Friendless Lane

by Helen Black

  I kept telling them that I needed to go home because I was bored. But they didn’t listen.

  Looking around me, I soon noticed that everyone else was equally bored. All that banging of heads against walls and frenzied masturbation was just for something to do.

  Me being me, I didn’t want to damage either my skull or my fingers, so I looked for different sport. I soon found it.

  I take a seat on the sofa next to Jenny. She’s eating a brown ham roll and her lips are covered in flour. It’s not an especially attractive sight.

  ‘That looks nice,’ I say.

  She holds it out for me.

  ‘Do you know, Jen-Jen,’ I say, ‘I think I will.’

  She gives me a smile because she loves being called that, then she gives me her sandwich. I eat it in three bites. I’ve been starving myself since I arrived, but I no longer need to do that. On the contrary, I need to regain my strength.

  ‘Do you know what I saw earlier, Jen-Jen?’ I ask.

  Jenny shakes her head, mouth open.

  ‘A little finch on the bird feeder.’ I move my finger back and forth like a pendulum. ‘Swinging this way and that, he was.’

  She watches my finger intently. ‘What colour?’

  ‘I’m not a hundred per cent certain.’ I drop my voice to a whisper. ‘He might have been green.’

  Jenny clamps her eyes shut and starts to make small choking sounds. I give her hand a few soothing pats. You see, Jenny believes that some birds bring messages from the devil and different-coloured feathers mean different types of message, though since they’re all from Ol’ Smoky, none are exactly cheery.

  ‘Is everything okay?’

  Dr Alerdice is hovering behind the sofa. She’s one of those people who likes to creep around trying to catch others off their guard. She still hasn’t worked it out yet; I’m never off my guard.

  ‘We’re fine and dandy, Doctor,’ I say. ‘How are you?’

  She ignores me and touches Jenny’s shoulder. I hate being ignored as much as I hate being bored, so I have to bite the scabs around my thumbnail until they bleed.

  ‘Are you upset, Jenny?’ Dr Alerdice asks. ‘You look upset.’

  I’ve told Jenny not to mention the birds to the staff, but she’s not always terribly reliable.

  ‘Jenny?’ Dr Alerdice continues.

  I give Jenny’s hand another small pat. She needs to say something. The trick is to say just enough, but never too much.

  ‘The word, the word,’ says Jenny. ‘The word is the third.’

  Oh dear, it’s the God-awful word salad again.

  ‘What was that, Jenny?’ asks Dr Alerdice.

  ‘I heard it,’ says Jenny.

  ‘You heard what exactly?’

  ‘The word, the word. I heard the word.’

  Alerdice slides around the sofa like the snake-in-the-grass she is and crouches in front of us. No doubt this is a technique she’s read about in one of those books she keeps in her office, all lined up neatly in alphabetical order. OCD tendencies, Doctor? Physician, heal thyself!

  ‘What word?’ she asks Jenny. ‘Can you tell me the word?’

  I slip my hand over Jenny’s and press my thumb into her palm, leaving a small bloodstain on her skin.

  Jenny opens her eyes and smiles at Alerdice. ‘Kate ate a sandwich. Isn’t that great news?’

  The sneaky doctor narrows her eyes and glances from me to Jenny, then back again. But what can she do?

  ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘That is great news.’

  Good girl, Jen-Jen. Very good girl.

  [#]

  A crowd had formed around the lift at the bottom of the tower block, everyone grumbling and groaning and tutting.

  ‘This can happen every day,’ said an African woman to no one in particular, as she stabbed the button viciously. ‘Every single day, I am telling you.’

  A girl of nineteen or twenty stood next to Lilly, jiggling a pushchair and swearing to herself. Her little boy laughed. He was about four or five, far too old for a buggy.

  The African woman gave the button one last furious stab, kissed her teeth and headed for the stairs. Everyone else followed suit in a weary line.

  The girl secured an elastic band that was holding a ponytail on the crown of her head and began to haul the buggy up the stairs, grunting at the lip of each step.

  ‘Just a mo,’ said Lilly. ‘How about you take him out? I’ll walk up with him.’

