by Roberta Kray
‘I’ve already told you. I can’t afford it.’
Wayne didn’t want to leave Sadie Wise unattended, but he didn’t relish a night in with his mother either. She probably wouldn’t venture down into the cellar, but was it worth the risk? There was only thing for it. He took his wallet from his back pocket, slipped out a fiver and offered it to Sharon. ‘Come on, help me out here.’
She screwed up her face, ignoring his outstretched hand. ‘A fiver? That’s not going to go far. Make it a score and I’ll think about it.’
‘Are you having a laugh?’
Sharon gave another shrug and made as if to leave. ‘It’s not worth me skipping work for less. See you later.’
‘Okay, okay,’ he said, reluctantly taking out a twenty. The woman was robbing him blind, but he didn’t have a choice. It was worth paying just to escape from an evening of soap operas and game shows, not to mention his mother’s endless nagging. There was only so much a bloke could take.
‘Ta,’ Sharon said, quickly snatching it from his fingers before he could change his mind. ‘And believe me, you’re getting a bargain.’
‘You reckon?’
‘You know it.’
Wayne smirked, put his wallet in his pocket and went back through to the hall. He took his heavy winter overcoat from the peg and left the house. As he limped towards the Dog, he thought about what he’d spend the ransom money on when he got it: a holiday first of all, a fortnight on the Costa, and then a new motor, something flash to pull the birds in. He could do with some new threads too.
It was a shame he was going to have to share the cash. With a three-way split it would be just under seven grand each. Not bad, but not a fortune either. Really, he should be getting more than a third. After all, he was the one who’d taken the bullet. He scowled as he thought about that moment in the graveyard when the mad cow had pulled the trigger. Jesus, he deserved to get at least half for the pain he’d been through – he’d earned it.
Wayne glanced casually over his shoulder, certain that one of Street’s goons would be lurking in the shadows. They would have guessed by now – although they couldn’t be a hundred per cent sure – that the Gissings were behind the abduction, and they’d be trying to find out where Sadie was being held. Would they even think of looking in the house? Well, if they did, they wouldn’t find her. She was securely hidden and you couldn’t hear a damn thing through the thick walls of the cellar.
He was still trying to figure out exactly how and where they were going to do the exchange. It was going to be tricky, a time when things could go badly wrong. After all, once Stone got the tart back there was nothing to stop him and Street from blowing their fuckin’ heads off.
Wayne pushed open the door to the pub and stepped into the warm smoky interior. He went over to the counter and ordered a drink. By the time he was on his third pint, his mood was starting to get even darker. The more he thought about what Sadie had done to him, the more resentful he became. What was seven grand compared to a bullet in a leg, a leg that would probably never be the same again? Yeah, he’d like to chop the crazy bitch into pieces and post them back to the Hope. And maybe he would. Maybe he’d do just that.
53
It was rare that Petra Gissing ever got the house to herself but with both the kids out for the evening it was her intention to put her feet up, watch the telly and make the most of the peace and quiet. Which was why she wasn’t best pleased to find Sharon comfortably settled on the sofa, already in her dressing gown and studying a copy of the TV Times.
‘Not working tonight, then?’
Sharon gave her a disdainful look. ‘What do you think?’
Petra scowled back at her. ‘You always work on Wednesdays.’
‘So this Wednesday I’m not. Got a problem with that?’
Petra did have a problem, a big one, but she bit her tongue. She knew the best occasions to pick a fight and this wasn’t one of them. No, there was no point wasting her energy on idle bickering. If she was going to get shut of Sharon, she would need to use her nous, play it cool and outwit the evil cow. She wasn’t, however, prepared to spend any more time in her company than she had to and so she grabbed her coat and headed down the road to Colleen’s.
Inevitably the two of them ended up at the Bell. Petra had only meant to stay for a couple, but by half eleven she was still there drinking her seventh gin and tonic behind closed doors. It was a long time since she’d been at a lock-in and she wasn’t complaining. Well, not about the extra drinking time, but she had plenty of other things to get off her chest.
‘There’s something going on, Colleen. I’d bet my bleedin’ life on it. All three of them whispering together in corners or shutting up the minute I walk into a room. There’s something brewing, mark my words.’
‘What about Kelly? Won’t she tell you nothin’?’
‘No,’ Petra said resentfully. ‘She’s as bad as the other two. And Wayne’s being as shifty as they come. Not that he isn’t always – that boy’s got sly bones, just like his dad – but he’s ten times worse right now. He’s got that look in his eye, you know what I mean? I don’t like it, Col, stuff going on behind my back like this.’
‘Can’t say I blame you. I’d be the same myself.’
