The Goldsworth Series Box Set

by Davie J Toothill

  She knew Clint understood all of this, just like he understood Kojo’s desire to return home. She loved him for trying to protect them all, but he had done that. He had made sure they got out of the Goldsworth, built a new life for themselves in Manchester; but they couldn’t hide away forever. They couldn’t forget their pasts, no more than they could foretell their futures.

  She wanted to see her mum, make sure she was coping alone. She rang less frequently now, and Aurora worried for her. She dreaded getting a call in the middle of the night to tell her that her mother’s liver had finally packed up from too much booze.

  Clint returned to the lounge and sat down beside her. He was gentle as he took her hands in his, and Aurora looked into his face and saw a resigned look.

  “Right,” he said slowly. “Let’s talk about this.”

  * * *

  Troy stood beside Amal Siddiqui in the common room and clapped him on the back. It was the day his best mate would face trial for his drugs charges, and he knew that he was nervous. He could sympathise, they both had uncertain futures, their trials fast approaching. Troy wasn’t too worried about his own; he was sure his brothers were cooking up a plan to get him out as soon as possible, and if they scared off enough of the snitches, his trial would be a breeze. He doubted Brandy would take the stand against him, and Clint had shown himself up to be a pussy and wherever he was hiding he was likely to stay there. As for the others, who knew? Zoe Taylor would wet herself and go into hiding if the Banks brothers so much as knocked on her door, and he still held out hope that Tamar would do the right thing. Amal was due to be a witness too; he’d been there like the rest of them when Shaniqua had been stabbed, and Amal had made it clear to him that he would not be attending court to snitch him up.

  “Don’t worry mate, whatever happens, you’ll be fine,” Troy told him. Amal smiled and nodded. “In the meantime, let’s get on with it.”

  Troy led Amal out of the common room and down the corridor back towards their cell. They shared, so it was a good base for their dealings, not that anyone seemed to give a shit what went down in this block.

  “You got the orders for today?” Troy asked.

  Amal nodded and produced a scrap of tissue on which a list of names and amounts were scrawled in untidy handwriting. Troy took it from him and glanced down it.

  “Shit dude, you need to learn to write better,” he sniggered as he read.

  He usually left Amal to make the rounds and collect a list of the people who wanted to buy some gear. It would raise too much suspicion if Troy did it himself, and he didn’t want to be in the frame if it all went down, which he didn’t think would happen anyway. Still, he had decided, he was better off letting Amal stick his neck out. Amal didn’t seem to mind; Troy skimmed a bit of weed off the top for him and that suited him fine.

  Retreating into the privacy of the cell, Troy sat down on the bottom bunk whilst Amal lounged casually by the cell door, keeping an eye out for anyone approaching. Troy slid his hand under the mattress and pulled out the mobile phone that Tyrese’s mate, Prison Officer Henry Wimbly had smuggled in for him. Troy had seen Wimbly for what he was at once – a pathetic man who liked to gamble, and had ended up owing Tyrese and Trent a large sum of money. Instead of paying them back money he couldn’t afford, Wimbly was helping them out with this venture of theirs, and Troy knew that Wimbly hated himself for doing it. He didn’t care though; he even felt a vindictive pleasure watching Wimbly sweat nervously, his hands trembling, whenever he passed the gear on to Troy.

  Troy typed the list of names and amounts into his phone and sent the text to the phone Tyrese used for such dealings. He made sure, as he always did, that the phone remained on silent and slid it back into its hiding place.

  He nodded to Amal, who gave him a conspiratorial smile. Troy would wait for Tyrese to confirm that the amounts had been paid into the account the brothers had set up and then Troy would sort out the gear for the customers, and Amal would walk around and distribute it to those who had paid.

  It was an easy job, Troy mused, and even though Tyrese had only visited once since he had told him of what he wanted him to do, Troy knew that his brothers were pleased with him. They were raking it in and though he couldn’t skim money off the top, Troy had found a way to earn a bit of money for himself skimming some weed off the top and selling it for phone credit or cash.

