by Jade West
“All I got,” I said. “I swear down. Been a slow week.”
“Heart fucking bleeds, lad. It really fucking does.”
“I’ll get you more,” I said. “Next week.”
“And what kind of message does that send, soft lad? Show up with half for the Stoneys, they don’t fucking care. Soft touches them lot.”
“Won’t be telling no one, Trent. Don’t talk, don’t grass.”
“Don’t matter, lad. Principle, like.” He gestured to Jones and the other big cunt, and I bared my fists as they headed in my direction. “It’s a shame you got such a pretty face, lad, shame to mess you up.” His laugh was hollow and full of pissing spite.
Adrenaline hit, pulse loud in my ears. I knew the smart move. Take a beating, shut my mouth, let them prove their point. Live to fight another fucking day. But I couldn’t do it.
“Not gonna make this easy,” I hissed. “Better be prepared for a scrap.”
“Gonna fucking enjoy this,” Tyler said.
I heard Casey’s growl, yelled at her to stay back, but I was out of time. Tyler lunged, missing me on the first swing, but coming back for seconds. I landed a decent smack to the side of his face before the other cunt grabbed my arms, and even then I managed to throw my head back, landing my skull on his nose. He cursed blue murder, staggering back as his blood poured. I laughed as he red misted, then jumped into action kicking and punching and flailing for all I was worth. Think I caused some damage before they got me cornered, they were breathing fucking ragged enough, anyway.
Casey was barking her head off, circling low to the ground. I ordered her away again but she wouldn’t listen. Case ain’t no small dog, but she weren’t bloody big enough to take a couple of arseholes like them.
Big cunt pulled me into an arm-lock, wrenching my wrists so hard I hissed out all my breath. Tyler waited until Trent gave the nod, and I watched his piggy eyes fill with joy as he landed his fist in my stomach. He didn’t have time to land another. I struggled for air at the sight of Casey hanging off Jones’ wrist. Her eyes were wild, growling low and dangerous as she clamped her teeth in his flesh. He bellowed in rage, kicking out at her, but she was too fast with her feet.
I heard Trent laughing. “Shake the fucking thing off, ya bloody idiot. It’s only a fucking collie.”
I lunged forward in spite of my predicament. “No, Casey, run!” I rasped. “Just fucking run!”
She didn’t run. Not even when Tyler cracked his fist down on her skull. She held firm as he tried to shake her, and he bellowed again as she adjusted her grip. “Get off me ya fucking shit!” Tyler boomed.
“Run, Casey!” I screamed. “Go!”
Tyler caught her good next time. She loosed her bite as she yelped, and stumbled around dazed. She came to her senses quick enough to dodge his next assault. Narrowly avoiding a boot in the ribs.
“Gonna fucking kill that fucking shit!” Jones screeched.
“Go, Casey!” I tried again, and this time she listened. Her eyes on mine broke my heart, she was so fucking sad. She weighed up going for Tyler again, I could tell, but I kicked out at her myself this time, just to get her to leave. “GO, CASEY! GO! FUCK OFF!”
Her tail was on the floor as she skulked away, shooting me a pitiful look. At least she was safe.
I breathed easy, thanking my lucky fucking stars she’d gone away.
Jones’ wrist was bleeding badly. “Better get that looked at,” I sneered. “It’s your wanking hand, ain’t it?”
“Don’t need no pissing wanking hand, Jackson. Got your mam’s dirty cunt to see me right.” He checked his fingers, clenching them easily. No major damage done, unfortunately. “Dog’s a fucking menace. Scotts should’a finished her.”
“Scotts got no business with her. You, neither.”
“Got business with you, though, Jackson. So much fucking business. Gonna fucking love this.”
His bloody fist landed right on my cheekbone. My ears rang, pain pounding through my temples. Didn’t make a sound, though, didn’t wanna give him the satisfaction. I took another couple from him, on the jaw this time. His tubby knee cracked me right in the ribs, and I fell forward heaving. I was struggling for breath when I heard voices, stars behind my fucking eyes.
Casey’s bark sounded loud again and my heart fell. Please God, no.
“What the pissing hell’s going on here?”
