Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) (11 page)

‘See, people will try to disrespect you,’ Chika tells Demi, ‘so we show them that they can’t mess with us. That they need to take us serious, you understand?’

Demi nods. She’s always being told what to do and where to go, being pushed around.

‘That’s why we got each other’s backs,’ says Chika.

She puts up her fist and Demi touches it with her own.

‘Safe,’ says Chika.

She’s about to launch into another story, when a black Mercedes pulls up outside. Even from inside the café Demi can hear the deep base of a hip-hop tune. Chika mutters something under her breath and slams down some coins on the table before moving towards the car.

Demi’s not sure what to do, so she just follows.

Outside in the cold, the music is even louder. The low thuds make Demi’s stomach flip. As the passenger window lowers, the sound fills the street. Demi wonders how the people in the car can tolerate it. Chika stands a little way off from the car, and for the first time Demi thinks she seems nervous. But that can’t be right. Chika isn’t afraid of anything or anyone.

A man’s face appears at the window, a cigarette clamped between his lips so that most of his face is hidden in a cloud of smoke. He jerks his head at Chika.

‘Danny.’ She takes a step forward.

‘On your own?’ The man called Danny speaks without
removing
his fag, so that his words come out in a rush of white smoke.

‘I’m with one of my homies,’ Chika nods at Demi.

Demi feels a thrill at hearing herself described that way, but it’s short lived as the man looks in her direction. Something in the way Chika is standing, all stiff, tells her to be very wary.

‘What you called?’ the man asks.

Demi watches the ash on the end of his cigarette move up and down, getting longer and longer. It’s going to drop if he doesn’t flick it.

‘Her name’s Demi,’ says Chika. ‘She don’t say much.’

‘Come ’ere,’ says the man.

Demi daren’t move. She feels like she’s been glued to the spot.

The man drops his voice. ‘I said come ’ere.’

Chika nods and Demi forces herself forwards. When she’s a foot from the window, the man removes his cigarette and throws it at her feet. She watches it roll into the gutter. As the smoke clears she can make out more of the man. He’s almost as dark as Gran and wears a thick gold chain with a crucifix that glints against his skin.

After a second, she can fully take him in and she gasps. The left side of his face shows he is a handsome man, but the right side bears a scar from the edge of his hairline to his chin, dissecting his eyebrow along the way. In his right eye socket his eye is
nothing
more than a milky white marble.

‘You don’t find me pretty?’ the man laughs, but it sounds cold and harsh.

Demi doesn’t know what to say. She realizes her hand is
covering
her mouth.

‘You don’t want to stroke my handsome face?’

‘Come on Danny,’ Chika interrupts. ‘Leave her be.’

He glares at Chika, his dead eye boring into her.

‘She’s just a younger,’ says Chika. ‘She don’t know nothing yet.’

The man turns back to Demi, making her shudder. Demi is terrified he’ll ask another question. At last he nods, as if
accepting
what Chika says, and Demi feels relief flood through her. She wishes she could sit down.

‘Babylon crawling all over the estates,’ the man says to Chika.

She bends down at the waist so her face is level with his. ‘It’s because of what happened to Malaya.’

Demi is surprised to hear her sister’s name.

‘It’s very bad for business,’ says the man.

Chika nods. ‘It’ll soon blow over. You know how it is, man.’

‘Not this time,’ he says. ‘Papers, politicians, they all looking for someone to be locked up.’

Chika leans her arm on the top of the car, but the man lets out a low growl and she removes it.

‘This is a bad mess,’ he says. ‘A very bad mess.’

‘I’ll sort it,’ says Chika.

The man puts another cigarette between his lips and pulls out a lighter. He shields the flame with his hands and lights up. He breathes in and out until his face is once again shrouded.

‘No more fuck-ups, Chika.’

Then the electric window rises and the car pulls away.

Karol peeped his head around Lilly’s office door.

‘There’s someone to see you.’

Lilly frowned. There were no appointments in the diary.

‘She says it will only take a moment,’ said Karol with a smile. ‘I think you might be interested.’

In reception, Annabelle had taken a seat, most of her face hidden by a bouquet of flowers. Tanisha was by her side, engrossed with her phone.

When she saw Lilly, Annabelle jumped up. ‘These are for you.’

The flowers were exquisite. Tiger lilies held together in an organza bow.

