stepped inside. Dee and Nicky’s unwanted girlfriend glared at each other like gunslingers ready to draw. Dee broke the silence. ‘What makes you think Nicky’s here?’
Flo was red with anger. ‘Yesterday, he went back here to get . . . some clobber . . .’ She switched back to her girl from a well-to-do family voice, ‘Clothes. And then he was coming right back.’ She smirked, ‘Into my loving embrace.’
Dee started going for her, but Tiff pulled her back. ‘This is one of her tricks.’
Dee stalked over to Flo and stabbed one of her ringed fingers into her face. ‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you’ve touched one hair on my boy’s head . . .’
Flo wriggled her shoulders defiantly and went back to being Stan Miller’s daughter. ‘You’ll what? Try to batter me? Bring it on, you wig-wearing witch.’
If there was one thing likely to send a black woman over the edge it was a statement that rubbished her hair. Dee grabbed the front of her blouse. ‘By the time I’m done with you, you won’t need to be worrying about hair. You’ll be leaving here as bald as your arse.’
Flo went for her arm and they began grappling furiously, twisting around the pool.
‘Ease off, the both of ya.’ Tiff tried desperately to intervene, but neither woman was up for being reasoned with.
Crack! The sound echoed around the room as Flo managed to slap Dee a hard one across the face.
‘I’m gonna rip your head off,’ Dee roared.
‘Watch out,’ Tiff screamed in alarm.
But her sister was in hurricane Dee mode and the only thing that mattered was putting this tart in her place. She raised her hand, her four rings glinting in the air, balled her fingers tight . . .
‘Flippin hell,’ came out of her as the weight of her sudden move upset her balance. She dragged a stunned Flo with her, splashing into the pool. Dee fought frantically to come up for air. She spluttered as Tiffany clutched her belly, laughing the place down.
‘I’ll give you something to giggle about when I get out,’ Dee growled at her.
The laughter vanished as quickly as it came when Tiff remembered the baby. ‘Bollocks Dee, you alright?’
‘Help! Help!’ They both looked over to Flo, flapping her arms furiously and kicking her legs madly. ‘I can’t swim . . .’ Her head went under. Came back up again spitting water. ‘Can’t swim.’
‘What do they teach you at those posh schools for fuck’s sake?’ It did cross Dee’s mind to let the cradle-grabbing bitch drown, but she swam over to her. She started to pull her out of the pool, but Tiff quickly reminded her, ‘You shouldn’t be doing no heavy lifting.’
Tiff hauled Flo out. She pulled in air at an alarming rate, the vision of a drowned rat.
Tiff pointed a finger at both women. ‘Right, enough of the Baywatch palaver. We’ve got a big problem. If Nicky’s not at Flo’s and he’s not here, where is he?’
For the next twenty minutes they cruised around the countryside near the house, but found no sign of Nicky. If the situation weren’t so serious, Tiff would’ve smirked her head off. Dee had given Flo some dry clothes to put on, but had maliciously taken them from the charity bag she was sending to Oxfam. A fluorescent pink, shrunk crop top and Sporty Spice style baggy joggers that Flo had to roll up at the bottom. But there was no time for laughter; Tiff had a bad feeling in her gut.
‘I think this is a waste of time,’ Flo said.
‘Keep driving,’ Dee and Tiff ordered.
They went on for another fifteen minutes.
‘This is getting us no—’ Flo started, but Tiff cut her off.
‘What’s that?’ She couldn’t make out what it was but it wasn’t on the road.
Flo pushed her foot against the accelerator.
‘It’s deffo a car,’ Dee confirmed as they got closer. Then she wailed, ‘That’s my Nicky’s motor.’
Dee was the first to jump out of the car, Tiff and Flo following close behind. Nicky’s car was at an angle in the grass and the driver’s door was wide open.
Dee looked at the empty car in a daze. ‘What’s happened here?’
If there was one thing Tiff knew about it was cars. She pointed at the ground. ‘There’s another set of tyre treads here. And the back of his car is smashed up.’
‘But . . .’ Dee fought to find the words. ‘I don’t understand. Where’s my boy?’
It was Flo who supplied the answer. ‘Looks to me like someone has taken him.’
‘Someone?’ Dee’s features scrunched into an expression of absolute thunder. The fingers of her left hand ran over the rings on her right. ‘I’m gonna kill that fucker.’
Go on, do it, Babs ordered herself. She stared at the prison gate in the distance. It’s an open prison, for crying out loud, all you’ve gotta to do is walk out. Simple. The tabloids were right to some degree; HMP Hillsworth was run in a more informal way. It didn’t really have a gate as such, just two poles acting as a barrier over an open driveway. The women inside were usually nearing the end of their sentence or serving two years or less, so it would be daft to try to bolt. Except if your name was Babs Miller of course.
