by KERRY BARNES
Francesca remained in the back of the car and Jesse stood apprehensively on the edge of the pavement. She had agreed that Francesca should meet her on her release in order to give her a good kicking but, seeing the flash black car and the huge driver, Jesse now had a nasty taste in her mouth and felt nervous. There was something stopping her.
The door slowly opened and she could just make out the silhouette of a woman in a long fitted dress.
She walked forward, looking up and down the road in case she had the wrong car. There wasn’t another soul in sight. She shivered as she peeked inside.
“Get in, Jesse!” came a stern voice.
The blood rushed through her veins as she awkwardly clambered in. Instantly, the car tore away. There was no escape. Francesca smirked and confidently took a drag on her cigarette.
She looked the girl over. She had changed very little. She was still thin and unattractive. Her mousy brown hair, pulled away from her face, showed her gaunt features, sunken eyes, and lines around her mouth from too many fags. Her niece and nephew, thankfully, had got their looks from their father.
“Do you mind if I ‘ave a fag?” asked Jesse, who was fumbling in an old plastic Tesco’s carrier bag, looking for her tobacco.
Francesca handed her a Benson and Hedges.
Jesse’s hand shook, noted by Francesca, who assumed it was the effects of drug-taking. Then she cringed at the girl’s nails, bitten to the quick, and the unsightly yellow stains inside her forefinger.
Jesse dragged on the fully loaded Benson and Hedges, so unlike the thin roll ups she was used to. The intention to duff her up and bounce her face off the curb was gone. Francesca was intimidating. Jesse wasn’t sure if it was the cool, stunning exterior of the woman or the hardness in her eyes which emanated so much power. Conscious her bowels were moving, she knew she would shit herself if they planned to do away with her.
“Kind of you to pick us up,” Jesse smiled, showing her crooked yellow teeth.
Francesca had, for a second, a twinge of guilt, but she thought back to the sorry state of the children and decided it had been for the best. If she hadn’t put Jesse away then, well, God knows what would have happened to Jack and Ruby.
“So, how’s me kids, then? Getting big, I s’pose?”
Francesca felt anger welling up. Who the fuck did she think she was, ‘her kids’?
“They are fine, Jesse, and that’s just how they will stay, so here are the rules.”
There was no way she would get her hands on Jack and Ruby again. But she could use the threat of custody to get out of the Vincents as much as she could as, in her eyes, they still owed her.
“Jack and Ruby are happy, healthy, and in good schools. I know you abused them. I saw the scars, the bruises, and heard their night terrors. You were a cruel cunt, Jesse, but, mark my words, you will never see them again,” said Francesca, so matter of fact she could have been reading a restaurant menu.
Jesse wasn’t shocked, but she was prepared to barter.
“Yeah, but they are still me kids, and I ‘ave a right.” Her face was white and her lips dry. She was afraid but she wanted some type of pay off. She was leaving prison with nothing – not even a fiver – and going to a hostel.
Francesca leaned forward and calmly clarified that there would be no argument. She would be the one calling the shots.
“You gave up that right when you abused them!” she said, glaring coldly into Jesse’s eyes.
Jesse slumped back in the seat. She hated her children. They must have exaggerated the odd smacks to get their own way and to make everyone feel sorry for them.
“I am their mother and the law will be on my side.” Jesse couldn’t believe she had just said that. She realised she was pushing her luck.
Francesca pulled out her gun and pushed it up to Jesse’s throat.
“Now, you fucking listen to me, and listen well!”
Jesse’s bowels were off again. She had been in a few scraps in her days but this woman was ruthless.
“You will never see those kids again, and if you so much as ask after them, I’ll have you skinned alive.” She smiled and put the gun back in her pocket.
Jesse was still in shock. She had never looked down the barrel of a gun before.
“Now then, let’s start again. First, they are not your children anymore, so get that thought out of your head!”
Jesse nodded.
“Secondly, since I was the one who put you away, I think it’s only fair I make sure you are taken care of, now you are out.”
Jesse assumed her days were over.
“So, there you are. Take this, and never come looking for those kids again. If I find you anywhere near any member of my family, I will fucking brutalise you. Try anything stupid, Jesse, and you will wish you had a gun in your hand to blow your own fucking brains out. I will dismember your body, one limb at a time, then burn the stinking remains.”
The words echoed around Jesse’s mind – dark and foreboding. She stared in horror, knowing this woman meant every word.
Jesse gingerly took the packet from Francesca and nodded.
“What’s this?” she whispered.
“I have been paying the rent on your council flat so you have the keys to move back in. It has been cleaned and furnished, and there’s two grand to get yourself decent clothes and to find a job. If those kids want to see you when they are old enough, well, you’d better be clean, sober and a fucking pillar of the community.”
Jesse couldn’t believe her luck – a home and two grand. That should buy her the best gear in town: skunk, coke, even a rock. Her eyes widened.
“There is a condition, though, and I fucking mean it. You stay the hell away. If they ever want to see you, they will find you. But, be warned – what you put them through – don’t expect a bunch of roses. You may find a damaged kid, with revenge as a gift.”
