Tainted Lives

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘No,’ Harry murmured truthfully. Sarah wouldn’t come back to see Dandi – he was sure of that. But there was no way he was letting on that she’d promised to write to him. Vinnie would grab the letter for himself if he knew it was coming.

  ‘You sure about that?’

  Harry nodded, his whole body tensing.

  ‘All right.’ Vinnie’s voice was resigned. ‘Make sure you tell me if she gets in touch. Later.’ He left then, pulling the door quietly to behind him.

  Harry exhaled nervously. He was trembling, his heart thudding violently in his chest. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that Vinnie would honour a promise. But Vinnie had spoken to him as if he were a real person, instead of just calling him nasty names or threatening him.

  Still, it wouldn’t last. Once Vinnie realized that Sarah didn’t want anything to do with him, he would be as bad as ever – if not worse.

  Reaching for Sarah’s pillow, Harry held it tight against his stomach and rocked himself to and fro, praying that he would have the strength to survive when the beatings started up again.

  12

  Sarah walked into Withington Village, using the twenty minutes that it took to clear her head and plan her next move. She would start as she meant to go on – independently. No one but herself was ever going to take credit for her future successes, and to make sure no one was under any illusions to the contrary she dropped the envelope Dandi had given her into the nearest bin. If they checked with the bank, they’d know that she hadn’t touched the account. Just as they would know that she hadn’t gone begging for housing, or for help to get a job.

  Buying cigarettes, a local paper and a pen, she went to a café and got a pot of tea. Sitting in a secluded corner, she studied the ads. An hour and three cups later, she had circled nineteen – eleven flats to let, and eight job vacancies. Ringing them all from the payphone on the wall beside the toilets, she arranged to see seven flats that day and set up three job interviews for the following week.

  Shrugging the rucksack onto her shoulder, Sarah strolled to the bus stop with high hopes. This was going to be so easy.

  The first flat wasn’t a flat at all. It was just a room in a shared house in a run-down street in the worst part of Longsight. The stench of neglect hit Sarah before she reached the front door, and the woman who answered reeked of it. But, worse, she didn’t even flinch when the malnourished-looking baby slung over her shoulder puked down the back of her dress.

  Disgusted, Sarah didn’t bother going inside. Without a word, she just turned on her heel and stalked away with her head held high. She was desperate – but not that desperate!

  The next place was a slight improvement. At least it was a flat – but that was the only good thing about it. It was on the fifteenth floor of a high-rise on the outskirts of Hulme, and the lift was out of action – its door wedged open by a gang of teenagers. They didn’t do anything, but she could feel them watching as she climbed the piss-stinking stairs. Out of sight, she took her knife from the rucksack and held it in her pocket in case they came after her.

  The flat was dirty, smelly, and inhabited, the tenant having forgotten to mention that it was a council property he was subletting – illegally – without actually moving out.

  Storming back down the stairs, Sarah was glad to find that the gang had gone. Not for herself – for them. The mood she was in right then, she might have done one of them a serious damage if they’d tried anything.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon taking long bus journeys to Wythenshawe, Salford and, finally, Stretford, only to find that the rest of the flats were just as unsuitable. The Stretford one was nice and clean, but yet again it was only a room with shared facilities. And the landlady – in residence – had a list of rules and regulations so detailed and rigid that even Dandi would have been proud to put her name to it.

  Thoroughly disappointed, her head throbbing, her feet on fire, Sarah went in search of a phone-box to re-call the last number on her list – much as she’d rather not.

  The ad had said: ‘Property to let, call Mr Gilbert on blah-di-blah.’ Mr Gilbert had elaborated a little, telling her that it was a self-contained flat within a shared house. Her hopes had risen at this, but they’d immediately dropped when he’d gone on to say it was in Whalley Range – just a ten-minute walk from Moss Side.

  She was just as reluctant to view it now, but her options were severely limited. If it didn’t work out, she could always find herself a nice park bench and try again tomorrow.

  Calling Mr Gilbert again, Sarah agreed to meet him outside the Megabowl in the White City shopping arcade at five. He would drive her over to see the flat from there.

