The Sting

by Kimberley Chambers

  Tommy sank to his knees. DI Aycott crouched next to him and lifted back the sheet to reveal Smiffy’s face. ‘Is this your pal?’

  Tommy nodded.

  ‘What’s his full name and address, lad?’

  ‘He ain’t got no proper address. None of us have. We live at Maylands, the children’s home. His name is Martin Smith and this weren’t no accident. Smiffy was murdered and I know who killed him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Wayne Bradley.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Smiffy’s funeral. How I dreaded that. I couldn’t get my head around the fact he was dead. Not just dead. Murdered.

  Only a few days before he’d died we’d been planning the future. We turned sixteen within a few weeks of one another, had already made a pact to share a gaff.

  Obviously, my dream back then was to make it as a pro boxer, but I wasn’t delusional. I knew that was a long-shot. Smiffy had a cousin who was in the roofing game. He reckoned his cousin would give us both a job. I was so looking forward to us working and sharing a place together. But it wasn’t to be. The Grim fucking Reaper made sure of that.

  So, back to square one, I was. No plans for my future. No light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t even be arsed with my boxing any more. Everything was an effort, even getting out of bed in the mornings.

  But my real old man was right about one thing. ‘You’re a survivor. I can see it in your eyes,’ he’d told me. Not that I’ve given him a second thought since. He’s history. Can rot in hell with the likes of Wayne Bradley, my pervy uncle and that arsehole Alexander, for all I care.

  Nevertheless, he was spot on. Only the strong survive in care. When you’ve had as many kicks in the teeth as I have in life, setbacks are no more than water off a duck’s back.

  Having said that, if somebody would have told me on the day of Smiffy’s funeral that my luck was about to change for the better, I doubt I’d have believed them. Let alone being told this time next year I’d be married with a kiddie and earning more money than I could ever have dreamed of. I’d have laughed in whoever’s face.

  But that’s exactly what happened. A whole new chapter in my life was about to unfold.

  It’s a bit of a rollercoaster what happened next. I, Tommy Boyle, was on my way up in the world.

  So sit back and enjoy the ride …

  ‘Today, we are gathered here to commemorate the life of Martin Cyril Smith …’

  As the vicar droned on, Tommy Boyle stared into space, a stony expression on his face. There were only about twenty people present. Connie, Ray, some of the kids from the home and a few adults Tommy had never seen before.

  Knowing how Tommy had been struggling since Smiffy’s untimely death, Scratch squeezed his hand. Tommy immediately snatched it away. He didn’t want sympathy. He wanted revenge.

  Wayne Bradley had never returned to Maylands after Smiffy’s death. They kept his whereabouts a secret but Tommy planned to find the bastard one day and torture him. His missed Smiffy badly. His best mate, gone just like that, in the blink of an eye.

  He, Benny and Dumbo had given statements about the day/evening in question and after the post-mortem, the police had returned to the home to ask about Smiffy’s use of drugs. Tommy had told them the truth, that Smiffy liked a puff, but would never dabble with LSD. ‘Wayne must have forced it down his throat, I swear to ya,’ he’d told DI Aycott.

  Unfortunately, Benny and Dumbo had been questioned separately and their statements had conflicted his. Not only had they both denied smoking marijuana with Smiffy on the day he died, but Dumbo, the thick bastard, admitted that he, Benny and Smiffy had once tried an LSD tab and didn’t like it.

  Tommy had been livid when he’d learned what the other two had said. As if it wasn’t bad enough that they had run off and left Smiffy in the clutches of Bradley and his evil cronies, they’d more than likely ballsed up the investigation as well. If Smiffy had been pushed off that ride – and Tommy had no doubt that was the intention – at least there’d have been eye-witnesses. The fact Smiffy had run bang into the ride left the police with very little evidence, Tommy guessed.

  ‘You OK, love?’ Connie whispered to Tommy. She was worried about him, as was Ray. Since Smiffy’s death, he’d regularly come home stinking of alcohol and he’d given up his boxing. He’d also fallen out with Benny and Dumbo, and in Connie’s eyes, was in a dreadfully bad place, the poor lad.

  Tommy snarled at her, then at Ray when he passed by on his way up to the lectern to give a eulogy.

