Respect (Mandasue Heller)

by Mandasue Heller

  Ricky Benson’s eyebrows twitched in surprise as he looked the girl slowly up and down. He’d known that Mary had kids, but she was as white as they came so it hadn’t occurred to him that her children might be black – or as old as this. If he’d thought about it – which he hadn’t – he’d have pictured some snot-nosed pasty-faced little brats. But this girl was stunning.

  Already unnerved by the way the man was looking at her, a shiver of apprehension coursed down Chantelle’s spine when Leon came out and the man’s gaze flicked onto him. ‘Go on ahead,’ she said, giving her brother a shove in the direction of the stairwell. ‘I’ll catch up in a minute.’

  When he’d gone, she reached behind her and pulled the door firmly shut. The man was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and trainers. He didn’t look like a copper or a social worker, but she wasn’t taking any chances. For all she knew, someone could have sussed that their mum had left them on their own and grassed them up. It had happened before, and there were enough nosy people around here for it to happen again. The next-door neighbours, for example. They rarely spoke apart from to complain, but their net curtains were forever twitching so they had to have noticed that her mum hadn’t been around.

  ‘Mum still in bed, is she?’ Ricky spoke at last. When Chantelle didn’t answer, he smiled. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you open up and I’ll go in and see for myself, eh?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Chantelle jerked her head back when his breath breezed across her face.

  ‘Give us the key, then.’ Ricky held out his hand. ‘I’ll let myself in.’

  ‘My brother’s got it,’ Chantelle lied. ‘But I wouldn’t let you in even if I could,’ she added, recovering some of her sass. ‘I don’t even know you.’

  Ricky put his hand on the wall behind her head and gazed down at her. He could see her chest rising and falling, and could almost smell the fear that he could see in her eyes. He could so easily force her to open the door if he wanted to, and if she genuinely didn’t have the key a swift boot would soon gain him entry. But people in the surrounding flats were starting to go about their daily business and he didn’t need to be clocked pushing his weight around in broad daylight. So, smiling again, he backed up a step.

  ‘Don’t panic, darlin’, I’m just an old mate of your mam’s. When you see her, tell her Ricky’s looking for her, yeah?’

  Eyeing him warily, Chantelle nodded.

  ‘Good girl.’ Ricky winked at her and then strolled away.

  Chantelle leaned heavily back against the door when he’d gone and released a shuddering breath. Her legs felt like jelly and her stomach was in knots. She had been angry but now she was scared. The man had said he was an old friend of her mum’s but she didn’t believe him. There had been something really menacing about the way he had looked at her and Leon, and she had a horrible feeling that it wouldn’t be the last she saw of him.

  When a hot tear trickled slowly down her cheek, she swiped it away with the back of her hand and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Things were difficult enough without letting people see that she was distressed. Telling herself to get a grip, she raised her chin, pushed herself away from the door, and trotted down the stairs to join Leon who was waiting at the bottom.

  Mary popped her head around the corner of the bin cupboards at the exact moment when her son and daughter walked out of the stairwell. She pulled back quickly and took a last drag on her fag before dropping it on the floor and grinding it out with her heel. Then, taking another peek, she saw that the coast was clear and nudged Tracey.

  ‘They’ve gone. Let’s go.’

  Teeth chattering, Tracey dragged her feet as she followed Mary up the stairs and into the flat. Every step hurt because her inner thighs were so badly chafed, and her head was banging from all the boozing and coke-snorting that they’d done over the weekend. It was Mary’s fault; she was the one who had insisted they go back to the grotty hotel with the blokes they had copped off with at the party on Friday night. Tracey had been all for going home when it finished, but Mary had wanted to carry on partying. And it hadn’t mattered that the blokes could barely speak a word of English, or that the one Tracey had got landed with had been a proper munter. Mary’s man was good-looking, and he had drugs in his pocket, so that was as good as marriage material in her eyes.

  But it was one thing spending a raunchy sex-and-drug-fuelled weekend with the guys, and quite something else to run away to Spain with them.

