Trust No One

by Lizzy Grey

  “Becca, for God’s sake look at the place. Please let me help you.”

  “Stephen, we don’t need rescuing,” she snapped, grabbing her handbag, and going to the front door.

  She flung it open, only to find a middle-aged man and woman standing outside and about to knock.

  “Rebecca Hills?” the woman enquired.

  She had to forcefully swallow her anger. “Yes?”

  “Social Services.” The woman produced a photo identification card. “May we come in?”

  Oh, terrific, this was all she needed. Becca glanced at the woman’s identification and, behind her, heard Stephen come into the hall.

  “Anything wrong?” he enquired.

  “Social Services,” the woman said again. “May we come in, please?”

  Stephen cleared his throat. “Actually, this flat was burgled yesterday evening,” he replied in a pleasant tone. “This isn’t a very good time.”

  “Please?” The woman was polite but insistent.

  “Becca?” Stephen asked.

  She shrugged. “Whatever. Come on, then.”

  They went into the living room where Stephen righted the sofa and armchairs.

  “Was much taken?” the man enquired.

  Like you care, she thought sitting down on the sofa and watching as the man and woman made themselves as comfortable as they could in the armchairs.

  “Television, DVD player, the usual,” Stephen replied. “And they ransacked the place, as you can see,” he added, sitting down next to her.

  “You have a son, Ms Hills,” the woman began. “Called Thomas.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you work?”

  “Part-time in a bookshop while he’s at school,” Becca explained. “What’s this about?”

  “And you take him to and from school?” the woman went on, ignoring her question.

  “Yes, I do, and very occasionally my neighbour does. Her son goes to the same school. Why?”

  “This would be Vikram Shah?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ms Hills.” The woman leaned forward and Becca heard a spring in the seat protest. “We have been informed that two boys matching the description of your son and Vikram Shah have been seen damaging cars on this estate.”

  “Have you any evidence to back these claims up?” Stephen interrupted sharply.

  “And you are?” the woman replied equally sharp tone.

  He produced his police warrant card. “Detective Inspector Stephen Connor. I’m Tommy’s father.”

  “I see.” The two social workers eyed it then each other in surprise.

  “Was this a tip-off?” Stephen persisted. “Because the police are currently looking into harassment towards Ms Hills by members of her family. Including this,” he added, lifting a hand to indicate the burglary and the message on the walls.

  “Vikram Shah has been in trouble before, Detective Inspector Connor.”

  Becca exhaled a humourless laugh. “For not going to school. He’s never been in any serious trouble. Sangita’s ex-husband used to beat her up,” she explained, turning to Stephen. “That’s why this lot were involved. Vikram took it into his head that if he stayed off school and was at home when his dad came around, Sangita wouldn’t get beaten up in front of him. Vikram and his two sisters were put into foster care when Sangita was in hospital a couple of times.” She turned back to the social workers. “This is nothing to do with the Shah’s, so leave them alone. This is to do with my family who cannot stand the fact that I’m nothing like them. They’ve found out that I have a son that they didn’t know about and this is their way of letting me know that they’re not best pleased. Okay?”

  “And your family’s name?” the woman asked.

  “Burns. My mother is Ma Burns and my brothers are the Burns boys. You might have heard of them? They quite often have starring roles on television on Crime Line.”

  Both jerked back. They had. They both got up and Becca heard the armchair springs pinging back into place. “We’ll look into it, Ms…er…Hills,” the woman told her.

  “Rather you than me,” Becca muttered.

  “Yeah, well…we’ll see ourselves out.” Taking one last look around the wrecked living room, they left the flat.

  “Bastards,” she whispered. “All of them.”

  “Still want that paint?” Stephen asked.

  Sighing, she shook her head. “Tommy and I can’t stay here.”

  “No.” He squeezed her arm. “I’ll help you pack.”

  “I need to tell Sangita and then I need to ring Tommy’s school and the bookshop.”

