Crocodiles & Good Intentions

by Liza Cody

  ‘No Demon Lords at dinner,’ Li’l Missy said, tapping on the table to get my attention.

  ‘Or toenails,’ Tantie added, and gave me an extra helping of stew and mash.

  ‘She doesn’t sound so whack with her mouth full,’ Pierre informed Alicia.

  ‘Nor do you,’ she replied sweetly, digging him in the ribs, making him laugh.

  ‘Where’s my pudding,’ Billy howled from on high, breaking the mood. Tantie took a dish of crème brûlée out of the fridge, filled a bowl and took it upstairs herself. I blinked in astonishment.

  ‘How does she get Billy to pay for all this?’ I asked.

  Li’l Missy started to laugh. ‘She put up with chicken soup and rice pudding for barely one day, then she stormed upstairs to protest. Billy kicked her out. So what did she do? She trollied on down to the shopping centre and started busking. I went with her for a laugh. But, know what? She’s got a voice like, oh I dunno, one of those ’60s people, um, Joni Mitchell? And before I could say “get up to date already”, she had a hatful of money. She’s something else, is Tantie.’

  ‘Back she came,’ Pierre said, ‘paying no never mind to Billy evicting her, and we’ve been eating like CEOs of Global Corporate Greed ever since.’

  ‘And, natch, there’s not been a single peep out of Billyboy.’

  ‘She’s an inspiration,’ Alicia said. ‘I’d like to have that kind of jazz when I’m her age.’

  Politely, everyone avoided looking at me, who had as much jazz, earning power and culinary talent as a cardboard box.

  Tantie came downstairs with Billy’s dirty dishes. She said, ‘They find something. Something happening.’

  ‘You’re shitting us!’ Pierre said, leaping to his feet, breaking the warm, sustaining contact with Alicia. ‘What?’ He made for the front door.

  Li’l Missy leaped up too. ‘No!’ He grabbed Pierre’s arm. ‘You can’t go out. There’s bloody cops everywhere.’

  ‘Are you worried about Sister Sour?’ I asked, trying to hide my own bitterness.

  He ignored me. ‘It’s all a mistake. Someone fucked up. It can’t be happening.’

  ‘Are you worried about Cherry?’ Alicia had not ignored me.

  ‘No.’ he said emphatically. Then, ‘Yes.’ He suddenly looked about twelve years-old and utterly bewildered. ‘Okay, so now I know stuff about her I never thought possible back in the day.’ He was talking about her as if his affair was centuries past. ‘But we were living with her. How could we be that wrong about a woman – an ordinary, boring woman?’

  ‘Maybe nobody’s ordinary and boring,’ Alicia said gently.

  I said, ‘Maybe you, being ordinary boring men, didn’t listen to her, or even look at her properly.’

  ‘Oy!’ Li’l Missy yelped at me. ‘Take that back. I’m not a man, and I’ve never been ordinary.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Electra.

  ‘Peut-être,’ Tantie put in, ‘she a very good liar.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Pierre said, looking relieved. ‘How could anyone have known?’

  ‘I’m totally a feminist,’ Alicia said. ‘But I got to admit that women can be horrible and dangerous. Look at poor little Connor’s grandmother. Poverty and ignorance do terrible things to people. You can’t last a day in my job without taking that on board along with the defibrillators.’

  ‘Miss Frosty wasn’t poor or ignorant.’ I just couldn’t let Pierre off the hook. I don’t know why. I like Pierre a lot, but his wilful blindness about Cherry still stuck in my gullet like a hardboiled egg. ‘She was the Devil’s daughter and anyone who wasn’t shagging her could see it. Ask Billy. Ask the neighbours.’

  ‘Let it go,’ Alicia said, with a gentle hand on mine. ‘We all make dreadful mistakes.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Tantie.

  ‘And one of the most humungous was made by you,’ Li’l Missy pointed out with relish.

  ‘Got you there,’ said Electra. ‘Ask yourself how come you couldn’t see how malevolent the Satan’s Son was?’ She was loving and forgiving but inconveniently truthful.

  ‘But I was in love with him,’ I protested. ‘Of course I couldn’t “see” him. Pierre doesn’t even have that excuse.’

