The Rave: A gritty crime drama you won't want to put down (Valley Park Series Book 2)

by Nicky Black

  As she watched Sam move from one end of the window to the other, she cursed Tommy Collins. She cursed the gobshite who’d given birth to him and the murderer who’d put his seed in her. She cursed Valley Park and the idiots who had burnt down that house last night, alighting renewed fear in her child for a man who was no good for her.

  The night before, Sam had curled herself into a ball, listening vacantly to Denise’s assertions that it was all bullshit, that Tommy would never amount to anything, that Sam had been duped just like she herself had been duped many times before. It was a rare thing indeed, she’d said, that a man came along who was of any value.

  Sam had looked up at her with eyes on the verge of fret, then taken herself off to bed without a word, only to come running back down the stairs again when she heard the sirens and the helicopter and saw the flames in the distance. Sam had run out of the house in her slippers, sprinted across the estate to Holly Drive, only to be forced back by the police. She’d come back in tears and fallen asleep on the sofa, anxious fingers still in her mouth. The next thing Denise knew she was sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, the vodka finished and another empty bottle in the bin. The rest was oblivion. She’d managed to get herself to bed somehow, and the phone had woken her at nine-thirty that morning. She’d staggered downstairs to find Ashleigh playing on the floor with a coaster, and Sam clutching the telephone receiver with a smile of relief on her face. Tommy was safe. More was the pity.

  But now Sam was agitated. Tommy had told her to stay put, not to come to the house under any circumstances, that he would be around later to explain everything.

  ‘What’s he going to explain?’ Sam was asking as she paced. ‘What’s he up to?’

  Denise knew exactly what he was up to, and she had a mind to tell her. She glanced at the sewing basket, the drugs still keeping the late payment demands company, and decided she would save it for later. She’d save it for when he was there, and she could produce the evidence. The element of surprise would not only humiliate Tommy but ensure Sam wouldn’t be taken in by his excuses.

  Denise rubbed at her temples. The afternoon was striding on and she needed to get a message to Paul to tell him to stay away, the time not yet right to tell Sam of their renewed relationship. Sam had witnessed one of Paul’s outbursts several years earlier. He’d punched Denise, not once, but three times, loosening a tooth and bringing a slither of blood from her nose. It hadn’t been the first time, and he’d called her things that she could hardly bear to repeat. It was as if he hadn’t seen the child, even though she was right there, sitting on the floor trying to fathom a Rubik's Cube. It was one of those times he forgot anyone else in the world existed other than his target. It was one of those times she’d seen her father’s merciless face in his.

  After that, he’d stayed away, refused to take her calls or answer her letters. At first, she’d imagined he was too ashamed to face her, but as time went on, and she heard how he was going up in the world, she realised that he’d simply forgotten her. It was only on her return to this shit-hole that she’d begun to hope for a reunion. Sam’s insistence on moving into Tommy’s house on Valley Park had been absurd, but that was what Tommy had wanted, and Sam was too blind to see the consequences. But she wouldn’t leave her daughter alone in a place like this, so back she came, and that’s when it started, the gnawing desire to put things right, the need to rid herself of the guilt and the sleepless nights it induced. It had occupied her mind day and night for over a year, but she’d never had the guts to instigate the first contact. It was Paul who made the first step, and that took balls.

  Lost in her thoughts, Denise didn’t hear the knock on the door or Sam’s ‘Oh my God!’ until the Detective Chief Inspector was standing in her living room, staring at her, condemnation written all over his face.

  ‘Mrs Morris,’ he said.

  Her blood ran cold. He was here to question her about the building society again and she scrambled her way through explanations in her fogged mind, wishing to God she’d stayed sober last night. Sam was looking from the inspector to her mother, wondering how he knew her name, no doubt, and Denise tried to hide the fear that peppered her face.

  The DCI was offered a seat on the sofa which he took without question, Ashleigh crawling over to him and pulling herself up by his trouser legs, smiling, her chubby legs wobbling.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ he said.

