Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  She hitched her head away from his shoulder and looked up at him, really looked at him. Instead of seeing the wrinkles and creases that defined a man who was nineteen years older than her, a man who she’d set out to take full advantage of, she saw a man who had become her rock. Without John Black, where would she be right now? This man had given her every last thing that she’d ever dreamed of . . .

  ‘I know what’s going through your head, Dee,’ John said, cutting over her thoughts. Dee gazed at him startled, but he carried on before she could say anything. ‘That I’m some dirty old bloke who deserved to be picked clean by a young, tasty bird out on the make—’

  ‘No, John—’

  He shushed her by placing his finger gently on her lip. ‘I came up the hard way, girl, just like you, which means I took advantage of a person or two in my time. That’s just the way it is. You see an opportunity, you’ve got to go through the door. The only thing that matters is that I love you to bits and always will.’

  That did bring tears to Dee’s eyes. His finger left her mouth and wiped a tear running down her cheek. ‘I know I give you a hard time, John, sometimes, but push me back in time and you’ll always be the man I’d choose, hands down.’ Her lips trembled. ‘I couldn’t bear it if Nicky hates me.’

  ‘He don’t hate you. He’s just reeling from you finally putting your foot down and not getting his way. The next time you see him it will be all smiles again. Anyway, you need to get yourself sorted because your mum’s coming soon.’

  Blimey, how could she have forgotten Sunday lunch with her mum at the house? Dee jumped away from her husband. The caterers were going to be here soon and she didn’t have any time to waste.

  Sixty-One

  ‘I’m leaving London.’ Jen gave her sister a half smile as Tiffany drove the car back home at high speed. They both agreed that Jen was in no fit state to do it. ‘Perhaps I’ll go to Scotland like Nuts – winters or no winters.’

  Tiffany was lost in thought as they ate up the miles, but finally she said, ‘No one’s going anywhere. We can sort this out. We just need to take some time out and think things through. Every problem has a solution; we just need to work out what it is, that’s all.’

  ‘We haven’t got any time. You didn’t hear John Black on the phone. He’s serious. He’s coming after us, which I don’t mind and he’s coming after my children, which I do. No, we have to get out of town, for good.’ Jen seemed wistful for a few seconds before she added, ‘Do you know what I was thinking?’

  Tiffany’s mind was on other things but she decided to humour her sister; she could see what a bad place Jen was in and she didn’t blame her. ‘What you thinking?’

  ‘I was thinking if our dad was around maybe he could get this sorted out.’

  The car swerved slightly, registering Tiffany’s alarm. She hadn’t realised things were quite this bad with her sister and she feared she was losing it. Not to mention that, given the banter and rumours she’d heard over the years, she was under the impression that Stanley Miller was about the last person who could help them. She looked in her rear-view mirror and pulled over into a lay-by where she switched the engine off. ‘In the back, Jen, I want to talk to you.’

  The two women sat in the back seat and Tiffany put her arm around her big sister. ‘Listen, babe, I know you’re scared and I’m bloody shitting a brick too, but you need to trust me, OK? I know this world. I used to work for Mickey Ingram and I know Dee Clark. I know how they think and how they behave – OK? Now, if you leave it to me, I’ll sort this out.’

  Her sister didn’t move but she snarled, ‘Sort this out? You were the one who got us into this eff of a mess in the first place. I don’t know what I was thinking. Fancy ringing a character like John Black and telling him Nuts stole the car. I must have been off my flamin’ rocker.’

  Tiffany seized Jen by the arm. ‘You’ve got a short memory. How long ago is it since Nuts nicked your kid’s dinner money? Gave you some licks? Proved beyond any doubt that he’s a useless, sponging waster? You’re worrying about what John Black might do? What about the things Nuts has already done and will carry on doing if you give him the chance? Sometimes you only get one chance to change your life, sis, and you have to take it and then accept the consequences. Yeah, we’ve got some problems now but if we play our cards right, we can come through. And despite what you may think we’ve still got some cards to play with – so toughen up and help me out. And the best way you can help me out is by cutting out feeling sorry for yourself and putting the shoulder to the wheel.’

