Sweetie (10 page)

Most of the guys present were reluctant to come right out and say who they thought had beaten Steven Archer, even though the front runners were fairly obvious. In a neighbourhood as tight as this everybody was staying schtum.

George, the local misery, broke the silence. ‘They were only doing what they thought was right. You can’t really blame them, can you?’ The majority muttered agreement then continued with their Saturday morning ritual. Only Harry looked heaven -

wards and asked forgiveness for those who had committed such a horrible crime.

As far as Grace Ballantyne was concerned, the world had suddenly gone mad. She had been half-asleep when her husband had come home the night before, and had woken to the sound of the bath running.

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John never took baths, only showers in the morning.

She threw back the covers and went to the bathroom to find a pile of red-streaked clothing on the floor and her husband sitting in the bath, trying to scrub dried blood off his hands using her nail brush. Her stomach churned. She didn’t have to ask. She knew.

The only words she said to him were: ‘How could you?’ All sorts of thoughts filled Grace’s head then.

She had been a victim herself once, had wanted to maim or even kill her attacker but fear and help -

lessness had stopped her. Now she felt only rage.

John and his ignorant mates had brutally beaten an innocent, harmless soul. Her husband had tried to justify himself but Grace slammed the bathroom door behind her, and when he came to bed pretended she was asleep.

It was a long tense night. She lay awake, rigid with anger at him. John should have known better. Should have known that she hated brutality in any form after what she had suffered at the hands of her Uncle Gary for all those years. She had drawn strength from her marriage to a kind man and the birth of her children, which had helped her through the long dark nights of reliving those assaults, suffering the recurring night -

mares. And for what? So that now she could learn that John was no different after all? How would she ever be able to trust him again?

She didn’t want to know who’d been with him, she already had a good idea anyway. She didn’t want to 85

hear the ins and outs, she could guess. What had happened to Adam and Chantal was awful, but attacking a boy, especially one as soft as Steven Archer, didn’t make things right. She drifted off to sleep somewhere around six o’clock and was woken at seven-thirty by the ringing of the phone; it was her mother with news of the attack on Lucy.

Grace listened in silence, feeling horribly sick. The room began to whirl and sweat broke out over her top lip as she experienced a vivid flashback.
‘Rub-a-dub-dub,’ said Uncle Gary as he pushed her clitoris
from side to side. ‘Groan, Gracie baby, groan!’
‘Let Your Love Flow’ by the Bellamy Brothers, was playing on the radio in the kitchen. Grace dismissed the leering, laughing face of Uncle Gary from her mind, and said goodbye to her mother. She switched the radio off angrily. Within twenty minutes she was dressed, had fed and changed the baby and put Adam in front of the telly with a bowl of Weetabix.

John came down the stairs to find her heading for the door. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, scratching his head and yawning.

Grace took a moment to stare at his right hand, the knuckles swollen and grazed, before saying simply,

‘Out! Adam needs a nappy, they’re in the baby bag by the sofa.’

‘Where are you off to this early?’ he asked between more yawns.

‘Never you mind,’ she said, kissing the children.

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She grabbed her house keys as well as the keys to John’s Jag and headed out the door.

She had her thoughts and plans in place. She needed to feel angry; needed to let out some emotion.

She had held it in for too long! First stop was Potty’s.

Grace had to knock twice before Potty answered it, wearing a tatty cotton dressing gown and followed by her six-year-old twins, Sara and Jessica, both crying and pulling at the back of her robe to reveal a pair of pale podgy legs that were mottled like corned beef. Her face was tear-stained and blotchy. In fact, Potty looked like death.

Grace hugged her nevertheless, and as she did so Potty began to cry. Grace ushered her inside the flat, picked the milk up off the doorstep and sat her down at the kitchen table while she rooted around in a sinkful of dirty dishes, looking for a couple of mugs to make them some nice hot sugary tea. The girls were still crying. It took Grace a moment to work out that they were hungry and wanted some breakfast.

She rinsed a couple of bowls, filled them with Sugar Puffs, and while the twins argued over the little plastic toy that fell out of the box, Grace poured milk into both bowls and steered them into the front room. Lucy was there, sitting on the settee watching television.

