Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) (16 page)

Lilly waved a hand at her. ‘And that will be the first order she’s ever obeyed in her life. Good luck with it.’

Kerry pushed back her chair and got to her feet. Her shoes were just like a pair Lilly had bought for school when she was around thirteen. They’d been
£
13.99 from Freeman, Hardy and Willis.

‘Miss Valentine is making a lot of supposition about our
witness
, but as far as the Crown are concerned there is nothing to suggest our witness is unreliable.’ She put a podgy hand on Jack’s arm. ‘This is the officer who spoke to the witness and he assures me that things are in order.’

Lilly watched Jack run a finger down the length of his tie, a sure sign that he was stressed. He knew the score. Chika Mboko was a wild card.

‘Then he should get a sworn statement or get the girl in
question
to court, but in the meantime, this child,’ Lilly pointed at Tanisha, ‘should not be left to rot in prison.’

‘Sit down both of you.’ Mr Manchester’s voice was sharp.

He paused, lips pressed together, while Lilly and Kerry both took their seats.

‘I understand that this is a difficult situation but this is not the time or the place for this particular argument.’ Lilly opened her mouth to speak but Mr Manchester silenced her with a hand. ‘I am not prepared to make any judgements on the strength or otherwise of this case.’

Lilly felt her stomach clench.

‘The defendant is of course very young,’ he said, ‘and custody is entirely the wrong environment.’

Lilly held her breath and willed him to do the right thing.

‘But I simply cannot ignore the severity of the charge.’ He held up the photograph of Malaya. ‘The public must be protected from whoever did this, and I cannot take any risks.’

Lilly’s heart sank and she glanced at Tanisha. Her face was impassive. If Lilly could just tell the court how vulnerable she really was, perhaps she could change the decision.

‘Before you pronounce, sir, may I take instructions?’ she asked.

Mr Manchester shrugged.

Lilly took Tanisha’s hands in hers.

‘I know you don’t want me to mention the baby, but it might be your only chance of going home today,’ she whispered.

Tanisha shook her head.

‘I mean it,’ Lilly hissed. ‘He’s going to send you down if you don’t let me explain.’

Tanisha closed her eyes, thinking. Her lips moved as if she were praying.

‘Tanisha, please,’ Lilly pressed.

‘If you tell them,’ she said, ‘I will kill you.’

Jamie can’t stop laughing. All around him are sleeping bodies crashed out on sofas or in sleeping bags on the floor. Tristan is curled up next to him, his face in an ashtray. The room stinks of stale smoke and staler sweat.

Jamie’s legs are knackered. He danced for six hours solid,
crashing
into people, knocking drinks out of their hands. Some prick called Nathan threatened to deck him, but his girlfriend pulled him away. He’s been grinding his teeth so hard his jaw aches and the inside of his cheek is like pulp. He pushes his tongue against the flaps of skin and is taken over by another fit of the giggles.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ someone groans from the other side of the room.

Jamie puts his hand over his mouth and lets out a snort. He sounds like a pig. A little piggy wiggy with a curly tail. He’s
laughing
so much now he can hardly breath. Oink, oink.

Tristan stirs beside him and mumbles something. Jamie hopes he wakes up. He wants to talk to someone. He smiles down but the other boy’s eyelids flutter and he soon returns to sleep.
Disappointed
, Jamie nudges him with his toe. Tristan smacks his lips together and flings out an arm, his hand landing on Jamie’s lap.

Jamie’s laughter stops instantly.

He stares down at the hand, the fingers long, the nails bitten to the quick, the grazes at the knuckles from rugby. He can feel the heat through his jeans as if their skin were touching. He moves a fraction and Tristan’s hand wobbles slightly. The intensity stuns him.

Last Thursday in RS, they’d discussed free will. Some woman had been arrested for fraud after she’d told a load of men that she was dying of cancer so they’d buy her stuff. Her solicitor said she had a personality disorder and couldn’t help herself. The class had laughed at that, but Jamie can now understand how she felt cos what is about to happen is completely out of his control.

He watches with a mixture of horror and fascination as his groin expands. A small hump grows with frightening speed until a full hard-on is stretching the denim of his jeans.

