Faceless (12 page)

‘Got any drink here?’

Her voice was heavy with booze and amphetamines. She was already shrugging off her Romford Market shaggy coat to reveal a plump overheated body.

‘I have some Scotch.’

‘That’ll do. Why do you bring girls here - are you married?’

Her voice had the dulcet tones of a South London council estate. She was rough even for him.

He nodded. It was easier that way. He couldn’t say that the last time he had brought back a bird to his flat she had robbed him the next day. But he blamed himself for leaving her sleeping. He should have routed her when he left.

‘What’s your wife like?’

Her voice was genuinely interested which meant she saw herself as a contender. He felt the urge to laugh again.

He frowned instead.

‘She’s big, aggressive. Lairy bitch she is. She beat up me last bird.’

He watched as the girl digested this bit of information.

‘Came right in this office she did, with her brothers.’

Alan was warming to his theme.

The girl was looking wary and he turned away to pour himself another drink. Steady on, he told himself, you don’t want her doing a runner till you’ve finished the night’s work. But the truth was, he didn’t want to fuck her. Not here anyway. Where Marie worked. Where he sometimes brought his kids when he had to work on a Saturday.

He sighed. If he wasn’t careful he was in danger of becoming a

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clean-living man. He knew it was mostly the thought of Marie that was making him hesitant. She had got under his skin. Little birds with no brains and no morals were losing their allure suddenly. He wouldn’t even weigh out for a cheap hotel. They weren’t worth the fucking hag half the time.

She was snorting a line of amphetamine and afterwards hawked deep in her throat. The noise made him shudder. She was far rougher than his usual birds. The knowledge made him sad.

He thought of Marie in hospital, her body broken by muggers, and suddenly any urge to fornicate left him completely.

What was he doing? Fifty odd years old with a young girl who would shag anyone if they supplied her with enough narcotics.

He sighed heavily and caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked what he was, a silly old fucker, still chasing skirt at this advanced stage in his life. It was laughable.

‘Chanel …’

‘It’s Chantel, Alan, I keep telling you that!’

Her voice was hard now, as were her eyes. He knew she would tap him soon for some money, dressing it up as cab fare. First, though, he had to give her one and at this moment in time he wasn’t sure if Charles Atlas himself could lift it.

Usually by now his cock had had enough of the inane chatter and wanted to get the main business out of the way. But tonight it was dead. He was dead. If he could have anyone he wanted it would only be Marie.

The knowledge threw him completely. He turned back to Chantel.

‘Hurry up, Alan, I want to get home!’

Her lipstick was smudged and her face was glistening with sweat. She was speeding out of her nut. Her little tits were heaving where she was getting the rushes. He knew that sexually she would get nothing out of any encounter she had tonight. She was too far gone. Now she was kneeling in front of him, trying to unzip his jeans.

He smiled down at her as she tried desperately to make him hard. Suddenly it was all too much and he started to laugh. But it wasn’t happy laughter; it was a deep, sad sound which soon turned to tears until he was crying like a baby.

The whole of his life rose up before him, all the failures. His marriage. His gambling. His business. On top of all that he knew he was heading for a twenty-year stretch if it all fell out of bed. And he also knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn’t cope with it like Marie had. It would break him, tear him apart. He would top 80

himself rather than do that much bird. He cried harder, snot running from his nose and his eyes aching with tears waiting for release.

Chantel was terrified. Whatever else she had expected from tonight it wasn’t this. He was supposed to be a face, a hard man. A lunatic, more like.

He was sobbing, really sobbing.

Ten minutes later she had a ton in fivers and a cab coming to pick her up. She stood out in the freezing cold, waiting for it. Anything was better than listening to him crying his bleeding eyes out.

Fucking blokes! None of them was worth a wank.

Tiffany was at home. Her babysitter was ill and she had had to cry off from the club. Anastasia was asleep and she looked down at her daughter lovingly. She really was a beautiful child.

