As Stan went down the stairs, every step an agony, he muttered, ‘And neither have you, mate.’
Thirty-Six
Babs was rolled into a ball like a baby, still trying to come to terms with the death of her child. She would never see her take her first steps, hear her call her Mum for the first time, hold her hand as she took her to school, smile with pride as her daughter married. Babs’ whole body hurt, but she didn’t have any more tears to cry. The only thing that gave her a bit of heart was that Stan had been there. Mummy might not have been there but there had been one person present who truly loved Desiree when she closed her eyes forever.
The cell door opened. Babs scrambled off the bunk.
‘Right, hop it,’ Detective Horner ordered.
Babs almost spat in his dodgy copper face. He and his shitfaced partner had kept her away from her baby. If it weren’t for them and Mickey and that fur-coated animal Mel, she would’ve been there for her little girl. But Babs didn’t do that. The first chance she got to fuck over him and that Horner, she was taking it.
Babs slow-walked out of the cell, almost daring him to try and shift her. If he put one hand on her, by God . . .
Babs reached the reception area. The first person she clocked was Stan. He looked like he’d been in a tussle with a lion.
‘What happened?’
‘I told you I was going to get Mickey and Mel back. I might’ve got hurt but our battle to take them down is just starting.’
Babs smiled a grim, nasty smile. ‘Good. I won’t rest until they’re obliterated.’
He kissed her icy cheek. ‘That’s good, because you’re going to have a big part in helping me do it. But let’s get you home and get a good piece of nosh down you, you’ve turned into skin and bone.’
They drove back to their home on the Essex Lane Estate. Stan had laid on the full works for dinner with romantic candlelight.
‘I cooked it all myself,’ he told her proudly. ‘Had a bit of trouble with the gravy, but Beryl came and helped me out.’
Stan rabbited away about cooking up the Ingrams, but Babs was lost in another world. Her baby, oh God, her baby. She didn’t even realise that she’d spoken aloud until Stan’s arms were wrapped around her.
‘I miss her,’ she sobbed.
‘I know you do.’
Babs’ bright eyes implored him. ‘I need to see her—’
Stan shook his head. ‘I don’t think now’s a good time.’
‘I can’t rest until I see where my baby has been laid to rest.’
Later, as they cuddled in bed for the first time, she couldn’t get her child out of her mind.
After Stan had fallen asleep, she crept out of bed and walked over to the drawer where she’d kept Desiree’s clothes. She pulled out the pink and blue hand-knitted booties Stan had got specially made for her baby. She held them tight to her chest, bowed her head and silently sobbed.
It was a beautiful day for the journey to the arboretum. Stan explained as they drove down that he’d arranged for Desiree’s plaque and tree to be out in a nice spot in Essex. He wasn’t having it in some craphole in the East End where drunks would piss on it. He’d arranged for Babs’ daughter to be cremated and had spread her ashes around a cherry tree so she would live on in the leaves and fruit.
They parked in front of the gardens, by stone walls that pretty roses climbed up. The car park was filled with sleek and expensive motors that showed this wasn’t a place poor people came to mourn. He led her in and down a gravel path where people were tending flowers and staff were trimming the grass. An old woman could be heard weeping softly as she turned the earth around a tree. They walked hand in hand until he brought her to a halt. It was indeed a perfect spot. They were facing a beautiful plot. A solid cherry tree was already showing its rich green leaves and flower buds. In front of it was a solid bronze plaque.
Desiree Miller
Daughter of Babs and Stan
Another Time
Another Place
Babs took a hanky out and tried to buff the plaque but it didn’t need it. It was pristine. She rubbed the thick leaves of the tree between her fingers. They were so healthy; it seemed they’d been waxed. Babs stood for a long time before saying, ‘Thanks for doing this. I don’t think I could have managed it. It would have been too much. It’s totally right for her to be here. It’s the right place.’
Stan nodded. ‘Yeah, I know. She’s at rest now. She fought like a soldier and you can be proud of her.’
‘Can I have a few moments alone?’