  Sure that it was a joke, Tracey had laughed when the men had invited them last night. But Mary had taken it seriously and was now searching her bedroom for her passport.

  ‘You do know they ain’t gonna be waiting for you when you get to the airport, don’t you?’ Tracey cautioned from the bed as she watched her friend pull everything out of her drawers. ‘If they had money they wouldn’t have been staying in such a shit hotel, so how they gonna afford to buy you a ticket?’

  ‘I’m paying for my own,’ Mary told her, shoving knickers and bras into a bag after finding her passport. ‘I’ve still got the shopping money in my account, and the child benefit goes in on Wednesday.’

  ‘What about the kids?’

  ‘What about ’em?’

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell them?’

  ‘And have our Chan go off on one?’ Mary pulled a face. ‘No chance.’

  ‘What about money? You can’t just take off and leave them with nowt.’

  Mary rolled her eyes and carried on packing. Tracey had been moaning all the way back in the taxi and it was doing her head in.

  ‘You’re out of order,’ Tracey said disapprovingly.

  ‘If you’re that fucking worried about them, you look after them,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve done my bit, now I’m putting myself first for a change.’

  ‘What am I supposed to say if your Channy asks where you are? She’s been ringing me all weekend an’ all, you know.’

  ‘Tell her I’m having a break.’ Mary zipped her bag up. ‘And if she moans about money, tell her to go and get some off Leon’s dad. It’s about time that selfish bastard dipped his hand into his pocket instead of leaving it all up to me.’

  Tracey shook her head. ‘You’re mad, you. Anyhow, you can’t get on a flight just like that. You have to book tickets and get a visa, and all that.’

  ‘Not for Spain, you don’t,’ Mary informed her, with a knowing smile. ‘I’ve been there before, don’t forget.’

  ‘I still think you’re mad,’ Tracey said, getting up and traipsing along behind Mary when she picked up her bag and headed for the door. ‘There’s no way them blokes’ll be waiting. You were just a shag.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ Mary said unconcernedly as she stood in the hall and phoned the local taxi rank. Tracey could think what she liked. Miguel knew a good thing when he saw it, and Mary knew he’d been serious about her going home with him. The sex had blown his mind, and he’d have to be an idiot to turn his back on that. No … Tracey was wrong. He would be waiting for her – Mary could feel it in her bones.

  The taxi pulled up a couple of minutes after the women walked down the stairs. Mary threw her bag onto the back seat and turned to Tracey. ‘Last chance to change your mind?’

  ‘Nah, I’m too tired.’ Tracey folded her arms. ‘See you in half an hour – when you realise they’ve gone without you and come home with your tail between your legs,’ she added sarcastically.

  ‘Whatever,’ Mary said tartly.

  Tracey stood and watched as the taxi drove away. Then, shaking her head, she went home.

  5

  The permanent stench of rotten vegetables lingered in the air inside Abdul’s, and many a shopper had been scared half to death by the sight of a mouse jumping out at them from between the goods on the shelves. Most of the estate residents had avoided it in favour of the nearby Netto, but since that store had closed down a few months earlier they’d had no choice but to come back. Either that, or stump up to travel to the bigger, more expensive supermarkets on the out
skirts of town.

  Abdul had been delighted to welcome his customers back. But along with the surge in trade had come an increase in shoplifting, and when his takings had started to suffer he’d been forced to hire a security guard – which had brought a whole new set of problems of its own. Those who came from outside the area couldn’t handle the intimidation from the gangs who hung around outside the shop, so they rarely lasted for more than a few days. And those who lived on the estate who could take the stick were often as sticky-fingered as their neighbours.

  Still, at least the local ones were tough enough to provide a deterrent to the protection racketeers who preyed on small stores like his, so Abdul was prepared to turn a blind eye when they left with bulging pockets at the end of a shift. But he refused to overlook his customers’ thieving ways – especially those whom he had previously caught red-handed. So when Tracey Smith walked into the shop this afternoon he folded his arms over his fat belly and stared at her as she made her way up the crowded first aisle.

