Vicki didn’t even bother getting dressed. Lucy observed Vicki wrap the thin blanket around herself like a skirt, pick up a lighter, mobile phone, and a cigarette from the table in front of her and walk out the door.
‘Do you mind if I have a seat, Mick?’
He pointed towards the chair. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘First, I need to remind you that one of your licence conditions is that you need to tell us if you are in an intimate relationship. Are you sure you have nothing to tell me?’
‘What the fuck? Haven’t we been through all this shit before? What business is it of yours?’ Mick’s voice raised slightly as he spoke, and Lucy saw Vicki peer through the window.
‘Due to the nature of your current offence, and previous history, you need to tell me when you become involved in a relationship. Like you have just pointed out, we’ve been through all this before.’
Mick shrugged his shoulders. ‘She isn’t my girlfriend. I see her every now and again for … well … do you want the details?’
‘No, I don’t need the details. So, are you saying that you only occasionally see Vicki? As that’s not the impression I’m getting. She looked very comfortable when I walked in.’
‘Is there anything else you want to talk about, as I’m done with this conversation.’
He was clenching his fists and Lucy could hear the aggression in his voice. Pushing the matter could place her in a difficult and potentially dangerous situation. However, she also did not want Mick to think that he could intimidate her or blatantly breach the conditions of his licence without having to deal with the consequences.
Standing up, she stared evenly at him, ‘OK, Mick – I can see you’re upset, so I’m not going to push this matter now. However, I will record my concerns and because I feel that you are seeing Vicki and have not disclosed it, I’ll be sending you a formal warning for breach of your licence. Two more and you can be recalled to prison. Understood?’
Lucy calmly picked up her bag and headed towards the door, but then had second thoughts. She could be putting Vicki at risk, especially considering she’d let slip that Vicki was the one who mentioned a new boyfriend in a supervision session. Lucy turned and told Mick that she was going to log a safe-and-well check to be carried out on Vicki in the next few hours.
She’d speak to Vicki outside. If Mick had been thinking of doing something, a threat of a police visit might buy Lucy and Vicki some time.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
To say that Vicki Wilkinson wasn’t pleased with Lucy’s interference would be an understatement. Who the hell does she think she is? On her way out, Lucy had just warned Vicki that her relationship with Mick could put her licence at risk. There was an underlying warning of another sort, which piqued Vicki’s curiosity. She isn’t even my probation officer! When Vicki returned to the flat, Mick had his shoes on and was about to head out the door.
‘Where you off to, love?’ she asked innocently.
Mick grabbed her arm roughly. ‘Are you keeping track of my movements now? What the fuck has it got to do with you, and what did that bitch tell you?’
‘Owww.’ She pulled her arm away, giving him a dirty look. ‘What are you doing that for? I was just bloody asking, but I won’t bother next time. Lucy said fuck all to me. What’s your problem?’
Mick squared up to Vicki and whispered through gritted teeth, ‘Watch that mouth of yours, Vicki … I’d hate for something to happen to it.’ He pushed her out the door roughly with a final warning, ‘Now get the fuck out of my flat!’
‘Heeeey! I only have this sheet on! For fuck’s sake, at least let me get dressed. What about my keys?’
‘Not my problem. I have plans. Now fuck off.’ Mick locked the door behind him.
Vicki was mortified. In her alcohol-fuelled hazes she’d often woken up in strange places, outdoors, with less on than what she was wearing now, but she hadn’t expected Mick to be so cruel. Vicki pulled the sheet tighter around her, ready to make the walk of shame home, but she didn’t know how she’d get back into her flat. If the landlord was home, maybe she could convince him that she had accidently locked herself out. She’d ring Shell and ask if she’d drop the spare key round. Vicki could easily get a new one cut. Shell would be furious.
Prior to release from custody, Vicki had completed a course on healthy relationships. She knew she was no angel, especially when drink was involved, but she’d been to counselling and built up her confidence. Every now and again she’d felt herself fall back into old habits, but was working hard, and didn’t want to fall prey to another abusive relationship. Didn’t want that cycle to start all over again.
