John asked the question on everyone’s lips. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’ve done a terrible thing which I’m already regretting.’
‘Oh great, I’ve got to play gravedigger again have I?’
‘Let’s just say I had a little word with him. The scumbag has gone home.’ Seeing Jen’s face fall in despair, Dee added, ‘I wouldn’t worry about him showing his face for a while. He’s probably gone to lick his wounds somewhere.’
Dee then paraded herself in the middle of the room with the children. ‘Right, who’s up for a nice cup of Rosie Lee?’
Darkness was settling in when Tiffany walked down the lane to fetch her car and brought it back to pick up the rest of the family. John fitted plastic sheeting over the shattered windscreen that Jen had shot out by accident. There was an awkward silence on the doorstep as the two sisters and their half-sister stood without quite knowing what to say. Eventually they agreed to meet the following lunchtime at Dee’s to ‘have a little talk’. But there was laughter too, when Jen asked, ‘Can I have my children back now, Dee?’ The two girls were as snug as two bugs, fast asleep, Courtney curled up by Dee’s side and Little Bea in her lap.
‘They’re great kids,’ Dee replied, sounding almost shy as she gave the girls gently back to their mum so she could settle them into the car.
Jen pushed her hair back as she looked at her new sister. ‘They like you. Don’t be a stranger. Anytime you want to see them, pop over.’ She leaned in close and whispered, ‘I can tell the girls like their new auntie.’
Dee wiped a single tear from her cheek. ‘It feels good to have a family. Not that I didn’t have one – my Auntie Cleo brought me up. Not that she’s my real aunt or anything . . .’
‘You don’t need to explain to me. Where we come from our real family are the good people around us, whether they’re blood or not.’
‘But we are blood,’ Tiffany joined in. ‘Blood sisters. We’ve had our ups and downs, but now we’re on the straight and narrow together.’
Tiffany held her hand out to Dee, who took it. Dee held her hand out to Jen. Finally, Jen and Tiffany held hands completing their new blood circle.
Inside the car, Babs smiled. Life was far from perfect but it made her heart swell as she watched her daughters hold hands.
Sixty-Nine
The following morning, Jen stood on the outdoor landing watching the comings and goings on The Devil Estate. Except, there weren’t many comings or goings. The place was unnaturally quiet. No kids roaming after doing a bunk from school; no music blaring from the flats; no public bust-ups between men and women no one could believe were husband and wife. Jen smiled as she remembered how, back in the old days, Babs and her mates would sit out in chairs on the balcony, taking in the sun and gossiping about life. Back then, people would leave their doors open, most feeling safe in their community. The peace she felt reminded her that this had once been a good place to raise a family.
With a sigh she went back inside to get ready to pay Dee a visit, with Tiffany. She hadn’t taken two steps into the passage when she heard an envelope come through the door. She picked it up to discover that it was hand delivered; it looked like it had already been unsealed and then clumsily stuck down again. When she opened it, she discovered a letter from a local solicitor announcing that it was her husband’s intention to initiate divorce proceedings and that all communications should come via the solicitor. But at the bottom was a handwritten postscript from Nuts. He apologised for not contacting her in person. He felt, in light of the fact that she’d put his life in danger, by falsely grassing him up to John and Dee, that there was no future in the marriage and that he wanted a divorce. He expressed hope that at some future time she might have the decency to take responsibility for what she had done and apologise to him.
Jen’s response was to mumble. ‘If you fuck off out of life, mate, I’ll take responsibility for the Great Train Robbery.’
When Tiffany came round and read the letter she burst out laughing. ‘Be honest, he’s got some front, hasn’t he?’
‘Yeah, the one thing we’ve never been short of in this home is front.’
Jen folded the letter, put it in her bag and the two sisters set off to do lunch with their half-sister in Essex.
Things got off to a bad start when Dee realised Jen’s two little angels hadn’t made the journey. When Jen explained that they had to go to school that day, Dee’s response was, ‘Yeah . . . OK . . . I suppose.’