He squeezed her shoulder. ‘Take as long as you like.’
Stan sat on a bench with his hands clasped, looking solemn and watching the passers-by.
Babs cleared her throat. ‘Hello my darlin’ baby. We’ve got a nice spot for you and I hope you like it. I hope there are other children for you to play with.’ Her face crumpled in anguish. ‘I know it weren’t my fault, but I should’ve been there, I should’ve been there. I would’ve held you tight while you closed your eyes.’
Babs’ shoulders sagged. Oh God, this was killing her. She wanted to lie on the grass to be near her baby. Stop this. Desiree shouldn’t see you like this. Babs straightened her spine and dried her tears. ‘Never forget that Mummy loves you. And will always love you.’
Babs staggered around and stumbled towards Stan. He wrapped her in his arms.
Babs wept softly as he led her to the car. ‘It’s not fair, it’s so unfair.’
Her husband kept pace beside her, holding her, remaining quiet, giving her the space to grieve.
Stan wanted to take her home but Babs insisted that he drop her off in Whitechapel. She’d made up a story about needing something in the market and would meet him at home. Stan hadn’t been happy but in the end he’d done her bidding. Babs bypassed the market, crossed the main road and, a few minutes later, walked down the street to the house she’d once called home.
Some people called out her name but she ignored them. She hesitated for a few seconds before she pulled the knocker back on the door.
Her mum opened it. ‘Babs?’ Rosie was clearly surprised to see her.
Babs’ voice was flat and emotionless. ‘My baby died—’
Her mother slapped her hand over her mouth in distress.
Babs ignored it. ‘I wanted you to know that—’
Her dad appeared beside his wife. ‘What do you want?’ His face was angry. The street had grown silent as the neighbours looked on.
‘George, Babs’ baby passed away.’ Rosie Wilson’s voice was barely audible.
‘If it wasn’t for you she might be alive today,’ Babs accused them, the words hurting her chest. ‘She was an innocent child who never did anything wrong to anyone. You rejected her, your own flesh and blood. You were the ones who were meant to love her, protect her . . . now she’s gone.’ Her mouth twisted as she spat, ‘I will hate you until my dying day for what you’ve done.’
And with that, Babs turned her back and walked away.
Thirty-Seven
Six Months Later
‘You going to a wedding, Stan?’ Beryl asked as he went out on the landing. He was in his best suit, a red carnation in the buttonhole; hair trimmed and splashed all over with Brut. Babs, on the other hand, was green around the gills. She hadn’t been feeling herself this morning.
Stan was turning out to be the kind of husband that Babs had been dreaming of all her life – caring, kind, hard working. And he was the lover of the century in bed.
‘Sort of!’ Stan answered. ‘It’s going to be a right old knees-up afterwards anyway!’
He couldn’t help grinning his pearly whites off. It was his big day. Like a theatre director preparing for the first night of a new play, he was worried that something would go wrong in his big production. He had total confidence in his leading actors; Babs and Cleo wouldn’t fluff their lines. But he was worried that the real stars of the show, Mickey and Mel Ingram, would ruin everything at the last minute. All of that hard w
ork could be wrecked by rank amateurs like them.
It didn’t take them long to get to North East London, but as soon he parked up, he noticed Babs’ head was bowed.
‘You’ll be alright, darlin’.’ Babs had been alarmingly sick before they left, which he put down to nerves.
‘Stan, you know I want to do this but I’m scared witless I’ll put my foot in it, get it wrong.’
He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘No, you won’t. Just remember what they did to Denny and that it’s because of those two evil twats that you weren’t there for Desiree. This is the only revenge you’re going to get. You’re going to be perfect because you’re my wife. Just say what I’ve asked you to say and everything will be fine.’
They got out of his motor and walked into Snaresbrook Crown Court.
Stan took her to the witness room, where Cleo was already waiting. He gave her a searching look and got a nod of consent by way of reply. After spending a few more minutes reassuring his wife, Stan hurried off to the public gallery to get a good spot for the show.