Nearly home, Vicki noticed the landlord walking down the path, two large black bin bags in his hands, his tracksuit bottoms falling down just enough to give Vicki a glance at the crack of his arse.
‘Mr Bury! Mr Bury! I need to get into my flat!’
Vicki blushed when she saw him look her up and down with distaste, but he dropped the bags and gestured for her to follow him. Vicki could hear him mumbling under his breath and, in normal circumstances, probably would have used her own vicious tongue to come up with a smart remark. She was desperate to get into her flat, though, and couldn’t afford to piss him off. He pulled a large batch of keys from his pocket and, within minutes, Vicki was in her flat and slumped on her old, lumpy couch. Then the tears started.
Vicki woke up, freezing cold. The crying had brought on sleep and cleared her thoughts, sobered her up. Looking at her watch, she realized that a few hours had passed. She needed to call Shell before Timpson’s closed, otherwise she’d be trapped in her flat until tomorrow … and right now, Vicki needed a drink badly.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Lucy shuddered as she recalled the mouthful of abuse Vicki threw at her outside Mick’s flat. Lucy didn’t expect anything less from Vicki and had accepted, a long time ago, that sometimes challenging a person’s behaviour directly like that can make things worse. Choose your battles wisely. Back at the office, a group of her colleagues were huddled around the coffee maker, Sarah Hardy leading them all in a discussion.
‘… so, then I overheard Andy saying that someone’s husband had rang in, accusing their wife of having an inappropriate relationship with an offender! Can you imagine? Any guesses as to who it could be!?’
For a moment Lucy’s heart stood still. He wouldn’t … no … She approached the group nervously.
‘Oooh, so what’s the hot gossip then?’
‘There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!’ Sarah repeated everything she’d overheard from their boss, Mr Bourne. It didn’t sound like anything to do with her, and along with her colleagues, she was now curious. She did sympathize with whoever was being accused of the affair; Patrick had threatened to do it to her enough times.
‘I was on a home visit. Mick O’Dowd. Found Vicki Wilkinson there when I arrived.’
‘Oh shit. Now that’s not going to end well, is it? Can you email me your notes and I’ll book an appointment with Vicki as soon as possible? She’d really been making progress, but if this is true, I hope it wasn’t all to impress Mick! From everything you’ve said about him, he’s bad news.’
‘It’s certainly not going to end well. I tried to give Vicki a warning to stay away from him, but I could only say so much without breaching confidentiality. Luckily, she’s on licence still, so I’ve warned her that it could place her liberty at risk. I probably shouldn’t have said that – it may not be one hundred per cent true in her case – but she needs to be afraid of this guy.’
‘Tough one. Might be wise if I talk to Andy about it.’ Andy Bourne was the Regional Head of the area and in general a decent boss. His carefully styled hair, pout and intense stare, however, often reminded people of Ben Stiller’s character in Zoolander. Lucy giggled at that thought every time someone mentioned it.
‘You’re right. Do what you need to in terms of Vicki. I’m more than happy to be your backup on her case. I’m just going
to see how things go with Mick for a bit. Give the domestic abuse team a call and request a safe-and-well check on Vicki’s flat, including a stop by Mick’s.’ Lucy rubbed her temples. ‘Sometimes this job can really get to you. If only someone would get rid of all these abusers, life would be so much easier.’
Sarah rubbed Lucy’s arm. ‘I know, but we have to separate ourselves from it and focus on the things we can do – not the things we have no control over. Happy for you to call the police team, since you have to share info on Mick anyway. Just forward me their feedback, so I can update Vicki’s records.’
Sarah always managed to cheer Lucy up. ‘Sure thing. OK, OK. Enough of the moping. Was that the kettle I heard earlier? Think we could both use a caffeine injection!’
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
After calling Shell and giving her an excuse about losing her keys, Vicki was feeling desperate for a drink. It was on days like this that she most struggled with her drinking – she was angry at the way Mick had treated her, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to get into trouble. Mick had been the first man in a long time to pay her attention. She just wanted the company. She’d been tempted to smooth the way with Mick via Facebook, but didn’t have the courage.
