‘Are you serious?’ Chantelle screwed up her face in disbelief. ‘Glenroy hasn’t shown his face in years. How am I supposed to find him, never mind get money off him?’
‘I’m sure you’ll figure something out.’ Tracey shrugged and opened the door.
Shocked to the core, Chantelle stayed rooted to the spot for several long minutes after Tracey had gone. Still there when Leon knocked on the door, she snapped out of her daze and, swiping at the tears that she hadn’t even realised she was crying, let him in.
‘What’s for dinner?’ he asked, shouldering past her and dropping his blazer on the floor.
Relieved that he was home, because she had half expected him to go awol to punish her for shouting at him, Chantelle followed him into the kitchen. Now that she knew for sure that her mum was alive but had no intention of coming home any time soon, it was more important than ever to get things sorted between her and Leon. If they didn’t start pulling together, it wouldn’t be long before they were pulled apart – for ever.
‘I’m going to make spaghetti,’ she told him when she found him rooting through the fridge. ‘And then we need to talk.’
‘Whatever.’ Leon closed the fridge and looked in the cupboard. Disappointed to find nothing that he could eat which didn’t need cooking, he slammed the door shut. ‘How come you never buy biscuits? You never get nothing nice, you.’
‘We can’t afford it,’ Chantelle said guiltily. ‘Have you got any homework?’ she asked then. ‘Why don’t you make a start on it before you get too tired?’
‘I’m on holiday,’ Leon reminded her, shrugging her hand off his back when she ushered him towards the door. ‘I’m going to watch telly.’
‘Okay.’ Chantelle sighed. ‘But don’t have it on too loud. Oh, by the way …’ she added, keeping a casual edge to her voice. ‘Remember when you thought you saw your dad going into that house that time? Did you say it was opposite the precinct?’
Leon curled his lip. ‘Yeah, why?’
‘No reason.’ Chantelle smiled. ‘Just crossed my mind, that’s all. I’ll give you a shout when dinner’s ready.’
When she heard the TV come on in the front room, Chantelle took the mince out of the freezer and put it into the microwave to defrost. Then, chopping an onion, she mentally reran the conversation she’d just had with Tracey.
She was furious that her mum had rung Tracey and not her, and in hindsight she wished she’d taken Tracey’s phone off her and got the new number for herself. But she’d been too shocked to think about it at the time, and now she doubted she’d get the chance again because Tracey would no doubt go back to avoiding her. It was particularly upsetting to know that her mum was more concerned about keeping her hands on the benefit money than she was about her kids. But as for telling Chantelle to get money off Leon’s dad, that was a joke. Leon claimed not to care that his dad had abandoned him, but Chantelle remembered how heartbroken he’d been when, a couple of years ago, he’d come home in tears after spotting Glenroy going into a house in Stretford with a woman and a child.
‘I leaned right out of the bus window and shouted at him,’ he’d sobbed. ‘And I know he heard me, ’cos he looked right at me. But he just blanked me and shut the door.’
‘Probably wasn’t him,’ their mum had said. ‘It’s been years since you saw him; you wouldn’t have a clue what he looked like.’
But Leon had been adamant. ‘It was him, I know it was. He just don’t want me no more. I hate him!’
Now that she thought about it, Chantelle realised it had been around that time when Leon’s behaviour had started to deteriorate. Before then, he’d just been a bit cheeky; but afterwards, he’d become sullen and argumentative – and it had got far worse when he came home after being in care.
They had never spoken about his time with his foster parents because Leon flew off the handle whenever she tried to raise the subject. But Chantelle suspected that he’d been beaten, because he had been covered in bruises when he came home.
And that was why she couldn’t let him get taken away again.
She was his big sister; it was her job to look after him. And that was exactly what she would do, even if, as a last resort, she had to beg for money from a man who hadn’t cared enough about him to check if he was alive or dead over the last few years.
Leon was watching reruns of Top Gear when Chantelle carried their dinners through to the living room. She had less than zero interest in cars, especially ones that were being driven by idiots who seemed to be in competition to see who could kill themselves fastest. But Leon had always been fascinated by anything with an engine, so she let him watch it.