  Tracey wasn’t about to let a little thing like being watched deter her. After Mary had left that morning, she’d gone straight to bed. She needed a drink now and, in her world, if you wanted something but didn’t have the money to pay for it, you took it – simple. And all the better if the shopkeeper was foreign, like Abdul, because that wasn’t really theft in her eyes: it was her right as a British citizen to reclaim what the bastards had been stealing from her country for years.

  She weaved slowly through the other customers now and made her way round to the second aisle, pausing here and there to examine the contents of the freezer cabinets. Picking out a box of fish fingers that she knew she could afford to pay for if challenged, she dropped it into a basket and carried it round into the third aisle, where the alcohol was housed.

  Tracey made her way slowly down this aisle until she reached the section she wanted. Then, keeping her back to the bottles, she leaned forward and peered at the cereal boxes opposite as if trying to decide which she fancied for breakfast tomorrow, whilst surreptitiously reaching behind her to lift what she’d come for. Mission accomplished, she dropped the basket and turned to leave.

  ‘Jeezus!’ she squawked when she bumped straight into Chantelle. ‘You scared the shit out of me!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Chantelle apologised, looking past the woman with hope in her eyes. ‘Where’s my mum?’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Tracey muttered, her gaze fixed on the security guard who had just strolled onto the shop floor. The door had been unmanned when she came in, and she’d thought that she would easily get out again. But this complicated things.

  ‘I thought she was with you?’ Chantelle frowned.

  ‘Yeah, she was,’ Tracey said distractedly, her focus on Abdul now as he pointed the guard in her direction.

  ‘Well, she’s not at home, ’cos I’ve just been there,’ said Chantelle. ‘So, where is she?’

  ‘For God’s sake, get off my back!’ Tracey snapped, backing away when the guard turned and started heading their way. ‘It’s got nowt to do with me.’

  ‘Hang about,’ Chantelle called when Tracey suddenly turned and legged it.

  The guard was about to give chase but changed his mind when he spotted Chantelle. Keeping it cool, he sauntered towards her. ‘All right?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ Chantelle murmured, going up onto her tiptoes to keep track of the top of Tracey’s head as she dodged through the shoppers in the centre aisle.

  ‘You don’t look it,’ the guard said, adding quietly, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t drop you in it.’

  ‘For what?’ Chantelle snapped her head around and looked at him for the first time. Her cheeks reddened when she saw that it was Anton.

  ‘Abdul saw your mate nick the booze,’ he told her. ‘But I’ll tell him it had nothing to do with you.’

  ‘And you’d be right,’ said Chantelle, offended that he could even think such a thing. She had never stolen anything in her life, because she had seen her mum get arrested enough times to know that she would rather go without than suffer the shame of being branded a thief.

  Anton’s eyes twinkled with amusement when he heard the indignation in her voice. She was even prettier up close, and she smelled real good.

  ‘Anton!’ Abdul’s voice suddenly boomed out over the tannoy. ‘Get back to work!’

  ‘You work here?’ Chantelle raised an eyebrow in surprise.

  ‘You don’t think I dress like this for fun, do you?’ Anton nodded down at his black trousers and bomber jacket. ‘I’m only here ’cos I’ve got to be,’ he went on, casting a dirty look in his boss’s direction. ‘Probation,’ he added, pride refusing to allow him to let her think that he was the kind of loser who would take a shit job like this of his own accord.

  Chantelle was disappointed. For a moment there she had thought that maybe he wasn’t as bad as people made out. But if he was only working because he had no choice, then he obviously hadn’t changed.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, conscious that she was trapped between him, the shelf, and another shopper’s loaded trolley. ‘Excuse me.’

  Anton stepped aside, waved for her to go past, and watched as she went to the till and paid for the bottle of milk she’d come in for before walking quickly out of the shop. He wasn’t stupid; he had seen the veil fall over her eyes at the mention of probation. She obviously thought she was better than him, but that was okay. He was out now, and there was no way he was ever going back inside, so there was plenty of time to win her over.

