‘Does my hair look all right? My lipstick isn’t smudged, is it?’ Tracey asked, trying her best to walk steadily on the uneven pavement. Her feet were freezing. Five-inch stilettos really were not practical to wear to a market on a chilly, wet day.
‘Yeah, you look great.’
‘I already told you what he looked like. Don’t you listen to anything I say?’ Tracey complained. ‘He looks a bit older than us, blond hair, curtain-cut, and he’s lovely and tall. Wait until you see his eyes – piercing blue, they are. He reminds me a bit of Bros – Luke more than Matt. He’s gorgeous. Make sure you say that Donte is yours, won’t you? I don’t want him to think I’ve got a kid. Oh, and try on as many shoes as you can. Pretend you can’t make your mind up.’
‘I’m not taking these boots on and off, Trace. Be easier for you to try the shoes on.’
‘No it won’t. While you’re trying the shoes on, I can talk to him, find out some info. Please, Mel. I’d do it for you.’
Knowing full well that Tracey would sulk if she didn’t agree, Melissa reluctantly mumbled, ‘OK.’
The distinct smell of fried onions hit Melissa as they neared the burger van. The cold wet weather obviously hadn’t put people off shopping, as the market seemed busier than usual.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Tracey announced excitedly. She had no idea what the lad’s name was, but he’d definitely seemed interested in her last week. He’d chatted to her and her mum for ages, and as they’d walked away he’d treated Tracey to a lopsided grin and a wink.
‘Is that him?’ Melissa asked, pointing to a blond guy who had his back turned to them. He was tall and was wearing a tan leather box jacket and faded jeans.
‘Don’t bloody point. Just act normal,’ Tracey hissed, her heart racing.
When the bloke turned around, Mel was rather taken aback. He didn’t remind her of Bros – he was far better looking in her opinion. His blue eyes twinkled as he winked at Tracey and said, ‘Back again.’ He then turned his attention to Donte, who was happily playing with his toy car in his pushchair. ‘All right. Is he yours?’ the hunk asked Melissa. His eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen and she could certainly understand why Tracey fancied him.
‘Yes. He’s two now. Say hello to the man, Donte,’ Melissa urged.
‘Hello, man,’ Donte mumbled, too engrossed with his car to look up.
Jason chuckled, crouched and held out his right hand. ‘Hello, Donte. I’m Jason. What ya got there, mate?’
Slightly peeved that Jason was paying far more attention to Donte than her, Tracey held her stomach in, pushed her boobs out and tapped him on the back. ‘My mate needs a new pair of shoes, but she’s not sure what style she wants. Something with a heel and glamorous, like mine,’ she said, waving her left foot under his nose.
Jason stood up and smiled. ‘Your wish is my command. You’re welcome to try on anything you want. Just gonna serve those other customers and I’ll be back. What size are you, darlin’?’
‘Five.’
‘Give me a minute, then I’ll sort out a selection that I think will suit a pretty girl like yourself.’
Melissa blushed. She wasn’t by any means ugly, but rarely got called pretty, especially when she was out with Tracey. Unlike her skinny blonde friend, she had shoulder-length brown hair, a size-twelve figure and lacked a decent wardrobe since Donte had been born. Tracey knocked spots off her.
‘Pick some shoes out then,’ Tracey smirked. She wasn’t one bit bothered about Jason calling Melissa pretty. It was obvious he was only being kind.
‘I haven’t got much money on me,’ Melissa hissed in her pal’s ear. ‘Can’t you try some on and buy a pair? He’ll get the hump with us otherwise, think we’re messers,’ she warned.
‘OK. But find out where he lives and drinks.’
‘Why me? You’re the one who fancies him – you ask him. He’s gonna think I’m after him otherwise,’ Melissa complained.
‘No, he won’t. Not being funny, Mel, but he’s a bit out of your league.’
Carol Brooks had tried to keep herself busy since finding out her fate. A year the doctor had given her, top whack, and instead of wallowing in self-pity, Carol was determined to cherish every moment.
‘I’m home, love. You upstairs?’ Johnny shouted out.
