Sweetie (22 page)

‘It’s bloody strange, whatever way you look at it,’

Nanny Parks chipped in, but Grace stayed silent. She couldn’t be bothered to argue, they’d obviously made their minds up.

She poured the water into the teapot, stirred it and placed it on the kitchen table. She cupped her steaming mug of black coffee and sipped at it slowly, turning her head away and concentrating on the strong liquid. She needed it! Finally, after a long pause, she spoke to them all.

‘Well, you can do what you like, but I don’t want my John involved.’ The other women just looked at each other and an uncomfortable silence descended once again on the kitchen until Grace continued speaking. ‘Five minutes away down that road, in a 215

hospital bed, lies an innocent retarded boy who was beaten to a pulp because you thought
you
could take the law into your own hands. Well, I say enough.

You’ve got to let the police catch this man.’ She surveyed the others in the faint hope that they might relent. ‘What does Sue think?’

‘She wants fucking blood, obviously.’ Lizzie stared back at her, hard-faced.

‘That wasn’t the impression I got yesterday,’ Grace retorted, standing her ground.

‘Well, you were only there for five minutes. I was with her most of the day, and I’m telling you she wants revenge. Old Bill keep saying they’re making progress with their enquiries, but it’s obvious they haven’t a clue. That detective chief inspector isn’t even down at the nick! That young bloke Watson is all right, but he’s just a constable and doesn’t know anything. No, I’m sorry, Grace, but if we wait for the police we’ll be waiting for ever. If we don’t do any -

thing, he’ll be at it again. We’ve already got two dead and three badly injured – one of them your own son, I might add,’ Lizzie said with a flourish of her hand.

Grace turned on her furiously. ‘Don’t you think I’m aware of that! My boy’s in there now, afraid of men, and still can’t take a piss without crying.’ A crash came from the front room then and a wail broke the tension between the quarrelling women.

Luke had tried to touch Adam’s garage and knocked all the cars down.

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‘OK, that’s enough, the pair of you!’ Nanny Parks pulled herself up to her full five foot one and made a gesture with her hands to indicate that they should stop. Both Grace and Lizzie fell silent.

Gillian cleared her throat nervously before saying,

‘Look, there’s no point tearing each other apart over this, we’ve got to pull together. We can’t let him set us at each other’s throat.’

Potty nodded vigorously and added, ‘You’re right, Gill. Divide and rule, that’s what he wants.’

The rest of the women looked at her, wondering where she’d learned a phrase like that. Her recent transformation was making her unrecognisable.

Grace wandered out of the back door and into the garden. She went round pulling up a few weeds that were appearing in the dry earth between her bedding plants. Inside she could hear the conversation return -

ing to more normal matters. Gillian was telling Potty that she’d picked her wedges up in the sale at Dolcis.

Grace’s head was still spinning. She really didn’t know what to think. What if they were right? What if it really was George and they didn’t do anything?

What if it was Harry or, even worse, what if it was Michael? The killer could strike again. Every single woman in that kitchen had been personally affected by him. Even Gillian had had that false alarm over Jamie the day that Wayne was killed.

Grace wished again that John was there. She felt powerless in the face of such strong feeling. Finally 217

she wandered back into the kitchen where they all looked up at her expectantly.

‘I honestly don’t know what to think, but I’ll talk to John. I’m not promising anything, though, so don’t include us in your plans. Let’s just get Wayne’s funeral out of the way first.’

‘Oh, that reminds me,’ said Potty, jumping to her feet, ‘I’m supposed to be picking the flowers up. I’m sending a wreath from Mary, ’cos obviously she won’t be going.’

‘Good girl, Potty,’ said Nanny Parks.

‘Do you think Maria is up to visitors yet?’ asked Gillian.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Potty. ‘Besides, I expect Mary would appreciate a bit of support.’

‘Wanna come with me, Grace?’ offered Gillian.

Grace shook her head. She wanted to be on her own.

