Taken (14 page)

She could feel the tears and she didn’t like them; she knew she was feeling sorry for herself but some days her life hit her like a runaway train; her kids were gone, taken from her and put into care, and now they were grown up she knew they wouldn’t give her the time to spit on her. She’d tried to be a better mother than her own, who’d introduced her to her pimp at the age of thirteen. A year later Lola was not only a fully-fledged brass but a drug addict as well.

She’d tried so many times to turn her life around, but for some reason she could never quite manage it. She pretended she liked being on the gear – even to herself – but her habit was like a parasite inside her which could never go hungry and always needed to be fed.

A tear running down her face brought Lola back from her thoughts. She looked in the mirror once more and spoke out loud.

‘You daft cow, Lola Harding, when did you get so soft?’

She smiled but it hurt like hell. What she really wanted to do now was to get stoned, but Oscar was coming to pick her up and the last thing she wanted to do was to piss him off any more.

Looking again in the mirror at her ravaged face, Lola smiled sadly. It was only in moments like these she saw herself how other people must; a washed-up junkie whore.

If someone came along to show her the way, to teach her how to turn her life around, she wouldn’t think twice about grabbing on to them with both hands, but there was more chance of her being seduced by Elton John than that happening. She chuckled at the thought and the more she pictured it the more she laughed. Then she pulled back her shoulders, arranged her top and continued to get ready; single-mindedly making the most of the life she had.

‘Who was that?’ Janine Jennings frowned at her daughter suspiciously as she walked into her overheated bedroom.

‘Who was what?’

Ever since they’d come back from the hospital, Emmie had become more secretive than ever. She hoped her daughter had been speaking to one of her friends, but by the way she’d swiftly put her phone behind her back Janine Jennings had a strong suspicion it’d been Jake on the phone.

‘Can’t you knock, Mum?’

‘Yes, and I’ll start by knocking your bleedin’ head in. I want to know who you were on the phone to, Em.’

‘None of your business.’

Janine bit her lip. She really wanted to give Emmie a bit of verbal for speaking to her like that but she knew it wouldn’t do any good, so she lowered her voice and spoke softly to her daughter.

‘But it
is
my business. I’m worried about you; what’s going on?’

‘Too late to be worried now isn’t it?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean.’

‘It means
none of your bloody business
!’

The last part was shouted, and without thinking Janine stepped forward, slapping her daughter hard on her face, instantly regretting it. She watched as the red welt appeared on Emmie’s cheek and the tears ran down her daughter’s face.

‘I hate you, Mum, you know that?’

‘Emmie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. You can be a cheeky madam and you know I’ve a temper on me when I worry.’

‘What have you got to be worried about? Running out of chocolate?’

The hurt in Janine’s eyes was evident and Emmie hated herself for saying it, but she was furious with her mum. And rather than say sorry and tell her what was really on her mind, she screamed at the top of her voice, angry at her mother, but more angry at herself for her cruel words.

‘Get out of my room … NOW!’

Within a few seconds of Emmie’s outburst, the door opened; it was Alfie.

‘What the fucking hell is going on?’

His voice boomed, making Emmie’s tabby cat run off her bed in fright. Alfie turned to his wife, then to his daughter for an explanation.

‘Will someone please answer me? What is going on in my house? I want to know why I was lying next door hearing you screaming like a frigging banshee, Em.’

Emmie glared at her mother. ‘Ask her. Ask her where she took me the other day.’

Janine shot round to face Emmie. She knew her daughter could be a little bitch when she wanted to but she hoped Emmie wouldn’t say another word. Surely she could see it was in both of their interests to keep her mouth shut? Janine watched as her husband narrowed his eyes.

‘What’s she talking about, Jan?’

‘I don’t know, Alf. Beats me.’

Janine looked at her daughter pleadingly. For a moment she thought Emmie was going to spill the beans, but she picked up her jacket and marched out of the room, much to the relief of Janine Jennings.

‘Have I missed something, Jan? Because you know I don’t like secrets, especially when it comes to my fucking family.’

