Dishonour (17 page)

Laila stared at herself in the mirror. Her body was bruised and she could see bite marks on her breasts. Between her legs was sore and on her inner thighs she could see dried blood. Her head hurt, throbbing tightly, encased in what felt like a migraine.

It was painful to walk but she wanted to get to the bathroom to try to wash herself before the rest of the household woke up. She looked around the room, the empty glass of milk lay on the floor and her torn pants lay next to it. She pulled on her robe, grimacing at the pain in her arms as she raised them. Trying not to wake a sleeping Baz, Laila tiptoed out of the room. She counted the doors, knowing the third one along was where the washroom was.

It took Laila over an hour to clean herself up. Every part of her hurt. She couldn’t even pee properly; it burnt too much. In the end she’d had to sit in the bucket of water to do it, to try to ease the burning sensation from the urine on her swollen and sensitive insides.

She needed to find Tariq. He’d help her. After what he’d said to her yesterday, once she’d told him what had happened he was bound to. Tariq could stand up to their uncle. To Baz and to her mother-in-law. And once he’d done that, he could take her home.

On her way back to her bedroom, Laila stopped to knock on Tariq’s door. She tapped quietly, almost inaudibly; scared of waking anyone else. There was no answer, or rather he didn’t hear. Laila knocked again, looking round anxiously. This time she whispered, pressing her face into the door.

‘Tariq. Tariq, it’s Laila.’

A minute later Tariq opened the door. The shock of seeing his sister’s swollen face almost had him running to Baz’s room. But he stopped. Remembering the conversation he’d had with him. He looked at Laila, whispering harshly, pretending he didn’t see what damage was standing before him. ‘Laila, what are you doing here? Go back to your room.’

‘Shhh, they’ll hear us.’

‘Then go back to your room before Baz wakes up.’

Laila looked at her brother. He seemed different; almost the same as he’d been at home to her. Cold and distant.

‘I can’t Tariq. You don’t know what he did to me.’

Tariq didn’t need to know exactly. He could guess. He spoke awkwardly in hushed tones. ‘You’ll get used to it. It will just take time. The first time, well it’s bound to hurt.’ He trailed off and couldn’t meet her eyes.

‘He gave me something to drink Tariq. He drugged me … I’ve got marks all over my body.’

Tariq rubbed his mouth. He didn’t want to hear this. Especially not now he knew there was nothing he could do. He didn’t say anything and continued looking down as Laila talked.

‘You said everything was going to be okay. Tariq, you promised.’

Tariq’s head shot up. Angrily he hissed at his sister. ‘Well I lied, okay. I lied. There’s nothing I can do for you.’

‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’

Tariq looked at his sister face on. She was crying and scared. His guilt was killing him, making him feel like shit. ‘You’re married, that’s what’s happened, and whether you like it or not that’s the way it’s going to be from now on. So stop the tears Laila. They’re not going to help you and neither am I. Just drop it.’

‘Tariq, please.’ Laila reached out her hand to touch Tariq. He jumped back as if he’d been electrocuted.

‘Just leave me alone, Laila. Just leave me alone.’

Tariq slammed the door in her face, but even through the closed wooden door he knew Laila was still standing there, lost and full of pain, knowing her last chance of any hope had quite literally been slammed in her face. Crouching down on the floor, Tariq put his head in his hands and for the first time he cried for his father.

17

‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Freddie stared at Martin Warner with the contempt he felt the man needed.

‘I’m saying your hospital visit to your son is being moved back Thompson.’

‘Mr Thompson, Marty. Don’t forget your manners.’

Warner bristled. There’d only been two people he’d ever hated in his life. The proper kind of hatred. The deep-seated, burning kind. The first person went by the name of Terry Jenkins, a boy he’d gone to school with. On a regular basis the boy had taken to ambushing him in the boys’ changing room, dragging his trousers off in front of a cheering, baying crowd prior to sticking them down the toilet. There’d never been any reason. Not even an exchange of heated words. Only a desire to humiliate and make Martin’s school days tortuous. Jenkins made sure he saved his piece-de-resistance for the last ever day of school; not only putting his trousers down the boys’ toilets, but his head as well.

