Survivor

by Roberta Kray

  At five o’clock, Lolly left the estate and set off for the pawnbroker’s. As she traipsed along the high street her spirits were as slumped as her shoulders. What would she do now? She could see the weeks, the months, looming ahead with nothing to look forward to. Without Jude as her anchor, she felt cut adrift, all at sea. But she wasn’t going to cry. She was adamant. So he had turned out to be like all the others. So what? She wasn’t going to break her heart over it. People let you down. Sometimes they meant to and sometimes they didn’t, but the end result was always the same.

  Lolly turned off the high street, walked along the alley, through the cluttered yard and into the kitchen. Chips were frying on the stove. FJ was already there, sitting at the table with a football magazine in front of him. He glanced up and gave her one of his looks.

  ‘Someone’s had a bad day at school,’ Brenda said.

  Lolly hung her bag over the back of a chair, but said nothing.

  ‘Or have you fallen out with that friend of yours, that Sandra?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, something’s happened. You’ve got a face like a smacked bum. Like you’ve dropped a pound and found a penny as my old mum used to say.’

  FJ chose this moment to stick his oar in. ‘It’s probably that lad she’s been seeing.’

  Brenda frowned. ‘What lad?’

  ‘Lolly’s got a boyfriend.’

  ‘No I haven’t!’ Lolly snapped, mortified.

  ‘I should hope not,’ Brenda said. ‘You’re far too young for that kind of thing.’

  ‘He’s called Jude Rule,’ FJ said. ‘He’s in my class and he’s a right weirdo. Lolly goes round to his flat.’

  ‘He’s not a weirdo,’ Lolly said, although she had no idea why she was jumping to his defence. It was just some kind of knee-jerk reaction. She glared at FJ, wondering how he knew about Jude and her visits. ‘And I hardly ever see him.’

  Brenda put her hands on her ample hips and shook her head. ‘Weirdo or not, he’s too old for you, young lady.’

  ‘He’s just a friend. He lives downstairs. I mean, in Haslow, at the Mansfield.’

  ‘You should stick to friends your own age.’

  ‘Yeah,’ FJ said. ‘What kind of bloke likes hanging out with little girls? Must be a right twisted beggar. Bet they get up to all sorts. You should put a stop to it, Mum. It ain’t right. People are going to talk.’

  Lolly protested, her cheeks turning red again. ‘There’s nothing to talk about. Why should there be?’

  ‘You tell me,’ he said smugly. ‘I’m not the one cuddling up to some weirdo.’

  ‘I’m not cuddling up to him. It’s not like that. We’re not —’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re doing,’ Brenda interrupted sharply, ‘but it stops right now, you hear? I’m not having you mixing with the likes of him. If Mrs Raynes gets wind of it, it’s me she’ll blame for letting you go round there in the first place. So you stay away, right? From now on, you come straight home from school.’

  Lolly shrugged. Yesterday she’d have railed against such a ban, but today it didn’t matter. Jude had already dismissed her, pushed her aside. Nothing Brenda said could make the slightest bit of difference.

  FJ smirked triumphantly at her from across the table. ‘I’ve done you a favour, Lol. That Jude’s a creep.’

  ‘Takes one to know one.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Cut it out, you two!’ Brenda said. ‘I get enough aggro standing behind that counter all day. I don’t need it here as well.’

  Lolly sat and ate her meal in silence. There was no sign of Freddy, and Tony hadn’t come home either. Brenda treated them to a steady stream of complaints as they chomped their way through fish fingers, chips and peas: rude customers, ungrateful husbands, sons who didn’t bother to call when they wouldn’t be home for tea. Lolly didn’t hear half of it; she switched off, her mind preoccupied by what had happened with Jude.

  After the dishes had been done, Lolly said she had homework and went upstairs to her room – although calling it her room was something of a misnomer. FJ’s posters remained pinned to the wall, his things scattered around, some of his clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. The room was clearly on loan and not a permanent arrangement. She slept in the bed, brushed her hair in the mirror, but the place reflected nothing of her own personality.

  Lolly stayed upstairs. She could hear the TV going in the living room but preferred to be alone than with the Cecils. Freddy came home at about eight o’clock, pissed as a newt and crashing into the furniture. Brenda shouted at him for a good ten minutes but then it all went quiet. He’d either fallen asleep or Brenda had killed him.

  At nine, Lolly went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth. Back in the bedroom, she got undressed, put on her pyjamas, climbed into bed and lay listening to the sounds of the TV and the cars going by on the high street. Every now and again, she’d hear the creak of the stairs as someone came up to use the loo, followed by a loud flush and the sound of water running through the pipes.

