by Andie Fessey
“Okay Love,” she replied, “but if you need anything, just give me a shout.”
“Will do Mum,” he replied, closing the door behind him.
Poor sod.
Walking to the bar, she switched on the coffee pot on one of the counters and picked up a packet of cigarettes.
“Morning Lynn,” she called to the cleaner, as she made her way to the front door.
“Morning Eve,” Lynn replied, “fag break time eh?”
Stopping her cleaning duties, Lynn reached into her tabard, fetching out a packet of cigarettes.
“Always time for a fag break,” Eve replied, stepping out into the cold morning air.
They stood leaning against the wall of the pub, a few yards away from the entrance, a brisk, cold breeze blowing from the docks.
Lynn ensured Eve stood between her and the gusts of wind sweeping from across the road, where the container base lay before the River Mersey.
Eve towered over her, standing at five feet ten inches tall, without heels, her long brunette hair tied in a ponytail, cascading halfway down her back.
“Can’t believe we have to stand over here in the bloody cold to have a fag Eve,” Lynn said, “all the wars and killings going on in the world today and this is going to make any difference?”
“It’s the law, trying to stop passive smoking or something or other,” Eve replied, not wishing to enter another of Lynn’s debates so early in the morning.
“Passive smoking my arse,” Lynn replied, “they should try and deal with real criminals, instead of persecuting us law abiding folk.”
“Since when have you been law abiding Lynn?”
Lynn squealed and dropped the remainder of her cigarette a man’s hands grabbed her waist from behind.
“Piss off Stumpy!” she laughed, as the short, stocky man tried to lift her up.
He released and she turned to him, laughing.
“I’ll have you one of these days Stumpy Ratchet,” she said, pointing at him.
“You have me most nights in your dreams,” he replied laughing himself.
Employed as the cellar man and glass collector, Stumpy was also the general handy man at Eve’s pub, “The Anchor.” His ruddy face paying testament he was a local of the pub for nearly twenty years.
“What time are we opening up Eve?” he asked.
“Lunchtime Hun,” she replied, smiling down at him, “same as always.”
Receiving the pub as part of her divorce settlement, she strived to ensure it remained traditional including the opening hours, the only concession to modernisation being the building of a children’s play area, next to the pub garden.
Yapping came from within the confines of the pub.
The yapping of her small Yorkshire terrier, let her know if anybody hung around of a night-time. Not that it would do much good as protection, but Stumpy called it her ‘Early Warning Yapping System’, to give her a chance to telephone the police.
Her relationship with the police was always a good one. She kept her pub drug free and relatively trouble free, the latter especially with Eve also on good terms with the majority of the local ‘criminal fraternity’. Unlike most pubs, falling under somebody’s patch, it was an unwritten rule in the local underworld, the Anchor lay out of bounds.
To Eve, it felt surreal at times, to see the elder members of the local ‘firms’ sat around the pub on a Thursday night for quiz nights and the Sunday afternoon domino sessions.
She would smile, watching the ‘minders’ to these respectable old men, sat in their various corners glaring at one and other. Even more surreal, one of the quiz teams consisted of a few members of the local constabulary.
The Anchor became a haven to all who abided by its rules and traditions.
Eve stayed outside with Lynn for another cigarette, after Stumpy entered the pub to start his daily chores.
“Another day, another dollar eh Eve?” Lynn asked, stubbing out the remains of her cigarette in the bin Eve fitted to the wall for the regulars.
“Aye Hun.”
Lynn returning inside the pub and Eve finished off the last of her cigarette, watching one of the new giant cranes moving slowly at the docks.
They dwarfed the huge Corn Terminal, slowly retrieving container after container from a large ship berthed at the quayside.
The cacophony of noises from the docks was something you become accustomed to after a while. The bangs, the sirens, the tremendous noise as high winds managed to blow one of the containers over, amidst a vast cornucopia of other noises.
Sighing aloud, she stubbed out her cigarette and returned inside to get ready for another day.
Chapter Thirteen
Brenda walked along one of the aisles of the bargain store, located in ‘The Venue’, their local shopping centre.
Stopping to look at several various matching bath sets, she picked a set of ivory coloured towels from one of the shelves. The towels felt soft and warm in her hands.
They would look lovely in the bathroom.
Placing them in her shopping basket, she turned to the towels on the next shelf, full of towels depicting Lottie’s favourite cartoon characters.
Attempting to reach for one of the towels, she suddenly felt an acute, sharp pain, rushing behind the bridge of her nose.
Believing at first, she was experiencing another of her dreaded migraines, the pain in her head worsened more severe than the headaches she suffered for years.
Increasing within moments, from a sharp pain to her head feeling like it was about to split wide open, it felt unlike one of her normal migraines.
One of the shop assistants placing boxes onto one of the shelves nearby, saw Brenda suffering in obvious discomfort.
