Jimmy’s gaze swung nervously between her and Chris. ‘Yeah? You look like you want to have a chat in private with this gentleman.’
‘Do what I bloody tell you to do.’
Chris walked across the room and stood in front of her. ‘What’s going on, Dee?’
He was bigger than John with a lot more muscle and, if she hadn’t set her sights on her boss, she might – just might – be up for letting Chris cop a feel. ‘Why don’t you ask John? He asked the guy to come in. Although I expect he will wonder why someone is questioning decisions. I know I would. I never saw you come in?’
‘I came around the back.’
‘Just like an alley cat.’
Chris leaned closer and demanded, ‘What’s. He. Doing?’
Dee wiggled her head on her neck; she wasn’t fucking scared of him. ‘I could give you the same answer John would – why don’t you mind your own business? But the truth is, I don’t know. I don’t ask questions because I don’t think I have the right to question my boss’s authority, like you seem to imagine you have.’
Chris flushed. ‘I’m not questioning John’s say-so. I’m questioning yours. You see, that’s the trouble with John. He’s too trusting. You’ve come out of nowhere, exploited his good nature and now you’re acting like Lady Dee of the Manor.’
‘Lady Dee? I like that, Chris.’ She said it softly like she was asking him to do something naughty to her in a porn flick. Then she hardened up: ‘You’ve got a problem with me? Take it up with the boss.’
Chris stepped back and looked over at Jimmy who was hurrying his work on the box.
He turned back to her with a smug smile. ‘Oh, I will.’
Dee stood her ground until Chris had gone, then she put a fire under Jimmy, telling him he had ten minutes, tops.
‘Who is this John character then?’ he said as he tightened a screw.
Dee issued a veiled threat. ‘Ask around locally, everyone knows him. Then you’ll also understand why it won’t be in your interest to shoot your big mouth off about this to a soul.’
‘Oi! You blind or what?’ a driver roared as Babs crossed the busy Mile End Road without waiting for the lights to turn red.
He honked his horn furiously at her, but she ignored him, taking her sweet time walking, her workbag swinging gently against her hip. As soon as she reached the other side, she instantly felt like she was in another country. This side of the road was filled with imposing and elegant Victorian and Georgian houses. Admittedly a few looked like they were still recovering from the Blitz, but there was something about those houses that put Babs in mind of a better life. You could breathe, really breathe long and slow in one of those houses – not like The Devil, where everyone and their Pitbull seemed to be fighting for space. She walked on until she got to what she considered the best part of the other side of Mile End Road: Bancroft Square, or, as she liked to call it, Babs’ Square. The tall, three-storey Georgian houses were laid in a square around a pretty garden with two iron benches and flowers bursting with life and colour.
Fancy having your own little park to sit in? Mind you, it didn’t stop the local scum from using it as a drinking and drugs den, come dark. The council had put a thick chain and padlock on the gate to lock it up at night with only residents of the square given a key. As if a padlock could keep out the junkies and tearaways around here.
‘I’d given up on you coming today.’ The quick-fire Irish accent came from a woman sitting on one of the benches, smoking a fag as Babs walked into the garden.
Theresa Marshall was a good ten years older than Babs, with a mischievous face with deep lines around her eyes that testified to her loving a good chuckle every now and again. She had six grandkids who made her stick out her chin proudly when she talked about them. Two of her grandbabies lived with her, as Theresa’s middle girl and husband – well-known drug addicts – had done a flit one night after selling every stick of furniture in their flat, and had never been seen again.
It was Theresa and Babs’ ritual to meet once a week for ten minutes before they started their cleaning jobs. Babs cleaned numbers nine and ten, while Terri took care of number fifteen. They would have a smoke, a chit-chat and, if life was on the up, a giggle or two.
‘I got carried away cleaning up my place and forgot about the time,’ Babs explained as she plonked herself down beside her friend. She crossed her legs at the ankle and inhaled. Even the air smelt fresher this side of Mile End.
