The Girl by the Thames (11 page)

“Nothing.” Tanya looked the away from him. This was like being back at school.

“That’s not nothing. Come on, who did this? Look, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to tell that copper over there.”

“No, okay, I’ll tell you. It was my dad.”

“Your dad did this to you?”

“But I deserved it. I nicked his whiskey and ten quid.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to hit you. Does he do this often?”

“Only when I play up.”

Greg looked lividly around as if her dad were nearby. “This is out of order,” he said. “You know there are laws against this sort of thing. We need to talk to social services.”

“No, no you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you get it? I’ll get put in care. I don’t want to be in care. They’ll stick me in a home and I’ll get fingered by some fat lezzer.”

“You can’t let this go on. He’s ruining your life.”

“Can I see the whale now?”

“No, we’re going to sort this out. Have you got any friends you can stay with? Relations?”

Tanya thought about Lena, but she was so involved with the gang, she wasn’t sure she was her friend anymore.

“No not really. Look, I’m alright.”

“No you’re not. You’re going to stay with me for a few days, until we can straighten this out. I’ll tell my wife to make up the spare bed. As long as you don’t mind sharing a house with a hyperactive three-year old.”

Tanya didn’t say anything. This felt weird and what would her dad say? Actually he’d wanted her out of the house so he probably wouldn’t care, maybe he’d be happy.

“Come on, Tanya, you’re coming with me?”

“But what about the whale?”

“Forget him for now. The tide’s going out, there’s nothing more we can do for him until it comes back in again. We’ll drop by your place and get your stuff, okay?”

“Okay.”

Tanya followed Greg back to his car where he climbed out of his waterproofs and threw them in the boot. Every space was taken up with diving gear and scuffed metal air cylinders, rubber wetsuits and equipment that Tanya didn’t understand. Tanya expected the car to smell of the sea but her nose was overpowered with the stench of stale milk. The front passenger seat overflowed with CDs of children’s nursery rhymes and songs. Tanya scooped them up and slotted them into the storage pockets in the car door. 

“Sorry, about the mess,” said Greg.

“Don’t worry about it. You should see my bedroom.”

“Well, that’s where we’re heading. Just point me in the right direction.”

The car threaded its way through the London traffic without incident. Eventually, they entered Tanya’s estate. Greg’s was the only car driving round it. He pulled up outside Tanya’s block and got out of the car. She went to open the door.

“Oh, no,” said Greg. “You’re staying here.”

“No. I’ll just grab some stuff, I don’t want you talking to my dad.”

“Why not?”

“Please. I’ll go up there and straighten it out with him.”

“No, you’re staying here.”

“But my dad can be a bit of a psycho.”

“So I can see. That’s why I want you to stay here. I don’t want you coming back down with more bruises. Now what number is it?”

“This ain’t a good idea.”

“Let me worry about that. Now tell me the number.”

Tanya scuffed the toes of her shoes, wincing at the pain from her blisters. “It’s 34, third floor up at the end.”

“Good. Now don’t move, I’ll just be a few minutes.”

Chapter 13

Greg sprinted up the battered concrete stairs. Lack of sleep should have slowed him down, but all the caffeine and anger pulsing through his body gave him a jumpy, volatile energy. He had no idea what he was going to say to her dad. 

When he got outside number 34 he stood there for a while and shut his eyes, taking several deep slow breaths. He knocked on the door but found it unlocked, so he pushed it open with his fingertips. The sound of a cheap TV bounced off the walls and the place smelt of fried food. He followed the whining noise into the lounge.

A man sat in an armchair, clad in a dirty white vest and a pair of baggy boxer shorts. Dirty blue tattoos covered his arms. So this must be her dad. A plate rested on his lap, supporting a heart-attack-inducing bacon and egg sandwich. Grease and yolk bled from its edges.

Her dad noticed Greg standing in the door way. He stood up, holding the plate to his chest, careful not to drop any.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said, through chewed up bread and pig protein.

Greg ignored him and marched right up to him. He swatted the plate out of her dad’s hands, sending it splintering against the wall.

“I’m Tanya’s guardian angel.” Greg laid on his Glaswegian accent extra thick. It sounded like a Rottweiler gargling with granite. “Peace be fucking with you.”

Greg shoved him backwards with both hands. The armchair caught him as he fell and nearly tipped backwards.

The crazed Scotsman glared down at him.

“So you’re the big, man, eh? You must be tough, look at all them tats. Scary. You know, I’ve got one of them. Wanna see it?”

Tanya’s dad looked up from the chair, too frightened to say anything.

“Greg rolled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and turned his arm outward to reveal the inside of a thick, freckled bicep. Half way up was a small homemade tattoo of just three uppercase letters.

