Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (3 page)

It was only when Jen called out goodbye to her mum and the front door slammed shut that Bex realised that Tiffany was now standing with them on the block’s landing, all sulky mouth and slightly hunched shoulders in an Adidas fur-lined hooded parka that was a couple of sizes too big. She also sported a pair of mauve-tinted Lennon style shades. Who wore sunglasses in the dark for fuck’s sake? And her Doc Martens were a crime against fashion that Bex wouldn’t allow herself to look at. Jen’s sister looked like a wannabe Liam Gallagher ready for a ruck. The girl took out a piece of paper and started reading it.
I’m surprised she can even read,
Bex thought bitchily. She looked at her mate who avoided her eyes as her mum had done a few moments earlier. She looked back at Tiffany who had a smirk on her face and then she turned back to Jennifer in disbelief.

‘No way Jen – please tell me we’re not taking this little slapper with us . . . ?’

Tiffany didn’t respond to Tubby Guts’ insult. Instead, she screwed up the note the boy had given her earlier and lobbed it over the balcony wall. She didn’t need the handwritten note to remind her what it said:
Don’t fuck up.

Three

The huge bouncer studied Bex and Jen hard before announcing, ‘Well, you two aren’t twenty-one for a start, but no one’s going to pull me up for thinking you are, so you can come in. But her . . .’ He looked at Tiffany who was staring at him with her arms folded and hatred in her eyes, ‘I mean, come on; she don’t even look like an eighteen-year-old pretending to be twenty-one. Be fair girls – I’m not being unreasonable here, am I?’

This was too much for Tiffany who shouted, ‘Sod off you prick, I’m twenty-five. What are you, blind?’

Jennifer swiftly moved in-between her sister and the bouncer to stop Tiff from trying to deck him, then turned on the charm. This was the third club they’d queued for already that evening and things weren’t getting any easier.

‘Alright, this is it straight up, we’re all twenty-one, but my friend here’ – Jen gestured backwards at Tiffany with her thumb – ‘she’s never looked her age. Come on mate, help us out; we’re just three girls who want to dance. That’s not a crime, is it?’

The bouncer was sympathetic but couldn’t help. ‘Seriously girls, if it was up to me, I’d let you in, but the cops and the council are busting everyone’s balls on the underage thing at the moment. One sniff that we’re letting kids in and that’s our licence gone. Seriously . . .’

He was distracted for a moment by a man with Beckham good looks, dressed in an expensive, slim-line powder blue suit, which made his already piercing blue eyes even bluer. The stranger playfully punched his arm and said, ‘Alright bruv, what’s occurring?’

‘Just another boring night in the life of an underpaid doorman. At the moment I’m trying to explain our club’s very, very strict policy on age to these young ladies.’

The young guy laughed. ‘You’re barring three lovely birds like this? Have you gone gay or something?’ Then he drew close to the bouncer: ‘Have you seen Dandy? I want a word.’

The doorman jerked his head to the inside of the club and the hottie in the suit swaggered in: ‘Catch you later, yeah?’ Clearly he didn’t have to queue or pay.

As he went up the steps, he caught Jennifer’s eye, held her gaze and smiled at her until she looked away, her heart beating like the clappers. He was sporting a pricey diamond earring and his gelled hair was dyed bleach blonde. Tanned, slender and tall, he had confidence in spades.

Behind her, Jen heard Bex whisper, ‘Cor, I would . . .’

The bouncer was getting impatient. ‘Sorry girls, I can’t help. Now move it along please.’

While Tiffany worked up a strop, Jen studied the young man from her vantage point at the door. He was deep in conversation with a shifty-looking guy and whatever they were discussing was obviously serious. There was a lot of nodding, shaking of heads and shrugging of shoulders. Then the sleazy-looking one noticed that Jen was eyeballing them and dug the gorgeous one in the ribs. He turned to look at her, turned back, whispered something and the two retreated into the club.

‘Ladies, please,’ the bouncer sounded narked now. ‘Could you stand aside?’

The two older girls admitted defeat, but Tiffany Miller never admitted defeat. Ever.