  He made his way back to the front of the shop now, intending to take up his post at the door. But he hesitated when he heard his boss mouthing off. ‘You talking to me?’ he asked, turning to face the man.

  ‘Yeah, I said you’re bloody useless!’ Abdul’s tone was scathing. ‘That was a full litre of vodka that thieving bitch got away with while you were busy chatting up that girl. I should take it out of your bloody wages.’

  Aware that customers were listening, and especially conscious of two teenage girls who he’d previously messed around with who were now giving their toddlers free rein to run riot while they watched to see what he would do, a smile came onto Anton’s lips. ‘Say again,’ he said, walking calmly up to the counter behind which his boss was standing.

  ‘I said you’re an idiot,’ Abdul repeated, raising his voice for the benefit of his audience. ‘This is what I get for hiring low-life criminals, but you wait till I speak to your probation officer, ’cos I’ll—’

  Anton seized him by his shirt-front before he could finish the sentence and dragged him over the counter until they were nose to nose. ‘You ever mug me off like that again,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll string you up by your ankles and slice your fucking throat open, then sit and watch while you bleed to death. ‘Y’ gets me?’

  Abdul let out a strangled squawk of terror when he saw the icy look in Anton’s eyes and quickly nodded his agreement. Satisfied that he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, Anton let him go and wiped his hands on his trousers.

  Just a few more months, he reminded himself as he strolled to the door … All he had to do was stick this shit out for the remainder of his sentence to keep the probation officer off his back, and then he’d be free to get his life back on track. And the first thing he was going to do was kick this poxy job into touch.

  Scared that Abdul might send the security guard after her, Tracey ran all the way home. Out of breath when she got there, she fumbled her key into the lock and fell into the hall. Hands shaking, she rushed into the kitchen, twisting the cap off the stolen bottle as she went, and slopped a large measure into a cup before carrying it and the bottle into the front room.

  That was the closest she’d come to getting caught in ages and her nerves were frazzled. Abdul didn’t faze her; he was too fat and soft to do anything. But that new security guard lived on the estate, and he looked like he wouldn’t think twice about giving her a good hiding.

  Almost jumping out of her skin when someone suddenly
started hammering on the front door, she crept to the window and peeked out through the gap in the curtains. Relieved to see that it was only Chantelle, she went back to the couch and flopped down to finish her drink in peace.

  Chantelle knocked a few more times. Then she raised the flap of the letter box, and shouted, ‘I know you’re in there, Tracey, I saw you go in – and I’m not going away till you tell me where my mum is. I mean it … I’ll stay out here all night if I have to.’

  As another volley of knocking echoed around the uncarpeted hall, Tracey squeezed her eyes shut and hissed, ‘Oh, piss off and leave me alone. I’ve got enough problems of me own to deal with.’

  Outside, Chantelle moved from the door to the window. She was sure that she’d seen Tracey going into the flat but the room was pitch dark when she peered through the thin gap between the curtains, so maybe she’d got it wrong?

  Too cold to carry out her threat of staying there all night, and scared that Leon might take off if she left him alone for too much longer, she gave up and went home. Her heart had soared when she’d seen Tracey in the shop just now; she’d been made up to think that her mum was back to pick up the reins. But Tracey’s words had given her an uneasy feeling. She and Mary were usually glued together at the hip, so why didn’t she know where Mary was? Or did she know, and was lying to cover for her? Something was going on, and if her mum still hadn’t turned up by the time Chantelle got home from school tomorrow she was going to go back round to Tracey’s – and keep on going back until Tracey told her the truth.

  6

  ‘Okay, settle down!’ the form tutor, Lynn Foster, called, struggling to make herself heard over the cacophony of chair scraping and excited chatter. ‘Those of you who are coming back for sixth form, remember what I said and try to have a bit of fun during the holidays, because it will be a difficult year ahead. For those who are going straight to college, I wish you the very best of luck. And those of you who are leaving, please try to do something positive with your lives, because you’re all capable if you put your minds to it.’