  Sam’s eyes were filling up. ‘What’s happened?’ Her hands covered her ears in preparation for the answer she dreaded. Tommy was arrested, hurt, dead.

  Denise, her legs as unstable as the baby’s, lowered herself into the armchair, willing the return of composure and clarity of thought.

  ‘I believe you might be in danger,’ Peach said.

  ‘How?’ asked Sam.

  Denise was going to throw up for sure, and she didn’t hear what he said next, such was the sudden pounding in her ears, but she heard Sam’s response.

  ‘Drugs? I don’t understand.’

  ‘I think he was coerced into it, but yes,’ said Peach.

  Coerced? Someone was taking this inspector for a fool. Tommy had got himself mixed up with some nasty people and now her daughter was about to be collateral damage.

  ‘My top priority is your safety if Tommy fails to do what’s being asked of him,’ Peach said.

  Sam’s voice trembled as she sat down on the sofa next to the copper. ‘What will they do to him? Mam?’ She turned to Denise who struggled to hide her what-did-I-tell-you? expression.

  ‘Let us worry about Tommy,’ Peach said. ‘Do you know where this rave is happening?’

  Sam shook her head, no.

  ‘Do you know anything about a robbery?’

  ‘What? No!’

  Denise felt the pull of the knot in her stomach as the DCI’s eyes turned on her.

  ‘There may have been a misidentification,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Sam. ‘It’s just not him, he wouldn’t, I swear he wouldn’t.’

  ‘Like I said, we want to make sure you’re safe.’

  ‘Who is it?’ Sam asked. ‘If we’re going to stay safe, I need to know.’

  Denise didn’t realised how long she’d been holding her breath. She let the air out, relieved the conversation was being diverted away from the robbery. She waited for his answer as eagerly as Sam. As soon as she knew who it was, she would inform her brother. He’d take care of it. He’d protect them. Finally, they had a problem they could solve together.

  But the inspector had a different story. ‘Paul Smart,’ he said, and she felt the icy cold return.

  ‘Then I am safe,’ said Sam, picking up Ashleigh and holding her to her chest. ‘He wouldn’t dare come around here. And Tommy wouldn’t go anywhere near him.’

  Denise’s eyes were closed, and it was all she could do to keep the vomit down. The copper had it wrong – it was the Logans he should be worried about. The older lad had had it in for Tommy for years – a shocking family if ever there was one. But something in her – something she didn’t want to acknowledge – knew her brother was more than capable.

  Open, put inside, click.

  ‘I think you’ll find he’s been very much near him,’ said Peach.

  ‘Jesus, Tommy,’ said Sam, her face pinched with distress.

  And then, as if the blinds in Denise’s head were snapped opened, clarity returned. Tommy. Sam’s weak point. She loved him.

  Denise’s legs were like springs and she was on her feet. ‘We can’t trust this lot, love,’ she said. ‘They’re after our Tommy, and they’ll put him away.’

  Sam’s brow furrowed through her pain. Our?

  ‘His bairn’s in hospital, remember? He thinks Tommy did it. He just wants to find him and make him pay. He wants you to turn him in. Don’t trust him, Samantha.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Peach, ‘as far as I know Tommy hasn’t sold the drugs, but if he doesn’t, and the rave tomorrow night doesn’t go ahead, he’s in trouble. And so are
you.’

  ‘Lies, Samantha, all lies!’

  The inspector was wrong. Paul wouldn’t hurt his own niece. She had to believe it, otherwise what would become of them all?

  ‘You know Tommy wouldn’t get involved in anything like that,’ she said to Sam. Then she turned on Peach, eyes on fire. ‘He’s a nice lad, you stay away from him.’

  She watched his face darken. ‘Oh, really?’ he said.

  She knew what was coming, she’d led him right to it. But if she got in first, he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on.

  Out it came in a shower of lies as if she were born for it. Peach had tried to make her identify Tommy in the robbery at the building society, she said. But she hadn’t; she wouldn’t do that to Sam. He’d tried to force her, offered her money, but she hadn’t turned up at the ID parade. She wouldn’t betray Tommy like that, not when she knew how much he meant to Sam.