  Jen was unimpressed. ‘It’s alright for you, you’ve got no children. I have.’ Tiffany tried to keep the hurt off her face but she knew she’d failed when her sister hugged and kissed her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did. I know you’re doing your best for me and I know we had to get rid of Nuts somehow; I just wish we hadn’t done it like this.’

  They hit the road again. Tiffany’s hurt went way beyond the jibe about her not having children. When it came to playing cards, she knew she was playing two games at once and some of the cards she was turning were marked. When she saw her sister’s distress, Tiffany wasn’t happy about what she was doing. There were high stakes on the table and Tiffany still wasn’t sure who was going to win them.

  Tiffany saw that her silence was upsetting Jen even more, and insisted, ‘I know you’re doing your best.’ But could she say the same about herself, she wondered? She couldn’t do this. She had to say something. ‘Jen look, I need . . .’

  Her words dribbled away when they drove onto The Devil and saw a cop car outside of their mum’s block and a crowd of people looking up towards Babs’ flat.

  Sixty-Two

  Dee stared at the decorated dining-room table ready for lunch and went ballistic: ‘What the fuck is that?’ she screamed at the two catering staff who had laid the table, her hand pointing at a huge floral arrangement in the centre. ‘This ain’t bloody Kew Gardens. I don’t want my mum to think she’s nattering the afternoon away to a flippin’ giant daffodil!’

  Dee felt as nervous as hell about her mum coming around, and it was showing. For many years, she had been preparing to welcome her mother to her home, but the nature of their relationship was such that this had never happened. There was always a reason. Dee was too busy or her mum was too busy. Something happened to one or the other at the last moment that meant the date they’d set wouldn’t work. Dee had arranged for her mum to visit sometime ‘next week’ or ‘next month’ and then, when that week or month came around, neither of them had made the phone call. The two women had never been able to turn their mother/daughter relationship into a reality. They both knew and understood why. And it was the real reason why Dee was so soppy over children: because she remembered how it had been when she was one.

  The situation baffled John. ‘Get your mum over and then you won’t have to do it again. How long’s this been going on for?’ Then he would add in an undertone, ‘She’s not a nutter is she? I don’t want a nutter over here.’

  Her Mum wasn’t a nutter, but that was no comfort to Dee. When she finally made a firm date with her mum, she became panic stricken and spent the hours before frantically trying to prevent herself from calling back and saying the visit was off, because something had cropped up. Then she began to hope something would crop up so she could call the visit off for real. Nicky still wasn’t talking to her and John, but she could hardly use that as an excuse, because it might make her look like a bad parent. Then there was the car, of course, but she couldn’t use that as an excuse for obvious reasons. Dee had to face the awful truth – her mum was really coming for Sunday lunch and there was nothing she could do about it.

  ‘Get that off the table,’ Dee demanded. ‘In fact, you can all leave now that the nosh is all sorted.’

  After she paid the catering company an outrageous fee, Dee got the Dyson out and started madly hoovering the family room for a third time, like she was under strict orders from Kim and Aggie
from How Clean Is Your House?

  ‘How many more times are you planning to run that vacuum cleaner around?’ John asked, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘I don’t want my mum thinking I’m a slut.’ She watched carefully to see if her husband whispered anything under his breath. When he didn’t, she picked up an ornament and began frantically rubbing it as if hoping a genie might appear. Without looking up she asked, ‘Where’s Nicky?’

  ‘I don’t know. He’s not talking to us, is he? In his room probably, planning to murder us in our beds so he can bring Tiffany back.’

  ‘Bitch.’

  ‘Well, quite.’

  ‘The thing is I need him talking and on his best behaviour when my mum comes round.’

  John pulled a face. ‘You’d better go and find Tiffany then.’

  Dee put the ornament down, abandoned the Dyson and pelted upstairs to Nicky’s room where she tapped respectfully on the door. ‘Nicky darling . . .’ There was no reply so she tried again with gentle knocking and her best voice. This seemed to work as she got a reply.

