Fighting for Survival (The Estate, Book 3) (5 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

On the Sunday evening of their first weekend on Stanley Avenue, Caren was snuggled up on the sofa watching television
when John appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt over the top of dark jeans. Freshly showered, she could smell the tang of his aftershave from where she was sitting. All at once she felt a tingle of excitement - maybe she could entice him into having a quickie before he went out. But her smile morphed into a frown when he picked up his wallet and put it in his back pocket.

‘Surely you’re not off out already?’ She looked at the clock: it was just past eight thirty. ‘You said it would be for a quick pint.’

 ‘I thought I’d make a night of it.’ John avoided her eye as he piled loose change into his pocket. ‘Haven’t been out in a while and it’ll be good to catch up with Pete and a few of the old crowd.’

‘Nice of you to ask me along too,’ she sulked, knowing full well that she wouldn’t have gone regardless.

John bent down, resting his hands on her thighs. ‘It’s only the one night.’ He stuck out his bottom lip, looking very much like a five-year-old. ‘I’ve been a good boy lately, haven’t I?’

Caren tried not to smirk. God, he smelt so good. She ran her hands up and over his back.

‘Don’t be too late,’ she told him, not wanting to start another bickering match. They’d been doing their fair share of that since the move – silly things over something and nothing.

‘I won’t.’ John leaned forward to kiss her.

‘And don’t make too much noise when you come in,’ she yelled just before the door shut.

She went through to the kitchen, cursing again as she eyed the bare walls stripped and ready to be wallpapered with something more decent than the ancient woodchip that had taken an age to remove: the ghastly stuff had come off like chewing gum. Now that the units had been cleaned, they were fairly decent, despite the one drawer handle hanging on precariously, but they were nothing compared to the kitchen in their last house. Caren had been so proud to show it off to friends, host dinner parties there, drinks after work - now she wouldn’t dare tell anyone her new address. Call her a snob but she’d rather let people think she’d dropped off the face of the earth than tell them she was back on the Mitchell Estate.

She reached a bottle of wine from the fridge and poured a large glass. At least they could pay for small luxuries, although she knew they wouldn’t even be able to afford those if John didn’t get some sort of work soon. This past week, they’d spent a lot of time doing the vast list of odd jobs needed to get the property to a decent standard. Everything else, she was sure, would mostly be completed over the next few days. At least then they could both start looking for work. And maybe John would meet new people: there was no way she was going to make tonight’s meet with Pete something that happened on a regular basis. Pete would bring John down and she wasn’t going to have that.  

She rummaged in the cupboard for a bag of crisps, thinking that she’d get the local newspaper tomorrow evening and they could scour it together. She wasn’t afraid to go out to work for someone else again. She’d cook, she’d clean, she’d shine shoes, clean up the muck from… well, maybe not that last one. Caren took a quick look at her manicured nails, splaying one hand out in front. They were her pride and joy, her nails. Personally she thought a woman wasn’t dressed properly if her nails were shoddy. She wondered: maybe now it was time to get the business she’d been planning up and running.  

Across at number twenty-five, Gina was flat out on the settee when John walked into her living room. She’d been watching some reality TV crap but her eyes flitted from top to toe in a second to take in his clean shoes, designer clothes and the crispness of his white shirt. Immediately, she felt her cheeks burn, the smell of his aftershave having the same effect on her as it had on Caren a few minutes earlier.

‘Hi, Gina,’ John said, moving aside a pile of magazines before sitting down on the armchair. He stared at the overflowing coffee table, before putting them down onto the floor.

‘Hi, John.’

Pete handed John a can of lager before rushing upstairs to get changed. He’d only got in minutes earlier. It was obvious what today’s cash in hand job had been: he smelt of petrol.

She swung her feet round to the floor, trying to pull in her stomach as she sat upright. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked, running a hand through hair she knew hadn’t been washed for five days. ‘Getting settled now?’

