Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (31 page)

Tiffany smiled with relief. ‘No need to worry there; your Nicky’s family jewels will be in safe hands.’

Dee popped on her shades and got in her classic sports car as Nicky popped his earphones back on. ‘One more thing, I like to be called Mizz Dee.’

Tiffany watched the woman and boy drive away and grinned. Mizz Dee was about to become her meal ticket out of this dump and off The Devil.

Forty-One

Two weeks later, on Friday morning, Nuts slapped some cash down on the kitchen table, startling Jen. She looked at the tens and twenties suspiciously. ‘If you’ve been on the rob again—’

‘’Course I haven’t. I’ve found myself an honest bit of labour.’ He popped on a pleased-as-punch smile.

That’s when Jen noticed that he was togged out in a suit. It was the same colour as the one she’d first seen him in: powder blue. Jen was still wary; she’d heard all those tales of men dressing the part for some job that didn’t exist. When they got married, Nuts’ fancy job in the city had never materialised; his tale was that he’d left it because he wanted to set up his own firm, but Jen knew that was all lies. Nuts couldn’t tell a stock market share from a pork pie. What his ‘business’ was he never told her and, in truth, she never asked as long as he put cash on the table.

‘Got another job in the city then?’ she said acidly.

She never even saw Nuts move. Before she knew it, he had grabbed her by the front of her dressing gown. ‘What’s a man got to do to prove his worth to you? What do you want – for me to show you my balls bleeding?’ His fist was clenched tight, his face red with fury and violence coming off every part of his body.

Jen quickly shut her eyes, her heart pounding, body trembling. She knew what came next: his fist slamming into her body. It was never her face though; it wouldn’t do for the neighbours to know what really went on behind their four walls. She waited, horrified that the girls might walk in any minute. They were still getting ready for school. If Nuts was going to give her a hiding, he always took care that his daughters were not around. ‘It ain’t right that my princesses should have to see their dad teach their mum some manners,’ was the way he put it.

If someone had said that she’d end up with a wife beater, she would’ve told them where to get off. No way would that happen to Jennifer Miller. Jen Miller had been swanning around like Lady Muck, turning her back on all the local lads because she said they were riff raff. No, Jen Miller was holding out for a prince, a real gent to take care of her, to create a happy home with even happier kids. But Jen Miller had got it wrong. Her prince had turned into a very violent frog.

She just didn’t understand where her wonderful Nuts had gone. The charming man who’d driven her around in a plush motor, nicked flowers to impress her. The man who’d defended her honour against her wannabe rapist tutor. God knows she’d tried, tried her hardest to be a good wife, but nothing ever seemed to be right for him. His dinner was too hot; she’d popped on the telly too loud; his white shirt never looked white enough. It had taken her years to admit to herself that she’d hooked up with a monster. And poor, soft-hearted woman that she was, she was too ashamed to tell anyone other than Bex that her marriage was a living hell, full of pain.

He punched her just below her ribs and then twisted his free hand in her hair and snapped her neck back. The pain was awful and tears sprang to her eyes, but she didn’t cry out; she couldn’t let the kids know what was going on. He marched her across the room and squashed the side of her face into the wall.

‘I’m tired of this, Jen,’ he growled, ‘tired of it. A bloke should feel like a king in his own home.’

Please don’t let the girls come in. Please . . . 

‘I didn’t mean nothing by it, Nuts.’ She hated the begging, the reasoning, the taking the blame.

Then his hand dropped away and his other hand came up and gently smoothed her hair, like she was the most precious thing to him. ‘I’ve got a job down at a car dealership in Romford. The boss knows I’ve done time and says that my skills with cars will come in handy. I’ll leave the address if you don’t think it’s kosher.’

He stepped back and gingerly Jen pulled herself off the wall. She could hear the girls laughing in their bedroom. Thank God they hadn’t had to see their father treat their mum like a bag of crap.

‘You look smart,’ Jen finally said. And he did. He looked like the Nuts she’d once known. Of course, Jen told herself, she should never have doubted him. He was the girls’ dad and he wanted the best for his daughters.

‘That money is a down payment from the boss because I explained that times have been a bit hard and my missus needs money for the kids.’

‘That was good of him.’

