Respect (Mandasue Heller) (6 page)

He gazed at her now as she marched past with a young scowling boy in tow, and asked, ‘Is everything all right?’

‘Mind your own business!’ she muttered, walking on without so much as glancing at him.

Anton watched as she dragged the boy through the flats’ main door and up the stairs. The boy complained loudly all the way up through the floors, and Anton couldn’t help but smile when he heard the girl warn him to hush his mouth or she would give him licks. She was a feisty one, all right – but not trash-talking feisty, like so many of the other girls on the estate. There was something kind of dignified about her and, while he’d only been half-joking when he’d told Shotz over a spliff last night that he was going to get off with her, now he meant it. One way or another, that girl was going to be his.

4

Monday dawned bright but Chantelle was in no mood to appreciate the overdue sunshine. Her mum still hadn’t come home, and her phone was still off, so even if she’d seen the numerous messages that Chantelle had sent she obviously had no intention of replying to them.

She could be lying dead in a ditch for all Chantelle knew, and if this was the first time that Mary had gone awol Chantelle might have been tempted to call the police. But her mum’s best mate Tracey was also nowhere to be found, so her instincts told her that they had most likely hooked up with some losers at that party her mum had said they were going to and had spent the weekend with them.

Pissed off about that – and sick to her stomach at the thought of sitting her first exam without preparation, thanks to Leon playing up and stopping her from revising – Chantelle struggled to shake off her foul mood as she got ready for school. It had taken every ounce of self-control to keep from throttling Leon after finding him down by the canal on Saturday night, and she’d had to keep such a close eye on him after that to make sure he didn’t sneak out again that she hadn’t retained a single word from the tiny bit of studying she had managed to do. She just knew she was going to fail her exams, but there was nothing she could do about it now except try her best – and pray for a miracle.

Still mad at Leon, and convinced that he was dawdling to spite her, she was yelling at him to hurry up as she opened the front door. But the words died in her throat when she found herself face to face with a man she’d never seen before.

Ricky Benson’s eyebrows twitched in surprise as he looked the girl slowly up and down. He’d known that Mary had kids, but she was as white as they came so it hadn’t occurred to him that her children might be black – or as old as this. If he’d thought about it – which he hadn’t – he’d have pictured some snot-nosed pasty-faced little brats. But this girl was stunning.

Already unnerved by the way the man was looking at her, a shiver of apprehension coursed down Chantelle’s spine when Leon came out and the man’s gaze flicked onto him. ‘Go on ahead,’ she said, giving her brother a shove in the direction of the stairwell. ‘I’ll catch up in a minute.’

When he’d gone, she reached behind her and pulled the door firmly shut. The man was wearing a leather jacket, jeans and trainers. He didn’t look like a copper or a social worker, but she wasn’t taking any chances. For all she knew, someone could have sussed that their mum had left them on their own and grassed them up. It had happened before, and there were enough nosy people around here for it to happen again. The next-door neighbours, for example. They rarely spoke apart from to complain, but their net curtains were forever twitching so they had to have noticed that her mum hadn’t been around.

‘Mum still in bed, is she?’ Ricky spoke at last. When Chantelle didn’t answer, he smiled. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you open up and I’ll go in and see for myself, eh?’

‘I don’t
think
so.’ Chantelle jerked her head back when his breath breezed across her face.

‘Give us the key, then.’ Ricky held out his hand. ‘I’ll let myself in.’

‘My brother’s got it,’ Chantelle lied. ‘But I wouldn’t let you in even if I could,’ she added, recovering some of her sass. ‘I don’t even know you.’

Ricky put his hand on the wall behind her head and gazed down at her. He could see her chest rising and falling, and could almost smell the fear that he could see in her eyes. He could so easily force her to open the door if he wanted to, and if she genuinely didn’t have the key a swift boot would soon gain him entry. But people in the surrounding flats were starting to go about their daily business and he didn’t need to be clocked pushing his weight around in broad daylight. So, smiling again, he backed up a step.

‘Don’t panic, darlin’, I’m just an old mate of your mam’s. When you see her, tell her Ricky’s looking for her, yeah?’

Eyeing him warily, Chantelle nodded.