  It was four-thirty when Mark arrived at Starlight. Pulling into his old parking space at the side of the house, he forced himself to wipe the huge smirk off his face before going inside.

  Dandi had rung earlier that afternoon to tell him that the coast was clear, and to assure him that the kids knew nothing about Sarah’s allegation. But he knew from experience that they wouldn’t let on even if they knew the whole story, and he wanted to gauge their reaction for himself. The worst thing he could do was walk in grinning like an idiot when every child in the place knew what he was supposed to have done and hated his guts.

  Relieved to find the hallway empty, he went to the office, took a deep breath and tapped on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Dandi called.

  Mark almost cried out with delight – her voice was such a warm, welcome sound after a week of his mother’s sniping and moaning. Throwing the door open, he rushed inside like an excited little boy.

  Smiling broadly, Dandi came around the desk to greet him with a hug. ‘It’s lovely to have you back.’

  ‘Fantastic to be back,’ he said, squeezing her tight and lifting her feet right off the floor. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve missed the place – and you, of course. You wouldn’t believe how stressful it’s been living with my mum again! That woman could make a saint blaspheme!’

  Chuckling as she disentangled herself, Dandi said, ‘Sit down. I’ll make coffee and we can catch up.’

  ‘Oh, let me!’ Mark almost ran to get to the kettle before her. ‘It’ll be great making a brew for someone who appreciates it. My mum says I don’t leave teabags in long enough, and I stir coffee the wrong way round. How mad is that? It’s too weak, too strong, too dark, too light . . . Honest to God, Dandi, if you hadn’t called me, she’d be drinking rat poison tonight!’

  ‘Good job I did then,’ she chuckled. ‘Can I take it you’ve decided to move back permanently, then?’

  ‘Hell, yeah!’ he yelped. ‘I never wanted to leave in the first place.’ A shadow flitted across his face. Turning fully around, he leaned back against the ledge. ‘Was Sarah all right when you told her I was coming back? Didn’t ruin her birthday, did it?’

  Smiling grimly, Dandi said, ‘It didn’t exactly go with a bang, I must admit. But don’t blame yourself. She’ll get over it.’

  Nodding, Mark finished making the coffee in silence. Handing Dandi’s to her, he sat down.

  ‘I don’t blame myself, you know. Not for that, anyway, because I know I didn’t do anything wrong. I just feel so sorry for her. She must have been going through hell, carrying that around in her head day and night. All that time I thought she was annoyed with me for rushing out on her when she was drunk – I wish I’d just confronted her now. At least if I’d known what she was thinking, I might have been able to help her.’

  Dandi shook her head. ‘Nice thought, but I doubt it would have achieved anything positive.’

  Sighing, Mark said, ‘I know. But it’s all I’ve been thinking about while I’ve been gone. I just wanted to tell her that I’d never dream of doing something like that. I mean, I’ve always really liked her. Respected her, even. She’s such a lovely-looking girl, but she doesn’t flaunt herself. She’s got – I don’t know – something about her.’

  ‘She has that,’ Dandi agreed. ‘And I�
�m sure she’ll go far if she puts her mind to it. We’ll just have to wait and see.’

  Picking up her cup, she took a sip and sighed blissfully. ‘Oh, Lord, I’ve missed this! Welcome back, Mark.’

  Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. He’d have stayed curled up on Sarah’s bed all day and night if Dandi hadn’t kicked him out – gently but firmly telling him to get his backside downstairs for something to eat before he made himself sick. He had sneaked back in just a few minutes ago, only to find the bed stripped and the furniture covered over in preparation for redecorating. Knowing that there was nothing left for him there, he’d gone back to his own room, but Ollie had told him to get lost.

  Going down to the TV room, he bumped into Vinnie and Pete. The breath caught in his throat as he waited for a dig, a threat – a shove, at least. But nothing came. Instead, Vinnie gave him the tiniest of nods and pushed Pete up the stairs.

  It took a moment for Harry to regain the use of his legs. He was shaking all over. He didn’t trust this new laying-off business. At least before, he’d known exactly what was coming and when. Now, he wouldn’t be able to relax as he waited for things to revert to normal.