  He was about to check the phone for a reply when Amal cleared his throat. Troy leapt to his feet as one of the officers strolled into view.

  “Right, Siddiqui, it’s time,” the guard said.

  Amal’s posture stiffened as he came into the cell and grabbed his bag of belongings off the top bunk.

  “Good luck mate,” Troy said, clapping Amal on the back.

  “Cheers,” Amal said, his voice tight with nerves.

  Troy knew that his best mate was worried about appearing in court. He wasn’t as brave as he was, Troy thought, not that he could blame him for feeling apprehensive. He was up on drugs charges and even though his lawyer had got the charges reduced, the courts were cracking down hard on dealers and he wouldn’t be surprised if Amal got a longer stretch for drugs than he did for murder.

  Troy walked with Amal down the corridor, a few other lads shouting out good luck to Amal as they went. The guard walked close by them, so Troy could not discuss any of their dealings. Troy wondered how he would feel on the day he stood trial and pushed the thoughts aside, not wanting to give himself a headache by thinking too much about stuff he had no control over.

  At the gate, Amal gave Troy a tight smile and disappeared through a locked door, leaving him behind. Troy wondered if he would be back. If his lawyer was worth his money Amal wouldn’t be stepping foot inside again, and Troy would be pleased for his mate. A part of him resented him his chance at freedom, he realised, as he stared at the locked blue door that Amal had gone through. He would miss his mate, and he knew it was not just because he was a close friend. Amal was level-headed and always good advice, and if he got out, Troy would have nobody.

  He realised that he hoped Amal was found guilty so he would end up back in here and wouldn’t be leaving him alone in this shithole.

  Troy wandered back towards his cell, and his mind stayed on Amal, maybe even now in the van on his way to court. That would be him soon, he realised with a start, as he settled down on his bunk and closed his eyes as he thought of his own trial and whether anyone would dare show their faces to take the stand.

  * * *

  Brandy looked down at the black bin liner that carried her belongings and groaned inwardly as she walked across the Goldsworth. She felt relief coursing through her like a drug at the sight of the place, and she knew she must have missed her freedom if she was glad to see this shithole.

  She had not hated her seven months in prison, but she was glad to be out. She had quickly grown sick of the other girls, all the drama and crying and fighting. They were all dumb bitches, Brandy thought, not like her. It had taken all her strength to keep her head down and ignore them, but she had managed and now she was free.

  As she climbed the stairs and walked along the balcony towards her mum’s front door, she realised that she was dreading returning to normal life. It wouldn’t be her normal life, she knew, not now.

  Her mother, she could handle her. That wasn’t the problem. She looked over the wall to the courtyard below and saw two girls, already drunk, staggering along on heels. Brandy needed a drink, not a reunion.

  She tore her eyes from the girls she envied and stopped at her mother’s front door, taking a deep breath, mustering the courage to let herself in, where she knew he was waiting for her. Frazer, her son.

  Brandy had given birth in prison and she had known at once that she did not want to be his mother, that she should have aborted him.

  The nurse had been so pleased for her, all smiles and kind words, and all Brandy had wanted to do was knock the smug bitch out. Would she have been so pleased for her if she’d known the father
was a murderer, had killed three people? Brandy didn’t think so, but these doctors and nurses didn’t know fuck all about her or her life. They were all so happy that she had a healthy baby, even if he had been born premature, and all she wanted to do was scream that she wished she’d gotten rid of it, wished that she didn’t have this thing that needed food and love, useless and defenceless.

  She had not applied to be transferred to a mother’s and babies’ unit. She had no desire to raise him. Letting her mother look after anything was out of the question, so Aunt Bo had moved into the flat and Frazer had left Brandy’s arms and the prison and come here.

  Brandy pushed through the front door and already she could hear the baby crying.

  “If that’s you Deanna I don’t want you in here,” Aunt Bo’s voice boomed from the lounge. “You know little Frazer’s scared of you.”

  Brandy sniggered as she closed the door behind her, dropping her bag to the floor on the landing. At least the boy had some sense even at two months, she thought, if he was scared of her mum.