‘No babe, she’s just at a difficult age.’

Janine smiled weakly at Alfie, hoping it was only her who could hear her heart racing.

Emmie squatted low down in the bushes until her dad had driven past. If he saw her, he’d tell her to get into the car and she’d have no option but to go with him. She was going to show her mum and dad she wouldn’t be treated like a fool.

She was running late after the run-in with her mum and she’d promised Jake she’d be there now. She’d been both surprised and pleased when he’d called, because she’d got the distinct impression he wasn’t too happy to see her when they’d visited him in the hospital.

He’d been due to be discharged but he’d insisted she went and saw him before then. When she’d tried explaining it might be tricky getting out, he’d become annoyed with her.

‘Listen Em, if you don’t want to bother coming, tell me now and I’ll find myself another girlfriend.’

‘You know I want to come, Jakey.’

One of Jake’s pet hates was anyone calling him Jakey, but he said nothing and let her whine down the phone. She was a spoilt little bitch, but one who was going to be worth something to him – and to Jake Bellingham that’s all that mattered. He had very big plans where Emmie Jennings was concerned.

‘Well if you want to come, what’s stopping you, Em? I thought you loved me?’

‘I do.’

‘Then be here on Sunday. Oh and Emmie, one other thing; I need you to do something for me.’

‘Anything Jakey.’

When Jake had told her what he wanted, she’d been reluctant at first and a little afraid.

‘I can’t Jake. What if Dad finds out? We’ll both be dead.’

‘But you know where he keeps them?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you trust me don’t you, Em?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then do as I say and everything will be alright. If you do this, we’ll be able to be together without anyone telling us we can’t.’

Emmie felt the brown package in her pocket and watched the tail lights of her dad’s car disappear into the distance. She wasn’t so sure if everything would be okay once her dad did find out but she didn’t care. She loved Jake and he’d told her he loved her too, and it was certainly more than her mum and dad did. Every time she started to feel guilty about what she was going to do, Emmie reminded herself of the letters she’d found and instantly her guilt turned to anger, making it easier for her to justify her actions.

‘Fucking hell Lola. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get there today.’

Oscar took the stairs two steps at a time, turning round as Lola caught her breath. Alfie had called him to say he was running late, something about problems at home; so it was left to him and Lola to deal with the girls.

‘Wait up Oscar, I can’t breathe.’

Ignoring her, he continued up the stairs in the back of the club. He had a feeling her inability to walk quickly was partly due to her not wanting to be here, but she wasn’t fool enough to say no to him and it wasn’t as if she could hide; she had nowhere to go. Even if she did, she’d be back in Soho before you could say Old Compton Street. Lola knew nothing but the West End life; she’d be nothing without it.

Oscar walked along the short, dimly lit corridor to the middle door, which was closed and had three newly fitted locks. He knocked.

‘Nesha, it’s Oscar.’

The sound of the locks being unbolted echoed round the corridor and the few moments it took Nesha to open the door gave Lola enough time to catch up.

Inside it was dark and the room had been divided into two parts. A light shone from under the partition and Nesha showed them through. The two Albanian women stood up from their small camp beds in terror as they saw their captors come in.

‘Nesha, tell them we’ve got a little treat lined up for them. It’ll help make their stay more enjoyable.’

Oscar laughed over Nesha’s translation while Lola took out her tools of the trade wishing with every bone in her body she didn’t have to do it. As she arranged the drugs paraphernalia on the floor ready to prepare
the fix, one of the women started to cry and spoke to Nesha, begging him to release them. Lola tried to stay completely unmoved by the display of tears, recognizing she was just as much a prisoner as they were. She spoke to Oscar matter-of-factly.

‘I need you to hold them for me; I don’t want to pop their vein if they struggle.’

Oscar and Nesha held the women, who didn’t put up any resistance as Lola tied the belt tightly around one of their arms. Next she lit the candle and started to heat the drugs on the spoon. The heroin started to bubble and sizzle. Quickly and expertly Lola drew the brown liquid up with the syringe, pulling the belt on the girl even tighter. For a fleeting moment, Lola locked eyes with the frightened woman, before she plunged the needle deep into her vein.

