Life of Crime

by Kimberley Chambers

  ‘You’re lying,’ Melissa squared up to them.

  ‘Don’t start, Mel. Why would we lie?’ Johnny spat. Guilt was eating away at him and he’d decided to spend every moment of every day with Carol from now on.

  Donte broke the ice. ‘Look, Nana. Doggy,’ he said, pressing the switch to make the toy walk and bark.

  Carol crouched and scooped her grandson into her arms. Johnny’s right-wing views had rubbed off on her over the years and she’d been horrified when Melissa had announced Donte’s father was black. But a grandmother’s instinct had taken over the second the child was born. He’d clung to her little finger at one point and Carol’s heart had melted; he was one of the most beautiful babies she had ever seen. ‘Who bought you that? Mummy? What’s the doggy’s name?’ she asked.

  ‘A man.’

  Confused, Carol said, ‘Eamonn?’

  ‘A man, Mum. One of the stallholders bought it for him,’ Melissa explained.

  ‘Aww, that was nice. Do you know him?’ Carol asked.

  ‘No. And now Tracey has the right hump because she fancied him and he asked me out.’

  ‘Put the kettle on, Johnny, while I have a chat with Mel,’ Carol urged. Apart from being a bit tired, she felt fine now.

  Carol was a doting mum, always had been, and she missed her son who’d moved up north. Melissa was her world though. They’d had a strong mother–daughter bond from the moment Mel was born. ‘Tell me what happened,’ Carol said gently. She knew Tracey could be a stroppy, dictatorial mare at times and wished Mel could meet a nicer best friend to hang out with.

  Melissa told her the story, concluding: ‘She virtually accused me of showing out to him! But I never, I swear. I was dressed like this with my Timberlands on, for Christ’s sake, while she was all done up to the nines. It’s not my fault he never fancied her, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t. Tracey’s just jealous, love. She’ll snap out of it. So what’s his name, this lad?’

  ‘Jason.’

  ‘And is he handsome?’

  ‘Very. He’s got the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen and lovely blond hair. And he was so good with Donte. I couldn’t believe it when he asked me out. I was in shock. But I can’t go. Tracey will never speak to me again if I do.’

  ‘Tracey is boy mad, as you well know. Fancies a different one every week. You go out with Jason if you like him. But don’t lie to Tracey; stand up to her for once. She might be angry, but I’d put money on it she’ll forget all about Jason in a week or two and move on to her next sodding victim. You mustn’t let her rule you – I’ve told you that before.’

  ‘He gave me his number. It’s a mobile. Perhaps it’s dodgy and he was taking the mickey out of me?’ Melissa suggested.

  Carol held her daughter’s beautiful face in her hands. She’d never met Donte’s father, but the bastard had knocked the stuffing out of Melissa. She’d once been a confident girl, full of life. Now she was insecure and Carol hated seeing her like that. ‘Ring him,’ she urged. ‘Sod Tracey. Remember that time you fancied David Ward? She didn’t care when you caught her snogging him behind the bloody bike sheds, did she? Go with your instincts for once.’

  ‘He must be nice to buy Donte that dog,’ Melissa said, lost in thought.

  ‘You gotta go for it then, love. My mate Sylvie fancied your father before I snapped him up. Sometimes I wish I’d have let her have him,’ Carol laughed. ‘Sylv never spoke to me for a month when we started courting, but she soon got over it. True friends are hard to find and not many girls will put up with that madam Tracey Thompson like you do. Trust me on that one.’

  Melissa smiled. ‘Perhaps I’ll ring him. What if it’s a dodgy number though?’

  ‘If that’s the case, I’ll be marching straight down to Dagenham Market next Sunday and whacking him around the head with my handbag,’ Carol stated, meaning every word. She was very protective when it came to her children, had once nearly stuck a pair of secateurs into a woman’s arm over Melissa while pruning her roses.

  Melissa laughed. ‘I don’t want to seem too keen. But if I do decide to contact him, how long do you reckon I should leave it?’

  Carol squeezed her daughter’s hands. ‘No ifs or buts, ring him on Tuesday. Mummy knows best. She always has.’

  ‘That you, Jason?’ shouted sixty-year-old Peggy Rampling. She knew it would be her grandson; he was the only other person with a key to her house.

  ‘All right, Nan,’ Jason answered, handing her a box of goodies.