After they had eaten and she had cleared their plates away, she waited for the programme to finish and then switched the TV off.
‘What you doing?’ Leon protested. ‘The next one’ll be on in a minute. They’re going to Iraq – it’ll be well bad.’
‘You can put it back on when we’ve talked,’ Chantelle told him.
‘About what?’ Leon slumped back and pulled a face.
‘Mum.’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s in Spain,’ Chantelle said, choosing her next words carefully because she didn’t want to upset him. ‘She rang Tracey and said to let us know that she’ll be coming back soon. I just don’t know exactly when.’
‘So?’ Leon shrugged and reached for the remote.
‘Don’t you care?’ Chantelle asked.
Leon looked at her as if she was stupid for even asking. ‘She doesn’t give a toss about me, so why should I give a toss about her?’
His attitude saddened Chantelle; he was too young to be so jaded. But she supposed that she couldn’t blame him, because he was right. Their mum had always put her own needs and wants before theirs.
‘Will you do me a favour?’ she asked.
Instantly suspicious of her softer tone, Leon drew his head back and peered at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Depends what it is.’
‘Just stop fighting me,’ she said wearily. ‘I know you think I’m bossy, but I’m only trying to keep us together. If anyone susses that mum’s not here, we’ve had it. That’s why I keep telling you to turn your music down, so next-door don’t call the police. And that’s why I don’t want you hanging around with that gang, ’cos I don’t want you getting caught up in anything you shouldn’t be doing.’ She paused when Leon suppressed a yawn, and sighed before adding, ‘I just want to know we’re on the same page, or there’s no point me trying.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ Leon made another grab for the remote.
‘Do you mean it?’ Chantelle snatched it out of reach.
Leon rolled his eyes. ‘I said yeah, didn’t I?’
‘And you do know I’m doing this because I love you?’
‘Ewww, shurrup!’ Leon grimaced.
Chantelle smiled and handed the remote to him. As tough as he acted, he was still her baby brother.
7
As hard as Chantelle tried, the money seemed to be going down at an alarming rate. They were already eating the cheapest food she could buy, but Leon was a growing boy with a huge appetite, and as fast as she bought it he ate it.
It was the end of the first week of the holidays now, and the cupboards were once again bare. Determined to get down to the market before all the bargains were snapped up, Chantelle got up early and, leaving Leon to sleep, slipped her coat on. But just as she started to open the front door, it was pushed violently from the other side and she was thrown back against the wall.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped when a man rushed in. ‘Get out or I’ll scream!’
‘Make one sound and I’ll put my fist down your fucking throat,’ Ricky Benson snarled, kicking the door shut. ‘Where is she?’
Recognising him now that she could see him, Chantelle backed away. ‘You’d better get out before my dad gets home,’ she warned. ‘He’s only gone to the shop. He’ll kill you if he finds you here when he gets back.’
; ‘Don’t play games with me, darlin’, you ain’t smart enough.’ Ricky pushed past her and reached out to open Leon’s bedroom door. ‘In here, is she?’
‘That’s my little brother’s room,’ Chantelle cried. ‘Please don’t hurt him.’
‘Do I look like the kind of freak who gets a kick out of hurting kids?’ Ricky sneered, looking inside to see if she was telling the truth before pulling the door shut and moving on to the next room. ‘I just want what I’m owed, that’s all. Your mam’s taking the fucking piss, and I’ve had it with her.’
‘She’s not here,’ Chantelle told him, wringing her hands as he checked the rest of the flat.
‘So where the fuck is she?’ Ricky grabbed her by the hair and slammed her up against the wall. ‘You know, and if you’ve got any sense you’ll tell me before I get really mad.’
‘She’s in hospital,’ Chantelle lied, blurting out the first thing that came into her mind.
‘Oh yeah?’ Ricky narrowed his eyes. ‘Since when?’
‘A f-few weeks ago.’ Chantelle’s heart was pounding crazily in her chest as his hot breath wafted over her face.
‘What’s up with her?’
‘Cancer.’
‘Is she dying?’ Ricky asked, pissed off to think that Mary might have taken that last lay-on of speed when she’d already known she was ill.