‘These are beautiful,’ Lilly gasped.

‘A small thank you,’ said Annabelle. ‘Since we were passing.’

Lilly held them to her face and took in the perfume.
Representing
children in care had not involved many gifts over the years. A grunted acknowledgement was as good as it got.

‘We know you weren’t keen to take on Tanisha’s case and we want you to know how much we appreciate it,’ said Annabelle. ‘Don’t we, Tanisha?’

Tanisha didn’t look up from her phone but managed a nod.

‘Let me put those in some water,’ said Karol.

 He took the flowers and headed to the kitchen. Tanisha lifted her head and watched him.

‘He your man?’ she asked Lilly.

‘No.’ Lilly gave a nervous laugh. ‘He’s doing some work for me.’

‘He’s sexy, innit.’

‘Tanisha,’ Annabelle chided.

The girl shrugged. ‘Just saying.’

Annabelle sighed and a sadness passed over her face. She clearly wanted to say something else to Tanisha but settled for rubbing her knee.

‘So what brings you down here?’ Lilly asked.

Annabelle instantly brightened. ‘Tanisha’s scan.’

Lilly hid her surprise. There was only one hospital in
Harpenden
and it was private. Annabelle must be paying for Tanisha’s ante-natal care.

‘Do you have the photo?’ Lilly asked.

Tanisha fished into the pocket of her hoodie and pulled out a small black and white picture, already crumpled around the edges. Lilly took it and smiled. It was impossible to make out more than an egg-shaped blur.

‘Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?’

‘A girl.’ Tanisha pointed to a tiny swirl that might be the head. ‘Cos you can see she’s going to have a pretty face.’

‘A beautiful baby girl,’ Annabelle said, her eyes shining.

‘You got any kids?’ Tanisha asked.

Lilly nodded. ‘A boy called Sam and a baby called Alice. She’s only five months old.’

‘Ain’t you a bit old to have a baby?’

‘Tanisha, what have we said about manners and keeping things to yourself?’ whispered Annabelle.

Lilly threw back her head and laughed. ‘Don’t worry. You’re right. I’m far too old.’

 When Karol came back into the room, Tanisha gave him a sly smile and shifted in her chair, arching her back.

Annabelle coughed and got to her feet.

‘We’d better be off,’ she said. ‘Lots to do.’

Tanisha stood too, taking the opportunity to jut her hip in Karol’s direction.

‘We haven’t heard anything from the police, so hopefully the whole matter is closed,’ said Annabelle and ushered Tanisha out of the door.

The bedroom is a complete mess with tops and jeans scattered everywhere. The floor is covered in CD cases and bracelets and at least ten pairs of high-tops are thrown in a pile in the corner, their laces tangled together.

If Demi kept her room like this, Gran would have a fit. Then again, Demi doesn’t have half the stuff that Chika does. Not even a quarter. Her school uniform and church outfit hang in the old wooden wardrobe. The other clothes she owns are mostly passed down from Malaya.

Chika catches Demi’s eyes, round as plates, as she clocks the window sill covered in a rainbow of different eye shadows and pencils and sticky tubes of lipgloss. There are six bottles of Charlie Pink and Black.

‘Take one,’ says Chika.

Demi’s hand hovers in mid-air.

‘Go on,’ says Chika and reaches for a roach sitting in an
overflowing
ashtray.

Demi picks up the nearest can. The metal is cold to the touch. She pops off the plastic lid and smells the nozzle. It reminds her of sherbert.

Chika flicks her lighter and takes a deep lungful of weed.

‘Where’s your mum?’ Demi asks.

‘Out.’ Chika holds the roach at arm’s length for Demi to take.

Demi has never smoked before. She’s seen kids at school huddled in corners sharing a joint, smelled it in the toilets too. She always thought it must be nice to share a secret like that with a friend.

‘Thanks.’ She takes the roach between her fingers. It feels hot, in contrast to the Charlie in her other hand. She puts it to her lips and takes a small puff. The smoke burns her tongue and she spits it out, as if it were solid. Chika laughs and Demi laughs too, handing back the roach. That’s the difference with Chika and the other girls in the crew. When they laugh at you, it’s not like they want to make you look bad.

