Faceless

by Cole, Martina

  Patrick saw religion as a big scam, did not believe in any power higher than his own. If God was so good, what the fuck was He doing all day while people starved and died of illnesses like cancer and TB? Patrick believed that people who needed a God were fools, could not bring themselves to take on board that this was it. Once you were dead that was the end of you. Fuck eternal life, live this one as best you could, that was Patrick’s motto.

  He had finished his drink and poured himself another. He could hear Busby pottering around in her kitchen. It reminded him of when they had been kids. His mother had been white, a fact that shamed him though he would never admit it. Unlike his sister, whose father and mother had both been black, he had always felt left out because his mother had been a low-class white woman whereas his father had been a respected religious man. Not that religious though, obviously, or he would not have been taken in by the white whore he had met at one of his domino nights.

  Patrick had hated her, her drink-fuelled rages, even her smell of cigarettes and cheap perfume. But his father had been besotted with her.

  When she had finally gone on the trot Patrick had been over the moon, though he had loved his grandfather, the man she had named him after. He didn’t have his father’s surname. In those days if you were illegitimate you took your mother’s. But old Pat Connor had loved him. He had been a hard-drinking, hard-fighting Irishman who had loved his grandson, loved his blue eyes and his sturdy body. He had also adored his daughter, and had faced out the people who’d thought mixed-race relationships were wrong.

  When his mother had left, Patrick had been brought here by his father and raised by Busby, the elder sister who had adored him from the moment she had set eyes on him. Twenty years older than he was, she had seen him as the child she had never had.

  He had visited his grandfather until his death from cancer when Patrick was fifteen years old. He still thought about the old man as he’d fought the disease, his big frame ravaged, leonine head of red hair on a screaming skull.

  Patrick always told people his mother was dead. She was to him anyway. It was better that way.

  He looked at the photos round the room. Nearly all were of him at various stages of his life. In his school uniform, or on his motorbike after passing his test. He stared at that smiling boy and marvelled that no one had ever sussed out what had been going on inside his head.

  Busby came back into the room. She smelled of food and comfort. He smiled at her. She was the only person he actually cared about.

  ‘I had a letter from Lilian today. Do you want to see it?’ She was already holding it out to him.

  He shook his head and Busby sighed as she saw the look that came over his face.

  ‘I heard about Tiffany, you know. One of the ladies at the church told me. I’d rather have heard it from you, brother.’

  He closed his eyes slowly and looked suitably upset.

  ‘I didn’t want you worrying. I told you what was happening to her, didn’t I? I tried to stop it all but she was bad. Like her mother, she was bad.’

  ‘I know you were only trying to help. But Marie was her mother and it always seemed wrong to me . . .’

  Busby’s voice trailed off.

  They had been over this so many times and on each occasion he just went quiet. He had been the same as a child. But she was determined to get a reaction of some sort this time. ‘What about the baby, little Anastasia? Who is taking care of her? Has Marie seen her at all?’

  Then she said the words he had been expecting. Only now he had changed his mind. If Busby took the kid he would be lumbered.

  ‘She could come here, you know.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘No. Now, Busby, you listen to me. You can’t take on a little girl like her. She’s better off in the hands of the professionals.’

  ‘You said the same thing about Tiffany and look how she ended up.’

  He closed his eyes to show her she was annoying him.

  ‘Don’t get vexed with me, Patrick. I am trying to save that child from the same fate as her mother. We are her blood, this is where she should be.’

  ‘Are we going to eat, Busby, only I have an appointment in about an hour and I’m starving.’

  ‘You always starving, Pat. Don’t you eat in your big flat? Don’t you even go to a restaurant to get some food? And why do you always change the subject when I talk about the family? Poor Lilian . . .’

  ‘Lilian is a fucking whore, and you and I both know it.’

  ‘Lilian is your mother and she was just a young girl when she had you. How long you going to keep all this up? You must learn forgiveness, boy. She wants to see the child as much as I do.’

  Patrick stood up angrily.

  ‘What is it with you fucking people?’

  Busby prised her large bulk from the chair and bellowed, ‘Don’t you bring your gutter talk into my home, young man. You have to face up to things at some point in your life. You are nearly forty years old, boy. Grow up and take on your responsibilities. Your mother is a car ride away, and she is heartbroken over you. Daddy was not the man you thought, may God rest his soul. She was just a young girl and he took advantage of her. In those days having any kind of baby without a husband was frowned upon, let alone a black baby with blue eyes! Have some compassion for the woman who bore you. Who loved you.’

  He knew he was on the point of exploding so used the ruse he had always used when dealing with his sister.

  ‘You are my mother, Busby. The only mother I have ever wanted or needed. We have been over this time and time again. Lilian is nothing to me. I don’t want to see her or talk to her. She is dead to me and has been for many years. You are all I ever needed in my life. So can we please drop the subject before we both say something we’ll regret?’

  Busby never could resist him, though deep inside she knew he was bad. She had heard the stories about him.

