Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama (17 page)

Man-donna arrived with her envelope, but nothing else.

‘Oi, where’s my dosh?’ Tiffany cried out.

He pasted a nasty grin on his face. ‘It’s been decided that little girls who come in here shouting the odds don’t deserve no pocket money. Your reward is that you’re still able to walk.’

Tiffany didn’t argue. Through tight eyes she watched him go off to the other side of the bar and start chatting to someone else. She wasn’t interested in who he was jarring with, and the guy’s face was obscured in any case. She needed to try another tack and she wasn’t sure what that was going to be.

As she left the pub, she couldn’t resist turning to check out the woman who’d been eyeing her up. She was still there, watching Tiff with hooded, clinical eyes. A paranoid Tiffany picked up speed, reached the door and opened it, turning once again to look at the woman. But this time, the woman was gone.

On the other side of the bar, John Black’s guy Knobby only half-listened to Jeff as he stared hard after Tiffany’s retreating figure. He knew the teenager hadn’t seen him, but he’d seen her.

Jen was halfway through washing her hair when there was a knock at the front door. She groaned. Why, oh why, did someone have to come now? She’d been feeling really down about her fashion dreams going down the pan and was trying to pep herself up with that conditioner Bex had gone on about – the one that promised to give her Cindy Crawford look a bit of ‘bounce and shine’.

‘Mum!’ she yelled, before remembering that Babs had gone across the road to her cleaning job. There was no point shouting for her sister who would only curse back at her.

The knock came again, so she wrung out her hair and headed for the door.

‘Nuts!’ she exclaimed. He was suited and booted and had a big grin plastered over his face. She touched her dripping hair self-consciously, knowing she looked a real fright.

He bustled inside without her asking, but made no move to go to the sitting room. Instead he proclaimed, like he was in front of an audience. ‘Get your coat, my one and only, we are going on a trip.’

Jen frowned, ‘What are you going on about? You said you would call me.’

‘Ah ha, all will be revealed if my queen will allow me to escort her to my chariot.’

Jen couldn’t help grinning back; he did make her laugh. Not that that meant she was going to start dating him or anything.

‘Even if I wanted to – which I’m not saying I do – I couldn’t go out with you; I’m flippin’ dripping all over the shop.’

‘Shop,’ he gave her a hundred watt smile and raised a finger dramatically in the air. ‘The magic word.’

‘Magic . . . ?’ Jen shook her head in confusion, with a touch of frustration. ‘I haven’t got a clue—’

‘Please, Jen.’ His smile had disappeared replaced with that lost puppy expression that squeezed her heart.

‘But I look like I’ve been dragged out of the canal in Vicky Park.’

Those gorgeous blue eyes of his began to glow. ‘You could have chickenpox all over your face, babe, you’d still look heaven to me.’

Nuts certainly had the patter to turn a girl’s head, which she liked. None of that moronic ‘How about it then?’ that came out of the mouth of the likely lads around here. ‘OK, but I’ve got to blow-dry my hair first.’

Twenty minutes later, with Jen dressed to kill and Meatloaf’s ‘I Would Do Anything For Love’ playing on the car radio, they were motoring away from Mile End towards . . . well, Nuts wouldn’t reveal where they were going. They kept up a steady stream of chatter until Jen realised they were in the West End.

‘You taking me to that swanky club again?’ she asked, buffing up her hair.

‘Better than that.’ He mischievously winked at her.

Jen didn’t know what he was up to, but he’d taken her mind off the disaster that had become her never-gonna-happen fashion career and she was grateful for that. Her face lit up when she realised that they were just off her favourite place in the world: Bond Street. If you were starting in fashion this is where you wanted to be – among the high-end, exclusive fashion shops. Oxford Street did clothes; Bond Street did designer. She’d often come down here on her own, wander around with her head stuck in cloud nine, staring dreamily into the shops. Sometimes she would close her eyes and see herself dolled up, all pretty and elegant, working in one. Then her eyes would sadly open. A girl from the East End was more likely to get an invite to the Queen’s tea party than end up working on this oh-so-famous London street.

Nuts parked his Merc on a side street near a small Greek restaurant. ‘You bought me all the way here for some nosh?’

