‘But they’re never there, are they?’ Archie folded his arms across his protruding belly. ‘I know they’re needed elsewhere, I’m not complaining in that sense, but there aren’t enough coppers to go round this godforsaken place because it’s getting worse.’
‘I wish we could move away from here,’ Mary Meredith said quietly.
Josie looked across at her. Mary was in her mid-fifties. She could tell from looking at her that she had been a beautiful woman in her earlier years. She’d put a bit of weight on due to being struck down with multiple sclerosis several years ago and was now confined to a wheelchair. But she still took pride in her appearance; her clothes were clean, her hair washed and styled.
Josie knew both of their children: Mark who was now twenty-seven and Amanda who was nearing thirty, if she remembered correctly. They had never been in trouble with the police and always kept themselves to themselves. Mark had family of his own now and, although Amanda had moved off the estate, she came to help out with Mary every other day.
There was no mistaking the tears glistening in Mary’s eyes. Seeing them made Josie well up too.
‘I wish I could help you,’ she said to both of them. ‘But you know as well as I do that there’s nothing I can do.’
‘You could talk to their parents,’ suggested Archie. ‘Before I get myself into trouble down the pub when I lamp Pete Bradley.’ Archie squeezed his index finger and his thumb together. ‘I was that close to it on Sunday night. But knowing my luck, I’d get locked up for it.’ He smiled affectionately. ‘And who would look after my Mary, then?’
Mary smiled too, but the tears were still there. Josie’s heart went out to them. They were a lovely couple. Archie had worked all his life, and provided for them both when Mary had been taken ill. Despite her best intentions not to, Josie relented.
‘Let me have a word with Mrs Bradley and see if we can ease things for a while. Sometimes she keeps them away from the square. I’ll talk to –’
Archie shook his head. ‘Thanks, Josie. I know your hands are tied, and I know you mean well, but it won’t work. They’ll only move on and cause trouble elsewhere. Trouble breeds trouble. They’re better on the square, where people can see them, I suppose.’
Josie knew what he meant. How could she give them peace when a man built like Archie Meredith didn’t feel safe going to fetch his wife a bottle of cough medicine from the shops after dark? Archie wasn’t very tall but what he lacked in height, he gave back in muscle. His job as a roofer kept him fit. To know that he was wary of the estate after dark gave Josie the creeps in itself.
But what could she possibly do for them?
‘Let me talk to Mrs Bradley first,’ she tried again. ‘I’ll check in at the police post and see if they have anything to link the girls to the crime. But you know as well as I do that those bloody girls are too clever to get caught out.’
Archie smiled a little. ‘I know you’ll try your best for us. You’re one of the good guys, Josie.’
‘OY!’ a voice bellowed from behind as Josie got out of her car in Stanley Avenue thirty minutes later. She locked the door before turning around. When she saw who it was, she cursed under her breath.
‘Yes, you,’ cried Barbara as she drew level with her. ‘I hope you’re not off to moan at our Gina again.’
‘What I say to Gina is confidential, Mrs Lewis.’ Josie turned and began to walk away. But Barbara followed her.
‘She’s my daughter, you cheeky cow. She tells me everything.’
I doubt that very much, Josie thought. She continued up the pathway towards Gina’s front door as quickly as possible.
‘She’ll have done nothing wrong,’ Barbara continued, marching behind her. ‘She’s always in trouble for something someone else has done. If it isn’t the twins, it’s Danny. If it isn’t Danny, it’s that useless layabout of a husband. Why can’t you give the poor girl a break?’
‘Mrs Lewis,’ Josie turned on her heels so abruptly that she narrowly missed knocking Barbara to the floor, ‘why don’t you let me do my job? I’m sure Gina will tell you all about it once I’m gone.’
Barbara marched back to her own house as Josie knocked on the Bradleys’ front door. Cathy hadn’t been in after she’d visited Archie Meredith - what she’d give for another sit down at a respectable tenant’s home rather than being about to enter the lion’s den!
She’d almost given up when the front door opened.
‘What do you want now?’ Gina cried. ‘My family haven’t done anything wrong as far as I am aware.’