She repeated the procedure on the other girl and almost right away, Oscar could see the heroin taking effect; their eyes started to roll back into their heads, which lolled against the wall, their mouths hanging slackly.

‘Leave them now but watch they’re not sick later, Nesha; otherwise you’ll have dead whores on your hands.’

Lola coughed and the pain from her cheek made her wince.

‘What have I missed?’ Alfie strode into the room and saw the two women spaced out on the bed. He turned to Lola, about to praise her for a job well done, when he saw the huge dressing on her cheek.

‘Bugger me, what happened?’

‘Burnt herself cooking, didn’t you love? I tell my ex-wife all the time she needs to be more careful; she’s no Nigella Lawson.’

Oscar smiled – and Alfie thought it best not to ask any more questions.

Casey sat on the wooden chair in the middle of the room looking round at all the expectant faces. She was in an old church hall in Paddington and the draught from the ill-fitting door was chilling all the assembled people, forcing everyone to hunch down in their chairs over their weak cups of tea.

The age range in the room varied from a girl who looked no older than eighteen to an old man who Casey suspected was well into his eighties. All brought together by the realisation alcohol had become their lifeline. She wished she wasn’t there, but it was the only way she was going to have a chance of finding her son.

The chair of the group was a well-dressed woman in her early fifties who spoke with a soft Black Country accent.

‘I’d like you all to welcome our sharer today, who’s bravely agreed to tell her story as part of her twelve-step programme.’

Casey smiled as the group said their hellos.

‘Thank you. My name’s Casey and I’m an alcoholic. I came down from Birmingham to find my son. The journey to get here hasn’t been easy, and I’ve still got a long way to go, but I refuse to be a victim.’

Casey paused, rather embarrassed as a few people clapped.

‘When I was fifteen my son was taken away from me before I even had the chance to hold him. I felt powerless, and that’s the overwhelming feeling I carry round with me today. Over the years my life has become unmanageable.’

Casey stopped talking but felt a hand on her arm as the chair of the meeting reached over to show her support; letting her know everyone in the room had been on a similar journey.

‘Maybe you could share with us why you came to London now, after all this time.’

Casey put her head down, aware of the group watching her.

‘I don’t usually talk about this to people.’

‘Of course you don’t have to, but it might help. And you know you’re in a safe place, Casey; nothing you say here will be repeated or judged.’

Casey gazed round the room and nervously clenched her fingers together. She was hesitant for a moment and then she spoke in a quiet voice, making those present lean slightly forward to hear her. Fleetingly, it crossed Casey’s mind not to say any more but she suddenly realised she needed to talk; needed to let them know she hadn’t been a good person. She put her hand in her pocket and felt the diary containing the lock of hair from her son, giving her the courage to talk like Dumbo’s feather had given him the courage to fly.

‘My husband wanted us to have children and I didn’t. I know it sounds selfish but there was no way I could have another baby after my child was taken away from me; it was as if I was trying to replace one with another. Anyway I thought I had everything under control, and then I discovered I was pregnant.’

Shit, shit, shit. Rushing to the bathroom to be sick, Casey tried to ignore Mother Nature’s giveaway signs. It‘d been ten weeks since her last period but she’d tried to put it down to her drinking, because she was too scared to face the truth.

Casey stared at the pregnancy kit and the smiling face on it telling her the test was positive. Her heart dropped.

She was nearly three months pregnant and they weren’t due to fly back to England for another six weeks. Josh had arranged the road trip along the famous route, determined to celebrate at least one of his birthdays in style.

‘I want to go home.’

‘Casey, you’re not doing this to me again, not after the trip to Sardinia. I’m not going to jump when you say jump, especially as you won’t tell me why. Can’t you just try to enjoy this – or if you can’t, at least pretend you are?’

He was putting his foot down to her which he never usually did, and Casey saw he was at breaking point with her. He was angry and hurt and she could tell he was desperate for the holiday to work; so they could work.