What really irked Petra was that Sharon was also in on the secret, that the three of them had formed a tight little unit from which she was excluded. It made her feel pushed out, ostracised, as if she wasn’t really part of the family. She didn’t deserve to be treated like this. ‘And do you know what that evil slut Sharon said to me this morning?’
‘What did she say, love?’
Petra put on a high-pitched voice, mimicking the younger woman. ‘Oh, I suppose you’ll be wanting to get home for Christmas. Don’t worry about your Kelly, she’ll be fine. I’ll take good care of her.’ Her eyes narrowed with anger. ‘She’ll take good care of her, as if she’s her bloody mother. It ain’t right, it ain’t right at all.’
‘It’s downright criminal,’ Colleen said, backing up her friend. ‘You’ve got no idea what they’re up to then?’
‘It’ll be something to do with this Eddie business, bound to be. Kelly doesn’t talk about nothin’ else. The poor guy’s six foot under and the filth still ain’t made an arrest. It’s been weeks, Col. At this rate they’ll never find out who done it.’
Colleen swigged on her gin and gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘It ain’t proper, not your own flesh and blood hiding stuff from you. You need to have a word, get it all out in the open.’
‘And I’ll tell you what else,’ Petra continued, ‘since the weekend I’ve not been alone in that house, not for five minutes. Most times they’re all out somewhere, at work or down the pub, but not for the past few days. There’s always been one of them there. It’s like they’re keeping an eye on me.’ She frowned down at the slice of lemon floating in the gin before lifting her gaze to meet Colleen’s again. ‘Oh, I know that sounds daft, like I’m paranoid or something, but I’m telling you it’s the God-honest truth. I can’t get five minutes on my own, not for love nor money.’
Colleen raised her eyebrows, perhaps not entirely convinced that Petra was under any kind of surveillance, but too much under the influence to try and offer up a more rational explanation.
‘Everyone needs a bit of quiet, don’t they? It ain’t too much to ask.’
‘No, it ain’t, not too much at all.’
‘So how do I sort this out? Wayne’s up to something. I can see it in his eyes. I said, didn’t I? He’s got that sneaky look about him. He was just the same when he was a kid. I could always tell when he was lying, and that was most of the time so I had plenty of practice.’
Colleen gave a snigger. ‘And since when did you ever let a bloke get the better of you? You’re getting soft in your old age.’
Petra frowned, wondering if this was true. She sipped at the gin and placed the glass back down on the table with a solid thump. ‘Oh, I’ll get to the bottom of it, you see if I do
n’t.’
Colleen gave Petra’s elbow a nudge. ‘That’s more like it. Come on, drink up and I’ll get us another.’
It was almost midnight when the two women finally staggered out of the pub and headed for home. They said their goodbyes at the corner and went their separate ways. Although Petra could normally hold her drink, tonight she’d had more than usual. The gin washed through her veins, making her feel both maudlin and resentful. Where had all the good years gone? It didn’t seem that long since she’d been young and carefree, looking forward instead of always looking back. What had she done to deserve this? She was lonely in Bournemouth and that was the truth of it; she missed her kids, Colleen, the familiar streets of London. Shoreditch was where she belonged and where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
The chill night air cut through her bones, making her shiver. She pursed her mouth, partly in response to the cold, but mainly in protest at the way she was being treated by her family. ‘It ain’t right,’ she muttered as she walked up the path to the house. She fumbled in her bag for her key, took it out, placed it in the lock, turned it and quietly opened and then closed the door. Unlike other members of the household she had some consideration for people who might be sleeping.
From the jackets hung up in the hallway, Petra could tell that both Wayne and Kelly were already home. She went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. It was late but she didn’t feel sleepy; there was too much rattling around in her head. She needed a brew and a chance to think.
Five minutes later, she was sitting down with her elbows on the table and a big mug of tea in front of her. She spooned in a couple of sugars and gave the tea a stir. It wasn’t easy to concentrate – the gin was blurring the edges of her thoughts – but as she drank she tried to make sense of what had been happening recently: Eddie’s murder, Kelly’s grief, the funeral, the shooting of Wayne at the cemetery. She felt there must be clues somewhere and she glanced around the kitchen as if one might be lurking in the cupboards or in between the pots and pans.
Petra’s gaze eventually drifted towards the cellar door. Her brow wrinkled as she recalled Wayne’s recent forays into its depths. A screwdriver, that’s what he’d claimed he’d been looking for, but he’d been down there more than once. Anyway, there were always tools lying around at the yard. No, he’d had another reason. She was sure of it.
If it hadn’t been for the booze, Petra would never have set foot inside the cellar. As it was, she still hesitated as she opened the door, flicked on the light and peered down into the gloom. With the slanting ceiling she couldn’t see further than the base of the steps. She didn’t want to go down, feared going down, but knew she had to.