“Are you okay love?” The shop assistant asked, approaching her.
Brenda now placed her fingers on the bridge of her nose, trying unsuccessfully to keep the pain at bay.
“I’m not sure,” she replied, looking worriedly at the assistant.
Bloodshot lines filled her eyes, the whiteness surrounding her pupils now taken on a pink hue.
Her skin, now pale and waxen, the veins in her cheeks and across her forehead, pulsated thickly.
Placing her arm around Brenda’s shoulder, the assistant called to one of her colleagues, asking him to grab Brenda’s shopping bags.
The stores security officer, stood nearby, caught sight of them and rushed along the aisle to their side.
“Is she okay? Are you okay love?”
The assistant holding Brenda looked at him, shrugging her shoulders slightly.
“Can we take her to your office Chris?” She asked.
“Course we can.”
Pressing the button on the microphone clipped onto his breast pocket, he called his colleague, informing him of the situation and instructing him to take over the patrols of the store.
They made their way to the security office, located through a door at the side of the shop with a ‘Staff Only’ sign displayed upon it.
Chris tapped at the keypad on the digital display in front of him and pushed the door open.
“Come on love,” he said to Brenda, helping her through the doorway into the small hallway beyond, “let’s get you sat down.”
They made their way into the small. Windowless security office, the only light that emitting from a small bank of CCTV monitors in front of a worn, high backed leather chair. Insulating tape covered the two tattered and worn arm rests.
A small sofa sat next to the wall, opposite the bank of monitors.
Chris led her to it, gently helping her sit down.
“You sit down here love. I’m going to call an ambulance just to be on the safe side, you know.”
Brenda did not protest, more concerned with the pain in her head.
Tears fell from her eyes as the pain intensified.
What on earth is happening to me?
She heard the security person talking, unable to make out the words he spoke. Her heart felt it was goin
g to pound from her chest.
“Mike,” she whispered, as she felt herself falling into a dark abyss within her mind.
Dialling the emergency services number, the operator asked Chris which service he required. After informing her he required an ambulance, he waited a few moments whilst his call became diverted.
The operator now speaking to him, remained calm and courteous throughout the call, asking Chris for the symptoms of the casualty.
Turning to look at Brenda’s prone body on the sofa, Chris found her slumped.
“Shit!” He exclaimed, immediately apologising to the operator.
“I’m sorry, but I think she’s fainted, blacked out.”
The shop assistant, stood watching the monitors, turned around and rushed to Brenda, holding and gently shaking her.
She received no response.
Shit, oh shit.
She remembered something about the first aid course her manager insisted she attend, as part of her ‘career’ plan.
Like I intend to spend the rest of my life here.
She pinched Brenda’s earlobe.
“Hello. Can you hear me? I’m a first aider?” She asked, remembering the words her instructor taught her.
Chris looked at her, mouthing ‘what?’
“Christ Chris, I think she’s dead!” She replied, eyes wide in panic.
Chris ran to the telephone.
“We think she’s dead! She may have had a heart attack. Please, please hurry!” He spoke rapidly into the mouthpiece.
Providing the operator, the details of their location, he placed the phone down, quickly rushing across to the sofa.
Grabbing Brenda’s wrist, he checked for a pulse.
Nothing.
“Help me get her into the recovery position.”
“Is that what we do?”
“I don’t know love, I don’t know,” Chris replied, the panic clearly visible in his eyes.
She opened her mouth to reply, but stopped, looking in shock and fear, as Brenda seized her wrist.
“What…?”
Her voice became interrupted, as she watched transfixed in horror, as Brenda’s mouth sought her arm, her teeth biting deeply into the exposed flesh, digging deep before wrenching back dug her teeth deeply, biting hard, then wrenching back.
She screamed, as Brenda pulled her head back, a piece of pink, bleeding flesh clasped between her teeth, blood oozing and seeping onto her chin.
Stumbling onto the floor, Chris watched the macabre scene unfolding in front of him, Brenda chewing quickly on the flesh, devouring it.
“Quickly!” he said, regaining control of his senses and moving to the assistant on his knees, grabbing her other arm.
“Out now!”
Moving to the door, they were halted abruptly, pulled backwards as Brenda grabbed the girl by her hair, yanking hard with both hands.
The girls scream echoed loudly within the confines of the small room, blood pouring down her head upon her startled face, her scalp stretching and tearing apart, as Brenda ripped a handful of her hair from her skin.
