Babs could hardly contain her excitement as she picked up her granddaughter’s birthday cake. She couldn’t believe that little Courtney was ten. It seemed like only yesterday she was rocking her in her arms for the first time.
They were holding Courtney’s party in one of the houses Babs cleaned in Mile End. The management company who ran the place had said no problem to her holding the birthday party here. In all the years she’d worked for them, they’d never given her a blind bit of trouble.
Babs had wanted somewhere special to hold the party. Courtney was her Jen’s eldest and everyone was gathered together for a right old bash. They’d had their trials and tribulations over the years, more than most, but they’d come through all of that and were a solid family now. Including Dee. It still bought tears to Babs’ eyes knowing that her firstborn was openly acknowledged. Their reunion hadn’t been the easiest of roads – Dee had had to tell her point blank not to call her Desiree – but they’d got there in the end, understanding each other a little bit more every day.
Babs’ own birthday would be coming up in three days’ time. She was turning the big five zero. Instead of piling on the pounds, like many of her mates over the years, she was thinner than ever; probably down to the gin she still guzzled too often. She didn’t want a shindig to celebrate her half-century, just a nice bit of nosh ‘n’ slosh with her three girls. She was chuffed about being the head of a family of three daughters, three grandkids, including Dee’s adopted boy Nicky, and two sons-in-law – one of whom was an out-and-out git who’d had the decency to leg it. She still missed her parents and was eternally grateful they had made up. Her dad had been such a strength for her. He’d loved his Jen and Tiff to death. Beryl had gone the same way as Cheryl and moved out Essex way. And Richard . . . Babs had never set eyes on him again. But that was life. And life was cracking. If Babs was a churchgoing woman she’d thank God for it every day of her life.
The music stopped, giving Babs the signal to bring the birthday cake on through. They’d got a gorgeous pink and white cake with Courtney’s name written across it in gold and silver glitter. Ooh! What a treat the girl was in for. Babs headed happily to the party room. She thought it was a bit strange she couldn’t hear Courtney’s mates running around and letting off steam. Those bloody girls had better not’ve told everyone to shut it, which would give the game away to Courtney that the cake was being brought in. She couldn’t wait to see her grandkid’s face.
When Babs saw the man standing near Courtney and Jen, she realised why it was so quiet. The cake slipped from her hands and crashed to the floor. Everyone gasped. Except for him.
‘Babs, I can’t believe you never sent me an invite to my own granddaughter’s birthday,’ announced Stanley Miller.
Horrified, Babs couldn’t speak; couldn’t utter a bloody word. This is a nightmare. I’m still tucked up in bed, not at Courtney’s party. Babs squeezed her eyes shut, shook her head and desperately re-opened them. There he was, like the devil come to collect his due. Fucking Stanley Miller. He was leaning on a cane with a silver top that matched the sprinkled strands in his blond hair and, typical, he was suited and booted. Every soul was quiet as they looked at her, even the kids, but Babs saw none of them. She only had daggers for the rotten bastard of an ex-husband she hadn’t seen in twenty-five years.
‘What the fucking hell do you think you’re doing here?’ Babs raged, her hands tightening into fists.
‘Mum!’ It was Dee, of all people; she usually cursed a blue streak, regardless of the company. ‘The flamin’ kids.’
Babs wasn’t having none of it. She stabbed her finger at Stan. ‘I want him out. Now. Get that two-faced, two-timing—’ She couldn’t go on. She felt as if she was going to keel over. She desperately needed one of her happy pills, though she’d been trying so hard lately to cut down.
Jen rushed to her distressed mother’s side and put an arm around her shaking shoulders. Tiffany turned, ready to defend her mother. ‘I don’t know who the heck you are, matey, but you wanna sling your hook.’
She was confused when he just smiled at her. There was something about that smile she couldn’t put her finger on . . .
‘Flippin’ hell.’ He peered at Tiff with such wonder she took a step back. ‘Tiffany. You’ve grown, girl—’
‘Of course she fucking well has, you muppet,’ Babs screamed. ‘What did you think? She was still going to be in nappies twenty-five years on?’
Babs saw the truth dawn on her three girls. She whimpered.
‘Is this—?’ Tiffany started.