John nodded after taking a slurp of his drink. ‘It’s not so bad on Stanley Avenue. Caren was dreading coming back, though.’

I bet she was, the snotty cow,
Gina thought but kept it to herself.

‘I suppose it will take a while for you both to settle,’ she said instead.

John shook his head. ‘Not me. I feel like I’ve never been away.’

‘Oh?’ Gina sensed an information giveaway.

‘I’ve always liked The Mitchell Estate. It feels like coming home again to me.’ He grinned. ‘It’s great catching up with Pete and seeing old friends.’

Gina sat forward more, hoping to feign polite interest rather than curiosity. ‘What does Caren think? I heard you had a lovely house.’

‘We did. It was a corker, I have to admit. Caren is a real homemaker.’

Ouch
.

 ‘She can turn anything into a better place. I suppose in theory we can live anywhere and she’ll make it into far more than it is.’

‘So Caren isn’t happy about the move, then?’ Gina dug deeper, cursing the fact that she was talking to a man. Hadn’t he got any idea what information she was after!

John took another swig of lager. ‘No, she hates it right now – says something about us moving off here within twelve months but I can’t see that happening.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Well, we’re in far too much debt and –’

‘Right, Johnno,’ said Pete, appearing in the doorway. ‘Sorry about that – didn’t get in from work until late.’

Compared to John, Gina didn’t even want to look at Pete in his farmer-checked-shirt that hadn’t seen an iron since she’d bought it for him from the market, jeans that weren’t faded for style but from age and white, dirty trainers. His hair was gelled back like a clone of Dracula.

‘Work?’ She huffed. ‘Siphoning petrol and diesel from vehicles isn’t earning a decent living like normal people do.’

‘Pays for your fags, doesn’t it, you moody cow.’

Pete leaned forward to take one from amongst the detritus on the coffee table but Gina slapped his hand. ‘Piss off. It looks like the girls have already helped themselves, the cheeky mares. And you can get your own after that sarcastic comment, Pete Bradley.’

‘Suits me.’ Pete smirked as he pulled out a handful of notes, throwing a tenner into her lap. ‘Here, I’m feeling generous. Buy yourself another pack.’

John laughed and stood up. ‘Nothing’s changed with you two, I see? Still bickering all the time.’

‘She wouldn’t have me any other way,’ Pete replied. ‘She knows where her bread is buttered.’

Gina faked a yawn. ‘Oh please,’ she said. ‘Go now before I slice you in two with my razor sharp tongue.’

The door closed behind them a few moments later and the house felt instantly gloomy. Gina pulled her feet up onto the settee again, reached for the remote and switched the volume up on the television. God, that had been embarrassing. Trust Pete to try and make a fool of her. You’d think that over twenty years together, she’d be used to his put downs by now but still they hurt – especially when said in front of John, who she hadn’t seen for so long. Who, she realised, she still had a massive crush on. But then again, that wasn’t hard when you stood him next to Pete. To Gina’s eyes, John had got better with age.

It just wasn’t fair.

‘It’s quarter to nine. Do you think she’ll show?’ Claire asked her sister as they sat on the low railing outside Shop&Save with the other girls. Although it had been raining for most of that day, it had stopped now but the wind had picked up instead. Crisp packets and chocolate wrappers over by the doorway created a mini tornado. They closed their eyes momentarily as a cloud of dust flew up into the air. 

‘She’d better, if she knows what’s good for her,’ Rachel said with a scowl.

Just before nine, Charlie Morrison came running around the corner, not stopping until she was level with them. She sat down on the railing next to Claire, holding her side as she caught her breath.

‘Soz I’m late,’ she said eventually. ‘Mum wanted me to look after my baby brother. I told her to get lost so she clouted me one. I ended up getting locked in my room.’ Charlie ran a hand through short, blonde hair, messing up her carefully styled spikes. ‘I waited ‘til I heard her on the phone and legged it through my bedroom window, out onto the porch.’

Rachel grinned. ‘Nice one. Won’t she wait up for you, though?’

