They finally stopped walking down the station corridor. One of the cops opened a door. Behind it wasn’t the small interrogation room Babs had been expecting, but a larger one with soft chairs. Part of one wall was a long mirror and in front of it was a cabinet with refreshments. Now she was even more curious. ‘If you could please wait here,’ the cop said.
Babs and Tiff walked inside, but Babs immediately turned back to the door. ‘Look, you’ve gotta—’ The door closed firmly in her face.
She almost banged her fists against it with pent-up frustration, but then remembered her broken finger. It was throbbing for the first time in days. Babs was scared. Very scared. Although she told herself things were on the up, there was something going on here that she didn’t like; not one bit. Babs desperately wanted one of her pills to steady her frayed nerves.
She turned to Tiff. ‘You ain’t got some gear on ya?’
Her daughter’s mouth fell open. ‘Gear? Are you having a senior moment?’ She lowered her voice as her eyes darted suspiciously around the room. ‘Anyone could be listening. They might have them secret cameras. Plus, you know, I don’t do that type of shit any—’
‘Not even a bit of weed?’ Babs butted in. If she didn’t get some chemical assistance soon she was going to start screaming. ‘I’m tearing me hair out here. My nerves are climbing the walls. I’m . . . I’m . . .’ She couldn’t finish; emotion clogged up her throat. She looked at her youngest with beseeching eyes. ‘I’m fifty-three years old. All I want is a bit of peace and quiet to get on with my life.’
Tiffany took her mum’s arm and got her sat down in a cosy chair facing the mirrored wall. She made two brews and joined her. ‘If it were anything funny they would’ve arrested you at the flat,’ she reasoned. ‘Or here, as soon as you walked through the door.’
Babs cried, ‘But why all the cloak and dagger then? Why won’t they just spit it out and tell me what the heck I’m doing here?’
Tiff looked at her with a glint in her eye. ‘Maybe they’re gonna give you some compo for your broken finger. I had this mate once who got scratched by a rusty nail inside. She put in for some compo and left the big house with two large.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Babs snapped, her cold hands starting to warm up around the cup she held. ‘I never put in—’
She jumped up, sloshing tea over her hand as the door began to open. Her heartbeat started galloping as three people were escorted into the room. ‘What are you lot doing here?’ she asked Jen, Dee and Nicky.
Next door, the man watched the tense family gathering through the two-way mirror. Now they were all here he thought of making his entrance. Instead he jammed his hands into his pockets and kept watching and listening, especially to Babs.
‘Mum? What the hell’s going on?’
‘What you doing outta prison?’
Dee and Jen threw their questions in quick succession. ‘They let me out early.’ She sucked in her breath. ‘Has someone got a nut tab, my head is bustin’ something chronic.’
Dee sorted out her mum with a Paracetamol and they all sat down. Babs carried on, ‘I don’t understand why I’m here. Did the Bill tell ya?’
Jen’s face fell. ‘Courtney’s here.’ Her eyes grew wide. ‘All they would say was they needed to talk confidentially. Mum I’m shitting myself, scared to death what it might be.’
Babs’ feeling of hopelessness was replaced by anger. ‘And where were you when she did a flit, eh? She’s been telling me all about how your attention is taken up with Kieran. If he were here I’d give him a piece of my mind.’
Dee lowered her voice. ‘When we get out of here I’ll tell you chapter and verse about what’s been going on.’ She looked around the room. ‘Walls have ears and all that, especially in a cop shop.’
‘Hang on,’ Tiff joined in, staring hard at Babs, ‘when did you chat with Court? I thought you put the brakes on her coming up to see you?’
All eyes turned to Babs. She shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Yeah, well, if you’d been keeping an eagle eye on her, she wouldn’t have been able to visit me the other day using fake ID.’ Babs struggled to her feet and cast an accusing eye at her gathered family. ‘I don’t know the full story of what’s been going down these last few months, but Courtney gave me the headlines. And when what’s happening here is done and dusted we’re gonna have a family sit-down,’ she jabbed her broken finger at them. ‘The lot of—’
The door opened and all the words dried up in Babs’ mouth when she saw the tall, distinguished man standing there. Nah, it can’t be. She blinked a couple of times. My eyes must be getting dodgy . . . But there he was. All the years floated away.