He just smiled. She was getting a bit tired of him smiling and not letting on. ‘Your palace awaits you.’ Jen rolled her eyes and got out of the car after him. Nuts grabbed her hand and hustled her quickly along the street and then turned into Bond Street. The place was teeming with people and the occasional flash car with a chauffeur in peak cap standing beside it. This was the life – if you had plenty of poke in your pocket. Jen couldn’t help the excitement that throbbed through her as her eyes darted around. Gucci, Versace, Lagerfeld – they were all here.

She couldn’t stop the excitement in her voice as she turned to Nuts. ‘Is that what we’re doing here? You going to buy me a classic bit of clobber?’

Nuts just laughed as he pulled her along, then he took her into another side street and stopped halfway down, outside a designer shop. It was called Dominique, the name in bold, gold letters underneath a large pane window that showcased designer women’s wear and some jewellery. Inside a security guard was stationed near the glass door. Before Jen could question Nuts, the security guard smartly opened the door and he pulled her into Dominique’s. The soft light from the fancy light fittings and central chandelier gleamed on the ultra-clean, marble-tiled floors. Clothing was laid out like it was art and there were rows of neatly folded clothes on teak wooden shelves. Two shop assistants were fluttering over a customer who was a walking advertisement for money.

‘So this is the young girl you told me about?’ Hearing the soft, French accent, Jen spun around to find an old woman with a silver-topped walking stick standing near an open side door. The woman might be old but she stood straight and breathed old-style Hollywood glamour. Her grey-haired, 1920’s flapper-style bob lay around a strong face, its only make-up red, red lips. Her dark brown eyes were as fresh as a person’s half her age and her triple-tied pearl necklace showed off her long neck and simple black dress. Now that’s how Jen wanted to look when she got older.

Nuts gently walked Jen closer to the woman. ‘This is Madam Dominique, who knows the fashion industry from top to bottom. She’ll show you the ropes, Jen, during your work placement here.’

Jen’s mouth opened, but no words came out. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. He didn’t mean . . . ‘You’re having me on, Nuts?’

‘No he’s not, my dear,’ Dominique answered as she slowly ran her eyes over Jen, assessing what she saw. She moved slowly towards Jen and then placed a long finger under Jen’s chin, lifting her head slightly. The older woman stayed like that, her gaze looking Jen over as if she was administering a test. ‘You look familiar . . .’ But she shook her head as she lowered her hand. She looked Jen directly in the eye. ‘You’ll do. For the time you are here, I will teach you much of what I know. You start tomorrow, at eight-thirty on the dot.’ Then, with an elegant turn, she moved back towards the door and left the room.

Jen was incapable of speaking. This was a wind-up, right? This couldn’t be real. Someone had offered her a placement. On Bond Street. In a designer shop. And Nuts . . . Dizzy with joy, Jen flung her arms around him almost toppling him over.

‘Hold up, girl,’ he said with a laugh, ‘this is a respectable establishment.’ He grabbed her hand again and they exited the shop.

Once back on the street Jen finally found her tongue. ‘I can’t thank you enough. Me, on Bond Street! I can’t wait to tell Mum.’ The joy slipped away from her face. ‘But I can’t take it, because I’m not in college anymore—’

‘You don’t need to worry about that scumbag tutor of yours. I saw him straight.’

‘You didn’t do him a mischief did you? If the cops come after you—’

‘They won’t,’ he reassured her. ‘Let’s just say he’s learned the error of his ways. You go back to college because he won’t be coming back.’

Jen’s heart swelled. Nuts had not only got her a placement, he had sorted out that sicko. Jen leaned across and gave him a large smacker on his cheek. ‘That don’t mean I’m going out with you or nothing,’ she warned him playfully. ‘But if you call me soonish, I might be inclined to say yes.’

He grinned boyishly back, but then his face turned serious and he gently touched her arm. ‘Whatever you do, don’t ever ask Madam Dominique about her past. She’s been around. She didn’t get that lame leg playing marbles. You get me? Don’t mention her name to no one, not even your mum or sister; she’s a woman who likes to keep a low profile unless you’re one of her paying customers. She’s doing me a big time favour taking you on.’

Jen felt a wave of shame; she’d got Nuts totally wrong. Sure, he was a bit dodgy, but he was
her
dodgy. He was definitely a man whose arm she wanted to be seen on, so she linked her arm possessively into his as they made their way to his car.

