by Nicky Black
‘Louise!’
Louise thudded down the stairs, her hair blonde now, tucked behind her ears with a sweeping fringe framing her flushed face.
‘Louise, this is your dad.’
‘I know, stupid.’ She pushed past Debbie and smiled at him, apprehensive but excited. ‘Where’re we going?’
Lee exchanged a look with Debbie, not expecting it to be this easy. ‘Erm, I don’t know. Anywhere you like.’
‘MetroCentre? Is that your car?’ She bounded down the front steps and towards the gate.
‘Yeah,’ said Lee following her with his eyes, then turning back to Debbie. ‘What time do I have to –’
‘– Nine-thirty. She’s got a key. Good luck,’ she said, stepping back into the house.
‘Thanks....’ But the door was closed and Lee turned and faced his car with Louise inside, making herself comfortable in the passenger seat and checking out the dashboard. She gestured to him and shouted through the open window, ‘Hurry up, man, the shops shut at eight.’
The MetroCentre was Lee’s idea of hell. The biggest shopping centre in Europe – or on the planet: he didn’t know – but he generally avoided these places like head lice. It was heaving with people dragging their screaming children around Topshop and Dorothy Perkins, placating them with candyfloss and popcorn. It had been two hours and they were finally on their way to Pizza Hut, Lee carrying two bags full of Jane Norman stretch nylon and Miss Sixty jeans. He’d drawn the line at what she’d termed ‘slut shoes’, deciding it would be better to be an old-fashioned parent than a downright bad one. Louise skipped along, her hand through his arm, her new Playboy handbag laden down with gold belly bars, Hi Beam highlighter and Juicy Tubes lip gloss. She smiled with shimmering lips at people walking past them. My dad! He’s fabulous!
They sat by the window, looking out onto the emptying car park. Lee ordered double pepperoni which was met with a whoop of delight. That was her favourite pizza, too! He laughed back, revelling in her pleasure. What else did he like? Whopper or Big Mac? Blur or Oasis? Christina or Britney? They agreed on everything. It was so exciting she thought she might burst! They yakked and yakked like brand new best friends, about school and exams, her best friend Becky, music and clothes, The Simpsons and South Park, what would happen in the millennium. Would the world stop? She hardly came up for breath.
After their plates were cleared and they sat holding their full stomachs, he stared at her, searching her face until she blushed and looked away embarrassed.
‘Da-ad!’ She loved saying the word.
‘Your mum’s done you proud.’
‘Suppose so,’ she said. ‘She’s a bit tight, though, not like you.’
Lee surveyed the bags around him and imagined Debbie’s face, angry and hurt that he could just turn up out of the blue and buy Louise’s affection. He felt bad. She didn’t deserve that, and he resolved not to spoil Louise too much, though he was absolutely enjoying doing so.
On the way home, they sang along to the car radio, Shania Twain and Ricky Martin, clicking their fingers in unison. Louise sang to the advert jingles, making faces and mimicking the voices. She pointed out her school and the houses of friends, bitches and bullies. As they passed the Freeman Hospital, however, she became quieter, looking out of the window pensively, her hands clasped between her knees. The silence became uncomfortable as they neared her house in the darkness. Lee struggled for something to say, so said nothing. He turned the radio down and pulled up quietly alongside the front gate, the rasp of the handbrake punctuating the end of the evening. Louise looked out of the window and Lee loosened his seat belt and turned his body towards her. ‘Want to come flat hunting with me?’
She turned and smiled. ‘Erm, yeah! You’ll have to call me, though, I’m not allowed to ring mobiles,’ she said a little shyly. He nodded okay and leant forward to give her a hug. She rested her head on his shoulder, not wanting the embrace to stop. When he pulled away she blinked at him. ‘Will you come to my birthday dinner?’ she asked.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
She got out of the car and waved at him as she headed up the path with her bags. He waved back, and once she was inside, he sat back in his seat and heaved a glad sigh. It was perfect. She was perfect. He was at her university graduation, walking her proudly down the aisle, his grandchildren played happily at his feet in a family photograph. But he soon realised he was in the picture alone. He tried to pull Debbie back into the frame, but it made his heart lose its optimism. He turned on the ignition and headed back to the crisply made bed in his soulless hotel.
