It must be the antidepressants, she thought. Perhaps that was the reaction caused in people by a mixture of antidepressants and alcohol. Or maybe she’d been careless and cruel to her mum, when she was only trying to help her.
Her cell phone vibrated from in her handbag, and Aurora fumbled through her assortment of junk until she found it. It was Sasha.
“Hey, can I come round to yours now?” Aurora asked, “My mum flipped out.”
“Yeah, I was just going to say you could come over whenever,” Sasha said, “I’ve got the white wine on ice.”
“White wine?” Aurora asked, surprised. Her normal drink of choice was vodka, and she had assumed that it would be Sasha’s too.
“Yes, darling,” Sasha laughed, putting on a posh-totty accent, “I thought we could be proper posh tonight, drinking white wine, at our little rendezvous!”
“Sounds great! I’ll be right over,” Aurora laughed, and hung up.
She glanced back at the flat, where her mother was either upset and feeling guilty for what she had said, or she was still flipping out and had probably starting throwing things, or whatever people on antidepressants and alcohol did.
She turned on her heel and walked down the landing, heading for Sasha’s. She knew the number, it was the block across from her. She deserved a good night, and she definitely needed cheering up. Clint could’ve cheered her up no problem, Aurora knew, but Sasha came in a close second.
* * *
In the flat, Marlena sat down on the shabby sofa, the only one this lounge had ever seen, she thought sadly. It was all she and her husband had been able to afford when they’d moved in, and it suited the purpose. Now, with nobody in the flat but her, it seemed shabby. She poured herself a liberal dose of vodka, and sipped it. It burnt her throat and made her gag, but it served her right.
She had been so cruel to Aurora. True, she had been trying to help her daughter. She’d had honourable intentions. She just hadn’t wanted to see her only remaining family member, her little baby girl, get pregnant at such a young age. She had, and look what had happened there.
The Jackson boy seemed okay, if she was honest with herself. He’d looked handsome, and he obviously cared for Aurora. But still, sixteen year old boys were all the same when you got down to it. And she knew he must’ve thought about Aurora in ways she daren’t not linger on, and that Aurora had probably had similar thoughts regarding him. But she was still too young.
As she sipped the vodka, she remembered her own mother saying the same thing to her. She had lectured her about the boy she was seeing, Aurora’s father, and Marlena had protested much the same as Aurora had this evening. In fact, she had done pretty much the same as Aurora had done when she was younger. The only difference was, Marlena’s mother hadn’t gone crazy and thrown her out of the flat. Marlena had done that to Aurora though, and now the guilt was eating at her from the inside out.
Would Aurora come back tonight? She’d heard her talking on the phone to someone, laughing. At least somebody could make her happy. Maybe it was Clint she’d been on the phone to. Marlena hoped it wasn’t, but Sod’s law meant it probably had been. God only knew what those two would be up to tonight, she thought sadly. And it was all her fault.
If Aurora didn’t come back tonight, what would she do? Marlena hated being alone in the flat, and hated it even more not knowing where Aurora was. Was she in trouble right now? Was she calling out for her mother, the way Shaniqua had done as she lay dying in the street?
The thought depressed her even more, and Marlena wondered angrily why she was even taking the antidepressants the doctor had prescribed for her, when they did nothing but make her head spin and her stomach hurt whenever she drank alcohol, which was all the time now, she had to admit.
She was feeling sleepy now, from the stress of the past few minutes or from the cocktail of tablets and alcohol she had taken, she didn’t know or care. Would anyone even care if she went to sleep and never woke up? Would Aurora care? Would she even notice anymore? The days when Aurora had depended on her were long gone, Marlena knew that. Even before Shaniqua had died, she knew her girls were independent. Now though, it was as if Aurora had become a grown woman overnight and she no longer needed her mother around. Marlena looked out at the lights of London through the window, and eyed the balcony on the other side of the glass door. They were a few floors above ground. How painful would it be if she jumped? Probably it would hurt a lot, she thought.