  ‘Yeah, I really don’t,’ Pierre agreed, mainly for Alicia’s benefit. ‘But why’re you so goddam pissed with me?’

  I didn’t know, so I ignored the question. ‘What if she does need help?’

  ‘She can afford it herself,’ Li’l Missy said. ‘Pierre was paying her mortgage for fricking months. And doing the weekly shop. And taking on three-quarters of the utilities. She was a greedy mare – I always said so.’

  ‘You so did not,’ Pierre told him angrily.

  We were saved from a fight by a sharp knock on the door.

  ‘Cops!’ Li’l Missy turned pale.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Alicia said. ‘You guys keep it down or I’ll turn you all in.’ She smiled her flashing warmth around the table and left, firmly closing the kitchen door behind her.

  Moments later she was back with little Ziggy who was bouncing up and down with excitement and unspent energy. He said, ‘You gotta watch the telly. We’re on telly. Mum says watch Eye On London.’

  Alicia said, ‘She posted the video she shot of poor little Connor being kicked out of next door on Facebook and YouTube. Connor’s still hot news so apparently one of the news feeds bought it.’

  Everyone got up and started for the stairs. Billy’s was the only TV in the house.

  ‘I’m getting a Playstation, Mum says… ’ Ziggy began. Then he saw Electra and she got up and went to him, waving hello. ‘She’s better,’ he said happily.

  ‘She’s saying thank you for the food you brought her when she was chained up,’ I told him.

  ‘My Scruff came from a shelter,’ he said, stroking her shoulders. ‘I want to rescue lots of dogs when I’m older.’

  ‘You made a good start already,’ Electra said.

  ‘She says you’ve already made a good start.’

  ‘Yes I did.’ He grinned at Electra who grinned back. ‘My mum says I got to go straight home.’ He gave Electra one last pat and skipped away out of the front door.

  I should’ve followed the others upstairs, but instead I took a sneaky peek in the fridge. And, hallelujah, there was a bottle of red, a third full. Silently thanking Tantie for making proper boeuf bourguignon I swallowed just two mouthfuls quite slowly, and then went up to Billy’s bedroom.

  Four of us stood behind Billy’s reinforced sofa and watched professional footage of the police in white overalls carrying a body bag out of the tent in Cherry’s back garden, through the side gate and loading it into an unmarked van waiting on the gravel pull-in.

  ‘I told you,’ Billy crowed. ‘Didn’t I tell you? I was right all along.’ He sounded as amazed and triumphant as if a long shot had won him a fortune at Epsom.

  ‘That’s live footage,’ Li’l Missy said. She had a front row seat next to Billy. Billy had his hand on her knee. ‘Look at the lights.’

  It was true – while we’d been eating in the kitchen an outside broadcast team had turned up. We watched open-mouthed as the cops slammed the back doors of the van and stepped away while it U-turned and sped off down the road. The picture changed to show a reporter standing outside Cherry’s front door. She was wearing a sheepskin coat and hat but even so her pretty face was pinched with cold.

  ‘An ordinary house in an ordinary North London suburban street where, in the last hour, extraordinary events have taken place. Just a few hours ago a full forensic team was deployed, a garden shed was demolished and, it seems, the remains of a body has been found under the concrete foundations.’

  ‘It’s poor old Steve’s little boy,’ Billy said. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Pierre said, his voice rasping with shock.

  The r
eporter, through chattering teeth went on, ‘The householder is, at the moment, being questioned at police headquarters, but no arrest has as yet been made.’

  ‘But it will,’ Billy said. ‘Suck on that, Witch-Bitch.’

  ‘By a strange co-incidence,’ the reporter continued, ‘two ongoing police investigations have collided in this innocent-looking house. In a bizarre turn of events, it seems that Baby C, the child found dead in the small hours of yesterday morning, was in residence here, at least for a short time. The following footage was shot by a neighbour during an incident involving the owner of this house, the police, Baby C and Baby C’s legal guardian. Some of the faces have been pixelated out because both cases are being treated as sub judice.’