  ‘Knob off.’

  Dee swallowed her bile and had another go. ‘Babes, you haven’t forgotten your new grannie’s coming round? Best bib and tucker required.’

  No answer. Dee decided to cut to the chase and drop the mummy act. ‘Alright, what do you want? Help me out here.’ When she got no response and saw that her son was beyond even bribing she realised how bad things were. She tried for a last time with an effort to make it sound as if the family dispute was all a bit of a joke. ‘I know you won’t let me down, babes. I’m your mum after all. We’ll go out tomorrow and have a laugh about it. Could you wear your school uniform? I want Mum to see what a clever little soldier you are.’

  This was too much for Nicky who shouted, ‘Really, fuck off.’

  As she ran back downstairs, she cursed the boy out. ‘If that little bastard shows me up, I’ll get Tiffany back and ban him from the house.’ She went back to the front room and put the hoover back on before switching it off and shouting at John, ‘When are you getting changed then?’

  John was nonplussed. ‘Changed?’

  ‘You’re not wearing that, are you? Slacks and a football shirt? Go and put on one of your five grand suits, a shirt and a tie. I’m not having my mum seeing you dressed like that or she’ll think I’m married to a right Harris.’

  John put his book down with a smile and went upstairs to change without saying a word. But Dee knew what he was thinking – at least her mum’s arrival has taken her mind off the car.

  And he was right. Dee flew up to her bedroom and entered the massive, connected dressing room, stuffed with clothes and shoes that Harrods would be proud to stock. She bit the inside of her cheek trying to make up her mind what to wear. She didn’t want to come across as slaggy or overdone, like a turkey for Christmas dinner, but she did want to make a good impression: one that showed off her style and good taste. She turned her attention to her clothes. Florescent pink, electric blue, eye-grabbing gold with sequins – none of her stuff was the type of gear a daughter should put on to welcome her mum into her home for the first time. Bollocks, what was she going to wear? Her mind in a proper whirl, Dee decided to leave the bedroom and give the house a nervous once-over again. That’s when she caught her gobby son trying to sneak out of the conservatory.

  As he opened the double doors to leave, Nicky turned and saw her run in. Defeated he closed them again and began to head back to his bedroom. As he went by, Dee grabbed him gently by the collar and led him over to a chintz sofa by a picture window that looked out over the countryside. She sat him down and took his hand, which he reluctantly let her do. ‘Listen, Nicky love, I know how you feel about Tiffany. I really do, because I feel the same way. Me and her go back a long way and we’ve done each other a few favours along the way too. And I don’t blame you for getting the hump because we’ve had to ban her from the house, because I wouldn’t like it if someone did that to me either. So get the nark if you want to. But the thing is, I’ve got my mum coming over and I want to put on a bit of a show. She’s an old dear and seeing her grandson looking proud will cheer her up. Now please, help me out.’

  Dee could see from the sneering look on his face that Nicky was about to say, ‘But I’m not her grandson,’ so she dug him gently in the ribs with her elbow and begged again, ‘Please, help me out.’

  Nicky looked down at the floor and then it seemed he’d had an idea. ‘OK, if you let Tiffany come back, I’ll be a good grandson.’

  Now he was taking the piss. Struggling to control her temper, Dee told him, ‘We’ve been through that; she can’t come back. It’s nothing personal, but believe me, she can’t come back.’

  Nicky fixed her eyes. ‘Then it’s nothing personal but I can’t help.’

  The boy might not have been her blood son but he shared her determination and single mindedness. ‘It’s your dad who’s got the problem with Tiffany. If you behave while your nan’s here, I’ll have a word with him.’ Dee wasn’t sure if she was lying or not, but she was so desperate, it hardly mattered. ‘I’m not promising mind.’

  Nicky nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

  Dee held her arms out and they gave each other a hug, like a couple of mafia bosses who’d just agreed a deal but were already trying to think of ways to double cross each other. As they embraced, the front doorbell rang. Alarmed, Dee looked at her watch but saw that it was far too early for her mum to put in an appearance. She left Nicky and walked out to the hall where she met John who was coming from the family room. The two walked up to the heavy, oak-panelled front door. John peered through the peephole and then drew his head back in surprise. He looked again before whispering, ‘I don’t fucking believe this.’