Chapter Fourteen
Tweets from the online local daily news section of the Liverpool Planet newspaper:
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“Police were called after what has been described as an ‘indecent attack’ on a member of staff”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“There are two police cars here outside the centre”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“A local resident says that she has heard that there has been an attack on a member of staff”
Jackie Holt – Local Resident “I heard that there had been an attack on a member of staff.”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“Another local resident said that he heard screaming and shouting a short while ago but had no idea what it was”
Gary Smith – Local Resident “I heard screaming and shouting, you know, a little while ago, you know, but I had no idea where it was coming from, know what I mean”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“I approached one of the police officers, who was stood outside the club, for a comment but he declined to provide me with one”
Police Officer 234 – “No comment”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“Two more police cars have arrived, in addition to two ambulances and what looks like, judging from the uniforms of its occupants, an unmarked police vehicle”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“This is distressing. I, amongst the rest of the crowd here, have borne witness to a man being gunned down by the police. In self-defence, I hasten to add”
Gloria McPherson reporting from the Krazy Kidz Community Centre
“It looks like the Forensics team have arrived. In a major scoop for the Liverpool Planet, I have been able to secure an interview with Joanne King who runs the club. I will now pass these tweets onto my colleague Gareth and will see you all tomorrow with an in-depth report on the tragedy which has unfolded today”
Using her mobile, Gloria searched the internet for the Children’s club’s website as she stood waiting amongst the crowd of onlookers.
Amongst the e-mail address and social media information, to her delight, the website also contained a mobile telephone number.
Trying her luck, she called it and to her delight and amazement, it belonged to Joanne King who ran the club.
Joanne informed her was in the club at that moment and would be delighted to give an interview for the newspaper.
Rushing across the grass to the entrance to the Community Centre, a WPC approached her.
“Mam, I am sorry but you are not allowed past here.”
Unperturbed, Gloria flashed her press ID badge at the WPC.
“I am here on behalf of the Liverpool Planet. I have an interview arranged with the club’s owner, Joanne King.”
“Mam, please,” the WPC replied, “it doesn’t matter if you have an interview with the Pope himself, you can’t pass here.”
Joanne appeared from a fire door at the side of the club, waving and walking across to them.
“Oh, hello officer, Ms McPherson and I have a prearranged interview. We’ll not get in the way of the proceedings here and will be in the staff kitchen if you need us.”
Taking the reporter by the arm as if old acquaintances, she led her to the open fire door.
The WPC shook her head in disbelief, but before she could reply, her radio received a transmission regarding a disturbance at a local shopping centre.
Listening to the transmission, she keyed the ‘call’ button, informing the operator of her availability if required and her current situation at the premises.
After a few moments, the operator informed her to stay put for now.
Looking around and finding the owner and reporter nowhere to be seen, she walked to her station at the entrance.
I’m not paid enough to deal with cretins like that.
Joanne led Gloria through the fire door, taking them into the heart of the club, comprising a giant hall, big enough to house a full size five-a-side football pitch.
In addition to basketball nets, the walls either end of the hall, were festooned with colourful posters and murals, depicting cartoon characters.
Around the hall were children’s seats, surrounding tables covered with various paints, crayons and half-finished pictures.
“It was what we call here, ‘Imagination’ evening,” Joanne said, as they made their way across the expanse of the hall to the kitchen.
“At Krazy Kidz we like to have a variety of activities in which to engage the minds of our future generations,” she continued, “we want children to embrace their imaginations and let the paints paint pictures from
innocent minds, unsullied by the anger and predetermined prejudices of the outside world.”
Jesus, Gloria thought, does she really believe that shit?
As they approached the serving hatch, a large figure stepped out from the doorway adjacent to the kitchen.
“This is Pete, he fixes the photocopier and anything else which needs mending around here,” Joanne said, winking at Pete.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, offering his hand.
“So, can you tell me what has happened?” Gloria asked, shaking his hand, smiling.
“Dreadful business. Can’t believe what the fuck just happened,” Pete replied, “Oh sorry, pardon my swearing.”
“It’s understandable in moments of stress.” Gloria said.
“Will this be in your paper?” Joanne asked, leaning against the counter and instructing the girl behind to make them coffees.
“Most definitely.”
“Do you want pictures?”
“Well, we don’t have a cameraman here, but my phone takes amazing quality pictures.”
Awaiting their coffees to arrive, Joanne informed Gloria a good picture would be, if she stood in front of the large sign in the hall, bearing the clubs name.
“Of course,” Gloria replied, wishing to speed things along so she could get to the questions.
A pretty, pale faced, young girl with long blonde hair walked through the doorway, tugging at Joanne’s sweater.
“Hasn’t your Daddy arrived yet?” Joanne asked, glancing down and smiling.
The girl shook her head, her face as white as snow.
“It will be a really good shot if you have that darling next to you,” Gloria said, working her way through the icons on her mobile telephone to activate the camera.
The girl tugged again at Joanne’s sweater.
“What is it Rose?” she said, “your Daddy should be here any minute.”
“I don’t feel well, I feel sick.” Rose said.
Having taken a couple of pictures, Gloria walked across to them.
“You really do look poorly,” she said, kneeling next to her. Rose looked at the reporter through bloodshot eyes.