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Chapter Fourteen

Grace had another bad night. After only an hour or two of sleep she woke up to a grey sky and a fine drizzle. She had been haunted by those terrifying dreams again and the sheets clung wetly to her. There were beads of sweat on her face and a cold damp shiver running over her body. At least God wasn’t mocking them with another beautiful sunny day for the funeral. She closed her eyes and breathed in the cool air that filtered through the open window. Was all this real? How she wished it was only part of her nightmare, but she knew only too well that today they were burying a child.

Downstairs she could hear John already up with the kids and the faint background noise of the telly.

She turned to look at the clock and saw that it was already nine; panic shot through her and she leaped out of bed, fastening her dressing gown around her as she went down the stairs.

She had arranged to collect TJ from Sue’s at half-nine so that Nanny Parks could look after the younger children at Grace’s while the rest of them went to the funeral. It had been a joint decision not to take the younger kids. Sue was still mindless with 219

grief; anger was next on her list of emotions, followed close behind by devastation and pain. The kids didn’t need to be around that. Nanny Parks loved a funeral, saying they had more soul than weddings, but had agreed to baby-sit on this occasion as Grace and John had not been able to go to Chantal’s while Adam was still so ill.

‘Why didn’t you wake me up?’ Grace asked John, lifting the kettle to check how much water it had in it then flicking the switch. She felt angry with him already and she’d only just got up.

‘Because you’ve been tossing and turning all night, I thought I’d let you lie in for a bit,’ he said, trying to spoon some breakfast mush into Luke, who was refusing to eat in his high chair.

John glanced at Grace appealingly. Ignoring his puppy dog eyes, she answered curtly, ‘I’m supposed to be picking TJ up from Sue’s in half an hour, I’ll never make it on time.’ She dropped a teabag into a mug and reached for the sugar bowl, tutting when she saw two ants scurry out from beneath it.

‘Don’t worry about it, Grace, I’ll go. The kids have been fed. All you’ve got to do is have a bath and get dressed. Anyway, the funeral isn’t till twelve, there’s no rush. Come on, son, just another couple of spoonfuls and you can get down.’ John held the teaspoon against Luke’s firmly pursed lips.

Grace rubbed her eyes and wondered how she was going to get through the day ahead. This was one of 220

those moments when she wished Gillian was here to nag and tease her into getting on with it.

From the front room she could suddenly hear Adam laughing at
Wacky Races
and stopped to listen to the unfamiliar sound. ‘He’s laughing, John,’ she said, amazement in her voice.

‘I know. Bloody brilliant, isn’t it?’ he said, winking at his wife. For the first few days after the attack on Adam they’d wondered if he would ever speak again and now here he was, chortling away. Grace wondered if in time he might be able to forget the attack on him completely, then quickly banished the idea as wishful thinking. Adam still had a long way to go. Hopefully further surgery would correct the physical damage he’d endured, but the mental scars would take a lot more healing.

Anger surged through her body then as it always did when she allowed herself to think of the attack on her baby. Luke continued to protest noisily from his highchair.

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ said John jokingly, putting down the bowl and spoon. ‘Right then, son, you’re a free man,’ he said, hoisting the baby out of the chair and placing him on the floor where he quickly crawled away into the front room to see what his brother was up to.

Grace turned away to stare out of the kitchen window, just in time to catch next-door’s cat crapping on her bedding plants. She rapped noisily 221

on the window and the startled cat leaped over the fence. ‘Bloody cat! I wish he’d crap in his own garden.’

John came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, enfolding her in a strong embrace and kissing the side of her neck. A flicker of desire ran through Grace and she turned to kiss him deeply. It had been a while. He responded hungrily and within moments they were necking like a pair of teenagers by the kitchen sink, John’s hands reaching under her dressing gown and pulling her tight towards him.

‘I’ve missed you, babe,’ he whispered.

Grace felt herself go limp with the strength of his embrace and her mind flashed back to their love -

making in the past. John was the most wonderful, gentle man. His height and muscular build always made her feel every inch a woman, but he was soft, considerate and tender with Grace. She was his queen.

‘I’ve missed you too. It’s just that I . . .’

He silenced her with another kiss. ‘It’s all right, Gracie, I know. Now come on, get yourself ready, I’ll go and get TJ and your mum.’

