He smiled to himself as he went back into the flat and looked around. He’d moved in properly a few days earlier, and it already felt like home. His stereo and speakers were sitting in pride of place in one corner of the black-and-silver-decorated living room, the flat-screen TV in another. He’d ordered a sofa but it wouldn’t be here for a few weeks, so the only seating was a couple of leather beanbags; but his bed was set up, so at least he could sleep in comfort. He had managed to pick up a cheap fridge-freezer and a cooker, and his mum had given him a kettle, some cups, plates, and cutlery. The rest would come in time, but he basically had everything he needed for now.
The party had been Shotz’s idea.
‘You can’t not have a house-warming,’ he’d said when Anton had admitted that it hadn’t even crossed his mind. ‘Think of all the gals we can fetch in, man; it’d be like twenty-four-seven pussy heaven – with no ma giving them the evil eye. And it might scare the old ’un away,’ he’d added in a whisper, shuddering as he’d nodded towards the bedroom that he still hadn’t dared step foot in for fear of being confronted by the ghost of the previous tenant.
Anton was no longer as spooked by the thought of the old woman’s spirit as he had initially been, but he guessed that Shotz had a point. A party would christen the place properly and lay down some fresh vibes – clear out the old to make way for the new, and all that.
They had decided to have the party tomorrow night, and Shotz had been on a mad inviting spree for the last few days. Anton had intended to invite Chantelle just now, but he was sure he’d catch up with her again.
Mary had found her perfect wedding dress. She’d picked out about a thousand perfect dresses over the last few weeks, but this one was the one. Its sweetheart neckline was smothered in glittery crystals, which would make her look dead classy and show off her tits. The skirt was neither too wide nor too flouncy, so she wouldn’t get weighed down or look a complete mug trying to get in and out of doors; and it had long princess sleeves that would hide her bingo wings and all the ugly marks on her arms from where she’d cut herself in the past.
She wanted this dress, and she was determined to have it. There were just two problems. One: it was priced at £350, which was way out of her league since she’d already spent all the money she had made off the perfumes and jewellery; and two: the stupid shopkeeper was watching her like a hawk.
The snotty bitch had clocked them as soon as they walked in and had turned up her nose as if they were a load of dirty pikeys. She seemed to be alone, so Mary could easily have knocked her out and taken the dress. But she preferred to lift without violence, if possible, because it made everything so much easier in the long run not to have assault and battery added to the rap sheet if she got caught.
Mary had ordered Miguel to keep the woman occupied while she and Tracey did the business and, to his credit, he’d been laying on the charm as if he really meant it. But the bitch wasn’t falling for it. If anything, it seemed to be making her even more suspicious, and every time Mary turned around there she was, hovering in the background like some kind of vulture.
Aware that Miguel was getting nowhere, Tracey had stepped in and made the woman move to the back of the shop to show her some bridesmaids’ dresses. It was all Mary needed and, as soon as the woman’s back was turned, she slid her dress off its hanger, quickly and expertly balled it up, and made a dash for the door.
‘Stop!’ the woman shouted, turning at the sound of the bell and seeing Mary hotfooting it out with Miguel on her heels. ‘I’ve still got your friend – I’ll lock her in.’
‘In your dreams,’ Tracey growled, smacking her in the face before legging it after Mary.
Out on the pavement, Tracey skidded to a halt when she heard Mary’s raised voice and saw that her friend had run straight into the path of two police officers, one of whom had a tight grip on her arm. Miguel was nowhere in sight and, guessing that he had done a runner, Tracey decided to do the same. Mary would understand. If she was getting nicked, she wouldn’t expect Tracey to offer herself up as well.
When she heard the tinkle of the shop bell behind her, Tracey dived into an alleyway between the shops just as the irate owner rushed out, and quickly made her getaway.
‘Arrest her,’ the shopkeeper demanded, pointing an accusing finger at Mary as she marched up to the group. ‘She’s just stolen that dress from my shop. And her friend assaulted me.’
‘What friend?’ Mary gave her a dirty look. ‘I’m on my own, you dozy bat.’
