by Jacqui Rose
Tasha looked thoughtful as the door of Arnie’s front parlour was opened. Freddie came in, hat down, sunglasses on, looking sheepish and holding a huge bunch of flowers in front of his face, followed by Ray-Ray who looked relieved to see his mum. Freddie nodded his head at Eddie and Linda. The police officer in the room spoke to him.
‘And you are?’
Freddie looked around quickly, then pointed at Eddie.
‘I’m his brother.’
Eddie piped up. ‘He’s from Scotland as well. Bob. Bob Brown. From Scotland.’
Freddie frowned at Eddie as the police officer gazed at the two men, dressed almost identically in sunglasses and baseball hats.
Freddie felt very uneasy in the presence of so many coppers and the sooner he was out of there the better, but he’d needed to come and see Tasha. He waited for the police officer to walk out of the room before he spoke.
‘Tash. I dunno what to say darling.’
‘How about you do what most people do and just say what you’re thinking – or ain’t that manly enough for Freddie Thompson? Haven’t we all come too far now?’
Freddie stared at his wife. Why had he even bothered? He didn’t have to come chasing after her. She should be grateful he was even speaking to her, after all he was Fred … He stopped his thoughts, shook his head, and smiled to himself. Jesus, Ray-Ray was right. He could be an arsehole.
He looked at Tasha, his eyes full of love.
‘You’re right. How about if I told you I love you more than I thought it was ever possible to love someone? The idea of being without you frightens me babe. You are, and have always been, the better part of me. I’ve been a prick for a long time now and I know it’ll take more than just a sorry, but I am. Truly I am. I’m asking you to give me a chance to become a better man.’
Freddie looked around the room, and saw Linda filling up with tears, Eddie and Ray-Ray smiling with relief, and Tasha looking at him lovingly. He smiled, giving them the Freddie Thompson wink, adding, ‘And if you lot ever repeat what I’ve just said, I’ll blow your bleeding brains out.’
FOUR MONTHS LATER
The flat Ray-Ray showed them was sumptuous. ‘My Dad’s fine about you guys staying here. As long as you like or until you decide what you want to do.’
Yvonne, Laila and Tariq stood with their mouths open at the luxury of the penthouse flat in Soho Square. It was exquisite.
‘Bagsy the biggest room.’ Yvonne pushed Laila out of the way as they ran through to see the bedrooms, leaving Tariq with Ray-Ray. This was the first time they’d been alone.
‘Thank you for everything you’ve done, Ray-Ray. This flat, the way you helped Laila … They said if it wasn’t for your quick thinking, well, things could have been a lot worse. She probably would’ve been scarred for life.’ Tariq realised what he’d just said. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean …’
Tariq looked at Ray-Ray, but couldn’t bring himself to look directly into his face. The shame he felt for being part of anything to do with what had happened to Ray-Ray’s face haunted him.
Life didn’t seem fair. The man was scarred for life, and still he showed no bitterness even though Mahmood had got away with it, hidden somewhere in Pakistan. But at least he couldn’t come back to England; the authorities were aware of him, which meant Laila and his mother would be safe. As for Baz, well that was another matter entirely. Smiling gently, Tariq put out his hand to Ray-Ray who took it cautiously.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t do more to stop it that night. I …’
Ray-Ray put his hand up. ‘Tariq, I know it wasn’t you. I don’t blame you no more than I blame Laila. She thinks the world of you.’ Tariq smiled, touched by Ray-Ray’s forgiveness and understanding.
‘My Dad says he can sort out a job for you. Don’t worry, it’s all above board.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
Ray-Ray looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I don’t want to lose her again. It’s that simple. You stay, she stays.’
Laila walked into the front room. ‘Everything all right?’
Ray-Ray smiled. ‘Everything’s just fine. I was just telling him about a job which was going down here.’
Laila’s face lit up. ‘Really? You’ll stay Tariq?’
‘Yes, great isn’t it?’ Tariq laughed, overwhelmed by his sister’s love as she jumped up, grabbing her brother’s neck, laughing with delight. Ray-Ray watched them, before walking out without saying goodbye.