Tentatively she made the descent, her left hand trailing along the dusty wall. When she reached the bottom, she drew in a breath, her eyes widening in confusion. Everything was different to how it had once been. Although it was an age since she’d last been here, she hadn’t forgotten what the place looked like.
The door leading off into the second smaller room was now completely obscured by a wide set of steel shelves covered in paint pots, boxes, tools and other random items. Bemused, she moved forward and stared at them. Why would anyone choose to put shelves here when there was plenty of other wall space? It didn’t take a genius to work out the answer. Wayne was hiding something he didn’t want anyone else to find.
Petra’s first guess was a stash of drugs. Roy had dealt on and off through the years, coke and weed and shit like that, and now that he was banged up Wayne was probably trying to step into his shoes. But then she thought of all the whispering that had been going on lately, the exchange of glances, the secrets that were being kept from her. Maybe it was something else.
At first sight the unit looked too heavy for her to move, but as her gaze dropped to the floor she saw that it was actually on wheels. She wrapped both her hands around the edge and pulled. It shifted quite easily, sliding away from the wall with a thin scraping sound. She held her breath, wondering whether the noise had travelled upstairs. She listened for any movement but there was none. No, they’d all be fast asleep by now.
Once the unit was out of the way, the door was exposed. Petra reached for the handle and pressed it down. Damn, it was locked! Frustrated, she rattled the handle again. It was no good; she wasn’t going to get in without a key. First, she checked all four shelves of the unit, poking in between the old tins of paint and the tools, and then moved on to other parts of the cellar. As she searched, the tips of her fingers became blackened with dust. Then, just as she was starting to give up, she suddenly realised where it would be.
Petra flew up the steps, passed through the kitchen and living room and walked quietly into the hallway. She went straight to Wayne’s jacket hanging on the peg, slipped her fingers into the right-hand pocket and pulled out a large set of keys. Success! Taking care not to let them jangle, she retraced her steps and went back down to the cellar.
There were about twelve keys on the ring – some of them for the yard – and she tried the most likely-looking ones first, the ones that were old and tarnished. The first two failed, she couldn’t even get them in the lock properly, but the third slid in easily. As she began to turn it, she thought she heard a noise, a faint mewling sound like an animal in pain. Startled, she stepped back. What was that? She waited a while before moving forward again and pressing her ear against the door. There was nothing but silence.
Petra wondered if the gin was playing tricks on her hearing. She was getting nervous now, her heart starting to thump in her chest. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Sometimes ignorance was bliss. But then, as she was thinking of making a hasty retreat, she remembered those words uttered by Colleen: And since when did you ever let a bloke get the better of you?
Before she could change her mind, Petra quickly turned the key and pushed open the door. Nothing could have prepared her for what she found inside. She gasped at the sight of the girl sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees, her face cut and swollen, her hair matted with blood. Jesus! Jesus Christ! It took a moment for her to realise that this was the girl in the newspaper, the girl she’d seen at the funeral – this was Eddie Wise’s wife.
Their eyes met and Petra instinctively stepped back. No, she couldn’t cope with this. It was too much. She had walked into a nightmare. She went to slam the door, to shut off the dreadful vision, but Sadie Wise quickly jumped to her feet.
‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please help me. Don’t leave me here!’
54
Sometimes you only got one chance and Sadie knew that this was it. If the door closed again, it would be shutting on her only hope of escape. A few seconds ago, she’d been bracing herself against the next round of punches, but now suddenly there was a glimmer of hope. She could tell straight away that her presence in the cellar was a complete shock to Petra Gissing.
‘Please,’ Sadie begged again, trying to engage with the older woman. ‘You have to help me. I can’t take it any more. They’re going to kill me. I don’t want to die in this place.’
Petra continued to stare, her mouth gaping, her eyes filled with disbelief.
Sadie made no attempt to move towards the open door – she didn’t want to spook the woman – but instead sat back down on the mattress. ‘They think I killed Eddie, but I didn’t. I didn’t have anything to do with it.’
Petra glanced over her shoulder before returning her gaze to Sadie. She lifted her hands and rubbed at her face as if she still couldn’t believe what she was actually seeing.
Sadie’s mind was racing, the adrenalin rushing through her body. What next? Should she jump up again, try and shove Petra out of the way and make a run for it? Quickly she weighed up the odds: she was younger but in her current state probably not stronger. And what if Wayne and Kelly were upstairs? She might not even make it to the front door. No, she had to play it smart. She had to try and talk her way out of here.
‘They got it all wrong,’ Sadie insisted, keepin
g her gaze firmly fixed on Petra. ‘It was a mistake. It wasn’t me. I’d never do that. Please let me go. I won’t say anything, I promise. I just want to go home.’