The Fall (24 page)

Keisha went back into the noise and dark of the bar.

Dario shouted over the racket, ‘Where’s your head at tonight?’

Her head was everywhere. She was thinking, you never knew anyone, not really. You never knew what someone would do, or how many ways they would let you down. And in that moment, without knowing why, she had already decided not to tell Charlotte about the door. Not yet, anyway.

Memories. Bits of the past. She lay in the room in the long mornings and they were all she had. The day she found out about Ruby – not really that much of a surprise, since she hadn’t taken her pill in months.

Chris’s face when she showed him the stupid little stick, shy, nervous to her stomach. ‘Fuck.’ He’d gone white as a sheet. ‘How the fuck?’

She’d got angry. ‘How d’you think? Never used nothing to stop it, did you?’

‘Thought you did.’

‘Well, looks like you thought wrong.’ This wasn’t how it was meant to be. He was meant to hold her in his arms and spin her round and all that shit.

His face when he looked up. ‘Christ, Keisha, I never wanted this. My dad . . .’

Chris’s dad, father of eight kids (that they knew about), was an Irish drunk, falling out of Kilburn Wetherspoons any day of the week you wanted to walk past.

‘Thought you’d be pleased.’ Her eyes filled up when she said it. ‘It’s your kid, you know.’

‘Shit. Shit. I need to think.’ And he’d got up and gone, and she’d sat there on the grotty sofa with her little wee-stained stick in her hand. Fuck, what an idiot. Up the duff, as bad as her mum, and now she’d probably get fired from Maccy D’s, and he’d most likely give her the elbow. That was when he’d started up with the gangs, for the easy money, the bling. And he didn’t really want some pregnant, grumpy, mixed-race girlfriend cramping his style. As she sat there and waited, she’d known how it would be. But he came back that night, with a bunch of crappy carnations, the yellow discount sticker from Tesco’s on the side. And it was OK, at least for a while. Until what happened to Ruby, of course.

There was a noise outside the room. Keisha looked at her phone and saw it was getting late, nearly time for
Loose Women
. She got up in her ‘sleepwear’, as Charlotte would call it, sports shorts and a man’s T-shirt. ‘All right?’ When Charlotte came in she always felt like she should be cleaning something, doing something.

Charlotte was opening and shutting cupboard doors; she’d done a load of proper shopping, in Waitrose, no less. That was a first. There were bananas, bread, carrots. Proper things, not just Pot Noodles. ‘What’s all this?’

Charlotte shrugged. ‘Don’t you just feel we’ve been eating rubbish for weeks?’

That was all Keisha ever ate. ‘Where was you today?’

‘In that canteen again. But they’ve got me a new place next, homeless shelter. I’m not sure I’ll like that.’

‘They’re OK, those. Pay’s better.’

‘Yeah.’ Charlotte turned round to her, holding a packet of biscuits. ‘Listen. I called DC Hegarty today. You know, the policeman who arrested Dan.’

‘Oh.’ Shit, the police. She’d been wondering when this would come.

‘He’s coming round tomorrow. I told him some of the stuff you found out, about the club’s money troubles and all that.’

That explained the shopping then, and Charlotte looked different somehow too. Keisha peered at her. She’d put make-up on, that was it. Mascara, lip gloss.

Come to think of it, what with all the working nights, she hadn’t seen Charlotte much that week. So, this was for the policeman, that bloody annoying one who’d hauled Keisha in after the girls beat Charlotte up. She didn’t like him, his green eyes sharp like he could see all the way through you. Nosy bugger. ‘He’s coming tomorrow night?’

Charlotte was staring into her cupboard. Maybe she was thinking, Viennese sandwich or chocolate chip? Make Keisha dob Chris in before or after the cucumber sandwiches? ‘Hmm? Yes, in the evening.’

‘Oh, right.’ Keisha could play this game too. ‘Probably be at work then, won’t I.’ She sat down and turned on the telly, put her feet on the coffee table. She knew that drove Charlotte mad.

Charlotte snapped out of her thoughts. ‘What? No, you need to be here.’

‘What d’you need me for? You and him can have all those nice biccies together.’

Charlotte came over and stood in front of the telly. ‘That’s what you call helping?’

‘I found out all about the gangs and that. Told you what I know, didn’t I.’

‘Did you?’ Charlotte’s face was getting red. ‘Look at me, will you? Is there something else?’

‘No! For fuck’s sake, I’m trying to watch
Loose Women
. Anyway, if anyone knows something, it’s you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Charlotte looked furious.

‘You must have seen something, why else’d Chris be after you? Stands to reason. If you’d just tell me – well, maybe it’d make him keep away. Leave us alone.’ And Ruby.

