Friendless Lane

by Helen Black

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Yup?’ Lilly asked. ‘What kind of answer is that?’

  Sam yawned into the phone. ‘Did you call to have a go?’

  Lilly remembered the summer of 1981, when her mum had finally managed to save up enough for a landline to be installed. Before that they’d used Aunty Val’s, dutifully posting ten-pence pieces in the globe-shaped money box that sat on the telephone table in the draughty hall. When the workman finally left, mother and daughter stared at their very own telephone, gently fingering the coil of white wire, discussing the right way to answer it. It had seemed like an important decision.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘I just wondered how you were getting on with your revision.’

  ‘So you called to check up on me.’

  ‘Would you rather I didn’t give a shit?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  Counter-arguments formed a queue in Lilly’s mind. Not an orderly line, more a raggle-taggle bunch of attention-seekers, all shouting out at the same time. So why are you always bitching about me having to work? And why do you moan about your baby sister taking up my time? More importantly, do you have even the faintest idea what it would be like to have parents who didn’t give a shit?

  ‘What did you have for lunch?’ she asked.

  ‘Toast.’

  She ignored the new crowd of arguments waving their arms in the air: ‘Pick me, pick me.’

  ‘I’ll cook when I get home,’ she said. ‘How does sausage and mash sound?’

  Sam sniffed, tried to sound disinterested. ‘Onion gravy?’

  ‘Natch.’

  ‘Right,’ said Sam. ‘Better be getting back to the grindstone.’

  Lilly smiled. All told, her son was a good kid. A simple kid. She’d make his favourite meal and afterwards suggest they settle down to watch a film. Sam’s choice. The more zombies the better.

  ‘I’ll be back as early as I can.’ Her mobile sprang to life. ‘Got to go, big man.’

  Pleased with her plans for mother–son bonding, she picked up her mobile. She didn’t recognize the number.

  ‘Lilly Valentine.’

  ‘Hello. It’s Gregor Stone.’

  God, that accent was bloody gorgeous.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Do you have news on Gem?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  Today was picking up. After the crap start at the hospital, things were definitely improving.

  ‘I’m afraid the news isn’t of the positive sort, Miss Valentine.’

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ said Lilly. ‘She’s been nicked.’

  Not ideal. But not the end of the world. And certainly to be expected given how Gem lived and her line of employment.

  ‘No, that’s not it,’ Stone said. ‘That’s not it at all.’

  ‘So where is she?’ Lilly asked.

  There was a long beat, pregnant with the waiting bad news. Lilly put her fingers to her mouth, tapped her bottom lip.

  ‘Is she hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  Oh shit. Gem was only fifteen, but that wouldn’t stop a punter beating her unconscious if he felt that way inclined.

  ‘Miss Valentine, there’s no easy way to say this.’ Stone’s voice was heavy with regret. ‘Gemma died two days ago.’

  Chapter 2

  You’re asleep on the dirty mattress, your dreams like a shattered bottle; sharp, glittering fragments randomly scattered.

  There’s Ali, all brown eyes, his snap cap on backwards. He’s nudging his mates, calling you fit.

  There’s Raz, Ali’s cousin. He’s driving his brand-new BMW, connecting an iPod to the speakers. He asks you what type of music you like and you don’t want him to laugh at you so you say Tinie Tempah, even though the last album you downloaded was by One Direction.

  There’s Mum in the kitchen. She doesn’t want you to go out tonight. She puts down her glass of wine and says you need to stay in and do your homework.

  A noise at the door wakes you up.

  At first you don’t know where you are, the feel of the bed, the smell of it, all unfamiliar. Then you remember and sit bolt upright.

  The door opens and light floods in from outside. You’ve been in the dark room so long that it dazzles you and you have to screw up your eyes. You blink frantically and stand up. There’s a figure in the doorway but you can’t make him out.

  At last your eyes clear and you see him. Raz. You’ve never been so glad to see anyone in your whole life.

  ‘Raz.’ You run at him, throw your arms round his neck. ‘I’ve been stuck in here for hours.’