  The girl frowned and held the pushchair at a precarious angle between two steps.

  ‘He can’t walk,’ she said at last.

  ‘Right.’ Lilly felt utterly stupid. ‘How about I carry him for you?’

  The girl gave her a hard stare as if she wasn’t used to offers of help and was trying to work out the catch.

  ‘He weighs a ton,’ she said. ‘I’ll carry him if you’ll pull the buggy.’

  ‘Fair dos,’ said Lilly.

  Naturally, they lived on the sixth floor, and by the fourth Lilly needed a breather.

  ‘I’ve asked them to move me,’ the girl told her. ‘I’ve told them so many times that we need a place on the ground floor.’ She rubbed the boy’s cheek, then kissed the same spot. ‘What happens when he’s older, I want to know? When I can’t carry him any more?’

  Lilly shook her head. There was no answer, so they climbed the last two flights, huffing and puffing and sweating. At last they arrived at the walkway and the girl rang the bell at the second door.

  ‘It’ll take her a minute,’ she told Lilly, then rang again. ‘Mam, it’s me.’

  The door was opened by a woman in her mid fifties, leaning heavily on a walking stick. She beamed at the sight of the little boy and ruffled his hair.

  ‘Lift’s broken,’ the girl told her.

  ‘Again?’ The woman shook her head. ‘How the hell do the council expect you to manage?’

  ‘At least I had some help.’

  The girl jerked her head towards Lilly and the mother poked out her own.

  ‘Thank you ever so much, love.’ She took the pushchair. ‘The council won’t be satisfied until my daughter’s let go of the bloody buggy and this little man’s toppled to his death.’

  ‘Remember the woman from social services?’ the girl asked. ‘The one who said I should leave the buggy and go back for it.’

  The mother rolled her eyes. ‘Oh aye. As if it’d still be there when you got back down the stairs.’ She smiled at Lilly. ‘Do you want to come in, love? The kettle’s on.’

  Lilly smiled back. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got an appointment with someone on the fifth floor.’

  ‘You’re not from the housing, are you?’ The mother’s smile slipped.

  ‘No.’ Lilly laughed. ‘I’m a solicitor.’

  Both mother and daughter narrowed their eyes at her. Lilly pulled out a card and held it out.

  ‘Why don’t you take this?’

  The mother didn’t move. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I might be able to help,’ said Lilly. ‘I’m pretty certain it’s against the law to house you up here with a disabled child.’

  ‘Right enough,’ said the mother. ‘It’s bad enough for me trapped up here. God help us if there was a fire. But at least I’ve had my life.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘It’s true. But this wee man is only just starting out,’ said the mother. ‘He deserves the same as other kiddies.’

  ‘Yes he does,’ said Lilly and turned to go. ‘Give me a call and we’ll see what we can do.’

  [#]

  Jack was already waiting on the fifth floor, leaning against the balcony, looking out at the streets below. Though he was still a handsome man, Lilly could see the signs of time appearing around his eyes. He was getting older. Hell, they were both getting older.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said. She was about to tell Jack the saga of the pushchair and the boy within it when a door was flung open and Kelsey leaned out.

  ‘Bleedin’ hell, Lilly, what’s so important you couldn�
�t tell me over the phone.’ She caught sight of Jack and laughed. ‘And did you really need to bring the old man?’

  Without her usual shovel-loads of make-up, Kelsey looked much younger, but, uncovered, the scars around her mouth were pink and angry. Lilly pictured the sad and lonely teenager who’d drunk a bottle of bleach when her mother put her in care.

  ‘He’s not my old man,’ she said.

  ‘So why’s he—’ Kelsey stopped short. ‘Shit. You’d better come in.’

  Jack and Lilly followed Kelsey into her flat. The sitting room was clean but spartan. There was a sofa, and a bookcase without a single book, almost empty except for some candles and a small metal box. No rug in front of the gas fire, no pictures on the walls. There was nothing in the room to indicate who Kelsey Brand was or what she might like.

  Kelsey reached for a packet of cigarettes that was perched on the arm of the sofa next to an overflowing ashtray.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Lilly.

