Bad Girl (24 page)

‘What?’ he said curtly, aware of her scrutiny.

She shook her head. ‘Nothing.’ Pushing back the chair, she quickly stood up. ‘I’d better get on.’

Pym waited until she was almost at the entrance to the next room before speaking again.

‘One other thing,’ he said.

Helen looked over her shoulder at him.

His eyes flicked up towards the ceiling again. ‘If I was you, love, I’d watch my back.’

‘What?’

But Pym wasn’t prepared to say anything more. He turned his head away and reached out for his cigarettes.

The next morning dawned cold and grey. A great blanket of cloud hung low in the sky, spilling out a torrent of rain. Helen lay in bed, listening to the rattle of the window pane. She heard Yvonne get up, followed by Karen and Debs. She heard the bathroom door open and close, the flush of the loo, the gurgle in the pipes as the water ran through them.

It had been just after four o’clock, the loneliest time of the night, when Helen had first woken up and realised what she had to do. She’d go mad if she was forced to stay here waiting for news on the outcome of the trial. It didn’t matter what Yvonne said: today she was going to be there.

Helen wondered how the girls could bear to go to work when the verdict on their father was about to be announced. But then again, she knew that it was different for them. They had loved Joe Quinn and were still trying to come to terms with his murder. Although they wanted to believe that Tommy was innocent, they didn’t share her conviction. The appearance of Shelley Anne at court hadn’t done much to help matters either. Yvonne, angry and humiliated, had told them both about Tommy’s infidelity. So now they had a dad who was not only charged with attempting to dispose of a body, but who’d also been cheating on their mother.

Helen waited until she was sure that Karen and Debs had left before getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. While she showered and brushed her teeth, she could feel the tension growing in her guts. In a few hours, everything would be different. Either Tommy and Frank would be cleared and life would begin again, or… No, she couldn’t bear to think of the alternative.

Looking through her limited wardrobe, Helen finally chose her black Mary Quant dress with the white collar. She put it on, along with her black woollen tights and a pair of black shoes, and looked in the mirror. It was really more the kind of thing you’d wear in the evening, but she didn’t have anything else that was smart enough. Well, it would have to do. She brushed her hair and put on some make-up, a little eyeshadow and a light smear of lipstick.

Yvonne, who was sitting at the kitchen table with her hands wrapped around a mug of black coffee, glanced up as she came into the room. ‘Jesus, what are you so dressed up for?’

Helen took a deep breath. ‘I’m coming with you to the Old Bailey. I can’t wait here. I just can’t.’

Yvonne opened her mouth as if about to object, but then just gave a shrug.

Helen, expecting an argument, was surprised by the reaction. Perhaps Yvonne was simply too hung-over to embark on an argument. She’d been on the vodka again last night, knocking it back like there was no tomorrow. Her face looked pinched and tight, her eyes still slightly glazed.

Helen made herself a cup of tea and sat down. There was cold toast on a plate, and although she wasn’t hungry, she forced herself to eat a slice. In the silence of the room, every bite she took sounded unnaturally loud. She watched Yvonne, while pretending not to, wondering how she would cope if the worst came to pass.

Five minutes later there was a loud knock on the back door followed by the sound of the door opening and closing. ‘Only me!’ Carol Gatesby called up the stairs.

Yvonne lifted her head and looked through to the living room and the landing beyond. ‘In here,’ she said when her friend was close enough to hear.

Carol swept into the kitchen, shaking her wet umbrella. ‘Jesus, it’s pissing down out there.’ Leaning down, she pecked Yvonne on the cheek. ‘You okay, darlin’? Oh, daft question, course you’re not. You want me to make you another coffee?’

‘No, ta.’

Carol propped her wet umbrella against the wall, pulled up a chair and sat down beside Yvonne. Only then did she acknowledge Helen, with the faintest of smiles. ‘Don’t usually see you at this time of day,’ she said, as if Helen made a habit of lounging around in bed for most of the morning.

Helen stared straight back. The only reason Carol Gatesby hadn’t seen her for the past four mornings was that she’d deliberately stayed upstairs until they’d left. ‘I’m coming to court with you.’

Carol’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Really?’ She glanced over at Yvonne, as if expecting to hear an immediate denial, but Yvonne only sighed and reached for her cigarettes.

There was the sound of a car pulling up outside. Helen rose to her feet and went to the window. ‘Terry’s here,’ she said, watching as he swung the sleek dark blue Mercedes in beside Tommy’s Capri.

‘He’s early,’ Carol said, looking at the clock.