‘I love you, girl.’ Jen’s heart dropped. When he said that to her, it made all the pain go away.

‘I know. I love you too.’

Long after he’d gone Jen sat at the table, rubbing her side, staring at the money. She let out a sigh of pure relief. Her jailbird of a husband had finally found a job.

Tiffany looked around with wonder when the electronic gates of Dee’s house opened to let her in. She’d suspected that her new employer would have a fuck-off house, but nothing like this. She’d seen similar places like this on reality TV and in celeb magazines. Tiffany pressed the bell and tried to look like she’d seen gaffs like this in real life, plenty of times.

Tiffany had expected a housekeeper with grey hair tied back in a bun to answer, but it was the lady of the house herself who came to the door. She held a white cat cuddled against her chest. The cat gazed at Tiffany and purred.

‘Banshee likes you. Glad you’ve come, babes.’ Dee ushered her into a large hallway that was pure white on ceilings and floor. ‘Since you’re going to be working here, let me give you a bit of a tour downstairs.’

And for the next half hour, Dee swanned around her home with Tiffany, like she was the Queen of Sheba. Tiffany was excited by the wealth on display. She’d never seen so many rooms in her life. A swimming pool with water the colour of a tropical sea led into the gym room next door; a kitchen, with one of those old-fashioned stoves; a movie room – which Dee simply called Hollywood – which also had a fruit machine; a family room with a large fish tank across one wall; a snooker room and, Dee’s fav room, the bar, done up like an old-style pub. This was the life and Tiffany wanted it.

They came to a room that had a sign that read ‘Gangsta’.

‘This is Nicky’s day room,’ Dee explained. ‘He’s been suspended from school – it weren’t his fault, alright. Me and John are working with the school to take him back sooner rather than later. He’s keeping up with his studies though.’

Keeping up with his studies? Tiffany wasn’t convinced. Behind the door, she could hear the bleeping and blooping of a computer game being played and the hectic rhythm of So Solid Crew’s ‘21 Seconds’. Dee tapped on the door. She didn’t get an answer but she went in anyway with Tiffany in tow. The boy was huddled over a desk, punching away at his keyboard taking down the aliens who were invading Planet Earth, his shoulders moving to the music coming from a high-tech mini stereo system.

Dee enquired hopefully, ‘Hard at work?’

Nicky didn’t turn around. ‘I was – but I’m having a break at the moment.’

Tiffany could see from his score on the screen that this break had lasted quite a while already and there was no sign that it would be ending any time soon. There were a couple of unopened text books on the floor that had been kicked to one side.

Dee was positive. ‘Well, you need a break, babes; you can’t work all the time.’

Nicky said nothing except to whisper, ‘Bollocks’ when an alien laser beam took out part of his spaceship.

‘Anyway, Nicky – remember that woman we met at the garage, a couple of weeks back? Her name is Tiffany and she’s going to be your new friend.’ Nicky ignored her and carried on playing.

Dee turned to her son’s new friend and whispered, ‘Pull up a seat, he won’t be long. You know what kids are like with their computer games. Apparently they improve eye-hand coordination and help with the development of the right side of the brain. Did you know that? Wish I’d known that as a kid; I might not have gone around thumping so many people with my right hand.’ When Tiffany didn’t answer, Dee went on, ‘Well, if you need me, I’ll be in the pool area.’

When Dee was gone, Tiffany pulled up a chair and studied her new charge while he played on. It was a couple of minutes before he paused in his game to say, ‘You my new counsellor?’

‘No.’

‘Good. Coz I don’t need one. I know what my problems are; I was diagnosed up London by a top shrink. I’ve got self-esteem issues dating back to losing my real mum and dad when I was kid.’ He picked up a small bottle of tablets from his desk. ‘I’ve got these for it.’ Then he resumed playing his game and explained, ‘That’s why I’m so sensitive. Gotcha, you little green bastard!’

Tiffany had already formed her own diagnosis of Nicky’s issues and decided on her own treatment. She stood up, leaned over and pulled the plug out of his computer and threw it on his desk. The PC groaned and desperately tried to save its data before the power drained away. She did the same to the stereo. Stunned, Nicky turned to her. ‘What the fuck? What’s your fucking problem?’

