At the top of the stairs he leaned on the railing to get his breath back. He knew she was in the main exercise area. After following her into the building he’d peeped once or twice through the swing doors and seen the women’s antics. What a joke. She’d never surprise him with any of those fancy moves. Unfit or not, he knew how to take care of himself. Especially against a woman.
He walked over to the green swing doors again, his ancient trainers squeaking on the polished tiled floor. This time all the bitches were picking up their bags and walking towards the door. He stood behind a pillar and watched while they all trooped into the restaurant. Well, he had all night. They’d be drinking tea and yakking their heads off like all bitches do. He could wait. It’d be worth the wait to scare the living daylights out of her when she finally came out of this joint. That’s what she needed, the cocky bitch.
Scaring to death.
- 52 -
Mike clapped his hands. ‘Right, ladies. Let’s get down to the serious part of the training, and this will culminate in a full-scale assault on each of you in turn. But first, a few preliminary moves. Imagine you’re being attacked. You really let fly. Bang. And don’t go like this . . .’ He closed his eyes and hit out wildly. ‘You must focus. It’s no use if it doesn’t work. There are only two possibilities. Work. Won’t work. Okay? Again.’
To each of them Mike offered himself for mock attack. When it was Julia’s turn she lashed out at him.
‘No, you’re not hitting hard enough. Make a good tight fist. Don’t worry about the damage you might do.’
She hit him again.
‘No. It’s still half-hearted. Does anyone play tennis? If you don’t take that arm back there’ll be no power in your shot. So bring that shoulder in behind your punch.’
She punched him in the stomach, really hard. Sam Smith. She saw the surprised look in Mike’s eyes.
‘Okay, excellent. And now the groin.’ He paused for effect. Several of the younger girls giggled. ‘Hitting a man in the chest won’t do any real damage. If he grabs you by the hair, lift your right knee straight up between his legs, then whip the lower bit of your leg up so the flat of your foot hits his groin at a hundred miles an hour. He’ll soon let go of your hair . . .’
Mike’s voice grew faint as Julia’s mind drifted to the mammoth task of borrowing money to pay Sam Smith. If John Cartwright refuses I’ll be forced to go behind Ben Lloyd’s back and carry out my unthinkable Plan B . . .
‘Next,’ Mike said. ‘Attacker grabs you round the neck. You must turn your head towards him so his fingers are no longer on your windpipe. Turn it away and he’ll break your neck. And drop your right shoulder. That way you can see what you’re doing, because then you’re virtually looking at his crotch and slipping out of his grip at the same time. So you punch it repeatedly until he drops. If he’s wearing tight jeans you’ll know exactly where to go.’
It sounded so easy, Julia thought. If I could perfect these moves I definitely wouldn’t need a gun, or a hatpin. She felt a sour taste in her mouth and a wave of disgust that she had ever contemplated a weapon of any kind.
‘You can also go in from the back,’ Mike said, his face dead serious. ‘And if you get one of the two round objects, that’s perfect. Snatch as hard as you can and try to rip it off his body. But you’re doing two things here, ladies, because you’re also going to smash his face in. Why? Because he’s going to go down so fast he hasn’t time to put his hands out, and his face will hit the ground first. Most effective.’
Julia glanced at Georgia, who looked back without a smile, her lips tightly pursed, her red eyebrows almost meeting in the middle.
‘Sorry to sound so crude,’ Mike said, ‘but it’s best to tell you straight so you know exactly what you’re doing. And when that happens to a bloke there’re two things he wants. First his mum. And when he knows his mum isn’t coming, all he wants to do is die.’ A smile at last.
While they practised the mock movements, Georgia whispered to Julia, ‘Will you have the guts to really do this stuff?’
‘I can’t wait,’ Julia said, laughing.
‘And now, a most important point,’ Mike said. ‘If an attacker comes up behind you, scream as loud as you can. Scream. And for most people, it’s enough’
After a final refreshment break Mike changed into his combat uniform. Loose white cotton pants with white V-neck top and, of course, the black belt ready for the final hands-on session. Julia smiled to herself. Wendy would die of surprise if she could see me now.