Jesse was on a high and nodded furiously. She didn’t want the fucking kids. Two grand and a furnished flat was worth the labour pains – and the stint inside the clink.
As they drove into the estate, Francesca shuddered to think that her dear niece and nephew had once lived here, amongst the dirt and debris. The East End of London wasn’t pretty by any means, but there were parts a damn sight worse than others. This estate was in South East London and made up of blocks of flats and smaller blocks of maisonettes. Both were dark and dreary. The dullness of the estate matched the mood of the people. In the earlier days, when the buildings were new, the residents enjoyed the community spirit, but not now. It was run down and ready to be demolished and rebuilt. A council plan was already in place for the revamped luxury apartments.
No matter how polluted they looked, Jesse was pleased to be back in her familiar surroundings.
The whole estate couldn’t have been more run down; the blocks were covered in graffiti, the walk-ways still stunk of piss, and there was washing left on the balconies, green and mouldy, because the druggies couldn’t be bothered to bring it in. It was the same old story. They started off with good intentions, getting the washing done and the floors vacuumed. But then, after a heavy drinking session or a night on the pipe, the wet clothes were forgotten about and the vacuum cleaner was left in the middle of the room. The little children lay sodden in their nappies with a small tot of whisky in their bottles to keep them quiet.
Francesca looked at the small, run-down play area. Not a blade of grass in sight – just concrete, and the remains of a swing, with dangling chains and no seats. She noticed two children, too young to be out of nappies, playing alone in the square. Francesca bit her lip. It still hurt not being able to have children herself and there, amongst a concrete jungle, were two youngsters who were barely clothed and running around, whilst their parents were getting stoned. She imagined Jack and Ruby doing the same.
The car came to a sharp halt outside Jesse’s flat. A scruffy dog had shot across the road, causing Dominic to brake suddenly.
Jesse nearly fell to the floor whil
st Francesca remained composed.
As she opened the door to leave, Francesca grabbed her arm.
“We understand each other, don’t we?”
Jesse looked into her eyes and smiled. “Yes, we do.” She held out her hand to shake on a deal but Francesca looked away. She wanted to show her that, no matter what, she would always be in charge.
Jesse knew there would be no messing with this woman – that was for sure.
The rain poured and she hurried to see her flat, not new, just refurbished. It was as she had said and, seeing all the furniture and how clean it was, it lifted her spirits to a height they had never been before. It didn’t stop her from running to the first dealer to score some draw and a rock, though. Within an hour she was as high as a kite and had already burnt the new settee with what was commonly called a black attack – where the red, hot marijuana droplets burned through any soft furnishings. Already, Jesse was on the downward spiral to self-destruction. When the money was gone she would have a habit so bad she would be on the streets selling her arse for a joint or two.
Jesse had gone to prison with no one waiting for her on the outside. There was no bloke, no kids, not even her mother, but she didn’t care. She had her dope.
*
Jesse had had the chance, just once, to have it all. She had met Sam Vincent, a handsome man and a real catch. He was the middle brother in the Vincent family, with a reputation for being kindhearted. Still a hard bastard, but fair. He took to Jesse when he first met her – but this was before he found out about the drug taking. She had put on a different persona to capture his heart, and, by the time he realised how sly and sneaky she was, it was too late. She was up the duff with their first baby. Speed had kept her slim, long before she had met Sam. She was a looker then, too. Her hair had been long, thick and the brightest blonde, and her teeth were straight and white but, over the years, the hard core shit had changed all that. Now, she was a wreck.
He was not short of a few bob and so when she hooked up with him, the drugs were easy to get. The money flowed and so did the cocaine. When he put his foot down, she bought and sold it herself. She was expecting their second child when the raid happened.
Sam had been putting their son to bed when the police bashed down the front door. The noise was so loud he nearly dropped his son, Jack. They stormed the house with such force that Sam didn’t have time to grab a weapon, which was lucky for him since he hadn’t realised he was up against the law. He thought some local thugs from the club were trying to rob him. He often took the nightclub takings home before banking it in the morning.
The police were up the stairs and on him, throwing him to the floor. He had no idea what the hell was going on.
“Leave it out, I ain’t done nothing!” shouted Sam, as the policeman handcuffed him. Jack screamed hysterically as the coppers tore all over the house, pulling out drawers, and emptying the wardrobes.
“What the fucking hell’s going on? Let me go, you cunts!” Sam was struggling to get to his feet. “Look at me boy, Jack! For fuck’s sake, he’s screaming!”
One policeman pushed him down on the bed.
“Shut up and sit still. We have a warrant to search the premises for drugs,” said another copper, who was the size of Big Daddy and looked like he should have retired years ago.
Sam shouted for Jesse to come and get the baby. He assumed she was downstairs but there was no answer.
“Your missus has scarpered out the back but, don’t worry, our officers will have her in no time.”
Then he realised it was about her. The penny finally dropped. The fucking bitch had been dealing. Sam stared for a second at his little boy who was sobbing. His tiny face was soaked and snot was running down his lips.
