The Goldsworth Series Box Set

by Davie J Toothill

  The thought of freedom and the impending visit made him feel pleased – happy, even – and he looked out of the small window at the weak sunshine of a new day.

  When he got out of here, he would make them all pay. Clint, Brandy, Patterson. The others too – fat Zoe with her ginger hair and annoying baby-brat who had no doubt spilt her guts first chance she got; Tamar, who had been one of his best mates and who hadn’t so much as written to him; and all the others that had shown him such disrespect. He thought of Aurora – he had risked it all just for a quick fuck with her, and he hadn’t even got that. He often wondered now what he had ever seen in her, why he had risked Brandy and Clint’s anger just because he got hard at the thought of her.

  He felt himself stirring and hated himself for letting the thought of Aurora still get to him. Perhaps when he got out he would fuck her – this time he wouldn’t let her whining and crying stop him. That was what he needed, he thought, to get it all out of his system.

  Troy rose from the plastic chair, the legs scraping against the linoleum floor, and went to the bottom bunk bed, lying down on the mattress, for once not noticing how thin it was, nor how irritating the threadbare duvet and pillowcase were.

  He thought about the trial, and he was sure Tyrese would have a plan to make sure he got out of here. He imagined the looks on the faces of those who had wronged him and smiled; they had underestimated him. He would show them.

  He would make them suffer and now he had a trial date set it felt so real, so certain. He closed his eyes and waited for visiting time.

  * * *

  Vomit splattered over the pavement and onto her shoes. She would have been disgusted if she wasn’t so wasted, and another wave of vomit came up.

  Brandy Mason spluttered and heaved, one hand leaning against the wall of the nightclub, supporting her weight, whilst her mate held her hair out of her face and tried to stop her falling to the floor.

  “I told you those tequilas were a bad idea,” Adrianna said, looking away as more vomit hit the floor.

  “Shut up,” Brandy slurred, batting away Adrianna’s hands and swaying on her feet. “What do you know anyway?”

  “I know that it’s time you went home,” Adrianna snapped. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be in court tomorrow, right?”

  “It ain’t even that late, and the judge can go fuck himself,” Brandy shouted, waving her hands about and losing her balance. She groaned as she hit the ground, grazing her knees and elbows, hair covering her face, feet resting in the pool of vomit.

  Adrianna gestured about them, frustrated.

  “It’s daylight mate,” she said. “We’ve been drinking for twelve hours straight, you need a fucking rest.”

  Brandy made no effort to stand. Her arms and legs ached, her head was banging and her throat was on fire. She was dreading court tomorrow. She wondered if that lying bitch DS Patterson would be there, that smug look on her face. She had promised to keep her out of the investigation if she gave up the weapon Troy had used to kill Shaniqua, and now she was up on charges herself.

  “What am I doing on the floor?” she demanded, struggling to prop herself up, her thoughts drifting and pain creeping through her buzz.

  Adrianna bent down to help her and dragged her to her feet, Brandy swearing and staggering. On her feet, Brandy looked at her mate with a scowl.

  “You’re no mate,” she growled. “Not if you don’t want to get another drink.”

  “You can do what you want,” Adrianna snapped back. “But don’t expect me to wait around whilst you get your fucking stomach pumped.”

  “I need more tequi-” She threw up again, the hot, vile liquid spraying her skirt and top, trickling down between her breasts. Adrianna gagged.

  “Right,” a loud voice sounded behind them. A bouncer approached. “I’ve called an ambulance for her, she ain’t in no fit state to do anything.”

  “Fuck off,” Brandy turned on him. “You -”

  More vomit erupted from her mouth and she staggered again.

  Brandy was dimly aware of blue flashing lights and her eyes closed.

  When she opened her eyes again, she was in a hospital bed. Adrianna sat in a plastic chair beside the bed, snoring quietly, head resting in her hand and propped up by elbow resting on the armrest. A nurse came in and saw that Brandy was awake. She approached with uncertainty.