She watched Mike’s eyes move slowly from one woman to the next, as if to assess their physical ability to defend themselves. ‘I’m going to assault you for real,’ he said. ‘Fight back as hard as you can. Think of it as the worst possible attack that could ever happen to you. Your life is in danger. You could end up in a pine box. And remember. There’s no scale from one to ten. Every time it’s ten. He grabs you. Ten. He’s still got hold of you. Ten. Groin, chin, ribs, eyes. It’s all got ten on it.’
He looked across at Daniela. ‘For us, Daniela and me, it’s different. We’d kill with a ten. We have to scale down to a five or a four, a tap or a knock. But not for you ladies. You ladies are tens. Right. Now, go for it.’
The stocky teenager was the first one up. Mike stood facing her, unrecognisable with padding all over his body, a box over his genitals, and a protective mask held in place by a strip of mutton cloth wrapped around his face with only narrow slits for his eyes and mouth. A pretty frightening sight.
The attack was for real, all right. The girl gave it all she had. At the end of the two-minute bout she was puffing and panting and red in the face.
And then it was Julia’s turn. Daniela prepared her with white arm pads, knee and shin-guards that Velcroed round the backs of her legs, soft white boots and boxing gloves. She felt her heart begin to thump. As Mike came towards her, faceless and fearless, a metamorphosis took place. Instead of the mask with slits Julia saw piercing blue eyes . . . coming closer and closer . . .
In a voice that was not hers she screamed, a long, loud, blood-curdler that echoed round the room.
Sam Smith recoiled, then renewed his attack. She screamed again. Why are you doing this to me? Why have you driven me to this?
Two minutes had seemed like an eternity when the other women were fighting, but for Julia it was not enough. She kicked, punched, boxed whatever part of Sam Smith’s long muscled body she could reach. Not one move resembled any of the carefully rehearsed modes of defence they’d spent more than three hours perfecting.
Finally, she kicked him in the groin. Then she turned and ran.
There was a stunned silence as Daniela led her away and removed her protective clothing. Mike stood up, glanced at her but said nothing.
When the last woman had defended herself, Mike took off his mask. Breathing heavily he dished out the relevant criticism and advice to each of them in turn.
When he came to Julia she looked at him sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Mike.’
‘You did great. You had the right idea. Look after Number One. That’s you. Never mind him.’
‘And remember,’ he said to them all, ‘your face shows your fear. If your lips have gone white and your eyes are wide open and the pupils have gone small, he knows you’re petrified to death. That’s what he’s looking for. It gives him power when he sees you’re scared.
‘And now a final word. The best alarm is your lungs. You heard Julia’s scream. Not a little scream, a good, loud ear-piercing scream.’ He winked at her. ‘It’ll stun him as much as it stuns you, and that’s when you start your attack because that’s when he’s at his most vulnerable. A rape alarm’s a good idea too, by the way. Round your neck on a piece of string. No use if it’s in your handbag.’
Handbag. The gun in my handbag. Useless after all, Julia thought.
‘Now, most important of all,’ Mike said, ‘have you the confidence to go out there and defend yourselves?’
Julia looked him in the eye.
- 53 -
Sam climbed out into the rain, slammed the door and kicked the ancient Rover he’d nicked last night. ‘What a heap,’ he muttered to himself, cursing the broken wipers, the wonky steering and the measly quarter tank of petrol. But a cinch to steal, and better than the trashed turquoise Peugeot. He glanced at the Polo she was driving tonight, parked a few cars away from his. He grinned to himself. He’d come out tonight with no plan of action and it was a one-off chance that he’d tried the door handle and found to his amazement that the Polo was not locked. After that it was a doddle to make sure she would not be able to start it.
Pulling up the collar of his coat, he headed for a tree on the edge of the car park. According to the notice in the club entrance, the self-protection course was due to end about now. He was prepared to wait all night, rain or no rain. Essential to keep the pressure on or he’d never get the money.