Reluctantly she let him go, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to hold on to the feeling, watching as he gathered up his keys and wallet. A wave of love for her husband washed over her. John was everything to Grace. He’d shown her how love could be, how it should be, had made her feel safe 222

again and able to trust a man – something she’d thought she’d never be able to do after Uncle Gary.

As he reached the front door Grace called his name and he turned to see what she wanted. She smiled and said, ‘I love you, John.’

He smiled back and said, ‘See you in about half an hour,’ winking as he closed the door softly behind him.

Grace sniffed the air and caught the smell of her husband lingering close to her. It was warm and familiar, protective and reassuring.

The drizzle kept up all morning and by quarter to twelve the streets were slick with a fine veil of moisture. Cloud protected them from the scorching sun but it was still desperately humid. People stood around talking on the pavements, waiting for the funeral procession to pass. It felt like the end of the world. The sky hung low with blackened clouds as the morning dragged towards noon. Faint rumbling could be heard in the distance and drizzle fell then stopped as abruptly as it had started. People huddled together and hung their heads low.

Finally, as the two black horses turned the corner on to Columbia Road a hush descended and shop -

keepers came out and stood in their doorways in reverential silence, waiting for another small coffin to pass by. All activity ceased. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. So large in life, such a force of 223

nature, Wayne was now just another young life snuffed out before its time, his body consigned to a short white coffin covered with lilies. Sobs broke the silence. In the distance a fire engine could be heard, but right now, in this East End street, time stood still.

Behind the horses and the coffin, two large black cars carried the mourners, the first bearing Sue, Terry and their two girls, at Sue’s insistence. The second car carried both sets of grandparents. Sue kept her head bowed, her handkerchief covering her face, as Terry gazed solemnly out of the window of the car, occasionally nodding his thanks to the people lining the streets, some of them familiar to him, some he’d never seen before. Outside the betting shop Harry the Horse wept openly, punters occasionally resting a hand on his shoulder for consolation. The men shuffled about, too angry and irritated to stand still, and an air of anger hung over them.

Having discovered little Adam’s body all those weeks ago, Harry felt more personally involved than many. He couldn’t quite quash the thought that had he gone out to the bins earlier he might have caught the attacker dumping Adam there. The thought still haunted him. He felt he bore some responsibility in the matter. Though logically it made no sense at all, as a community elder, watching these children being picked off one by one, his sense of personal failure ran deep. He knew in his bones that the person responsible for all this was someone familiar to him.

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He didn’t know why he felt this, but a strong conviction that it was true washed over him as he saw Wayne’s coffin go past. Someone close by was doing this, some stalking creature who forced a smile and only pretended to belong.

Mourners arrived at Christ Church to find a sea of flowers and wreaths laid out in the churchyard, their bright colours at odds with the drab, rain-streaked brick and concrete surroundings. As it grew warmer, steam lifted off the pavement and swirled over Wayne’s wreaths and flowers. A white satin pillow on which to rest his head, a silver key to the gates of heaven, and a flower-patterned book to chart his journey lay amongst the many floral tributes, and kids’ drawings and messages were pinned up on the gates before the church. Children huddled next to their mothers, some in school uniform, holding the claret and blue scarves and flags of Wayne’s beloved West Ham.

The church was packed to the rafters. Grace and John squeezed into a pew halfway down the aisle behind Gillian, Jamie and Benny and took their seats as the organ softly played ‘God Be in My Head’. As she quickly scanned the crowd, Grace’s heart went out to Robbo and Michelle as they cried, not just for Wayne, but for little Chantal too. Potty sat with Lucy and Lucy’s aunt, who Grace only saw rarely. Just in front of them were the empty seats that Sue and Terry 225

would shortly occupy, along with the pall-bearers and the girls.

Grace gazed towards the altar and felt a flicker of annoyance to see Lizzie Foster sitting right at the front in the first pew on the other side, usually reserved for immediate family only. That bloody woman! She was decked out in full black regalia, including a mantilla like some Mafia widow, turning occasionally to greet people behind her and thank them for coming.