‘Yes. I’ll be down in a minute. I’m just sorting through some old photos,’ Carol replied, flicking through their wedding album. She was forty-six now, plump with short auburn hair. She’d looked so different on her wedding day; back then, twenty-seven years ago, she’d been blonde and slim. She’d never forget Johnny’s words as her father walked her down the aisle: ‘Jesus Christ, Carol. You’ve taken my breath away. What you doing marrying an ugly bugger like me? You look like Lulu, my girl.’
About to remind Johnny of his words, a piercing pain shot through the side of Carol’s head and she screamed out in agony.
‘Carol! What’s a matter?’ Johnny yelled, racing up the stairs.
When there was no answer, Johnny pushed open the bedroom door and had never felt so guilty in his life. His beloved wife was lying on the floor, convulsing. Next to her was their wedding album.
Tracey giggled like a silly schoolgirl every time Jason said anything remotely funny. ‘You’re hilarious,’ she gushed, touching the arm of his tan leather jacket.
‘Mummy – doggy, doggy,’ Donte said loudly, pointing at the toy stall opposite. The stallholder was showing some customers a toy dog that walked and barked.
Jason crouched in front of the pushchair. ‘OK to get him out?’ he asked Melissa. She’d tried on shoe after shoe and Jason was no fool. He knew her mate was after him and had roped Melissa in to help her out.
‘Yeah, sure,’ Melissa replied. Watching Jason wander over to the toy stall with Donte in his arms, she turned to Tracey. ‘Time you tried some shoes on – I’m not trying on any more, specially since I can’t afford to buy a pair. Did you find out where he lives?’
‘No. But he’s only twenty and drinks at some pub called the Brewery Tap in Barking on Friday nights. He said they have live music in there. We should go down there next week. Can you ask your mum to babysit?’
Jason returned with Donte holding the toy dog before Melissa had a chance to reply. ‘Put that back, Donte. It doesn’t belong to you,’ Melissa ordered.
‘It does now. My treat.’ Jason winked.
‘Oh no. I can’t let you pay for that. Here, I’ll give you the money,’ Melissa replied, fishing frantically through her handbag for her purse. She hoped she had enough cash on her to cover the cost.
‘No, you won’t. Listen, Trev on the toy stall owes me plenty of favours, trust me,’ Jason insisted.
‘Erm, can I try on these black boots in a size four, please?’ Tracey asked, pointing to a high-heeled suede ankle boot. She couldn’t understand Jason’s obsession with Donte. It was odd, to say the least. ‘Don’t move, Mel. I need to hold on to you,’ Tracey ordered, lifting up her left leg to undo the strap on her sandal.
Aware of Jason’s blue eyes staring at her, Melissa blushed again.
‘I’ve got a little ’un myself. A four-year-old daughter,’ Jason blurted out.
To say Tracey was shocked by this piece of news was an understatement. She promptly lost her balance, toppling over sideways.
‘You all right, mate?’ Melissa asked, voice full of concern. Part of her wanted to laugh, but she knew how mortified Tracey must be, so held her emotions in check.
Feeling a complete idiot, Tracey quickly put her sandal back on and grabbed Mel’s arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’
‘Don’t you wanna try the boots on now?’ Jason smirked. Trev on the toy stall was pissing himself laughing and he was desperately trying not to do the same himself.
‘No. I’ll try them another time,’ Tracey snapped, hobbling off. She’d felt her ankle twist as she’d fallen and it was already throbbing.
‘Thanks again for the toy,’ Melissa said, walking away.
‘Come on, Mel,’
Tracey urged, red-faced. The quicker she got away from this market, the better.
‘Mel, you forgot something,’ Jason shouted after them.
Leaving Donte’s pushchair with Tracey, Melissa ran back to the stall. Jason handed her a piece of paper. ‘That’s my phone number. If you fancy a drink sometime, give us a bell.’
Melissa opened her mouth, but couldn’t speak. No words would come out.
‘Mel, come on,’ Tracey shouted angrily.
Melissa took one last look at Jason, then ran to catch up with her pal.
‘What did he want?’ Tracey demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘Don’t lie to me. I saw him hand you something. Did he give you his number for me?’
‘No, Trace. Look, I’m sorry, but he gave me his number for me.’
Tracey stared at her friend as though she had gone stark raving mad. This wasn’t going to plan at all. ‘What did he actually say when he gave it to you? You sure he never meant it for me?’