  Sitting on the couch, Harry stared at the images flickering across the TV screen. But it was impossible to concentrate. Giving up after a few minutes, he wandered into the hall, intending to ask Dandi if she needed any jobs doing – anything to fill the void. Just as he was about to knock on the office door, however, he heard laughter and muffled voices coming from within and decided against it. He didn’t want to disturb her if she had company.

  His heart skipped a beat at a creak on the landing above. It was probably Vinnie and Pete coming back to let him know they’d only been playing with his head and were ready to resume the torment. He could tell them that the anticipation was worse than the actual act, but he doubted they’d understand.

  Dashing outside, he ran head-down around the corner and dived into the dense bushes. Forcing his way through, he sat with his back against the wall and lit one of the cigarettes that Sarah had left him.

  He cocked his head when he heard footsteps crunching across the gravel a minute later.

  ‘Just fetching my cases . . .’ Mark’s voice rang out. ‘Won’t be a minute!’

  Harry felt sick. What was he doing here?

  Dimping the cigarette, he positioned himself so that he could see the parking lot clearly. Mark was just feet away, his back to Harry as he opened the boot of his car and hefted two suitcases out. Harry was inflamed with rage. He had liked this man once, but the bastard had done something really, really bad to Sarah. And now she was gone, and he was moving back in. It wasn’t right!

  Mark’s mobile phone trilled. Bringing it out of his pocket, he answered it as he dropped the boot lid down with a heavy clunk.

  ‘Yo? . . . Oh, hi, Sean! When did you get back?’

  Harry slunk further down as Mark turned and leaned against the car. He was laughing now and Harry wanted to smash his face in. Looking down, he searched the soil beneath his feet for stones. He’d teach the bastard to laugh. See if he still found everything so funny when he had a few rocks raining down on his head!

  Spying a sharp point of slate protruding from the earth beneath the bush, Harry dug it out. It was a nice thick piece – too large to waste on a throw. Waiting patiently, he gripped it as if it were a knife – wishing it were, so that he could catch the bastard unawares and slice his dirty dick off!

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Mark was saying now, ‘really good . . . My boss has been brilliant. She’s been behind me all the way. I told you about her, didn’t I? . . . Yeah! I couldn’t believe it myself!’ Another laugh. ‘Anyway, best go – don’t want to look like I’m taking the mick on my first day back. Will I see you later?’ Coy now. ‘Great! See you at eight, then. Bye-ee.’

  Infuriated by the blitheness of Mark’s tone when Sarah’s world had been completely destroyed, Harry hawked up in his throat and aimed the spit at Mark’s grinning face, but it hit the branch in front of his own face instead and slithered down onto his thigh like a foamy yellow bush-worm.

  Using the piece of slate to flick it off, Harry waited until Mark had picked up his cases and carried them around to the front door. Then, slipping out of his hiding place, he scuttled across to the metallic-blue Peugeot and, starting at the headlight end of the wing, scratched an enormous gouge into the paintwork, using both hands to drag the slate point along to the rear bumper.

  Flinging his tool back into the bush when he’d finished, Harry stepped back to view his handiwork, smiling with justified pride.

  One-nil to Sarah! And there would be more to come. Plenty more!

  It was almost six before Mr Gilbert pulled up outside the Megabowl. Sarah had been about to give up and leave, and she was short with him when he rolled his window down and asked if she were Miss Mullen.

  ‘Yeah!’ she snapped, folding her arms, her nostrils flaring with annoyance. ‘And you’re late!’

  Indicating with a jerk of his head for her to come around to the passenger side, Mr Gilbert said, ‘There was a pile-up outside the Arndale. I’ve been sitting in a massive queue waiting for the police to let me past. Still, I’m here now. Let’s get you over to the flat, shall we?’

  Climbing in, too tired and footsore to argue, Sarah shivered as the warm air from the vents enveloped her. Sighing, she leaned her head back against the soft leather headrest and closed her eyes.

  The drive took ten minutes, and Mr Gilbert spent the entire time telling her how desirable an area Whalley Range had become in recent years, and how lucky she was to get a flat there.