When Dee asked in a lighter manner if Nuts had come home in the night, Jen was surprised. ‘No, actually a funny thing happened this morning. Either he or his solicitor came round and popped a letter through the door saying he wants a divorce. So it would seem that Tiffany’s little scam might have worked after all.’
Dee gave a half smile and said no more.
The three women swapped gossip about their lives. It was clear to Tiffany and Jen that there was a lot of anger from Dee towards their mum.
Jen gave Tiffany a look out of the corner of her eye and asked, ‘Do you ever see your dad, Dee?’
Their eldest sister was grim. ‘Mum won’t tell me nothing about him. But one day, one day soon, I’m going to find out who he was.’
While they were having lunch on the lawn, John returned and gestured to Dee to join him for a private word. In the conservatory he shared the results of his morning’s investigation.
‘Right, I’ve asked around and there’s no sign of your car anywhere. My guess is, whoever nicked it, knew who to sell it onto and it’s probably been broken into bits and sold abroad. So that’s the end of that. Although I’ve got to say, given the fact that that little fucker of a son of ours—’
Dee snapped back, ‘Don’t talk like that about my lad. He was upset and he was going to bring the car back later. You leave the boy alone. He’s sensitive, that’s all. And you can forget about Nuts as well. As long as he leaves my nieces and sis alone, we’ll leave him be.’
‘It’s going to be hard to find that make of car again.’
‘Don’t trouble yourself. I was getting bored with it anyway. I was thinking I need a new one, something more up-to-date with all mod cons.’
John looked balefully into her eyes. ‘Do you know something? I think I’m going to turn myself in. A bunk in HMP has got to be better than this.’
Dee, Jen and Tiffany finished their lunch and then Dee escorted them back to their car. They’d swapped stories about their lives in the East End, and the people they had in common, which turned out to be a surprisingly large number. Jen began to notice that, as long as they stayed off the subject of their family, there was no cause for friction. Stanley Miller and Dee’s father turned out to be two men who were strictly off limits. They exchanged kisses and Dee was already pressing Jen for a date when the girls would be paying a visit.
‘It’s Courtney’s tenth birthday soon, so obviously we’re hoping you can come. Give the girls a chance to show off their Auntie Dee.’
Dee became wistful. ‘I’ll be there. I always wanted a little girl babes – give her all the things I never had. But it wasn’t to be.’
After they’d left, Dee went to her bedroom and locked the door. She didn’t want John or Nicky barrelling in unexpectedly. She walked into the dressing room and rummaged in the back of the dress closet until she found a cardboard box. She pulled it out and placed it on the bed, then sat down and opened it. Inside were all her old Vogue and Country Life magazines and the torn photos from mags she had once upon a time stuck on the wall. She still got a thrill looking at them.
This had been her way – admittedly by hook or crook – of getting what she thought she deserved in life. The Dee Clarks of this world didn’t get handouts – they had to find a way of taking it. But that was no good if you didn’t have a clue what it was. She grabbed the photo of the classic Italian sports car she’d once stuck on the wall and smiled as she stared at it. Then she crushed it in her hand. She put the box back, minus the car, and went online t
o search for a new motor.
Seventy
A week later a blonde woman in DKNY Jackie O shades drove to a service station on the M25 and parked her car in a darkened and shaded corner where it wouldn’t be noticed. She went into the twenty-four hour café and waited until a confused looking middle-aged man appeared at the entrance. She knew him but he didn’t know her. His name was Andy K. He was a business associate of John Black’s but a rather unusual one. As a rule, John refused to have anyone from the ‘business’ in his house but Andy K he let in the front door. She had made some discreet enquiries about him and the word was he was a top guy who owned a dealership in an expensive area of West London selling classic cars to foreign residents. She’d given him a bell, told him she had a property she wanted to sell and given him the make. Andy agreed to meet her without breaking a stride. He was obviously used to doing business in motorway cafés and when she said, ‘I’ll know you when I see you,’ he knew she wasn’t a time waster. Even if she was, the property was worth the risk.