‘Our flippin’—’ Jen continued.
‘Stanley Miller,’ Dee finished.
One of the mums dragged her kids out of the party. Babs knew that the word that Stanley Miller was back in town would be around The Devil’s Estate in five minutes flat.
‘Right, kids,’ Dee’s fifteen-year-old, Nicky, jumped in with an upbeat voice. ‘Who’s up for a dance competition?’
Bless his kind soul, thought Babs, trying to distract the kids from the major-league aggro. Her Dee had brought that boy up right. The children let out a big cheer when he hit the music system. When Sugababes’ ‘Round Round’ beat filled the room, they started jumping and prancing all over the place.
Babs, her girls and her boomerang ex gathered in a corner. Up close, she saw how yellow his skin appeared and how thin he was. Her Stan had never been a fat sod but he’d liked his nosh. Her Stan? Are you off your rocker! This man is nuthin’ to you.
Stanley leaned on his walking stick and reached out to touch Jen’s cheek. An outraged Babs batted his hand away. ‘I’ll break your fingers. I’m warning you . . .’
‘Mum, cut it out,’ Jen said as she saw her father stumble and try to right himself.
Babs snorted. What an all-time drama queen! She’d had enough of this. She pointed her finger at him again. ‘Right, me and you, outside.’ She turned to her anxious children. ‘Stay put—’
‘But, Mum,’ Tiff cut in, eyes only for her father, ‘I want—’
Babs shook her head savagely. ‘I mean it. Stay here. Cut some cake for the kids.’ She turned and marched out of the house, keeping up a mad pace, not giving a shit if her one-time old man could keep up. She was glad he looked like death warmed up. Glad he had to be propped up by a walking stick.
They stopped on the top step of the three-storey house in Bancroft Square. Babs didn’t even need to look behind her to know her daughters were playing twitchy curtains, trying to get a butchers.
She got straight into his face. ‘I don’t know what disgusting hole you’ve crawled out of, but you need to jump right back in it. My girls have done fine without you for twenty-odd years.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘After I divorced you, I suppose you married that flash cunt up Islington way. Properly, that time.’
Stan let out a rattling cough that made his thin frame shake. Babs hardened her heart.
He took out a silk hanky and wiped his mouth. Babs was surprised he still carried one. Old habits died hard.
Finally he said, ‘I only wanted to come back and see the kids. Is the black our Desiree?’
‘Our what?’ She erupted. Was this man living on another planet? She lowered her voice so no one heard. ‘You told me she was dead, remember, you filthy bastard.’
‘Did you tell her that?’
‘Of course not. I don’t want your evil anywhere near her.’
Stan started back to the open front door. Freaked out, Babs grabbed his arm. ‘What are you doing?’
He looked at her and she was stunned by the pain in his eyes. ‘I’ve got to tell her. She probably blames you and that ain’t right. I can’t live with myself any more.’
Babs’ mouth drooped. She might’ve been a pushover then, but he was going to learn the hard way that life had toughened her up ‘Keep running your mouth, Stanley Miller. I don’t believe a word of it.’
‘But it’s true, Babs-babe—’
‘Don’t call me that.’ The nerve. Trying to sweet tal
k her with the patter from the past.
‘I’ll admit it took me years to face the wrong I’d done you. Done my kids.’ He patted his chest. ‘I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror no more. I swear.’ His face crumbled in anguish. ‘All I want to do is make it up to you.’
She folded her arms. ‘And how are you planning to do that? Get Mr Spock to beam us back to 1972 and do it all over again, with you playing the perfect hubby this time? If you’re so guilt-ridden what took you so long?’
He settled himself more evenly on his stick, his shoulders sagging. ‘Nearly came back in ’95, but I chickened out. Figured you’d only think I was here to cause trouble—’
‘Don’t put none of this on me.’ Babs’ scorn was piercing. ‘I’m so over you, Stanley. Do me a favour – shove right off.’
He clearly wasn’t shoving off any time soon. ‘I’m a minted man now. I’ve done well for myself, properties in Spain and a couple of other countries.’ He pulled out two photos and handed them to her. She stared at snaps of a gorgeous villa in the sun and a swanky yacht. ‘That’s my place in Spain,’ he explained, ‘and the other’s my floating palace. I don’t want to cause bovver. I just want to use my money to give my daughters and grandbabies a better life. Ease their way.’
