Schemer (6 page)

‘Well, she ain’t gonna find out, is she? Don’t you dare tell her, Ange, ’cause if you do, I shall tell her about you and Jacko and I’ll tell her you bunked off school as well.’

Angela shot her sister a disdainful look. ‘I swear I won’t say anything, OK? But, I’m telling you now, when Mum does find out, she will go mental.’

CHAPTER FOUR

Dressed in faded Levi jeans, a navy Lacoste jumper and white Nike trainers, Barry Franklin put on his grey flat cap and grinned at his reflection in the mirror. He was very aware of how cheeky and good looking he was, but he wasn’t big headed about it.

‘Why ain’t you at work?’ his mother asked accusingly, as she crept up behind him. Even though Barry was only fourteen, now he was living with her again, Marlene expected him to pay his way by bunging her the odd fiver or tenner here and there.

‘I took the day off. I’m taking a bird out instead,’ Barry replied, truthfully. He had always had a difficult relationship with his mother, and had only moved back in with her because his dad was up in court again next week and was guaranteed to get another little holiday at Her Majesty’s Pleasure.

‘If you’ve got money to spend on some little tart, then you can pay me some housekeeping,’ Marlene spat, holding out her right hand.

Barry handed his mother a tenner. ‘Where you off to today, Mum? You look well smart,’ Barry said, politely.

‘I’m going out with Marge. She’s found a proper little boozer over in South London. Reckons it’s full of villains and they don’t let the women buy a drink in there. I need to find meself a decent man who will look after me. I don’t like this bleedin’ Dagenham. A woman such as I deserves to live somewhere better, Barry.’

Even though he didn’t think his mother deserved sod all, Barry nodded in agreement. His dad said leaving his mum was the best move he had ever made, and he had been furious that she had kept his surname after their divorce. ‘Fucking old rotter she is. Only kept my name to give herself some undeserved street cred,’ his dad ranted on a regular basis.

‘So where you taking this bird and who is she?’ Marlene asked, nosily.

Stephanie had told him that her mum was very strict about her dating boys, so knowing what a loud-mouth his mother could be, Barry decided to lie about her identity. ‘Her name’s Sue and she’s in my class at school,’ he said. ‘I’m taking her up Roman Road, then I might show her around our old stamping ground.’

Marlene sneered. ‘If you see that wanker of a father of yours, remind him he has an ex-wife and a pregnant daughter who are both skint.’

Barry nodded. His dad, Smasher, had been appalled when he had found out his sister Chantelle was pregnant by an Indian drug dealer from Ilford. ‘Dirty little whore she is. Like mother like daughter. I want no more to do with her, son, and I ain’t having no Paki kid calling me grandad,’ Smasher had screamed on learning the news.

Pecking his mother politely on the cheek, Barry picked up his fags, lighter and door key. He wasn’t due to meet Stephanie for another hour but, as always, his mother was doing his head in and he couldn’t wait to get away from her.

Due to enduring a mild bout of gastroenteritis, Pam and Cathy had both been off work for the past two days.

‘How you feeling, girl? I’m on the mend, I think,’ Cathy shouted, as she let herself into Pam’s house.

‘I’ve still got the shits, but I feel a lot better than I did,’ Pam replied.

‘Ere, wanna hear the latest?’ Cathy asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘Lairy Mary popped round yesterday. She reckons that the old slapper’s daughter is pregnant by some Indian fella who’s inside for possessing heroin. He comes out next week, so Mary reckons.’

Pam put her hand over her mouth in shock. ‘What a scumbag family they are! That young boy we saw moving his stuff in last week is the old slapper’s son, apparently. Edna next-door-but-one reckons he’s started at Priory. I hope they don’t put him in either of my girls’ classes. He looks more Steph’s age than my Angie’s.’

‘Yous two talking about us?’ Angela shouted as she galloped down the stairs, followed by her sister.

For the second time in minutes, Pam stood with her jaw wide open. Both her daughters had lipstick and mascara on and Angela had gone one step further by plastering her eyelids with bright green eyeshadow.

‘Where’re yous two off to, all done up to the nines?’

‘Just out,’ Angela replied, stroppily.

‘Out where? Yous pair got boyfriends or something?’ Pam replied, knowingly.

‘No! We’re just meeting some friends over the park,’ Stephanie lied.

Knowing that turning the tables was always the best way out of a difficult situation, Angela immediately turned them. ‘Me and Steph wanna know why you were talking about us? What we done wrong now?’ she asked, accusingly.