Closing the door quietly behind her, she went into the lounge and turned on the TV. She was feeling ill a lot lately. Her eyes felt heavy, itched constantly. Getting up quickly, she went into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine; she drank it down in one gulp. It helped relax her. Deep inside she knew what she needed was a pull on her little pipe. She wondered if she should ring Pat and get him to drop off a rock or two, but dismissed the idea out of hand. Anyone would think she was addicted.

The thought made her smile, but as the evening wore on the idea kept coming back into her mind. Eventually, she took a Mogadon and went to bed. It was ten-fifteen.

She was soon sweating. Slipping on her dressing gown, she got up again. She glanced at the clock. It was only ten-twenty. The evening was crawling by and sleep, she knew, was a long way off.

She put on Sade, poured herself more wine and settled on the leather sofa once more. The words of’Somebody Already Broke My Heart’ seemed poignant tonight. She felt a great well of loneliness. Patrick hadn’t been in touch for days. She felt the sting of tears again.

Anastasia cried out in her sleep and Tiffany leapt off the sofa and went to the child’s room. She was settled again, one little chubby arm flung over her eyes, legs spread-eagled, the picture of restful sleep.

Tiffany wiped a damp hand across her face. Even her skin felt wrong. Itchy, unreal. She picked up the phone and dialled Patrick’s number.

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It rang and rang in her ear, as she knew it would. She wondered briefly who he was with. She dialled again. Her friend Rosie would get her what she needed, she was good like that. One little pull and she would sleep, her nerves would be sorted and her mind would shut down.

It was only for one night. She just needed a little something to expel the demons that stopped her relaxing properly. Rosie needed the money up front but she would do the good deed.

As soo’n as Tiffany knew the rock was on its way she felt herself start to relax. She smiled. She had done the right thing, already she felt better.

In future, she told herself, it might be worth keeping a little stash for her own use. She already knew she couldn’t rely on Pat to supply her all the time and it wasn’t really that cheap, but she consoled herself with the fact that she was in the money now and could afford whatever treats she wanted. For her daughter and for herself.

She wondered what she would have done if she had not got hold of Rosie. It had crossed her mind, only briefly, to maybe leave her baby sleeping while she jumped in a cab and scored a rock.

The knowledge scared her even as the thought of the crack arriving cheered her.

She put it out of her mind; she would never have done it, never. She had not seriously considered doing it anyway. It had just been a thought that had crossed her mind. That was her mother’s little game, and she wasn’t like her mother. She was nothing like her mother at all.

She was just down in the dumps, that was all. A bit depressed.

It didn’t occur to her that the depression was a direct result other love of crack. Like her mother before her Tiffany had a very selective memory and it stood her in good stead.

She stood at the window looking out for Rosie’s cab. She seemed very young and very vulnerable and very agitated.

And of course she was all three.

Marie had been in hospital for four days. She smiled when she saw Alan Jar vis walking towards her with a large bunch of flowers. He looked sheepish.

Unlike most women of his acquaintance Marie didn’t worry about the damage to her face. She’d made no attempt to hide the marks with make-up. The look of her broke his heart.

‘Are you in pain?’ His voice was gentle.

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‘Nothing I can’t handle.’

Her voice was small now, as if she had just realised what a sight she must look.

‘The flowers are lovely but you shouldn’t have, you know.’

He grinned.

‘That’s me, ain’t it? All flamboyant gestures. I thought you might need cheering up.’

Two plainclothes officers arrived in Marie’s side room then and Alan instinctively recognised them. He was immediately nervous. She picked up on this and made his escape easy for him.

‘Thanks so much for coming, Mr Jar vis. I should be back at work next week.’

‘When you’re ready, mate. See you later then. ‘Bye.’

He was out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him, sweat running down his back. Outside he took deep breaths to calm himself.

DI Smith grinned at Marie.

‘How you feeling?’

She shrugged.

‘Sore. What can I do for you now?’

Her voice was low, full of sleep.

Smith left it a beat before he spoke again, concentrating on her face and arms which were black and blue.

‘We don’t think this was a simple mugging.’