‘Ray-Ray. Where are you going?’ Laila ran down the corridor. He stopped and smiled. ‘I thought I’d leave you to it. Family and all.’
‘Don’t be silly, we haven’t even had time to talk. I want to know everything; everything that’s happened to you.’
‘There’ll be time for that. Go and have fun with your brother and Yvonne, you deserve it.’ He turned away but Laila grabbed his hand, her eyes twinkling as she spoke softly.
‘Ray-Ray, I love you. Don’t you understand that? I always have.’
Ray-Ray turned away, choking back the emotion as he spoke. ‘Don’t say that Laila, don’t say that if you’re just trying to be kind.’
‘I’m not, I do.’
‘Look at you, you’re beautiful. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t have to feel sorry for me Laila.’ The pain in Ray-Ray’s voice was audible to them both.
Laila put her finger over his mouth. ‘Shhh, don’t Ray-Ray.’ She touched his face, moving her fingers over his scars, tiptoeing up to kiss him on his face, his nose, his eyes and finally, on his lips. She spoke in a whisper.
‘I’ve always believed there’s a special someone for everybody, and you Raymond Thompson have always been, and always will be, my special someone … It’s always been you.’
‘Ladies and gentleman of the jury, have you reached a verdict?’
‘We have.’
‘And how do you find the defendant on the charge of attempted murder? Guilty or not guilty?
‘Guilty.’
Watching from the gallery, Johno smiled as the verdict was read out. He watched the colour drain from Baz’s face. The fear and the realisation that he was going away for a very long time etched on his face. The moment Baz began to cry, it was Johno’s cue to leave. He didn’t need to stay and wait for the sentence. He would get what was coming to him. Besides, Freddie was going to arrange a very special treat for Baz Gupta. A welcome to prison treat; Freddie Thompson style. And that was one kind of treat Johno was happy to do without.
Freddie and Tasha sat hand in hand on the deck of the private yacht with Eddie and Linda, all of them giggling like schoolchildren as they leaned over the side, looking at the crystal-blue water. Tasha had agreed to try again, wanting, like Freddie, to put the past behind them. He’d been ready to lavish her with gifts and cars and anything money could buy, but she hadn’t wanted expensive presents, expensive jewellery, expensive anything. She’d only wanted him.
And sitting in the sweltering Mediterranean sun with Tasha, Freddie Thompson was the happiest he’d ever been. He had everything he could ever wish for. He had his son and he had his wife, and by his reckoning that made him the luckiest man alive.
He watched as Tasha got up from her seat and walked across to the other side of the boat. He followed her, worried she was unhappy about something.
‘Is everything all right babe?’ Freddie asked, a concerned look on his face. It mattered to him how she was feeling.
‘Yeah, I’m okay darling. Just sometimes I can’t stop thinking about what happened. About Arn … about him.’
Freddie’s face darkened. He didn’t like to think about Arnie either, though some of his reasons were more selfish than Tasha’s. Rightly or wrongly, it was a constant struggle to get the picture of Arnie and Tasha out of his mind. After everything that’d happened he knew it was petty, but all the same, it wasn’t easy for a man like him. Though he wasn’t ever going to let on to Tasha how he felt or let it get between them. She needed him now more than ever and this ti
me he was going to step up to the mark.
Putting his arms around her, he pulled her in softly, his words making her feel safe and assured. ‘Babe, he’s gone now. You know what the police said. There was no way he would’ve ever survived. It’s over. Nothing is ever going to hurt you again, I promise. I’m here now, everything is going to be fine.’
The sun was high in the cloudless sky and the slower pace of life relaxed the milling tourists, intoxicating them into tranquillity. A donkey clattered along the cobbled street pulling its loaded cart down the road. Mopeds buzzed by and good-natured cyclists hurried along. The trees on the hill surrounded the castle walls and the warm breeze made it pleasant to sit outside in this small rural town, just outside the city of Rouen in Normandy.