  ‘What ya got for me then?’ Peggy asked, delving into the box then looking up at him, disappointed. ‘No Guinness?’

  ‘Nah. I couldn’t park outside the offie and couldn’t be arsed taking the stereo and speakers out the car again. There’s perfume in there, some toiletries, a Connie Francis CD and a few packets of them biscuits you like.’

  Peggy took the Rive Gauche perfume out of the box and began coughing and spluttering as she sprayed it. ‘That ain’t the real McCoy. Smells like cat’s piss,’ she complained.

  ‘It is the real deal, Nan. I bought it off a pal and he wouldn’t have me over.’

  ‘Well, he has. Get your money back and buy me some Guinness instead,’ Peggy said, lobbing the perfume back at Jason.

  ‘What you been up to? Did you go to bingo last night?’

  ‘Yep! And Friday. Rigged, that bingo hall is. Same faces win every night. Won the regional, that old cow Doris Shipton did. That’s the second time she’s won it this year and it’s only bastard April. Nobody’s that lucky. I hope she gets her purse snatched.’

  ‘Some people are just born lucky, Nan. You going again tonight?’

  ‘Nah. I’d like to, of course – gets lonely, sitting in here on me jacks – but I can’t afford it.’

  Knowing full well his grandmother had money stashed in pots, pans, jars and tins all over the gaff, Jason put his hand in his pocket and handed her a score.

  ‘Thank you, sweetheart. Good boy to your old nan, you are. Don’t know how you come out of her, I honestly don’t. How is she? As rancid as ever?’

  ‘Same old, same old,’ Jason replied truthfully. His nan and mum hadn’t spoken since he was eight years old. At five, his mother had decided she didn’t want him any more and had palmed him off to live with his nan. Those were the happiest childhood memories Jason had. His nan wasn’t perfect – she was a prolific pilferer who’d shoplift anything that wasn’t nailed down – but she’d given him love and attention, the two things he never got at home. When Babs was born, his mother insisted he had to live with her again, and his nan hadn’t spoken to her since.

  ‘Got yourself a nice girlfriend yet?’ Peggy grinned.

  ‘I’m still seeing that one from Harold Hill I told you about, but I think I’m gonna have to knock her on the head. She’s only seventeen. Too young and immature.’ Jason told his grandmother most things, but had never mentioned his affair with Darlene. His nan had once lived on the Mardyke and hated her. ‘Look at that old slapper. All fur coat and no knickers, that one,’ she’d say whenever they crossed paths. The last thing Jason wanted was his gran turning up on Dar’s doorstep creating havoc. And he was sure she would if she learned the truth. She was that type of woman.

  ‘You need a mother for Shay, ASAP. Horrible child! Don’t bring her round ’ere no more, will ya? Trampled on all me geraniums on purpose last time she visited, and I’d only just planted the bastard things. You need to get her away from that stinking fat excuse of a mother of yours. Because if you don’t, she’ll only get worse,’ Peggy warned.

  Jason sighed. His nan wasn’t one to mince her words and was usually right. ‘I know. Leave it with me. I’m working on it.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  Melissa Brooks lay on her bed wallowing in self-pity. It hadn’t stopped raining all day, so she hadn’t been able to take Donte out as she usually did. And her son had a cold, had been whingeing since the moment he’d opened his eyes this morning. Days such as these were the ones she wished for her old life
back.

  Melissa looked at the time again. Tracey worked on her mother’s burger van on an industrial estate and would be home soon. They hadn’t spoken since Sunday. When Mel had rung Tracey Sunday evening and last night, her mum had said she’d gone to the pub.

  Sighing, Melissa sat up. She’d had lots of friends before she’d had Donte, but had lost touch with most of them now. The girls from work rang her occasionally, but her life seemed so different to theirs it depressed Melissa talking to them. It had only been an office job at the council, but she’d been happy there. She’d left when she was six months pregnant; they’d offered her maternity leave, but instead she took a small redundancy payment. Her father had made it perfectly clear that raising the baby would be her responsibility, so she’d had little choice.

  Carol peeked around the bedroom door. ‘You hungry yet, love? I finally got Donte off to sleep. Really not himself today, is he?’

  When her daughter’s eyes welled up, Carol sat next to her on the bed and put an arm round her.

