Somewhere to Hide (The Estate, Book 1)

by Mel Sherratt

  Clean: it smelt clean.

  ‘Hey,’ Cathy flicked on the kettle, ‘do you know anything about that boy whose body they found in the canal last week?’

  ‘I’m sure decent people discuss the weather when they sit down to make small talk,’ replied Josie. ‘Whereas we talk dead bodies.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s because you know everything that goes on around here.’

  ‘More is the pity.’ Josie sighed. ‘He was only in his late teens, poor kid.’

  ‘Anyone we know?’

  ‘Too early to tell. There was no ID found on him. Mind you, it is a strange one. Apparently, he had cigarette burns all over his cheeks. It looks like whoever killed him strangled him first, used his face as an ashtray and then dumped him in the water.’

  ‘First?’ Cathy frowned. ‘Don’t people usually go doo-lally before they kill someone?’

  Josie shrugged. ‘You know the Mitchell Estate. It’s had its fair share of weirdoes over the years.’

  ‘Yeah, and you’ve visited most of them, Ms Housing Officer Extraordinaire.’

  ‘It gives me a chance to send the worst of them to you though, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Don’t I know it?’ Cathy tutted. ‘My hair is turning grey far earlier than it should. You’ll have me old before my time.’

  Josie doubted that. Cathy Mason was one of the few women on the estate who took pride in their appearance. Looking far younger than her thirty-nine years, with long dark hair and enticing brown eyes framed by the longest of lashes, she was slim with clear, almost radiant skin. Hardly a wrinkle underneath her natural-look make-up and wearing immaculate yet simple clothing, Cathy wouldn’t have it said but she put a lot of women on the Mitchell Estate to shame.

  And she never missed a thing.

  ‘Heavy caseload?’ Cathy asked, noticing Josie’s drooping shoulders. She handed her a mug of tea and sat down at the table.

  Josie nodded, following suit. ‘Not enough hours in the day, as ever. How’s Jess?’

  ‘Jess is Jess.’ Cathy huffed. ‘That girl will always think of herself and no one else. Did you hear what she did last week? She whacked one of the Bradley twins.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ Josie grimaced. Gina Bradley was another of her tenants. She had three out of control children but the twins, fifteen-year-old girls, were by far the worst.

  ‘I had their mother on the doorstep after my blood. That Gina thinks those girls are blameless, the silly cow. They’re always in the thick of things but she won’t have it.’ Cathy pointed at Josie. ‘You should do something about it.’

  ‘You’re right. I wish I could get rid of the whole Bradley clan. I can’t understand how we allowed them to take on so many properties in the same street. We should have been savvier and split them all over the estate. Now I can’t go down Stanley Avenue without getting accosted by mother, father, sister or grandmother.’

  Josie Mellor was thirty-six and had been at Mitchell Housing Association for seventeen years. She’d started out working on the main reception at their head office in Stockleigh before moving over to work on the estate. Even though she was small in stature and didn’t look like she was capable of standing up for herself in any type of sticky situation, she’d been a housing officer for the past seven years. More recently, she’d been splitting her hours between ongoing cases and working in the community house set up by one of the residents’ associations.

  ‘Then she came home drunk again last week,’ Cathy continued, ‘making all kinds of noise. Archie Meredith was over like a shot the next morning. Honestly, I have more visitors than Crewe Station. It’s pathetic. And they never see the good in anyone. They should try looking in a mirror once in a while.’

  Josie smiled her gratitude. ‘What would this estate do without you, Cathy Mason? You are one special lady.’

  ‘Stop trying to get on my good side. I know you’re buttering me up for something. What brings you to my humble abode so early in the morning, anyway? I haven’t seen much of you lately.’

  Josie tucked shoulder-length mousey hair behind her ears. ‘I need a favour,’ she replied.

  Cathy raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Okay, okay. I need another favour. Remember when I asked you, oh, some time last year, if you’d be able to take on a woman with a young child, when she was ready to admit defeat?’

  ‘Bloody hell, that was some months ago.’