  She watched aching perplexity spread across her daughter’s face. ‘I didn’t want to tell you, love, you’ve got so much on your plate, and I thought you might not believe me.’ She turned on the tears, surprising herself at her ability to do so.

  The inspector wasn't taken in. ‘Now, hold on a minute—’

  But Denise wasn't going to let him speak. ‘Get out of my house!’ she snapped, pointing at the door. ‘Go on! Out!’

  ‘Tommy wouldn’t have anything to do with him,’ said Sam, putting Ashleigh back onto the floor. ‘He promised me he wouldn’t.’ She looked to her mother for reassurance then turned back to Peach. ‘You’re lying,’ she said.

  ‘Mrs Collins …’ Peach was trying to appease her, but Denise was striding to the living room door.

  ‘Go!’ It came out like a dog’s yelp.

  ‘Do what she says,’ said Sam, angrily. ‘You’re not welcome here.’

  His face turning to stone, the inspector stood slowly like an old man who needed a stick. He walked towards Denise, telling her she should get her priorities right. Would she put her own child in jeopardy?

  ‘I don’t think you’re in any position to give me parenting advice.’

  Bam! She almost heard the words collide with his face, and she revelled in her sudden advantage. It felt good to be back in control.

  ‘You people,’ the copper said, his voice riddled with scorn. ‘You’d rather die than turn in one of your own.’

  With one last defeated look at Sam, the inspector left without uttering another word.

  Denise drew back the net curtain and looked through the window, her heart leaping as she watched her brother locking his car door, his face surprised but relaxed as he stood at the gate and waited. But Peach opened the gate and walked past him, saying something that made Paul’s face fall into an empty glare that turned to the window, his eyes resting there for a moment before he got back into his car and drove away.

  Come back! Her heart pleaded. Perhaps now was the right time after all, now that she felt her daughter’s loyalty once more.

  ‘Thanks, Mam,’ she heard, and she turned to see Sam’s arms outstretched.

  She melted into the embrace. ‘Don’t listen to him, love. It’s got nothing to do with our Paul, he’s different now.’ She clung onto her daughter tighter, but she felt Sam stiffen then pull away.

  ‘Have you seen him?’

  Denise reached for her, but Sam stepped back. ‘Just a couple of times,’ she said, the nausea returning with a vengeance. ‘He’s changed, Sam.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘He’s not the same, love, not now.’

  ‘Are you mad?!’

  Denise reached out again; why wouldn’t she listen?

  ‘Do you know what he does to people? What he did to you?’ Sam was recoiling away from her, as if her mother had some sort of plague.

  But she could explain. They’d put the kettle on, she said. They’d have a cuppa, and she’d tell Sam everything. She watched tears brim in her daughter’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t even know who you are,’ Sam said.

  ‘He just wants his family back, love.’ Denise could almost see inside her daughter’s head, the battle going on within. ‘He needs our help,’ she insisted.

  ‘People don’t change, Mam,’ said Sam, shaking her head.

  Denise hovered, feeling herself on the precipice. It could go one way or the other. ‘They do, love, they do.’

  ‘That’s what Tommy was looking for.’ Sam looked into the distance, remembering something. ‘The drugs. They’ve gone, and he thought I got rid of them. If he can’t sell them—’

  ‘They’ll turn up, love, things always do,’ Denise reassured her.

  ‘Smarties.’ Sam sank onto the sofa, then looked up at her mother. ‘He called the drugs “Smarties.”’

  Denise hadn’t made the connection, and yet there it was, staring her right in the face.

  Coincidence. It had to be.

  The sound of rattling had them turning their heads. Ashleigh was standing at the sewing basket, holding it open with one hand, and shaking a tube of Smarties with the other. She held the sweeties out for Sam to take, a gift that she would want back a few seconds later. Sam sprang from the sofa and grabbed the tube from Ashleigh’s hand.

  The precipice began to fracture, and Denise felt herself fall as Sam opened the tube’s top to look inside, the sob of realisation escaping before her accusing eyes met Denise’s.