I knew that voice. My eyes opened in time to see Raven light up a cigarette, hand on her hip. She looked different in daylight. Fuck-off big boots and combat trousers, leather jacket too. Her hair was up in a high pony, hanging down her back to her waist. Her make-up was the same, though. I struggled for words, but I still had no breath in me.
“What’s it to you, girly?” Trent scoffed. “Got a thing for him, have ya?”
“Got a fucking thing for his money,” Raven said. “Who the fuck are you people?”
Trent’s expression turned sour and I flinched inside. “I’m Trent fucking Stoney of the Stoney brothers, who the fuck are you?”
“I’m one of Ash Rixon’s girls,” she said. “So, you’d better back the fuck up. Kid’s ours.”
I watched Trent’s eyes flare wide, but Tyler carried on oblivious. “Don’t give a fuck who you are,” he raged. “Gonna fucking pound him.”
“Stop, you stupid dumbfuck!” Trent yelled. “This is one of Ash Rixon’s girls. ASH FUCKING RIXON, comprende?” Trent approached Raven, hands out. “Look, lady, we ain’t got no beef with Rixon, this little shit just owes us cash, alright?”
“You’ll have to get in line,” she said, cool as cucumber. “Owes us first. Drop him, asswipe.”
Trent nodded, and I was on the tarmac, coughing and spluttering and wrenching my arms back into position. Casey was at my side in a flash, licking my face as I caught my breath.
I listened to the conversation happen over me, keeping the hell out of it.
“How long til we can have him back?” Trent asked. “We need paying too. Maybe I could speak with Rixon, explain what shit’s goin’ down?”
“Rixon’s got no time for you.” I watched her stub her cigarette out. “You’ll have to wait a month.”
“Month’s an awful fucking long time.”
“Best you’re getting.” Raven stared him out. “Come anywhere near him before he’s paid off Rixon and we’ll be coming after you.”
“You’ll get your pissing month,” Trent said. “Any longer and Rixon’ll have to come down here himself, though. Got me?”
“Think we’re clear,” she hissed. “Now fuck off.”
Tyler’s eyes were bulging with rage. He gripped his bleeding wrist, on the edge of red misting.
“We’re off,” Trent said. “Now.” Tyler didn’t move, just stayed staring. “NOW, DUMBFUCK!”
I could breathe again when they were out of sight. I rolled onto my side, pulled my knees up, ignoring the pain in my ribs.
“Stay down,” Raven hissed. “Until I know they’re pissing gone.”
She stalked to the edge of the garage block, only returning when she was satisfied.
“What’s all that shit about?” I said. “Who’s Ash pissing Rixon?”
“From the Kenny estate. Croydon,” she said, yanking me up by the elbow. “Hardest bastard in London, one of the hardest anyway. Serious shit.”
“You’re one of his girls?” I quizzed. “Jeez.”
She smiled. “Of course not. Just know him. Do his tats.”
I stared up at her in admiration. “You’ve got some shiny fucking brass balls on you, ain’t ya?”
“Just as well. Saved your bloody arse, didn’t it?”
I accepted her hand up, holding myself against the wall until I was steady. “How’d ya know I was here?”
“Your friend,” she said, reaching out for Casey. The dog leaned into her side, accepting the fuss. “She was frantic, like something from one of the Lassie films, barking and running, barking and running. Knew something was up so I followed her, figured she mi
ght be yours. Sophie told me about the big, grand rescue mission,” she smiled, crouching down to kiss Casey on the head. “And she told me all about you, Casey, told me what a cute ball of fluff you are.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“Don’t mention it, kid, all in a day’s work. Keeps the adrenaline pumping.”
“What you gonna do if that Rixon guy finds out you used his name?”
She smirked. “Don’t you be worrying about that, baby. He owes me.”
He weren’t the fucking only one.
***
Sophie
Three missed calls from Rebecca. I watched my mobile flashing away on my lap under the table, itching to get the hell out of Christine’s crappy briefing and find out what the urgency was. Callum, my brain screamed, it had to be about Callum. My skin was still blooming at the thought of his name. Sunday afternoons with the Savage weren’t supposed to be that good. Time with him was supposed to be about edgy sex, nothing more than the pounding of his vicious flesh against mine. My pussy ached with the echo of him, battered from his invasion, but my mind ached more. Oh, how it fucking ached.
