Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3)

by Sherratt, Mel

  Pete had chosen a family photograph. It had been taken a couple of years ago when they’d all gone to Dorset for a week’s holiday. Gina was going to give her the teddy bear with ‘I love Mum’ embroidered on its T-shirt that Rachel had won at the fair when she was seven. It was dirty and grubby now and it had an ear missing where Danny had pulled at it with her. Gina knew that Rachel would be comforted to have that near to her. And it had to go with her – she couldn’t bear to look at it now that Rachel had gone.

  Behind her, there was a knock at the door. Pete opened it and came into the room with two mugs.

  ‘I thought you might like a cuppa,’ he said, placing them down on the bedside cabinet. He perched on the end of the bed, looking everywhere but at Gina. They sat in silence for a moment. It had been ten days since Rachel had been murdered, yet the question of Pete’s whereabouts had remained unanswered long after Gina had held her while her life slipped away. She was going to have to force it out of him.

  ‘Where were you?’ she asked outright.

  ‘I was down the pub.’

  ‘No, you weren’t. Mum phoned The Butcher’s Arms and they hadn’t seen you since the day before.’

  ‘I – Christ, I can’t remember now. Besides, it doesn’t really matter in the big scheme of things. We’ve far more important things to think about.’

  ‘Like who to invite to the funeral? Michelle? And Donna? And Tracy?’ As she turned to face him, Gina couldn’t even take pleasure in the look of bewilderment that flashed across Pete’s face. Michelle Winters had been the first affair she’d found out about. Donna Adams had been his second or was it his third? Tracy Tanner, however, had been a guess because of her reputation. But from the look of guilt that flashed across his face, she had hit the jackpot.

  ‘You selfish, two-timing piece of shit!’ she cried.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘it was just a fling!’

  ‘While your daughter was dying, you were fucking Tracy Tanner!’ Gina leaned forward and thumped his chest. ‘Have you any idea how I felt? I knew what was going on when your phone was switched off. Everyone else knew what was going on when I couldn’t get hold of you. Where were you when I needed you?’

  ‘It didn’t mean anything!’

  ‘So why did you do it?’

  Pete paused and sighed. ‘Because I could, okay? She was there - you weren’t and we just –’

  ‘Don’t you dare fucking shift the blame on me! You have the nerve to screw around and you think it’s okay to say it’s my fault?’

  ‘You’re right.’ Pete looked shamefaced. ‘I’m stupid and thoughtless and should have known better by now.’

  ‘No, I’m stupid and thoughtless and should have known better by now. I should have kicked you out after I found out about the last tart.’

  ‘We’ll sort it, love.’ Pete stretched across the bed for her hand. Gina snapped it away and glared at him.

  ‘Don’t ‘love’ me. We will sort it. Once the funeral is over, there are going to be changes around here, whether you agree with them or not.’

  Caren left her house to walk the few metres down to see Ruth. As she drew level with Barbara’s house, she stole a look at the windows, wondering how Gina was coping with things. She hadn’t seen her out and about for a couple of days.

  She knocked on Ruth’s front door; there was no answer. She hadn’t seen her for a couple of days either – usually by now, she’d have gone past her window at least once – and she hadn’t answered her phone today. She’d tried several times without any luck.

  She knocked again: still no answer. She peered through the living room window but couldn’t see anyone. Not one for giving in, she tried around the back, pummelling on the door.

  ‘Ruth? It’s me, Caren!’

  ‘In here.’

  Caren opened the door to find Ruth sitting at the kitchen table. Her head lay on the surface, one hand clasped around an empty glass. There was a half empty bottle of vodka beside her.

  ‘Jesus, Ruth, what time did you start drinking this morning? Or haven’t you stopped from last night?’

  Ruth’s head popped up a second. ‘I can’t remember,’ she slurred.

  Caren sighed and switched on the kettle. ‘I’ll make coffee – black. Lots of it for you, my lady.’

  ‘Don’t want any coffee.’

  ‘Tough luck. And you’re having no more of that, either.’ Caren took the bottle of vodka and put it away in a cupboard.