‘So you’ve still been living it up, while I was here on The Devil trying to keep it all together.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You sicken me.’
That made him laugh sadly for some reason. ‘If you want me gone, Babs, I’ll go.’
‘First good thing you’ve said. Yeah, I want you gone.’
His skin went even paler. ‘I’ll be gone, alright. In three months’ time. I’m dying.’
Sixty-Three
‘Right, I want everyone to listen up and I want everyone to listen good, because I’m fucking serious.’
A ripple of shock went round Babs’ living room. She never swore in front of the kids. She had a rule about it. But since her ex had reared his unwanted self she was making a habit of it.
Jen wasn’t happy. ‘Mum, cut it out – Little Bea, Courtney and Nicky are here.’
‘I know they are. It’s them I’m thinking about.’
Babs had moved quickly after the reappearance of her ex-hole. Dying, my arse! And even if he was pegging out, that had fuck all to do with her. Stan was up to no good, she just knew it. Babs wouldn’t let him sink his poisonous fangs into her family. He was a fast worker and she needed to move faster. She’d ordered her brood up to her flat straight after Courtney’s shindig.
Dee, Jen and Tiffany sat looking expectantly at their mum, hovering by the electric fire. Nicky was amusing Courtney and Little Bea, Jen’s youngest, with a computer game. Babs gazed at them. They were so different. Dee was the glamour-puss of the outfit; long, sleek legs encased in skin-tight leather trousers, huge platinum hoop earrings and a short-layered hairdo with buttermilk streaks. While Dee was in your face, Jen carried herself and her clobber more quietly. She wore a short denim miniskirt with an off-the-shoulder electric-blue top. And Tiff didn’t give two effs about elegance. She’d always been a trouser girl. Today she was in three-quarter cargo pants and Nikes. Her hair – which had once been as blonde as Stan’s – had long ago been cut super short and dyed midnight black. So very different, but Babs loved them all the same. That was why she had to do what she was about to do.
She didn’t beat about the bush. ‘Listen up, ladies. Not a dickie bird until I’ve had my say.’ Her daughters waited. ‘We all had a bit of a moment when the old man turned up. Tiff and Jen, I don’t wanna badmouth your dad but there’s three things you need to know about him. First thing is that he’s a deeply evil man. The second is that he’s deeply evil. And the third is that he’s the kind of deeply evil geezer who will never change. Trust me, I know. Been there, done that, got the effing T-shirt.
‘I can see how you might be fooled by his frail old duffer act. But that’s all it is – an act. He can’t go for a piss without faking. It’s in his nature. You want to know why he’s back – I’ll tell you. To spread evil around. To cheat, to lie, to scam and to steal. How do I know? Because that’s what he does.’
Jen opened her mouth but Babs slapped her down with a wave of her hand. ‘No speakee from any of you until I’m done.’ Jen clamped her lips tight. ‘I’ll tell you what he’s going to do. He’s going to start paying you all visits and using this smarmy charm to worm his way into your lives. He’s very good at it. What are you going to do? As soon as he shows his slippery skin, you’re gonna tell him to slither off. Don’t get into any kind of chat; that’s what he wants, that’s how he operates.’ Babs’ voice cracked. ‘If I see him do to you what he did to me, it would break what’s left of my heart.’
She cleared her throat. ‘I ain’t figured out what he’s actually up to, barging his way into our lives after all these years. I don’t know and I don’t care. We’re not going to give him the chance to set whatever con he’s running in motion.’ Babs folded her arms. ‘Anyone got anything to say?’
Dee shrugged and Tiffany shook her head. Jen broke the silence. ‘Evil’s a bit strong, innit? He just looked like an old bloke to me. Maybe he does want to make up. That’s reasonable.’
It was Jen that Babs was worried about. Despite her difficult years with her nearly ex-fella, Nuts, she had a soft heart. It made her a juicy target for someone as brutal as Stan. Tiff was a chip off the old Miller block, learning the hard way about life from hanging out with the wrong crowd, although – thank God – those years were long behind her. And Dee could see a BS merchant coming a mile away. Jen, she couldn’t be sure of.