  Ray cleared his throat. ‘It is with great sadness I find myself here today. Martin, or should I say Smiffy, was such a wonderful young man, with a bright future ahead of him. When he first arrived at Maylands, Smiffy was no more than a slip of a lad. But he soon fitted in, became a valued member of our little community and always had a smile on his face. Never more so than when he was with his best mates, Tommy, Benny and Dumbo. The three of them were inseparable and—’

  Tommy leapt off the bench. ‘Inseparable!’ He pointed at Benny and Dumbo. ‘That pair of shitbags ran off and left him. As for you and her’ – Tommy pointed at Connie – ‘you two should never be running a home for kids. Thick as two short fucking planks, the pair of ya. I knew the day I met Wayne Bradley he was pure evil, but you two lapped up his fake niceness, you thick bastards. He terrorized me, all of us in fact, right under your stupid noses and you either chose to ignore it, or you seriously are that backward, you never saw it. Well, you all have blood on your hands now. Smiffy’s.’

  As Tommy ran from the chapel, the vicar, Ray and Connie looked totally shell-shocked.

  Knowing where her loyalties lay, Scratch stuck a middle finger up, then chased after Tommy.

  Tommy handed Scratch the bottle of cider. Instead of going over Ponfield Park, or Parsloes, their usual haunts, it had been Tommy’s idea they hang out over what they referred to as ‘The Castle’. It was an area of wasteland opposite Dagenham East station and Tommy was certain nobody would think of searching for them there.

  ‘That was so funny when you swore at ’em all, Tommy. The vicar nearly had a heart attack,’ Scratch chuckled.

  ‘True what I said though, ain’t it? I put money on it; Bradley has just been removed from the area and shoved to another cushty home. I bet he’s terrorizing all the kids in there an’ all. Life is so unfair, ya know.’

  ‘Tell me about it. My mother was the devil in disguise. She sold me, ya know, in exchange for gear.’

  Tommy propped himself up on his elbow. Up until Smiffy had died, he’d never drunk much alcohol. He’d share a bottle of cider with the lads if they were going somewhere special, but other than that he never craved booze like the others seemed to. But things had changed recently. Alcohol made him feel better, dulled the pain of losing Smiffy. ‘What do ya mean, sold you?’

  ‘What I say. She used to let this man look after me in exchange for drugs. He’d do things to me, horrible things. You can guess what I mean, can’t you?’

  Tommy put his arms around Scratch and held her tightly to his chest. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

  ‘Well?’ Connie asked hopefully, as Ray arrived home.

  ‘No sign of them.’

  ‘Do you think we should call the police?’

  Ray shook his head. ‘It’s only eight p.m., Connie. They aren’t even due home yet, we can’t send out a search party just yet. It will look bad on us too if we do. We know Scratch is with Tommy, so at least he’s not alone.’

  ‘That boy is going off the rails, Ray, and it’s breaking my heart watching it happen. He has so much potential to make something of his life, especially with his boxing talent. Do you think we should ring his trainer? Perhaps if Ted had another word with him, he might see sense. I would hate him to throw his life away.’

  Ray squeezed Connie’s hand. ‘Me too, sweetheart. But Ted has already spoken to Tommy twice and that hasn’t done much good. I have a better idea. I am going to call his friends in South London, the Darlin
gs. They’re the ones who write to Tommy every month and send him money. Perhaps they can get through to him? If they can’t I dread to think what’s going to happen to the boy.’

  Scratch’s story was harsh. From the age of nine, her mother had let a local drug dealer, a man in his forties called Alan, look after her. He lived in a tower block on the Gascoigne Estate in Barking and that’s where the attacks had happened.

  ‘I’ll never forget his breath, Tommy. It stank of booze and stale smoke. He used to roll his own cigarettes, Golden Virginia. His fingers were yellow.’

  ‘Did you tell your mum what was happening?’

  ‘Yeah. But she said I was making it up, told me not to be so daft. She also warned if I told anyone else, the police would arrest me for lying and take me away. She knew I was telling the truth, the bitch. But she didn’t want her little arrangement to stop – I was her meal ticket. Alan sold heroin and my mum couldn’t get enough of the poxy stuff.’