Melissa felt flushed. ‘He said if I fancied going for a drink, I was to call him.’
Tracey was in shock. ‘You’re not going, are you?’
Mel shook her head. ‘Course not. You like him.’
The short journey back to South Hornchurch was awkward, to say the least. Tracey was in no mood for small talk. She was fucking fuming.
CHAPTER TWO
The lifts stank of urine, were covered in graffiti and, as usual, there was a sign on the door saying they were out of order.
‘Bollocks,’ Jason mumbled. He lived on the tenth floor and had boxes to carry.
The stairs too were daubed in graffiti and reeked of urine, but nevertheless Jason whistled chirpily as he lugged the boxes of knocked-off perfume up ten flights. No way could he leave any downstairs. They’d be thieved within seconds. The type of tower block he lived in, even the door knockers weren’t safe.
Jason let himself into the flat that he shared with his mother, brothers, sister and four-year-old daughter. As expected, the kids were fending for themselves.
‘Daddy,’ four-year-old Shay cried out, holding out her arms for a cuddle. She was filthy, had dirt all over her hands and face, and was still wearing the pyjamas he’d put on her last night.
‘Where’s Mum?’ Jason asked twelve-year-old Barbara. Like himself, Babs, as he fondly called her, had no idea who her father was; the pair of them had been the result of drunken one-night stands. Babs was mixed-race. She was also extremely overweight, thanks to the shit food she ate. It was Babs who looked after their two younger brothers Elton, eight, and Kyle who’d just turned six. A drunken waste of space, his mother was, which was why Jason wanted to find a better home for his daughter. This was no environment for her to be raised in.
‘Mum went to get fags, but she never came back. The kids are starving. There’s only Weetabix and baked beans in the cupboard, and there’s no milk. Can you get us some food, Jason?’ Babs asked hopefully. Trapped in the flat looking after three kids, food was the only enjoyment she got in life and she was currently yearning for a Big Mac or a large portion of greasy chips smothered in salt and vinegar. Her stomach felt as if her throat had been cut.
Jason put his daughter down and urged Barbara to make the kids look presentable.
‘Why I gotta wash? Where we going?’ asked young Kyle.
‘McDonald’s – I’m treating us. So it’s bathtime for all three of ya,’ Jason grinned, ruffling Elton’s frizzy Afro hair. He and Kyle had the same father. He was no role model though. Known to the locals as ‘Rasta Dave’, he’d flooded the estate with heroin before getting a ten-stretch. Jason had been dragged to court by his mother, who’d sobbed like a baby as Dave was sentenced. He hadn’t acknowledged them, the same way he’d refused to acknowledge that Elton and Kyle were his sons. He wouldn’t even put his name on their birth certificates, the loser.
Hearing the kids splash happily about in the bath, Jason’s thoughts turned to the girl he’d met on the market today. He’d known her mate had fancied him when she’d come to the stall last week with her mother. And he’d known she’d be back; ditzy airheads like her always were predictable.
Jason lit up a cigarette and took a deep drag. He wasn’t looking for a bird to shag senseless. He had plenty of those on the go, including Darlene, the thirty-eight-year-old mother of his old school pal Andy Michaels. What Jason was currently looking for was someone half sensible. A single mum with a council flat or, better still, her own gaff would be ideal.
Hearing a commotion, Jason walked over to the window and stared at the gloomy sight outside. A full-blown punch-up was in progress – par for the course on the Mardyke Estate. Jason loved and loathed the estate in equal measure. It was all he had ever known, and some of the people who lived there were proper. However, lots were not; when you flipped the coin, it was a shithole situated off the busy A13 in Rainham.
Jason’s mother wasn’t one for adding homely touches. The only thing hanging on the wall in their depressing, threadbare flat was a long mirror in the hallway that Debbie Rampling would preen her fat self in before leaving the premises. Once she was out of the way, the kids would spend hours dancing in front of the mirror while music – reggae and lovers rock, for the most part – blared out the stereo system. None of the kids had many toys, and the ones he brought home always seemed to go missing. Knowing his mother, she was probably flogging them around the estate.