  He doesn’t answer, just holds you really tight. He’s a lot taller than you and your face only comes to his chest. His shirt smells of aftershave. The really expensive stuff.

  ‘I’ve been going out of my mind,’ you tell him. ‘Like totally freaking out.’

  He smoothes down the back of your hair in long motions. ‘I’m here now.’

  You nod and start to cry. You wouldn’t think there’d be any tears left, but you’re just so relieved to see him.

  ‘Where am I?’ you ask. ‘How did you find me?’

  He lifts up your chin with a finger so you’re looking right into his face. He doesn’t look much like Ali. His noise is more pointy, his skin lighter. But his eyes have the same liquid quality.

  ‘Big misunderstanding,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. ‘Just a stupid mistake, innit.’

  You don’t know what to say. What mistake? And by whom? You’ve been locked in this room for God knows how long, kept a prisoner. How can that have been a mistake?

  ‘You know I’d never let anything bad happen to you,’ Raz says. ‘You know I’ll always protect you.’

  ‘Okay,’ you say.

  ‘Okay?’ Raz gives you a small smile. ‘You don’t sound sure.’

  You shrug.

  He bends his finger and runs the knuckle down your cheek. ‘You’re my girl, ain’t you?’

  You gulp. You had no idea Raz liked you. Well, that’s not exactly true. You knew he was always trying to make you laugh, giving you lifts and that. But he’s twenty-five at least. Maybe older than that. He’s got money, a nice car. What would he want with a schoolkid like you?

  Suddenly he lets go of you, takes a step back. ‘Is it because I’m not white?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Because I’m Pakistani?’ He frowns. ‘Would your parents disapprove?’

  ‘No,’ you say. Mum and Dad might be completely stupid and uptight and controlling, but they’re not racist. ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘What then?’ Raz asks.

  ‘I don’t know.’ You feel a bit shy now. ‘I’m only fourteen.’

  His eyes widen. ‘Oh shit. I thought you were like seventeen or something.’

  You smile, pleased he thought you were older.

  ‘I mean, you drink and smoke weed and stuff,’ he says.

  ‘I’m not a kid,’ you say.

  He looks you up and down, grinning. ‘No, you’re not.’ He takes a step forward, so that you’re almost touching again. You feel hot and nervous all of a sudden. ‘Come on, you must be starving.’ He takes your hand in his. ‘Let’s get a McDonald’s or something.’

  You let him lead you out of the room, across the hallway, where blue-flowered wallpaper is peeling off the walls.

  ‘Where are we, Raz?’ you ask.

  He leads you down the stairs. The carpet has been ripped up and your shoes clatter on the bare wood. At last you’re outside and his car is waiting.

  ‘Let’s meet a few of my mates,’ he says. ‘That will cheer you up.’

  [#]

  The automatic doors opened with a swoosh and hot air unfurled around Lilly. She took a deep breath and held it. That smell got her every time. Detergent, vomit, hopelessness.

  Two trips to the hospital in one day. It was like payback for sins in a past life.

  She took her place in t
he queue at reception, knowing she would soon have to take a breath. She would hold off for as long as she could.

  As the queue inched forward, she tried to suck air through her teeth, keeping her nasal passages closed.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind. ‘Excuse me.’

  She turned to find a couple leering at her. The woman’s hair was scraped back from her face, the roots black, the ends as yellow and dry as a bag of Quavers. The man was mixed race and might once have been handsome. Now he was emaciated and vacant, a fresh needle mark still wet and bloody on his neck.

  ‘Excuse me,’ the woman repeated unnecessarily.

  ‘Yes,’ Lilly replied.

  ‘Are you in a hurry?’

  Lilly thought for a second. She absolutely loathed hospitals and her children were waiting for her at home; she had promised Sam a slap-up tea of sausage and mash.

  ‘Because we’re in a hurry, see.’ The woman turned to the man. ‘Ain’t we?’ He blinked slowly, as if that was all the movement he could manage. ‘A real hurry,’ the woman added.

  Lilly raised an eyebrow. Where could this pair be rushing off to apart from a shooting gallery?

