Bad Girl (7 page)

Helen shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her cheeks were beginning to burn and she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She hadn’t asked to come here, hadn’t wanted to come. If it had been up to her, she’d have turned straight around and gone back to Farleigh Wood.

‘Don’t start,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s an emergency. Her grandma’s sick.’

‘And you didn’t think to call, to let me know?’

‘There wasn’t time. Jesus, it’s only one more. What’s all the fuss about? You’ll hardly notice she’s here.’

Yvonne, however, didn’t seem convinced. ‘Oh, and you’ll be looking after her, will you? Cooking her meals, washing her clothes?’ It was clearly only the presence of Helen that prevented her from really letting rip. Instead, she said through gritted teeth, ‘We’ll talk about this later, Tommy Quinn.’

Tommy grinned, backtracked to the door and shouted up the stairs. ‘Girls? Come on down and meet your cousin.’

There was the soft thud of footsteps on the stairs, followed shortly by the appearance of two extremely pretty blonde girls. Apart from their height, they were almost identical, with long fair hair flowing down their backs, heart-shaped faces and wide brown eyes. They looked, Helen realised with a start, more like her mother than she did.

Uncle Tommy made the introductions. ‘Debs, Karen, this is Helen. She’s going to be staying with us for a while.’

The two girls, dressed in flared jeans and tie-dye T-shirts, looked her up and down blatantly. Helen squirmed under their scrutiny, aware of being judged. Her clothes, she knew, were drab in comparison to theirs – a pair of dark grey trousers and a striped jumper that was a size too big for her. Gran had always insisted on buying clothes that were ‘practical’ and that she could ‘grow into’.

‘Where you from, then?’ Debs asked.

‘Farleigh Wood,’ Helen said. ‘I live in Camberley Road.’

‘What kind of music are you into?’

Sensing that this was some kind of test – and one that she could easily fail – Helen gave a small shrug. ‘I like lots of things.’

‘I like the Jackson Five and David Cassidy best,’ Karen said. ‘Debs reckons she’s going to marry Mick Jagger.’

Helen, who had been grudgingly allowed to watch
The Partridge Family
on Saturday nights, said, ‘I like David Cassidy too.’

Karen gave a giggle. ‘How come you speak funny?’

Tommy gave his daughter a nudge with his elbow. ‘She doesn’t speak funny, love. She just speaks different. She’s not common like you.’

Helen, who was not used to any kind of banter, was shocked by the remark, but Karen found it outrageously funny. She threw back her head and laughed out loud. Grabbing her father’s arm, she tugged on his sleeve and gazed up at him.

‘Am I, Dad? Am I really common?’

‘Common as muck,’ he said. ‘Perhaps your cousin can teach you some manners. Although I doubt it. I reckon you’re a lost cause, darlin’.’

‘A lost cause,’ Karen repeated, clearly pleased by the verdict.

‘There’s nothing wrong with her manners,’ Yvonne snapped. ‘But if she has got any bad habits, we all know who she’s picked them up from.’

Tommy raised his eyebrows, but didn’t seem overly stung by the criticism. ‘Yer old dad’s in the doghouse again,’ he said, grinning from ear to ear. ‘She’ll be sending me up to me room next.’

Suddenly a loud, barking voice came from behind them. ‘Oh, so you’re back, are you? Good of you to honour us with your presence. I thought you were supposed to be running this bleedin’ pub.’

Helen whirled around to see a fat, ageing man standing in the doorway. He had a large drooping face with folds of flesh under his chin, red-veined cheeks and sparse grey hair combed over a pinkish scalp. His eyes, dark and menacing, glowered at her uncle.

‘Five minutes,’ Tommy said. ‘I’ll be right down.’

‘Five minutes, my arse. It’s packed down there.’

‘Okay, okay. Don’t lose yer rag. I’m coming.’

The man gave a grunt, apparently satisfied. It seemed as if he was about to go, but then Yvonne piped up.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce Joe to his granddaughter, Tommy?’

Helen heard a thin hiss of breath escape from Tommy’s lips. She saw him look daggers at his wife before shifting his gaze back to his father. ‘This is Helen,’ he said finally.

Joe, who until that moment had completely ignored the third child in his living room – perhaps presuming she was one of Karen’s school friends – now focused all his attention on her. His dark eyes seemed to bore into her soul and there wasn’t an ounce of friendliness in them. ‘Tell me this is a fuckin’ joke.’

‘No joke,’ Tommy replied.

‘No way. No fuckin’ way! I’m not having Lynsey’s brat in this house.’

Helen shrank back, moving closer to her uncle. Yvonne’s welcome hadn’t been exactly enthusiastic, but this was something else entirely. She could feel her legs beginning to shake again. The man was vile, horrible. How could he possibly be her grandfather?