Twenty-One

Tiffany headed straight for her tomb when she got to the cemetery. Most people got the willies being here, but Tiffany felt alive among the dead. They were about the only people who weren’t out to get her these days. She wept silently with relief as she walked along the path and through the undergrowth. There was no doubt about it, she was in it up to her neck, with no way out.

None of the regulars were at the gate, and there was no shouting or larking about tonight, which she was glad about. She was in a hurry to hide her envelope and get home. She quickly walked down the pathway towards the back of the cemetery, where the trees were thick and there were two huge tombs. As she walked she heard a noise behind her, like a twig snapping. She stopped and peered behind her but couldn’t see anyone. She resumed walking, but stopped again when she heard a rustling noise behind her.

‘Who’s there?’ she called out, the beat of her heart galloping. There was no reply, and she still couldn’t see anyone, but she knew from experience that seeing no one didn’t mean they weren’t there. Fear entered her bones. Every noise was an enemy.

‘Johnno and Bazza, is that you?’ Sometimes her friends got to playing silly games on each other, especially when they were liquored up. But she got no answer. It’s probably the wind, Tiffany thought, turning to check, then nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw the person in front of her.

‘Stacey, what the fuck? You frightened the fucking life out of me. How did you know I’d be down here? I thought you weren’t talking to me.’ (She didn’t add,
And I understand why now.
)

She sucked in a hard breath when she saw the cuts and bruises on her friend’s face; her dad had really beaten the stuffing out of her. Bastard! Tiffany had stayed away from her mate because she didn’t want her dad to go ballistic on her again. But she now knew that Mickey Ingram was playing a game. On the one hand he was shouting the odds about his daughter staying well away from the Millers while all the time he was employing the youngest Miller girl as his runner. Tiffany didn’t know what he was up to but it broke her heart to see her friend stuck in the middle of it.

Stacey gave her a grim smile. ‘You’re always down here, sooner or later.’

Tiffany noticed that she spoke slowly, not the type of slow-mo a voice had when it was boozed up, but something else. That something made Tiffany’s heart beat faster. ‘Stacey, you ain’t been doing that shit again?’ she asked furiously. And before her friend could answer she grabbed Stacey’s left arm.

She shook her head when she saw the needle marks dotting Stacey’s skin. Maximum disobedience was Tiffany’s calling card, but the one thing she would never do was go on the needle – especially after Tommy Lewis had OD’d during Mister Hampton’s biology class. But Stacey was a different story; she couldn’t seem to stay away from the stuff. Tiffany had talked to her until she was blue in the face and, for a time, Stacey had stayed away from the filthy gear. But now she was back on it. Tiffany could bet her life it was because of that nutter Mickey Ingram.

Tiffany grabbed tight to the other girl’s hand. ‘You’re going to end up as a smack bitch if you keep this up. You know what all those druggies look like, who go into number five in my block when it’s dark? A right mess, that’s what, willing to sell their mum for their next fix. That ain’t happening to you, Stace; not on my watch.’

‘But my life’s shit,’ Stacey cried with such hurt, Tiffany just wanted to hold her close.

‘You’ve got me.’

Stacey burst into tears, so Tiffany pulled her into her arms. And before she knew it she was kissing her best friend on the cheek, then at the corner near her mouth.

Stacey twisted away from her. ‘I’ve told you I ain’t into no lesbo-shaped malarkey.’

‘I know, I know,’ Tiffany said quickly, ‘nor am I. I just wanted you to feel better, that’s all.’ But the truth was, she had wanted to kiss Stacey. Desperately. She didn’t understand these feelings she was having, but she’d better make sure she kept her lips to herself next time, because Stacey wasn’t having none of it. Plus, what would everyone on The Devil say if they found out she liked snogging her best mate? She’d probably get duffed over for being worse than a weirdo.

‘Let’s get a bottle of voddy,’ Stacey said.

Tiffany was about to agree, but then she remembered the envelope. ‘I can’t. I’ve got to—’

‘You don’t like me anymore,’ Stacey wailed. ‘No one likes me anymore.’

Then she was running like a wounded, wild animal out of the cemetery. Tiffany wanted to follow her but knew she couldn’t; she needed to hide the envelope. Bollocks. She didn’t like leaving Stace in such a state. Right, she made up her mind, Mickey Ingram or no Mickey Ingram she was going to give her friend a bell when she’d finished up here.