  Kelsey nodded and lit a fag, her hands shaking. She took a deep drag and blew smoke up to the ceiling.

  ‘So what happened?’ she asked. ‘A punter?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘We’re not sure.’

  ‘Bad?’ Kelsey asked.

  ‘Not great,’ Jack replied.

  Kelsey’s eyes welled and she took another lungful of smoke, nodding. ‘I told her not to take anybody out on the streets. I fucking told her. There’s a room at the club, and yeah, Reggie takes a cut, but at least it’s safe. You ain’t gonna get your throat slit, you know?’

  Jack nodded and didn’t mention that having her throat slit would have been a hell of a lot better than what had happened to Gem. He took out his notebook.

  ‘Can you remember when you last saw her?’ he asked.

  Kelsey slumped into the sofa and flicked her ash. ‘Not long since.’

  ‘Can you remember exactly what day it was?’

  Kelsey closed her eyes. For those on the gear, days melded into one. They worked to get money for a fix, they had their fix, they worked some more. And on and on like that. Lilly had had clients with no idea what year it was or how old they were.

  ‘The fifteenth,’ she said at last. ‘Because the day before was Valentine’s Day so the club was empty. We were laughing and that, saying romance ain’t dead.’ She took a last drag and stubbed out her cigarette. ‘She had a good sense of humour, did Gem. Made me laugh.’

  ‘What’s the name of the club?’ Jack asked.

  Kelsey groaned. ‘Do you have to go round there? It were me who introduced Gem to Reggie, and if you give him a hard time, he’ll give me a hard time.’

  Jack opened his palms and Kelsey sighed.

  ‘Orlando’s,’ she said. ‘But don’t go in there like a fucking hero, Jack. All this ain’t got nothing to do with Reggie or the club.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘Gem was a good earner,’ she said. ‘That’s all he cares about at the end of the day.’

  ‘She might have pissed him off.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He might have found out she was underage. Might have thought she was going to get him into a heap of trouble.’

  ‘Nah,’ said Kelsey. ‘She had fake ID. His arse is covered.’

  Jack nodded and turned to Lilly. She could see that he wanted to leave but wasn’t sure how to bring things to a close.

  ‘Are you okay, Kelsey?’ she asked.

  Kelsey nodded and reached for another cigarette. ‘I done what I could and tried to steer her right.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lilly.

  She watched Kelsey light up, her hands no longer shaking, her eyes hard. Prostitutes died every day of the week. Drug addicts died every day of the week. Kelsey knew that better than anyone.

  [#]

  On the walkway outside Kelsey’s flat, Jack took a lungful of air. The grime of the estate tasted like oxygen straight from the tank. The sound of the locks turning on the other side of the door was like the opening bars of a favourite song.

  ‘That went pretty well,’ he said.

  Lilly raised an unconvinced eyebrow.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘It could have gone a lot worse.’

  Giving bad news was part and parcel of the job. But you never got used to it and you could never predict how it was going to play. On his first time, as a tag-along rookie, the mother of a junkie found on an allotment amongst the runner beans, the needle still in the crook of his elbow, had thanked them for coming and made them tea. The next occasion hadn’t gone quite so well, with the father throwing up down Jack’s trousers and the brother punching him in the stomach.

  ‘I guess Kelsey wasn’t family,’ he said.

  ‘As near as dammit,’ Lilly replied.

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Kelsey doesn’t have any real family,’ she said.

  Lilly was probably right; she generally was. Either way, Kelsey had taken it well.

  ‘She’s tough,’ he said.

  ‘She’s had to be.’

  They walked towards the stairwell, Jack feeling lighter with each step.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Lilly asked.

  He realized he was smiling.

  ‘One man’s tragic death is another man’s juicy murder case, eh?’ Lilly rolled her eyes. ‘Coppers. Always so bloody predictable.’

  She shook her head, but she wasn’t having a go. She understood and didn’t judge him, just as she had understood and not judged Kelsey.

  They began the walk down the stairs in easy silence, the smell of urine and decaying chips barely registering. Things were on the up. Alice would soon be diagnosed, the situation with Kate was resolved and he was no longer at war with Lilly. And aye, there was a crisp new case on his desk. Busted.