  “Brandine Mason, right?” she asked.

  “Brandy,” she insisted.

  “Well, Brandy, we’ve put you on an IV line,” the nurse said, smiling sweetly. Brandy looked down at her hand and saw a drip attached to the back of her left hand.

  “What the fuck?” she growled. “Can’t I just go home? I got court today.”

  “We really want to make sure you’re in a fit state first.”

  “Pump my stomach and be done with it then,” Brandy groaned.

  She wanted her own bed, not some shit hospital one. She slapped Adrianna on the arm with her free hand and her friend jumped awake.

  “How could you let this happen?” Brandy demanded. “You want me to get in shit for missing court or something?”

  “I’m sorry, I thought –”

  “Fuck’s sake.” Brandy grabbed at the drip in her hand and began unpeeling the tape that secured it in place. She didn’t need this nurse’s permission to leave; she could and would do what she wanted. “I’m out of here.”

  “I can’t let you do that,” the nurse hurried forward to stop her attempt to free herself from the IV line. “We need to monitor your vitals.”

  “I’ll decide what I need,” Brandy growled.

  “And what about your baby?” the nurse asked sternly.

  Brandy was so shocked she froze and the nurse took the opportunity to fix the line back into place.

  “What the fuck did you say?” Brandy asked. “I ain’t got no baby.”

  The nurse’s smile faltered.

  “Miss Mason, you’re pregnant,” the nurse said uncertainly. “We assumed that you were aware of that, you’re –” The nurse trailed off at the look on Brandy’s face. “I’ll go and get the doctor.”

  She hurried off and Brandy stared after her. It was not possible, she thought. She couldn’t have a baby. It was a horrifying thought. Adrianna was looking closely at her, lips in a thin, worried line.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, affronted.

  “Fuck off,” Brandy replied.

  Adrianna huffed and crossed her arms, angry pout on her lips, turning away from her. Brandy didn’t care. She couldn’t be pregnant, but it was starting to make sense. She’d been sick in the mornings, but she’d put it down to the hangovers.

  Another thought came to her, one more troubling than the fact that she was carrying a baby inside of her. She knew who the father must be. Troy Banks. She had not had sex with anyone but him since that dark night when she had been raped on her way back from clubbing; she still had nightmares about that night. She couldn’t imagine letting a man touch her again, not yet. No time soon, either.

  Now she was carrying Troy’s baby and the thought terrified her, pushing the thought of court and what might await her out of her mind. Fear and exhaustion bubbled up from within her and she vomited over the side of the bed.

  * * *

  A few floors below, Tamar Ahmed sat up in the hospital bed and felt his body ache in protest at the movement. It felt to him that there wasn’t a muscle that wasn’t bruised after the beating, but he willed himself not to show it as the curtain was pulled back and a doctor came in.

  “Mr Ahmed,” the doctor greeted him, “I’ve written a prescription for some painkillers for you, and I’m discharging you.”

  “Cheers,” Tamar managed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I need a smoke anyway.”

  The doctor forced a smile and left him to dress. Tamar pulled his jeans and t-shirt back on, discarding the green hospital robe in the tangle of sheets. He winced with each movement but persevered.

  He pulled h
is trainers on and left the hospital, with a last lingering look at the nurses’ station, but the smiling blonde he fancied he had a chance with was not there. Outside he fumbled for a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands, pulling the smoke into his lungs gratefully. He hadn’t smoked since last night, when he’d been pounced on. He shuddered at the memory of a set of hands grabbing his shoulders and twisting him round to face his attacker. Tyrese and Trent Banks weren’t the type of guys you wanted to piss off or get in a fight with, he had always known that. When he had seen that it was the Banks brothers that held him he had almost pissed himself, fear engulfing him.

  “Where’s your little buddy Clint?” Tyrese had shouted, shaking him as if he were nothing more than a kid. “We’ve been looking real hard for him, you know?”