“Anything to add, Sophie?”
I looked blankly into the faces around the table. “Sorry?”
“East Veil, any update on how we’re handling the graffiti epidemic?”
“A one pissing man epidemic,” Eric muttered. “Hope they lock the animal back up, save what’s left of our pissing budget.”
“Still a work in progress,” I said. “I’m on it.”
“And, what avenues are you considering?” Christine was so bastard snooty. I felt my hackles rise. “Surely the police are working with you on this? They do have a history with Callum Jackson, after all, a lengthy history. What’s their take on the situation?”
My mouth turned clammy, but I pasted on my professional face. “Actually, I’m only going to utilise the law as a last resort. I’m planning on tackling this using education and opportunity, rather than enforcement.” A wave of scathing amusement rippled through the room, and I felt my temperature rising, tongue itching to run riot. I let it fly. “Graffiti, or street art, is an attempt to express oneself creatively. East Veil has no youth program, no effective outlet for artistic expression. It’s a boiling pot of frustration and apathy, and the crime rate is symptomatic of this, as is the lack of community cohesion. The graffiti is merely one face of a much larger problem. I’m planning on tackling that problem, not singling out one individual and treading him down. Others will merely spring up in his place, it’s firefighting, not a solution.”
Eric slammed his notepad on the table. “It’s not pissing art, it’s an eyesore. Locking him up’s the answer. Not this embracing hippy bullshit.”
“It’s not hippy bullshit,” I said. “Look up anything you like on youth crime. The statistics speak for themselves.”
“What you planning on doing, then?” he scoffed. “Taking some felt tip pens down the old youth club and have them all do some bleeding colouring-in for half an hour every bastard Friday? I could tell you how well that’s going to work, don’t need no bloody statistics.”
“That isn’t quite how I’d choose to frame it,” I hissed. “But yes. An outlet is needed.”
“I’ve heard it all now,” Eric snapped. “No wonder this place is going to the dogs.”
“I think we’re done for today,” Christine concluded. “Keep us informed, Miss Harding, everyone here is keen to see the situation resolved. It’s why you were brought in, after all. Your expertise spoke volumes when you were assigned this patch.”
Spoke, past tense.
I shifted in my chair, meeting her eyes with a confidence I wasn’t feeling. “I’ll let you know when I have an update.”
Don’t hold your fucking breath.
***
Rebecca buzzed me again as I was on the way out of the office, and I answered with a sigh.
“Finally!” she exclaimed. “Thought you’d bloody emigrated.”
“Work shit,” I groaned. “What’s up?”
“We need to get Cal off the street. Kid’s way too good to be wasting his talent on garage blocks and subways round that shithole.”
My stomach lurched in agreement. “Getting a shitload of heat from the office, they want me to bring in the police, get him locked up again.”
I waited for it. “Your colleagues are asshole fucking idiots, Sophie, idiots. Kid’s a bloody star. His skill, baby, holy mother of God, his skill.”
“They don’t see that, Bex. They think he’s a nuisance, nothing more.”
“We’ll see about that when Callum’s on the front of Urban Life magazine. Narrow-minded cunts.”
I smiled. “I’d love to see their faces.”
“Oh, you will do, if I have anything to do with it.”
“I don’t know what I can do, Bex, my hands are tied and the heat is on. I can’t get him a property through allocations, he’s not even on the waiting list. I checked.”
“We need another solution, then. What about your place?”
I groaned. “As if. Parents would go bloody spare if they caught wind of it. Had the dog there this weekend and even that raised eyebrows. All that art stuff would be a serious no-no.”
“Maybe it’s time you jumped out of their pockets. Bit long in the tooth to be leaping through Daddy’s hoops, don’t you think, baby?”
“Don’t start,” I sighed. “Not today.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Just feeling the frustration.”
“You and me both.” I pondered awhile. “No room at yours? I know your fondness for taking in waifs and strays.”