NINE
Nicola sat on a bench under the Gothic arch of a cemetery gateway in a summer dress she’d regretted putting on the minute she stepped out of the house. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d felt the need to look nice, feminine. But her athletic build often meant feminine was out of reach and now she felt conspicuous, like a footballer in a frock.
She didn’t know this place, but she found it more peaceful than eerie considering recent events. She’d taken two buses and a Metro up to the north of the city where no one would know her. She felt a million miles from Valley Park. Big houses with netless windows, their curtains wide open, confidently showing the world their contents. Sloping gardens with trees, and gates with numbers on them. Each house had a different front door, some with porches and some with names like ‘Sunnymead’ and ‘The Lodge’. She wouldn’t ever want to live in a place like this, though Micky seemed to have ambitions to move them all to Gosforth or somewhere like it. She would feel as fake as her D&G sunglasses – like she didn’t belong, like people were judging her for her accent and her crap handbags. Once upon a time she’d shared Micky’s dreams of what they thought would be a better life. She’d dreamt of living somewhere nice like this, away from the broken glass and graffiti. But wanting it and living it are two different things. Now she was happy to be amongst her own, with people who understood her, didn’t question her motives and just let her be who she was.
Margy was gone. At six that morning, she’d heard the van pull up amidst the dawn chorus of blackbirds, robins and wrens. Margy had been round the night before, her eyes swollen, her nose blown into a red mush. Joe was angry, a rare occurrence. She should have stayed in the house that night, he’d said, let Mooney bleed to death on the street: who would have cared about the little shit anyway? But that would have gone against her very soul, and Margy never compromised her character. Surely that’s what he loved and respected about her? He’d taken her upstairs and they’d looked at little Jimmy, already asleep, his glasses still on his nose, always a good boy, sweet-tempered, geeky and shy. Then he’d shown her the note. YOU’RE DEAD. And she knew.
As Nicola had lain in her bed she could almost hear the twitching of the neighbours’ curtains as the van pulled up. She should get up to say goodbye, but they’d agreed not to. So she stayed where she was, awake and completely alone, tears slipping silently onto her pillow, listening to the scraping of furniture being loaded into the van. Her touchstone was leaving, and she would have to cope on her own now.
She knew now it was only a matter of time before Micky came to her door. She was surprised – she’d been in her house more than a week and no sign of him. Each day she waited, jumping at every sound from outside. She kept the children tight by her side on the walk to and from school, looking round at every car engine she heard behind her. But Micky Kelly was nowhere to be seen. Her bed was unslept in. She preferred the armchair, a kitchen knife on the floor within easy reach. Joe had fitted the bolts to her doors, but now that Margy was gone, she felt like a sitting duck. The anxiety ate at her fingernails until they bled. Food stuck in her throat and she retched at its dryness. She’d told Micky she could take care of herself, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Lee’s phone had rung the minute he sat at his desk. Nicola wanted to meet him: she sounded anxious, upset. So when he heard her voice he was out of his seat like a jack-in-the-box. He was happy to get out of t
he office, already bollocked by Meadows again the day before for setting up panic alarms without her permission. Was he controlling the budget now?
They’d ranted at each other for ten minutes: Meadows accusing him of undermining the team, him questioning whether she would know a team approach if it kicked her in the face. He’d told her straight – it wasn’t a job to that lot, it was a pension. They avoided training like the plague, half of them didn’t know how to turn on a computer, and you couldn’t get a higher degree of prejudice if you advertised for it. Take DC Gallagher... But she’d stopped him there. DC Gallagher was qualified well beyond his current post; he was acting up before Lee got there. Oh yes, Lee had said, he could act up a treat. There was only one decent officer in the place and he bet her fifty quid that she was the last in line for any promotion.