And the second person? He was standing right in front of him. At first he’d had sleepless nights at the thought of what Freddie had asked him to be part of;
forced
him to be part of. But then in the early hours of the morning, when he’d been the only one up in the house, he’d remembered Terry Jenkins.

Whilst the problem had been there, life had been intolerable. Take the problem away and there wasn’t anything to worry about. It was the philosophy he knew he needed to take with Freddie Thompson. Being at his beck and call, having the constant threat of harm coming to his family, and being the butt of his jokes most days made life unbearable. Get rid of him, and life could get back to normal.

So as he’d made his coffee in the kitchen whilst his wife and daughter slept peacefully, Warner had come to the conclusion that helping Freddie break out, was the best possible situation. And now far from dreading it like he had been before, Martin Warner was looking forward to getting Freddie Thompson out of his life, as much as he had Terry Jenkins.

‘Then you’ll have to change it back.’

‘Impossible. There’s nothing I can do. It was the governor’s decision. The prison is going to have an inspection and he wants all prisoners on site.’

Freddie glared at Warner. ‘You’re taking the piss.’

‘If I was taking the piss, I wouldn’t be giving you due warning would I?’

Freddie sat down on his bed, clicking off the PlayStation. He had no respect for screws, especially spineless ones like Warner, but it was true what he was saying, he could have quite easily kept it to himself. Then he would’ve been totally fucked. The next thought which came to Freddie’s mind was,
why
? Why let him know then?

‘I hope you ain’t setting me up Warner.’

‘As much as I’d love to see you rot in a cell Thompson, I’d much rather see you gone.’

A small smile started to form on Freddie’s face. Then he grinned before bursting into laughter. ‘I get it; you want me out from under your skin. Well believe me Marty, I want me gone just as much.’

Martin Warner said nothing but he doubted it. He doubted Freddie Thompson wanted to be gone as much as he not only wanted, but
needed
the man gone.

‘Alright babe. Looking good.’ Freddie Thompson sat leaning his chair back on two legs as he watched his wife walk towards him. He wasn’t just saying it. Tasha
was
looking good. Too good perhaps for someone whose husband was inside. Her honey-blonde hair tumbled down just past her shoulders and her make-up was immaculately done, classy without being tarty. Her clothes were top gear. Designer. A black, fitted Westwood number. Corseted and down to her knees. Perfect for a woman of her age. Topped off with a pair of Louboutins.

‘I try.’

‘Looks like you did more than try. Hope it’s on my behalf?’

‘Who else would it be for, besides meself?’

Freddie cracked his knuckles and sniffed loudly in disdain. ‘I dunno, that’s why I’m asking. But you wouldn’t tell me anyway would you? Leave me to have to find out myself.’

Tasha looked at Freddie from under her false eyelashes. She’d seen him have that look before, on several occasions. More than she cared to remember. Something was bugging him. Eating him up. She could see he was fuming. She knew all the signs; chewing on the side of his mouth whilst trying not to explode and say what he really wanted to. Coming across slightly preoccupied, when she knew his brain was ticking overtime.

It was tricky to know how to treat him when he was in one of his moods. Freddie might be her husband but it was never far from her mind that she was dealing with a very dangerous man. If she ever forgot, she only had to remember Freddie had come into prison looking at serving only a few years and ended up doing life for murder. Another one. Only this time he’d been caught.

Sometimes he’d be happy for her to tease him, coaxing him out of his foul mood. On other occasions, it’d only make things worse, and the calmer approach was the only way to deal with him. Sitting down opposite Freddie in the visiting hall, Tasha didn’t feel like doing either.

She was sick of having to mollycoddle his emotions. What about hers? Yes, he’d given her money, cars, holidays, even houses. All the usual clichés. But he’d never given her himself. So in the absence of having a husband, she’d taken the Bentleys, the Tiffany jewellery, the house in Marbella; because if that was all that was on offer, it was better than nothing. But now it was too late. Tasha didn’t want
him
or anything he gave her at all.

She hadn’t appreciated being dragged to the prison to come and pay him an emergency visit either. She wanted to be with Ray-Ray, who the doctors had said could come home in a few weeks after almost two and a half months in hospital. Instead, she’d been given no choice but to come. She sighed. She wanted to stop being angry with Freddie, then life would be easier, but she just couldn’t bring herself to.