  Dazed, she went outside and into the flat next door. Bringing Sangita into the kitchen, she told her everything except that the Social Services has been around. The other woman had enough on her plate without the additional worry over whether she, too, would receive a visit from them.

  “Your family got someone to write that?” Sangita was horrified. “Where will you go?”

  “Stephen’s.” There was no point in lying as, no doubt, her family already knew exactly where she would go. “Tommy isn’t to know why.”

  “No, I know. Becca, you look awful. Is your head still bothering you? Shall I make you a mug of coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” she replied. “My head is spinning, but it’s because of all this. I have to ring the shop and then pack. I need to see Tommy’s head teacher, too.”

  “I’ll miss you, Becca.”

  She felt a sharp pang of sorrow. Sangita was one of the few friends she had allowed herself to make. “I’ll miss you, too.” She gave her a hug, trying not to cry. “You’ve been a good friend to me.”

  Returning to her flat, she found Stephen in the living room speaking on his smartphone.

  “…Yes, the Crime Bookstore in Albert Road, I know it. Yes, I’ll tell her. Thank you, goodbye.”

  Bloody hell, he was on the phone to Billy. “I wanted to ring him and tell him myself.”

  “You mightn’t have noticed, but you no longer have a working telephone.” He picked up the socket which had been ripped from the wall. “We also have an appointment at St James’ School and with Tommy’s current headteacher this afternoon.”

  “Do you want to do all the packing, too?”

  “Not particularly.” He smiled. “But I’ll certainly help.”

  “Good. I’ll go to the shop and ask for some cardboard boxes. There are bin bags in the cupboard next to the sink in the kitchen.”

  Twenty minutes later, she left the boxes in the hall, hearing Stephen in Tommy’s bedroom. He was on the floor folding Tommy’s clothes and putting them into bin bags. Tommy’s toys were already in three bags standing at the door.

  “I’ll make a start in my room,” she told him and left him to it.

  An hour later, both bedrooms were bare and she began packing in the kitchen while he concentrated on the living room. By noon they were finished, and ten bags and four boxes were lined up in the hall. The sum total of her possessions.

  “Is there a café near here?” Stephen asked.

  “Yes. It’s a bit rough, though.”

  “It doesn’t matter. We’ll collect Tommy, get something to eat, and go to the schools before collecting this little lot.”

  Tommy was enrolled in St James’ Primary School and when he was told he was moving to Daddy’s apartment and changing schools, he was speechless with excitement. His head teacher was sorry to see him go but would forward a report to St James’ within the week.

  With a bag at her feet and a box on her lap, the other three boxes on the back seat beside Tommy and the other bags crammed into the boot, Stephen drove them to his apartment block, parking in the underground car park. Two bags and two boxes were brought up in the lift then Stephen began making a few trips back down to the car for the rest.

  “Daddy needs to buy a bed for me in here,” Tommy informed her as they stood in the empty white bedroom which would soon be his.

  “I know, so, for the time being, you’ll
share the double bed in the other bedroom with me. Come and help me unpack your things.”

  “What’s my new school called again, Mummy?” he asked while putting his clothes into the drawers in the bottom of the wardrobe.

  “St James’. It’s nice, only five minutes walk away.”

  Ringing the council and – after forty minutes on hold listening to Greensleeves played on a xylophone – she spoke to the housing department, telling them she had moved out of the flat and why. She completed the rest of her calls to all the utility companies as Stephen returned with the last of the bags, before finding him in his bedroom with Tommy, where they were comparing Bear and Humphrey.

  “Well, we are now officially living here,” she announced.

  “Good,” Tommy squealed.

  “I also rang Billy to explain myself and to apologize. He’s going to write me a reference.”

  “Good.” Stephen smiled at her.

  Tommy patted her arm for attention. “Where are my DVDs, Mummy?”

  She knelt down, feeling a sharp stab of regret and anger at having to tell him. “I’m sorry, but they were stolen in the burglary, Tommy.”

  His face fell. “All of them?”

  “All of them.”