‘I don’t remember anything, I already said. I don’t know what he wants with me. And if you’ve told me everything, why won’t you make a statement? I mean, do you think the law doesn’t apply to you or something?’

Keisha stood up stiffly. ‘I’m not fucking stupid.’

Charlotte sighed, running her hands through her hair. ‘I know. That’s what’s so annoying. Are you scared Chris’ll find out? Because I hate to tell you, I think it’s a bit late for that.’

It wasn’t fair. Keisha didn’t need this shit. ‘You sprung it on me! I get up and there’s you taking out biscuits for him! “Oh Officer, would you like some more tea?” Anyone’d think you fancied him.’ Shit, she couldn’t talk to the cops. What if they lifted her? Then who would stop Chris getting to the kid?

Charlotte took in a deep sucking breath. ‘Oh, fuck off, will you?’

Silence. Neither of them said anything. Charlotte slumped down on the sofa, wringing her hands together. ‘I didn’t mean to say that. I’m just – I can’t go on like this. I haven’t heard from Dan for weeks. I don’t even know if he’s . . . Look. That came a few days back.’ She slapped a letter down on the table. ‘He’s going under in there, just so you know. Look at it – someone beat him up.’

Keisha wouldn’t look at the letter. ‘Well, whatever. I have to go. You wanted me to work in the club, remember? Trying to find out shit for you?’

Charlotte put her head in her hands. ‘Whatever. Do what you want.’

Keisha bashed about in the bathroom getting ready, making as much noise as she could. She made a point of using Charlotte’s bottle of that perfumey Jo Malone stuff, cost, like, twenty-five quid. Criminal. Then, ignoring Charlotte who was still sitting at the table, she went out, banging the door behind her, so angry she almost forgot to peer into the bushes just in case someone was hiding. As she stomped along to the bus stop, she was getting more and more pissed off. Bloody Charlotte! She’d
told
her, she’d said she didn’t want to talk to the police, when they wouldn’t believe her anyway, when she had no proof, when Chris was still round somewhere, and hello, he wouldn’t exactly be loving it if she told the fucking cops on him! Charlotte was so stupid sometimes, like she came from another planet where the police were your chums. Keisha was glad she hadn’t told her about the door. Why should she? She had to look out for herself, her kid.

The bus came and Keisha got on, giving the driver a look that just dared him to make trouble. Yeah? Yeah? He didn’t even look at her. Well, fuck him. She swung into a seat at the back of the bus and turned the music on her phone up high, swivelling round to see if any old biddies wanted to tap her on the shoulder and say they could hear it through her headphones and could she turn it down please, it was meant to be a
personal
stereo, wasn’t it?

She was still pissed off when she got into the club, banging the door into the staffroom and chucking her denim jacket over a chair.

‘Afternoon to you too, Keisha.’ Ronald was in already as well, in his office across the corridor, computer on again.

She stomped out again in her staff T-shirt. ‘Well? What’m I on tonight? You want me out back hauling bottles, in case I upset the poor little punters? Oh poor them, so sad if they want diet tonic and they get normal instead, it’s a tragedy . . .’ She was storming off as she ranted, about to go and find Dario so he’d tell her what to do, but Ronald said, ‘Hey, come in here.’

‘In there?’ She hovered in the doorway. Although it had been cleaned and repainted, she couldn’t go near it without thinking about the blood all over the floor.

‘Yeah. Shut the door.’

Was she fired? ‘Listen, right, I didn’t mean it, I’ll be nicer, honest I will.’

Ronald didn’t look up from the screen. ‘Good to know, Keisha. You won’t be calling the punters
fucking arseholes
any more then?’

She didn’t think he’d heard her ranting in the staffroom. ‘Ah. No.’

Ronald looked up. ‘Rachel said you was here that night. When my brother got killed. Says you came with some white fella who wanted business with him.’

Keisha hung back against the filing cabinet. ‘Yeah, so? Lots of people were.’

He just looked at her. ‘You gonna tell me who he was?’

Shit, what was the point? Rachel would’ve told him. ‘Chris. He was with me. My, you know, my boyfriend.’

‘Your kid’s dad?’

‘Yeah, but like, we’re split now.’ She stared at the newly painted floor, not wanting Ronald to look at her and see somehow that she’d left Chris after he mashed her face up.

‘Why’d you come that night?’

‘Dunno. Chris was a bouncer, like, before all the credit-crunch shit. Thought he wanted to talk to your Anthony about work.’

Still Ronald looked. He said, ‘Police talk to you? Rachel told me about the court, and the girl, that fella’s missus. She’s sorry for that now. She was upset.’