Terry Street got out of the motor and ran his fingers lightly through his hair. He was wearing a smart grey suit, white shirt and charcoal-coloured tie. He had altered, Helen thought, since Joe’s murder. He seemed older somehow, more serious. He was still charming, still good-looking, but he’d acquired a harder edge. She saw him glance quickly towards the cellar, as if he too was incapable of crossing the car park without being reminded of what had happened there.

There was a quick rap on the back door before it opened. ‘Yvonne?’ he called up. ‘Are you ready? I thought we’d go a bit early, try and beat the traffic.’

‘We’ll be right down,’ Carol called back. ‘Just give us a minute.’

‘I’ll wait in the car.’

Helen stayed by the window, watching as he strolled back to the Mercedes. She had noticed how Terry’s position within the firm had shifted over the last six months. He was, perhaps, a natural leader, and even the older members of Joe’s entourage deferred to him. They all still met in the Fox every Friday, only now Terry was the one who was making decisions and distributing the cash.

‘You ready, love?’ Carol said to Yvonne.

Slowly, Yvonne stood up. ‘I don’t know why we’re bloody bothering. We all know what the verdict’s going to be.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that,’ Carol said. ‘You can never tell with them juries. He might get lucky. All it takes is for one of them to think he might be innocent and—’

‘He
is
innocent,’ Helen said, turning to look at the two women. ‘He shouldn’t even be on trial.’

Carol gave her a thin smile. ‘Of course he is,’ she replied, although her tone suggested otherwise. ‘Course he is, love.’

Yvonne put on her coat, stubbed out her cigarette and took a long look around the kitchen, as if it was her, not Tommy, who might not be coming home again. Then without another word, she made for the stairs.

Once they were in the car and heading towards central London, Yvonne perked up a bit. She clearly liked being in the Mercedes; it was large and comfortable and smelled pleasantly of leather. Seated in the front passenger seat, she assumed an almost queenly stance, her back very straight, her shoulders pushed back. ‘Thanks, Terry. It’s good of you to do this.’

‘It’s no trouble. I’m going there anyway. And you don’t want to be getting the bus in weather like this.’

Helen, who was sitting behind Terry, could see his dark eyes in the rear-view mirror. She could see them but she couldn’t read them. What kind of verdict did
he
want today? As Joe’s right-hand man, he must be looking for some sort of vengeance. She wondered if he thought Tommy was innocent or guilty. The latter, she suspected, although that in turn made her wonder why he was being so helpful.

Terry kept up a steady stream of chat as he was driving, trying to distract Yvonne from the ordeal ahead. Carol joined in too, leaning forward so she wasn’t excluded from the conversation. Only Helen was silent, her thoughts spinning in her head, her emotions bubbling so close to the surface that she was afraid of bursting into tears.

She found herself thinking about Moira, wishing that they hadn’t fallen out. She’d not heard a word from her since Tommy had been arrested. That was over six months ago now. She should have swallowed her pride, put aside her anger and gone round to see her. It was at times like this that you needed your friends.

By the time Terry drew up outside the Old Bailey, Helen’s heart was drumming in her chest. She clambered out of the car, her legs weak and shaky, her stomach starting to churn again. Gulping in the cold, wet air, she tried her best to steady her nerves.

‘I’ll park the motor,’ he said. ‘You go on in. I’ll see you later.’

For a moment the three of them stood motionless on the pavement like lost children abandoned by a parent. Then Carol took control. Taking Yvonne by the elbow, she gently propelled her towards the entrance to the building. As Helen tagged along behind, she gazed up at the dome topped by a bronze statue of a woman, a sword in one hand, a set of scales in the other. What kind of justice was Tommy going to get today?

It felt like forever before they were eventually allowed into the public gallery. There had been a slow-moving queue as everyone was searched and their bags examined. Then, after they had got their seats, there was another long wait before the court officials and the lawyers drifted into the room beneath. Helen noticed Terry Street arriving, but he didn’t come to sit with them. Instead, after giving a nod to Yvonne, he joined Fat Pete and Vinnie across the other side.

When the accused were brought into the dock, a ripple ran through the crowd. Helen looked first at Tommy. He was thinner, she thought, than the last time she’d seen him. The first thing he did was to gaze up into the gallery, his eyes searching for familiar faces. When he finally found them, he gave a small smile. But there was a glimpse of disappointment there, too. He’d been hoping, she realised, to see his two daughters sitting alongside Yvonne.