Vicki didn’t want to go out and leave her flat unlocked, but as Shell said she wouldn’t be able to come around until later –Vicki needed something to calm her nerves.
She threw on some jeans and figured the fifteen-minute journey to the shops would be OK. She rarely had trouble in her building and, if she ran there and back, she could probably do it in ten. She kept a small stash of money in an old coffee jar in the kitchen, her emergency fund. The tenner would get her a few bottles of White Lightning and she would ration it out, so she wasn’t totally off her face when Shell arrived. The hangover tomorrow would be enough to deal with, without having to listen to Shell preach about the drinking.
The trip to the shop was quick enough, the shopkeeper gave her a look – and said he hadn’t seen her for a while – but Vicki ignored him and handed over her money, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for the change. Back home, she grabbed a pint glass, filled it to the brim with the liquid she knew would ease her anxiety and put the remainder alongside the other bottle in her fridge. Taking a big gulp, Vicky stood perfectly still and felt relief as the cider took hold. She chugged the glass back so quick she need not have put the bottle back in the fridge in the first place. Once she got a taste, it wouldn’t be long before the first bottle had been consumed.
Vicki sat on the couch and turned on the cheap second-hand iPad she’d purchased at Cash Converters. Reduced drinking gave her some extra money. Vicki couldn’t afford Wi-Fi, so often jumped on the neighbours’ when they were foolish enough not to have a security password attached. Logging in to Facebook, Vicky scrolled through her timeline, the iPad screen already starting to shift in front of her eyes. She glimpsed an old post from Mick and decided to message him.
‘I want my stiff bak. You were out of ordr tday. Can u drip it roymd pleez. Xx VICKI’
She saw that Mick had received and read the message. Another cider later and Vicki was getting angrier. Mick was being a prick and her previous worry about getting him into trouble was fading fast. She sent another message.
‘Oi!! U cld at leasf andser me! Gimme my stuffff!!’
Again, no reply, despite the small picture of Mick beside her message telling her he had read and chosen it. She shoved the coffee table with her foot.
Fuck this dickhead. I’ve had enough.
‘I know uve read my msgs. Gimme my stuf or I’m calling the police. I’m sur they wold want to know all about you! I’ll tell Lucy too – watch me.’
Vicki didn’t even care if Mick was pissed off. The more alcohol that entered her bloodstream, the more memories from the past crept up and invaded her thoughts. Anger at all the men who had used and abused her, treated her like dirt, swirled into a ball. With a picture of Mick’s fucking face smack dab on the front. If he didn’t reply to this message, she knew exactly what she was going to do.
After downing nearly three litres of White Lightning, Vicki was struggling to see straight. Her body wasn’t used to the alcohol, after having reduced so much over the last few weeks. She almost missed her Facebook Messenger ping and, with unsteady hands, clicked on the message to read it:
‘I got your messages. Don’t threaten me. You will get your stuff back. Anymore messages and your shit is going in the bin.’
Vicki debated whether to respond. The room swirled around her. She tried to think up a sarcastic response, but the words wouldn’t come and she didn’t want to make herself look like more of a twat. She slumped further into the sofa; her eyes felt heavy. Trying not to fall asleep. She managed to search YouTube for her favourite music and let the sound of Oasis take over.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Mick O’Dowd was pacing along the road, clenching and unclenching his fists. If Vicki screwed up his licence, or housing situation, she’d be sorry she ever met him. Mick withdrew his dole money from the bank and stopped at the shops on his way home. He used to dabble with cannabis and cocaine in the past and today felt that itch he’d managed to avoid for twenty-odd years. Not knowing who was reliable for gear, he settled on six cans of Tennent’s Super and headed back towards his flat. Mick did consider stopping into probation and giving that bitch Lucy a piece of his mind, but knew that would only end up with another warning. He wasn’t going to risk his freedom for any dumb bitch.