  ‘Tracey’s avoiding me, so now I have nobody to go out with. Sometimes I wish I’d taken Dad’s advice. It’s no fun being a single mum at my age. I miss my old life.’

  Realizing a stern talking to was needed, Carol cleared her throat. ‘It’s too late for regrets, Mel. Donte is part of your life now and always will be. Sod Tracey. She’s never been a good friend to you anyway. Ring Jason. Go on. What have you got to lose?’

  Melissa fished through her purse and pulled out the number. ‘You go out the room then. I need to plan what I’m going to say before I speak to him.’

  Carol smiled. ‘Just be yourself, love. That’s why he liked you in the first place.’

  ‘Elton, stop banging that fucking drum! Doing my head in, you are,’ Debbie Rampling bellowed.

  Giggling, Elton sang along to Bob Marley’s ‘Three Little Birds’ and banged his drum even harder. He only stopped when his mother yanked him off the carpet by his arm and walloped him repeatedly across the backside.

  ‘Mum, I’m starving,’ complained Kyle, tugging at her arm.

  ‘Babs, come and sort these bastard kids out before I strangle ’em,’ Debbie ordered.

  Jason was having a lie-down in the smallest of the flat’s three bedrooms, which he shared with Shay. His mother had the largest and Barbara shared the other with Elton and Kyle.

  When his mother decided she couldn’t be bothered cooking again and ordered Babs to take the kids round the chippie to give her a break, Jason waited until his sister had left the flat before marching into the lounge. ‘I think you and I should have a little chat.’

  Lying on the sofa, fag in hand, watching the latest episode of the highly addictive Jeremy Kyle show, Debbie asked, ‘What about?’ in a totally disinterested tone.

  Jason picked up the remote and pressed pause. ‘About everything. You going out all the time. Babs skipping school at your insistence every time you have a hangover. You refusing to cook for the kids. The list is endless. You gotta sort yourself out, ya know. I’m old enough to fend for myself, but your other three aren’t.’

  Debbie took a gulp from her plastic bottle of cider, then sneered. ‘If you’re old enough to fend for yourself, why are you and your daughter living under my roof?’ Part of Debbie wanted to tell her son to pack his and Shay’s belongings and sling his hook, but Jason was too much of an asset to her financially. He gave her fifty quid a week, helped with the kids and paid for most of the grub they ate.

  ‘Oh, I’m looking for a way out, don’t you worry about that. But I’m worried about the kids, especially Babs. You treat that girl like a slave, and it ain’t on. You need to start cooking her some healthy food. Poor little mare is becoming obese. You got to be a better parent. I know you’re upset Rasta got bird, but it’s not as if he ever lived here or helped out with the kids. You weren’t exactly mother of the year before he got banged up, and if you don’t wake up and smell the coffee, you’ll have Social Services on your case. Then you’ll have no kids.’

  Debbie was well aware that she wasn’t ‘Mother of the Year’ material, but she loved Elton and Kyle. Rasta Dave had been the love of her life and they were his flesh and blood. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? Who do you think you are, you jumped-up little shit! You’re hardly Richard Branson your fucking self, are you? Think you’re a big-shot ’cause you sell sicko films to nonces round the estate. Well let me tell you something: you’re nothing, Jason Rampling. Just a nobody who lives on the Mardyke, same as me. Get that into your thick skull.’

  Jason was livid. He hated being spoken down to. ‘I’m nothing like you. I’m gonna make it in life whatever it takes. You just fucking watch me.’

  Practising her words, Melissa Brooks finally took the plunge and picked up the phone. She’d had nothing to do with lads since Donte’s dad had dumped her, and her heart was beating rapidly. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jason. She’d even dreamed about him last night.

  Silently praying he hadn’t given her a dodgy number, Melissa was relieved when the phone was answered on the third ring. He had a distinct voice, gruff and cheeky. ‘Erm, hi, Jason. It’s Melissa – the girl with the son that—’

  ‘I know exactly who you are. Never forget a pretty face, me,’ Jason interrupted. ‘How’s my little mate, Donte?’

  Melissa smiled. Jason seemed so thoughtful compared to lads she’d met in the past. ‘Miserable. He’s got a cold. How’s your daughter? What’s her name?’

  ‘Shay. Yeah, she’s good. What you doing tonight? Let me take you out for a drink so we can chat properly. Been thinking about you a lot since Sunday, I have.’