Marie already knew that much.

‘Nothing was taken, was it?’ the police officer observed.

‘I told you over and over, I kept hold of me bag. Why I don’t know, there was fuck all in it.’

‘So you say. Now, knowing your past history, we think this might have been some .kind of revenge attack.’

She shrugged again. Her slim shoulders made her look very vulnerable and Smith was sorry for her despite himself.

‘Well, if it was, they didn’t say anything to me.’

Smith knew her well enough already to know that she was very economical with words.

‘You wouldn’t tell us anyway, would you?’

The voice of DC Snetterton was high and childlike, completely at odds with his large and lumbering frame.

Marie stared at him for a few seconds before answering.

‘That’s where you’re wrong. I would have told you because I don’t ever want to feel or look like this again.’

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It was the right answer. They left soon afterwards. But the fear was inside her again like a cancer. She could be taken back into prison in an instant and she knew that. All she wanted was to get out of hospital, back to her job, and then she wanted to see her children. Both of them.

That was her priority at the moment. Nothing else mattered.

Kevin rolled over in bed. He felt great. Inside he was buzzing. He turned back and kissed the woman beside him.

‘I needed that.’

Susan Tranter smiled. ‘So did I. Fancy a cup of tea?’

She slipped on a dressing gown and padded downstairs to put the kettle on. Kevin lay back and surveyed the bedroom. It was, as usual, like a tip. That was part of Susan’s charm. She was seriously untidy yet the bedding was clean, her cups were clean, she was clean.

The house, though, was like a pigsty. But he relaxed there like he had never relaxed at home. Susan was so easygoing it was unbelievable. Even his feet, and they were legendary, didn’t faze her.

He knew that if Lou had an inkling where he was there would be creations of Olympic proportions but at this moment in time he didn’t give a flying fuck. He had needed someone and Susan was someone who liked to be needed. It worked well for them.

She loved sex, adored it. She settled down for a session and put her whole heart into it. That alone was a touch as far as he was concerned. Plus he could have a cuppa, get dressed and go on his merry way without any recriminations whatsoever.

Yet he knew she loved him. Loved him deeply. He could feel it from her, feel it wrapping around him, and in his heart he loved her back though he had never told her. They talked about everything, but they had no need to talk about themselves or their feelings.

She brought up the tea and climbed into bed with him.

‘How is Marie?’

He sipped the scalding liquid.

‘I don’t know, I really don’t. She puts on this front to the world and it’s impossible to get behind it.’

Susan sighed.

‘Well, that’s understandable really. All she wants is a bit of peace. From what you’ve said she’s a changed woman. She would be twelve years’ bird would change anyone. Give her time to acclimatise herself to being home.’

Kevin nodded.

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‘But she’s not home, is she? She’s in a hostel.’

Susan was a fatalist. If it was going to happen, it happened. That was her philosophy in life.

‘Not for ever. Soon she’ll be out of there and doing what we all do: surviving. One day she will have good times, another day bad times. It’s called real life and she will have to get used to it.’

Kevin hugged her.

‘You are better than a tonic, girl, do you know that?’

‘I have me moments. Have you told her you know where Tiffany is yet?’

He shook his head.

‘I’ll wait until she gets over this lot first.’

‘Bastards, that family are. Especially that Karen. Fat whore she is.’

Kevin felt his temper rising again.

‘They will get their comeuppance, don’t you worry about that.’

He gulped at his tea. He was going to see to it that whoever had hurt his daughter would know what pain felt like themselves. It didn’t occur to him that retaliation would only exacerbate an already explosive situation. He was out for revenge.

Patrick was smiling; it was a real smile that made him look younger and more handsome. Louella Vidon liked the look of the big black man chatting her up and let him know it by smiling provocatively back.

Jimmy Dickinson watched as his bird eyed the coon. He was not a happy bunny.

‘Go and get us another drink, Louella.’

She jumped up to do his bidding. Louella Vidon knew exactly what side her bread was buttered, and she knew better than to ignore a direct order.