‘You’d think you’d have enough of cleaning over here to be spending time on it at yours. You know what that bitch said to me?’ That bitch was the woman at number 15 who Terri cleaned for. ‘She had the front to tell me – not ask, mind you – that the next time I cleaned that fancy stone floor of hers in the kitchen I was to get down on my hands and knees with a scrubbing brush.’
Babs leaned her head to the side, outraged, as she let out a puff of smoke. ‘Flippin’ sauce. I hope you told her where to get off?’
Terri’s watery, grey eyes twinkled. ‘I said to her, sure missus I’ll get down on my knees, but if my bad back seizes up I’ll have to put in an insurance claim. She shut up in the blink of an eye and I ain’t heard another word about it.’ She leaned into Babs, merriment stamped over her wrinkled face. ‘Not unless that gorgeous hubbie of hers wants to do it to me doggie style.’
Babs laughed so hard a pair of startled robins flew away from their resting place in one of the bushes. ‘I wish I could take you home. I need a laugh a minute.’
Her friend’s face turned serious. ‘Not that daughter of yours again?’ She didn’t need to say which of Babs’ daughters she was talking about.
Babs pulled in her last shot of nicotine, ground the dog-end gently on the bench and then put it in her bag; she would never dream of littering this beautiful garden. ‘There’s something going on with her—’
‘There’s always something going on with her,’ Terri cut in quietly.
Babs shook her head wearily, feeling defeated. ‘She just won’t quit that cemetery.’ Babs gulped in some air, her lips shaking with emotion. ‘She’s going off the rails. I’m scared she’s on a one-way track to big trouble and one day the Bill will be knocking on my door to give me the news that she’s dead . . .’ She clamped a hand over her mouth staring horrified at the other woman. Her hand quickly dropped away. ‘Terri babe, I never—’
‘It’s alright, love.’ But from the tears brimming in the other woman’s eyes, Babs knew it was anything but alright. Terri lived on an estate down the road in Bow, but ten years ago her eldest girl had come to live on the Essex Lane and The Devil had done what The Devil did best – screwed up her life. The rotten place had turned a happy, loving girl into someone who refused to leave her flat when she realised she’d borrowed money on the never-never from the wrong people. A year, four months and three days after moving to Babs’ estate, she’d been found hanging when a neighbour noticed a ripe smell coming from her place. What had really broken Terri was finding out that her Maggie had covered her face with one of the green, leaf-patterned pillow cases from the John Lewis duvet set the borrowed money had been used to buy. Babs suspected that’s why her mate loved this garden so much; the green leaves reminded her of her lost girl.
‘It’s good to remember the dead,’ Terri punched out solidly, ‘because they should remind us how we need to be living. That’s what you’ve got to do to your Tiff. Get her by the scruff of her neck and drag her, kicking and screaming and spitting and howling, on to the straight path.’
‘Bloody hell, Terri, every time I get her she just slips like water out of my hand. Back-chats me, swears . . . I’m tearing my hair out . . .’
‘And your heart out, by the look of you,’ Terri added softly, seeing the devastated expression on Babs’ face. She gathered her mate quietly into her arms. ‘Have you ever thought of asking—?’
Babs wrenched herself away from Terri’s arms. ‘No way. I would never, ever, in a million years stoop so low as to ask Stan bloody Mill
er.’
‘She’s his responsibility as well. It’s about time that man faced up . . .’ Terri stopped with disbelief reading the truth on her friend’s face. ‘You still haven’t told them what happened?’
‘I can’t. Just can’t.’ Babs quickly gathered her workbag and started striding out of the garden. But it didn’t stop her from hearing her caring friend’s words:
‘You’re going to have to tell those girls about Stanley one day.’
What Babs didn’t hear was Terri’s whispered, ‘And God help you when you do.’
Terri’s words still ringing in her head, Babs slammed the door shut on number nine Bancroft Square.
‘Anyone in?’ she called out as she quickly walked across the old-style, rich red-and-black diamond mosaic hall tiles.
Relieved when she got no answer, she headed into the front room and helped herself to the owners’ gin and tonic. She plonked herself down on the soft sofa, kicked off her shoes and tried as hard as possible not to think about one of the biggest mistakes of her life: Stanley Miller.