ICF.

Her dad’s terrified mouth made the shape of a quivering ‘O’.

“You know what that is, pal?” asked Greg.

“Yeah.”

“What does it stand for?”

“Inner City Firm.” Tanya’s dad couldn’t get his words out fast enough.

“Correct. See, that was my old life. I loved being in the ICF. Football and fighting you can’t beat it. And I was the best, I tell you. Whatever it took to fuck someone up, I’d do it. But now I’ve put that behind me. But violence never goes away. You just hide it. It’s like having a split personality and I’ve buried that side of my life. But sometimes, just sometimes I have to let it out. You know, to give it some exercise. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those times, it’s still safely locked away. But I tell you, touch Tanya like that again, and I’ll unleash it on you. You think I’m scary, wait till you meet my worst half. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now get a bin bag and fill it with Tanya’s stuff – clothes, make-up etc.”

“Why?”

“Do as you’re fucking told!” Greg shouted.

Tanya’s dad was out of his chair faster than a whippet. He ran into the kitchen and rummaged under the sink for bin bags, then he ran back in.

“Er, I don’t have any bin bags.”

“Then use carrier bags, numpty.”

Tanya’s dad went into a nervous frenzy collecting up carrier bags that were stuffed in drawers and shoved behind the fridge. They rustled in his hands as they shook. In Tanya’s bedroom, he grabbed fistfuls of clothes and pushed them into the bags. When he had filled them he offered them to Greg with his head held low like a pauper.

“She’s going to stay with me for a while,” Greg said, “to give you some time to think about what you’ve done to her. When she comes back you will be nice.”

Tanya’s dad nodded without daring to make eye contact or mention the fact that he had planned to kick her out anyway.

“Oh, she could do with some pocket money too.”

“What?”

“Some money. Give me some money.”

“How much?”

“Gimme all you’ve got!” It was a line from Greg’s favourite film
Heat
. Greg had always wanted to use it, but never had the opportunity.

“But I’ve only got …”

“Gimme all you’ve got, before I rip your fucking lungs out,” Greg shouted just like Al Pacino in the movie.

Tanya’s dad nearly fell backwards with the blast of his voice. He picked himself up and scuttled into the kitchen, then quickly returned with thirty pounds. Greg snatched it away from him.

As Greg went to leave through the front door, he called back down the hallway:

“I’d keep this door locked if I were you, ‘cos there are some right nutters out there.”

Greg descended the steps with all of Tanya’s stuff bunched in one hand. His little performance back there meant her dad should be in need of a change of underwear right about now. Greg had got the measure of him as soon as he saw him. He was your typical bully. Hard on the outside but soft and scared on the inside. It was all a show - the crappy tattoos, the short hair. They were a warning, nothing more, like a keep-out sign. He saw right through it. Her dad was a frightened, lonely little man who took his frustrations out on his daughter. You didn’t need to be a psychologist to work that one out.

Greg put the bags in the back of the car and started the engine.

“Are you okay, Greg? My dad didn’t hurt you did he?” Tanya asked.

Greg’s laugh was like a shotgun going off.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry. No, he didn’t hurt me. We got on well. I explained a few things to him about his behaviour. He saw the error of his ways. He’s going to change.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I said that if he feels the need to hit you again, I’d come round and, er, persuade him not to.”

“Thanks, Greg,”

“Don’t mention it. Oh, he gave you some money too.”

“What? He never gives me money.”

Greg pulled the cash out of his pocket and gave it to Tanya, “Well, I think he’s a changed man.”

It was only a short drive to Greenwich where Greg lived. Tanya had never ventured out of her area of the city before and couldn’t believe how different it was.

They drove through wide quiet roads, lined with trees and pretty houses with neat front gardens and box-shaped hedges.

Greg pulled up outside a house that looked exactly how a child would draw it. There were four symmetrical windows and a front door in the middle. A chimney poked out of the roof just where it was supposed to.

“Is this yours?”

“Yeah, like it?”

“I love it. Not bad for a vet.”

“Well, there are a lot of pets in this city, so I suppose I should be thanking them.”

Greg grabbed Tanya’s things out of the car and the two of them walked up to the front door. He put the key in and turned the lock.

Tanya could already hear little footsteps on the other side of the door. When it opened, a chunky little boy with a blaze of red hair leapt out and clamped himself around Greg’s leg.

“This little monster is George. Say hello to Tanya.”

“Hello, Nanya.”

“Hi, George.”

“What’s wrong with your face?” George asked.

“George, don’t be rude. Tanya had a little accident,” Greg said, prising George off his leg.

George grabbed Tanya’s jogging bottoms and began tugging. “Would you like to play with me?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” Tanya replied.