‘Good girl.’ Ricky winked at her and then strolled away.

Chantelle leaned heavily back against the door when he’d gone and released a shuddering breath. Her legs felt like jelly and her stomach was in knots. She had been angry but now she was scared. The man had said he was an old friend of her mum’s but she didn’t believe him. There had been something really menacing about the way he had looked at her and Leon, and she had a horrible feeling that it wouldn’t be the last she saw of him.

When a hot tear trickled slowly down her cheek, she swiped it away with the back of her hand and looked around to see if anyone was watching. Things were difficult enough without letting people see that she was distressed. Telling herself to get a grip, she raised her chin, pushed herself away from the door, and trotted down the stairs to join Leon who was waiting at the bottom.

Mary popped her head around the corner of the bin cupboards at the exact moment when her son and daughter walked out of the stairwell. She pulled back quickly and took a last drag on her fag before dropping it on the floor and grinding it out with her heel. Then, taking another peek, she saw that the coast was clear and nudged Tracey.

‘They’ve gone. Let’s go.’

Teeth chattering, Tracey dragged her feet as she followed Mary up the stairs and into the flat. Every step hurt because her inner thighs were so badly chafed, and her head was banging from all the boozing and coke-snorting that they’d done over the weekend. It was Mary’s fault; she was the one who had insisted they go back to the grotty hotel with the blokes they had copped off with at the party on Friday night. Tracey had been all for going home when it finished, but Mary had wanted to carry on partying. And it hadn’t mattered that the blokes could barely speak a word of English, or that the one Tracey had got landed with had been a proper munter. Mary’s man was good-looking, and he had drugs in his pocket, so that was as good as marriage material in her eyes.

But it was one thing spending a raunchy sex-and-drug-fuelled weekend with the guys, and quite something else to run away to Spain with them.

Sure that it was a joke, Tracey had laughed when the men had invited them last night. But Mary had taken it seriously and was now searching her bedroom for her passport.

‘You do know they ain’t gonna be waiting for you when you get to the airport, don’t you?’ Tracey cautioned from the bed as she watched her friend pull everything out of her drawers. ‘If they had money they wouldn’t have been staying in such a shit hotel, so how they gonna afford to buy you a ticket?’

‘I’m paying for my own,’ Mary told her, shoving knickers and bras into a bag after finding her passport. ‘I’ve still got the shopping money in my account, and the child benefit goes in on Wednesday.’

‘What about the kids?’

‘What about ’em?’

‘Aren’t you going to tell them?’

‘And have our Chan go off on one?’ Mary pulled a face. ‘No chance.’

‘What about money? You can’t just take off and leave them with nowt.’

Mary rolled her eyes and carried on packing. Tracey had been moaning all the way back in the taxi and it was doing her head in.

‘You’re out of order,’ Tracey said disapprovingly.

‘If you’re that fucking worried about them,
you
look after them,’ Mary said. ‘I’ve done my bit, now I’m putting myself first for a change.’

‘What am I supposed to say if your Channy asks where you are? She’s been ringing me all weekend an’ all, you know.’

‘Tell her I’m having a break.’ Mary zipped her bag up. ‘And if she moans about money, tell her to go and get some off Leon’s dad. It’s about time that selfish bastard dipped his hand into his pocket instead of leaving it all up to me.’

Tracey shook her head. ‘You’re mad, you. Anyhow, you can’t get on a flight just like that. You have to book tickets and get a visa, and all that.’

‘Not for Spain, you don’t,’ Mary informed her, with a knowing smile. ‘I’ve been there before, don’t forget.’

‘I still think you’re mad,’ Tracey said, getting up and traipsing along behind Mary when she picked up her bag and headed for the door. ‘There’s no way them blokes’ll be waiting. You were just a shag.’

‘We’ll see,’ Mary said unconcernedly as she stood in the hall and phoned the local taxi rank. Tracey could think what she liked. Miguel knew a good thing when he saw it, and Mary knew he’d been serious about her going home with him. The sex had blown his mind, and he’d have to be an idiot to turn his back on that. No … Tracey was wrong. He
would
be waiting for her – Mary could feel it in her bones.