  Tamar had not told them; he knew no more than they did, for all the good it had done him. He had taken the beating like a proper man. He hadn’t cried, or at least he hoped he hadn’t anyway. After a few punches he had been on the concrete floor of a courtyard in the Goldsworth, and then the kicking had began and his memory went a bit hazy. He remembered the warning fine though.

  “You hear from Clint Jackson, you better fucking let us know quick, right?” Tyrese had shouted, giving him one final kick. “Else we’ll be having a replay, and I’ll make sure to break your fucking legs.”

  Tamar had murmured his consent and listened to their departing footsteps, trainers scratching on concrete, and then they were gone and he had dragged himself over to the wheelie bins, tasting blood, head spinning. Someone must’ve found him there and thought to call an ambulance, because next thing he knew he was in a hospital bed.

  Now he crossed the road to the bus stop across from the hospital. He wanted to get home but he was dreading returning to the Goldsworth; the Banks brothers lived near him and he didn’t want to run into them again, though he doubted they would give him another beating. Not today, anyway.

  It had been a month since Troy had been nicked for killing Shaniqua Curtis and yet it could have been a year for all that had changed on the estate. He no longer had his mates; Clint had disappeared with Aurora, Amal and Troy were both in prison and his life was fucking boring for the loss of them.

  He saw a bus approaching and stuck his hand out, though it was already signaling to turn in to the stop. He tried not to think of how things had used to be before Troy had stabbed Shaniqua; that one night had changed all their lives. As he climbed aboard the bus, he wondered what the Banks brothers would do to Clint if they ever found him, and he hoped for Clint’s sake that they never did.

  * * *

  Aurora Curtis shivered into her coat, the first sunlight of the day not yet warming the air. Clint gave her hand a squeeze and jingled their set of keys in his free hand. She allowed herself to smile, remembering that this was the start of their new lives.

  Kojo stood glumly beside his older brother, looking up at the house with the petulance of a child. Aurora wished that he would show more enthusiasm, glancing at Clint’s face for a reaction to his brother’s attitude, but he was too enthralled with the sight of their new home to pay him any mind this morning.

  “Should I carry you through the front door?” Clint asked, turning to her, smiling playfully, lighting up his face, eyes twinkling. Aurora rolled her eyes, rubbing her stomach, which was now swollen with pregnancy. This didn’t seem to faze Clint and his smile brightened further.

  “Maybe not then,” he grinned. He let go of her hand and went up the short path to the front door, painted red.

  It was a two bedroom house in the heart of an estate in Manchester and a far cry from the squalid bedsit they had stayed in since arriving in the city a month ago. Aurora did not want to remind herself of the place and was almost holding her breath with anticipation as Clint slid the key into the lock and turned, the door clicking open. She breathed out with relief. She had been worried all morning since they had checked out of the bedsit that it would all have been a mistake and the house she had dreamt of would not be available.

  Clint stepped over the threshold and turned, beckoning them in and grinning. He had shown none of the nerves she had, Aurora thought, and yet she sensed that he too was relieved that they were finally out of the bedsit and had a place they could call home.

  Kojo made no effort to follow his brother inside, so Aurora gave him a stern look and he scowled and went up the path and into the house. Aurora let out a sigh and went in after him. She knew why Clint had insisted on bringing Kojo with them to Manchester and she would not have wished him back to the flat where his abusive father reigned over the family with an iron fist. Yet his excitement at fleeing London with them had quickly soured when they had arrived at the bedsit waiting for the council to re-house them, and now he scarcely smiled and seemed to enjoy flouting whatever rules she and Clint set down for him. They weren’t his parents, he liked to remind them during heated arguments, and he could do what the fuck he wanted. Aurora forced herself not to let him get to her today, and went from room to room in the house, tracing a hand along the walls as if to check they really were solid and this wasn’t all a dream.

  Clint followed after her, checking out their new home, and Kojo trailed after them dragging his trainers and scuffing the linoleum floors. When they went upstairs, Aurora eyed her and Clint’s bedroom with delight; she could not wait for their first night in their new home together.