Mentally asking God to forgive her for the lie, and unable to bring herself to worsen it, Chantelle guiltily dipped her gaze. ‘They’re still doing tests.’
‘Good, so she can pay me as soon as she comes home, then, can’t she?’ Ricky said coldly. ‘And just so she knows I’m not messing about no more, I’ll have whatever you’ve got on you.’
‘What are you doing?’ Chantelle squawked when he started patting her down. ‘Get your hands off me!’
‘You’d best keep still, unless you want a fuckin’ slap,’ Ricky hissed, dragging her purse out of her pocket and unzipping it. He smiled when he saw the folded wad of notes inside. ‘That’ll do – for starters.’
‘Please don’t take that,’ Chantelle pleaded, tears springing into her eyes as she tried to snatch it back. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Tell someone who gives a shit!’ Ricky stuffed the wad into his back pocket and tipped the loose change into his hand. Then, pursing his lips thoughtfully, he gazed at Chantelle for a few seconds before dropping it back into the purse. ‘Just so you don’t think I’m a complete cunt,’ he said, pushing it back into her pocket. ‘But I still want the rest, so don’t forget to tell your mam what I said.’
Terrified by the leering look in his eyes, Chantelle pressed herself closer to the wall.
‘What you acting like that for?’ Ricky asked, a slow smile coming onto his lips as he placed one hand on the wall behind her head and ran the other over her slim hip. ‘I said I wasn’t gonna hurt you, and I haven’t, have I?’
‘N-no,’ Chantelle croaked, shuddering at the feel of his hand. ‘But can – can you go now, please?’
Still peering down into her eyes, Ricky said, ‘You’re a bit of all right, you. That mam of yours thinks she’s pretty special, but she ain’t got nothing on you. How old are you?’
‘F-fifteen.’ Chantelle could barely speak.
‘Shame,’ Ricky murmured disappointedly. ‘When’s your birthday?’
Before Chantelle could answer, a knock came at the door and, seconds later, the letter-box flap was raised and a pair of eyes peered in. ‘Channy, it’s me …’ Immy called through. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’
‘Ssshhh!’ Ricky placed a finger over Chantelle’s lips and pressed his body right up against hers.
Chantelle squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath.
‘Oh my God, I can actually see you, you know.’ Immy’s voice was dripping with indignation. ‘Are you actually hiding from me – for real? If you don’t wanna be friends, why don’t you just big up and tell me?’
Chantelle’s heart sank. But, just as she feared that her friend was about to give up and leave, Ricky’s mobile phone bleeped. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, then pushed himself away from Chantelle.
‘Got to go. But I’ll be back, so don’t let me hear you’ve been bad-mouthing me or it’ll be you I’m coming for next time, not your mam. Understand?’
Chantelle nodded and stayed frozen to the spot as he strolled up the hall and opened the door.
‘About time!’ Immy complained. ‘I was about to—’ She stopped speaking when she saw the man and drew her head back. ‘Oh, sorry … thought you were Chantelle.’
‘No worries, darlin’.’ Ricky winked at her. ‘She’s in there.’
Immy watched him go, and then turned to Chantelle. ‘Who the hell was that? Don’t tell me your mum …’ She trailed off and cast a furtive glance at Mary’s bedroom door before whispering, ‘She isn’t, is she?’
‘No.’ Chantelle waved for her to come in. ‘Hurry up!’
‘What’s going on?’ Concerned now, Immy stepped into the hall and quickly closed the door. ‘Are you okay?’
Chantelle swallowed deeply and staggered into the kitchen. Her legs felt like jelly, and her head was swimming.
‘God, what’s happened?’ Immy rushed after her and pulled out a chair from under the table. ‘Did that man do something to you?’ she asked, pushing Chantelle gently down onto it. ‘Do you want me to call the police?’
‘No!’ Chantelle squawked. Then, biting her lip to keep the impending tears at bay, she took a deep breath and said, ‘He didn’t do anything. I’m fine.’
‘You don’t look it,’ Immy told her. ‘You’re as white as a ghost.’
‘I’m just due on,’ Chantelle lied, forcing a weak smile.