  ‘It almost killed me getting up these stairs,’ he said. ‘It’s a feck of a lot easier on the way down.’

  Chapter 3

  It’s so cosy under the duvet that you don’t want to get out of bed. You could stay there all day. The trouble is, Mum’s already given you what she calls the ‘three-minute warning’. If you don’t get up now, she’ll race up the stairs, barge into your room and rip off the covers.

  Then she’ll see the marks on your neck and the shit will really hit the fan.

  When she spotted a love bite last week, she went ballistic.

  ‘You need to have more self-respect,’ she said and slammed down the carrot she was peeling.

  ‘I’ve got plenty of self-respect, thank you very much,’ you told her.

  ‘What do you think people say when they see things like that?’ She was still holding the knife and waved it at your neck. ‘What do you think they call you behind your back?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ you said.

  ‘Well you should.’ She was pointing the knife right at you, the sharp end aimed at your forehead. ‘Let me tell you that right now, young lady, they’re calling you a slut.’

  You stood there in the kitchen staring at her and the knife, full of black hatred. What people was she even going on about? The teachers at school? The neighbours? Her stupid friends? Why should you give a shit what people like that think or say?

  Raz calls them ‘the little people’. He says they’re small-minded and ugly and racist and he’s right. You hate everything about them and everything they stand for.

  You hear Mum’s footsteps and leap out of bed. In the bathroom, you lock the door behind you.

  ‘Hurry up,’ Mum calls. ‘We have to leave in twenty minutes.’

  You don’t answer, and eventually she heads back downstairs, muttering to herself.

  You check the love bites in the mirror. To be fair, you have told Raz not to do it; you’ve even tried to push him off. But he gets caught up in the moment and can’t help himself. He says you drive him wild so he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

  You open your make-up bag and rummage amongst the blunt eyeliners and half-used tubes of strawberry lip balm. You use the concealer to cover up the marks, then you take ou
t the phone Raz gave you. It’s an iPhone. Way cooler than the cheap plastic Nokia Mum insists is good enough.

  You turn it on and check your messages. There’s already a text from Raz.

  Hey baby. Did u sleep ok? I dreamt about u!!! Meet me tonite at 7. Big party at my mates. xxx love u xxx

  [#]

  Lilly opened the bedroom curtains and swore. Rain was lashing the windows, and the trees in the garden were bent like arthritic old men in the wind. Definitely a trouser-suit-and-boots day. She pulled on the suit and wrapped a scarf around her neck, tucking it into the jacket collar to banish cold draughts, then picked through her sock drawer for anything that might vaguely match.

  ‘Sam,’ she yelled over her shoulder. ‘Have you been nicking my socks?’

  He didn’t answer, so she went into his room and found him still in bed.

  ‘I asked if you’d taken all my socks.’

  He thrust out a bare foot from under the duvet and wiggled his toes. ‘I’m a size nine, Mum.’

  Fair point well made. She opened Sam’s underwear drawer and rifled. Her socks might not stretch over Sam’s heel, but his would do for her. She found a pair, sat on the end of his bed and pulled them on. The ends flopped over her toes like deflated Turkish slippers.

  ‘Another revision day?’ she asked.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I’ll call you in about an hour to make sure you’re up and working,’ she said. ‘Trust me, I’ll know if you’re still in bed.’

  Sam turned over. ‘Nah.’

  ‘Nah?’ Lilly repeated. ‘What does that even mean?’

  ‘It means no.’

  ‘Yes, I know what it means,’ she said. ‘I’m not that clueless. I meant what did you mean by saying it.’

  Sam sighed and pulled the duvet over his head. Lilly pulled it off.

  ‘I meant that you wouldn’t know if I was still in bed,’ he told her.

  ‘How do you work that one out?’

  ‘Well, let me see: first, I’m a master of deception.’

  ‘Don’t sound so proud of yourself,’ she said. ‘And what’s second?’

  ‘Second,’ said Sam, ‘is that you’ll forget to ring.’