He glances down at Tristan. He’s still fast asleep, oblivious to the throbbing cock millimetres away from his hand. Jamie knows that if he shifts even the tiniest bit they will touch. Cock and hand together. The thought bounces through his brain like a silver ball in the pin-ball machines he always plays when they have school trips to Brighton. Cock and hand. Side to side. Cock and hand. Faster and faster. Ping. Ping. Cock. Hand. Five hundred bonus points.

He holds his breath. Got to keep still. Cannot move. He feels a shiver at the top of his spine. Tries to check it. Tries to push it back in. Can’t. It snakes down his back.

As if in slow motion he sees Tristan’s hand wobble. Back and forth like a glass of water in a thunderstorm. His eyes open wide, waiting for the moment of impact.

‘What the fuck?’

Tristan is still lying down, the look on his face moving from puzzlement to horror as he takes in Jamie’s erection and its
proximity
to his own hand.

Jamie has no idea what he should do. Could he turn it into a joke and end up slapping Tristan on the back? Or should he feign indignation? After all, it’s not his hand wandering in someone else’s lap is it? Instead, he just sits exactly where he is, motionless except for the slight shake of his shoulders. He stares at Tristan. Tristan stares back. The thought as to what is actually happening here stretching between them like a string of chewing gum.

At last, Tristan breaks the silence, his voice steady and low.

‘I always knew you were a fucking fag.’

Jamie shakes his head. He can’t think of an answer.

‘You know I’m going to break every bone in your body,’ says Tristan.

Jamie blinks, taking in the threat. He knows what his
housemate
is capable of. He’s seen the bloody noses and the bruises from almost casual elbow jabs. He heard Harry Chambers
gasping
for air as Tristan pushed his head down the toilet in the cricket pavilion.

Jamie leaps to his feet, like a cat, and makes for the door,
tripping
over sleeping bodies and discarded cans and bottles.

‘You better run fast, queer boy,’ Tristan shouts behind him.

Outside, the air is cold, and Jamie can feel the wind sting his cheeks. He keeps going, running faster than he’s ever done in his life. He doesn’t stop until the party, the house and the street are far behind him. It enters his head that Dad would be pleased to see his son displaying such speed and stamina.

Then there’s a strange noise in the air, like a wheezy dog
barking
. Jamie looks around, trying to locate it. Then he realizes it’s the sound of his own hysterical laughter.

‘And where is it exactly that you think you are going?’

Gran looks up from the sewing box. It’s an old Quality Street tin full of odd buttons and bits of cotton.

‘Out,’ Demi shrugs.

‘Out where?’

It’s not like Chika gives her a timetable, is it?

‘Just out,’ she mumbles.

Gran pulls out a pin cushion in the shape of a strawberry. Malaya made it for her in primary school. It’s lived in the sewing box ever since, becoming studded with a collection of pins and needles.

‘You don’t want to visit your sister?’ Gran asks.

‘I’ll meet you at the hospital later,’ Demi replies.

Gran narrows her eyes. ‘If you are not too busy with your new friends.’

‘That’s not fair.’

Gran doesn’t answer. She pulls out a needle, checking that the eye is big enough. Why is she so against Demi having some friends? Doesn’t she want her to be happy at last? Or would she prefer it if Demi stayed upstairs all day long in her room?

She watches Gran suck the end of a piece of white cotton to flatten it. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, but she got them for seventy pence in Help the Aged and they’re worse than useless. She peers down at the needle.

‘Do you want me to help with that?’ Demi asks.

Gran waves her away and stabs the end of the cotton at the eye of the needle, missing by miles. Stupid old woman. Why won’t she just let Demi do it?

‘Right then,’ Demi pulls on her hoodie, ‘I’ll see you up there.’

‘Hmmm.’ Gran holds the cotton up to the light bulb.

Stupid old woman.

Chika finishes her milkshake and leans back against the window, balancing her chair on two legs. Dirty Mick’s is emptier than usual because it’s a Saturday. No workmen. He keeps it open anyway.

‘What’s up with you?’ she asks Demi.

Demi shrugs. She’s still riled about her argument with Gran, but doesn’t think Chika will be interested.

‘You worried about Malaya?’ Chika asks.

Guilt floods over Demi and she coughs into her tea. To be honest, she hasn’t given Malaya a second thought.

‘Don’t worry,’ says Chika, ‘she’s tough.’