‘It’s only for a week or so. She’s got nowhere else to go.’

‘Over my dead body.’

‘If you like,’ Tommy said. And there was something in his voice that Helen hadn’t heard before, something hard and cold and determined. The two men locked eyes in a battle of wills. There was a scary silence in the room that seemed to go on for ever. Joe Quinn was the first to look away.

‘Ah, do what you want. Just keep her out of my way.’ He waved a hand dismissively, then turned and stormed out of the room.

Tommy put a hand on Helen’s arm. ‘Sorry about that, love. Don’t worry about the old bastard. He’s all mouth. He’ll get used to the idea soon enough.’

Yvonne gave a snort. ‘You reckon?’

Tommy ignored her. Instead he said to the girls, ‘Look, why don’t you take Helen upstairs and help her unpack. Grab her case, will you, Debs. It isn’t heavy. She can bunk in with you, Karen.’

Helen glanced warily at her cousin, wondering if she would protest at this invasion of her space. But Karen didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps she was used to sharing her bedroom with waifs and strays.

As she followed Debra and Karen up the stairs, she heard Tommy say to Yvonne, ‘Well, thanks a bunch for that.’

‘You had to tell him sometime.’

‘Yeah, but not in front of the kid. What the hell were you thinking?’

‘What the hell were you thinking bringing her here in the first place?’

‘Christ, don’t start, okay? You think today hasn’t been bad enough without you giving me an earful too?’

The door suddenly slammed shut, cutting off the argument. Helen could feel her heart beating hard in her chest. This was awful, a nightmare. She wanted to burst into tears. Perhaps she could run away. But where would she go to? Janet would be mad if she just turned up on her doorstep, and there was no room at her house anyway. No, she had no choice but to tough it out. It was only for a week or two. She’d be quiet. She’d be no trouble. She’d keep out of everybody’s way. And then, after the time had passed, she’d be allowed to go home again – wouldn’t she?

Yvonne poured two double vodkas, added some ice and a splash of lemonade and took the drinks round the bar to a table in the corner of the Fox. Her friend Carol Gatesby shuffled up to make room on the bench.

‘I mean, can you believe it?’ Yvonne said tetchily, continuing the conversation where she’d left off. ‘He just turns up with her out of the blue. As if I’ve not got enough on my hands without another kid to take care of.’

‘Yeah, it’s a liberty, love. Ain’t she got no one else to stay with?’

‘Not according to Tommy. Mind, I wouldn’t be surprised if those two saw him coming. Now that Lynsey’s kicked the bucket, I reckon they’ve decided to get shot, to offload the kid on to some other poor sucker. But if he thinks that’s going to be me, he’s got another think coming.’

Carol took a sip of vodka and ran her tongue along her upper lip. ‘So what’s she like, then, this Helen?’

Yvonne gave a shrug. ‘I dunno. She’s a plain little thing, to be honest. Looks more like a boy than a girl. Not that that’s her fault or nothin’, but you’d have thought being Lynsey’s daughter, she’d be… well, you get what I’m saying.’

‘Yeah, Lynsey was a right stunner. That Alan Beck was a looker too, even if he was the filth.’

‘I can hardly get a word out of her,’ Yvonne continued. ‘She just sits there staring at me like I’m an alien from outer space. I’m starting to wonder if there’s summat wrong with her.’ She gave a light tap to her forehead. ‘You know, if she’s not quite right up here.’

‘She’s probably upset and all. She’ll settle down in a while.’

‘It’s the while I’m worried about,’ Yvonne sighed. ‘Oh, it’s not just the kid.’ She gazed around the Fox, her mouth turning sulky. ‘I hate this dump. And now I’m stuck with living here again. And with Joe bloody Quinn. The old goat tries to feel me up every chance he gets; I can’t make a cup of tea without him creeping up behind me. I could kill Tommy, I really could.’

Carol patted her on the hand. ‘It’s not for ever, love. You’ll be out of here as soon as Connor gets back. And believe me, there’s worse in the world than your Tommy.’

Yvonne wrinkled her nose. She’d thought Tommy Quinn was a catch when she’d married him all those years ago – part of a successful criminal family, good prospects, a man going places. Except Tommy wasn’t going any further than this lousy pub. He had no ambition, no drive. ‘Well, that may be true, but there’s better, too. He’s still sneaking around with that tart, Shelley Anne. It’s pathetic. He thinks I don’t know about it, but that man is the worst liar I’ve ever come across.’

‘He’ll get bored of her soon enough.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Yvonne, by choice, rarely slept with Tommy these days, and she didn’t really care who else he was shagging. But she didn’t like being made a fool of. ‘Why should I spend my time taking care of Lynsey’s unwanted sprog while he’s getting his leg over his latest squeeze? It’s not on.’