‘Well, you weren’t a moment ago,’ the woman replied icily. Then, turning to the officers, she said, ‘She had a foreign man and a scruffy woman with her, and you need to alert your colleagues before they get too far, because they’re clearly dangerous. Look what she did to me.’ She turned her head to show them her reddened cheek. ‘And he was probably an illegal immigrant,’ she added indignantly.
‘Racist bitch!’ Mary kicked out at her.
‘Pack it in,’ the officer who was holding her barked.
‘Why should I?’ Mary demanded. ‘She’s making racist comments. That’s illegal – I want her charged.’
‘I am not a racist.’ The woman bristled. ‘And give me back my dress, you thief.’
‘Get lost!’ Mary clung onto it. ‘I’ve paid for it fair and square.’
‘No, you haven’t.’
‘Yes, I fucking have.’ Now it was Mary’s turn to address the officers with indignation. ‘I gave her the deposit weeks ago, and I’ve been paying it off ever since. We’re all straight now, so I came to pick it up – just like we arranged,’ she added to the woman.
‘Oh, you liar,’ the woman gasped. ‘I’ve never even seen you before.’
‘You’re trying to rip me off,’ Mary gasped back, imitating her.
The officers clearly didn’t know who to believe as they looked from one to the other of the women. ‘Have you got any proof that you’ve paid?’ one of them asked Mary.
‘Yeah, I had a book,’ Mary told him. ‘But I was going shopping for shoes when I made the last payment the other day and I didn’t want to lose it, so she said she’d keep it in the safe for me.’
‘Oh, really?’ The woman raised her chin and smiled smugly. ‘Well, it’ll be very easy to prove I don’t have anything of the sort when I show these officers the safe, won’t it?’
‘Yeah, ’cos you’ve probably chucked it out so you can diddle me,’ Mary retorted.
‘Do you have CCTV?’ the other officer asked the woman.
‘No,’ she admitted quietly. ‘But I shouldn’t need it. It’s quite obvious who’s telling the truth here. Why hasn’t she got a bag if this was prearranged?’
‘Because you were faffing about, and I needed to catch my bus,’ spat Mary, feeling more confident by the second. ‘Bloody missed it now, though, haven’t I? Thanks for that. You knew I had to get back or I was going to miss the flower woman.’
‘Oh, this is ridiculous,’ the woman said irritably. ‘Just give me my dress and get lost.’
‘What, and let you swan off with my money? I don’t think so!’
‘You haven’t paid any bloody money.’
‘Prove it.’
‘You prove you have.’
‘I can’t, can I, ’cos you kept my book.’
‘There was no book.’
‘Prove it.’
‘All right, that’s enough,’ one of the officers said wearily. He looked at the shop owner. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘I just want my dress,’ she said, folding her arms.
‘You don’t want to press charges?’
‘What’s the bloody point?’
‘And you?’ He looked at Mary.
‘Here, take the damn thing, I don’t even want it no more, probably jinxed now,’ she said, shoving the dress into the woman’s hands. ‘But I’ll be coming for my money back, so don’t think you’ve got away with it.’
‘I take it you don’t want to press any charges, either?’ the officer peered
down at Mary with a knowing glint in his eye as the woman marched away with her dress.
‘No, I’m too tired,’ she said, resisting the urge to laugh. He’d clearly sussed that she was as guilty as sin, but there was nothing he could do about it. ‘I’ll just set my solicitor on her,’ she added self-righteously.
‘Whatever.’ He shook his head and chuckled softly. ‘Go on … piss off before I do you for time-wasting.’
Mary smiled to herself as she walked away. She might have lost that dress, but there were plenty of ways to skin a cat – and she knew exactly which little pussy to target.
Back at home, Chantelle copied Leon’s trick and shoved the back of a chair under her door handle before taking her new dress out of its bag and laying it out on the bed. Then, slipping out of the clothes she was wearing, she pulled it on carefully and stepped back to view her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.
It had cost more than she’d intended, but she figured it was worth it because it was the kind of dress she could wear for a variety of occasions. Not too fancy, or too low-necked or short-skirted, it was made of soft wool in a gorgeous shade of taupe. It clung to her figure in a really flattering way without making her look tarty, and she was thrilled with it.