Connor was angry and impatient, his emotions out of control. As if unable to stand still, he shifted from foot to foot, glaring at the cops and the lawyers, unable even at this late stage to resist the impulse to try and intimidate. She could see his chest quickly rising and falling as if he was about to explode.

Of the three, Frank was the one who seemed the most composed. Or was he simply better at hiding his feelings? He stared out impassively across the courtroom. Helen willed him to glance up, to be aware that she was there, rooting for him, but he didn’t once lift his gaze.

When the jury came in, Helen scrutinised their faces. Did they look towards the dock or did they avert their eyes? About half and half, she reckoned, so that didn’t help much. Eight men and four women shuffled into their seats, adjusting jackets and smoothing skirts before eventually settling down.

Everyone stood up when the judge made his entrance. Not long to go now. They all sat down again. Helen lifted her hand and chewed on her knuckles. It was Connor first. After a few preliminaries, the foreman of the jury, a tall, thin man with a pair of half-moon glasses balanced on the end of his nose, rose to give the verdict. The judge asked the usual question, his tone neutral, almost bored, as if he had made the request too many times before.
Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty of murder?

There was only a second’s delay. ‘Guilty.’

Connor’s face twisted with rage. ‘No!’ He slammed his fist down and then pointed at the jury. ‘You fuckin’ bastards! I didn’t do it! I swear I didn’t do it!’ As the screws dragged him out of the dock, he was still screaming at them. ‘I’ll kill you! I’ll kill the whole fuckin’ lot of you!’

In the gallery, there was a murmur of voices from the firm. Joe Quinn’s killer might have been brought to justice, but there was little to celebrate. He’d been murdered by his own flesh and blood. Helen glanced across at Terry. He had his head bent towards Vinnie, nodding as he listened to what the other man had to say. She only watched him for a second before looking back towards Tommy.

Tommy’s face had visibly paled. She saw him take a deep breath and briefly close his eyes. It was, she thought, a kind of gathering-in before his own fate was decided. Beside her, Yvonne crossed and uncrossed her legs, unable to sit still. Helen twisted her hands in her lap, then leaned forward, saying a silent prayer.
Please God, let the jury find him innocent.

The foreman waited for the question, fiddling with his tie while he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the judge rather than the dock. His response to the question was swift and brusque. ‘Guilty.’

Helen heard the gasp escape from Yvonne’s lips at the same time as she saw Tommy’s shoulders slump. A look of horror, of disbelief passed across his face before he bowed his head. Frank placed a hand on his arm and murmured a few words. Helen wrapped her arms around her chest as panic swept though her body. It couldn’t be happening. It was wrong, evil, a travesty of justice. Not Tommy. They couldn’t lock him up for something that he hadn’t done.

The shock of it had barely begun to sink in before Frank Meyer received a guilty verdict too. Unlike Tommy, he showed no surprise. He gave only a small shake of his head, a gesture that seemed more resigned than anything else.

And then, before Helen knew it, both men had been led away. A howl of despair caught in her throat. She covered her face with her hands and wept.

It was over a week now since the sentencing, but Helen still hadn’t even begun to accept it. How could she? She was walking around in a fog of disbelief.
Ten years
. It was brutal. It was impossible. Her eyes would fly open in the middle of the night, and for hours she would stare blindly into the darkness, wondering if Tommy and Frank were awake too.

Connor, of course, had got life, but she couldn’t bring herself to feel any pity for him. If he’d pleaded guilty, even to manslaughter, the jury might have accepted that his brother had known nothing about the killing. But Connor’s lies had been corrosive. In the end, the jury hadn’t believed a word he’d said.

A bright winter sun was shining as she walked along the high street. Even the weather was wrong. It felt like a mockery for the sun to show its face when the two people she loved most were banged up in some stinking cell. She thought ahead to all the seasons that would need to pass before they were free again. A thin groan escaped from between her lips.

All around her people were going about their business, oblivious or maybe just indifferent to what had happened. Another bunch of thugs who had got what they deserved. Wasn’t that what most of them thought? They bought their groceries, went in and out of the bank, stood and chatted on street corners. She felt an involuntary spurt of anger, wanting to lash out. Didn’t they care that two innocent men had been sent down for a crime they hadn’t committed?

Helen went into the Spar, picked up a basket and pulled the shopping list from her jeans pocket. She sauntered up and down the aisles, not in any hurry to return to the Fox. The flat was weirdly quiet. The four of them walked around on tiptoe, as if someone lay dying in one of the bedrooms.

