Babs’ heart stopped. ‘Stan?’ She twisted to the man next to her. ‘What the fuck’s going on?
‘That, Mrs Miller, is your husband’s other wife and child.’
‘Wife?’ Babs stared at Richard as if he’d lost his mind. She rammed her fingers into her chest. ‘I’m his missus. You ask anyone—’
‘Of course you’re his wife—’
‘Then what are you rabbiting on about?’
He took a long breath. ‘She’s his other wife. He married her after he married you.’
‘No – no, no.’ Babs wasn’t having this. ‘You’ve got it all wrong.’ She laughed like a crazy woman. ‘Stan with another wife? He can’t even deal with the one he’s got. Pull the other one.’
She had been paralysed by overwhelming shock. Now she was going into denial. Her Stan a . . . What was that bloody word? A bigamist. Stanley Miller tying the knot with someone else while he was married to her? Nah. It’s a wind-up. This Richard is playing me for a proper mug.
‘He’s probably helping out the dopey cow.’ Babs could live with an affair. That was what some blokes were like. But not another marriage. Not another kid.
Richard held out a piece of paper. Babs stilled. Wouldn’t touch it. There was something about it that put the frighteners on her. She knew it was going to change her life forever.
Defensively, she folded her arms. ‘What’s that then?’
Richard’s voice softened, but it wasn’t gentle. ‘Read it.’ He dropped it like a grenade into her lap as he got the car back on the road.
I don’t have to do this. I don’t have . . . Babs picked it up, her mouth set in a stubborn line. She unfolded it. The large words across the top jumped out at her:
CERTIFIED COPY OF AN ENTRY OF MARRIAGE
A marriage certificate. Babs’ mind flashed back to the day she and Stan had received their own. She looked at the names.
Clare Fullerton-Green
Stanley Miller
Babs’ heart nosedived. It can’t be true. No way. She gritted her teeth as she read the rest of the information. Then her lips stretched in a grim smile.
Babs chucked the paper into Richard’s face, wishing she was belting him a good one instead. ‘The age of the groom’s all wrong. It says he was thirty-one when this marriage took place. My Stan is thirty-one now. You’ve got this wrong big time, Tricky Dickie.’
Richard seemed impatient. ‘Use your brain, Babs. If he put his proper age it’d be easy to track that he was already married. This is how bigamists operate. They change a little bit here, a little there—’
Babs shook her head. Shit, she needed an Annie. ‘You’re trying to pull a fast one, make me do what you want.’
Richard wouldn’t let it go. ‘It makes sense from his point of view. He’s in property, a man of business. He needs to wine and dine clients at home. He can’t do that at your place. What message would “The Devil’s Estate” send out? He needs somewhere to take them to. Hence the house. The second wife’s dad is loaded and he paid for it.’
‘He can only have the one wife and that’s me!’
Richard ignored her. ‘And he needs the right wife to act as hostess. With the greatest of respect, Babs, that isn’t really your thing. Is it? Entertaining toffs? But, she’s got breeding, she can play the part. I see it all the time. A nice attractive girl like you marries a bloke and thinks they know them. Years later they find out they don’t know them at all.’
‘Bollocks,’ Babs snarled. ‘If he wants another wife, why are we still married? Why’s he had two kids with me? Why’s he keep turning up? If he wanted another woman, he’d throw me overboard, no problem. I know him.’
He shook his head as he swung his motor in a tight right. ‘Stan can’t just kick you to the side. You know where the bodies are buried – so to speak. He wants to keep you sweet in case you go to the law in revenge. And of course there’s an added advantage – you can’t force a wife to give evidence against her husband. You don’t think he knows that? Stanley Miller is always two steps ahead.’
Babs could feel even her miserable life slipping away from her. ‘More bollocks – he knows I’m not a grass. He doesn’t have to worry about that whatever he’s done.’
Smith sighed. ‘Maybe – but the Stan Millers of this world think, why take the risk? What do you want me to do to prove it? Kick in their bedroom door and take photos?’
‘Shut up.’ Babs couldn’t take much more of this. Her head felt like it was coming off her shoulders. She needed a pill badly.