  ‘Liz McIntyre came to see me yesterday. She was in a right mess and had the remnants of some pretty nasty bruises. I’ve put her and her daughter up in a hostel overnight but I was wondering…’

  Liz McIntyre was one of Josie’s tenants that she suspected was being abused by her husband. Several times, Liz’s neighbour had rung showing concern over the goings-on next door. Several times, Josie had visited Liz only to be told to mind her own business. But over the past couple of months, Josie’s visits had become more frequent.

  ‘And she’s after somewhere to stay?’ Cathy questioned.

  Josie took a sip of her drink before nodding. ‘It’s only until I can fix her up with a place of her own. But it’s better than her returning to him, which I know she will do if she has to stay in the hostel.’ She paused before continuing. ‘I’d feel so much better knowing that she has somewhere safe to stay. I’ve already asked her to move away, maybe to another area, but she won’t leave the estate. I know I can trust you to look out for her and her daughter, Chloe. She’s only eight. And you have room at the moment, don’t you?’

  When her husband, Rich, died three years ago, Cathy’s life had changed dramatically. Dragged up through her childhood, her marriage had been unstable, sometimes to the brink of nasty and back, but Rich had grounded her with his love.

  She’d been thirty-six when it happened. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she was made redundant the month after and again six months later with the next job. Around that time, her friend’s daughter, Nicola, came to stay. She wasn’t getting on with her parents at home so it was a good idea all round. They had peace, quiet and assurance; Cathy had someone to look after, company in a quiet house. It hadn’t all been fun: some of it was hard work. Nicola’s mood swings were volatile but when she was happy, Cathy had enjoyed her company. Once Nicola felt able to return home and try again, Cathy decided to see if there was any kind of fostering she could do involving younger, perhaps vulnerable, women. It hadn’t been easy but Josie managed to persuade the right people and she hadn’t looked back. It had given her something to work at; something she was good at; something to ease the pain. Her eyes welled up with tears.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Josie, noticing her distress. ‘Let me do the rounds with the hostels again.’

  But Cathy shook her head. ‘There’s no need. I’ll be fine. Besides, have I ever let down a sister in distress?’

  ‘I’m sure Liz will be grateful.’

  ‘I meant helping you out, you dope,’ Cathy smiled.

  ‘Shit!’

  Cathy ended the phone call and sighed in spectacular fashion. Not only was Josie’s request about to end her peace and quiet, but it seemed there was a sixteen-year-old girl in need of her help too. Jess was going to be furious.

  Seventeen-year-old Jess Myatt had been with Cathy for near on a year now. She’d managed to keep her at school for the last few months of her final year but since then Jess had been reluctant to get a job. Cathy kept encouraging her to enrol for college in September but Jess wasn’t keen. Well, what chance did she stand nowadays with so many skilled workers on the dole? She’d come away from school without an exam to her name, in steep competition with a lot of her friends who had achieved nothing either. And, as she rightly said over and over, who would take her on? There were only so many small back street shops and factories that would employ cheap labour.

  To Cathy’s mind, someone older than Jess coming to the house, and with a young child, would take away the top spot she’d gained due to the length of time she’d been here. Cathy had to be prepared mentally for the inevitable ruction
s that the next few days would bring. She had to prepare Jess too. It wouldn’t be fair to blame everything on her, despite her big woman attitude.

  ‘Jess.’ Cathy knocked on the bedroom door before entering. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Jesus, Cath. It’s only quarter to ten,’ a voice could be heard from beneath the duvet. ‘What do you want?’

  Cathy drew back the bedroom curtains, staring out onto the street for a second before turning back. ‘I’ve had a couple of calls today. One from PC Baxter and one from –’

  ‘There’s someone coming to stay, isn’t there?’ The duvet was pulled back to reveal her scowl.

  ‘Yes,’ Cathy replied. ‘But it’s not someone. There are three people.’

  ‘Three!’

  Jess had the face of a cherub, innocent and fresh, but the temper of a devil. She sat up in bed, short, red hair sticking up everywhere.

  ‘I’ve had more than this before, and I’ll do it again if I have to,’ said Cathy.