  ‘Hey, you can’t do that,’ Ruth griped. Wincing, she held onto her head. ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’

  ‘And I can’t sit around while you drink yourself to death either. Honestly, you have to take –’

  At the mention of death, Ruth’s face crumpled.

  ‘I’m sorry. It was only a slip of the tongue.’

  ‘It was my fault she died,’ sobbed Ruth.

  ‘No, it wasn’t.’

  ‘I let her die.’

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘But if I had got to her sooner,’ she sat up, ‘she might not have lost as much blood and –’

  ‘Bloody hell, Ruth, how long are you going to sit here wallowing in self-pity?’ Caren spoke firmly. ‘Rachel died. It wasn’t your fault – get used to it.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘You can’t keep blaming yourself for her death. Neither can you keep feeling sorry for yourself. You haven’t lost Rachel: Gina has.’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Ruth, snap out of it!’

  Ruth sniffed. Tears intermingled with snot; she wiped it all away with the back of her hand.

  Caren pulled a tissue from her pocket and gave it to her. Secretly, she wanted to slap her. She felt her patience slipping away again. It was hard to talk to Ruth when she was drunk.

  ‘I suggest you sober up and get a grip.’

  ‘I’m not drunk!’ Ruth slurred even more. ‘Where’s my vodka?’

  Caren made her strong black coffee and plonked it in front of her nose. ‘Drink this and get yourself washed and changed. You smell, Ruth. When was the last time you had a shower?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think you should –’

  ‘Stop telling me what to do!’ Ruth shouted.

  Caren held up her hands in surrender. ‘Have it your way,’ she said. ‘Drink yourself stupid. But don’t expect me to come round and check on you later. I have my own life to live.’

  ‘Fuck off… and leave me alone.’

  Caren frowned but she did exactly that.

  Claire lay on her side, curled up on the camp bed set up in her nan’s bedroom for her. She hadn’t slept much since Rachel had died; it still didn’t seem real that she’d gone. And at the hands of Stacey Hunter too. What a nasty, vicious bitch. Who would have thought she would go that far to get even?

  Claire could see the attack every time she closed her eyes. Stacey had been caught almost immediately after the assault and was now remanded in custody until the date of a court hearing. Even that tiny thought didn’t console her. She was all alone. She had lost the one friend she thought she would have for life. Rachel was her twin, her equal, her soul mate. For her, she was irreplaceable.

  No one knew how to behave around her since it had happened. Her mum was treating her like a five-year-old; her dad barely talking to anyone. Twice she’d gone around to Caren’s but had come away before she knocked on the door. Aunty Leah had been around for a fair but was keeping away now, probably unsure what to say. Claire had even thought about knocking on Ruth’s door. Maybe she’d understand. She had been with Rachel at the end too.

  She closed her eyes, concentrating to see if she could feel her sister’s presence, cuddling into her back, bringing her closer, trying to protect her.

  ‘I’m here,’ she whispered into the room. ‘Please come back for me. I can’t do this by myself.’

  Suddenly, she heard screaming outside. She ran to the window. Down below, she saw her mum. She was standing in the middle of the street.<
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  ‘Mum!’ She ran outside quickly.

  Gina had dropped to her knees in the middle of the road.

  ‘They took her away,’ she cried. ‘They took my baby away.’

  Barbara appeared in her dressing gown. ‘Gina, come on in.’

  ‘She’s gone, Mum. I don’t know what to do without her.’

  ‘You still have me,’ whispered Claire.

  But Gina ignored her.

  Caren was next to come out. ‘Let me help get her inside,’ she said to Barbara.

  By this time, a few more neighbours had appeared on their doorsteps. But as they turned to go back into the house, Gina spotted Ruth silhouetted in her doorway.