With no defence, Meadows had reverted to what she was comfortable with and blethered on and on about the Community Strategy, how committed everyone was to it, how it was the bedrock of change. Lee challenged what it was about the place that was so shortsighted. No idea could be any good if it hadn’t taken three years to think about. Panic alarms: simple, cheap, bags of information for very little cost. There’s more than one way to get a result, he’d told her.
‘You don’t know this city!’ she’d shouted, her face fracturing at the seams.
‘And you don’t know the people who live in it,’ he’d responded bitterly.
So when his phone rang, he wasn’t seen for dust. He walked past Gallagher on his way out. ‘If you want the fucking job you can have it,’ he’d said, throwing his badge at him.
Lee arrived at the cemetery bang on time, eleven o’clock. She was waving furtively to him from a concrete bench, sitting awkwardly under a Gothic arch. He felt self-conscious as he walked up the uneven steps, conveniently created by the roots of the trees. He felt she was looking at him with an intensity that almost matched his own.
‘This is very clandestine,’ he said. Nicola looked puzzled and pulled her denim jacket together at her chest. ‘Secretive,’ he smiled.
‘Have you got the panic thing?’ she asked nervously.
He took it out of his pocket. ‘At great expense,’ he said.
‘Do I have to pay for it?’ Nicola looked alarmed.
‘No, no, of course not,’ he reassured her. ‘What’s frightened you?’
Nicola looked at her hands. ‘Margy’s gone.’ She looked up at him earnestly. ‘You don’t know where she is, do you?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Is she alright?’
‘Yes, she’s fine. Here.’ He held up the panic alarm. ‘Better show you how to work this.’ He showed her the on/off switch, the red panic button, the green to reset. It didn’t make a noise but it connected straight to the station and they could even trace where she was. There would be someone there in minutes.
She sighed and nodded gratefully, but her mind was still on Margy. ‘Who sent her the death threat?’
‘Probably the same people who shot Kevin Moone. Somebody’s upset. Any ideas?’ Nicola shook her head.
‘Even if you knew, you wouldn’t tell me, would you?’ He pressed her, but she remained silent. ‘See, this is the bit I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘People would rather die than grass on anyone.’
‘It’s like that everywhere, it’s not just us.’
‘Even when it’s your own child? What about Liam? You could have lost him.’
She looked away.
‘You know how he got that cocaine, don’t you?’
Nicola sighed. ‘How is Mooney, by the way?’ she asked.
‘He won’t be playing for Newcastle,’ he said, shaking his head.
‘Might scrape into Sunderland, though,’ said Nicola, turning to him and grinning.
Lee laughed loudly until Nicola shushed him, indicating the graves all around them. He put his hand to his mouth. ‘He’s signed a statement for social services, saying he left the drugs in your house, though he swears to me he didn’t.’
Nicola thought about it. No more care order, but that meant Micky could come by at any time.
‘Why do you want to save the world?’ she asked as he wiped his eyes.
Lee chuckled again. ‘The world? I don’t.’
‘Valley Park then.’
‘Because I went away, and when I came back somebody had ripped the shit out of the place.’
As they searched each other’s eyes, Lee’s phone rang in his pocket. He ignored it.
‘That might be an emergency,’ she said, their eyes hooked on each other.
‘They can leave a message.’
‘I thought you were the Caped Crusader.’ Their faces were getting closer.
‘I was, but I think I just put myself on the transfer list.’
‘Oh,’ she said.
‘Oh what?’
‘I was just getting used to you.’
‘But all coppers are bastards.’ Their lips were almost touching, and Nicola’s eyes started to close.
‘You’re different,’ she murmured.
‘So are you.’
He put his lips onto hers then brought his hand to the side of her face. He felt her body thaw, her shoulders drop as he put his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She relented and kissed him back, breathing out deeply through her nose, her hand moving up his arm and to his neck. This is it, she thought, her ears buzzing, her pulse racing. This is what it’s supposed to be like.