‘Excusez-moi, que vous parlez anglais?’
‘Yes, I’m English.’
‘Oh what a relief, my French really isn’t up to much.’ The man smiled warmly, then added, ‘My name’s Arnold, but my friends call me Arnie.’
THE END
Read on for an exclusive extract of Jacqui’s next book BETRAYED out in March 2014!
“A false witness shall not be unpunished, and he that speaketh lies shall perish”.
Proverbs 19:9 (King James Bible)
LONDON
1990
‘Come on out. It’s not funny now Bronwin. Mum said we had to be back by seven. She’ll skin us a-bleedin’-live if we’re late.’ The tall, skinny girl shouted loudly in no particular direction before looking down at her bitten nails, scraping off the last of the pink nail varnish as she waited for her sister to come out of her hiding place.
Exasperated, the girl looked up again. It was getting dark and even though she’d known it was cold when she’d come out, she’d only put on a thin t-shirt. Better cold than looking frumpy in the brown coat her mum had bought her last week. The thought of bumping into any of the boys from the Stonebridge Estate looking like something left over from a jumble sale made her shudder more than the evening chill of the October air.
Peering intensely into the darkness, she could just make out the dark silhouette of her sister scuttling about in the thicket of trees, thinking she couldn’t be seen. The girl sighed as she watched. What her sister found so exciting about playing in a stupid park was beyond her. Parks and swings and trees were for babies. And she certainly wasn’t that.
There were only four years between them, yet her only sibling seemed so immature next to her. Ever since she was little she’d felt older than her years. And even though she’d only just started secondary school, she knew she wasn’t a silly little girl any more. Not now anyway. Not now she’d lost her virginity with the boy across the landing. Although it’d only lasted less than the time it took the kettle to boil, and he’d only just managed to get his penis inside her before he’d exploded; groaning and coming everywhere as well as staining her already dirty skirt. It still counted. Counted enough to make her special. For the first time in her life she had something to brag about. Something to tell the other girls in her class about.
She knew she wasn’t pretty like her sister, nor was she clever, and she certainly wasn’t popular. Everything was always a struggle. Everything she felt ashamed of. Even down to the way she dressed. Hand-me-downs from anywhere and anyone. Musty clothes, ingrained with the stains and smells of poverty, which brought nothing but ridicule.
But that was all going to change now. The sense of being a born loser had gone. She was proud she was the first one in her year to do it. Proud that word had got around the class. Now the girls wanted to speak to her and the boys didn’t avoid her any longer. Take tonight, she was supposed to be going round to the house of one of the most popular boys in the year after he had come up to her; asking her in front of his mates if she would. She knew what he wanted. She wasn’t stupid, but neither did she mind. Because it was her he wanted it from and nobody apart from her sister had ever wanted anything from her in her life.
Looking back towards the trees, she realised she couldn’t see her sister now. The dark silhouette had disappeared, merging into the blackness of the autumn night. She wasn’t worried. This was how it always went. Her younger sister’s idea of a joke. Hiding and making her search her out. Letting her be on the verge of panic before she’d appear with a dimpled grin and an infectious laugh.
As she stood waiting, chewing on her nails and spitting out tiny bits of skin, the girl thought about her mother. Instinctively, she screwed up her face, convinced the metallic taste at the back of her mouth was that of the bitterness she felt towards her.
Her mother was only fourteen years older than her and had decided a long time ago that even though she’d given birth to two girls, she didn’t want the responsibility of caring for them, nor did she want the trouble of loving them; preferring instead to spend her time with any man who’d buy her a drink down the local. With a jolt, the girl quickly broke her thoughts, not wanting to have the bitter taste at the back of her mouth any more.
She walked slowly towards the trees, resigned to the fact she was going to spend the next ten minutes searching for her sister in the woods which were full of horrible creepy-crawlies. Though at least looking and calling for her sister was a distraction from thinking about her home-life which always made her feel sad and empty. And she didn’t want to feel sad or empty today. She wanted to think about later on tonight when she’d sneak out of the cramped, run-down bedroom she shared with her sister, to go and see the boy.