  She must have dozed off because the next noise she heard was of a car drawing up outside. It was dark by now, a midnight kind of dark. She didn’t even have to think about who it was. She already knew from the soft purr of the engine; it idled for about thirty seconds before being switched off.

  Lolly got out of bed and padded over to the window. She pulled aside the curtain and gazed down into the street. The black Jaguar was parked outside the pawnbroker’s, directly beneath her. She watched as the passenger door opened and Joe Quinn got out. It wasn’t the first time he’d been here and he always came at night.

  Joe Quinn owned the Fox pub and, in various ways, most of Kellston too. He was an ageing, ugly, stocky man with a face like a bulldog. Great folds of skin drooped under a flabby chin, and what remained of his hair was combed over his scalp in long oily strands. Even before she had come to live with the Cecils, she’d been aware of him; his name was well known on the Mansfield estate. This was his manor and he ran it with an iron fist, and that included all the pushers and the prozzies too.

  Lolly could see why people were scared. He had one of those scowling demeanours as though he was always on the verge of losing his rag. He was rude and charmless, a tyrant who got what he wanted through brute force. Nobody messed with Joe Quinn, no one with any sense that was. He laid down the rules and others obeyed them.

  The driver’s door opened and a younger, good-looking man got out. This was Terry Street. He was wearing a smart suit and tie, like he’d been somewhere fancy. The two men couldn’t have been more different. Terry was only about nineteen or twenty, lean and handsome with dark hair and sharp cheekbones. But it wasn’t just his appearance that set him apart from his boss: Terry had a way about him, always ready with a smile or a joke. He was what her mum would have called a Jack-the-lad, but nice with it. All the girls had the hots for him.

  The two men walked along the road and turned into the alley. Lolly moved away from the window, crossed over to the door and carefully opened it. She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the knock at the back door. The TV went off and the next thing she heard was Brenda’s voice.

  ‘Evening, Mr Quinn. Come on in. Hello, Terry. How are you doing?’

  And then Freddy saying something she couldn’t quite catch. There was the sound of the kettle being filled with water. A welcome brew while they did a bit of business. This was pretty regular, once a fortnight or so. She had eavesdropped several times on these meetings – it was the only way to find out anything – and it didn’t take a genius to work out that the goods Quinn came with were nicked.

  The pawnbroker’s did plenty of honest business, but it didn’t bring in big bucks. Lolly knew this because Brenda was always moaning about it. It didn’t help, of course, that Freddy drank half of what they earned every week. Brenda was always in a better mood after Joe Quinn had been round. Fencing stolen goods was risky but it was also lucrative.

  Loll
y stepped tentatively on to the landing, checking to make sure FJ’s door was closed before she went to the banisters and leaned over. She could hear the metallic clinks as Brenda sorted through whatever Quinn had brought her – rings and chains, bracelets and brooches.

  ‘I’ll have to shift some of this on, get it melted down,’ she said.

  ‘That’s quality,’ Terry said. ‘Twenty-four carat.’

  ‘I’m not saying it ain’t, love, but it can’t go in the window. It’s them emeralds; they’re what you’d call distinctive. I don’t need Old Bill knockin’ on the door.’

  Brenda always haggled over the price, getting the best possible deal she could. In a few days, after she’d managed to shift the gear, she’d have a big smile on her face and she’d be off down the market to buy a new pair of shoes or a handbag. There would be pork chops for tea instead of fish fingers, and a fresh bottle of gin on the sideboard.

  Joe Quinn and Terry didn’t stay for long. Ten minutes after they arrived they were off again. The back door had closed and Lolly was about to retreat to her bedroom when she heard something interesting.

  ‘So what’s happening with the kid?’ Freddy said.

  Lolly’s ears instantly pricked up. Freddy never referred to her by name, only as ‘the kid’. He rarely spoke to her either, acting as if she wasn’t even there. She may as well have been invisible for all the notice he took of her. Sometimes, if they passed on the stairs or met at the kitchen table, his forehead would crease into a puzzled frown as though he was trying to remember what she was doing in his home.

  ‘Don’t you ever listen to a word I say?’ Brenda gave a long sigh, audible even to Lolly at the top of the stairs. ‘I took her down Doc Latham’s yesterday. He’ll have the blood results before long.’

  ‘And then you’ll wish you hadn’t bothered.’

  ‘I’m telling you, I heard Angela say his name, Mal Fury, clear as day, and not just the once either. She knew that man, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Read about him more like. Come on, it was all over the papers, headline news.’

  ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘So what? It just got stuck in her head somewhere.’

  But Brenda wasn’t having it. ‘She was scared of him, always looking over her shoulder. She reckoned he was searching for her. Told me she’d lived all over before she came here. Why do you think that was?’

  ‘Why did the crazy bitch do anything? She had a screw loose and you know it.’