Jason strolled into the hallway and studied himself. Though he had no idea who his father was, he owed the man for his good looks; he certainly hadn’t inherited them from his mother. He was handsome and he knew it. He’d also been aware of the power he had over the opposite sex from a very early age and had honed his skills over the years. That was going to be his way out. Living a deprived life was not for Jason Rampling. He was a go-getter and wanted far better. Not only for him, but for Shay too.
‘I’m fine, Johnny. For goodness’ sake, stop fussing,’ Carol said.
Johnny Brooks felt awful. Was God paying him back for his affair? he wondered. Because if so, he wished the big man above would take it out on him instead. Carol didn’t deserve to suffer. It was him who was the bastard.
Carol had snapped out of her fit by the time the ambulance had arrived, but he’d forced her to go to hospital regardless. She was petrified of anything to do with the medical profession; even a trip to the GP’s brought her out in a cold sweat. Johnny knew she would discharge herself first chance she got.
‘You’re not going to be able to hide this for ever, you know. We need to think about telling the family, at least. And you should have stayed in overnight, just to be on the safe side. Say you have another fit?’
‘Shut up. Melissa must be out of her mind with worry. I can’t believe you didn’t leave a note. That’s the first thing I’d have done. Now call us a cab. Smell of these places reminds me of death. And ring Melissa. Do not say we’ve been up Oldchurch, ’cause she’ll worry. Say we went for dinner round Dick and Yvonne’s at short notice. OK?’
Johnny Brooks nodded. Once Carol had made her mind up about something, there was no changing it.
Leaving the kids happily stuffing their faces, Jason wandered outside McDonald’s to get better reception. He leaned against his pride and joy: a black XR2 with full body kit and shiny alloy wheels. He’d recently treated himself to a Blaupunkt car stereo and 200-watt speakers out of his illegal earnings. He never left them inside an empty car though. Car stereo and speaker theft was rife these days. His motor stood out like a sore thumb on the Mardyke and was like a beacon for the Old Bill; he was forever getting tugged in it. That’s why he drove his old white Escort van if he was carrying anything dodgy. Because he owned a mobile phone and decent motor, the police seemed to be under the misapprehension he must be a drug dealer. Nothing could be further from the truth. Having seen so many people on the estate overdose or balls their lives up through drugs, Jason had never touched the stuff in his life. Which was more than could be said for his mot
her. She smoked weed on a regular basis. Seeing her stoned was enough to put anyone with half a brain off.
Jason liked to think of himself as a younger, better-looking Arthur Daley. Minder had been his favourite TV programme growing up and he’d naturally picked up the art of spotting an opportunity and grabbing it with both hands. The one day he worked on the market was the only regular income he had, apart from his fortnightly dole cheque. The rest of his dosh came from selling whatever he could get his hands on, including hardcore porn films. His pal got hold of them from Holland. He’d copy them and Jason would sell the pirate versions, earning two quid per film himself. On a bad week he could sell fifty films, on a good two hundred and fifty. It never failed to amaze Jason how many people watched porn. He even sold loads over the Mardyke, and virtually everybody who lived there professed to be skint.
Knowing his mother’s usual habits, Jason rang up the Millhouse Social Club and spoke to the barmaid. She was there, just as he’d known she would be. When she had the cheek to slur, ‘What’s up?’ down the phone, Jason calmly told her he would pick her up in half an hour and she needed to stay at home this evening as he had to go out. There was no point kicking off with her, especially when she was wasted.
His mother reluctantly agreeing, Jason ended the call and thought again about the girl he’d met on the market. Melissa was plain rather than pretty, but if she had her own gaff, she’d do for the time being.
‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick,’ Melissa Brooks exclaimed. Her parents never went anywhere without leaving a note or telling her beforehand, so their absence today was totally out of character.
‘Sorry, love. I asked your dad to leave a note, but you know what he’s like – brain like a sieve,’ Carol bluffed. ‘We went for dinner round Yvonne and Dick’s. Last-minute invite,’ she added.
Melissa looked suspiciously at her father. ‘What you done to your face?’
Carol was quick off the mark. ‘Silly old sod walked into the door. I couldn’t stop laughing,’ she lied. Johnny had told her that Craig Thurston had turned up at the club, kicking off over money.
Life of Crime Page 2