  “All the Disney ones,” he whispered, clutching Bear to him. “They were my favourites.”

  “Why don’t we go out and buy you some furniture?” Stephen suggested. “A new bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers?”

  “Okay,” he replied quietly.

  “Good boy, go and find your coat.”

  They found a bed for him in the shape of a Ferrari, plus a chest of drawers and wardrobe also in bright red. She was relieved to see that it was all half price in the shop’s sale. They would all be delivered the following day. Now, she just needed to find a job to pay her way.

  “I’m going to try that Crime Scene Bookshop and a couple of others now before they close for the day,” she told Stephen.

  “Okay, Tommy and I can go and look for wallpaper or paint. Good luck.”

  “Thanks.”

  She left the third bookshop she had tried an hour later. The Crime Scene Bookshop and another called Crime Ink had taken her details. The Crime Bookstore had no vacancies, which relieved her as the owner was a bit of a creep. Returning to the apartment, she pressed the intercom button, hoping Stephen and Tommy were back. Stephen buzzed her in.

  “Here.” He presented her with two freshly-cut keys. “How did you get on?”

  She told him as they went into the living area before spotting a five litre tin of paint on the breakfast bar. “Yellow?”

  “Yellow for the walls and red for the architraves and door,” Stephen explained. “Very bright and cheerful.”

  “But your Teletubbies wallpaper was yellow, Tommy.”

  “This has no Teletubbies on it,” he informed her from one of the sofas.

  “Right.”

  “Daddy bought me a DVD, too,” he added, holding it up for her to see.

  She bit back a groan. “Stephen…”

  “Just one,” he assured her. “So that we can have a chat.”

  “All right, then,” she told Tommy. “Don’t have it on too loud.”

  “Okay.” Tommy slid off the sofa and ran to the television.

  “Let’s chat, then.”

  “Outside,” he said, opening the door to the roof terrace for her, and they went out. An aluminium table and four chairs stood near the door and he pulled out a chair for her. “I hope you and Tommy will be happy here.”

  “Thank you. So do I.” She sat down and watched as he sat opposite her, clasping his hands on the table. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve been doing some digging into your family. Don’t you want to know what they’ve all been up to?”

  She shrugged. “No, not really.”

  “Well, I think you ought to know, all the same. Terry and Bryan are in prison, serving two life sentences for a double kidnapping and murder. They won’t see life on the outside again.”

  Relieved, she nodded. Terry had always been a particularly nasty piece of work, taking delight as a small boy and teenager in tying knots in her hair, and even attempting to set it on fire with a cigarette lighter on one occasion. “Good. What about John and Bob?”

  “Still getting their hands dirty,” Stephen answered and her heart sank. “Drugs mostly. Your mum is more or less retired now and she spends most of the year in a large villa in the south of Spain.”

  “A villa in Spain? Nice. Any chance that John and Bob might join her out there on the Costa del Crime?” she asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice. Now that her family knew about Tommy, who knew what else they might do.

  “It’s very possible, yes. They don’t have the influence they once had.”

  “Good,” she replied. “I also want you to tell me if any of the fingerprints from my flat match either or both of them, even though I’d be amazed if they did. They’re hardly likely to do their dirty work themselves.”

  “No, and I will. Tommy and I had great fun shopping. He’s a fantastic kid, Becca. I’ll look after you both as much as I can, I promise.”

  “I know.” She watched as he reached out and, taking her right hand, gently rubbed his thumb back and forth over the palm. Intensely pleasurable electric shocks began surging through her. Should she stop him or let him go on? Go on or stop? She jerked back from him and got up, hoping her legs would support her. “Stephen, no.”

  “But..?”

  “No, Stephen. Get this into your head. Tommy and me being here does not mean I’m going to pay you rent on my back. If you want sex, go and ask Jan Carter, she won’t take much persuading. I’m getting a job so I can pay my way here. I’m the mother of your son, that is all, do you hear me?”