‘Face it – he’s thrown you aside. But he’s not throwing you out; he’s not stupid. If you help me . . .’
Babs lashed out at him, making the car zigzag along the road. He pushed her back with one hand as he settled the steering wheel back into his grasp. Babs reared up and clobbered his ear. The car veered onto the pavement as she let fly, hitting him any which way she could. He tried his best to restrain her, but she kept at him. He took a sharp turn that had Babs tumbling back into her seat. The car slammed to a stop.
Babs lunged back up, but Richard grabbed her by the wrists. They twisted together, Babs pushing at his chest, Richard shoving her back down. Babs’ blouse slid down and skirt up, exposing her bare thigh. He managed to lock his leg around her, holding her in place. Both breathed heavily, their eyes only inches apart. They moved at the same time; Babs up, Richard down. Their lips fused in a hungry, almost angry kiss. Babs thrust her fingers into his hair as their tongues tangled. Her hands moved desperately to his trousers and fought with the zip. He pushed her skirt up. Babs kicked her knickers away and they went at it like young lovers who had been desperate for a long time. Babs threw her head back, her mind in turmoil.
You shouldn’t be doing this, you bloody idiot . . . but it’s so good.
Babs clung onto him for dear life as they came together. Richard collapsed against her. Babs stroked his hair as their breathing settled down.
Babs said mockingly, ‘Typical man, aren’t you? Serve it up on a plate and out comes your knife and fork.’
‘Well, I hope you enjoyed my cutlery.’
He eased off her. She sorted herself out. They turned their heads to each other and simply stared.
In unison they blurted, ‘That shouldn’t have happened.’
Silence. Then Babs said, ‘I still don’t believe a word about Stan.’
Richard sighed heavily. ‘You know I’m telling the truth. Stan goes away on business for long stretches of time, right? Now you know where he goes. He’s a clever bugger to have pulled it off for so long. He’s making a monkey out of you and you can get him back. Help me.’
Babs squeezed her eyes tight, feeling burned out. Plus she’d just done the dirty. Not just with anyone, but a copper. She would not allow herself to believe what he was saying. ‘Drop me off in Whitechapel, so I can pick up my kids from my mum’s.’
Richard could see from her face that there was no point talking more about it. They both stayed schtum until they were parked outside her parents’ house.
Richard grabbed her hand when she reached for the door. ‘You know what you’ve got to do, Babs. He’s off in North London having a whale of a time with his fancy floozy while you and your girls are scraping to make ends meet in the back end of nowhere. I like you.’
She knew the last had sod all to do with Stan.
‘I’m married,’ she shot back.
‘So is your husband. Twice over.’
Babs wrenched free, opened the door and moved as quickly as her legs could take her. She heard him call out, ‘Do the right thing, for you and your children.’
Fifty-Three
Babs knocked urgently at her parents’ door as Richard’s motor disappeared in the distance. Can’t believe I just had it off. A tiny smile played on Babs’ lips. She’d give Richard Smith one thing; he knew how to use his truncheon.
Her parents’ door opened. Unfortunately, it was her father.
Startled, they stared at each other, struck dumb. The old
animosity bristled between them. They were both up for a row, regardless of who might be earwigging.
Her dad’s fingers grew white around the doorframe. ‘I thought we’d made it clear you’re not welcome here.’
He tried to close the door, but Babs pressed her hand against it. ‘Believe me, I wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t have to.’ She puffed her chest out. ‘I’ve come for my kids.’
‘Your kids?’
‘What’s this kerfuffle?’ Rosie cried out behind George. Her face softened when she clocked her daughter. ‘What’s up, luv?’
George Wilson did his nut. ‘You’ve been seeing her against my wishes, haven’t you? I told you—’
Both women cried out, ‘Oh, go inside and suck on your pipe.’
George’s mouth flapped open. He took one look at his missus’ stern face and did an about turn.
Rosie waved her hand. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s all bark and no bite. Come on in.’
Babs hesitated. It felt like betraying Desiree to go inside. Her dad clearly still wouldn’t accept his granddaughter even though she’d been in the ground for six years.