  So we watched pixelated Cherry dragging Connor out of her house by the straps of the dungarees donated by Gamma Dora and Mama Misha. We watched screaming Connor become hysterical when confronted by his grandma Cropper. Her face was disguised but her bosom was not. We watched Connor bite one police officer on the hand and another on the knee while a studio commentator intoned, ‘Some viewers might find these images disturbing, but important questions must be asked about police handling of what was clearly an extremely troubled young child. People are asking if there is any link between the death of Baby C and the discovery of a body concealed under the foundations of a suburban garden shed. Over to you, Meredith, at the scene.’

  ‘Too right there’s a link,’ Billy said. ‘Witch-Bitch. I knew she done for Steve’s little boy, and now… ’

  ‘That was a full-sized body bag,’ Pierre said.

  ‘Do they do body bags in small, medium and large?’ Li’l Missy twisted to face Alicia.

  Alicia said. ‘I don’t know anything about the coroner’s body bags.’

  On the TV screen, Meredith knew nothing and was saying so at length. The camera swung round, and among the tight knot of shivering neighbours the first person I recognised was Ziggy’s mum filming the cameraman who was filming her. Then Meredith managed to snag a senior cop who said, ‘I have no further information at present. It’s much too early in the investigation to speculate as to whether or not there’s anything more than co-incidence to link two cases. All I can say is that when certain information came to police attention our response was swift and effective.’

  ‘Swift, my arse,’ Billy sneered. ‘I told ’em what’s what days ago. And so did everyone else.’

  ‘You have the owner of this house in custody as we speak,’ Meredith prompted.

  ‘An individual is voluntarily assisting the police with their enquiries. And rest assured, in-depth statements will be taken from everyone involved.’

  ‘Oh crap,’ Pierre muttered.

  ‘Yeah, right, darkie-boy,’ Billy said. ‘You were living with Witch-Bitch. You got questions to answer all right.’

  Li’l Missy got up and went to stand next to Pierre. She looked frightened but didn’t say anything. The rest of us just stared.

  ‘Hah!’ the Devil shouted triumphantly. ‘Silence is consent. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s the way I brought her up,’ my mother explained. ‘Never confront anything unpleasant. Brush it under the carpet. Pretend it never happened.’

  ‘Silence is golden and secrets fester in the dark,’ the King of Crawling Things replied gleefully. ‘I win, I win, I win.’

  Meanwhile, Meredith was saying, ‘Does that mean you’ll be investigating the nuns who abducted Baby C in the first place?’

  The senior cop looked as if he wanted to say ‘What nuns?’ But instead he answered smoothly, ‘Everyone with any relevant information whatsoever will be located and interviewed.’

  ‘Out!’ yelled Billy suddenly. ‘I want you all out of my house. I know you lot were the effing nuns. I’m not running a doss house for criminals and the dregs of society.’

  ‘He’s too gross to run at all,’ Li’l Missy whispered.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Li’l Missy was brave enough to speak but not brave enough to be heard.

  Meredith, unaware, went on, ‘So there you have it – what secrets are concealed behind an ordinary front door in an ordinary neighbourhood near you? Who can tell – but we’ll keep you posted here, out and about, on Eye On London.’

  I said, ‘It’s us – we’re concealed behind the door. We aren’t just watching the actions on TV. We are the action. We’re the nuns with “relevant information”, and we’re in dangerous proximity to the police web. The spider cops are just waiting to wrap us up, suffocate us and suck out our blood and guts.’

  ‘Who gave you permission to bring your lunatic ravings back into my house?’ Billy, diverted from the screen, turned on me. The air was thick with flying splinters.

  ‘P’raps you want a beer?’ Tantie suggested helpfully.

  ‘Lady B’s right,’ Alicia said to Pierre. ‘This isn’t the right place for you to stay.’

  ‘All I got to do is open my window and tell them who’s here.’ Billy’s voice had a nasty edge to it. He was enjoying himself, feeling powerful. I could smell it.

  ‘Beer and a soupçon more of crème brûlée?’

  ‘All right,’ Billy said grudgingly. ‘But the rest of you got to shove off. Now! If you’re still here in an hour I’ll… ’

  ‘We’re going,’ Alicia said quietly.