Then she turns her head and looks out of the window. A wind has whipped up the rubbish from the gutter, sheets of
newspaper
and cigarette packets flying down the street. Demi’s feeling deepens. Not only has she not given her poor sister any head space, she hasn’t even told Chika that Malaya is on the mend.

‘The doctor says she’s going to be okay,’ Demi whispers.

Chika swivels to stare across the table at Demi.

‘She’s woken up anyway,’ Demi swallows.

Chika doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just continues to stare at Demi.

‘Did you talk to her?’ she asks.

To Demi it sounds like an accusation.

‘I’m going up to visit her this afternoon.’ She hangs her head, frightened of how Chika will react.

Finally, a smile spreads across Chika’s face and she pushes her empty glass aside.

‘I’ll come with you.’

Gran won’t be happy to see Chika. Not happy at all. But Demi is just grateful that Chika isn’t annoyed. Anyway, Chika has already scattered coins across the table for Mick. It annoys him when she does that and he always grumbles that she should just pay at the till like everyone else. She doesn’t care, just winks if she’s in a good mood, swears at him if she’s not.

‘We need to get her something.’ Chika is already out of the door. ‘Chocolates and that.’

Demi thinks about the splits in Malaya’s mouth, how the
doctor
said a lot of her teeth had been kicked out. Then there’s the money issue. Demi has about thirty pence in her pocket and no way of getting any more.

As if she can read Demi’s mind, Chika pulls out a wad of twenty pound notes. ‘I got peas, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Demi takes in the cash. There’s at least a few hundred pounds. More money than Demi has ever seen in her life. It makes her feel hot, and a bit sick.

‘I can’t keep letting you pay for everything.’ Demi is trotting alongside Chika.

Chika stops dead in her tracks. ‘We’re family and we share what we’ve got.’

The litter is still flying around in the wind, like dirty kites. Chika catches a burger box with her toe and crushes it.

‘Respect to you though, sister, for wanting to make your own way.’ Chika gives Demi’s arm a gentle punch. ‘So how about I let you start making a little bit for yourself?’

Demi raises her eyebrows. How can she make any money? She’s not good at anything.

‘You can do a few little t’ings for me, innit.’ Chika cocks her head to one side. ‘Okay?’

There’s nothing Demi would like more, than to help her friend and repay her for all the kindness she’s shown. And to earn
something
into the bargain. Unbelievable. She imagines how the notes will feel in her pocket. How she’ll peel them off, one by one, when she goes to buy some new trainers. High-tops, like Chika.

‘Flowers.’ Chika points to a florist with buckets of roses outside and marches across the road. ‘That’s what we need for Malaya.’

There’s a lovely smell inside, like grass and meadows. A woman with her hair tied in a bun and a pair of glasses on a chain, is threading pins through a tray of carnations. She glances up at the two girls.

‘Can I help you?’

Before they can answer, a man crashes through the door. He’s wearing a coat with a long tail, and one of those things round his neck that’s not a tie, but not a scarf either.

‘I’m late,’ he laughs. ‘Are they ready?’

The woman behind the counter smiles up at him and places the last carnation on to the tray. ‘All done.’

As the man pushes past them and reaches for the tray, Chika kisses her teeth.

‘So I’m invisible now, am I?’ She raises her voice. ‘You can’t see me or nothing?’

The man turns to her. He’s still smiling but he looks puzzled.

‘I’m waiting to be served here,’ Chika tells him. ‘So you can’t be just barging in front of me.’

He gives a nervous cough. ‘Sorry about that, but I’m best man at my brother’s wedding and if I don’t get these to the church in ten minutes I’m dead.’

Chika stares at him as if she couldn’t care less if he were late to save his child’s life. Demi holds her breath, the back of her neck tingling.

 ‘Sorry,’ the man mumbles.

Demi bites her lip. The power Chika has is making her dizzy.

‘My friend is in hospital,’ Chika tells the woman with the bun, ‘and I need a big bunch of flowers for her.’

The woman puts her hand out towards a pretty spray of chrysanthemums.

‘I said a big bunch,’ Chika hisses.

The woman nods and goes out to the back of the shop. While she’s gone, Demi, Chika and the man stand in uncomfortable silence, punctuated by the impatient tap of Chika’s foot.