Babs stayed where she was. ‘I’ll wait here. Bring them—’
With an exasperated sigh, her mum took her arm and pulled her into the house. Rosie stared right into her daughter’s eyes. ‘Both you and your dad are as stubborn as each other. One of these days you’re both going to have to get this sorted.’
Babs tightened her lips. Maybe her mum was right, but what her dad had done was wicked. She had enough troubles without adding more. ‘Mum, I just want to take the girls home.’
Rosie frowned. ‘The girls? Why would I have the girls?’
Babs was worried. ‘Never mind. Cheryl’s probably still got them. Can I get on the blower to double check?’
‘Stay for a cuppa, love, you look worn out.’
‘Not until I know the girls are alright. Plus, I’m not stopping where I’m not wanted.’ She gazed pointedly in the direction of the sitting room.
When Babs got off the phone, she looked in a worse state.
‘What’s up?’ Rosie didn’t like the paleness of her daughter’s skin.
A grim-faced Babs was heading for the door as she answered. ‘Cheryl doesn’t have them. She says she brought them around here but you and Dad weren’t in—‘
Rosie nodded. ‘We must’ve still been around Cousin Phil and Kate’s.’ Seeing the terrible, stricken look on her daughter’s face, she urgently added, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Something happened.’ She waved her hand; no way was she telling her mum about Tricky Dickie and Stan. ‘I told her to bring the girls here. Seeing as you weren’t in she got a bit muddled about something I said and took them somewhere else.’ Babs recalled saying Stan’s name but never finishing the sentence because Richard Smith had started dragging her off.
‘Where are my grandbabies?’ Rosie tentatively asked.
‘Around Stan’s mum’s.’
‘Well, that’s alright then.’
‘No it ain’t. Her place is the Miller House of Horrors.’
Shell Miller laughed her head clear off as she watched George and Mildred.
She stared down at her baby granddaughter. ‘I do love it when he calls her Mildew,’ she told her. She’d been surprised when some woman dropped the kids off. Stan wouldn’t have her near his kids. Nor that slapper he’d married. She’d only seen the eldest girl once and this was the first time seeing the baby. She hadn’t even known they had a new nipper. What was the world coming to when your own son wouldn’t let you in spitting distance of your grandbabies?
Shell groaned as the telly zipped off. She didn’t fancy getting up – her old legs weren’t as good as they used to be – but she needed a coin to get it up and running again.
‘Fifty p! Fucking fifty p!’ Charlie squawked.
‘Shut up, you daft bird, you’ll wake the little one.’ Her eyes filled with tears as she gazed at the baby sleeping beside her. How could Stan have kept her away from this little angel? The woman who’d left her said she could make a bit of a fuss, but the mite hadn’t let out a ‘boo’ since she’d been here.
‘Fifty p! Fucking fifty p!’ Charlie kept at it. Bloody hell, she was going to strangle that bird.
Shell struggled out of her chair, huffing and creaking all the way. As soon as she was on her feet, the front door went. She smacked her lips together; probably Stan or that Babs come to get the kids. Well, she had a few choice words for them!
She staggered towards the door.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she sneered. ‘My son too chicken to face me?’
Babs pushed past her. ‘I want my children.’
‘Not even a thank-you-very-much for looking out for them,’ Shell grumbled as she followed her daughter-in-law into the main room. She saw the way Babs’ gaze took in the dirty carpet and bottles of Guinness and cider strewn on the floor. Judgemental moo. It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have the energy to take care of the place. Her next door said she should get one of them home helps. Go begging to the council? Never.
When Charlie saw her daughter-in-law he fluttered his wings and squawked, ‘Stan! Stan! Stan!’ Babs had only been around here with her son; no wonder the mynah expected him to come through the door. And the only reason her boy came around, she thought resentfully, was to make sure that Charlie was doing alright. What would he do if she boiled the old bird up in a pot one day? That stretched her tight mouth into a smile.
Babs spotted Tiffany on the settee, but got flustered when she couldn’t see Jen.