The taxi pulled up a couple of minutes after the women walked down the stairs. Mary threw her bag onto the back seat and turned to Tracey. ‘Last chance to change your mind?’

‘Nah, I’m too tired.’ Tracey folded her arms. ‘See you in half an hour – when you realise they’ve gone without you and come home with your tail between your legs,’ she added sarcastically.

‘Whatever,’ Mary said tartly.

Tracey stood and watched as the taxi drove away. Then, shaking her head, she went home.

5

The permanent stench of rotten vegetables lingered in the air inside Abdul’s, and many a shopper had been scared half to death by the sight of a mouse jumping out at them from between the goods on the shelves. Most of the estate residents had avoided it in favour of the nearby Netto, but since that store had closed down a few months earlier they’d had no choice but to come back. Either that, or stump up to travel to the bigger, more expensive supermarkets on the outskirts of town.

Abdul had been delighted to welcome his customers back. But along with the surge in trade had come an increase in shoplifting, and when his takings had started to suffer he’d been forced to hire a security guard – which had brought a whole new set of problems of its own. Those who came from outside the area couldn’t handle the intimidation from the gangs who hung around outside the shop, so they rarely lasted for more than a few days. And those who lived on the estate who
could
take the stick were often as sticky-fingered as their neighbours.

Still, at least the local ones were tough enough to provide a deterrent to the protection racketeers who preyed on small stores like his, so Abdul was prepared to turn a blind eye when they left with bulging pockets at the end of a shift. But he refused to overlook his customers’ thieving ways – especially those whom he had previously caught red-handed. So when Tracey Smith walked into the shop this afternoon he folded his arms over his fat belly and stared at her as she made her way up the crowded first aisle.

Tracey wasn’t about to let a little thing like being watched deter her. After Mary had left that morning, she’d gone straight to bed. She needed a drink now and, in her world, if you wanted something but didn’t have the money to pay for it, you took it – simple. And all the better if the shopkeeper was foreign, like Abdul, because that wasn’t really theft in her eyes: it was her
right
as a British citizen to reclaim what the bastards had been stealing from her country for years.

She weaved slowly through the other customers now and made her way round to the second aisle, pausing here and there to examine the contents of the freezer cabinets. Picking out a box of fish fingers that she knew she could afford to pay for if challenged, she dropped it into a basket and carried it round into the third aisle, where the alcohol was housed.

Tracey made her way slowly down this aisle until she reached the section she wanted. Then, keeping her back to the bottles, she leaned forward and peered at the cereal boxes opposite as if trying to decide which she fancied for breakfast tomorrow, whilst surreptitiously reaching behind her to lift what she’d come for. Mission accomplished, she dropped the basket and turned to leave.

‘Jeezus!’ she squawked when she bumped straight into Chantelle. ‘You scared the shit out of me!’

‘Sorry,’ Chantelle apologised, looking past the woman with hope in her eyes. ‘Where’s my mum?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ Tracey muttered, her gaze fixed on the security guard who had just strolled onto the shop floor. The door had been unmanned when she came in, and she’d thought that she would easily get out again. But this complicated things.

‘I thought she was with you?’ Chantelle frowned.

‘Yeah, she was,’ Tracey said distractedly, her focus on Abdul now as he pointed the guard in her direction.

‘Well, she’s not at home, ’cos I’ve just been there,’ said Chantelle. ‘So, where is she?’

‘For God’s sake, get off my back!’ Tracey snapped, backing away when the guard turned and started heading their way. ‘It’s got nowt to do with me.’

‘Hang about,’ Chantelle called when Tracey suddenly turned and legged it.

The guard was about to give chase but changed his mind when he spotted Chantelle. Keeping it cool, he sauntered towards her. ‘All right?’

‘Fine, thanks,’ Chantelle murmured, going up onto her tiptoes to keep track of the top of Tracey’s head as she dodged through the shoppers in the centre aisle.

‘You don’t look it,’ the guard said, adding quietly, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t drop you in it.’

‘For what?’ Chantelle snapped her head around and looked at him for the first time. Her cheeks reddened when she saw that it was Anton.

‘Abdul saw your mate nick the booze,’ he told her. ‘But I’ll tell him it had nothing to do with you.’