  ‘You!’ She shouted over to her. ‘You were useless at looking after your own kids and you were useless at looking out for mine.’ She prodded her own chest. ‘I would have saved her,’ she screamed. ‘I would have, but – but you…’

  Caren looked over at Ruth as they helped Gina back into her house but she had disappeared. Damn – she’d have to go and check on her after she’d settled Gina again. She sighed. How had she managed to become chief babysitter?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The day of the funeral dawned on a cold December day. The sun was high in the sky, but the wind was bitter with it. Ice from the morning frost was still under foot. Gina put on a black suit that she’d bought especially for the occasion; so too did Pete. Everyone else had been told to dress in bright colours. She was sure it was what Rachel would have liked.

  Claire had new clothes too. She’d surprised everyone by buying a black and white dress. It came just above her knees and she’d teamed it with black knee-length boots with a slight wedge heel. Gina had also treated her to a fake-fur coat. Wearing her make up the way Caren had demonstrated, plus a bright pink lipstick, Gina realised that she didn’t just look different; she looked individual. If it hadn’t been such a heartbreaking occasion, she would have told her how lovely she was. She would have complimented her on her choice, how she’d put it all together, the colour of her freshly-painted nails. But she couldn’t say anything because she was burying her other daughter. Rachel had been so much the life and soul of the twins, it was hard to put into words how much she was missed once they’d been able to return to the house. With only Claire, there had been quiet.

  All of a sudden, Gina realised how selfish she was. With tears forming in her eyes, she smiled and beckoned Claire over. She held her face in her hands and kissed her nose.

  ‘I may be burying one daughter today,’ she smiled through the tears, ‘but I still have you. You look beautiful, so grown up.’

  Claire swallowed and hugged her mum. ‘I can’t do this, Mum. I can’t say goodbye.’

  ‘Yes, you can. We all can.’

  Pete knocked on the door. ‘The cars are here,’ he said softly.

  ‘We’ll be down in a minute,’ Gina told him, keeping her back towards him until he’d gone. Then she spoke to Claire.

  ‘Rachel will always be with you, in your thoughts and in your memories,’ she comforted, wiping away her tears and pointing to her chest. ‘She’ll be right there, in your heart, no matter how far away you go. You need to make her proud today, and so do I.’

  ‘No more fighting?’

  Gina squeezed her eyes tightly together for a moment. Could she get through the day without laying into someone? If anyone said a bad word about Rachel, she’d be right in there. If anyone mentioned Stacey Hunter or her family, she knew she’d be the same. It would be so hard to keep her word.

  But she would do it.

  She would do it for Claire.

  ‘I promise.’ She smiled. ‘No more fighting. Let’s get through this the best we can.’

  Caren and John were waiting in their doorway for everyone to come out of the house. The hearse had arrived a few minutes earlier but so far there had been no sight of the family. Suddenly, the front door of number twenty-five opened. Caren gave John’s hand a squeeze as she held back her tears. Just the sight of a coffin was enough to reduce her to pieces. This funeral seemed so meaningless. It shouldn’t have happened.

  ‘They’re coming out,’ said John. They saw Pete walk down the path and chat to the undertaker in the second of three black cars. Caren blinked away more tears as Pete stared at the coffin in the hearse, and put a hand to the glass for a moment before turning his back to it and wiping at his eyes.

  John locked their front door and they walked down their path to the pavement.

  Gina came out, holding onto Claire’s arm. There were lots of family members behind them; Claire’s brother, Danny, other people she didn’t know but could recognise as Pete’s parents, and a brother and sister on Pete’s side.

  ‘Christ, I haven’t seen Dave Bradley for years.’ John reached for Caren’s hand. ‘I’d forgotten there was a sister. Can you remember her name?’

  ‘No.’

  The two of them stood in front of their gate until all the family were on street level. Then they got in their car and waited for the cortege to pull away from the kerb. Then they would follow on, just like half a dozen more cars that were waiting.

  Like a lot of neighbours who wouldn’t be going to the funeral but wanted to pay their respects, Ruth came out to watch. Unlike the other neighbours who were mostly on the pavement, Ruth stayed in the doorway of her house. Somehow it made her feel protected from the outside world. She didn’t want to intrude, but neither could she stay indoors and pretend that she didn’t care.