  ‘How did it stop?’

  ‘I told my school teacher, Miss Simmonds. She was a kind lady and kept asking if everything was OK at home. I don’t remember much about my time at Barking Abbey, but I remember telling Miss Simmonds what was happening with Alan. She instantly believed me and contacted a lady called Vera. Vera had a great big hooter and wore glasses, but she was nice to me too.’

  ‘Did Alan get arrested?’

  ‘Yes. But he died not long afterwards from an overdose. I was in foster care by then and Vera came to tell me in person. It’s weird how it’s the small things you remember. I know Alan had long greasy hair, like a hippy, but I can’t picture his face any more. Sometimes though, I’ll hear a record on the radio and it brings it all back to me. He’d play Canned Heat and Janis Joplin albums.’

  Tommy nodded. He understood totally. ‘What about the other lad you mentioned, the one you stabbed?’

  ‘Stephen. Horrible bastard, he was. He cut the shell off the neighbours’ tortoise.’

  ‘Shit. That’s rank. You have to be a right twisted bastard to hurt animals, I hate anyone that does.’

  ‘Me too. I knew Stephen was, ya know, a wrong ’un all along. Caught him standing on a chair a couple of times, spying on me while I was taking a bath. There was a panel of glass at the top of the door. He’s the reason I became a skinhead. My hair was long. He kept telling me how pretty I was and how he found my hair a turn-on. So I had it all cut off and bought some bovver boots. It didn’t put him off though, unfortunately. It only made him even more fucking keen.’

  ‘I can’t imagine you with long hair,’ Tommy smiled.

  ‘I’ve not always been a tomboy. Shit happened in life to make me this way,’ Scratch snapped.

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. Did Stephen … ya know?’

  ‘No. But I knew he was going to. I tried never to be left alone in the house with him, always used to go out if his parents went out. But one night his dad got rushed to hospital and his mum went with him. I was in bed, didn’t even know an ambulance had been called until Stephen came into my room. He tried to kiss me and touched me up. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He pinned me down, ripped my pyjama bottoms off and tried to, well you know. Luckily for me, I always slept with the screwdriver under my pillow. So I grabbed it and stabbed him straight through the eye. There was blood everywhere.’

  ‘Good for you, girl. I admire ya. I stabbed someone once too, ya know. Someone who did something bad to me.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Who told you I stabbed somebody?’

  ‘Nobody. But I know something similar happened to you that happened to me.’

  For a moment Tommy felt sick to his stomach. ‘How? What’s been said?’

  ‘I can just tell. I’m a good listener, ya know, if you ever want to talk about it.’

  Tommy clammed up. ‘Nothing really bad happened to me. Shall we go and get some more cider? There’s an offie down the bottom of the hill.’

  ‘Yeah, sod it. Why not?’

  Connie handed Ray a cup of tea and brought up the inevitable. ‘We’re going to have to call the police, love. It’s gone midnight now and in the eyes of the law they’re still classed as children. I’m sure they’re both fine, but if something were to happen to them, we’d be in trouble for not alerting the authorities.’

  Ray sighed. He and Connie were regular church-goers and today’s little outburst from Tommy had hurt them both deeply. They always tried to see the best in the children in their care. But had they been too lenient with Wayne? ‘Could you call the police and explain the situation please, Connie? I’ve got a thumping headache. It’s been a long day.’

  Two hours and another bottle of cider later, Tommy finally began to spill his guts. ‘You know what you said earlier, about not remembering some things, but music bringing stuff back to ya? Well, I used to be a massive David Bowie fan as a kid. Now I can’t listen to him any more. If a record of his comes on the radio, I have to turn it off. And if he comes on the TV, I have to leave the room. Same goes for Benny Hill. He really freaks me out, reminds me of someone.’

  Scratch squeezed Tommy’s hand. ‘Anything you tell me will never be repeated. Apart from Miss Simmonds, Vera and a policeman, you’re the only person I’ve ever spoken to about Alan. I told a few people about Stephen, mind. Probably because I hoped they’d see me as some psycho and leave me alone.’

  Tommy’s eyes welled up. ‘It makes me feel ashamed. Perhaps it’s different for you, ’cause you’re a girl.’