Perhaps she should just do it, get it over with. She would die a lonely woman now anyway, God and the Goldsworth estate had seen to that much. She might as well go by her own hand than let her liver pack in, or her lungs. Or both. Maybe jumping wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, anyway. With any luck, she thought, she might take out the bastard who killed her daughter on her way down as well. That would be a stroke of pure perfection. Not that she’d be alive to celebrate, but she’d die happy in the knowledge that justice had been done.
Before she could get up off the sofa and make her way to the sliding glass doors to the balcony, the glass of vodka slipped from her fingers and crashed to the carpeted floor, spilling its contents over her shoes. Her eyes flickered and then shut, and she began snoring heavily.
* * *
When Clint arrived at Troy’s flat a few hours later, Jessie answered the door on her way out. She smiled at him, and Clint smiled back. She was wearing a tight yellow miniskirt and low-cut sleeveless top, and Clint was surprised to notice that she’d developed quite a chest in the past few months. He had never looked at her that way before, and he didn’t have any intention to in the future. He only thought about one girl’s body these days, and that was Aurora’s.
“Alright Clint?” Jessie asked, “Troy’s in his room. The bitch is in there too.”
“I’m good thanks, you?”
“Great, I’m off out to Jazz’s,” she said, and winked conspiratorially, “Laters.”
Clint smiled as Jessie left the flat, and he closed the front door. The bitch, as Jessie called her, was Brandy. And Clint had to admit that, at times, Brandy could be a bitch. In fact, most of the time she was. He hadn’t expected her to be here tonight though. Although she spent almost all her time with Troy, it was an established routine that Troy and Clint had a lads’ night on a Friday, along with Tamar and Amal when they were able to, and Brandy wasn’t welcome. For the past few months, Brandy hadn’t minded the routine. She’d been with Zoe or whoever, and that had suited them all fine. So why was she over here now? Clint wondered if it had something to do with Shaniqua’s death, but reassured himself that it wasn’t. How could it be?
He was debating whether he should leave and come back later, when Brandy had gone, but the front door opened and Tyrese and Trent walked in. Seeing Clint, they both grinned and shook his hand.
“How are you, mate?” Tyrese asked, and Clint responded.
The kitchen door opened, and Brandy walked in, followed by Troy. They were both smiling, and Clint knew that the only time Brandy smiled was when she’d got laid. That’s what they’d been doing in the bedroom then.
“See you tomorrow,” Brandy said, and kissed Troy lingeringly on the lips, “Have a good night.”
“Night babe,” Troy said, when their lips had parted.
Brandy winked at the others, and left the flat. Troy grinned, and Tyrese clapped him on the back.
“I still don’t know how you pulled her, bro,” Trent laughed.
“Let’s get us some beers then,” Troy said, and opened the fridge.
A few minutes later, they were all seated in the living room, drinking their beers, the television switched to the footie. An ad break came on, followed by the evening news. They were chatting, not bothering with the news, when Clint and Troy both stopped.
It was another news report on Shaniqua Curtis’ murder. Serena Patterson, the black detective that Clint had seen talking to Aurora, appeared on the screen. She was saying that they had some potential suspects and were following up some l
eads. Troy and Clint exchanged a glance, but both remained silent.
When the news report finished, silence filled the room. Trent drank his beer and started laughing, but Tyrese was unusually quiet. He looked between Troy and Clint, and shook his head.
“You never did it, did you boys?” he asked.
Troy’s eyes widened slightly, and Clint felt his throat go dry.
“What do you mean?” Troy asked, trying to sound casual.
“You never done in that Shaniqua Curtis girl?” Tyrese asked, his voice forceful.
“What are you talking about?” Troy laughed uncomfortably, “You think we done it?”
“It would explain why you been walking round all week like someone stuck a rod up your fucking ass,” Tyrese said, “So, did you do it?”
“Listen, Ty –”
“No, you fucking listen to me,” Tyrese said, rising to his feet, “And answer the fucking question. Did you kill that fucking Curtis girl or not?”
“Ty –”
“Just fucking answer, yes or no.”
Clint and Trent both sat in silence, unable to move, as they watched Tyrese and Troy’s exchange. Clint hoped to God that Troy could lie convincingly, or they were both screwed.