“For Christ’s sake, have some compassion. Look at me baby!” Sam was looking at the fat copper, who nodded to the other officer.
They removed the handcuffs but guarded the door. They were not letting him escape until they had thoroughly searched the house.
Jack hugged his father tightly, burying his face into his neck. He was terrified.
Eventually, a younger police officer came into the bedroom with two carrier bags. “Found it, guv.” He was as pleased as punch. The smug face said it all.
Sam shook his head in disbelief.
He kissed the baby and handed him over to the policewoman, who cradled him gently and tickled his cheek. He was grateful she had been kind to his son.
The other policemen left the room.
“I’m surprised at you, Samuel Vincent.” The old copper sat next to him on the bed. “I mean, you Vincents are big-time. Nightclubs, boxing clubs. What the fuck is it with the pills?” He looked for a second like a father figure, telling his son off.
Sam ran his hands through his hair and shrugged.
“These ain’t yours, are they, Sam? Do yourself a big fucking favour – turn her in. Between me and you, I like your lot, you run the clubs and sort out any aggro yourselves. We don’t go near, or by, and that suits me.”
The words were going around in circles, and it was a few seconds before he realised he would go down for a long stretch with the amount of drugs in those heavy-looking carrier bags.
The need to vomit made him swoon.
“Just hit you, has it, boy? You know you are looking at seven years.” The copper wasn’t winding him up.
Sam nodded.
“Samuel Vincent, I am arresting you on possession of attempting to supply Class A drugs…” Sergeant James looked at Sam with a sorrowful face.
“Class A? Fucking hell! What was in those bags?” The blood drained from his face.
“Sorry, mate, you had cocaine, amphetamines and it looks like a bag of heroin.” The sergeant felt Sam’s pain and he guessed this was Jesse’s filthy work. He recognised that a family like the Vincents were brought up with that old moral code: you don’t grass.
Sam took the rap without a thank you or an apology from his bird. She had him where she wanted him all the while she had his kids. Sam would die for his son and Jesse knew he wouldn’t let the mother of his child serve time, especially since baby number two was on the way. She promised to wait for him and bring their son and the new baby to see him regularly, as long as she got her bit of poke from the clubs to feed them. Sam agreed, and that was how it was for three years until Sam’s sister, Francesca, came over from America. In one prison visit she managed to set Jesse up good and proper, putting her behind bars, and taking the kids away forever. Jack and Ruby had only been a means to an end for Jesse. They were her meal ticket and nothing more than that. In fact, she despised them. After her daughter was born her body took a bashing, leaving her with stretch marks which looked like the London underground map. Her tits had shrunk to nothing and the continued drug abuse, along with the pregnancy, had turned her teeth black. She blamed the kids for all of it. Everything that went wrong in her life was their fault. Every cry, every moan, want or need, was just an irritation. She knew that if they went into care she wouldn’t get her weekly poke – her puff money. She kept the children in tow and managed them, by a slap or a kick, if they got in the way. She sold the furniture and spent the rent money for their lavish house until eventually she was evicted and moved into a council flat with nothing.
Sam served his time with no real aggravation. He was already a Face. The Vincent brothers kept their nightclub business between themselves and so no one had anything on any of them. They were shrewd businessmen and were not easily intimidated. They had the boxing clubs too and each brother had a reputation in the ring. So, when Sam arrived at Downview Prison in Surrey, the inmates looked after him. There were some older Faces, nearing the end of a large lump, and they knew Sam’s father. They gave him respect and saw he was all right.
He wasn’t a druggie, and it wasn’t long before the screws realised he was taking the rap for someone else. When Jesse came visiting they guessed it was her, since she looked like the typical waster. In fact, she was so rough that the other inmat
es, who had the bottle to be so bold, said as much to him.
She was an embarrassment to him, turning up as if she had just got out of bed and clothing the kids in clothes even the charity shop would throw out. But he still said nothing. All he wanted was to see his children and ensure her regular money encouraged her to bring the kids to the nick. Ruby, until the age of three, had only ever seen him in prison. She loved him as a dad, not a stranger. Jack adored his dad and the only time he was happy was at nursery school or on a visit.
Sam knew Jesse had him in the palm of her hand when he had kicked off about how she dressed the kids. She came on a visit in a new pair of Levis, leather boots, a smart leather jacket, and her hair highlighted. She walked into the visiting room like she owned the place. Sam was initially pleased she had made the effort, until he noticed the state of his children.
Ruby, who could barely walk, had a faded T-shirt with stains down the front. She had on a pair of pyjama bottoms, which were so small the elastic was leaving a deep purple mark around her tummy, and Jack’s old trainers but no socks. Dangling from her mouth was a baby’s bottle which had the remnants of old tea. Sam then looked at his son. His tracksuit bottoms fitted but he had no jumper – just a T-shirt and plimsoles. More distressing than that, though, he had a bruise on his cheek and sadness in his eyes.
He hugged his children and watched their mother. She was in ecstasy on cocaine, chatting for England about nothing, telling him how much she missed him and how the kids were her life. He wished she would just be honest. She was so full of shit.