‘We weren’t saying anything detrimental against you girls, were we, Cath?’

‘No. We was talking about the old slapper’s son across the road. He’s started your school by all accounts, and your mother said she hoped he weren’t in any of your classes.’

Unable to stop herself, Angie started to giggle.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Stephanie said, grabbing her sister roughly by the arm.

‘I weren’t born yesterday, you know. In your opinion I might be past me sell-by date, but I ain’t bleedin’ simple. I know you’ve got boyfriends and I shall find out who they are,’ Pam shouted angrily as the front door slammed.

Cathy raised her eyebrows. ‘Girls, eh! Who’d have ’em?’

Bill Jackman was quite pleased that his grandson was stuffing a bit of fluff, but his wife had her concerns about the situation and had insisted on hanging around to meet the girl.

Wayne agreed to the introduction. As long as his grandparents didn’t cramp his style, he didn’t care what they did. He knew he was lucky to be allowed to have the house to himself to bed a girl, none of his friends were, and he couldn’t wait to have sex with Angela again. He had seen her every evening this week, but she’d flatly refused to let him have his wicked way with her over the park, even though he’d begged her. When the doorbell rang, Wayne bolted into the hallway. ‘All right, babe? Come and say hello to me nan and grandad,’ he said, dragging Angela into the lounge.

‘Hello,’ Angela said, awkwardly staring at her feet. If they sussed her real age, she was dead meat.

‘Nice to meet you, love. Our Wayne says you live with your mum and dad near the Heathway. Is that right?’ Doris probed, nosily.

‘Yeah,’ Angela replied.

‘What’s your mum and dad’s names? I’m always up that Heathway.’

‘Pam and David Marshall,’ Angela lied.

‘Come on, Doll. Let’s leave the kids to play records and stuff,’ Bill urged, gently shoving his wife out of the room.

‘Well? Pretty little thing, wasn’t she?’ Bill asked as he shut the front door.

‘Horrible little cunt! Couldn’t even look me in the eye – and if she’s fifteen like our Wayne says she is, then I’m fucking Doris Day.’

Barry and Stephanie took the District Line train to Bow Road Station and then had a ten-minute walk to get to the market. ‘Have you been up ’ere before?’ Barry asked.

‘Yeah. My mum comes from Bow and my grandad still lives here. We ain’t been to visit him for ages though. I was only about twelve last time I came to the market, I think.’

‘Do you wanna pop in and see your grandad while we’re up this way? I’ll wait for you outside if you like,’ Barry asked, thoughtfully.

‘Nah. He’ll probably be in the pub anyway,’ Stephanie replied, truthfully.

Stephanie felt her heart flip as Barry held her hand. Her nerves hadn’t embarrassed her so far today, but the feel of Barry’s warm hand pressing against her own felt like an electric shock entering her system. ‘Let’s have a fag,’ she said, snatching her hand away and riffling through her small silver shoulder bag.

‘What time you gotta be back later?’

‘Ten. Are we hanging about up here all day or going back to the Heathway later?’

‘Firstly, I’m gonna introduce you to the geezer I work for. Then, I’ll treat you to lunch. We can have a mooch up and down the market, then I’m gonna take you up to Bethnal Green to show you where I come from. Our last stop will be the Bishop Bonner pub. It’s where my dad drinks and I really want you to meet him.’

‘I can’t meet your dad, Bal. Say he tells your mum and then my mum finds out?’ Stephanie replied, horrified.

Tilting Stephanie’s chin upwards so that she made eye contact with him, Barry treated her to his killer smile. ‘Look, babe, I know you don’t want your mum to know that we’ve been out together and I can understand why. No one wants their daughter associated with a muvver like mine, but my dad’s a good geezer. He’s gotta go away for a while next week and, seeing as you’re the first girl I’ve ever really liked, I’d be well chuffed if you’d meet him. He’ll adore you, I know he will.’

Stephanie’s heart was pounding at twice its normal rate. Did Barry just say that she was the first girl he had ever really liked, or had her ears deceived her? ‘OK, I’ll meet him then,’ she croaked.

Wayne and Angela spent the whole afternoon at it like rabbits. After her initial painful experience, Angela had taken to sex like a duck takes to water and had even learnt the art of giving a blow job.

‘Suck it again for me, Ange. It’s your fault it keeps getting hard,’ Wayne said, bluntly.