‘Tricky Dickie?’ Her tone was dreamy. She couldn’t get her head around this.
‘Babs.’
She moved towards him as if they were the only two people in the room. Richard Smith, that’s what she’d known him as, even though that wasn’t his real name. The first time she’d seen him back in ’78 he’d been a dead ringer for that fella who played Poldark on the telly. He was still a looker, but now with grey strands in his black hair and lifelines creasing his face. And those grey eyes of his were still intent with a soft centre. She’d only seen him once since then. The day she was arrested for murdering Stan. He’d visited her in the holding cell and given her the wise advice to keep her mouth shut until her brief got there. She swallowed and folded her arms tight. Was this something to do with her very dead ex? Was Stanley Miller going to keep haunting her from his rotting grave?
‘Richard, I don’t understand what’s going on.’
Tiff jumped in with, ‘Who’s this geezer then?’ She sniffed the air. ‘I can smell a cop a mile off.’
Richard peered at Tiffany. ‘You must be Tiffany. You were always screaming your head off as a kid.’
She went red. ‘What business is it of yours what I do with my mouth?’ With a flash of her eyes she dismissed him and turned to her mum. ‘Who’s this jester?’
Babs shifted to stand sideways, so she could keep an eye on the man from her past as well as her family. ‘This is Richard Smith . . . I mean Patrick Johnson. We knew each other donkeys ago.’ She couldn’t help the blush that leaked across her cheeks. Oh, she’d known Tricky Dickie alright. ‘He’s a policeman—’
‘Was,’ he cut in. ‘I’ve been retired for the best part of a year now.’
Dee stood up and, as usual, was the one who said it as it was. ‘Let’s cut through all the bullshit, mister ex-police officer. Just tell us why a top cop needs to see Babs and what this has to do with our Courtney.’
Patrick’s gaze roamed over her face with wonder. ‘You’re Desiree. I was glad to hear that you and your mum reunited.’ His gaze fixed on Babs’ middle child. ‘You must be Jennifer. Courtney’s mother?’ She got to her feet and nodded, her face very grave. ‘I need to speak to you and your mum in private.’
Babs made up her mind that the time for secrets was over. She shook her head. ‘Whatever you’ve got to say you’ll say it to all of us.’ Her gaze ran over the others. ‘We’re a family and whatever needs sorting we’ll do it together.’
For the first time in three, long years Babs took her place as the head of the family.
Patrick took a seat facing Babs as Dee and Jen also sat back down. ‘I’m here because my former colleagues know that I have a history with this family, in particular Babs and Stanley Miller.’ Some in the room drew in their breaths sharply, but no one interrupted him. ‘The last time I saw Babs was just after her arrest.’ He switched his gaze onto Babs, his look filling her body with the coldness of winter. ‘Babs, someone has stepped forward to say they murdered Stanley.’
Babs cringed as Dee called out, ‘You what?’
A startled Tiffany added, ‘What you going on about?’
‘No, no, no,’ a dazed Jen repeated over and over, sensing and dreading what was to come.
He carried on without emotion. ‘Courtney contacted her counsellor and told her that she was read
y to tell her about Nanna Babs. She told her that she killed her grandfather not Babs.’
Cries of dismay filled the room. Jen’s face crumbled as she turned to confront her mum. ‘Is this true?’
Babs didn’t realise it but she was shaking her head again and again. ‘Jen . . .’
‘I want the truth Mum.’ Jen’s voice made an ugly, strangling sound in her throat. ‘Now.’
Everyone’s attention drilled into Babs. She felt like an animal that had been cornered. For a split second she thought about denying it, telling them all that Courtney was playing a joke on the lot of them. But she realised that if her family had any chance of knitting itself back together she was going to have to put the truth plainly on the table.