  ‘Sorry,’ she said and turned away from them.

  ‘Stuck-up bitch,’ the woman muttered behind her.

  At last Lilly was at the front of the queue.

  ‘I’m trying to locate Gemma Glass,’ she told the receptionist.

  He nodded and tapped his computer. ‘Sorry, I can’t find a patient by that name. Do you know what department she’s in?’

  Lilly leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘Try the morgue.’

  ‘The morgue?’

  Lilly gave a tight smile. ‘I’m here for an identification.’

  Suddenly she felt a jab in her spine and she took an involuntary breath. Oh, that smell! She had to hold on to the contents of her stomach.

  ‘What?’ She turned to the woman behind her. ‘What now?’

  ‘You said you was in a hurry.’

  ‘No I didn’t.’ Lilly kept her voice even.

  ‘Whatever.’ The woman waved Lilly’s explanation away. ‘You gave that impression, though, didn’t you? You decided you was more important than us.’

  Lilly gave a tired sigh.

  ‘Well how can you be in a hurry if the person you’ve come to see is dead?’ The woman crossed her arms as if the case was closed. ‘Hmmm?’

  ‘Look, could you just wait your turn, please,’ said the receptionist.

  ‘I am waiting my turn.’ The woman raised her voice. ‘But you need to work out who should take priority.’ She jabbed a finger at him. ‘You need a system.’

  ‘This isn’t A and E,’ he said. ‘It’s first come first served.’

  ‘I don’t care what it is.’ The woman pushed past Lilly. ‘You need to sort it out.’

  The receptionist was entirely unruffled. ‘If you carry on, I’ll have you ejected.’

  ‘Just you try it. I know my rights.’

  The man with the vacant face looked at Lilly. A line of drool was escaping from the gap where his front teeth should have been. His eyes seemed to say, ‘This isn’t going to end well.’

  ‘Look,’ said Lilly to the receptionist. ‘Just let them go before me.’

  He shook his head. ‘No. We’re first come first served.’

  The woman slammed her fist down on the desk, making Lilly jump. The receptionist didn’t even flinch.

  ‘You heard what she said.’ The woman was screaming now. ‘She said I could go before her.’

  The receptionist pursed his lips and reached under his chair. An alarm sounded and two security guards rushed on to the scene. They grabbed the woman, one under each arm, and dragged her away. Her feet pedalled furiously.

  ‘Fucking well put me down. I’m calling the police. I’ll fucking sue.’

  ‘Drug user,’ the receptionist called to the guards. ‘Careful of sharps.’

  ‘I’ll have you for slander,’ the woman screeched over her shoulder.

  When she was gone, the receptionist smiled at Lilly and reached for a map of the hospital. He made a circle in red biro and handed her the map.

  ‘Here’s the morgue.’ Then he looked behind her. ‘Next, please.’

  [#]

  As Lilly approached the lift, she wondered why these sorts of things kept happening to her. David had always called her a ‘drama magnet’. He said drama was attracted to her.

  ‘And more to the point,’ he said, ‘you’re attracted to it.’

  But that was rubbish. Lilly liked the quiet life. She loved nothing better than to cook, play with the kids and watch crap telly. True, she didn’t get enough time to do those things very often, but that wasn’t her fault.

  She got in the lift and checked the map. The morgue was on floor -1. The basement. Below ground. How apt.

  She stabbed the button and the lift juddered slightly before descending to the underworld. When the doors opened, she almost expected long shadows, flickering bulbs and dripping water. But the area outside the morgue was like any other in the hospital: grey concrete floors and vicious strip lighting.

  She buzzed at the door to the morgue and waited. It was opened almost immediately by a man in his sixties. Smaller than Lilly, extremely thin and completely bald. He had his white coat buttoned to his chin and held a clipboard flat against his chest.

  ‘Miss Valentine?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They’re waiting. Follow me.’

  She was expected, then? No surprise, really. No one would come down here out of the blue, would they? The man led her around a sharp corner to a long corridor. Two figures stood at the far end. She gulped. She was about to see the body of Gemma Glass. She was about to see the body of a dead child.