Tiffany grabbed him by his slim fit Ralph Lauren polo shirt and pulled him out of his chair, pushed him up against the wall and shook him violently. ‘I’ll tell you what my problem is. Your mum’s brought me over here to do a job. You’re going to share your troubles with me while I pretend I give a toss. And as in any new job, it’s important to start as we mean to go on. You understand?’

Nicky’s face went pale with disbelief before he began screaming. ‘Mum! Mum! The new counsellor is abusing me.’

But he was brought up short when he was shaken again within an inch of his life. ‘I said, do you understand?’

Nicky’s shock turned to anger and he snarled, ‘Listen, sugar tits, I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with. My dad’s a top gangster. When he finds out you’ve laid a finger on me, you’ll be in with a sack of kittens in the river.’

He was shaken again and Tiffany sneered, ‘I don’t think so, and you know why? Because your dad is the real thing, and because he’s the real thing, he knows full well that you’re a soppy little tart. He might play angry with me but deep down he’ll be laughing. And you know what? Deep, deep down, that’s what your mother really thinks too. You’re a two-bit, public school ponce and everyone knows it. I’m here to show you what it’s like. Now, I repeat, do you understand?’

Nicky withered a little but warned her, ‘I’m hard. I know people. I’ll get you taken care of . . .’ But his voice was choked off when she grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. His face began to swell and redden. Tiffany loosened her grip slightly to give him the space to splutter, ‘OK, OK . . .’

She let go of his throat and Nicky staggered over to his chair and slumped into it. Tiffany walked a few paces and stood over him with her arms folded, her feet braced apart. The boy looked up and whimpered, ‘I’ll tell my mum; she’ll kill you.’

Tiffany shook her head. ‘You’re going to tell your mum you got roughed up by a girl and then you’d feel no shame? Now – this is my last time of asking – Do. You. Understand?’

Nicky looked at the door and then back at Tiffany. He was a public school ponce but he knew how the pecking orders were arranged.

‘Yeah, I understand.’

Forty-Two

‘Mum, Mum,’ Courtney said excitedly as she and her sister joined their mum in the kitchen. The girls had just got back from school. ‘Can I have some pop tarts, I’m starving.’

‘Me too,’ piped up Little Bea.

Jen was bone weary after finishing a bag full of ironing for one of the more well-to-do families who lived in one of the big houses in the square across the road. This was as near to the fashion industry as she got to now – ironing other people’s clothing. While Nuts was inside, she’d had to take in ironing as a second job, to make the pennies stretch. She was ashamed of being someone else’s skivvy, but she’d do anything to make sure her girls didn’t go around in rags or second-hand clothes from the charity shop. Her eldest didn’t wait for an answer as Courtney headed over to the fruit bowl and nabbed a pear. She ate it like a kid who’d never seen food before. Given the speed with which she demolished it, she was in danger of eating her little fingers as well.

‘What do you mean you’re starving? Didn’t you have any school dinners today?’ Jen said, watching the two apples of her eye closely.

The fruit froze near Courtney’s mouth as she gave her little sister one of those looks they shared when they were hiding something from their mum; well, that’s the way it always seemed to Jen.

Courtney swallowed, then said, ‘’Course we had dinner, didn’t we, Little Bea?’ Her sister quickly nodded her head. ‘But I didn’t eat much because I didn’t like it today. They had that horrible rice pudding stuff for afters.’

‘But I thought it was roast dinner Friday. They usually have Jam Roly Poly.’

Her girls couldn’t get enough of that pudding. Jen wasn’t a bad cook, but she was a bit rubbish at making the dessert her kids loved so much; she just couldn’t get the suet right. Jen swung her gaze slowly between her girls. There was something going on here and she would bet her last quid it had something to do with the letter she’d just received from the school.

‘Have you been paying the dinner money I give you?’

Courtney nodded furiously but didn’t speak.

‘Taking it to the office like I told you?’ Jen got another nod.

‘Please, Mum,’ Little Bea said softly, ‘can I have a pop tart? I’m hun—’ But she never finished the word as she looked at her sister. But Jen already knew that she was going to say ‘hungry’. Why did both her kids look like they needed Bob Geldof to raise money for them to get money for food? Jen didn’t know what the effing hell was going on here, but she was going to go down that school right now with the letter and find out.