‘Yeah, the police talked to me after it.’

‘And?’

‘And what?’

‘What’d you tell them? What’d you do that night?’

She was tired. ‘I went home, didn’t I?’

‘And your fella went too? Chris?’

Shit. SHIT. ‘Er, dunno. Nah, think he went ahead, said he felt sick.’ Her heart was beating so fast he could probably hear it in the small room.

‘Keisha. Darlin’.’

‘What? I told you all I know.’ She might cry at the way he said
darlin
’.

For a long time Ronald said nothing. ‘You can trust me. Maybe I’m arsey, like you said, but I look after my family, yeah?’

‘I’m not your family.’ She was just some girl who could fuck up his life and everyone else’s too. But when he said it, she looked up at him, heart thudding.
Family
.

‘You’d tell me if you knew something?’

‘I don’t.’

Slowly, he sighed. ‘Right. OK. Go on, then.’

Outside in the corridor she let out a shaky breath, like a balloon coming down.

‘Got you too, did he?’

‘Fuck!’ She jumped. ‘What’re you doing?’

‘Getting ready, duh.’ Rachel was in the staffroom with the door wide open, pulling her T-shirt on.

‘What’s up with your Ronald? Gave me a right grilling.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ Rachel patted out the halo of her hair. ‘I told him you was here that night. Didn’t mean no harm by it. He’s been over us all, me, Dario too.’

‘Why? What’s got up his arse?’

Rachel gave herself a last look in the mirror, probably thinking,
Oh wow, I am so gorgeous, who can resist?
‘Had a visitor, didn’t he. About that cash our Anthony owed.’

‘What?’ Keisha leaned back against the wall as if someone had punched her in the stomach.

‘Yeah, some fella came round. I weren’t here and Ron didn’t know him. I thought maybe it was that Chris, your boyfriend. You split, didn’t ya?’

She couldn’t breathe. ‘W-why would
he
be here?’

Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Our Ant might be Mum’s golden boy now, but he weren’t no saint. I told you he was in a gang years ago? The Parky Boys – they lent him some dosh. So they’re gonna send someone round to get it back, aren’t they. So maybe it’s the same fella what was here the night our Anthony—’ She looked at Keisha. ‘Hey, you OK? You gone all white. More than usual, like.’

‘Get that down you, then. None of your soft London drinks here.’

Hegarty looked with distaste at the pint of ‘real ale’ his Uncle Sean had put down in front of him. ‘Er – ta.’

They were watching to see did he drink it or ask for a lager instead, or worse, a spritzer. A Smirnoff Ice. Nothing would surprise his Barrow family now about Matthew Hegarty and his southern city ways. He swallowed a big gulp and tried not to gag at the bitterness.

His uncles – Sean, Paddy, Seamus – let out big spews of laughter. Sean slapped him on the back. ‘You don’t get that down south, eh?’

‘Nope.’ There were lots of things he didn’t get down south. Like buffets of warm sausage rolls out of Tesco’s. Like three solid days talking about why immigration needs to end before there’s a mosque on every corner. Like bored off his tits as God-awful pop music played on a loop. The Vengaboys, for fuck’s sake! As he watched from the bar, where the men of the family huddled for protection against dancing, his Auntie Sheila shimmied past, waving her arms in the air. ‘Come on, lads, doo-doo doo-doo do dooo-do . . .’

‘Pissed off her face,’ said Uncle Paddy, himself on his tenth pint.

‘Excuse us.’ Hegarty made a break for freedom, his uncles shouting, ‘Aye, goes through them southern bladders, lad,’ and avoided being dragged onto the dance-floor by his mother. ‘Come on, our Matty, dance with your mam!’

‘Need a slash,’ he shouted over the music – if you could call it that. A slash, Christ, he’d better get back to London soon before he started saying ‘asylumseekersbenefitsscroungers’ all in one word like his Uncle Seamus did.

He slipped out of the hotel’s French windows onto their ‘lakeview terrace’. The air was cool and clear out there; he gulped it in like water after the reek of perfume and BO inside. The lake glittered like spilled milk just yards away, the dark hills peaceful except for the din of the Hegartys and their crap taste in music. ‘Our Nicola’ was the first girl in the family to get hitched – although her five-year-old daughter was flower girl – and the Hegartys were making a big do of it. He hadn’t wanted to come, not just because it would be boring, with crap food and worse music (all so far true), but because his family had no problem asking, So, when’s it your turn? Nicola, the bride, was twenty-three. Hegarty had five years on her, and his two older brothers had been married for years, four kids between them. But for Matthew Hegarty, nothing, no one. He tried not to think about
her
again, wishing he had a cigarette.