He made himself as comfortable as he could on the wooden benches and put a bag of wine gums down next to him. He looked out over the court. Everything was in its place. A doddery old judge perched up to one side, various briefs examining their notes, a bored-looking jury who’d no doubt been hoping for a nice juicy murder case and had got this instead, and the two stars of the show; Mickey and Mel Ingram, up on charges of keeping a disorderly house and living off immoral earnings. The only disappointment was that the public gallery was nearly empty. Stan had been hoping for a full house. But even Mickey and Mel’s families were unlikely to turn out to support a pimp and his pimpette missus. Stan resisted the urge to smile; the two Ms were on their own.
The two defendants looked very different. Mickey was in a badly fitted whistle with a tie and shirt that didn’t match, but looked ready to take on the world to defend his reputation. Mel on the other hand, had ditched her mink and was in a plain blue maxi dress and matching jacket. She looked the wide-eyed picture of innocence.
Both Cricket and Horner were booked to appear as witnesses for the prosecution but only Horner had made it. Stan smiled, remembering how he’d told his wife that he’d popped a bob or two in the bent coppers’ pockets to get them to turn on Mickey and Mel. The two detectives might have turned prosecution but Babs had sworn she would never, ever forgive them for not letting her go to Desiree.
Horner was first on the stand with dramatic, over-the-top tales of car chases and derring-do as he and his colleague Cricket had tracked down the Mile End master criminals. Even the judge looked on the verge of doing an eye roll. He finally cut short Horner with a curt, ‘Yes, Detective, I think we get the picture.’
Cleo was far better when it was her turn. Stan actually felt his eyes water as she told the tragic story of being lured into a life of vice by the evil Mickey Ingram and his sinister wife. How she was subjected to various degrading sexual practices by Mickey’s sleazy clients. She provided details that seemed to perk up the judge’s interest considerably. The only jarring note was that she refused to swear on the Bible, insisting she would affirm instead. But it didn’t matter, she was a standout witness.
Finally, Babs came in, clutching her bag as if she longed to hurl it in Mickey and Mel’s direction. She faltered slightly as she explained how Mickey had forced her to sign documents putting the houses in Mile End in her name to cover his tracks. Babs constantly looked up at Stan for reassurance that she was getting it right. Mickey was going red with rage. He yelled, ‘Bollocks!’ and ‘This is a fucking joke!’ and she shouted back across the court, ‘You’re a fucking murderer, you bastard!’
Mickey blanched at her outburst, no doubt realising she was referring to Denny. But he didn’t get an opportunity to mouth back because he was warned by the judge that if he didn’t pipe down, he’d be spending the rest of the trial in the cells.
Babs was told that while everyone understood she was distressed, she must contain herself, especially regarding accusations that had nothing to do with the case. Stan caught Babs’ gaze and lifted his eyebrow in warning to leave the business about her best mate out of it.
The defence brief went through the motions but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it. When Mickey went on the stand, he hung his head in despair as his client went into one, claiming that the real ringmaster was in fact one Stanley Miller. Cleo and Babs were a pair of bold-faced liars and Horner and Cricket were crooked cops who were a disgrace to Her Majesty’s Constabulary. When the sniggering prosecution brief rose, he turned to the judge and told him, ‘We’ve no questions for this defendant, my lord. We think the evidence in this case speaks for itself.’
The judge’s eyebrows snapped together. ‘Yes, I rather think you’re right.’
While Stan had cheerfully eaten wine gums during Mickey’s rant, he was frustrated in his desire to see Mel on the stand. She changed her plea to guilty halfway through. She was smart.
It was only after the jury had returned guilty verdicts – Mickey was sent down for six months while Mel got three – that Mickey finally noticed Stan sitting in the public gallery. He jabbed Mel in the ribs and then screamed, ‘What’s this about, Miller? I thought we had an understanding! You got my half of the business and now this?’