‘Can I come in and chat for a moment?’ Josie said. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement.
‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say.’
‘Can I come in or are we going to tell the whole of Stanley Avenue what’s going on?’
Gina let out a huge sigh and walked into the house, leaving the door open for Josie to follow. As usual, she manoeuvred herself past boxes stacked in the hallway: four of bottled lager, one pack of 32 toilet rolls, several boxes of crisps, and a fair number of cigarettes.
‘These things are a hazard in here,’ said Josie as she squeezed through into the living room. ‘I’ve told you before to move them. If you ever have a fire, you’ll be –’
‘If I ever have a fire I bet you’ll be the first to say it was an insurance scam!’ Gina retorted angrily. She flopped down onto the settee, lit another cigarette, threw her lighter down onto the coffee table and took a long, unhealthy drag. ‘And you should be doing something about that Reynolds’ family. Their music was blaring into the early hours again last weekend.’
‘I’ve come to chat to you, not take a complaint from you.’
‘So it’s all right for them to be ant-social, but not my family?’
Ignoring her, Josie sat on the armchair, first moving the pile of washing to one side.
‘Are the girls at school?’ she asked.
‘Of course they are.’ Gina folded her arms.
‘Were they over on Vincent Square on Tuesday evening?’
Gina cast her mind back to Tuesday. Ah, yes, the hair disaster day. Well, she’d be damned if she could remember anything after finishing off the whisky before starting on the lager – apart from the hangover the following day.
‘I’m not sure,’ she replied.
‘Mr Meredith from Christopher Avenue had his car trashed. Your girls were seen near to, as well as –’
‘You see, you’re blaming my girls already!’ She moved in closer to Josie.
‘No, I only want to talk,’ said Josie. ‘Things do seem to be getting out of hand with Rachel and Claire. And I’m not just talking about the damage to the car. There have been some really nasty catfights lately.’
‘That sounds more like it.’
Unexpectedly, Josie noticed a tear in Gina’s eye. She supposed it must get to her every now and then. How could it not do?
‘All I’m really bothered about is what it might lead to,’ she spoke softer now. ‘I’m sure you remember when Stacey Hunter ended up in juvenile detention and –’
‘My girls won’t end up there!’
‘If you let me finish, I was going to say since she’s gone, Rachel and Claire seem hell-bent on taking her place at the head of this stupid gang they’ve created. I heard they’ve been getting the other girls in their group to do initiation tests.’
‘That’s my girls.’ Gina couldn’t help but smile.
Josie ignored her sarcasm. ‘I’m actually more concerned about what will happen when Stacey gets out.’
Gina frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you think there’s going to be trouble if she doesn’t get her place back at the helm? I doubt that Rachel and Claire will back down, so there may be what we’d call a turf war.’
‘A turf war? This isn’t exactly the east end of London!’
‘You know what I mean. Stacey Hunter is a nasty piece of work. Having a step father like Lenny Pickton means she’s grown up in
a world of violence. She thought nothing of the attack she carried out that got her locked up in the first instance. If Rachel and Claire don’t watch their step, who knows how far things might escalate?’
‘My girls can hold their own.’
‘But what if they can’t?’ Josie paused. ‘It isn’t Rachel that I’d be worried about as much as Claire. She doesn’t seem as strong as her sister and if Stacey wants to make trouble when she comes out, you know she will. She won’t be bothered about going down again and she won’t be bothered about taking your girls with her.’
Gina finally caught on to Josie’s meaning. Christ, she didn’t want to lose the girls too, despite how much grief they caused her. She sat back with a sigh of resignation.
‘What can I do?’ she said. ‘Neither of them listens to me anymore.’
‘Can’t you try and talk to them?’ Josie urged. ‘I know it was a bad turn of phrase when I said a turf war but it’s highly likely if Stacey hears they’re trying to rule her out as coming back as their leader. I’m not sure the police will be able to stop them. They’re like animals when they get going.’
Gina frowned – that was her daughters she was referring to. But she realised that Josie meant no harm.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she told her.
‘Maybe Mr Bradley could have a word?’