Nineteen
Heading to his car to go around the corner to Brick Lane for a spot of lunch, Liam Gilbert licked his lips and watched the long legs of one of his female students as she walked away from him. She’d just agreed to meet him tomorrow night for some ‘extra’ lessons. Natasha or was it Marisa? He could never remember the silly girls’ names, which didn’t matter; all that mattered was persuading her to blow him off. He never went all the way with them; you never knew where some of these East End tarts had been, and he didn’t want to bring something nasty home to the wife. His whole shtick about leading them towards fashion paradise always worked. Well it had until that stupid fool Jennifer Miller. At least the girl had taken his words to heart and hadn’t showed her face again.
Smiling to himself he opened the car door and slipped inside. He popped his key into the ignition and then got the shock of his life as a young man shoved open the passenger door and settled, nice as you please, beside him.
‘What the—?’
The touch of the younger man’s palm on Liam’s thigh cut short whatever he was going to say next. The heat from the intruder’s hand felt more scary than a knife being waved in his face.
The man dug the pads of his fingers into Liam’s leg as he finally spoke. ‘Me and you are going for a little ride.’
Scared as hell, all Liam could do was nod.
John returned to the club pissed out of his head. He staggered straight up to Dee and kissed her, like he was trying to suck the lips right off her stunned face. He’d obviously been drinking in a dive somewhere; his coat reeked of beer and baccy, the perfume of a rough pub.
‘You’re a proper piece, Dee. My kind of woman.’ He sniffed her. ‘And you smell bloody gorgeous too.’
‘John,’ she protested, shooing him off her. ‘I’m not that kind of girl. Plus, you’ve got a lady.’
He curled his lips as his face went red. ‘Stuff Trish, the bitch.’ His right eyebrow hiked up, ‘Did that rhyme?’
Dee rolled her eyes. She saw Chris loitering around near the back of the room. The best way of dealing with an attack was to get the first shot in. ‘Chris wants a word with you. He thinks I’ve been snooping.’ She said it loud and clear for John’s right-hand man to hear.
‘Snooping?’ came out as souping. John swayed as he drunkenly turned to Chris. ‘What you banging on about?’ He turned back to Dee and cupped her chin tenderly in his hand. ‘My precious Black Pearl? Her wish is my command.’ He tried to do a theatrical bow to her, but his feet got muddled up and he would’ve pitched over if Dee hadn’t caught him.
It was the first time that Dee had been in John’s arms and she was surprised at how she liked the warm feeling of his body. It made her think of the real comfort you got from a peaceful family life, the kind she had never experienced.
‘I like you, Dee,’ John whispered.
Dee caught his gaze and surprised herself by whispering back, ‘I like you too.’ John wobbled again.
‘Easy boss.’ As she righted him she beckoned Chris over with her hand. ‘Get some strong coffee down him upstairs.’ She knew she was treading a dangerous line, letting Chris get John alone, but at the same time she was showing Chris she didn’t have anything to be worried about. She wanted him to know that he was wasting his breath blabbing to John about her. For heaven’s sake, she was the guy’s black fucking pearl. Dee tilted her lips in a tiny smile. She kind of liked the name. For all his rough and tumble, John did make her smile. She hadn’t expected him to be able to do that.
Half an hour later, Chris reappeared. ‘The boss doesn’t want to be disturbed because he’s got some important calls to make.’
Dee raised her hands in a peace offering. ‘I’ve got nish to hide, Chris.’
He stared daggers at her and then left the room. She was tempted to go to the storeroom, put her earphones on and catch John’s calls in real time but she knew she had to be patient. She wanted both Chris and John out of the club before she played any tapes. An hour later John appeared again. The guy looked like he hadn’t slept in a month of Sundays. And, for the first time, Dee realised how much older he was than her. There was one thing marrying a man to get access to the good life, but it was a totally different thing ending up with a man and having to mash up his food and feed him before she reached forty. She pushed her doubts away as John called out to Chris, ‘You’ll have to drive me home mate. My head’s all over the shop.’