  At school it had been the same, one story from the teachers and one from Patrick. She had always believed him because she had wanted to. But as time was marching on it was getting harder and harder to listen to him and what amounted to his delusions about her and himself.

  She needed to think hard about what she was going to do this time. Tiffany was dead and there was a child in the world with no one to care for her. As a good Christian woman Busby could not allow that to happen. As a woman who should have been surrounded by babies it was also a need she wanted fulfilled.

  She had to think her way carefully through her next step and try and get him to do what she wanted. Reclaim the baby, settle the yearning inside her, and give her something to live the next twenty years for.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mikey went into Patrick’s drinking club mob-handed. As he walked up to the bar he surveyed the place with one quick look. He noted two men in the corner who were obviously tooled up, but wasn’t too bothered about them. He knew them both and one even nodded an acknowledgement. He also noticed a couple of young men with dreams of the big time. He pulled the barman to one side and with a mixture of menace and joviality found out Patrick Connor’s mobile number and his local haunts. Then he watched as his henchmen wrecked the place.

  No one said a word, the club just quietly cleared, one man even taking his drink with him, a large smirk on his face.

  Patrick Connor was evidently not a well-liked man.

  The place was damaged beyond repair and Mikey knew that Connor would hear about it within minutes.

  Which was exactly what he wanted.

  Now all he had to do was wait for Connor to come to him. It was a game he was playing and he found he was actually enjoying himself. He would start hassling Connor on the phone when he had had a drink, and was going to get other people to ring him as well. If that didn’t bring him out of the woodwork, nothing would.

  Mikey walked behind the bar and poured himself a large Scotch. All he could think about was how Marie must be feeling, knowing what had happened to her girl. He had not been able to conta
ct her and guessed she was with her son. She would need her boy around her now after all that had happened, he understood that.

  He wanted to see her face when he told her what he had done. He knew she would be grateful, understand why he had done it. They were like-minded and he knew she understood him. That had never happened with any other woman before. Until Marie he had used women and knew that now, could see why all his relationships had foundered. No respect, no real love. Lust was a completely different thing. You could lust after anyone but once the bonking was over, what was left? Nothing. Just a few warm memories and not much else. He always seemed to be out of pocket afterwards, too, but that, as he told himself, was another story.

  He finished his drink and then kicked open the locked door to the office and looked through everything he could find. It was always worth a nose when you were trouncing someone, you never knew what you might find.

  There were more videos and more money, a hell of a lot more money. Not that he needed it, but it would wind up Connor no end if he thought he had been robbed. As Mikey looked through the videos and counted the money he was smiling. All in all it seemed this was his lucky night.

  They bundled the barman into the boot of the car to make sure they had someone who knew Connor’s usual haunts and who had the means of contacting other members of his workforce if necessary.

  The boy was terrified and it showed. Before shutting the boot on him Mikey said warningly, ‘I hope you aren’t a hero, son. I am in the mood to hurt someone badly - don’t let it be you.’

  Then he was in total blackness and had wet himself with fright before they had even turned the corner of the street.

  Lucy was round at Susan Tranter’s place. She wanted to know what was happening with her father. It felt strange to be knocking on this door but for now she could not face going back to Mickey’s house, could not face seeing his mother and her rat-like eyes. So she thought she would come and visit her father’s mistress as a means of delaying her return to a place where she was not welcome.

  Anyway, Susan was nice by all accounts. Lucy knew her by sight and had nodded to her before, but it still felt odd knowing that this was the woman her father had been with sexually. She had also heard that Susan’s house was filthy though she was clean enough in herself.

  One thing she knew for definite, Susan Tranter had stood by her dad through everything and as far as Lucy was concerned, that counted for something.

  The woman answered the door. Her face betrayed none of the surprise she was feeling.

  ‘Yes? Can I help you?’

  ‘Hello. I’m Kevin Carter’s daughter Lucy.’

  Susan stared at her blankly and she hurried on, ‘I wondered if you had seen him? Could tell me how he was?’

  ‘Well, there’s visiting for family and friends. Any time you want to go, you can. He’s not banged up as such, he’s in a psychiatric hospital. Rampton, actually, as I’m sure you already know.’

  The sarcasm was not lost on Lucy and before she could stop herself she was crying. It was the last straw. Everyone had a downer on her and she was feeling incredibly lonely and sorry for herself.

  Susan had a kind nature. Seeing the younger woman on her doorstep looking so distressed, she relented and brought her into the house. Twenty minutes later, the recipient of a cup of tea, Lucy poured out the whole story of her mother and her own broken engagement.

  Susan listened sadly. Kevin had spoken of Lucy many times, had felt sorry for her, saying that she was her own worst enemy. And as she listened to her now, Susan was inclined to agree with him.

  Lucy was eaten up with bitterness like her mother before her. It was a shame because when she smiled she looked lovely. She just needed to make herself a happier person and then she would attract people to her. As it was she drove them away.

  ‘I want me dad. I miss him so much.’