‘Pete?’ Gina snorted as she reached for another cigarette. ‘He’s bloody hopeless. I’ll try and talk to them.’
Josie stood up. She looked at Gina with a heavy heart. Even though her family troubles were of her own making, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her at times. No one would take any notice of Gina: Josie had seen it so many times on the estate. Her brood were too strong-willed. But she had to admire her for wanting to try. And she hoped that Rachel and Claire Bradley would take note of the bollocking their mother was about to dish out.
‘Will you two keep the din down in there?’ Ruth shouted through to the living room, almost making as much noise as Mason and Jamie combined. The screeching was getting on her nerves. They’d been playing soldier games for near on an hour now. She wished they would settle down and watch a DVD but there was no television set up yet. As it was, she only had the portable television that she’d had for years now. Although she’d paid towards the widescreen television at Martin’s house, there was no mention of it coming with her when he’d chucked them out.
How could he have been so cruel, after all that time? She’d spent three years with him, and for what? So he could sling her out on the streets at the first opportunity that some new skirt came along. It had been that Tracy Tanner’s doing, she knew it. As well as being a mobile hairdresser, Tracy worked a couple of nights down at The Butcher’s Arms. She’d only been in there on one occasion with him – babysitters were hard to come by when you didn’t have any friends – but she’d noticed immediately the effect that Martin had on Tracy. Martin was tall, not too scrawny, with a lush of black hair and denim blue eyes. They were the first thing to attract Ruth when she’d met him at the job centre.
He’d been seeing Tracy for over a year on the side when she’d found out they were an item. England had been playing and Martin had gone to The Butcher’s Arms to watch the match. He’d only been gone an hour when Jamie had been taken ill. She’d rushed around to a neighbour’s and asked them to keep an eye on both boys until she had fetched Martin. She’d run most of the way to the pub, arriving breathless and red-faced.
But she’d been even more red-faced when she’d spotted him in the corner with Tracy Tanner. At first, she hadn’t been able to tell who the woman was because Martin’s tongue was down her throat. As she’d stood over them while they continued, Tracy had opened her eyes eventually and pulled away. The look Martin gave her when he turned around was one she would never forget. He sneered; then he laughed. Then he turned back to kiss Tracy Tanner. Ruth had run out of the pub.
Two days later, while Jamie was recovering from what turned out to be no more than a nasty virus, Martin dropped his bombshell. He wanted them out and he wanted them out as soon as possible. He was moving Tracy Tanner in. Ruth hadn’t got a leg to stand on: the property was rented in Martin’s sole name. He was the one who was in the wrong, yet she lost her home and what she looked on as her security.
‘Mum, can I have some chocolate?’ Mason asked as he ran up to her.
‘There isn’t any left,’ said Ruth, as she tidied the work surface. ‘You and Jamie had the last of it yesterday.’
Mason kicked the kitchen cupboard, the bang reverberating around the room. ‘Why can’t you go out and fetch some more?’
‘I’m busy.’
Mason raised his voice. ‘You’re a stupid mum.’
Ruth sighed. ‘Don’t start all that again. What have I told you about calling people stupid?’
‘You are. Stupid, stupid, STUPID!’
‘Not now, Mason, please!’
‘Stupid, stupid, STUPID.’
Ruth raced towards him, narrowly missing him as he ran through the door. She could hear his laughter as he tore up the stairs to join his brother. Why did she have to have two boys? All she’d ever wanted was a girl that she could dress up; that she could take shopping; that she could help do her hair. God had been cruel to her in so many ways. Not only had he taken their father away far too early, but he’d then turned her little horrors into eight and ten-year-old fully blown nightmares.
The house now quiet, for a moment at least, she settled down to wash the kitchen flooring. It looked like it had been there long before either Jamie or Mason had been born. She scrubbed frantically at the black scrape marks until her arms ached, but they wouldn’t budge.
She sat on her haunches while she caught her breath, wiping her brow with the back of her hand. ‘Ow!’ She pulled back her arm. Her wrist was covered in a bandage: there was blood seeping through at the edges. The cut on her arm was her latest torture. If she didn’t watch what she was doing, it would become infected and she’d have to seek medical attention and then all the questioning would begin again.