  When she neared the figures, she saw that the first was a well-built black man, his beard neatly trimmed, his hair cropped and greying at the temples. The other was an Irish guy in a leather jacket that would have felt at home in 1988.

  ‘Jack?’

  He looked at her agog. ‘Lilly? What in God’s name are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to identify Gem,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m the officer in the case,’ he replied.

  ‘I’m guessing you two are already acquainted?’ said the other man.

  By the accent Lilly recognized him as Gregor Stone. ‘I’m Lilly Valentine.’ She held out her hand.

  ‘Is Lilly really the only person who can do this?’ Jack asked Stone.

  ‘We can’t locate the mother, and the social worker is on long-term sick leave,’ he said. ‘Stress.’

  ‘Can we not just wait for the DNA results?’ Jack asked.

  ‘We could of course do that,’ said Stone.

  Jack turned to Lilly. ‘I’m sure that would be for the best. We’ll rush them through. No harm done.’

  Lilly thought about what had happened to Gem in her short life. Abandoned by her father. Neglected by her mother. Lured into prostitution, drugs and who knew what else. No harm done didn’t cut it.

  ‘No, Jack, I’ll do this,’ she said. ‘I want to.’

  Jack put a hand on her arm. ‘It’s not nice. It sticks, you know what I mean.’

  Lilly nodded. She understood that this was a moment in her life that might slash across her soul, that she might dream about for a long time to come.

  ‘She’s been let down too many times,’ she said.

  Jack looked into her face for a long second, then removed his hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  The man in the white coat opened the door and stepped inside. Jack followed and Lilly followed Jack. Stone remained outside. They walked across to a bank of square metal doors, five on the bottom row, five above. Each had a handle like an outsized filing cabinet drawer. The man in the coat reached to the third door on the top row and pulled. Easily and noiselessly the drawer came out towards him. Inside was a clear body bag, through which Lilly could make out the trac
es of a human being.

  ‘You okay?’ Jack asked.

  Lilly nodded, unable to speak. She was holding her breath. Not against the smell; there was none. The room was cold and entirely sterile.

  The man in the coat took the zip at the top of the bag and slowly drew it down.

  And there she was. Gem. Her skin was so pale it was grey, her lips an eerie blue. There was an angry red mark under her right eye and an open wound on her chin. Lilly stared at her, overcome with the sadness of it all. No one spoke, the silence interrupted only by the faint buzz of the overhead strip light and the distant clunk of the lift. Lilly put out her hand to touch Gem’s hair.

  ‘Better not,’ Jack said gently. ‘Forensics.’

  ‘Right,’ Lilly replied.

  ‘So it’s her?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lilly. ‘That’s Gemma Glass.’

  [#]

  Music pumped out of Orlando’s. Some Euro dance shit or other. You could hear it at the other end of Tye Cross.

  Kelsey pushed aside the velvet curtain and went inside.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Reggie,’ she shouted. ‘Can’t you turn that down?’

  Reggie was behind the bar, taking glasses from the dishwasher, leaving them to dry on a Stella Artois beer towel laid out on the bar.

  ‘Punters like it,’ he said.

  Kelsey opened her arms to take in the empty room. ‘There’s no one bleedin’ in here yet.’

  Reggie chuckled and turned the sound system down a notch.

  ‘Seen anything of your friend?’ he asked.

  ‘Who?’

  Reggie held up a glass to the light and wiped the rim with a piece of kitchen roll. He kept everything in Orlando’s spotless. God knows why, considering some of the scumbags who came in.

  ‘Young girl,’ he said. ‘Blonde.’

  ‘Gem?’ Kelsey answered. ‘I’ve got someone trying to find her.’

  ‘How old is she anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘Eighteen.’

  Reggie placed the clean glass on a shelf and moved on to the next. ‘Eighteen my arse.’

  ‘She gave you ID, didn’t she?’

  ‘Probably bought it from Scouse Tony.’

  Kelsey narrowed her eyes. Why the hell did Reggie care where Gem had got it from? He was covered either way.