‘So what are you going to do?’

Yvonne thought about it, and then gave a small shrug. ‘Nothing – for now. But I’ll make him pay. You see if I don’t.’

‘Just watch your step,’ Carol said softly. ‘You’ve got the girls to think about, remember? If you cross Tommy, you’ll be crossing Joe and Connor too. And let’s face it, they’re not what you’d call the forgiving sort.’

‘Oh, I can handle them.’ Yvonne glanced across the pub to where Tommy was leaning forward with his elbows on the counter. He was deep in conversation with Frank Meyer. ‘And those two are up to something. They’ve been whispering in corners for weeks.’

‘Perhaps your Tommy’s got a big job planned.’

Yvonne gave a mirthless laugh. ‘That’ll be the day. The biggest job he ever does is dragging them crates up from the cellar. I tell you, getting any readies out of him at the moment is like getting blood from a stone. You’d think with Connor being away he could make himself more useful to Joe. The old git must be raking it in, but there’s not much comes in Tommy’s direction.’

‘You still after that holiday in Spain?’

‘Fat chance,’ Yvonne said. ‘The way things are going, we’ll be lucky to get a week in Clacton.’ She flicked her eyes towards the bar again. ‘I really don’t like that guy.’

‘Who, Frank?’

‘I mean, just who the hell is he? He turns up out of the blue – no one has a clue where he’s come from or knows sod all about him – and suddenly he’s Tommy’s best mate.’

‘That was ages ago, love.’

‘So what? I still don’t trust him. He could be the filth, for all we know.’ In fact, Yvonne had other, more personal reasons for disliking Frank Meyer. Most of the guys who hung around the Quinns you could have a laugh with, a joke, a bit of a flirt, but not Frank. The first time she’d tried it, he’d completely blanked her. The guy was like a piece of stone. And he had a way of looking at you. Superior, that was what he thought he was. She took a gulp of her vodka and returned the glass to the table with a small bang. As if he was anything special. Lifting a hand, she quickly patted down her fair hair. She might be in her thirties now, but she was still worth a second glance.

‘You okay?’ asked Carol.

‘I’m fine.’ She looked at her friend and smiled. Compared to Carol – a blowsy bottle blonde with a thickening waistline – she reckoned she was wearing pretty well. At least she still had her figure. This thought cheered her up somewhat. Nudging her friend’s shoulder, she said in a low voice, ‘Tell me something. Have you ever seen Frank with a girl?’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t think so.’

‘Exactly!’ Yvonne said triumphantly.

It took a moment for the penny to drop. Carol’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You don’t think he’s…?’

Yvonne sniggered. ‘That’s be a turn-up for the books, wouldn’t it? Tommy snuggling up to a queer. Jesus, he’d never live it down.’

The women’s gaze automatically swivelled towards the bar. Aware of being under scrutiny, the two men looked back at them. Yvonne gave them a wave. Carol put a hand over her mouth and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

‘Best not say anything, though,’ Yvonne said. ‘It’ll be our little secret.’ She sat back, feeling smug. If there was a good way to start a rumour, it was to whisper a ‘secret’ in Carol Gatesby’s ear. The girl couldn’t keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it.

Suddenly the door from the street swung open, bringing with it a burst of chilly night air, and a young, dark-haired man strode into the pub. He shook the rain from his head and made his way towards the bar. He had a lean, handsome face with cheekbones like razor blades.

‘Evening, ladies,’ he said, winking as he passed them. ‘Looking gorgeous, as always.’

Yvonne smiled back at him. ‘Evening, Terry.’ She studied his tight little arse as he sauntered over to join her husband. Then she leaned in towards Carol and whispered, ‘Now I wouldn’t kick that out of bed.’

‘You’d be so lucky. You’re old enough to be his mother.’

‘He’s only ten years younger than me.’

‘And some,’ Carol said. ‘He can’t be a day over twenty.’

Yvonne gave a shrug and knocked back the rest of her drink. Terry Street was her kind of man – good-looking, sexy, smart and charming. He might be young, but she could tell that he was going places. There were lots of lads who hung around the Quinns, but only a few who made it to the inner circle. Joe Quinn might be a dirty old bugger, but he still recognised a prospect when he saw one. Terry was an asset to the firm, and everybody knew it.

‘Fancy another?’ Yvonne said, waving her empty glass.

‘Ta. I wouldn’t say no.’

As she sashayed over to the bar, Yvonne started thinking about Tommy and his tart again. She could confront him, but it wasn’t worth the effort. No, if she wanted to be free of the Quinns, she was going to have to bide her time and wait for the right opportunity. It might not be tomorrow or the day after, but when it came along, she was going to grab it with both hands.