“Yeah, I done it.”
Troy’s voice had shaken when he’d said it, but there it was. Out in the open.
“Fucking hell,” Trent gasped, “You actually killed someone, bro? That’s fucking awesome.”
“What?” Tyrese asked in disbelief, turning to face Trent, “Are you off your fucking skull?”
“Well, he’s proved himself ain’t he,” Trent replied, “You said he just had to prove himself, and he’s done it.”
“By stabbing a fucking teenage girl?”
“She disrespected Brandy,” Troy said. His face was set, but his eyes were wide with fear and apprehension.
“See, Ty, loyal and lethal,” Trent persisted, “Fucking ace. Come on, he proved himself, man.”
Tyrese shook his head slowly, but didn’t speak for a few minutes. The room fell silent again, all eyes on him. Clint could feel his heart beating twice as fast as ever before, and he glanced at Troy, who looked as nervous as he was. They were in this together, whatever happened. And Clint knew that at least the brothers wouldn’t go to the police. That didn’t mean, though, Tyrese wouldn’t break their legs.
When Tyrese finally spoke, he looked Troy and Clint directly in the eyes, before returning his gaze to the floor.
“Alright, who else knows about this?”
“Me and Clint,” Troy said, “Brandy, Tamar, Amal, and Zoe Taylor.”
“Zoe Taylor?” Trent laughed, “Fucking hell, the pregnant one?”
“Yeah, but Brandy’s keeping her quiet,” Troy said.
“I should fucking hope so,” Tyrese said solemnly, “What did you do with the knife?”
“Brandy chucked it down the chute,” Troy replied.
“You wipe the prints off it?”
“Yeah, Brandy did.”
“Fuck me, does Brandy wipe your fucking ass too?” Tyrese groaned. This was getting messy.
“Look, bro,” Troy said eventually, “Nobody’s going catch us. All of us are keeping quiet, there’s no knife and no witnesses. So even if they suspect us, they ain’t got no proof.”
“Do they suspect you, then?” Tyrese asked.
“Patterson does.”
“That detective from the TV?” Trent asked, “She’s a bit of alright. Nice rack. I might get me some of her when this all blows over.”
Tyrese rolled his eyes and ignored his brother. “How do you know she suspects?”
“She questioned Brandy and Zoe this morning. Then Clint’s seen her talking to the dead girl’s sister, but that’s just because she’s working on the case.”
“Okay, well looks like you’ve covered everything.”
“We have,” Troy insisted.
“Look, Ty, he’s proved himself,” Trent said, looking pointedly at Tyrese.
“What are you talking about?” Troy asked.
“You.”
“Okay,” Tyrese relented, “You’ve proved yourself, Troy. Welcome to the gang.”
It took a few moments for the news to sink in. Troy’s face eventually creased into a grin, as he took it in.
“You serious?” he asked, looking from Tyrese to Trent, “I’m in?”
“Yeah, we’re serious.” Tyrese looked solemn.
Troy jumped up from the sofa and cheered. Clint rose to his feet too, and they hugged. Then, Tyrese and Trent were hugging them both, and within a few minutes, more beers were being cracked open and they were all celebrating, the seriousness of the conversation from a few minutes ago all but forgotten. Troy made excuses and went into his bedroom to phone Brandy. Clint sat and drank beers and laughed and joked with Tyrese and Trent.
Clint glanced at Troy’s bedroom door, and wondered what Brandy’s reaction would be. She’d be ecstatic, of course. She’d wanted this as much as Troy had. Perhaps more. Clint wondered at what he was doing here, celebrating Troy’s promotion into a gang.
“Party tomorrow night,” Trent was saying, “All the gang can come round. Have a big piss up, and you’re invited too Clint, mate.”
Clint nodded, “I’ll be there.”
And he would be. But, if he was honest, he didn’t want to be there. He’d much rather be with Aurora, just the two of them. But he had to show loyalty to Troy. Especially now he was in his brothers’ gang. The game had well and truly changed now, and it would affect them all, Clint was certain of it.