She licked her dry bottom lip. Then she spoke. Her mind rewound to the events of that awful day. ‘It was my birthday. I’d just finished getting ready and was having a happy bop around the house to ‘‘Leader of the Pack’’, you know by the Shangri-las.’ Eyes unseeing, she burst into song, her voice croaking. She was halfway through when she figured out which line she was singing – the one about feeling so helpless, what could she do. The strangest thing was everyone remained silent while her rusty voice filled the room, almost as if they recognised that this was the way the story had to be told.
Babs’ mouth moved, but she couldn’t sing the next line. ‘I was singing it you see. Then someone knocks at the door and I think to myself, Oh my girls are here to take me out.’ Her face clouded over. ‘But when I opened the door it was Satan himself. Before I knew it Stan had pushed his way inside. He wanted me to sign those documents – you know the ones.’ Her lip curled. ‘He was such a greedy, selfish bloke. It took me years to realise that. I didn’t know at the time but he was broke and those papers were his only chance to get his mitts on some quick cash.’
She forced herself to look at each of her daughters in turn, even though it made her tummy clench and burn. ‘Those houses I’m selling belonged to him. Well, they did until he used that Stan trickery to sign them over to me. I didn’t know it though. For years he had me down on my knees, cleaning his insurance policy. Now he wanted them back and all I had to do was sign his papers.’
She heaved in a deep punch of air, feeling like she was going to collapse. ‘Do you want some water?’ Richard asked quietly.
She waved a dismissive hand at him. She had to tell this all now; if she stopped she didn’t think she would make it to the end. ‘Anyway, one thing led to another and we started going at it. Before I knew what was what he had me on the floor with his hands around my throat—’
‘Oh God, Mum.’ That was Dee, but she ploughed on.
‘He was squeezing the life outta me. He kept squeezing and squeezing . . . then all I felt was blood in my face. He topples over and . . . and . . .’ she focused on Jen, ‘and there was my beautiful Courtney, so brave, so scared, with my iron in her hand.’
Babs shot to her feet and pleaded with Patrick. ‘She didn’t mean to kill him. All she saw was this man she didn’t know from Adam, choking me. What was she meant to do? Just let him go on with it?’
Now it was Jen’s turn to stand, trembling, her eyes filled with unshed tears. ‘You should’ve told me. She ain’t been right since you got banged up and now I know why.’ Her voice rose. ‘She has nightmares all the time. What she must see when she closes her eyes. I could’ve helped her if you’d just told me. No wonder her mouth always turned down when she saw me ironing. It must’ve reminded her. ’
Babs toughened her spine. ‘Don’t you get it? Stanley Miller was my grief to bear. That’s why I kept him well away from you and Tiff. Dee as well. God if you knew what he’d done to me and Dee. It was best everyone believed it was me that did him in. If I let on about what really had gone on Courtney would’ve been locked up in one of those places for naughty girls. My little princess hasn’t got one bad bone in her body. So we made a pact. It was our secret. And I’d make the same decision again in a heartbeat.’ She desperately switched her attention to Patrick. ‘She won’t get into trouble will she?’
Patrick sighed. ‘Now the truth’s out, that isn’t going to be my decision to make. But I’ll say this with my cop cap on, it’s a good thing that she stepped forward. I know you did what you did with the best of intentions but it was eating that little girl alive Babs. She’s got a drinking habit because of it; she thinks it helps her sleep. Children shouldn’t have to deal with such horrible things on their own.’
The door opened. Another policeman stepped inside and called Patrick over. They left the room and a terrible silence descended over everyone. Babs couldn’t meet Jen’s eyes as guilt ate into her.
When Patrick came back inside Babs could tell by the strain and paleness of his face that something was wrong. She got to her feet. ‘What’s going on?’
Jen stood up too. ‘Can I see my daughter?’
Patrick addressed the room like he was back in his commander brass and stripes. ‘My colleague has just taken a call from social services. Two social workers were driving her to a temporary foster home when she did a runner.’ Jen gasped. ‘No one can find her.’
Sixty-Three
‘Trouble is, where would a thirteen-year-old girl on the run go?’ an exhausted Tiffany asked.