‘I’m not saying he’s not up to something. It’s just, you know, he might be on the level.’
Babs stood in front of her middle kid. ‘The only time your old man will ever be on the level is when he’s six foot under. I want you to promise me you’ll cut him dead.’
Jen was getting upset. ‘Yeah, but—’
Babs shouted at the top of her voice. ‘Promise!’
Her grandkids looked at her, shocked. Nicky turned to the girls. ‘Let’s take our game into Nanna Babs’ bedroom.’
When they were gone, Jen muttered, ‘Alright, blimey, don’t jump out of your pram. What‘s he supposed to have done anyway? I never understood why he left.’
‘We don’t need to get into that. After all, whatever he’s done, he’s still your father.’
‘Who we’re not allowed to talk to?’ Tiff said sullenly.
Babs let out a heavy-duty sigh. ‘Jen, hun, you don’t want to know, you don’t need to know. You’ll just have to take my word for it. He’s a very bad man. I’m not going into details. Sometimes secrets shouldn’t be told.’
Dee surprised everyone by shoving to her feet and grabbing her Gucci bag. Her dark eyes brimmed with fire as she hissed, ‘Yeah, that’s the trouble with this family; people hide way too many secrets, especially you.’ She kissed her teeth long and hard in irritation and headed for the door.
Babs cried out in alarm, ‘Where are you going, luv?’
‘Outside. All the secrets in this room are doing my head in.’
Dee whipped out a B&H and lit up, totally furious. This family had more secrets than Aladdin’s cave and it was stressing her to the max. Sometimes she wished she’d never bothered to contact her mum. She hadn’t been fool enough to think it would be all easy breezy, but this mess, she’d never seen coming.
‘Dee, babe,’ her mum let out hesitantly.
When she didn’t answer, her mum walked over and put a comforting arm around her waist. ‘I’ve been wrong to keep the past from you—’
‘Bloody straight you have,’ Dee hurled back. ‘Do you know what it felt like growing up without a clue where you really come from? About your parents? Not knowing you’ve got blood family out there? I do, and it ain’t right, ain’t right at all.’
Babs tightened her arm around her eldest. ‘Stan told me you were dead.’
Dee’s mouth opened, an outraged ‘What?’
on the tip of her tongue, but she was too stunned to say it. Babs took a deep breath, and the whole tragic story poured out.
‘You’ve got to understand,’ she finished, ‘I married a monster who came knocking at my door like a prince. I was easy pickings. Your dad—’
‘Who is . . .?’ Dee had asked this question so many times without a response, she’d finally given up.
Babs gripped the edge of the balcony. ‘His name was – is, I don’t know if he’s alive or dead – Neville Campbell. He was just a lad out looking for a good time.’
Neville Campbell. Dee had to steady her breathing. Just hearing her father’s name was a big deal. She would’ve been Dee Campbell if life had gone differently.
‘When you refused to say a word about him I figured there was some big drama to tell. You know, he was married with a couple of young ’uns already, or you had a one-night stand and couldn’t remember his name. Even maybe that he’d kicked the bucket before you could get married.’ She twisted her head to gaze at her birth mother. ‘I never once thought it was that simple – he just didn’t want to know.’
‘But I wanted to know,’ Babs said strongly. ‘Even when my parents turned their backs on me for having a coloured baby – that’s the word we used back then, coloured – I was determined to keep you.’ She had a fierce, faraway look in her eyes. ‘Even after I got spat on—’
‘You what?’ Now it was Dee who turned fierce, her hands pumping into fists. ‘You tell me who the fuck gobbed on you and I’ll go around and show them what it’s like.’
Babs put a restraining hand on her arm. ‘It was back in ’72. A totally different world. White women who had brown babies didn’t get an easy time of it.’
Dee pushed away from the balcony. Bloody hell. Spitting on mums? It didn’t get any lower than that in her book. The fuckers wanted stringing up. Sure, Dee had experienced racism as a nipper, but gobbing on people was taking it way too far. If anyone dared spit on her Nicky they wouldn’t need to worry about doing it again; she’d rip their effing head off.
Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series) Page 33