Demi wonders if she dare ask Chika about Danny, the man
outside
the café. Everything about him frightened her. His voice, his eye, and the way Chika behaved around him. As soon as he left, Chika shrugged her old self back on, like a coat, and suggested they come back to hers before hooking up with the other girls. The swagger was back in her step and the smile back on her face.

She seems totally relaxed now, blowing smoke rings at her ceiling.

Demi opens her mouth to speak when the doorbell rings. Chika leans to the window to see who is down below.

‘Shit.’

Demi’s heart leaps. Is it the man with the scar? She hopes to God it’s not. It was bad enough standing next to his car. She wouldn’t want to be in the same room as him with no way to escape. She joins Chika by the window, trying to make out the figure. Definitely a man.

‘Who is it?’ Demi’s voice sounds choked.

Chika takes a deep drag and exhales a plume of smoke. ‘Police.’

‘How do you know?’ asks Demi.

Chika raises her eyebrow to the question.

Demi gasps. The thought of the man was bad enough, but being caught by the police smoking drugs is a whole lot worse. Gran will explode with fury.

‘What are we going to do?’ asks Demi.

Chika stabs out the roach among twenty others and reaches for a discarded pack of chewing gum.

‘I’m going to find out what he wants.’ She pops a stick of gum in her mouth.

‘But what if he wants to come in?’ Demi hisses. ‘What if he smells the dope?’

Chika opens the draw of her bedside table and pulls out a freezer bag full of weed. She hands it to Demi.

‘Put this down your trousers.’

Demi stands there with her mouth open like a fish. Chika sighs, yanks at the waistband of Demi’s jeans and pushes the package down.

Demi gulps, feeling the plastic wad pushed against her pubic bone.

‘What if I get caught?’

Chika pulls at Demi’s hoodie, smoothing it over the obvious bump. ‘You’re only thirteen, he ain’t gonna strip search you.’

‘But what if he does?’ Demi grabs Chika’s arm. ‘What if he arrests me?’

‘Listen to me, yeah, he’s not going to touch you.’ Chika puts her hand over Demi’s and looks into her eyes. ‘But if he comes into the house and finds that stuff, he’s gonna haul my ass to jail, innit.’

Demi can feel the muscles in her nostrils pulsing as they open and close.

‘I’ve got a record so they can send me away for a long time, you understand me?’ says Chika.

Demi feels like she might cry. She’s terrified of being caught, but Chika is her friend. No one has looked after Demi like she does, no one else cares. The doorbell rings again, making Demi jump.

‘Are we family?’ asks Chika. ‘Cos you gotta decide.’

Demi swallows hard, her eyes hot with tears.

‘Yes,’ she whispers.

Chika nods and hands the ashtray to Demi. ‘Flush this while I answer the door.’

Demi’s hands are shaking as she carries the ashtray carefully to the bathroom. It feels like the time she was one of the wise men in the nativity play at primary school. She had wanted to be an angel like all the other girls, but Mrs Thomas said she had a regal look about her, whatever that meant, and anyway, none of the white dresses would fit. So Demi, Rory Carney and Joel Evanson had been dressed in some old dressing gowns and paper crowns. Demi had been the third wise man and her job had been to carry a box of Ferrero Rocher to the manger, before delivering her only line: ‘I bring you Myrrh.’

Unfortunately, Demi’s hands were shaking so much she dropped her gift for the baby Jesus, scattering chocolates wrapped in gold paper across the stage. Everyone had laughed and Demi had wet her pants.

Today she won’t make any mistakes. Her sister is relying on her. She carries the ashtray across the landing to the bathroom with both hands. She doesn’t spill a single flake of ash. Then she shakes it into the bowl and flushes the chain. The sides of the ashtray are covered in a thin film, like a layer of dust. Can the police do tests on that? Demi’s not prepared to risk it and tears off a square of toilet roll. She scrunches it into a ball and wipes the ashtray thoroughly before flushing the paper away.

The doorbell rings again and Demi hears Chika swear before thundering down the stairs to open the door.

Demi strains her ears to listen.

 ‘Chika Mboko?’ The policeman’s voice is low and quiet. He has a strange accent.

‘Who wants to know?’ asks Chika.

‘My name is Detective Jack McNally, and I need to ask you a few questions.’

Demi slumps on to the side of the bath. His words sound like something off the telly. She knows this must be serious.

Something just didn’t feel right. Jack couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was a feeling gnawing in his gut.