‘I always try to look nice Freddie. Got a problem with that? Would you rather me walk round in one of them burkas, covering meself up?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t give me so much fucking lip.’

Tasha said nothing. She didn’t argue with Freddie. No one did. Her way of showing him she was annoyed was by saying nothing, knowing he’d be the first one to talk.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, which always made Freddie feel slightly uncomfortable. Eventually he spoke, gruffly but not as harsh as before. ‘I ain’t got a clue what’s going on with you Tash. You seem different somehow.’ He stopped, then shrugged his shoulders, knowing that was as far as his emotional speak went.

‘I’m fine.’

Freddie decided it was pointless trying to go on with the conversation. He’d find out soon enough what was going on, once he was out. He looked round cautiously, making sure no screws or lags were close enough to hear.

‘The date’s been put back but we’ve got no choice other than to roll with it.’

Tasha felt a slight sense of relief, although she wasn’t fool enough to show it. The idea that Freddie would be out of prison unnerved Tasha for lots of reasons; not least because Arnie hadn’t stopped calling her. She’d expected a few calls, but then she’d expected him to take the hint when she hadn’t returned them.

At first she’d been sorry to see him go, sorry he’d needed to keep calling her. And it’d hurt her. She hadn’t been in love with Arnie but she’d been close to it, caring about him deeply. But the minute Johno had told her they were going to spring Freddie out she’d known they’d had to stop seeing each other. It was the only way if she wanted him to be safe from Freddie finding out and hurting him. There was simply no two ways about it.

She’d hoped by now Arnold’s calls would diminish. But they’d increased. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Even twenty calls a day. And her sorry had quickly turned to unease, not helped by her sister, Linda.

‘Bleeding hell Tash, if you want my opinion you’ve got a right nut job on your hands. What did I tell you? Any bloke who ain’t looking to get his leg over is a bloke who’s looking for trouble.’

Tasha had snapped at her sister then. ‘And which great philosopher did you get that quote from, hey?’

‘All right girl, no need to machine gun the messenger. I ain’t trying to wind you up babe. I’m just worried for you.’ And she wasn’t the only one. Tasha Thompson was worried for herself.

Unlike Linda though, who always liked to walk on the melodramatic side of life, she didn’t imagine for a moment Arnie was some looney tune. She knew him better than that. What she was concerned about was something far more real, far more worrying. She had a strong suspicion Arnie’s male pride – or whatever it was which was driving him to bombard her with phone calls day and night – would make him do something silly. Something silly, like tell Freddie what’d been going on. And as Tasha sat across from her husband, watching him crack his knuckles, Tasha knew
something silly
would turn into something very nasty indeed.

Wanting to block the thoughts of her problems out, Tasha concentrated on talking about their son. ‘Ray-Ray doesn’t want you doing it. Well, not for him anyway.’

‘You told him?’

‘He was going to find out sooner or later wasn’t he? Best me tell him rather than some copper.’

‘He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He can’t see he needs me to do this.
I
need to do this. I want to be with him, Tash. I want to be with you.’

‘Nothing I can say is going to stop you is it?’

Freddie stared at Tasha. ‘You could try talking to me like you want to be here. I’m putting my neck on the line for you and Ray-Ray. I ain’t seen you for a while and now I feel like I’m just some surplus cunt. Have you got somewhere else you’d rather be Tash? Or should I say,
someone
else you’d rather be with.’

Tasha blushed. It didn’t go unnoticed by Freddie but he didn’t react, just listened. Waiting for her to say something to hang herself.

‘Don’t start, Freddie. If you must know, yes, I
would
rather be somewhere else, with
someone
else. With Raymond. Now go on, tell me you’ve got a problem with that an’ all.’

‘Why are you still angry with me Tash?’

‘If you have to ask, then you’ll never understand.’

‘Maybe I don’t Tash, but don’t worry. I will. I’ll make sure I sort out any concerns I have once I’m out … Uncomfortable?’ he said, looking at her sharply.

He stared at Tasha who was shifting in her seat, making out it was the hard orange plastic prison chair which was making her move awkwardly. But they both knew different. He was giving her a warning.