  Even Kojo’s mood lifted when he was shown to his new bedroom.

  “I get this whole room?” he asked, scowl gone, excited now. “All to myself?”

  “No, we thought you could just sleep in the wardrobe,” Clint laughed, and Kojo shot him a dark look but went into his room and observed it with a smile.

  “Awesome,” he managed, and Aurora and Clint exchanged a relieved smile.

  Leaving Kojo to settle into his new bedroom, Aurora retreated downstairs to the lounge and sat herself down on the worn but comfortable sofa. She tired more easily now and she was dreading the rest of her pregnancy; she was still in her first trimester and already she was exhausted by it all.

  It’ll be different now though, she thought, now that they had their new home. Clint returned to the room with a stack of post. His smile faltered and he tore one open.

  “It’s addressed to me,” he said with interest. “Someone must know we were moving in today.”

  “At last,” Aurora added, though she smiled.

  Clint frowned as he read the letter and sat down heavily in the armchair. Aurora looked at him, worried by his expression.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked him. “What did the letter say?” A dreadful thought occurred to her. “It’s not the house, is it? Don’t tell me the council made a mistake and we have to go back.”

  “No, no, it’s not that,” Clint said. He was still looking down at the letter, the rest of the post discarded. “It’s a letter from London.”

  Aurora swallowed hard.

  They had not been in touch with anyone except her mother since they had fled the Goldsworth Estate and London a month ago. It was for the best, they had decided. They could not put anyone else at risk. Clint had taken a major risk in telling DS Patterson about Troy killing her sister, and though she did not regret that she had learnt the truth about her sister’s death, she knew that it had made them targets for the Banks brothers and she did not want any harm to come to Clint or their baby. The Banks brothers had done enough harm and she never wanted to go back there. If only her mother would come up to Manchester, she thought sadly, wondering how her mother was coping. She had not taken Shaniqua’s death well, turning to alcohol to numb the pain of her loss, and she sometimes dreaded what her mother would be like now that she had lost them both.

  It was for the best, she reminded herself. Clint’s face was still worried when he finally looked up from the letter. She felt her pulse quicken with fear.

  “They haven’t found out where we live?” she asked.

  “No,” Clint shook his head. “It’s from the CP
S, Crown Prosecution Service. It’s about Troy’s trial.”

  “They’ve set a date?” Aurora asked.

  “Yeah, seven months’ time,” Clint replied. “And I’ve been summoned to court to give evidence against him.”

  Aurora tried to calm her breathing.

  “We knew it would happen at some point,” she said, trying to keep her voice light, knowing that Clint was nervous at the thought of going into court. “And if it means justice for Shan, then it’s got to be a good thing.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Clint agreed. He took a last look at the envelope and folded it, putting it back into its envelope. “I’ll put the kettle on babe.”

  Aurora watched him go and couldn’t help but worry for him. He would have to return to London and the danger that surrounded the Banks brothers and part of her wished she could keep him here, tell him not to risk it all. Yet Troy was facing trial for her sister’s murder and she didn’t want him to get away with it, and that meant Clint had to take the stand. She felt confused and as Clint returned, she tried not to notice the anxious look in his eyes that had not been there before he had opened the letter. He sat beside her and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, kissing her lightly.

  Aurora sipped her tea gratefully and could not help but wonder if this was a bad omen for the start of their new lives together.

  * * *

  Amal Siddiqui waited in the visiting room for his brother to arrive. He hoped Troy would get himself sorted out whilst he was gone and stop panicking. Troy might be one of his best mates, but lately he’d been doing his head in. He liked to think he was the big man inside but Amal knew better.

  He caught sight of Sanjay and waved him over. He had a lot of respect for his brother; he had served his time for robbery without complaint and now that he had got out he had big plans for the future. They had talked about it at length when they had been locked up together, and Amal was eager to know what was going on outside.

  “How’s it going?” Sanjay asked him as he sat across the table from him.