Angela smiled. Wayne had told her earlier that she gave him the best sex he’d ever had and Angie liked to feel indispensable.

‘Do you love me, Jacko?’ she asked him coyly.

Desperate to feel her plump warm lips around his penis again, Wayne nodded. ‘Yeah, of course I love you, babe.’

Stephanie Crouch shook hands with Barry’s boss, Steve. Most Indian people Steph had met before, including the two boys in her class at school, were very reserved, kept themselves to themselves and spoke in weird accents, but Steve was entirely different. He was loud, funny and sounded more cockney than she did. When Barry had first told her he was a fly pitcher, Steph hadn’t quite understood the occupation. She hadn’t wanted to ask in case she made herself look silly, but now she knew exactly what Barry did. A fly pitcher was someone who hadn’t been given a pitch by the council so stood on a street corner selling their wares. Steve and Barry sold kingsize bath towels, and Barry would act as a look-out for the police and market inspectors while Steve used his witty sales patter to charm the public.

‘Do you ever get caught?’ Steph asked, as they said goodbye to Steve.

‘Nah, and even if we do we only get a slap on the wrists. Got eyes in the back of me head, me,’ Barry replied, laughing.

Stephanie smiled broadly as Barry held her hand again. Everybody knew him down Roman Road market and she could sense how popular he was with the other traders. ‘That’s a nice top, ain’t it?’ she said, pointing at an off-the-shoulder baggy red sweatshirt.

Barry dragged her over to the stall she was pointing at. ‘Bag me up one of them red sweatshirts please, Joanie,’ he ordered the lady who was serving.

‘I can’t let you buy that for me,’ Stephanie said, amazed by Barry’s generosity.

Handing Steph the sweatshirt in a carrier bag, Barry turned towards her. ‘I really do like you, Steph. Please say you’ll be my girl?’

Barely able to believe her luck, a completely besotted Stephanie nodded her head with glee.

Marlene Franklin was sitting opposite her friend Marge in the Albion pub in Woolwich. Marge’s real name was Karen, but she had earned her nickname because her legs tended to spread quicker then Stork margarine. The name didn’t bother Marge at all. She loved sex, always had done, and if people were jealous of her success rate with the male gender, then that was their bloody problem.

‘Does this dress look all right? You can’t see me knickers when I walk, can you?’ Marlene asked her pal as she returned from the Ladies.

‘No, you look stunning, mate, and them blokes in the corner can’t take their eyes off you,’ Marge replied, truthfully.

Pouting her lips just like the models did, Marlene sat down and crossed one leg seductively over the other. At thirty years old, Marlene still looked rather youthful for her age, and with her bright red lipstick, false black eyelashes, and thick blonde hair that she curled herself with heated rollers, Marlene considered herself to be the spitting image of Marilyn Monroe. Today, she had made a special effort and had worn the short, leopard-skin dress that she had stolen from a designer boutique in Hornchurch. Marlene was an expert at shoplifting. She would always wear bulky clothes to go out shopping, would try lots of items on in the fitting room, then would walk out with her favourite underneath her own outfit.

Marlene smiled coyly as an elderly man in a tan Crombie-style coat winked at her. She knew he couldn’t take his eyes off her fishnet stockings and high-heeled black suede shoes, and who could blame him?

‘So have you finished with that Winston now?’ Marge asked her friend.

Marlene took a sip of her gin and tonic. If the men didn’t start buying them drinks soon, they would have to start ordering halves of lager just to make their money last out. ‘Yep. I made him buy me a load of shopping at Sainsbury’s last weekend, then told him I couldn’t see him no more as I felt guilty he had a wife. Gutted he was, even rang me up on Monday crying, but I warned him if he contacts me again I was gonna go round his house and tell his wife everything.’

‘I thought he was quite handsome. He had a fit body,’ Marge said. She had a thing about black men and had been quite jealous when she had first laid eyes on Winston.

‘He had a big black cock, I know that much. Made my bleedin’ eyes water, it did,’ Marlene said, laughing.

‘You must be mad finishing with him.’

‘Didn’t have enough money for me, mate. A Ford worker is hardly gonna keep me in a life of luxury, is he? Especially a married one with three poxy brats.’

‘Don’t look now, but I think that old bloke’s coming over,’ Marge said, nudging her pal.

‘Good afternoon, ladies. I was wondering if you’d allow me the honour of buying you both a drink,’ the man asked, resting his gaze firmly on Marlene.