‘How are you, love?’ said Grace after settling the younger ones, and ruffled the top of Lucy’s red head.

Grace liked Lucy. She was a determined youngster 87

and, although far from a beauty yet, Lucy would have her time.

‘I’m all right, thanks, Auntie Grace.’ Grace wasn’t Lucy’s real auntie, of course, but all close female friends were called ‘Auntie’ – and besides, if Lucy had had her way, Grace would be her mum. She was so elegant and lovely, and kept her home so clean and tidy. She was kind and beautiful, too, altogether the type of woman Lucy longed to have in her life. Grace was Lucy’s role model. One day, she would be exactly the kind of person Grace was. It inspired her to do well.

Now Grace sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Where’s your dad?’ she asked.

‘Bed,’ Lucy answered, disappointment in her voice. Michael just wasn’t the same with her any more. These days he paid her little or no attention and Lucy was devastated by this turn in his affections. Once she’d been the apple of his eye.

Now, that seemed a very long time ago. All Michael wanted these days was his next drink.

Grace wasn’t surprised to hear it but the way Lucy’s parents were behaving still made her angry.

Lucy had been attacked and her wretched mother was in the kitchen wailing like it was she who had been knocked to the ground, pinned down and assaulted, while the girl’s bloody step-father couldn’t even be bothered to crawl out of his pit! Grace 88

looked around her. This room was a disgrace. Dirty cups and overflowing ashtrays and beer cans were strewn across the coffee table; piles of children’s clothing littered the room, waiting to be ironed. The curtains were still closed and the whole place smelled stale.

‘Let’s get some daylight and air in here.’ Grace went briskly about the task, drew back the curtains and opened the windows as far as they could go.

‘How’s Adam?’ asked Lucy.

Grace smiled and said, ‘He’s getting there, love.

Still very quiet and in a lot of pain, but he’s young and the doctors seem to think he’ll make a full recovery. It’s just going to take time.’

She felt humbled by Lucy’s bravery and the fact that she should be concerned for Adam, having just escaped rape herself. Lucy turned her attention back to the TV; she’d had enough conversation. Grace had the tact not to push it and instead excused herself, saying that she was going to make a cup of tea.

‘Watch the twins, Lucy.’

Back in the kitchen Potty was wiping her nose on a tatty tissue.

‘I know it’s hard but you’ve got to try and be strong, for Lucy. If she sees you falling apart . . . look, I know what that kid’s going through.’ Grace stopped herself then realising, she was saying too much. She only hoped Sandra wouldn’t ask what 89

she’d meant by that. Thank God, Potty was too distressed to pick up on the remark.

‘It’s not that, Grace, it’s Steven. You might as well know the truth. You see . . . I knew they were going to do it. I could have stopped it but I didn’t.’

Potty gave a tearful account of the meeting round at Lizzie Foster’s and Grace nodded, unsurprised by what she heard. She’d known that her mother and Lizzie Foster were baying for blood, and in a way it was understandable given that their grandchildren had suffered, but what the hell did it have to do with Sue Williams? That fat cow! Meddling bloody busy -

body. Grace had realised Sue was jealous of her close-knit family and her money. Now she knew that Sue could be dangerous too.

‘Fucking Sue Williams,’ she spat.

‘Please don’t tell her I told you.’ Potty was shaking with fear as she thought about the recriminations that would follow once the others heard she had betrayed them. Grace was sickened to see the hold that Sue had over her friend but said only, ‘Course not. I won’t say a word – providing you get yourself cleaned up and presentable. The police might come round and you don’t want them to see the place looking like a shit hole. I’ll help you.’

She stayed for another hour, washed the dishes, sorted out a bag of washing for the launderette, and got the twins dressed. She was feeling a little better herself by then. Somehow helping others was a great 90

distraction from her own troubles. She worried momentarily that she should get back to Adam, but while she still had energy she wanted to complete her rounds and make another call.

With the arrival of their fourth child, TJ, the Williamses had been moved into a proper house with a garden on the estate, one of the few roads that hadn’t been entirely given over to flats. When Grace pulled up in the navy blue Jag she received admiring glances from a gang of boys which included Wayne, the Williamses’ eldest son. They were standing around outside Sue’s small front garden, an immacu -

late patch of green bordered with busy Lizzies and nasturtiums. By the front door were two hanging baskets, dripping with bright pink fuchsias. TJ and Gillian’s two boys played happily on the grass. So her sister was inside. How much did
she
have to do with Steven’s beating? Grace wondered.