  “On your back?” he echoed, glaring at her. “Is that how little you think of me? For fuck sake, Becca, what’s happened to you? I used to be able to talk to you and tease you and actually be nice to you without getting it thrown back in my face. I can just about take all the sex addict – you must have a dozen sprogs out there – jibes at work but I will not take it from you.” He got up and went inside, attempting to slam the door behind him, but the lock didn’t catch and the door swung around on its hinges.

  “Shit.” She hadn’t meant to be so harsh and crude. Sitting back down at the table, she cried for the first time in months. This wasn’t going to work. They were only at the end of day one and here they were at opposite ends of the apartment. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Through the glass panels surrounding the roof terrace, she watched a couple across the road lifting ten carrier bags from an expensive supermarket and delicatessen out of the boot of a BMW and disappear from view. There was no shopping in discount supermarkets around here. She rested her head back then sat up again as the telephone began to ring. After four rings Stephen’s answer machine message came on followed by a beep and his mother’s Irish accent.

  “Oh, hello. You’re at work. Hmm, well, your dad and I were just ringing to see that you were all right as we haven’t heard from you in over a week. You know I hate talking to machines so I’ll go. Ring us, won’t you? Bye, love.”

  Mrs Connor rang off and Becca clenched her fists. Not surprisingly, Stephen’s mother had never liked or approved of her and would probably have a fit if she knew that Concepta – she’d always called her that out of spite – was back with the small addition of a child. Stephen’s father had always been far more easy going. Becca got up and went inside, closing the door firmly behind her.

  “Mummy, what’s wrong?” Tommy asked in a small voice. “Daddy wouldn’t speak to me.”

  “We had a little argument, that’s all,” she assured him.

  “We’re not going back to the tower block, are we?”

  Staring down into the anxiety in his eyes, she sighed. “No.”

  “Promise, Mummy?”

  She’d learned long ago never to make promises she couldn’t keep. “We’re not going back to th
e tower block, Tommy,” she said instead and continued through to the bedrooms.

  “Stephen?” She went straight into his room without knocking and found him sitting on the edge of the bed. She saw his red eyes at once. He had been crying, too. “After what happened, I swore that I wouldn’t take any more crap from anyone.”

  “You’ve been crying.”

  “So have you.”

  “Yeah.” He wiped his eyes with the back of a hand. “I haven’t cried like that for ages. Look, Becca, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted at you like that.” He brushed away more tears rolling down his cheeks with his fingers.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. He’d always been pretty good at holding himself together and she could count on one hand the number of times she had seen him in tears. “I’ve never seen you go off on one like that before.”

  “You haven’t seen me for six years,” was his short answer. “People change.”

  “Well, don’t assume that you think you still know me, then. And you need to be more careful how you act in front of Tommy. He’s just asked me if we’re going back to the tower block. He’s more observant than you think. Maybe we should schedule any arguments for after his bedtime?” she suggested, acutely aware that she was pacifying him but his lack of control was beginning to worry her.

  “I don’t want to argue with you at all, Becca, but while we are arguing, I need to explain what happened that morning to you.”

  The memories of that morning, when she had returned unexpectedly to the flat, having forgotten her Oyster travel card and found Stephen and Jackie in bed together, still made her stomach churn and she shook her head. “Stephen, I don’t want to hear your excuses…”

  “Sit down, Becca.” His voice was quiet but insistent and she sat down on the bed directly across from him. “There are no excuses. Jackie turned up here and threw herself at me.”

  “And you just couldn’t resist.”

  “John had just walked out on her,” Stephen continued without retaliating. “She was hysterical. I couldn’t stop her and I couldn’t stop myself.” He gave a little shrug. “There’s no excuse, even though she knew exactly what to do, where to do it, and for how long. We had sex in the hall, in the bathroom, and in the bedroom. I regretted it then and I’ve regretted it ever since. It was the biggest mistake of my life and I’m so sorry. The look on your face when you walked in and saw us…” He grimaced. “I know you’ll never forgive me but I just wanted to explain calmly so we won’t have to schedule an argument for later on.”