  The loneliness in her voice made Susan sorry for her but she was also sensible enough to see that she was Lucy’s last resort. She had no one else to turn to so she wanted her daddy and Daddy’s bird if necessary.

  But as Susan tried to explain, Kevin wasn’t right in the head. He had had a complete breakdown and she wondered at a daughter who could not even be bothered to go and visit him. She told Lucy the doctors believed it was because Kevin had kept so much bottled up inside him for so many years. His daughter’s imprisonment and his son’s suicide had been hard on him, but he had had to suppress his natural feelings of grief because of his wife and the way her own mental condition had deteriorated after these events.

  It was all a sorry tale and now she had his daughter and her problems on her doorstep. In one way Susan was glad because she missed Kevin very much. Lucy was better than nothing, at least she was a part of him. If Susan could help her, maybe she could help him. Kevin needed to see his children, the doctors were all agreed on that. Maybe she could talk Lucy and Marie into going to visit him and the psychiatrists; it might keep him from being locked up once and for all. She would do anything for Kevin, she loved him with every ounce of her being.

  So she listened to the younger woman with half an ear. Until Lucy spoke of her and Kevin.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said, I don’t blame my father for turning to you. My mother was never the easiest woman to be around. How long has it been going on? You and him, I mean.’

  Susan shrugged nonchalantly.

  ‘Years. I loved him for years and he loved me. But he would never have hurt your mother though she was a trial to him, as we both know. I feel sorry for Lou really. People like her, eaten up by bitterness, never find happiness. Even her own grandchildren were tossed aside. Your father found that very difficult, you know. As he found not seeing or hearing from Marie difficult. If it had been left to him, I think he would have taken the kids on and tried to make the best of it. But your mother was determined that they would never be a part of the family. I assume you’ve heard about Tiffany’s death? Marie must be in bits, the poor woman. Her whole life has been a struggle.’

  ‘She chose to kill her mates, no one made her do it.’

  The old animosity was back again.

  ‘Drugs made her do it, Lucy. Drugs are a terrible affliction, especially for the person caught up with them. It’s hard enough for the family who have to cope with knowing their child is an addict, but for the person themselves it must be doubly hard.’

  Lucy didn’t answer.

  ‘So where are you going to stay?’

  She looked around her at the untidy room and shuddered. She did not want to stay here but it might be necessary for a few days until she sorted herself out. She certainly didn’t want to go back to Mickey’s house and have to deal with his bloody witch of a mother.

  ‘I don’t know, to be honest. I was going to go to a hotel ...’

  Susan had seen the way Lucy looked at her home and had obviously found it lacking so she didn’t offer her a bed. She had been going to but now she felt that Lucy deserved all she got if she would only realise that fact. She could look down her nose at Susan all she liked. No one was forcing her to sit in this mess, were they?

  She glanced around her and felt like smiling for the first time in weeks. It was a mess, she’d be the first to admit that. But it was a comforting, clean mess. Papers and books everywhere. Plants growing wherever they were put and just left to overrun windowsills and shelves. She liked her home. Liked the sense of tranquillity it gave her.

  ‘Your father loved it here. Said after your mother’s regimented cleanliness it was refreshing. I think he liked the fact he could put his feet up on the furniture and there wouldn’t be a fight. Could put his plate on the floor if he wanted to and just chill out, as the youngsters say nowadays.’

  She didn’t know why she had said that but she wanted this girl to know her father had had happy times in this shithole. Because she knew that ‘shithole’ was the word that Lucy and her mother would use to describe her home. And maybe it was, but not to her and certainly not to K
evin. It had become his refuge and they both knew that.

  ‘I can understand that, actually. My mother could be overpowering at times. I am looking forward to seeing him. Do you think he will want to see me?’ Lucy asked hesitantly.

  Susan grinned.

  ‘He’ll be over the moon to see you, Lucy.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘I don’t know why. Marie was always his favourite.’

  The bitterness was back once more.

  ‘Oh, really? He talked mainly about you to me. I got the impression he saw you as the stronger person, far more able to cope with the world than Marie.’

  It was lies and they both knew it but Lucy appreciated the fact that this woman would do that for her. It was so long since she had been shown even a small kindness that she was near to tears.

  The messy house was forgotten now as she finally saw what had attracted her father to the rather blowsy lady sitting opposite her. Susan was kind and she was nice and she had a quiet way with her that was very relaxing.

  Seeing Lucy with her guard down, Susan saw a woman in her prime who needed a friend. Someone who would not judge as her mother had done, but would just like her for herself.

  ‘You could stay here for a few days until you get on your feet, I suppose. But as you can see, I’m very untidy.’

  She saw the relief on Lucy’s face and any qualms she had felt about her offer disappeared. She had always been a sucker for lame dogs. She only hoped that this one wasn’t going to bite her at some point in the future.

  But she was doing this for Kevin anyway. At least he would see one of his remaining children. She only hoped she could get Marie to visit him as well, though she had her own priorities at the moment and Susan understood that. To bury a child must be the most traumatic thing a person could do.