They did have an understanding. But Stan took the view that defeating an opponent wasn’t enough. You had to jump up and down on their grave afterwards to show you’d won. And anyway – the two of them were guilty. All Stan had done was to juggle the facts around to make sure that justice was done.
As Mickey was dragged off by the guards, he shouted, ‘This ain’t over, mate. I’m going to have you sorted for good, you cunt.’
Stan gave him a smile and a little goodbye wave. Then he rushed to find Babs.
He planted a big kiss on her mouth. ‘You done good my girl. I’m right proud of you.’
She looked deep into his eyes. ‘I still don’t feel right not telling Denny’s mum what happened to her.’
‘We don’t have a body to show her, so if she goes to the Bill it will only lead to a dead end, so to speak. And how’s that going to leave her feeling? Worse than she does now.’
‘Let’s get to the boozer. I need a stiff drink.’
Instead, Stan took out his leather wallet and handed Babs some notes. ‘I’ve got business to see to. Get yourself a cab back home. We’ll have that drink later.’
Stan puffed out his chest, walking like the dog’s bollocks around the corner, only to find a distraught Cleo waiting for him.
‘You murdered him, didn’t you?’
Stan arched an eyebrow at her. ‘Don’t know what you’re chatting on about, luv.’
‘Pete,’ she spat. Her voice cracked with emotion. ‘Hearing all that evidence made everything fall into place. And I led you right to him. If I’d never given you that address you’d never have found him.’
‘The silly sod either topped himself or the booze toppled him over the edge.’
Cleo stabbed her finger into his chest, her expression haunted. ‘Pete might’ve been weak but he was a good man. A decent man. All he needed was a chance to find the right path.’
‘Without my help you’d still be pumping away for tuppence on your back.’ Stan turned his back on her. ‘Be seeing you, Cleo.’
She called after him, ‘May God forgive you – because I never will.’
Thirty-Eight
While Babs made her way home, her other half went to the Bad Moon boozer in Shadwell. He searched the pub and grinned when he spotted the two men waiting for him.
‘Stan, my man,’ Detective Graham Horner greeted him with open arms as Stan swaggered over to him and Detective Martin Cricket, who had a Scotch in one hand and his trademark Manikin cigar in the other.
Stan pulled up a pew. ‘A job well done, me lads. And here’s that little drink I owe you.’ He slid a bulging brown envelope across the table, which Horner quickly stashed.
‘That missu
s of yours wants to be glad she’s your old girl. I nearly clocked her one after she tried to rearrange my face when we took her down the station,’ Cricket said, rubbing the cheek where Babs had clouted him, despite the bruise being long gone.
‘You sure she’s bought your story about us working for that fucker Mickey?’ Horner asked.
Stan relaxed in his chair like the king of the castle. ‘Hook, line and sinker. Once I planted the seed that it was Mickey and his old girl who dragged her down the nick, taking her away from her baby, my darlin’ Babs has popped them at the top of her “people to hate” list. No way will she think her kind-hearted Stan used her to help stitch up his business partner to take control of the business. Didn’t take much for me to nudge her in the right direction after I also let slip how you two have been turfing out good honest citizens on Mickey’s say-so.’
They all laughed uproariously at that. Stanley was the dreaded slum landlord of those unfortunate families. Stan had arranged for them to get free sex up at the brothel. Since the day he’d watched two coppers beat the living shit out of a geezer on the say-so of some Face, Stan knew the only way he was going to build an empire was to have a few dodgy plod in his pocket. Cricket and Horner had been on his payroll all along, not Mickey’s, ready to carry out his orders in exchange for a little drink.
‘What I don’t get,’ Horner said frowning, ‘is why you had to tie the knot in the first place?’
Stan just smiled as he pulled his pint towards him. ‘Let’s just say if she ever finds out the truth in the future, I can control the situation much better if she’s my nearest and dearest.’
Horner shook his head as he lifted his pint. ‘You’re one evil bastard, Stanley Miller.’
‘No, I’m a man heading for the top.’
He got out his golden list.
Mickey
Mel
Joseph Carter
Lord Tilgate
Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series) Page 21