  The reality was quite a shock.

  It wasn’t Whalley Range at all. It was Moss Side. Immediately facing Alexandra Park’s east side, to be exact – just two minutes from Sarah’s former home on the sprawling estate facing the west side.

  With a sinking heart, Sarah followed as Mr Gilbert kicked a path through the rubbish-cluttered front yard and mounted the concrete steps leading up to the door of the three-storey Victorian house. Selecting a key from a large bunch, he opened up and stepped aside to let her enter.

  The hall was dark and narrow and smelled of damp and – Sarah wrinkled her nose – dog shit? An old fridge stood behind the door, its own door hanging off the hinges. Several bicycles leaned against the stained walls – most missing their front wheels, some just their seats. A long-defunct motorbike engine sat atop a spread of oil-stained newspapers. And the fitted carpet might once have been plush, but was now black and shiny from years of feet tramping in dirt.

  There were three doors along the passage, two with Yale locks, the third, standing open, that of a kitchen. Sarah shuddered to see that it was as rubbish-packed and filthy as the hall. She was glad she wouldn’t have to use that. Mr Gilbert had assured her that her flat was self-contained. If he’d lied about that as well, there’d be murder!

  ‘Two down, three up,’ he was telling her, waving her to follow as he set off up the stairs. ‘Yours is at the top, but you won’t mind the stairs. There’s one empty in the middle, but we’re having a bit of work done on that. All the other tenants are male, by the way.’ He smiled back at her over his shoulder. ‘You’ll be all right if you ever want anything heavy moving, but remember to keep your door locked. Pretty girl like you, you don’t want to be giving anyone ideas.’

  Sarah didn’t say anything. If he was trying to convince her of the merits of living here, he wasn’t doing too good a job of it.

  The ‘self-contained flat’ was an attic split into four plasterboard compartments: tiny bedroom and bathroom, miniscule kitchenette, and a shoebox living room – kiddie’s-size shoes. Each compartment was shrouded in a layer of dust so thick that it looked as if it had been spray-painted grey. And the furniture – what she could see of it – was gross.

  ‘All right, isn’t it?’ Mr Gilbert enthused, using the edge of the grey net to smudge a hole in the grime coating the window. ‘Bit mucky, but you’ll soon have it spi
ck and span. Nice and quiet. And you can’t buy a view like that.’

  Sarah had already decided to take it. It was a dump, but it was better than everything else she’d seen. And it was definitely a solo affair – no hidden flatmates, or landladies with rules about what time to be in at night, when to eat, when to use the bathroom . . . And dirty as it was, she was so tired right now that she could happily lie on the dust-coated mattress and sleep for a week.

  ‘I’ll take it.’ She cut into Mr Gilbert’s gushing hard-sell routine.

  ‘Have you ever signed a tenancy agreement before?’ he asked, grinning as he took the contract from his pocket.

  ‘No. I’ve only come out of the – er, I’ve just left home.’

  ‘Ah, well, don’t worry, it’s very straightforward. You’ll love it. It’s great having no one but yourself to answer to.’ Unfolding the paper as he spoke, he laid it in front of her on the table and held out a pen.

  Signing quickly, Sarah asked when she could move in.

  ‘That’s what I like to see,’ he said, repocketing the form. ‘A decisive woman. You’re a rare creature, my love. It’s yours as of now.’

  Taking three keys from the bunch, he handed them to her and pointed each one out: main door, her door, fire escape.

  ‘That’s the only one for the fire escape, incidentally,’ he warned. ‘And the other tenants must be granted access in an emergency, so I’d work out some sort of strategy with them from the off, if I was you – save them kicking your door in if the place goes up. Not that it will, of course. We had an inspection a short while back. I take it you’ll be claiming Housing Benefit?’

  Sarah gazed at him blankly. She hadn’t even thought about benefits; didn’t know the first thing about making claims. She didn’t even remember Dandi mentioning it.

  ‘Are you working?’ Mr Gilbert asked, taking matters into his own hands in a desire to speed things along.

  ‘Not yet. But I will be.’