‘Where’s Jennifer?’
Shell harrumphed. ‘The little madam was giving me a load of cheek. Kept boo-hooing and making a right racket—’
Babs got right in her face. ‘Where’s my daughter?’
‘There’s something wrong with that kid. She needed a good dose to teach her some manners.’
Babs grabbed the front of her dress. ‘If you’ve touched my little girl—’
‘Khazi! Khazi! Outdoor khazi!’ Charlie blared.
‘Shut up!’ Shell shouted.
Babs let go of her, her eyes nearly coming out of her head. ‘So help me Shell if you’ve . . .’ She never finished, as she rushed towards the back of the house.
A panicked Babs heard Jen’s sobs as soon as she reached the nasty outside loo. She wrenched the door open to find her precious little girl holding her flaming red arm. The toilet stall itself meanwhile was as cold as ice. What person would do this to a tiny child? Sheila Miller was as batty as a fruit and nut bar.
‘Baby,’ Babs said, lifting Jen tenderly into her arms. She held her tight and soothed her.
‘I never . . . did . . . nuthin’.’ Jen’s little body shook with each word.
‘Shh! Shh! We’re never coming back here again.’
Rage almost blinded her. She re-entered the loony bin to get her other child. She almost let her mother-in-law have it when she saw her sitting as snug as a bug back in her chair, guzzling Purple Guinness.
Babs picked up her baby. ‘You’re an evil old crone, doing that to a small girl—’
Shell couldn’t see what the problem was. ‘The kid fell over and hurt her arm. Then she wouldn’t stop blubbing. I put her in the loo to teach the little missy a lesson. If you were any kind of mother, you’d know about that. Once you let kids take liberties, they’ve got you wrapped round their little finger like a noose around your neck.’
No wonder Stan had turned out the way he had. Despite his supposed second wife, Babs even felt a slight flicker of sorrow for him. But all she cared about now was protecting her kids. ‘If you ever come near my children, ever again, for any reason, I will kill you! And I mean it – I will put you in the ground!’
Shell peered at her over the rim of her glass. ‘I don’t think you will, dear. I know how to look after myself. I could take you – and my son – no problem.’
‘You’re a monster!’
Shell snarled back, ‘You have
to grow up tough round here. How’s that kid going to survive in the playground if she starts blubbing every five minutes? She’ll be eaten alive. She’ll end up no better than my Stan. Whinging about losing his finger because he was locked in the toilet all night. What a poof!’
Stunned, Babs could only stare. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Shell smirked. ‘I bet he didn’t tell you that. Too ashamed. I bet you he told you some cock-and-bull bollocks about losing it in a fight.’
Babs couldn’t speak.
Stan’s mum had enough words for the both of them. ‘Whining about a little bit of frostbite after a night in the bog – what kind of man is that? Fine lot of use he’d have been in the war.’
That was where Stan had learned his idea of punishment. Leaving her and his children in the freezing cold. Babs was too staggered to do anything but repeat, ‘If I ever see you anywhere near my children again, you’re dead . . .’
She pushed the pram out of the door while Shell roared, ‘Spare the rod, spoil the child!’
A few streets away, Babs stopped the pram and examined Jen’s arm. She sucked in her breath. It was swollen and very red. Babs hoped against hope that it wasn’t broken.
‘It hurts!’ Jen sobbed.
‘I know, don’t worry. If it’s not better in the morning I’ll take you to the . . .’ She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘doctors’. Since her baby had died, Babs found it so painful to deal with doctors. She’d had to, of course, when she gave birth, but other than that she kept well away from them. She fobbed her daughter off. ‘Don’t worry about that evil old woman, you won’t be seeing her again.’
Her eyes still wet with tears, Jen said, ‘I didn’t fall over, Mum. She hit me.’
Fifty-Four
The next morning, Babs stood under a murky sky in front of the house in Islington. She hesitated before giving the brass knocker a good old rat-a-tat-tat. A woman could be heard coming down the hallway. She was shouting in a very clipped voice, ‘Don’t get familiar with me or I shall ask you to be about your business.’
Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series) Page 28