She just hoped that Rob wouldn’t think she was making too much effort, because it would be so embarrassing if he got the impression that she was the kind of girl who went after married men. He was undeniably good-looking, and she felt comfortable in his presence despite the awkwardness of the situation. But there was nothing more to it than that. He was a nice man, and she was doing him a favour, end of.
A tap came at her door just then, and her mum’s voice sing-songed, ‘Channy … are you in there, babes?’
Chantelle frowned. She hadn’t heard her mum come in, and certainly hadn’t expected to be spoken to after the freezing-out of the last few days.
‘Just a minute,’ she said, rushing to the door when the handle started to rattle.
‘Why have you got it barricaded?’ Mary asked when Chantelle opened up. Then, eyebrows creeping up when she saw what her daughter was wearing, she whistled softly through her teeth. ‘Whit-woo, look at you.’
‘Do you like it?’ Chantelle asked, blushing shyly.
‘Like it? I love it. Who’s it for?’ Mary grinned slyly. ‘Got yourself a date?’
‘No, it’s a work thing,’ Chantelle lied. ‘The boss is taking us out for dinner.’
‘How old is he?’
‘It’s a she, and she’s in her sixties.’
‘Oh, well, never mind,’ said Mary. ‘There’s bound to be a handsome waiter who’ll appreciate it. Want a brew?’
‘Er, yeah, all right,’ Chantelle murmured, hoping this sudden thaw meant that Miguel had confessed to lying about her trying it on with him, because it had been horrible living under the cloud of suspicion. ‘I’ll just get changed. Won’t be a minute.’
Mary was sitting at the table, a cup of tea in one hand, a fag in the other, when Chantelle walked into the kitchen.
‘Thanks.’ Chantelle sat across from her and reached for her own cup. ‘Where’s Miguel?’
‘Don’t worry about him.’ Mary tapped her ash into an ashtray. ‘I’ve told him to stop round Tracey’s for a bit; give us a chance to have that chat you wanted.’
‘Great,’ said Chantelle, resisting the urge to wipe up the ash which had spilled onto the tabletop.
‘Go on, then.’ Mary smiled at her. ‘What did you want to talk about? Love your hair like that, by the way,’ she chipped in before Chantelle had a chance to speak. ‘It’s really grown, hasn’t it? Suits you.’
‘Do you think so?’ Chantelle raised a hand and self-consciously touched her hair.
‘Yeah, it’s lush, babes.’ Mary gave her a loving look. ‘Great this, innit? Me and you having a lovely girly chat. You know you’ve always been my favourite, don’t you?’
Chantelle almost choked on the tea she was sipping. ‘Since when?’
‘Aw, don’t be like that.’ Mary gave her a sorrowful look. ‘I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but we only clash ’cos we’re so alike.’
Chantelle couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were so unalike that it wasn’t even funny. And her mum had always been the one to say it, so why was she suddenly saying the opposite?
‘Have you been drinking?’ she asked.
‘Have I ’eck as like,’ Mary scoffed. ‘Just trying to put things right between us. What’s wrong with that?’
‘Nothing,’ Chantelle said cautiously. Her mum had never climbed down after an argument before, so this was a definite first. But she didn’t trust Mary one inch.
‘Guess what I was doing today?’ Mary said, grinning. ‘Looking at bridesmaids’ dresses.’
‘Really?’ Chantelle wondered if she’d forgotten that she’d said she didn’t want her at the wedding.
‘I saw one that I thought would really suit you,’ Mary went on. ‘But you know what? I reckon the one you just had on would be absolutely perfect.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, it looks amazing on you,’ Mary gushed. Then, giving a sheepish little smile, she added, ‘And it’d help me out if I didn’t have to buy something else. Not that I won’t if you don’t want to wear your one, but I’ve not even got the money for my own yet.’
‘What about the money you got the other day?’ Chantelle reminded her. ‘From all that stuff you sold.’
