Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘What’s going on, Jen? You don’t sound like yourself.’

  Jen pulled in a steady breath before she answered to make sure that her emotions were under control. ‘Just want to say beddy-bye to them.’

  Babs huffed. ‘Now I’m going to have to get them up.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have to if you had a mobile phone.’

  ‘Mobile phone . . .’ Jen heard her grumble, and then the soft sound of her slippers on the floor as she moved away from the phone.

  ‘Mum?’ Jen smiled and closed her eyes, hearing Courtney’s sleepy voice less than a minute later; it sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world.

  ‘What you been up to with Nanny Babs?’

  Courtney groaned. ‘Mum, I’m tired. Can I tell you tomorrow when you come get us?’

  ‘I know,’ Jen whispered softly. She was tired too. Her eyes reopened. ‘Put Little Bea on.’

  ‘Nanny Babs and me tried to wake her but she wouldn’t. Shall I try again?’

  ‘No. Leave her to her beauty sleep.’ Tears pricked Jen’s eyes. ‘Just wanted to say how much I love you, honey.’

  ‘Love you too.’ Courtney let out a noise that sounded like a big yawn. ‘Can I go back to bed now?’

  ‘You get yourself back under the duvet.’

  ‘Shall I put Nanny Babs back on?’

  ‘No.’ The last thing she needed was Babs trying to dig more information out of her. ‘Give her a soft kiss goodnight from me.’

  As soon as Jen finished the call she held the phone against her heart. It never ceased to amaze her that the ugly, major league mess up that was her life could have produced two, pure, innocent human beings like Courtney and Little Bea. If she were a churchgoer she’d thank God every day for them.

  ‘Do you remember what we used to do as kids?’ Tiffany asked softly almost an hour later.

  Both sisters were tucked up in the twin beds in the small, cosy room. Both lay on their backs, staring up at the white ceiling.

  ‘You mean play “Knock Down Ginger” and run for our lives when someone opened their door?’ Jen smiled, recalling how she’d loved that game. She, Tiff and some of the other estate kids would toss a penny to see who would get chosen to knock on someone’s door and then do a runner before the victim opened their door to find no one there.

  ‘No, Dumbo,’ Tiffany answered. Her voice faltered slightly. ‘I mean when I’d get upset and hide in my wardrobe and you’d come in and get me to think about being anywhere else other than The Devil.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘If we didn’t have to get that car tomorrow where would you like to be?’

  There was silence as Jen’s brain ticked over her sister’s question. But Tiffany jumped in again. ‘Come on, Jen, there’s a big wide world out there. If you could shut your eyes, click your heels three times and open your eyes again, where would you wish to be?’

  ‘A two up, two down.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Just an ordinary house. Nothing flash, something simple. A bedroom for me and one each for the girls. A garden – nothing big, you know – just a bit of green where they could play and run around in the fresh air. A dining room where we could sit down and have our meals together. I just want . . . want . . .’

  Tiffany knew that her sister probably hadn’t even realised that she’d started crying as soon as she talked about her dream home. Tiffany moved across until she held her sobbing sister in her arms. Funny how the roles had been reversed and it was her now who was giving comfort.

  ‘I just want a safe place . . .’ Jen drew in a harsh sob. ‘You know, somewhere me and my girls can pop our heads down at night and not have to worry about waking up to a load of bellyache the next day.’ Another sob. ‘Is that too much to ask for? Too much to wish?’

  Tiffany’s only answer was to gently stroke her palm down the side of Jen’s hair. She suspected that the gesture was much more soothing than any words she could have said. Tiffany didn’t know how long she held her sister, but when she heard the soft snores coming from Jen she gently laid her back on the bed and pulled the blanket to her chin.

  ‘It isn’t me who’s the snorer, sister dearest,’ Tiffany muttered quietly with a small smile dancing on her lips.

  The smile died as she thought about her own dreams; the things that she wanted in life. She inched back to her own bed, but didn’t go to sleep.

  Jen was alarmed to wake up on Sunday morning to find her sister nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Tiff?’ she called out, but there was no response, so she eased out of bed and walked into the tiny bathroom. She pushed the partially opened door back, but there was no sign of her sister. If bloody Tiffany had run out on her . . . Jen turned swiftly when she heard the room door open.