  Melissa felt a warm glow inside. She was still stunned that a hunk like Jason could be interested in her, but he was obviously very keen. ‘OK. I’m sure my mum will look after Donte. I’ll ask her in a tick.’

  When Mel gave him an address, Jason grinned. He knew that road and it wasn’t council, the gaffs were privately owned. Melissa’s call couldn’t have come at a better time …

  Carol Brooks was brimming with excitement for her daughter. ‘Wow! You look gorgeous. Now go knock him dead. Be confident, Mel. Nothing more off-putting to a man than insecurity, is there, Johnny?’

  Johnny looked up from his Construction News. ‘You do look nice, and your mother’s right. Don’t put the bloody bloke off. Opportunities like this don’t come along every day for someone in your position. I wonder if his kid’s half-chat too? Did you ask him?’

  ‘Shut up, Johnny. If you can’t be happy Mel’s got a date, then sod off upstairs,’ Carol ordered. Donte had started picking up on words they used lately and she didn’t want him hearing hateful things.

  Johnny held his hands aloft. ‘All right, I’m sorry. So you gonna bring him in to meet us, this mystery man?’

  ‘No. Last thing I want is you spouting off. He’ll run a mile,’ Mel snapped. She’d wanted to meet Jason away from the house, but he’d insisted on picking her up from her address.

  ‘Your dad won’t say anything bad. Promise her, Johnny,’ Carol ordered.

  ‘I won’t open me mouth. Honest,’ Johnny replied, performing a zip movement across his lips.

  ‘I can hear an engine, love. Did Jason say what car he drives?’ Carol asked, peeping through the curtain.

  ‘No. And come away from the window, Mum. Please,’ Melissa begged. She was becoming more flustered by the second.

  When the doorbell rang, Melissa felt sick with nerves. ‘Right, I’m off now. Do not follow me outside and embarrass me. I mean it.’

  Carol turned the TV down and put her ear to the door. ‘Hiya, Mel. You look amazing! Where’s me little mate? I got him a get well present.’

  ‘Donte’s in bed,’ Melissa replied, shutting the front door as quickly as possible.

  ‘Did you hear that, Johnny? He brought Donte a get well present!’ Carol beamed.

  Johnny Brooks leapt out of the armchair and peeked through the curtains. Whoever this Jason was, he sounded too good to be bloody
true.

  Melissa Brooks smiled as Jason handed her a third Bacardi and Coke. He’d brought her to the Spencer’s Arms pub in Ardleigh Green and, although nervous at first, Mel now felt more relaxed. Jason was easy to talk to and they had lots in common.

  Jason took a photo out of his pocket and slid it across the table. ‘That’s my Shay, holding the doll. The other three are my brothers and sister. Taken last Christmas, that photo was. Most recent I have of Shay.’

  ‘Awww. She’s really cute, Jase. So, where is her mum? Does she see Shay? You don’t mind me asking, do you?’

  ‘Course not. Her mum left us. Walked out when Shay was a few months old and we’ve not seen her since. Bet you could never leave your Donte, eh, girl?’

  ‘No way. Oh, I’m so sorry, Jason. That’s awful. How did you manage? You must have only been young yourself.’

  ‘Case of having to manage. I moved back in with my mum, and my nan used to help out a bit. Shay’s too lively for her now though. What about your parents? They good with Donte?’ When Jason had found out Melissa didn’t have her own accommodation and lived with her mum and dad, he’d felt deflated. Until he’d seen the parents’ gaff, that was. They were definitely loaded. And he could tell Melissa was easy-pickings. Plus she was mother material, and that’s what Shay needed. His nan was right. Becoming hard to handle of late, his daughter was. Which was no surprise, seeing as his mother was out on the lash all the time and she was left to fend for herself along with Babs and his brothers.

  Melissa thought carefully before answering. ‘My mum’s been great. She’s a strong woman who adores Donte. My dad is old school, though. He thinks a girl should be married before she has children. He wanted to kick me out when I fell pregnant, but my mum stood her ground. I take after my mother. I’m a strong woman too,’ Mel said, remembering her mum’s advice to come across as confident.

  Leaning across the table, Jason squeezed Mel’s hand. ‘I can tell, and that’s why I like you. No disrespect to your pal Tracey, but women like her aren’t my cup of tea. Too fake. I like real people, like yourself.’