  ‘You cow,’ she spat.

  TOMMY

  ‘Sorry, marra. I need the cash.’

  Tommy still hadn’t paid for the last lot of flyers from the printers and Macca, like the Iron Lady, was not for turning. Macca’s eyes lingered sympathetically on the yellowing bruise on Tommy’s face before directing his attention to his next customer.

  ‘Howay, Macca.’ Tommy blocked his line of vision. ‘I’ll pay you double tomorrow, I swear.’

  Macca looked torn but said nothing.

  ‘I thought we were mates,’ Tommy hissed at him.

  ‘It’s not me, it’s the boss,’ said Macca in a hushed voice. ‘I’ll lose my job, man. I’ve got three bairns, and she’s up the duff again!’

  Tommy’s agitation grew. ‘Mate, if I’ve got no flyers … can I just take one box?’ A small queue was forming behind him and he heard sighing and shuffling feet.

  Macca’s expression hardened. ‘I can’t, Tommy,’ he said. ‘Took me six months to find this job. I need the fucking cash, right?’ He handed over the original flyer, looked over Tommy’s shoulder and asked who was next.

  Tommy left the shop and trudged through the city centre’s Greenmarket. It smelt of raw meat and sawdust, echoing with the sounds of traders barking their ‘three punnets for fifty pence!’ as the afternoon wore on and trade slowed down. He stopped at another printing shop, rickety and run down, standing at the door just as the woman inside turned the CLOSED sign over and pulled down the blind. He stepped back, almost falling over a man in a blue apron pushing a dead pig in a wheelbarrow. The stench of dead animal was making him nauseous and faint, and he headed towards the main street and blessed fresh air, obstructed every few seconds by excitable youths hanging around the piercing and tattoo stands.

  Where’s the rave, Tommy?

  Rumours were rife that the next party was going to be as big as Sunrise or Genesis, and that Judge Jules himself would be making an appearance. The town’s underground ravers were buzzing.

  Jed and Frankie waited for him outside the travel agency in mutually acceptable silence. Even Frankie seemed anxious as he explained that almost every all-nighter in the region had been cancelled. Stout men with wide faces had paid visits to all known promoters and made it clear that any rival party would end in trouble. Guns had been pointed into the promoters’ faces until they’d confirmed they understood. Every party-goer north of York would be heading their way on Saturday night.

  That wasn’t all that was heading their way. Tucker, his stride as demonic as Terry and June's was crossing the road and walking down the hill towards them, the dogs straining in their studd
ed collars.

  ‘Fuuuuck!’ Jed still hadn’t paid for the knock-off trainers.

  Tucker stopped and hammered on the door of a nightclub that resembled a seedy hovel during daylight hours. Two men emerged, all chest and no neck, men Tommy recognised from the greyhound track. Perhaps they were all joining forces – a conglomerate of hard bastards trading in Tommy’s misery.

  After what looked like a friendly exchange of words, the door closed, and Tucker headed back down the hill in their direction.

  The lads scarpered into the travel agent’s and perused the shelves, one eye on the street, the other feigning interest in package holidays to the Costa del Sol. They turned their backs to the window as Tucker staggered by, and Tommy pulled a brochure down from the shelf, burying his head in it: Majorca, and the Balearics. He looked with wretched envy at the images of cloudless blue sky and sapphire sea, glancing sideways at the hoity-toity-looking woman in a blue neck-scarf who eyed them warily.

  ‘It’s free, you don’t have to nick it,’ she said, coldly.

  Outside again, Tommy tucked the brochure into the back of his jeans and lit a cigarette while they all glanced around them to make sure Tucker was well out of sight. His nerves were ragged. He needed those flyers even if he had to break into the printers to get them. The rush of nicotine did nothing to ease the tension.

  ‘On the positive side,’ Jed was saying with a smile, ‘with everything else cancelled, at least there’s plenty personnel knocking about.’

  Tommy and Frankie exchanged a glance of amusement, and Tommy nodded his agreement, not wanting to discourage this new-found optimism. Jed had already put in the calls, he said, just a matter of time.