  ‘She was on the run, hiding from him. That’s what I think. A secret like that, it’s enough to drive anyone round the bend.’

  ‘Have it your own way,’ he grumbled. ‘But if you’re wrong, we’ll be the ones feeding and clothing the kid for God knows how many years. Have you thought about that? A bleedin’ fortune down the drain.’

  Brenda snorted. ‘What, as opposed to the bleedin’ fortune you throw at the bookies every day? I’ll take my chances, thank you very much.’

  Lolly waited but Freddy didn’t reply. From below she could hear the sound of Brenda locking up for the night. Quickly she slipped back into the bedroom and softly closed the door. When she was in bed, her fingers reached for the rough pink plaster that had been stuck over the skin in the crook of her left arm. It had hurt when the needle went in, but not any more.

  ‘Just a quick test,’ Brenda had said as they’d walked along. ‘Nothing to worry about. We’ll be in and out in five minutes.’

  ‘A test for what?’

  ‘To see if we can track down any of your family. That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? If we could find some folks of your own?’

  Lolly shrugged. What if her own ‘folks’ were even worse than the Cecils? There was no way of knowing. And she couldn’t see how going to the doctor’s could help find anyone. It was all a mystery to her. They had turned on to Albert Road where the prozzies hung out, the women who sold sex for money, although there’d been none of them around yesterday. Maybe they didn’t work in the mornings. The surgery was at the station end, not far from the corner, in a big old redbrick house. There wasn’t even a sign on the front door and inside the place had been none too clean. Lolly thought that was odd.

  She hadn’t liked Doctor Latham, a middle-aged scruffy man who had a strange chemical smell about him. He didn’t speak to her – in fact he barely looked at her – as he jabbed the needle into her arm.

  ‘How long are we talking?’ Brenda asked.

  ‘Couple of weeks.’

  Lolly had watched the dark red blood leave her arm and travel up into the syringe. And then the needle was pulled out and the plaster stuck on her arm.

  ‘Leave it there,’ he said to Brenda. ‘Don’t let her take it off for twenty-four hours.’

  And then Brenda gave him some money and they left. On the way home, they stopped by Woolworths where Lolly had her picture taken in the photo booth. Before she went in, Brenda combed her hair and adjusted the collar of her blouse.

  ‘When the light comes on, don’t forget to smile. And try and look nice.’

  Lolly, who had never posed for a picture before, wasn’t exactly sure how to achieve this feat, but she gave it her best shot. She sat on the stool, put the coins in the slot and smiled at the window. The flash when it came was dazzling. It caught her off guard, made her squint, but she was ready the next time.

  Afterwards they’d had to stand by the booth while the photos were developed. The pictures shot out suddenly, a row of four, and Brenda snatched them out of the machine. She stared at them for a moment or two, looked at Lolly and then back at the pictures. ‘Well,’ she sighed, ‘I suppose they’ll have to do.’

  Lolly had been allowed to keep one of the photos and Brenda had taken the other three. When Lolly had asked what she wanted them for, Brenda had been vague.

  ‘Oh, just a bit of paperwork. Nothing for you to be bothered about.’

  Lolly didn’t think she looked like herself in the pictures, not the way she was in the mirror. She had a wide-eyed, surprised expression and a lopsided smile.

  After tea in the evening, when his mother was out of earshot, FJ had asked her about the plaster on her arm.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The doctor put it there. He took some blood.’

  ‘Are you sick?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve got a horrible disease,’ he said. ‘Maybe you’re dying.’ He grinned nastily. ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I am.’ She quickly leaned across the sofa and breathed on his face. ‘And now you’ve got it too. You’ve got all my germs. If I die, so will you.’

  FJ had jumped up, wiping his mouth as though she’d spat at him. ‘Get off, you filthy bitch! What are you doing? I’ll get you for that, I’ll bloody well get you.’

  ‘You can’t get me if you’re dead.’

  Brenda had come in at this point. ‘Can’t you two get on for five minutes? Just give it a rest. If you don’t stop right now you’ll both be straight off to bed. You understand? All I’m asking for is a bit of peace and quiet.’

  Lolly’s victories over FJ were few and far between and as she lay in the dark she savoured this one. Doubtless, he would find a way to get his revenge, but for now she had the satisfaction of knowing that, for once, she’d had the last word. His expression had been priceless. She’d remember that look for a long time to come.

  Lolly reached down under the bed and picked up the carrier bag she’d put there. Inside was her mum’s pink cardigan. She took it out and held it to her nose, breathing in the scent. As she closed her eyes, Lolly’s last thoughts were of her mother, of blood and photographs and the mystery of her unknown family. Now that she’d been deserted by Jude she needed someone or something to cling on to, and hope was the only thing she had.