  She watched Gina get into a car, followed by Pete and Claire and a young man she assumed to be Danny. Then the rest of their family followed. The engines started and suddenly the street erupted with the sound of music. Ruth popped her head out as everyone turned towards the Reynolds’ house. Despite the cold weather and as a mark of respect this time, their front door was wide open, all the windows too – the sound of Robbie Williams singing Angels, so apt for the day.

  Ruth wiped at tears that slid down her face as the cars moved off.

  She should have saved Rachel.

  As the funeral cortege pulled out of Stanley Avenue and onto Davy Road, Gina felt Claire grip her arm tighter. She followed her daughter’s gaze out of the car window. There were people dotted here and there, waiting at the side of the pavement. An elderly man took off his cap as they passed. Gina saw two shop workers and the manager from Shop&Save standing in a line. One by one, as they passed a car, an engine would start and moments later, another car would join in at the back of the procession. Some cars had only teenagers in them.

  ‘Do you know any of them?’ Gina asked Claire.

  Claire could only nod.

  ‘It’s such a tragedy,’ said Leah, Gina’s sister. ‘Someone dying so young always upsets people. Rachel hardly had chance to live her life before…’

  Claire began to cry.

  Gina’s heart broke again. She’d been determined to keep it together until after the funeral. But seeing Claire in so much pain was more than she could take. She pulled her into her embrace and they cried together.

  ‘What am I going to do without her, Mum?’

  Ever since she’d come to live in Stanley Avenue, Ruth had fallen deeper and deeper into a hole. First she’d lost the boys through her inability to look after them. Then she’d started to drink again. Martin had come back and although he’d taken advantage of the situation, wanting a roof over his head rather than be back with her, he’d gone almost as soon as he’d arrived. That had left room for that business with Pete Bradley – and look at the beating she’d received because of that.

  She’d had one ray of sunshine when Caren took an interest in her. The nail party had been a success and a couple of the women had continued to be friendly to her afterwards. One of them had even invited her over for coffee – not that she’d taken up the offer yet.

  And then Rachel had died. In the back of her mind, Ruth knew she could have been one of any neighbour to be first on the scene that afternoon. But Gina hadn’t seen tha
t. She’d just seen Ruth meddling in her business yet again.

  Today had been the last straw. Ruth had really wanted to go to the funeral. She’d wanted to explain to Gina that she knew how empty she’d be feeling. She’d lost her children too. But it was better to stay away. It would have sparked off another fight.

  But seeing all the Bradley family together, supporting their own, no matter whether they got on with each other or not, it made Ruth realise she’d completely lost her way. Worse than that, she couldn’t think of anything she could do to make amends.

  Back in the kitchen, Ruth took out two bottles of vodka she’d bought the day before. She twisted the top from one and, not bothering with a glass, swigged back a large mouthful. Wiping her mouth, she coughed. Then she poured half of it into a large glass and fumbled for her tablets. There was only one thing left to do.

  But first she needed a notepad.

  As the funeral cortege drew up in front of the chapel at the crematorium, Gina imagined how a movie star must feel at a film premiere. There were no paparazzi, no screaming crowds, no flash photography, but everyone was looking at them – and ironically she could glimpse a red carpet inside the chapel.

  ‘There must be two hundred people here,’ said Pete, glancing around at the groups standing in silence. ‘I barely know any of them.’ He peered through the window.

  ‘Good old Mitchell Estate, give anyone a good sending off,’ said Barbara fondly.

  The driver came round and opened the door. Gina stepped onto the tarmac. The crowd began to move forward. She noticed a few familiar faces amongst them: Josie Mellor and Matt Simpson - the caretaker from the Workshop - Cathy Mason, Andy Baxter. She spotted some of the regulars from The Butcher’s Arms, and the manager of Shop&Save was just driving past in his car to park up. But mostly there were teenagers everywhere. Groups of girls in tears; groups of boys standing stoic. There were people from Stanley Avenue too. But even as she wondered if she’d come, Gina knew who she was really searching out.