  She went into the lounge and saw Aunt Bo standing in the middle of the room, cradling the boy in her arms, rocking her arms back and forth, trying to soothe him.

  “Brandy?” Aunt Bo gasped. “Good Lord, I should have remembered you were getting out today. I’m sorry, girl, I’ve been busy and –”

  Brandy waved off her apologies.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Brandy shrugged. “I’m not staying long anyway.”

  Aunt Bo’s smile faltered.

  “You’re not going out?” she asked. “Not tonight?”

  “Obviously,” Brandy groaned, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been banged up. I need a litre of vodka and a party.”

  Aunt Bo’s forehead creased as she frowned, shaking her head.

  “What about Frazer?” she asked, raising her voice to be heard over Frazer’s renewed cries. “See, look, he misses his mum.”

  “He doesn’t even know me,” Brandy snapped. “And besides, you’re here.”

  “Yes, but –”

  “What’s the fucking problem then?” Brandy asked, turning and walking out of the room, unable to hear Aunt Bo’s reply over Frazer’s screams.

  She snatched up her bag from the hallway and retreated to her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It dulled the sound of the baby, but didn’t silence it. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and switched it on as she glanced around her room. It was in the same state she had left it in before she’d been sent down.

  Perhaps, she thought, Aunt Bo had refrained from tidying it for fear of what she might find. Brandy threw open her wardrobe and found a miniskirt and sleeveless top. The sun was still shining outside and she was beginning to feel excited.

  She stripped off and changed, on the phone to Adrianna as she did.

  Pulling on her heels, she left her room and noticed Frazer had stopped crying. Probably because he knew she was going, she thought. Aunt Bo appeared from the kitchen and Brandy let out a sigh.

  “I don’t think you should be going out,” she insisted. “Not tonight.”

  “Whatever,” Brandy rolled her eyes. “You want me to have fun, don’t you?”

  Aunt Bo narrowed her eyes and Brandy knew she’d put up with too much from her mum, Bo’s sister, to be fooled by such tactics.

  “I’m going out,” Brandy said firmly. “You can lend me a tenner, or I can go find some guy who’ll fuck me for a few quid.”

  She enjoyed the horrified expression on her aunt’s face. Aunt Bo went to her handbag on the kitchen counter, Brandy following her. She fumbled for her purse and gave Brandy a tenner.

  “That’s all,” Aunt Bo said. “And I don’t want you back too late.”

  She left the kitchen, head aloft in what Brandy guessed was supposed to be a dignified manner, and Brandy snorted with amusement. She heard the lounge door close behind her aunt and went to her handbag.

  Brandy found the purse, took another two tens and put the purse back. She rolled up the notes and slid them into her bra. She checked herself out in the mirror in the hall, knew she looked good, and went out the front door.

  She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, watching as a couple came along the balcony towards her and she glared at them, as if they might challenge her, but they didn’t even acknowledge her. Brandy watched them let themselves in a few doors down and turned her gaze to the courtyard below, flicking her cigarette.

  She had told nobody about her pregnancy or about her son, and Adrianna had been sworn to secrecy. The stupid Polish girl had agreed to keep quiet; anything to hold onto their friendship. Brandy knew the vapid blonde was only using her because she knew she’d dated one of the Banks brothers and Adrianna hoped one day to date a gangster herself. She was thrilled at the prospect, but Brandy couldn’t bring herself to give a fuck. Adrianna would learn the hard way, no doubt, just like she had done.

  As long as Adrianna kept her mouth shut, Brandy didn’t care what happened to her. She couldn’t let anyone find out about Frazer because people liked to gossip about shit like that, and if the Banks brothers ever found out she wasn’t sure what would happen, but she didn’t want to find out. The thought of Troy being a part of her life forever made her worried; he would always have a connection to her, always be allowed access to her through the baby she hadn’t wanted, and she thought again how much she wished she’d aborted the thing.

  She strutted down the balcony to the stairs, hoping Adrianna was in the mood to get as wasted as she was. She could almost taste the vodka on her lips already, and all thought of her baby was gone.