  ‘But –’

  She sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘There are no buts. We have other people coming to stay. You don’t have the monopoly on me, even though it seems like you’ve been here forever now.’

  ‘If things carry on the way they are,’ Jess retorted, getting out of bed, ‘it looks like I’ll be moving out anyway.’ She pushed past Cathy. Moments later, the bathroom door slammed.

  Cathy flinched at the bang and sighed. She wasn’t really worried. They’d been in this situation many times over the months: Jess always came around eventually. But it wasn’t pleasant to witness her reaction.

  When it was clear that she wasn’t going to run back and put her point across more poignantly, Cathy pulled the duvet from the floor and back onto the bed. Not yet ten o’clock and already she could feel a headache coming on. No wonder she felt like the weight of the world was on her shoulders at times. And if past experiences were anything to go by, three people arriving at the same time meant a whole raft of problems coming with them. Life wasn’t going to be quiet for the foreseeable future.

  ‘Hi, Cathy!’ Josie’s voice rang out with false brightness as she stood on the doorstep less than three hours after her last visit. ‘I’m so sorry to put pressure on you, but you know this game by now. Like buses: there isn’t one for ages and then two at the same time – or rather, three. This is Becky Ward. Please say that Andy has warned you to expect her.’

  ‘Yes, he rang about an hour ago. Hi, Becky.’

  Cathy held the front door wide open and ushered the two women inside. They went through to the kitchen.

  Cathy pushed Becky gently down into a chair and tilted up her chin. ‘Lovely blue eyes you have there but I can’t see them for the swelling. You’ve got a great shiner coming too. What did you do to get that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Becky jerked her head away.

  ‘She was caught shoplifting at Shop&Save last night, over on Vincent Square,’ said Josie. ‘Andy – PC Baxter, I mean – tried to caution her but she legged it and gave him the slip. He spotted her again just after six this morning when he went back on duty. She was walking up Davy Road.’

  ‘I can speak for myself,’ Becky muttered before folding her arms.

  Cathy didn’t doubt that for a second. She also reckoned that Becky would clam up the moment any awkward questions were asked of her.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ she enquired.

  Becky shook her head.

  ‘Would you like some toast? And a cup of tea?’

  Becky shook her head again. Then she changed her mind and nodded slightly.

  Josie checked her watch. ‘No tea for me, Cathy. I’ve got an appointment in ten minutes. No rest for the wicked, I suppose. Can I leave Becky in your capable hands while I make enquiries?’

  ‘Enquiries?’ Becky’s eyes widened and she sat up straight. ‘What kind of enquiries?’

  ‘To see where you can stay. Cathy can help for now but we have a duty of care to put you somewhere more permanent. You’re sure you can’t go home?’

  ‘Yes! I’m never going back.’

  Cathy’s heart went out to the young girl sitting at her table. Becky Ward might be sixteen but she had the look of a middle-aged woman who’d seen more than her fair share of worry. Her skin was pale, except for the odd blemish and group of spots. Wavy, blonde hair rested halfway down her back, looking in desperate need of a good shampoo. Yet, other than the mud stains on the knees of her jeans, her clothes were clean. She didn’t look like she had been on the streets for long.

  Cathy glanced around. ‘Haven’t you got a bag?’ she asked. ‘Or anything to call your own?’

  ‘She’s only got the clothes she’s in now,’ Josie explained when Becky didn’t. ‘No possessions, no bags, no spare knickers and toothbrush.’

  ‘It might be your lucky day.’ Cathy smiled warmly at Becky. ‘You can stay for a while, if you like?’

  Becky shrugged.

  ‘I thought you could speak for yourself,’ she teased, nudging her playfully. Then she looked up at Josie. ‘Leave her with me. She can have the room next to Jess.’

  ‘You’re a godsend!’

  Cathy turned back to Becky once Josie had left. ‘I’ll tell you the same as I tell everyone else when they come to stay. I’m here for you if ever you need me. But there are certain rules that I like to be kept. Break them too often and you’re out. Understand?’