Mary pulled a face and rolled her eyes. ‘Made the mistake of letting Miggy hold it, and he lost it. It’s my own fault; I know what he’s like when he’s had a drink. But it’s all right. I’ll wear a bin bag if I have to, so long as I get him up the aisle.’
‘Didn’t you apply for a crisis loan?’
‘Yeah, but they turned me down ’cos it’s not been a year since the last one.’ Mary shrugged now and took a sip of her tea. ‘Just my luck, eh? Biggest day of my life, and it’s probably going to end up a rush job in jeans, with a chippy dinner and a can of beer for a reception.’
Chantelle peered at her mum over the rim of her cup, but didn’t say anything.
‘Still, it’s not your problem.’ Mary flapped her hand. ‘Probably don’t deserve a nice wedding, anyway, after all the stunts I’ve pulled over the years.’ She paused and took another drag of her fag, then asked, ‘So, how are you getting on? Job still going well?’
‘Yeah, it’s okay,’ Chantelle said quietly, guessing what was coming next.
‘I always knew you’d make something of yourself,’ Mary said proudly. ‘Always been clever, haven’t you? Bet you’ve saved a fair bit.’
‘A bit.’ Chantelle stared down into her cup.
‘That’s my girl.’ Mary beamed. ‘Here, that’s a thought …’ she said then, chuckling as if it was a joke. ‘Mums are supposed to pay for their kids’ weddings, but how funny would it be if I had to borrow money off you to pay for mine?’
Chantelle exhaled wearily. Bingo!
‘Not that I’d ever dream of asking you for money,’ Mary went on insincerely. ‘Wouldn’t seem right, knowing how hard you worked for it. I’ll just have to go out on the rob again.’
‘You need to pack that in,’ Chantelle said disapprovingly. ‘One of these days you’ll get caught, and what’ll happen to our Leon if you get banged up? They’re not going to let me keep him when I’ve only just turned sixteen.’
‘You’re sixteen?’ Mary drew her head back. ‘Since when?’
‘Since my birthday last week,’ Chantelle told her. ‘The day you came back, actually.’
‘Shit, I knew there was something special about that day,’ Mary said. ‘Ask Miggy. All the way back on the plane I was saying, I’m sure there’s something I’m supposed to remember about today. Sorry, babes. I’ll make it up to you.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Chantelle said, gripping her cup between both hands. ‘It’s done now.’
Mary gazed at her across the table and sighed. ‘You’re a good girl, you; so
grown-up and responsible. I don’t deserve you.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘I mean it.’ Mary stubbed the butt of her cigarette out, then reached across the table and placed her hand over Chantelle’s. ‘I know I don’t always show it, but I’m proper proud of you.’
Chantelle bit down on the inside of her cheek. This was the first time her mum had ever spoken to her like this, and it felt really weird. No, not just weird: unnatural.
Mary withdrew her hand after a moment and lit a fresh cigarette. She took a deep pull on it and blew the smoke out into the air. Then, her tone hesitant, she said, ‘I don’t like asking, but it really would help if you could lend us some money, you know? I’d pay you back as soon as they put us on couples’ benefits. A couple of hundred should do it,’ she added tentatively. ‘But only if you can manage it?’
Chantelle felt as if she’d been backed into a wall. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said wearily.
‘Course, whenever you’re ready,’ Mary agreed. ‘You’ll probably have to go to the bank for it, eh?’
‘Mmmm.’ Chantelle dipped her gaze again. It was a lie, but she wasn’t about to tell her mum that the money was already here. She’d probably get drunk and tell Miguel, and he’d already proved that he had no conscience, so what was to stop him from stealing it if he knew it was here?
Mary narrowed her eyes and took another drag of her fag. Then, glancing at the clock on the wall, she said, ‘Oh, shit, look at the time; Miggy’ll think I’ve forgot about him.’ She jumped up and took her jacket off the back of the chair. ‘See you later, babes. And thanks again for that.’ She leaned down and planted a kiss on Chantelle’s cheek, then rushed out.
Disappointed to have been right about her mum having an ulterior motive for talking to her again, Chantelle finished her tea, then cleared the cups away, emptied the ashtray and wiped the table before going out into the hall.
Respect (Mandasue Heller) Page 19