* * *
In the kitchen, Keskia Banks sat down at the kitchen table, her heart pounding in her chest. She scrambled for a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply, savouring the smoke as she forced it down into her lungs as if it were oxygen. She’d quit a few months ago, but the temptation to start had always been there. Now, after what she’d just heard, it was more than temptation. It was necessary to have a fag. If she didn’t, she’d have a heart attack, she mused.
She closed her eyes, willing the last few minutes of her life to disappear, to be swallowed up in the darkness. To bring her back to reality, where her youngest son was a troublemaker, but in no way a murderer. When she opened them again, however, she was still there, in her spotless kitchen, in which she’d cooked and cleaned, cried and laughed, for the better part of twenty years. The cigarette was still in her hand, and the shopping still at her feet where she’d dropped them not five minutes before.
And, worst of all, her youngest son, her baby, the son she’d always hoped would make something of himself, was still a cold-blooded murderer. She just couldn’t fathom it. What had she done so wrong? All three of her sons were criminals, and one was a murderer, or at least as far as she knew it was only one. The way Tyrese and Trent had been talking, it didn’t seem as if they were exactly unused to the idea of covering up a murder. Still, they had an excuse, of sorts. They had witnessed their father’s death, hit by a car before their very eyes. She had rushed straight from work when she’d heard the news, and she would never forget the scene. Her young sons, still in shock, and her husband lying in the road, under a canvas tarp which the police had used to deter curious observers. Not that it was much of an excuse, but they had been traumatized. She had only managed to cope with their criminal activities, of which she was well aware, as much as she wished she weren’t, by deluding herself that it was caused by that traumatic incident.
But Troy, he had never witnessed this. Hell, he’d been only a few years old when it had happened, and had been miles away, playing with his toys at a neighbour’s house, with his three month-old sister. What excuse did he have for what he’d done? Or more importantly, what excuse could she come up with that would excuse his behaviour? To allow her to forgive him, or at least forget what he’d done.
She knew there was no excuse. And Clint was involved too, that shocked her. Brandy’s involvement had come as little surprise, if she was honest. She had never really approve
d of Brandy. Maybe she’d put him up to it? Even if she had, a decent human being would never have fathomed the idea, let alone kill a poor innocent girl because of it. She’d watched Clint grow up, and she’d always thought of him as a lovely young man. Now she knew better. Tamar and Amal, well, they were different stories entirely. She’d never thought much of them, even if they did help carry her shopping a few times.
And to think, she’d sat and watched the news reports of the Curtis girl’s murder, and thought to herself how awful it all was. How crime was getting worse. How she hoped the killers got caught, and were punished severely. And she’d wondered at the parents of the killer, whether their influence had unwittingly turned their child into a killer. Now she felt guilty. What had she done so wrong? Still, at least Jessie was okay. Well, if not okay, then just a typical teenage girl.
Should she go to the police? Could she? She thought of the shame, the way people would turn against her and her family. And Troy. What if he’d been forced to do it? And if she did turn him in, would he survive the prison system? She’d heard many stories of people who hadn’t, and they were grown men, let alone a sixteen-year-old who hadn’t even finished school yet. And would he forgive her? Probably not. Could she really destroy her family with one fell swoop? She could, she knew, but she wouldn’t.
Although she would never be able to accept or forgive what Troy had done, she would have to live with it. And she would keep quiet because, deep down, she still loved her youngest son. Even if, at this moment in time, she despised him.
* * *
Across the estate, at Sasha Morton’s ground floor flat, Aurora was feeling drunk. No, not just drunk. Very drunk. Between them, they’d gone through the two bottles of chardonnay that Sasha had prepared, whilst they watched the ‘Sex and the City’ movie. It was so unrealistic, they had both proclaimed, but they’d been mesmerized by it all the same, and had collapsed in fits of laughter as they told stories of what they’d do and what they’d buy if they had that sort of money. Then, with the wine gone, they’d sent Sasha’s mum down to the corner shop, and she’d come back with a bottle of vodka. Now, as they lounged around in Sasha’s bedroom, listening to the Pussycat Dolls, Aurora started to feel tired. The bottle of vodka was nearly finished, and it was nearing midnight.
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