Lee felt everyone’s eyes on him as he walked into the station. Conversations stopped. Mugs were held halfway to mouths. Eyes followed him, blinking, accusing. He felt his palms begin to sweat. Did they know? Had somebody seen them? He straightened his tie, sat at his desk and started opening his mail – a wad of papers an inch thick for the next Valley Park regeneration meeting, held together with a bulldog clip, the agenda stretching to three pages, a memo from HQ in Ponteland about new procedures for strip-searching, and a colourful invitation to an equalities seminar. Valuing Diversity: Your role as a public sector servant in ensuring equal access to grass roots services. He looked around him. Aside from Thompson, the room was full of white, red-blooded men. It was a far cry from his office in London where people of all colours and cultures rubbed shoulders. These white men were keeping their eyes down today, though, and a noiseless atmosphere continued to shroud the office. Damn it, they knew something.
Gallagher started to sing to himself, ‘Ooh ooh ooo-oooh. Can you feel the force.’ Another officer stifled a giggle, and even Thompson grinned behind her hand. Lee looked up, more irritated than puzzled. Thompson mouthed to him: Where’ve you been? Lee sat back in his chair as DI Meadows entered the room, grim-faced as ever.
‘We’ve been trying to get you all morning,’ she said to Lee sternly.
‘Sorry, ma’am, detective stuff, Valley Park,’ he smiled up at her, dropping his post into his in-tray.
‘Well. Good. Okay, then.’
She stood in a way that clearly indicated she was about to address the room. Everyone stopped what they were doing and paid attention.
‘The Community Strategy,’ she started. Lee groaned inside. ‘The strategy that we’ve been using for the last year with our partners at the local authority has been a major initiative in bringing people together to tackle problems.’ People shuffled, and DC Clark yawned loudly. ‘However,’ she took a deep breath, ‘We need to move on to a new phase.’ She paused, and Lee started to pay attention. ‘As some of you already know, I’ve spoken to the other services today and told them we’re about to embark on a more proactive approach. We need a presence, we need information, and above all, we need the criminals to know that we’re going to be there to knock them back every time they rear their ugly heads.’
‘Can we use physical violence?’ asked Gallagher.
‘Is that in the Code of Practice?’ she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
‘I think we should get light sabres as standard issue,’ he said, buzzing and mimic
king the actions.
‘As well as the duty of care that is expected of all officers,’ she continued, glaring at Gallagher, ‘you will now be working towards this strategy for Valley Park.’ She held up Lee’s document. ‘You’ve got copies on your desks, read them please and any questions, see DS Jamieson.’
‘You really think people are going to tell us stuff when someone just got their legs blown off?’ asked Gallagher sourly.
‘I want a summary of everything we’ve got so far,’ she said, ignoring Gallagher. ‘I believe Housing were helpful?’
Lee nodded – he still had a job, then.
‘Good,’ she said. And with that she passed Lee his badge and marched back up the corridor to her office.
Lee’s self-satisfied grin filled the room. At last, a good day. He watched Gallagher scratch at his head like Stan Laurel as he picked up Lee’s strategy, no doubt peeved at the prospect of having to do some real police work. As Thompson smiled at him like a proud sister, Lee reached down to his bag and took out Mark’s file. He’d had it for several weeks and had been over every detail many times. It seemed like a straightforward case. The drugs were found in money bags, the ones you get from the bank to put your copper in. Just over a kilogram up a drainpipe at the back of Mark and Kim Redmond’s house. Partial fingerprints on the bags matched Mark’s, and there was residue from the same cut of cocaine found in the fine grain of Mark’s kitchen table. Kim, with no previous convictions, was soon released, but Mark had remained in custody for forty-eight hours while forensics did their work.
Tyrone Woods was the one key witness. He had a clean record and good GCSEs, unlike his brother Gerry who’d been in and out of prison for violent offences. His father, Gerald, was a known IRA man, released under the Good Friday Agreement the year before and now living with his sons on Valley Park. If Nicola was right, and Mark wasn’t dealing, then why would Tyrone Woods lie? He seemed like a decent enough kid, despite being surrounded by violent men all his life. Lee looked at Tyrone’s photograph for the hundredth time. His eyes were gentle, but adrift and forlorn.