  * * *

  Clint looked at Aurora and saw her desperation to return to London. He knew that she worried about her mum, just like he worried about his, and though he wished that he could keep her and Kojo safely up in Manchester whilst he went back to the Goldsworth and the dangers it held, he could not force them to stay.

  “If you really want to come, then I won’t stop you,” Clint sighed.

  Aurora’s face broke into a smile and she sighed with relief, putting a dainty hand to her chest.

  “I promise we’ll be careful,” she said excitedly. “I’ll make sure –”

  “On one condition,” Clint interrupted her.

  Aurora’s smile faltered but she nodded for him to go on.

  “If I think we’re in danger, if anything happens, then I want you to promise me that you’ll listen to me and that we’ll be on the next train out of Euston,” he said. He knew his voice was stern and Aurora nodded slowly. “I don’t want to be having an argument or to have to drag you and Kojo back onto the train. The first sign of danger, we’re gone.”

  “Ok, that’s fair enough,” Aurora conceded. She smiled again.

  “I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Clint admitted. “But I know you want to see your mum, and I know Kojo wants to see mum and dad. Maybe if he sees them, remembers what it’s really like back there, then hopefully he’ll feel better when we come back.”

  “Maybe,” Aurora said, though she sounded doubtful. “Clint, what if Kojo doesn’t want to live up here with us?”

  “He’s better off here than with my dad.”

  “Yeah, I know that,” Aurora insisted. “But he doesn’t. Not really, I don’t think. He misses them both, Clint. Not just your mum, but your dad too.”

  “How can he miss that?” Clint hissed.

  He remembered the beatings from his father, the cold indifferent looks that fell upon whenever he entered the room, the cries of his mother when his dad got home drunk and wanted to take his anger out on someone.

  “I don’t know, but he does,” Aurora said sadly.

  Clint knew that she meant well, but his doubts about letting Kojo return resurfaced at the thought that his brother might not come back with them if he took them back down to London with him.

  “Maybe you should stay here with him, then –”

  “No,” Aurora cut him off. “We’re all going back. It’ll only be for a few weeks.
I can make sure my mum’s ok, you and Kojo can see your parents, and we can make sure Troy gets sent down for everything he’s done.”

  Clint still felt uncertain, but he knew that Aurora’s mind was made up.

  “Once we’ve been back, things up here will be different,” Aurora assured him, her voice conveying a certainty that Clint couldn’t find within him. “We’ll all be happier, and we’ll all be safer.”

  “What if someone follows us back up here?” Clint asked.

  “We can’t hide forever,” Aurora said, her voice soothing. “We haven’t done anything wrong; we’re not the ones who need to be locked away. Remember that.”

  Clint knew that she was right and sighed heavily. Aurora took his hands in hers and squeezed gently, smiling at him, and he couldn’t be frustrated when he looked at her eyes, sparkling with excitement.

  He leant over to her and kissed her on the lips. Her lips were soft and warm and seemed to melt against his, parting for him. He shifted his weight, sliding his arms around her, their kiss deepening.

  “How long until Kojo gets back do you reckon?” he asked, glancing towards the door and the staircase beyond. Aurora took his meaning and smiled.

  “He’s out with his mates, he won’t be back anytime soon.”

  “Perfect,” Clint grinned.

  He took Aurora by the hand and helped her off the sofa, leading her out of the room to their bedroom upstairs.

  * * *

  Amal stood in the anti-chamber and tried to clear his mind. He wiped his sweaty palms on his suit-trousers and his mum fussed over his shirt and tie.

  “Remember, hope for the best, expect the worst,” Naz, his cousin, said. “That way, whatever happens, you don’t get shafted.”

  “Cheers,” Amal managed, hardly able to speak his mouth was so dry with nerves.

  “We’re here for you,” Sanjay reassured him, pulling him into a hug. “Whatever happens, we’ve got your back.”

  “Of course we do,” Mrs Siddiqui said, and Amal smiled at his mum. Her face was pale and drawn with worry. “We’ll always be rooting for you, you know that.”