  ‘Where have you been?’ Jen asked as she looked her sister over. Tiffany was dressed, but looked tired.

  Tiffany quietly closed the door. ‘I went for a walk. I’ve been up most of the night; couldn’t get to sleep.’

  ‘Right,’ Jen said slowly. ‘Do you want to get an hour’s worth of kip and I’ll wake you up after?’

  Tiffany shook her head. ‘Nah. Let’s get this over with. The sooner we see the back of John and Dee Black the sooner we can get on with our lives.’

  Fifteen minutes later they were in Jen’s car on their way to pick up Dee Black’s motor.

  The roads were clear and it took Tiffany and Jen less than twenty minutes to get to the garage in Southend. Tiffany left her sister in the car to retrieve the Pirano FS from the lock-up where it was parked. Jen sat and waited but became increasingly worried when her sister failed to reappear. When fifteen minutes had passed, she got out and followed the path Tiffany had taken. The door to the office was open and when she entered she found her sister standing by a desk with a phone in her hand. ‘No, no, no. That’s not possible . . .’ When she realised that her sister was there, she slammed the phone down, folded her arms and looked very worried.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Tiffany was dismissive, but she wouldn’t look her sister in the eye. ‘Nothing’s happened. It’s just a mix up, that’s all. I’m sorting it out now.’

  Jen didn’t like the look on her sister’s face. It was a carbon copy of the one Tiffany would wear when she was lying to their mum about not going to the cemetery. ‘What kind of mix up?’

  ‘Nothing. Go and wait in the car, I won’t be a minute.’ Tiffany walked out of the office into the yard and began hunting around, as if Dee’s car might be hidden behind tarpaulin or a barrel.

  Jen followed her. ‘What’s happ—?’ But the words froze in Jen’s throat when she noticed a lock-up by a brick wall. The door was wide open and inside it was empty.

  ‘It’s gone,’ Tiffany let out in disbelief.

  ‘You can’t mean the car?’ A panicked Jen rushed over to her sister, who turned back into teenage Tiffany.

  ‘What the fuck do you think I mean? Father Christmas’s sleigh? I—’

  Jen grabbed Tiffany, taking her by surprise, and shook her. ‘You bloody well better not mean Dee Black’s car. My kids’ lives are on the line here.’

  ‘And whose bloody fault is that?’

  Jen reared into her face. ‘But you told me this was the best way to get rid of Nuts.’

  ‘Don’t lay it all at my door, Jen. You didn’t have to . . .’

  They both stopped moving when Jen’s phone went. Jen quickly released her sister, hunted in her bag for her blue Nokia and checked the screen. Her eyes flicked wildly to her sister’s face. ‘It’s John Black. What am I going to do?’

  Tiffany’s eyes grew large and wild. ‘Stall him. Don’t tell him where we are or what we’re doing, just stall him.’ She rushed back into the building and picked the office phone up and dialled a number herself.

  ‘Yes?’ Jen answered, taking the call.

  John was in a jovial mood. ‘Hello, Jennifer. How’s things?’

  Keep your voice calm. ‘Good.’

  ‘I’m glad
to hear it. Are your kids OK?’

  Jen saw red, but pushed her teeming emotions back. ‘Good, thank you.’

  ‘I’ve been worried because you haven’t called me like we agreed.’

  ‘But you said only to that if I—’

  ‘Have you got it?’ He didn’t sound jovial anymore.

  ‘Got what?’

  There was a long pause before John posed a question. ‘Do you know what really upsets me, Jennifer? It’s not people trying to pull a fast one on me. I don’t mind that, it happens. It’s when people take the piss and then try and pull a fast one on me. That really, really upsets me. You understand? Now I’ll ask you again – it’s not a very difficult question – have you got it? A straight yes or no will do.’

  Standing alone in the yard, Jen was lost. ‘Yes, I mean no, I mean sort of; we’re getting it now.’