Being wet and hungry always took his mind racing back to Ada. Staying on with her had been better than running away and getting caught and locked up again. Better than having no one at all. It was the day she had two of them together that brought it to an end. On his thirteenth birthday for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t even put up with one - but two . . . Oh yes, she had it coming . . .
He refocused on the main door, waiting for Julia to appear.
And there she was at last. Running. No umbrella. Looking quite different with that hat pulled down her head.
He watched in fascination as she flicked a remote at her car.
Nothing happened. No flashing lights. No release of locks.
He held his breath as she opened the door and tried to start it, kept trying to start it and finally got out and locked the car with the key. Jeez, she’s going to walk, just like he hoped she would, though if she had any sense she’d phone the jerks who lent her a car with a fucked up central locking and alarm system.
A ten yard start. When she moved, he moved in step and in the shadows. Saw her stop at the lights, finger the hat, push the damp strands of hair from her eyes.
Across the roundabout. Over the bridge and up the hill. Speeding traffic. Muddy spray. To frighten her, he’d have to surprise her, like last night with the Peugeot. If she stuck to the main roads he’d have a problem.
But there she was, crossing the road, turning off into the shadows of a little one-track road that twisted down to The Carrs.
- 54 -
Julia was already half way down the hill when she noticed the lights in all the cottages in Old Road were already out. Damn these early birds, she thought. She should have rung for a taxi. She quickened her pace and it was then that she heard the footsteps behind her.
Already her private space felt invaded. A controlled adrenaline rush, Mike had said, but this one was entirely involuntary. And so was her full-blasted shriek that pierced the Wilmslow silence.
Only now did she glance behind her. It was him all right. In her space. Blue eyes bulging. Act quickly, she told herself. Show no fear. That’s what Mike said. Show she was in command.
She spun round and like an automated robot she whipped the hatpin from her hat and stuck it into the bit of his body straight in front of her. Almost in the same movement she shot her right leg towards his groin.
As he crashed to the ground she hurled the hatpin into the bushes at the side of the road and started to run.
Oh my God! What have I done?
- 55 -
Sam Smith lay for a few seconds in the foetal position, writhing with pain, doing his best to control it but not having much success. He could still hear that window-rattling scream. It was just the way Ada used to scream and he hadn’t heard a sound like it for twenty-three years. He wasn’t surprised when he saw a few lights go on in one or two of the cottages. The whole town must have heard that scream.
He was lying in the middle of the road so the first thing to do was get the hell of out here. Crawling on his hands and knees he slunk into the shadows of the bushes on the far side of the road where he could wait until the lights went out again and the pain had subsided.
‘I’ll get her back for this,’ he hissed. He hated anyone getting the better of him. Julia Grant had hurt him. Hurt his pride too. Taken him by surprise when it was he who’d meant to surprise her.
As soon as possible he would have to get to his car and bum an icepack, a bed and some grub off Joe Sagoe.
* * *
Joe Sagoe poured the jambalaya into a bowl and sprinkled cinnamon over the top. He turned off the Primus and, with a wooden spoon plucked from the debris on the floor, he dished the food onto two enamel plates. He shoved one towards Sam, then sat down on an empty beer crate and began eating.
Ever since Sam had pushed open the skull-and-cross-bone door and collapsed onto the old beanbag in the corner, the delicious aroma of one of Joe’s famous stews had been tantalising him. He looked at the jambalaya now, turned away and closed his eyes.
‘So? What you waiting for?’ Joe said.
Half lying, half sitting Sam clutched himself between his legs. Now that he actually saw the food, red, glistening, spreading all over the plate, he was not hungry any more.
‘You can tell me what happened, Sam. It won’t go no further than them four walls.’
Sam groaned. To tell him that Julia Grant had stuck a hatpin in his gut and kicked him in the balls would be worse than admitting he’d been caught jumping out of a window.
‘Took you by surprise?’ Joe said, grinning, leading Sam on.