Despite Knox being shipped out she was still determined to escape. All she had to do was walk.
She’d chosen her time well; the kangas were busy across the prison. After Mrs Field had put a stop to her work outside she’d been assigned ground duty, taking care of the flowers and plants with a crew of three other women. The PO meant to watch them wasn’t, having gone off to have a ciggy somewhere. Babs knew she wasn’t going to
get a second chance.
‘Just off to get permission to go to the Ladies,’ she told the woman next to her.
She started walking towards the open gate. The sweat was popping on her forehead and running like a razor down her back. But she kept going. And going. She was less than a half inch from the pole . . .
‘Babs Miller,’ a voice called out.
Bollocks. She turned to find Mrs Morris looking at her. Usually the woman’s face was soft and serene. Now it was stone cold.
Fifty-Six
Uncle Frank threw his head back as laughter gushed out of him. He was sitting in a boozer in Brick Lane with a group of pals from back in the day. Ah, he loved a tickle about the good old days, although he wouldn’t give up his cushy siesta life in Spain.
‘You’ve made me nearly piss myself,’ he told them. ‘I’ve gotta take a leak. Next round’s on me.’
He wobbled slightly as he got to his feet; one too many Bacardis. His security, sitting at a table nearby, instantly rose on autopilot. He waved them back down impatiently. He might not be living here anymore but his name still commanded maximum respect. Anyone trying to take a pop at him on his old stomping ground was a fool.
He bypassed the bar and entered the Gents. He started whistling, ‘Daisy, Daisy,’ as he did his business. The door opened behind him but he took no notice . . . that was until he felt the barrel of a gun in his back. His whistling halted abruptly. Apparently there were fools still out there.
‘Where is he?’ the person behind him growled.
‘Is that you Dee?’
Dee watched Uncle Frank twist towards her. She kept the gun trained on him. He must have realised that his dinkle was hanging out, as he snapped back around.
‘A bird shouldn’t be in the Gents. What’s the world coming to,’ he said, miffed. Typical Uncle Frank, no sense of danger, more concerned with the traditional roles of men and women.
‘I’ll blow your bloody whizz off if you don’t tell me where my Nicky’s at.’
He zipped up and turned back to her, wearing a stunned expression. ‘Your Nicky? Why the heck would I know where the nipper is?’
She pressed the barrel into his chest with the force of her raging anger. ‘You’ve either got him or your mate Carats has.’
‘Who the fuck is Carats?’
She jabbed him. ‘Your mate who owns the gold. I don’t know his name so I’m calling him Carats—’
‘Oh, I get it.’ Uncle Frank chuckled. ‘Twenty-four Carats. Nice one.’
She was losing her rag. ‘This ain’t no laughing matter.’ Emotion shook her voice. ‘I just want my boy back. He don’t have nuthin to do with this.’
He became serious. ‘That lad’s like a grandson to me. I’d never touch a hair on his head.’
She eyed him, weighing up his sincerity and, with a tightening of her lips, finally put John’s shooter away. ‘This Carats has taken him then.’
‘Nah.’ Uncle Frank shook his head and went to the sink to wash his hands.
The door burst open and his two henchwomen stormed inside. They clocked Dee and reached for their weapons. But Frank stopped them. ‘No need for that me lovelies. Be with you in a jiffy.’
They gave Dee one last sweep with their lethal eyes and then left. It was clear from the lack of footsteps they remained on guard outside.
‘What makes you so sure that Carats hasn’t got him?’
‘Believe me, he wouldn’t hurt Nicky. He could have used him anytime against John or you, but he hasn’t.’ He tore off a piece of paper towel and wiped his hands. ‘You wanna be looking closer to home.’
She knew exactly who he meant. Dee turned and left, thoughts of revenge heating her blood.
On their fourth session Courtney wouldn’t talk about her Nanna Babs and she was grateful that Foxy didn’t get in her face about it. They ate sweet potato fries and a salsa burger with a major league spicy dip.
Foxy asked, ‘What’s drinking booze like?’
Courtney stiffened and sputtered, ‘How would I know? I ain’t never taken a drop in my life. I swear on my heart.’
It was as if Foxy hadn’t heard her. ‘Soon after my mother passed away, I started stealing from my dad’s drinks cabinet. You know what I would do?’ Courtney shook her head, all ears. ‘I’d take some Bacardi – I liked that best of all – then pour some water into the bottle so he wouldn’t notice. I kept drinking and drinking until I was twenty.’
‘What happened?’
Foxy popped a long chip in her mouth and chewed before answering. ‘I was so drunk one day I fell down the stairs and broke my arm.’ Courtney gasped. Foxy rolled up her sleeve to display her arm. ‘See, I can’t bend it properly. That’s the problem with alcohol – it can really mess you up.’
‘Did you have nightmares?’