‘Bron!’ She was getting pissed off now. She’d been looking for over ten minutes. Her arms had already been scratched by the bushes and she was certain something nasty had crawled down her top. She was cross, but she wouldn’t let her sister know she was. They both had enough of their mother being cross at them without her adding to it. She didn’t want to see the hurt in her sister’s eyes if she scolded her for hiding and having fun.
Just ahead the girl heard a branch snap. Her head shot up towards the sound. In the shadow of the night, she saw a dark silhouette a few feet ahead.
‘Bron! Please, stop messing babe. I want to go now.’ There was no reply. Just a strained silence laying heavy in the air. She edged forward, feeling the ground as she stepped carefully through the bracken. A breaking of another branch. Only this time it was coming from the side of her rather than in front of her.
The girl listened, waiting to hear the stifled giggles of her sister. In the darkness she could hear breathing. But not the lightness of breath of a child. From the side came a deep staggered breath. A hungry, urgent, sweet-smelling breath. Warm against her neck. She turned in panic. Almost immediately she tasted blood in her mouth as something hard hit against her lips.
She screamed as she felt her top being torn. Rough hands pushing her down into the damp, cold earth; tugging painfully at her pants under her skirt.
As she felt the hands tighten around her neck, her breath becoming short as the life seeped out of her, it was of some small comfort to the girl that the last words she managed to cry were, ‘Run Bronwin! Run!’
Bronwin sat in the corner of the tiny room, watching the uniformed police officers milling about as they came in and out of the bare room. Sat by her was a plain-looking social worker with a cup of soup in hand, oblivious to the large drop of over-stewed tomato soup sitting on her cream blouse, looking like a deep red blood stain.
‘Bronwin, you really need to tell us what you can remember.’
‘I don’t think she’s ready to answer any questions.’ The social worker intervened as the large detective leaned in to question Bronwin. Annoyed with the interruption, the detective snapped back. ‘I think that’s a matter for Bronwin, don’t you?’
‘Officer, she’s far too young to know what’s best. She’s had a traumatic experience and I don’t think the questions will help, do you?’
The officer in charge rubbed his empty stomach as he heard it growl. ‘Listen, no-one’s saying she hasn’t had a traumatic experience, but if we want to make sure the perpetr
ators can’t get out of this we need to make sure she tells us everything she can remember. She’s an important witness. Where’s the mother anyway?’
The social worker, putting down her cup of soup, opened her file, flicking through the notes. ‘We don’t know exactly where she is at the moment, we’ve tried leaving her a message but we’ve had no reply. She told us she’d meet us here but maybe it’s all too much for her.’
‘She’s got responsibilities. This kid for one, and another one lying cold.’
The social worker bristled, furrowing her brow angrily as she took a sidewards glance at Bronwin.
‘That’s enough detective. Not everything is so clear-cut. The family are well known to us and there are problems. The mother’s very young and as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, things can get difficult for her.’
The officer’s demeanour softened slightly as he looked at a shivering Bronwin in the corner. It passed through his mind how nicely she’d fit the image of Dickensian London. She was elf-like and looked as if she could do with a good hot meal. Her blonde, matted hair he’d bet hadn’t seen a brush for days but she was startlingly pretty, unlike her sister who lay on a mortuary slab on the other side of the building. Dead or not, the child had been no looker.
The detective sighed. It was tragic. A shocking waste of life. And what was to happen to this kid? Another care home child for society to pay for until they washed their hands of her when she was old enough to be kicked out on the street, to end up a junkie, a tom or dead.
The future, the officer decided, was more than bleak. Still, it wasn’t his problem. All he needed to do was sort out who was responsible and he’d leave the other problems for others to deal with.
‘Fine, no more questions, but we need to take her to see the line-up. It’s important; we can only hold the men for so long.’ The officer turned his head and winked at Bronwin who stared ahead, her eyes vacant and the childlike life drained out of them.