She shoved her sister out of the way and tried to get into the guy’s face, even though he was at least a foot taller than her. Her voice went stereo. ‘Do you know who you’re dealing with here? Do you?’ Jen and Bex took an arm each and tried to drag her away but Tiffany wouldn’t let up. ‘I’m from Mile End, dick brain. I know people. I could have you shot, no problem! Watch your back, you little fucker! People will be coming for you, you six-foot wanker . . .’

The bouncer shrugged his shoulders and grinned at them. Like most door staff, he could never understand why people behaved like they’d just been released from some nut house. It only confirmed he’d made the right call to bar them.

‘You need some help, gorgeous?’ a voice said near Jen. She looked around to find a group of three lads, the one who’d spoken giving her a thorough once-over. He obviously liked what he saw because his tongue licked his bottom lip. ‘I can get you into the club and then . . .’ he stepped closer to her, ‘me and you can get better acquainted.’

Jen wasn’t in the mood. She kneed him in the groin. He groaned as he bent forwards, much to the amusement of his friends. Jen knew that she needed to hone the skills of a proper lady if she was going to make it off her estate, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t able to dip into her bag of Devil Estate tricks when she needed to.

She turned her attention to her wayward sister and gripped her arm. Kicking and struggling, Tiffany was dragged down Charing Cross Road until finally she broke free. She stared at the two other girls with the same look she’d used on the doorman and then hissed, ‘Screw this, I’m off.’

Swaggering, Liam Gallagher style, she was soon lost in the Saturday night crowds. But although they could no longer see her, the two friends were not spared hearing her as she shouted over the crowds, ‘Oh, and you were right Jen. I never wanted to come in the first place. I only did it to fuck you off. West End? Wanker’s End, more like.’

Bex made a half-hearted attempt to go after her but Jen took her by the arm. ‘Don’t bother; it ain’t worth it. She’ll find her own way home . . . eventually.’

‘Your sister keeps shouting the odds and she’s going to be in real bollocks bother one of these days.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ Jen agreed, grasping full well that her sister was going to mouth off at the wrong person soon enough and live (or die) to regret it. She might bitch about her sister, but in her heart she loved her really. As far back as she could remember, she’d tried to look out for Tiffany. That’s what you did when you were the oldest; you made sure that the rough stuff never touched the young ones. Of course you would expect to get into a bit of verbal with each other, every now and again – that’s what happened in families – but at the end of the day, loyalty was everything. Everything.

‘She’s going off the rails and breaking my mum’s heart,’ Jen continued softly, ‘but what can you do? I’ve tried having heart-to-hearts with her, but it goes in one ear and comes out the other. The worst of it is, Mum blames herself. She thinks the stupid girl would have grown up straight if she’d known our dad, instead of him doing a flit when she was a baby.’

‘Your dad?’

But Bex should have known better than to ask that question. She’d asked it many times without ever getting an answer. All anyone knew was that Stanley Miller was long gone and the family never talked about it. And as far as Jen was concerned, that was the best way to keep it. Her dad had left the family home when she was a toddler. She didn’t really remember him, but what she did recall was their flat being freezing, very, very cold indeed. How she could remember this when she’d been so young she didn’t know, but then it was funny what stayed with you from your childhood.

Arm in arm, the two young women wandered up Charing Cross Road until Jen suddenly jerked Bex to a stop outside a clothes shop. She hadn’t expected to see one here; Charing Cross Road was famous for its bookshops. Jen looked longingly at the mannequins dressed in such pretty clothes. That’s what she wanted, to be a fashion designer; it was going to be her way of getting off The Devil. After leaving school at sixteen, it had taken her a whole year before she got the confidence to enrol at college part-time on a diploma foundation fashion course. She’d left school with no qualifications, so her dream was to one day hold a certificate in her hand.

‘How’s it going up at college?’ Bex asked.

‘My tutor says my work’s really good. Next time you come round I’ll show you my portfolio.’

‘Portfolio?’ Bex nudged Jen playfully in the side. ‘Is that the name of a new cocktail?’