  ‘Don’t you think it makes me feel fucking ashamed too, Tommy? I feel violated and I very much doubt I’ll ever get married and have kids like normal people do.’

  ‘That’s how I feel too.’

  ‘Who was he? A family friend? Neighbour? It wasn’t Wayne, was it?’

  Tommy bowed his head. ‘It was my mum’s brother. I got sent to live with him after my mum died. But as I said earlier, nothing really bad happened.’

  ‘Bastard. Did you tell someone?’

  Tommy explained about the bath incident, his friendship with the Darlings and how he’d confided in Danny about that. He never went into any detail regarding his rape. He never wanted to talk about that again.

  ‘Did he get arrested?’ Scratch enquired.

  ‘Yeah, but then someone set fire to his house while him and my aunt were sleeping. They got out alive, then disappeared.’

  ‘People don’t just disappear. Someone must know where the arsehole is.’

  ‘I’ll find him one day, don’t you worry about that. Same goes for Wayne and a few others. I have a list of people I intend to get even with.’

  ‘Can you add my mum to your list?’

  ‘What’s her full name and where does she live?’

  Scratch reeled off a name and address. Tommy squeezed her hand. ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘What’s the time, Tommy?’

  ‘Nearly half one. We’ve still got half a bottle of cider left.’

  ‘I bet Connie and Ray are having kittens. They’ve probably called the police already,’ Scratch laughed.

  ‘Serves ’em right. Perhaps my little outburst might help ’em see the error of their ways. Fat Brian told Ray that Wayne pushed him down the stairs on the morning Smiffy died, but Ray never told the filth that.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I told ’em and it was the first they’d heard of it.’

  ‘I know you’re still angry with Benny and Dumbo, but none of this is their fault. You should make up with them.’

  ‘They fucked off and left Smiffy,’ Tommy reminded Scratch.

  ‘No. They ran because they were scared, Tommy. They feared for their own safety. Not everyone is brave and can fight like you. Speaking of which, you should go back to your boxing. Smiffy’s death should make you even more determined to be able to handle yourself.’

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like my mother.’

  ‘Do you still miss her?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Yo
u thought any more about your real dad?’

  ‘Nope. He’s another on my get-even list.’

  Scratch chuckled. ‘You make me laugh. I am so glad we met. This is the happiest I’ve ever been since going into care, and I got you to thank for that.’

  ‘You ain’t so bad yourself.’

  Scratch put her arms around Tommy’s neck. ‘You ever kissed a girl or had a girlfriend since what happened to you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Neither have I, kissed or had a boyfriend, I mean. Kiss me.’

  ‘What!’

  ‘You heard. Kiss me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it might help us both move on.’

  Tommy took a swig of cider for Dutch courage, then leaned towards Scratch.

  Having arrived back at Maylands in the middle of the night, when Tommy was awoken less than six hours later, he was expecting a huge telling off.

  Instead, Ray smiled at him. ‘Get dressed and come downstairs. You’ve got visitors.’

  Tommy sat up and scratched his head. ‘Who?’

  ‘They told me not to tell you. It’s a surprise.’

  Tommy threw some clothes on, his head all over the place. The kiss with Scratch had turned into more of a fumble and he didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing that he’d become sexually aroused. It sort of made him feel normal, but it felt wrong at the same time. Scratch was his mate.

  Hoping the unexpected visitors were his sister and the Piper family, Tommy bounded down the stairs. He was led into the back garden by Ray, and his jaw dropped as he laid eyes on Danny and Ronnie Darling for the first time in years. ‘What you doing ’ere?’

  Danny grinned. ‘If the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, or whatever the poxy saying is. Good to see you, pal. Fuck me, you ain’t ’arf grown.’

  ‘So have you,’ Tommy said, as Danny hugged him. He felt awkward, silly, but elated to see his pal at the same time.

  Ronnie shook Tommy’s hand. ‘We heard what happened to your pal. I got a mate who lives round ’ere and he showed me the article in the Dagenham Post. So sorry, Tommy lad. That’s why we’re here.’ Ray had asked Ronnie not to tell Tommy he had called him yesterday.