She discreetly waved a newspaper at him and he came over. He looked the type, with a baggy, but expensive suit, open-necked shirt, gelled hair and an array of expensive rings on his fingers.
‘Nancy?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m Andy.’
She kept it deadpan. ‘I know who you are; I made the arrangements.’
‘Of course, alright. What have you got for me?’
The blonde woman reached into her handbag and pulled out a brown envelope. Inside was a photo, which she handed over. He studied it for a while before putting it down on the table. Then he picked it up again and looked at it before pulling a face and saying, ‘The thing is Nancy, there’s not much demand for a car like this these days; the market’s topped out I’m afraid, so I probably won’t be able to help . . .’
She fixed him with a hard stare. ‘Come off it. Those cars are like gold dust and you know it. The Arabs would sell all their wells for one and the Russians would give you all their fur coats. Don’t fuck about, mate, I don’t like fuck abouters.’
Andy sighed and picked up the photo again. ‘OK, maybe . . . I could probably sell it for you. Is it yours?’
‘No.’
Andy pursed his lips. ‘Ah, now that might be a problem if the paperwork isn’t in order. It might be stolen you see.’ He looked hard at the photo. ‘Funnily enough, a friend of mine had a motor like this stolen recently.’
She didn’t blink. ‘I know, that’s it.’
Andy nearly jumped two feet in the air and dropped the photo on the floor as if it was coated in acid. He looked around like a hunted animal and whispered, ‘Are you out of your soddin’ mind? I can’t buy that; if John found out I’d be under a motorway not driving on one, and so would you.’
She gave him a half smile. ‘He’s not looking for it anymore so you don’t have to worry.’
‘Since when?’
‘Since last week . . . Don’t look at me like that. If you don’t believe me, give John Black a little tinkle; you’ve got his mobile number.’ She paused for effect before adding, ‘You can have it for fifty grand.’ She paused again before saying, ‘Yes, I thought that price tag would tickle your fancy. It’s worth two or three times that. All you need to do is get a couple of engineers over from the Gulf, break it into bits, ship it out there as machine parts and Mister Black won’t be any the wiser anyway. Go on, ring him up, see if I’m right.’
Andy picked up the photo and sat looking at it for a long time. Slowly he reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile and made a call. ‘Hello, John, it’s Andy. Listen, are you still trying to trace the wife’s car? Only I had a guy in earlier with a similar model – not the same obviously – but I wanted to check . . . Oh really? OK, well, it’s probably long gone anyway . . . Bastards . . . Yeah.’
When the call was over, Andy carried on looking at the photo. He looked like an internet porn addict – guilty and excited at the same time.
The woman went in for the kill. ‘I’ll want cash.’
‘Oh piss off, no one carries that kind of cash, this ain’t the movies.’ When he got no answer, he admitted, ‘Probably better if there’s no trail anyway.’ He paused before saying. ‘OK cash.’
The blonde woman drove for a good twenty minutes before she slid her rental car into a lay-by. Then she pulled off the blonde wig and sunglasses and dumped them on the passenger seat.
Tiffany Miller grinned as she looked at herself in the rear-view mirror. She’d played a cunning and clever game, shifting everyone around like chess pieces. She hadn’t started out with any thought of taking the car, but that had all changed when she’d passed the estate agent’s window on Mile End Road. For there she had fallen head first for a one-bed flat for sale. This money would give her the deposit she needed. To be given the chance to move out of her mum’s and have her own place was simply a dream come true. And hanging on to Dee’s car was going to give her the readies she needed.