Ruth pulled up her sleeve, ignoring all the scars that ran across her arm. Scratches, wounds of yesteryear, some deep, some faint, some scabbing over nicely. But it was the one on her wrist that was giving her problems. It hadn’t stopped throbbing for days. In frustration, she unravelled the bandage. As the wound came closer to being unveiled, she winced. The gauze had stuck to the congealed blood. She pulled at it gently, millimetre by millimetre, wincing again with every move. Then the mess was revealed in all its glory – or should that be gory.
Ruth felt the tears building up: how could she do this to herself? She was such an expert on cutting now, how could she have gone that deep? She wasn’t even giving the wound time to heal over before she started at it again.
But she knew why – feeling that hurt took the pain of her everyday life away. While she was cutting, hurting herself, no one else could. The pain was part of her, yet she felt detached as she pushed a craft knife into the open wound night after night and sliced away a little more. She glanced down at it, the blood steadily increasing from where she’d pulled away the gauze. Then, hearing banging footsteps down the stairs, she quickly covered it up.
‘Mum!’ Jamie bounded in this time. ‘Mason’s hit me.’
‘No I haven’t!’ Mason came in behind him. ‘I never touched the little squirt.’
‘Yes, you did!’
‘No, I didn’t!’
‘Yes, you did!’
‘Shut up, the pair of you!’ cried Ruth. ‘If you can’t play nicely together, I’ll split you up.’
Jamie started to cry. It was then that she noticed the red mark on his cheek. She pulled him close, bent down to his level and then addressed his brother.
‘For God’s sake, Mason,’ she started.
‘I didn’t hit him hard.’ Mason walked past her to the sink. ‘He’s a wimp.’
‘You’d be a wimp if I hit you like that.’ Ruth wiped away Jamie’s tears as the red pat
ch turned to scarlet.
‘You wouldn’t dare.’ Mason glared at her. ‘You’re a wimp too.’
‘Why, you little…’ Ruth stood up straight again, grabbed Mason roughly by the neck of his jumper and turned him back to face her. She bunched her hand into a fist, raised it high and…
She stopped it in mid-air. Seeing the fear in his eyes had pierced her heart.
‘Don’t you touch me!’ he shouted.
Ruth put her fist down and let go of his jumper. She didn’t know who was shaking the most.
‘Say sorry to your brother,’ she said quietly.
‘Sorry,’ said Mason.
Ruth turned back to Jamie, only to catch him pulling faces behind her back. The little bastard!
‘Get out of my sight,’ she said. ‘Both of you. NOW!’
Jamie turned and ran. Mason followed quickly behind him. When he got to the door, he turned back.
‘I hate you,’ he said.
Ruth started to cry. She sat down in the middle of the kitchen floor and put her head in her hands. This was hopeless: it was too much for her to cope on her own. She pulled at her hair sharply. ‘Bad mother; bad mother; bad mother,’ she repeated over and over.
It wasn’t fear that had stopped her from lashing out at Jamie. It was the fact that she knew once she started, she wouldn’t have been able to stop.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Caren awoke the next morning when she felt an arm encircle her waist and pull her across the bed. She found herself spooned into John and she closed her eyes to snuggle down again.
‘What time is it?’ she whispered as his hand sidled up and down the outside of her thigh, then changed to his finger tips.
‘Early but I’m horny,’ he whispered back.
Caren shivered as she felt his breath on her neck. He moved her hair and kissed her bare shoulder. Sleepily, she sighed and let him. His hands moved lower and around to her breasts, he stroked a nipple through her vest. Then his hand found its way inside the top.
Caren took it, parted her legs and pressed it to her. She could sense John smiling as his fingers slipped inside her. She gasped and opened her legs a little wider. The sound of her breathing invaded the room as he moved over her, getting her wet and excited in moments. Eventually, she turned towards him and he kissed her with fervour. She manoeuvred her body beneath his and ran her hands over his back as he continued, down over his naked buttocks which she pulled in closer to her. His kisses were sharper now, deeper, his tongue exploring her mouth. And then he was gone.
Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) Page 7