  The silence that followed was more menacing than any threat. ‘I see. Where are you, Jennifer? Is your sister there? Did she tell you about our little get together yesterday?’ When he didn’t get an answer, John went on, ‘Listen, Jennifer, I’ve been very patient here but my patience is running out. You see a man in my position can’t afford to be too patient or people think you’ve gone soft. I need that car back this evening and if I don’t get it, I’ll have to play hardball. Which I really don’t want to do and which I shouldn’t really have to do. That’s not unreasonable, is it?’

  Jen’s body went electric with anger and she bared her teeth. ‘Now you listen to me, mate, you touch my kids and you’re bloody dead even if I have to do it with my bare hands.’

  John laughed at her. ‘You don’t have to worry about killing anyone; you just get that car back later on. Tell your sister the same. Otherwise, you and your sister are knackered. And so will anyone else be if I have to knacker them.’

  Even though John had rung off, Jen carried on swearing threats and curses down the dead line. She only stopped when Tiffany reappeared in the yard. Without saying a word, she indicated with her head that they were leaving. The two women walked in silence down the street and back to their car. They sat inside for five minutes before Tiffany asked, ‘What did he say?’

  ‘You know what he said.’

  Tiffany nodded. ‘Yeah. Well, we’re really up the creek without a paddle now. And without a creek either.’

  Sixty

  The first thing Nicky heard as he came down the stairs was his mum hand-bagging his dad about her precious Marilyn. He’d nicked the car for a laugh and it had been funny, but that had stopped when he’d seen Tiffany’s sister’s face yesterday. He knew someone on the edge when he saw one and that was a bird on the edge, no doubt about it. Even if he’d been caught in the car when his dad was chasing him, he knew the worst he could expect was a bit of a hiding – and he didn’t care about that. Mum would have done her nut but she’d soon have forgiven him and defended him against John. It was just a laugh. But now he’d met Jen, the laughter was over.

  As soon as he got downstairs he went into the front room the same time his dad said to his mum, ‘I’ve had it with those two. I’m going to sort them out, big time. Satisfied?’

  ‘When it comes back I’ll be satisfied, but not before,’ his mum threw back.

  His dad was pacing and his mum sat on the edge of the chaise longue, a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other. His dad stopped pacing as soon as he saw him.

  ‘Why are you up so late?’

  ‘It isn’t late. Just gone—’

  ‘While you’re under this roof you will learn to get your arse out of bed at a reasonable time and stop behaving like some lazy, fuck-up artist.’

  Nicky almost jumped at his father’s tone; there was steel in John’s voice that he wasn’t used to hearing. And the fact that his mum kept schtum, not supporting his story, disturbed him even more. But he decided to spin his story out anyway. He thought it would be clever to ask after Tiffany. The way Nicky saw it, that would cover the fact that he’d seen her the evening before if anyone asked. So he wondered aloud, ‘When’s Tiff coming round again?’

  The silence was stonier than Brighton beach before his mum answered him. ‘She’s not. I’m not having that little bitch in this house again.’ Dee ground out her ciggie in the star-shaped ashtray. ‘We’ll find you someone else, someone a bit more upmarket and reliable – not a thieving slag from the East End.’

  Nicky was stumped. His first thought was that he’d been followed to his meeting yesterday but he quickly realised that wasn’t possible, otherwise he’d be tagged as a thieving slag from the East End as well. His voice went up slightly. ‘She’s not? What do you mean, she’s not coming back?’

  ‘It means she’s not stepping foot into my home ever again. It’s not a very complicated sentence so what’s your problem?’

  Nicky was horrified. Life without Tiffany? Sod that. ‘You can’t do that. It’s not right. She ain’t done nothing.’ He only just managed to avoid adding ‘It was me!’ The panic began to rise. Not only had he landed Tiffany in the crapper but her sister too and there was also something else on his mind. He was starting to think Tiffany was the only proper friend he had. She clicked with him in a way no one else had, including not taking any bollocks from him. He was fucked if he was going to let her go.

  ‘Whatever she’s supposed to have done, she didn’t do it; someone else must have done it.’ When he noticed that he now had two suspicious sets of eyes fixed on him, he decided he might have gone too far and began to row back. ‘And even if she did whatever it was, I couldn’t give a toss. Get her back!’