George took Tanya, still holding onto her by the leg and led her into a wood-floored room just off the hallway. Inside it was an explosion of expensive soft toys and cute child-sized furniture.

“Wow, George, you’ve got some great toys. What are we playing?”

“Do you like Peppa Pig?” George asked, holding up a large soft toy pig.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I don’t. It’s for girls. I like Power Rangers but Daddy says I’m not old enough yet.”

“Tanya.” Greg appeared with a small attractive woman by his side. Her hair was pulled back in a pony tail and had a fringe that needed cutting. “This is my wife, Sarah.”

She smiled at Tanya with a small slittish mouth.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I understand you’re going to be staying with us for a few days.”

“Oh, yes, well, if that’s all right.”

“Course it is,” said Greg. “Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

“Can I come?” asked George.

“No,” said Sarah. She took the boy by the hand and led him back into his playroom.

Tanya followed Greg up a plush carpeted staircase with a thick white wooden hand rail. It felt smooth and pleasant as it slid beneath her palm. Not like the metal ones on the estate that were always bent and broken. And everywhere was clean. It was so luxurious to be in a place free from dirt. Back home, Tanya had tried to keep the flat clean, but the asthmatic vacuum cleaner they had made it impossible.

They entered a square room with a high ceiling and sash windows that looked out over a tidy rectangular garden flanked by oak trees. The room smelt of fresh paint and the furniture looked brand new. Greg dropped the bags on the bed.

“You’ll be our first guest. We’ve just had the whole place decorated. You should have seen it a month ago.”

“It’s amazing. I feel like the Queen,” Tanya said. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay here?”

“Yeah, of course. Make yourself at home.”

Tanya had got bad vibes off his wife downstairs. Her frostbitten words weren’t exactly welcoming, but Tanya didn’t like to say anything. Now wasn’t the time to ask him if his wife was always such a bitch, not after she’d just opened her home to Tanya.

“Put your stuff away and then come down stairs and join us for a cuppa.”

“Thanks, Greg.”

Tanya looked around the room at the pristine white wood furniture. It all looked too good to put her skanky clothes in. She couldn’t leave them lying on the bed in carrier bags either; that would be even worse. Maybe she could just stuff them under the bed.  

This was stupid, it was just furniture. She sat on the end of the bed and pulled at one the drawers. It slipped out as easy as exhaling. Tanya opened and closed it several times, enjoying its silky movement. So this was what it was like being rich: everything was easy, even opening drawers. Not like the battered ones at home which opened with a stutter and had to be closed with a shove. 

Tanya stopped when she noticed some patterned paper inside covering the bottom of the drawer. At first Tanya thought it was some wrapping paper left over from Christmas. Then she got a whiff of the floral scent coming off it. She checked the other drawers and saw that they had sheets in them too. This house was so posh that even the inside of the drawers had been decorated.

She tipped her clothes in, not bothering to fold them and then lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Life was slightly bizarre at the moment. She felt like she was being yo-yoed around. One minute high, next minute low. Tanya tried to work out how the next bit was going to go.  

Downstairs she heard George chuckling away in the kitchen. His mum was trying to shush him without much success. Tanya was envious of the happy childhood he had ahead of him, being loved and spoiled. She didn’t begrudge him it. Just because she missed out on it didn’t mean others had to.

Tanya walked down the stairs and into the kitchen. It was huge and spotless with a cooker that seemed to reach up to the ceiling and French doors out onto the garden. A large rectangular dining table dominated the centre of the room. George sat at one end, spreading yoghurt over his face. He smiled at Tanya, but his mother didn’t. There was a long battered brown leather sofa at one end of the kitchen, where Greg was fast asleep.

“Hi, Nanya,” said George, half gurgling with yoghurt.

“Hi, George. Are you enjoying that?”

“It’s okay.”

“Looks like it’s all caught up with Greg,” Tanya said, trying to tease some conversation out of Sarah.

“Yes, it’s been exhausting for him.”

“I bet.”

“What happened to your face if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, my dad did it.”

“That’s terrible. Greg’s dad used to hit him. I think that’s why he took pity on you.”

“Oh.”

“He had a terrible upbringing. Very violent. Even after he left home, the violence seemed to come after him. It does that, you know. Violence follows you around like a dog. But he changed his life, got away from it and bettered himself. It takes a strong will to do that.”

“Er, I never knew.”

“He’s a good man.”

“I know.”

Sarah took a damp cloth and started cleaning George’s mouth. She spoke without looking at Tanya. “I don’t want that violence to come back again.”

“What do you mean?”

Sarah stopped and looked at her. “Please don’t think I’m a snob, or I’m judging you. And tell me if I’m wrong, but you look like trouble.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“Well, are you?”