Both girls looked at each other and burst out laughing. Bex dragged her away from the shop. There was talk of a club in Leicester Square they could try, but they both knew the evening was a dead loss. Too much had gone wrong already for them to have a good time now. Besides, Jen wanted to get home and let Babs know that her youngest had escaped from her cage and was out in the wild, with no zookeepers to look after her. That meant it would be a long night, just like all the others, until Tiffany either came home juiced-up and stoned or was brought back by the cops (with a ‘final’ warning). Or she wouldn’t come home at all until the next day and then claim she’d been kipping at ‘friends’. Sometimes, Jen wondered if the tabloids weren’t right and kids like her sister didn’t need banging up, or a wake up dose of National Service.

They decided to wrap the night up with a drink and then head home. As they stood together outside a pub, smoking and deciding whether it looked like their kind of place, a hand appeared on Jen’s shoulder. Then the other hand appeared on Bex’s. Startled, both turned around to find the tasty bloke in the blue suit standing, up close and personal, behind them.

‘Hello, girls. Your evening looks like it could do with a shot in the arm from a top geezer – and believe me, ladies, I really am a top geezer.’

Tiffany loitered in the forecourt of a jam-packed Leicester Square tube for ten minutes until she was sure that Jen and Bex had given up on coming after her. Then she walked up the steps to get on with her real business that evening. She’d only tagged along with her sis to cop some spending money from her mum and give herself an excuse to go up West. Now the coast was clear it was time to drop any pretence of what she was doing here. Although she’d promised the geezer in the Bad Moon that she knew the place she was picking up from, the truth was that she only had the haziest idea. She weaved through the streets of Soho and saw a lot of boozers, but none of them were the right one. In the end, frustrated, she decided to do what any lost teenager should do – she asked a cop who was standing with another Bill, getting ready for a long night.

‘The Pied Piper?’ He looked at her with a mixture of amusement, disgust and alarm. ‘Now then, what would a respectable young lady like you want in the Pied Piper?’

Tiffany had a sinking feeling that asking a boy in blue had been a big-time mistake. ‘I’m meeting someone there.’

The cop gave her a long look. ‘You know what kind of an establishment that is, don’t you?’

Establishment? She didn’t like the word; it made the place she was meant to go to sound like boring school. But she brazened it out and nodded.

The officer looked at his colleague who shrugged his shoulders. He turned back to the respectable young lady. ‘Next left, halfway down the street.’

Tiffany scuttled away as quickly as she could. When she reached the pub, she stood outside and checked it out for a few moments. It seemed normal enough and it was difficult to see what the cop had a problem with. She walked up to the door, but her way was barred by a bow-tied bouncer. ‘Sorry love, over twenty-ones only.’

‘Oh flamin’ hell, not you ’n’ all . . . I’m twenty-six.’

The bouncer started laughing. ‘Seriously love, I don’t care, but the council and Old Bill do.’

‘Please,’ Tiff pleaded, knowing if she didn’t get this job done she’d probably end up pushing up daisies.

The bouncer raised his hands and looked Tiffany up and down. ‘You do know what kind of pub this is, don’t you?’

Tiff was getting totally ticked off with everyone treating her like a six-year-old. What did she have to do to prove she was a big girl now? Flash her bleeding knockers?

‘Yeah.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not stupid.’

‘Whatever, I don’t really think you’re dressed for it anyway. I’m doing you a favour by barring you.’

Tiffany couldn’t believe it. She was in trouble and she knew it. If the guy in the Bad Moon discovered she couldn’t even get into this pub, never mind pick anything up for him, her career would be over before it started. But she was curious too. The pub sounded like a bad place and she was a bad girl, a very bad girl.

When the door swung open to allow someone out, she could hear a woman singing karaoke. She didn’t know the name of the song, but she’d heard her mum play that tune. The singer was making a right racket, wailing about standing by your man. The place couldn’t be all that bad if it was playing crap music that her mum liked.

Tiffany moved into the side street next to the pub and waited. The bouncer couldn’t stand there forever and he was on his own. He’d have to take a piss sooner or later and then she was in. But as she waited, she had a better idea. On the side wall the pub had a series of frosted windows and one of them was open at the top. She walked up to it, gripped the frame and hauled herself up. She looked up and down the street to make sure no one was looking and poked her head and shoulders through. She was skinny and knew she would make it. But as she did so, she came face to face with a man standing at a urinal.

He didn’t seem in the least bit phased. Instead he smiled. ‘If you’ve been caught short, the window for the ladies is next door.’