Immy frowned, unsure whether to believe her. But she knew Chantelle well enough to know that there was no point trying to force her to talk, so, sighing, she said, ‘Right, I’m going to make some tea. See if we can’t get some colour back into your cheeks.’
As her friend filled the kettle and prepared the cups, Chantelle scolded herself for having let her guard down. Immy was her best friend, but she knew from bitter experience that the girl couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, so there was no way she could let her know what was going on or everyone would know.
When the teas were made, Immy handed a cup to Chantelle and sat down across from her. ‘So how come you haven’t been answering my calls? I haven’t seen or heard from you since school broke up. I was starting to think you’d fallen out with me.’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Chantelle murmured guiltily. ‘I’ve just been busy.’
‘Doing what?’
‘This and that.’ Chantelle shrugged, and gripped her cup between both hands. ‘Not been in the best of moods, to be honest. I did really badly at my exams, and my PMT’s been pretty bad, so I’ve been up and down like a yo-yo.’
Immy nodded sympathetically. ‘Have you seen your doctor? My mum had to go on the pill when hers got bad. You might need to try it.’
‘Yeah, maybe.’ Glad that her friend seemed to have bought the lie, Chantelle took a sip of the hot tea.
‘Good excuse to get protection without anyone accusing you of wanting to sleep around,’ Immy added, grinning slyly. ‘Although my mum would have an absolute fit if she thought I was even thinking about sex. I’m sure she’s determined to keep me a virgin until I get married.’
‘Lucky you,’ Chantelle murmured, wishing that her mum felt that way about her. But the truth was her mum would probably be thrilled if she went on the pill, because she’d never understood why Chantelle wasn’t as man-hungry as she was and had told her on many a drunken occasion to start using what she’d been given before it shrivelled up and nobody wanted it any more.
‘Hey, did you know Anton Davis was out?’ Immy asked suddenly, a dreamy look coming into her eyes. ‘I saw him the other day, and he’s fitter than ever. God, what I wouldn’t give to kiss those juicy lips of his. And his eyes … oh, don’t even get me started on
his eyes. They’re like melted treacle dipped in sex.’
‘All right, settle down,’ Chantelle snorted. ‘He’s only a lad.’
‘The lad,’ Immy corrected her. ‘He’s working at Abdul’s, so guess where I’ll be shopping from now on?’
As her friend gazed wistfully off into her dreams, Chantelle rolled her eyes and took another sip of tea. Immy was crazy if she thought she stood a chance with Anton. She might be white, blonde and pretty, which seemed to be the main criteria for bagging a lad round here; but there were plenty of prettier, sexier girls on the estate, and Anton could have his pick of them.
‘Oh, did I tell you about my dad’s new girlfriend?’ Immy said now, a sneer twisting her lip. ‘Her name’s Carolina, and she looks younger than me. Obviously she’s not, ’cos my dad’s not a perv, or anything; but she might as well be, the way she dresses. My mum acted all cool when he brought her round to pick our Josh up yesterday. She was all like, Oh, hello, it’s so nice to meet you, but I could tell she wasn’t impressed. I said to her after they’d gone, God, you’re a right one, you, butter wouldn’t melt, or what? And she says—’
Chantelle couldn’t take any more. ‘God, is that the time?’ She looked pointedly at the clock on the wall as she pushed her chair back. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. Promised my mum I’d go to the market.’
‘Oh, right.’ Disappointed to have her story cut short, Immy stood up. ‘Want me to come with you?’
‘No, it’s probably best I go on my own,’ Chantelle said, checking that her purse was still in her pocket. ‘No offence, but you walk too slow.’
‘I know, I’m terrible, aren’t I?’ Immy admitted. ‘My mum hates going shopping with me; says it takes three times longer than going on her own. Should I come back later? Or you can come round to mine, if you want? You’ll see the Barbie doll when my dad fetches our Josh home.’
‘Not sure what I’m doing yet.’ Chantelle ushered her down the hall and out of the door. ‘My mum keeps finding jobs for me to do, so I’d best give you a ring when I’m free.’
‘Make sure you do.’ Immy pouted and wrapped her jacket tight around herself as the wind whipped her hair across her face. ‘I’ve not seen you for ages, and I’ve missed you.’
Respect (Mandasue Heller) Page 7