  He undid the lock and threw the door open. Dee followed John out and looked at the scene in shock. Her car, valeted like a jewel, was sitting outside and a man was standing beside it, like a salesman. Holding the keys up to be inspected, he said proudly, ‘Hello, John. Remember me? I’m Nuts. I’ve brought your car back.’

  Sixty-Three

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Tiffany said, her voice shaking as she tried to reassure her frantic sister.

  But Jen wasn’t listening as she hustled through the crowd downstairs, everyone whispering to each other as they looked up at her mum’s flat. She moved urgently towards the single cop near the car. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Break-in, by the look of it. Probably the local scrotes trying to raise money for drugs. Nothing serious.’

  One of the onlookers tutted and said, ‘It’s getting terrible round here. They should bring back hanging, if you ask me.’

  ‘A break-in?’ Jen heard her sister say, from behind her. ‘What number?’

  Jen bombed up the stairs when she heard the number for her mum’s place. My girls. My girls. My girls. Her heart raced like crazy as she took the steps, two at a time. If anything had happened to her girls, she would never forgive herself. This is all your fault. All your fault.

  Jen sucked in a shocked breath as she came face to face with what had happened to her mum’s flat door. It had been nearly knocked off its hinges in a frenzied attack. She dashed inside the flat, her hand flying to her mouth. It looked like a pub after a bar room brawl. Courtney’s and Little Bea’s toys were scattered everywhere.

  ‘Is this your home, madam?’ a policeman in the sitting room asked her.

  But Jen ignored him as she flew to the bedrooms, screaming her daughter’s names. Both rooms were turned upside down, with no sign of her children.

  ‘Jen,’ she heard Tiffany shout, but she ignored her too and ran into the kitchen. No children. No Babs. Her face started to crumble as she headed back to the main room, legs like lead.

  ‘Jen?’ She heard Tiffany say again, but it felt like her sister’s voice was coming from some far-off place, as if Jen were in her own little world – a place where her daughters should be but weren’t. She could see the policeman’s mouth mov
ing, but couldn’t figure out what he was saying. Please God, not my girls. They haven’t hurt anybody. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? What am . . . ? That’s when she noticed an old toolbox her mum had told her belonged to her Dad. Her face hardened as she got down on her knees, wrenched open the rusty top and emptied it onto the carpet, making the cop jump back.

  She took no notice as the cop behind her started speaking: ‘I understand a burglary’s very upsetting madam but it would help if you could answer a few questions. Have you seen any suspicious-looking characters hanging around your flat lately?’

  Jen ignored him and picked up a claw hammer and a screwdriver from the various tools that were lying in front of her. She put them in her handbag. She also noticed another object, wrapped in oilskin, which was tied up with ancient elastic bands. She felt it and dropped that in her handbag along with the other tools. Then she got up and pushed her sister out of the way as she headed for the kitchen.

  Tiffany turned to the officer. ‘This is our mum’s place but my sister’s very upset. Give her five minutes.’

  The cop was frank. ‘Well, there’s not much we can do anyway, to be honest. But we’ll file a report. You’ll need to get the front door seen to. You can ring the council for that.’

  Tiffany nearly groaned. ‘Yeah, thanks for the tip, mate. Very helpful.’

  She went to the kitchen and closed the door behind her. Jen was ferreting around in the cutlery draw.

  ‘Sis, what are you doing?’

  Jen picked up a fearsome-looking bread knife and turned to face her sister, who stood behind her. She shook with fury. ‘This is your fault,’ she spat. ‘It’s all your fault. It was your bloody idea in the first place and now . . . now . . .’ Her voice broke with emotion. ‘And now they’ve taken my kids. You’re a bum and a crim, Tiffany; you always have been and I must’ve been off my nut to think of listening to you. Now get out of my fucking way.’