Sam threw him a filthy look but said nothing. Joe laughed out loud. ‘You wanna watch it when you’re messing around with these classy dames,’ he said, shovelling in another load of jambalaya. ‘You never know what they’ll do. Mind you, Julia Grant’s smart as well as classy. Gotta a lot a time for her. Wouldn’t never have no other lawyer unless like last week when they couldn’t raise her on the phone.’
‘She was like a wild cat gone mad.’
Joe looked straight at Sam and sucked in his lips. ‘We want our money, Sam. If she ain’t gonna play ball, better you get the dough some place else. Frank and Stringer don’t work for peanuts. And don’t forget. You owe us for the passport too.’
He piled in another spoonful. ‘Reckon she’ll cough up?’
‘Too right she will. ’
‘Oh yeah? Then why this? And that?’ He pointed to Sam’s stomach, then to the bit lower down. ‘What happened?’
Sam leaned forward, trying to ease the pain. ‘The bitch had a fucking hat on. With a hatpin.’
A big grin spread slowly across Joe’s bloated face.
‘You musta got too close.’
Sam looked down. He couldn’t bear to meet Joe’s gaze.
‘No kidding,’ Joe said, pulling his face straight.
‘I only meant to make her so shit scared she’d hurry up with the cash.’
Joe wiped his hand across his mouth and laughed, his thick, bushy eyebrows raised. ‘So what now?’
Sam shrugged. A spasm of pain doubled him up again.
Joe hurled his empty plate at the piled-up sink and swivelled round to face Sam. ‘Know what? You oughta see a medic.’
‘Got any more jokes?’
‘Puncture wounds is bad news. See nothing on top. Gradually goes bad underneath.’ He squinted at Sam. ‘If you get real sick you can’t stay here. Not if there’s gonna be a dead body to cart away. Sorry, mate. I ain’t riskin’ another pick-up. I suppose you got a stolen car sitting on the road for all the cops to see.’
‘Cool it, Joe. It’s in the third street down. Anyway, this is nothing.’ He pointed to his stomach. ‘Soon be okay. I got nowhere else to stay. And don’t forget I’ll cut you in five grand and maybe a bonus too.’
At the mention of the money Joe’s face softened. ‘Tell you what. Might be able to get some antibiotics from Shukler. He’s just turned over a Boots Chemists delivery wagon - got more of the stuff than he knows what to do with. Let’s watch the late Granada news first, then I�
�ll bob down and see if he’s in.’
Dominating the room from the middle of the greasy green wall of the kitchen, the television set was the only respectable piece of equipment in the house. Joe’s pride and joy. He flicked the remote.
‘Hey!’ Sam said, managing to smile for the first time since he’d staggered in half an hour ago. ‘Look at that!’
It was his own face, magnified and distorted. Must be the shot they took when he was arrested as a suspect in the murder of Joanne fuckin’ Perkins.
As Sam’s bearded face vanished off the screen it was replaced by Detective Chief Superintendent Paul Moxon, sitting poker-faced at his desk, appealing for witnesses to report to Stockport police station where an incident room had been set up to deal with the murder of the policewoman.
Joe stood up, hands on hips. ‘That’s it,’ he said, talking over Moxon’s voice. ‘See that filth? They’re gonna close in on you, mate, and I got my own skin to take care of. Already spent two fucking days inside ’cause of you. Told ’em nothing but I don’t want no more trouble.’
With that he hit the off button and pointed to the kitchen door.
‘I’m real sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘I’d help you if I could. But you’ll have to go. Don’t forget to take these. My brother’s shirts and stuff.’
He tossed the plastic bag with the clothes at Sam, strode to the door and held it open.
Sam knew when he was beaten. He struggled to his feet. Shuffled out, eventually found his car and sat slumped at the wheel.
Fuck Joe Sagoe.
This whole thing was Julia Grant’s fault. She’d betrayed him, just like all the other bitches he’d ever known. And now she’d done this. If it weren’t for her, he’d never be in this shit. If it was the last thing he did, he’d make her pay for it . . .
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