It had been easy to move the car from the garage in Southend. After she had held a sobbing Jen in her arms while they were in the B ’n’ B, once her sister was asleep she’d stayed awake for a while and then slipped out of the room. She’d gone to the garage, removed Dee’s car and hidden it elsewhere. By rights, with all this shit going on she should have driven it straight around to Dee’s and just ’fessed up. Taken Jen and the girls out of harm’s way. But when she saw Dee’s plush motor again – God forgive her – she couldn’t take it back; just couldn’t do it. Watch all her dreams drive off into the distance? That was too much to ask a girl from The Devil. So she’d decided to leave everything in motion and see where things ended up. Mind you, she had almost spilled the beans to Jen when they drove back to The Devil, but when they were distracted by the cops outside their mum’s, the moment had passed. She’d then decided to confess all to Jen if the girls weren’t at Dee and John’s. But they had been, so Tiffany had kept her mouth shut. Dee had written off her beloved car and moved on. So had Tiffany – to a mega payout that was going to set her up for life.
‘Sometimes you only get one chance to change your life, sis.’ That’s what she’d told Jen while they were in the B ’n’ B. And, as far as Tiffany was concerned, this was her chance and she’d taken it.
Tiffany popped the radio on and grinned hearing her favourite track of the year blaring out. Swaying, she started singing at full blast to OutKast’s ‘Hey Ya!’
Seventy-One
‘Happy birthday to you.
Squashed tomatoes and stew.
I saw a fat monkey,
And I thought it was YOU!’
The gathered crowd roared the last word and then raised the roof with thunderous applause. Babs beamed as she watched her granddaughter Courtney chuckling away, starry-eyed at the surprise birthday verse. The house was packed with children, streamers, balloons and party food. Babs was as pleased as punch to see her Dee’s Nicky at the stereo system, ready to take control of the music. At a nod from Babs he hit the music and the kids started running around, some dancing while others played a rowdy game of catch. Babs was so pleased to see Courtney get over her earlier sulk. She’d been gutted when she found out Dexter Ingram wasn’t invited to the party, and just didn’t get it when her mum muttered about him having ‘bad blood’. The poor girl couldn’t understand why the boy she was sweet on wasn’t allowed anywhere near her. It did seem unfair. But then, that was life; you couldn’t have everything you desired and the sooner Courtney learned that, the better her life would be.
Babs walked over with pride to where her three daughters stood chatting with each other. Things had gone a lot more smoothly than she’d anticipated. Sure, she still had to take the heat sometimes from Dee wanting to know about her father, but getting to know Jen and Tiffany had mellowed her eldest out some. Babs was keeping her fingers crossed that it stayed that way.
‘Shall I get the cake?’ Babs whispered to Jen. They’d got a gorgeous pink-and-white cake with Courtney’s na
me written across it in gold and silver glitter, especially made by Percy Ingles. Oh, little Courtney’s face was going to light up when she saw it.
Instead of answering, Jen gazed around the beautiful front room where the party was being held. ‘I still can’t believe that Mrs Jackson let you use her wonderful house. This place is just cor blimey gorgeous.’
Babs had spoken to Mrs Jackson, one of the clients she cleaned for, who lived in one of the huge houses in the Georgian Square, across the road from The Devil’s Estate. Well, that’s the story Babs had told her daughter.
‘I’d better go and get that cake then. Get Nicky to turn the music off in thirty seconds flat.’ And with that she hurried into the kitchen at the back. She placed ten candles on the cake and, when she got the signal (the music stopping), she headed, with a big grin, towards the main room. She thought it was a bit strange that she couldn’t hear any noise. She hoped her daughters hadn’t told everyone to shush-it because then Courtney would know her cake was coming and Babs so wanted it to be a surprise. Never mind.
But when Babs got inside and saw the man standing near Courtney and Jen, she realised why it was so quiet. The cake slipped from her hand with shock and crashed to the floor.
‘Babs, I can’t believe you never sent me an invite to my own granddaughter’s birthday,’ announced Stanley Miller.
Acknowledgements
Blood Sister would never have been written without the spot on expertise and encouragement of my super editor Ruth Tross and the amazing editing machine Zelda. Thanks also to Becca and Lucy for all the PR and marketing. Total kudos and thanks, as always, to my incredible agent Amanda Preston.
Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama Page 39