‘About my mum?’ Courtney nodded, her gaze fixed on the other woman. ‘Yeah. Sometimes I’d wake up screaming because in my dream it was happening all over again.’
‘It’s the same for me.’ Courtney made herself say it. It felt good to finally admit it.
‘What do you have nightmares about?’
Courtney hesitated and then she couldn’t stop the words; they’d been desperate to find a way out. ‘Dead people. Blood. It’s everywhere.’
She was surprised when, instead of taking advantage, all Foxy said was, ‘Next time, tell me about your Nanna Babs.’
Fifty-Seven
‘I’m afraid I’m going to have you refuse you admittance, madam,’ the doorman at The Lock informed Dee firmly.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Dee made herself sound wide-eyed with shock even though she’d prepared herself for this first hurdle.
The doorman was apologetic. ‘I’m afraid you’re barred for causing a disturbance in the restaurant the last time you were here.’
Dee took a step closer to him, her most killer smile in place. ‘Tell Kieran that Dee Black is here and wants to talk business with him.’
‘I’m sorry madam but Mr Scott isn’t on the—’
Dee leaned right into him and watched his eyes bug out at the feel of the gun barrel she had pressed into his side. ‘There’s no call for any drama. And if you think coz I’m a lady I won’t plug you full of holes you don’t know who you’re dealing with.’ Her tone hardened. ‘Where’s your boss?’
The man gulped. ‘In his office.’
‘Lead the way. And get a smile on your chops; we wouldn’t want anyone to think that you’re having a bad time.’ He popped a stupefied grin on.
And with that Dee waltzed into the club. She nodded pleasantly at the reception staff as they made their way to the stairs.
When they reached Kieran’s office she kicked the door in and levelled her gun at the stunned occupants. Kieran and – surprise, surprise – Jen. She moved quickly into the room.
‘Boss—’ the doorman started.
But Kieran cut him off. ‘It’s alright. I’ll deal with this. And keep your mouth shut. I don’t wanna be disturbed.’ After the doorman left he added sarcastically, ‘Hello Dee, I’m hoping you’ve got my bag of golden goodies.’
Dee only had eyes for her sister, sitting in Kieran’s big chair behind his desk, so blinged up she’d give the Bank of England a run for its money.
Dee tutted in disgust. ‘My, my, you’ve gone up in the world. From a crap flat on The Devil to muggins here’s right-hand squeeze? Are you the brains behind the operation these days? Given the pickle your guy’s got himself into, he could use some.’
‘I don’t want no more trouble—’
‘Is that why you’re going out with fuck face here? Did you know he had the tyres of my car shot out?’ Jen gasped. ‘The car went flying and the next thing I know I’m in the ozzie.’
Jen turned sharply to Kieran, who’d got to his feet. ‘She’s lying, ain’t she? You wouldn’t do that?’ Horror coated her every word.
‘Course she is,’ he told her softly.
‘Don’t believe a bollocks word that comes out of
his cake hole,’ Dee shot back hotly. ‘And now he’s gone and taken Nicky.’
Jen’s head swung so quickly towards Kieran it was a blur. She couldn’t get the words past her lips, she was so shocked by Dee’s accusation.
Kieran made a very nasty noise at the back of his throat. ‘As if! I told you Jen, you don’t know this woman. She’s making it up. She should be writing for EastEnders.’
‘He’s right,’ Jen decided, her lip curled. ‘You’d do anything to get your way.’
Dee’s finger tightened on the trigger. ‘You wanna be careful, sister dearest, coz I’m just itching to blow your fake, hard bird arse to kingdom come.’ She turned to Kieran. ‘Where’s my boy?’
‘Don’t answer her,’ Jen snapped. ‘Everyone knows that he’s with that slag Flo.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Dee informed her with relish. ‘She came knocking at mine to tell me she hadn’t seen him.’ Her voice cracked slightly. ‘We found his abandoned car.’
Jen looked slightly more worried. She glanced at her boyfriend again.
Dee could barely contain herself. ‘Cut the crap Kieran. You’ve got my boy and I want him back. Pronto. And if I don’t, I swear to God . . .’ The gun hiked up, aiming squarely at his heart.
‘So where’s my gold?’ he jumped in viciously.
Dee’s jaw tightened. ‘Where’s my son?’
The room rang with his hollow laugh. ‘Your kid’s probably just left town for a couple of days. Or the battery on his mobile has conked out. Or maybe he’s out on the lash with a new girlfriend. Kids of his age are always disappearing. I know, I used to do it myself.’ Then he added, ‘Of course, if he is in a spot of bother, I might be able to help with that. I could put the word out. I’m sure I could get any trouble resolved. But I’d expect some help in return. After all, I’m a big-hearted Arthur but I’m not a charity. And you know what I’d want in—’
Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series) Page 32