His flat was freezing when he got in. Noticing his window open a crack, he shut it and dropped the cans of lager on the coffee table to search for the small electric heater. He saw Vicki’s tracksuit bottoms, keys, and jacket strewn across the chair in the corner of his bedroom. Fucking messy bitch. It reminded Mick of exactly why he was better off single. His blood boiled recounting the numerous women who had messed up his life in one way or another, starting with Moira. If it hadn’t been for her, he’d still be seeing his kids instead of wondering if they even remembered who he was.
Cracking open a can of lager, he opened the Facebook app on his phone and began scrolling through his newsfeed. He never understood why people put all their business online for everyone to see, but it passed the time, and he needed something mindless to calm him down.
Mick had initially been reluctant to use an actual image of himself on Facebook, in case some of his old associates or psycho ex-partners tried to get in touch. But he’d realized that if any of his children ever wanted to contact him, according to Jeremy Kyle, it would be Facebook they searched first.
The messages from Vicki earlier pissed him off. Re-reading them only made him drink faster, so he returned to his timeline and posted a funny meme:
‘Irish I Was Drinking.’
Three ‘likes’ already. People are idiots.
Despite trying to put her to the back of his mind, her face kept reappearing in his mind: her standing outside talking to that other bitch. Her leaving her shit around his flat. Her threatening to ruin his life. He stood up and sank the rest of his can. The only way to stop her was to deal with it once and for all.
Four cans of Tennent’s Super later, Michael clocked the time. He went to his room and gathered up Vicki’s belongings, chucking them in a plastic bag. He was hoping that she’d be passed out when he arrived; the bad spelling in her messages meant she’d broken her drinking ban, so it was a likely possibility. He wouldn’t be responsible for his actions, if she pissed him off again. He’d managed to control his anger on other occasions, but it was getting more and more difficult.
Mick exited his flat, locking his door. He suddenly noticed how quiet the building was. Eerie. Dark shadows filled the hallway. He made his way downstairs and listened to the silence. Pretty surprising for this time of the evening, when annoying youths would usually be hanging about outside. He zipped up his coat and headed in the direction of Vicki’s estate.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
A heavy knock on the doo
r made Vicki jump. She put her iPad on the coffee table next to the fake crystal ashtray that weighed a ton. Stumbled across the room to her front door. Holding the door handle for balance, she looked through the peephole and saw a blurred vision of Mick. He had some sort of black bag in his hands. That was quick.
He banged on the door again and growled, ‘Open the fucking door if you want your shit, Vicki. I don’t have time for games!’
Vicki unchained the door and opened it slowly. She tried as hard as she could to look sober, but Mick’s face told her she was failing miserably. ‘’S’bout time. I need my keeeez!’ She reached out to grab the bag from Mick’s hand, but he pushed her back into her flat. Losing her balance, Vicki fell to the floor.
‘For fuck’s sake. You been drownin’ your sorrows or something? Fucking disgrace!’ he spat at her.
‘Fuck you! Just gimme my stuff and go!’ Vicki tried to grab Mick’s ankle to pull herself up, but he kicked her away and stood over her, pointing.
‘Listen to me, Vicki, I’ll only tell you once. Don’t. Ever. Threaten. Me. Again. Got it?’ His finger was so close to her face. Before she knew it, Vicki had taken hold of it in her mouth and bitten down.
A swift punch to the face released Mick’s finger and Vicki saw red. What Mick hadn’t realized about Vicki was she had a fiery temper. The violence she could unleash when alcohol fanned the flames could cause significant damage. Her previous convictions could attest to that. As if possessed, Vicki pulled herself up, and launched at him with her arms flailing. She managed to smack him to the side of the head, before he grabbed her arms and pinned her down on the couch.
Mick laughed in her face and with his forehead pressed against hers he mouthed, ‘Is that all you got, you little bitch?’
That was it. Vicki took the opportunity and headbutted Mick with as much force as she could muster. Her vision blurred, and it was too late for Vicki to react.
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