  ‘Not you,’ Billy said, nastily pleased to hold the fate of other people in his hands. ‘You got to listen to my chest.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ she said. ‘Billy, you can’t expect me to help you for free while you threaten my friends.’

  ‘It’s your sodding job.’

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said firmly. ‘This is my free time. I’m here as a friend, not as an emergency ambulance call-out. Treat me as a friend. Treat my friends as friends. And remember that I am a woman of colour. When you insult Pierre you insult me too. And when you demean women you demean me too. Shape up and show some respect. I can help you or I can kick your arse. Your choice.’

  Billy stared at her with his mouth open. So did Pierre. Tantie punched the air. What I felt was nausea. It was as good a lesson as I’d ever been given about standing up for yourself and what you believe. It was what I should have said and done if I hadn’t been too weak, too scared. I’d never tackled Billy about racism, sexism or ageism and my ancient cowardice shamed me.

  ‘It’s my house,’ Billy said, deflating. And to my horror I saw a trickle of tears begin to ooze out of his tiny eyes. ‘I’m a sick man. I can’t help it.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alicia agreed. ‘It is your house, and you aren’t well. But, Billy, you’re not a child – you can help it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, so brokenly he could scarcely be heard.

  Why isn’t victory a pleasure? Leaving Alicia to look after her patient, the rest of us slunk out of the room as if we’d been caught bullying a puppy. Tantie recovered by the time she reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Pah!’ she said. ‘The man is a pig. But I will stay. It is practical.’

  ‘Not for us,’ Li’l Missy said. ‘We got to get out.’ I noticed that his hands were shaking. ‘How do we get out without anyone seeing us?’

  ‘Same way we got in,’ Pierre said, ‘fast, careful and lucky.’

  My heart sank. I was none of those things.

  ‘Meanwhile, pack up double-quick.’ Pierre looked at me. ‘You still think Alicia’s just another shag for me?’ he asked.

  ‘Maybe you got lucky this time,’ I said. ‘It doesn’t mean your judgement’s any better. Did you pick her for her warmth, courage and noble spirit, Pierre? Or because Satan pointed you to her generous mouth and arse? For true, now?’

  Pierre’s eyes slid past me, and he said to Li’l Missy, ‘We should ring Kaylee Yost.’

  ‘I can’t go to the lockup,’ Missy said.

  ‘No, you can’t.’ He stared at her and she
stared back. It was as if the implications of accepting free lodging next door to the Devil’s Dangerous Daughter were finally penetrating their thick skulls. And they call me stupid.

  Pierre keyed Kaylee’s number while Li’l Missy began to collect his possessions. I opened the front door a crack and peeked out. A single cop stood guard over Cherry’s front door. The neighbours had retreated into the warmth of their homes. I went to Billy’s back door. The lights in Cherry’s garden were as bright as ever. There were still the sounds of concentrated activity – digging, sifting and lifting. What else were they expecting to find?

  Cherry was in the spider’s web – exactly where she’d wanted to put me.

  ‘Satisfied?’ asked my mother. ‘A nicely turned out, well-presented young woman with a good job, who is always neat and clean and who never uses foul language, is having her reputation sullied. All because you had to interfere with things that didn’t concern you.’

  ‘Kerrilla Cropper was a mate,’ I said.

  ‘Lies, lies, lies,’ said Satan. ‘You wouldn’t give a dry fart on a wet night for her. You only went to Shoreditch because my Cherry persuaded Pierre to dose you with Antabuse and you couldn’t get hammered. There was no righteous reason.’

  I buried my head in my hands. ‘Just for one moment,’ I pleaded, ‘shut the fuck up.’ But even with my fingers in my ears his crazy laughter rang like tinnitus.

  Electra pushed through the kitchen door and relieved herself on Billy’s ragged grass. Tantie came out after her with two small glasses of wine. She said, ‘Come in now. Calme-toi. Okay?’ She handed me one small glass and held the door open for me to follow her. I took a large gulp.

  ‘Don’t waste your time on blame,’ Electra said after a couple of minutes. ‘It won’t help.’ I could hear her. The terror loosened its grip. In the heat of the kitchen the shakes went away and I could hold the glass in one hand without spilling it. My next mouthful, while not a ladylike sip, wasn’t an uncontrolled gulp.