Yvonne, who had spent most of the last week drinking vodka in her dressing gown, had finally got dressed this morning, done her hair, put on her slap and announced that they had to get on with things. Although she and Helen had never had the best of relationships, Helen was aware of the need for them to pull together. That was why she had offered to come out and do the shopping. The fridge was almost empty and the list was a long one.

It was almost one o’clock when Helen got back to the pub, a couple of carrier bags hanging from each arm. She went around the rear of the building, pushed open the door and climbed the stairs. The jukebox was playing in the bar, Bryan Ferry singing ‘The “In” Crowd’
.
There was the usual buzz of conversation, the familiar chink of glasses. She didn’t work the Saturday lunchtime shift, but she’d be back on duty in the evening.

She went to the kitchen and dumped the bags on the table. ‘Yvonne?’ There was no reply. She went back into the living room. ‘Yvonne?’ She turned, intending to go and unpack the groceries, but then stopped dead in her tracks. An old brown suitcase was leaning against the wall.
Her
old brown suitcase, the one that had lived on top of the wardrobe for the past four years. She frowned, confused as to what it was doing there.

Yvonne suddenly appeared at the door with a fag in her mouth. ‘Sorry, love,’ she said, with an expression that was about as far from apologetic as one could get. ‘But it was never meant to be permanent, was it?’

Helen stared at her. ‘What?’

‘It’s going to be hard enough staying afloat without another mouth to feed. I just can’t do it. That bloody lawyer took every last penny we had.’

Helen glanced towards the suitcase again, the light slowly dawning. ‘So you’re kicking me out? Is that what you mean?’

‘Well, it’s not as though you don’t have family of your own. You can go back to Farleigh Wood. You’ve still got relatives there. I’m sure your aunt won’t mind.’

‘And have you talked to Tommy about this?’

Yvonne gave a shrug, folding her arms across her chest. ‘Tommy’s not here, is he? And he’s not going to be, not for a bloody long time.’

Helen stared at her in disbelief. She couldn’t leave the Fox. It was her home, the only place she felt safe and secure. ‘But what about the pub?’ she asked, aware of a pleading edge to her voice. ‘I can help out. I can do more. I can—’

‘I’m selling it,’ Yvonne said. ‘Me and the girls, we can’t stay here. Not after what’s happened. We need a fresh start. I’m going to flog the place and then we’re off to Spain.’

‘Spain?’ Helen repeated, dumbfounded. ‘How can you go to Spain? What about visiting? How are you going to see Tommy if you’re living hundreds of miles away?’

‘He doesn’t need us to visit him,’ Yvonne snapped. ‘He’s got his fancy piece for that.’ She took an angry drag on the cigarette, her eyes full of bitterness and venom. ‘No, it’s for the best. The sooner we get away from here, the better. Terry Street’s already made me an offer and I’m going to accept. We’ll be off as soon as the paperwork’s gone through.’

‘Tommy won’t let you sell it. Does he know? Have you told him?’

Yvonne gazed scornfully back at her. ‘He hasn’t got a choice, love. The pub’s in my name, not his. They wouldn’t give him a licence, not with his criminal record.’

Helen, flustered as she was, could still see that there was no point in further argument. Everything had been decided. She understood now why Terry Street had gone out of his way to be so helpful. And she understood too why Pym had warned her to watch her back. ‘So what are you saying – that you want me to leave right now? Right this minute?’

‘It’s for the best,’ Yvonne said again. ‘There’s no point in dragging in out. I’ll explain to the girls when they get back from work. I’m sure they’d have liked to say goodbye, but… Well, they’ve been through enough. You understand that, don’t you? It’s nothing personal, love, we all just have to move on.’

Helen had a panicky feeling in her chest. She was about to be thrown out on to the street and there was nothing she could do about it. Where was she going to go? Janet didn’t want her
–
she’d made that perfectly clear four years ago. And since then the only communication between them had been an exchange of cards every birthday and at Christmas.
She was on the verge of blurting this out, but pride held her back. No, she wouldn’t give Yvonne the satisfaction.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Yvonne took a drag on her cigarette and gave a weary sigh. ‘It’s not what I
want
, Mouse. It’s just the way it has to be.’ She walked over to the table, laid the cigarette in the ashtray and took her purse from her bag. ‘Here,’ she said, holding out three five-pound notes to Helen. ‘Take this. It should keep you going for a while.’

Helen stared at the money, wanting to refuse it but knowing she’d be a fool if she did. Reluctantly she reached out a hand and took the notes from Yvonne. She shoved them in her jeans pocket and turned away. So this was it. The end of her life at the Fox. She picked up her suitcase, took a deep breath and walked out of the door.