Chris and Dee exchanged meaningful glances. John’s right-hand man propped him up and helped him out of the club. Then she went directly to the storeroom to retrieve the tapes, took them to the room that served as her makeshift office and listened intently to his calls. He was drunk. He might have been careless on the phone.
To her fury the first call was to Trish:
‘Treacle! It’s John. I organised some flowers for you. Did you get them? Only I ain’t heard nothing . . .’
Dee hissed under her breath, ‘I’ll give you fucking treacle, you bastard. What a prick this guy is, honestly.’ She shut up to catch the rest of the call.
There was a pause and then John’s voice turned slightly menacing. ‘You know who I am; don’t twist my tail. People who end up doing that end up getting bitten.’
Dee was glad that John had given her rival the put-down but the problem was he had spoken in such an intimidating tone that maybe Trish would be so scared she’d call him back. And John hadn’t exactly given her the goodbye brush-off because he hadn’t heard from her. Perhaps she’d underestimated John’s attachment to the woman; perhaps Trish was more of a threat than she thought and wouldn’t go quietly. Worse, she knew what Dee looked like. If Trish turned up at the club, it would make life very difficult. But Dee was confident she could deal with that, and that a two-bit slapper like Trish would soon find another wealthy man to chisel.
There followed a series of business calls. All were carefully phrased and revealed nothing. Some seemed to be about the club, others about his real trade, but all were conducted using coded language, with references to our ‘friend’ or ‘friends’, the ‘product’ or ‘consignment’, and the ‘destination’. There was a lot of talk about ‘ice’; Dee couldn’t imagine her intended being involved in the freezer business. There was nothing she could understand in the calls to pinpoint exactly what John’s trade actually was. But then, right near the end of the line of calls, when his earlier boozing finally made John lose the run of himself, Dee managed to get something helpful:
‘Rocky? What’s up? Listen, mate, I went and saw Ingram this afternoon down Shadwell . . . I know, he was playing the plastic hard man as usual, the little prat . . . I know, Ingram couldn’t spot a tit in a row of cocks. Anyway, I’m not best pleased about this girl he hired to do errands for us. She picks stuff up at the pub around the corner and then looks after them. Turns out this girl is only sweet sixteen and a bit of a nutter . . . That’s right – can you believe it?’ He let out a loud bel
ch.
‘I mean, what the fuck? As a precaution, I did arrange with my guy at the Pied Piper to call the cops and tell them there was a vulnerable teenager knocking around with all them benders in there . . . That’s right – it’s a gay pub. Good eh? Them people don’t want anything to do with the law, so it’s a good spot to do business in private. Anyway, Old Bill pulled the girl and it looks like she handled herself alright and said dick about ice . . . Nah, she didn’t have anything on her, I made sure of that. Anyway, I went down and had a word with Mickey Ingram to find out what he was playing at . . . Thing is I want to cut Ingram out of the loop and get someone else in. Could you look into it and see if you could find someone to run stuff off for me? I’d appreciate it.’
Dee’s mind was in a whirl.
Shadwell.
Mickey Ingram.
The Pied Piper.
Ice.
A sixteen-year-old nutter running errands.
At last, Dee had something to work with and she recalled that Knobby was doing something up at the Pied Piper too. She was still confused about what ‘ice’ could mean; she’d have to really put her head to trying to figure that out.
‘Out,’ Nuts ordered Liam Gilbert as they reached Epping Forest. He was still spitting mad about what Jen had told him this disgusting rat had done. No one did that to Nuts’ girl. No one.
As soon as they were outside, Nuts noticed with satisfaction that the creep looked like he was ready to wet himself.
‘If it’s money you want—’
‘Shut it,’ Nuts growled. ‘Just keep walking ahead of me and don’t stop until I tell you to. Try to run and I’ll hunt you down like the filthy animal you are.’
Jen’s former tutor started snivelling as he moved. Nuts knew this side of the forest like the back of his hand. His nan would always bring him here after his dad had put his mum in hospital, yet again. It didn’t matter what his dad did to his mum – shattered jaw, broken arm, cracked ribs – she’d always go back to him. ‘That’s just how it is,’ his gran would explain to him as they walked through the forest.
Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama Page 12