Sue clearly had a thing about gnomes. They were scattered about the garden, some with their heads knocked off after Terry had come home drunk.

Grace hesitated by the gate. ‘Is your mum in, Wayne?’ she asked.

‘Yeah. Your mum’s there too, and Lizzie.’

Makes sense, thought Grace. She scooped TJ up for a cuddle and then kissed her two nephews. ‘Hope you’re all being good,’ she said.

‘Course we are,’ answered Jamie, Gillian’s eldest.

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‘I’m playing with my bike today, Auntie Grace, but Benny’s being stupid.’

Wayne interrupted him then.

‘Can we sit in your car, please, Grace?’ Wayne and his little gang of mates looked at her expectantly. She eyed them for a moment. ‘Go on then, but don’t touch anything or I’ll ’ave yer guts for garters. Watch the others, Wayne.’

She knocked on the open door to the house. Terry Williams answered and seemed surprised to see her.

Not looking her in the eye, he ushered her inside.

‘Grace love, surprised to see you. How are you doing?’

She didn’t answer but glared at him. Terry bowed sarcastically for her to pass him and she headed straight for the kitchen at the back of the house. She didn’t know what she was going to say but she was bloody furious. The four women she found there looked up in surprise, as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Grace just stared at them with a face like thunder.

‘Cup of tea?’ asked Sue, looking worried.

‘Shut up you, ya meddling fat cow!’ Grace spat at her, then turned to address her sister next. ‘So you were in on this as well, were you? You always were a sheep, Gill. Can’t think for yourself, that’s your problem.’

Gillian reddened and the other two women, Nanny Parks and Lizzie Foster, glanced at each other 92

uncertainly before Nanny Parks said, ‘Don’t speak to your sister like that, Grace, she was only trying to help. We all were.’

Gillian braced herself to interrupt. ‘Shut up, Mum, I don’t need you to fight my battles.’ Then, emboldened, she turned back to her sister. ‘What’s up with you, Grace? I thought we were a team, all of us!’

‘Team? Help? You pathetic bunch! That poor little sod is in hospital, battered to within an inch of his life. What’s wrong with you fucking people? Call that
help
? And you of all people, Lizzie . . . Eileen’s your friend. You know Steven. How could you do this?’

‘That’s enough, Grace. Sit down and get a grip on yourself.’ Lizzie Foster fixed her with an icy glare, but Grace stood up to her.

‘Whose stupid idea was this anyway? What made you think you had the right to play God?’

She stared at each of them in turn.

‘Mum, what were you thinking of? I told you I didn’t think Steven had it in him to hurt anybody, but you had to go and listen to the likes of her!’ Grace pointed at Sue, whose mouth fell open.

‘You’ve got it all wrong, Grace. We only did it to put a stop to his game . . . stop him hurting any more babies. Can’t you see that? We were just trying to help.’

‘And did it help Potty or Lucy? No, of course it didn’t! Because you got it wrong. So now everyone is hurting, and meanwhile that fucking maniac is
still
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out there
. You’re a gossip and a rabble-rouser, Sue, and it’s caused untold misery and trouble to all of us.

Don’t you realise that when Steven wakes up, all our men will be charged with serious assault? And while the police are busy with them, that fucking sicko will be hanging round with time on his hands . . . time to strike again!’

At that point, Grace fell into a chair. ‘It’s all such a mess, and there’s no way out. This whole fucking thing is falling in around us, don’t you see?’

She began to sob then. All her pent-up emotion poured out. Sue was lost for words for once. Gillian and Lizzie looked at her in concern.

It was Nanny Parks who spoke up.

‘Pull yourselves together, the lot of ya! We’ve made a mistake, OK, we admit it. But we are family.

We just gotta get ourselves organised and get our stories straight. Nothing’s gonna happen to the men, and nothing’s gonna happen to us. Steven won’t talk.

Neither will Eileen. We’ll see them straight, we owe them that. But let’s not forget one thing. The Devil’s at work round here, and our job is to find him.