“Room’s stuffed full of Cara’s shit. Haven’t got space for my own work, let alone someone else’s. Breaks my heart, baby, I’d have him there in a flash if I could swing it.”
“I know,” I said. “I’ll get my thinking cap on.”
“Get it on swift, baby. Kid needs a break. He needs it quick, too.”
There was something in her tone, something heavy. I felt it in my stomach, a low rumble of dread. “Has something happened?”
She paused too long. “Nothing for you to worry about, baby. Think hard, think fast. I’ll be doing the same.”
“Won’t be thinking about anything else. He’s got me bad, Bex. So bad it’s scaring the shit out of me. I can’t even explain it, this thing. He’s electric, driving me insane.”
“I feel you,” she laughed. “Enjoy the ride, baby, got a feeling it’s gonna be a white-knuckled fucker.”
She wasn’t the only one.
***
My thinking cap didn’t have too long to work its magic. Call it fate, the universe, or pure bloody coincidence, but my break came out of nowhere, dropping in my lap on Wednesday afternoon without even a hint of warning. I’d been itching to call Callum, itching to have him in my place again, in my bed, in my pussy. I’d held back, a scaredy cat to my own emotions, but my resolve was buckling, my fingers darting to my phone with increasing urgency.
Christine’s expression was twinged with disapproval as she announced I had a visitor at the office.
“Miss Headley,” she announced. “34 Haygrove Park, insists she needs to see you.”
I knew Helen Headley well, a carer for her elderly parents on the Haygrove estate. I knew them all well, in fact, regular attendees at my resident coffee mornings back in the days when I was good at my job. I missed Haygrove so bloody much.
I greeted Helen warmly, ushering her into a meeting room with a genuine fondness. She sat at the other side of the table, clutching paperwork in white hands. Her mousy hair was scraped back in a ponytail, her skin sallow and sunken. My heart dropped.
“How are you?” I said. “How are your parents?”
Her lip trembled, and instinct forced a lump into my throat. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I should go to the new estate manager, Veronica whatever-her-name-is, but, you know. She’s not you, Sophie. I needed to see you.”
“What’s happened?”
> “It’s Dad,” she said. The tears welled up in a flash, and my own threatened to join in. “He, um, had another stroke last week. He… I’m afraid he didn’t make it.”
Real grief knocked me sideways. His cheerful grin as he helped with the Community in Bloom initiative, his willingness to muck in and help with the estate. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “So, so sorry.”
She waved thanks and took a breath. “I need your help, with the tenancy stuff. I’ve sorted out Mum’s stuff with the benefits, I just need the tenancy transferred to her sole name.”
“Of course.” I took the paperwork, flinching at the copy of the death certificate.
“And the garage,” she said. “I’ve cleared out his tools, as much as I can, anyway. Mum can’t face it. You know how he loved that place, his little workshop.”
I smiled sadly. “I know. I’d always find him down there.”
“He liked the quiet,” she said. “Helped him think. Away from Mum’s nagging, he used to say.”
I smiled along with her, trying my best to keep it together. “You want me to end his tenancy?”
“Please.”
I took the key. “I’ll sort out the paperwork. You don’t need to worry about it.”
“Thank you,” she said. The tears dropped from her eyes freely and she made no attempt to brush them away. “He liked you,” she smiled. “Said you were a good lass. We all miss you, Sophie, it’s not the same without you.”
“I miss you all too,” I said. “I’m on East Veil now, not so far away.”
“Maybe you could call in sometime. We’ve got the young mum’s support group up and running now, meets on a Tuesday.”
“I’d love to.”
“I’d better let you get on,” she smiled. “Hope we see you again soon, under happier circumstances.”
“Me too.”
I broke protocol completely by pulling her in for a hug. I held her tight for long moments in the meeting room, and she sobbed onto my shoulder like a broken child. My eyes were wet with tears when she pulled away, and I struggled for composure as I waved her off. I sat at the desk in that poxy little room and cried. Cried for Derek Headley, for Helen and her mum. Cried for Haygrove and my old job. Cried for me, too, cried for something I couldn’t place, some deep-seated fear of missing out on life, on not seizing the fleeting gifts that life offered up to me. Life is short, and fragile, so fragile.