  Becky began to cry. Cathy pulled up a chair and waited until her tears slowed and her body stopped shaking so much. Then she reached across the table to a box of tissues, pulled out a couple and handed them to Becky.

  ‘I always find a good cry helps me feel better,’ she told her.

  ‘I’m so screwed.’ Becky blew her nose loudly. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Everything.’

  Cathy smiled at her theatrical tone. ‘Have you fallen out with your parents?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Brother? Sister?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s the reason why most young girls end up here. Take Jess, for instance. Her mother kicked her out because she couldn’t cope with her mood swings. She’s a feisty soul but treat her like an adult and she’s not much to handle. I suppose your mother thought the same of you, hmm?’

  ‘My mum’s dead.’

  ‘Oops. Trust me and my big mouth. I’m not known for my tact.’ Cathy decided to change the subject. ‘Where’s that accent of yours from? Manchester?’

  Becky nodded. ‘Salford.’

  ‘So why Stockleigh?’

  ‘It was the first bus that left from the station on Saturday. I – I didn’t know where to go really.’

  ‘Was that when you left home? On Saturday?’

  ‘No, eleven days ago. I stayed around Salford but I started to get pestered by this creepy guy.’

  ‘Don’t worry. You’re safe here for now.’ Cathy didn’t want to push Becky into too much talk so early on. She knew it was vital that she gained the girl’s trust as soon as possible but prying too deep too quickly was one lesson she’d learnt during her first few months taking young girls in. She ran her right hand subconsciously over the scar on her left. Sarah Draycott had taken a pair of scissors to her after she’d asked her one question too many.

  ‘You would have been better going south of Manchester rather than north,’ she continued. ‘This estate wouldn’t have been my first choice – not my choice at all, actually.’

  The Mitchell Estate consisted of 1,500 houses. Some were owner-occupied, some were rented from the local authority and the majority of the remaining ones belonged to Mitchell Housing Association. It was split down the middle by a main road, Davy Road. Known locally as The Mitch, the bottom half of the estate housed families who tried hard to keep their properties respectable. Gardens were tended, rubbish put in the bins, their cars were taxed and parked in their drives or by the kerbside. Tenants usually felt safe popping to the shop for a loaf of bread. Some of the neighbours
greeted each other with a wave and a nod. Most of them watched out for each other when strangers were on the prowl.

  The top of the estate, however, had a reputation for being the worst place in the city to live. It was referred to as The Hell. There the cars were lucky to have any wheels left in the morning. Abandoned vehicles on the lawns were more prominent than garden shrubs. Rubbish was piled up in the middle of the roads and tenants fought to be heard over the thud, thud of the music – that’s if they weren’t fighting among themselves. Neighbours would rob you before they’d ask how you were. Even the stray dogs wandered around in threes.

  Becky went quiet and Cathy relented. ‘It’s not that bad, I suppose. It’s just that I’ve been born and bred here. The place is ripe with the usual social housing problems – drugs, fighting, single mums with no control of their kids, thieving. You don’t ever go to Vincent Square after dark by yourself or you’re asking for trouble. Other than that, it’s a great place to live.’ She forced a smile. ‘You could have done much worse, though.’

  Becky looked like she was going to cry again so Cathy stood up and opened the key cupboard. ‘Your room is number two. It’s the smallest one I have but it’ll be fine. You don’t have to use it but if you feel safer that way, it’s up to you. If you leave during the day, the key stays here, understand? You need to be in by eleven: midnight at the weekend if by prior arrangement.’ She paused. ‘I know Josie asked this but I’m going to ask again, while she’s not here. Is there any chance of you going back home at any time?’

  Becky shook her head. Cathy knew she wasn’t going to get any more talk out of her. The girl needed some space. There were bound to be a lot more tears before the day was out.

  ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you settled. I bet you could do with a bath and a sleep. I’ll introduce you to Jess later. She’s stormed off out so you’ll have a bit of peace and quiet while she’s not here. But be warned. The minute she’s back, she’s bound to create an atmosphere. She’s really good at it.’