‘Don’t care – I’m always getting lamped when I get home anyway, so I might as well have some fun while I’m out.’ She smiled shyly at the others, suddenly her nerve deserting her. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Rachel. She stood up and nudged her sharply. ‘You still up for it?’

Charlie nodded. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Ever robbed anyone?’

 ‘No.’

‘Then that’s what you can do.’

Charlie swallowed. ‘Can I pick a victim?’

Rachel shook her head slowly. ‘No, we’ll choose.’ She looked at the others. ‘Won’t we, girls?’

Some of the group nodded.

‘Yeah, let’s not make it too easy,’ said Ashley. ‘I remember my initiation. It was hell.’

‘Only because you were such a wimp,’ Claire teased, squeezing in between her and Louise on the railing.

‘Me? A wimp?’ Ashley faked a hurt expression. ‘
You
,’ she pointed to Rachel, ‘chose a hard knob for me and I got a good kicking.’

‘We got our hands on some good booze though,’ Shell sniggered, ‘while you were on the floor.’

As the girls continued to cajole and laugh, Rachel watched the shop doorway to see who was coming and going. It was a good fifteen minutes before she spotted two girls, one of whom had given her lip at school, and she knew the initiation could go ahead. Time to kick ass as The Mitchell Mob.

‘Charlie, get their bags and see what’s in them,’ she told her.

Charlie grinned when she saw who Rachel had picked out for her. She interlaced her fingers, pushed them back and stretched them out in anticipation. ‘Which one shall I do first? Or shall I do them both?’

‘Both!’

‘Okay. Oy, you two!’ Charlie shouted as she ran towards them. ‘Care to join us for a moment?’

The two girls stopped in their tracks as Charlie reached them, the others not far behind.

‘It’s Sarah, isn’t it?’ Charlie spoke to the younger one. ‘Sarah Syphilis.’

The girls burst into laughter and circled the sisters.

Sarah glanced at her older sister, just before her bag was whipped off her shoulder.

‘Whatcha doing out here, all alone, at the shops?’ asked Charlie.

‘Give that back to her,’ the older girl said.

Charlie grabbed the collar of her jacket and pulled her close. ‘Don’t push your luck, Jill Crawford, if you know what’s good for you.’

‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off right now,’ Jill dared to speak again. ‘I’ll get my brother on you and then you won’t be so sure of yourself.’

Charlie slapped her hard across her cheek. ‘Do you think I’m scared of a brother coming after me?’ She punched Jill in the stomach, watched her face crumple a second before her knees. While Sarah’s bag was searched and the contents thrown into the road by Claire and Hayley, Charlie laid into Jill. Twice she elbowed her in the back, then she brought her fist up underneath and caught her in the chin. Jill tried to grab Charlie’s hood but Charlie was too strong for her. Another punch in the stomach and she curled up in a ball, trying to fend off the remaining blows, praying that Charlie wouldn’t use her feet. All the time, Sarah screamed as she watched what was happening to her sister, the rest of the girls in the gang egging Charlie on. People began to appear at the doorway of Shop&Save. Someone shouted over angrily at them.

‘Punch her lights out,’ said Louise, ignoring them.

‘Yeah, kick her in the head so that she can hear bells ringing,’ added Hayley.

‘Give her one for me,’ cried Claire, tossing Sarah’s purse on the ground in disgust. ‘There’s hardly anything in here, just a few measly coins. Next time, Rachel, we need someone with a wallet.’

Rachel shot her twin a warning look. ‘Don’t tell me what we need to do,’ she hissed. ‘Or you can take down the next victim.’

‘No way! It’s not my turn again. I did –’

 ‘Well, shut the fuck up then.’ Rachel moved towards Jill, who by now was crawling away, and pulled her head up sharply by the hair, delighted to see fear in the girl’s eyes. It was a perfect time to reiterate what they were all about. 

‘So, your olds – who do you tell them attacked you?’ she asked.