It was almost one in the morning and she was sitting with her equally shattered sisters and mum in Babs’ sitting room. The atmosphere was filled with desperation. They couldn’t find Courtney. They’d called her mates – no joy. Trawled every nook and cranny on The Devil – no joy there either. They’d even gone down the dreaded Bridge House but no one knew nish. She’d vanished into thin air.
To say Jen was wrung out was putting it mildly. She was living every parent’s nightmare of their child going missing. All she kept seeing in her head were the terrible things that might be happening to her girl, dragged off the street by a group of pervy men and . . . Jen quickly covered her mouth, frightened that she was going to chuck up.
‘Lovey, you alright?’ her mum asked, her face filled with worry.
Jen looked at each member of her family and for the first time in forever she felt grateful for them. Grateful that she had them to lean on as she went through the worst ordeal a mum could ever face. She knew that they were expecting her to crack and crumble, bless ’em. The old Jen certainly would’ve by now, but not this new, reborn Jen. Her emotions were tearing her apart, but she made sure she didn’t let it show. When she had Court safe and secure in her arms again, that would be the time to break down and cry. And she would find her daughter. She silently prayed that when that happened she wouldn’t be looking at her girl’s dead body.
Jen swept that last dreaded thought aside. ‘You should know where a thirteen-year-old on the run would go Tiff; you were one often enough.’
Tiffany gave a wry grin. ‘Most times it was down the ol’ cemetery. I told Court all about the naughties I got up to but the young ones don’t really hang there since that education centre was built.’
Dee stood up in frustration. ‘She’s got to be somewhere.’
Babs gazed at them sadly. ‘This is all my fault, ain’t it? I should have told the truth from the off . . .’
Dee cut her off. ‘This is no time for a wander down a street called What If. We can all do that trip when we’ve got Courtney safely home—’
‘There’s one place we haven’t thought of looking,’ Nicky piped up.
The darkness enveloped Flo as she stood outside the houses in Mile End. She had what looked like a doctor’s bag gripped between her fingers and a holdall over her shoulder. Her knuckles were white with fury. She looked at her dad’s properties, which she’d set out to win back in her old man’s honour. It was a matter of principle. She’d lost and the Millers had won. But that battle was over. Now it was time for revenge.
She walked up the steps of 9 Bancroft Square and ran a finger over the door lock. She had no key but she had something just as good. From her holdall, she pulled out a sledgehammer and with an evi
l grin she let fly at the door with savage blows. The freshly painted wood splintered, cracked and warped before finally giving way. The door swung open and Flo stepped into the hall with the sledgehammer resting on her shoulder. She put on the lights and wandered up and down, wondering where to start. The banister, carefully restored to its original glory, wound her up for a start. She took the sledgehammer to it, knocking out its supports until it collapsed under its own weight.
‘I’ll teach those people to fuck around with Stanley Miller’s girl.’
She’d considered burning the houses down but that ran the risk that the Millers might think it was accidental. There was going to be nothing accidental about the scene when they turned up to check out their winnings. The whole place was going to be trashed. She fished around in her doctor’s bag and found a claw hammer and machete. She went from room to room, slashing furniture and fittings with her blade and digging lumps out of the plaster with her hammer. She paid particular attention to the period features. Around the fireplaces were the original Georgian tiles. They’d been painted over during the joint’s spell as a knocking shop but the builders had carefully restored them so they looked as they must have done when the place was first built. With careful aim, Flo shattered or cracked each one in turn. When she’d done she stood back and admired her handiwork. ‘What do you think, Dad? I think they’ll need a trip down Homebase, don’t you?’
But even as she whacked her hammer for the final blow, she felt the power in her arm weakening. What was the point of this? The Millers were selling the house, not the features. The kind of tosser who bought a place like this would soon fix the repairs with the change they lost out of their trouser pockets and didn’t notice.
She remembered the final words of her old dad on the phone before he’d gone to his death at the hands of his ‘wife’.
‘Don’t worry babe, I’m going to have a word with Babs about the houses. I’ll make her see reason. She ain’t a bad person. We’ll get ’em back.’
Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series) Page 35