  His dad calmly folded his arms. ‘Listen boy, why don’t you go back upstairs and do that homework you’re pretending that you do each day. And try and remember to speak to your mum and dad in a more civil tone in future, especially when they’ve got serious business to sort out. Don’t forget, you’re not too old to feel the back of my hand.’

  Nicky nearly went. He knew he was losing it and didn’t want to get Tiffany in any more trouble but he couldn’t contain himself. ‘Fuck off with your homework – you’re not my real mum and dad, are you? They’re both dead, so you can’t tell me what to do.’

  Nicky reeled backwards as Dee let out a distressed, wrenching noise like someone was trying to strangle her. ‘Why you little—’ John started saying with fury, but he never finished because his wife rose up like an avenging angel and stormed towards her only child. Nicky staggered backwards until his back hit the wall. Dee reached him and he cringed back because he’d never seen her face so twisted with rage and pain. She grabbed him by his T-shirt. ‘How dare you, how dare you? We are your mum and dad and we’ve done everything for you, without a word of thanks, you ungrateful little runt. Now get out of my sight before I give you a kicking you’ll never forget.’

  Nicky was shocked when he pushed Dee backwards and even more shocked that he wasn’t punched in the face for it. He clocked the mixture of hurt, disbelief and horror on her face at what he’d done. His dad cursed a blue moon as he started moving towards him; no way would John let it pass that his son had put a hand on his mother. But Dee held up her hand, halting her husband in his tracks as Nicky made his escape into the hallway. As he ran up the stairs, he shouted down with defiance, ‘Get her back or I’m so fucking out of here. And I mean it, she ain’t done nothing wrong.’

  Dee sat with her head pillowed against John’s shoulder, cuddled close to him in a way she hadn’t done in years.

  ‘We have been good parents, haven’t we, John?’ she asked quietly. She was still reeling from the words her son had chucked at her. Dee couldn’t believe he’d said them. And he’d pushed her. He’d put his hands on her like she was a stranger: nothing to him. That made her want to weep and curl into a ball. She sometimes forgot that she hadn’t actually given birth to Nicky, that two other people had been his mum and dad for the first five years of his life. Dee and John never talked about Nicky’s real dad Chris. John would never allow it. The only time he did was when Nicky asked about him, whi
ch grew rarer as the boy got older. But that never stopped Dee from remembering the last words John had ever said to her about Chris: ‘We won’t be seeing Chris again – not tonight, not ever.’ It sent a shiver down her spine, just thinking about it now – thinking about what John had probably done; that she had been the one to release the bowling ball that knocked down all the skittles. She kept the guilt about Chris tucked away, but it was always there.

  John’s hand rubbed up and down her arm. ‘Of course we have. He couldn’t have wished for a better mum than you, love. If we hadn’t taken him into our home, think where he’d be now – in one of them homes that don’t give a shit about the kids they’re meant to be looking out for.’

  ‘I’ve given that boy everything he’s ever asked for. If he wants a pair of trainers, I make sure he’s wearing the latest fashion on his feet. If he wants tickets to see Arsenal, I get him a season ticket for the year. I’d kill for him.’

  John didn’t say it, but he thought that was often the problem. Dee gave Nicky everything he’d ever wanted. Their lad could’ve done with a dose of growing up the hard way, just like him and Dee, finding out first hand what it felt like to really have to graft for a crust. You thought if you gave your kids everything they’d turn out right, learn to respect life, but that wasn’t how it turned out sometimes. He didn’t have the heart to tell his wife that the way she’d been bringing up Nicky meant their son thought all he had to do to get something in life was to stick his hand out, no elbow grease necessary.

  Dee sniffed, holding back the tears. The last time she’d really cried in her life was that time one of the kids at school had called her a chocolate drop. She’d screamed and railed at life many times since then, but she’d never allowed herself to shed a bloody tear; crying was for people who had too much time on their hands. But her darling boy had pushed her to a place where her heart felt like it was falling apart.

  ‘You know what I love about you, Dee?’ John said. ‘Your strength. The way you stick two fingers to the world even when I can see that your heart is breaking. Nothing and no one is going to crush my Dee.’