by Emmy Ellis
They were scared, no doubt about it. Will’s thoughts skipped that and went on to what else Benny had said. Men out to find Rebecca. Bloody hell… Was that why Anthony had gone?
“As luck would have it,” Benny went on, “a big stroke of luck, as it happens, there was talk of this place, a pub called The Angel.” He stared at Will as if waiting for recognition of that name to register on his face.
He’d have a long wait. Will had never heard of it.
“And behind the pub—well, in the pub, but at the back of it—there’s this massage parlour, except it isn’t a massage parlour.” Benny’s creepy smile came back. “Women sell sex there, and word has it there was a purple-haired lady doing it, too.”
Will shrugged to hide his shock. Rebecca, a prosser? No, he’d never believe that. “Loads of people have purple hair.”
“But do they all call themselves Orchid?”
Will’s blood ran cold. They were Rebecca’s favourite flower, and she had a brooch, a necklace, and even T-shirts with them on. Whenever she had good money from jobs, she’d bought the plants and watered them religiously, keeping them on her bedroom windowsill, a row of them. The purple ones she favoured, and a few years after she’d picked the first one up from Nan, she’d dyed her hair to match, a lovely red-purple, soft as one of the petals, too.
If Benny knew where she was, why did he ask Will?
“We all know how much she loves those, don’t we.” Benny sniffed and plonked his hands in his pockets.
Shite, was he getting ready to pull out his knife?
Will hid a shudder.
“Always had that brooch on when we did a job, didn’t she,” Benny said. “Right from when your nan gave it to her. Her lucky charm, she said. So while you’re right, purple hair is popular, the Orchid thing, well… My men down there reckon they found her, your sister, except when they went in the pub tonight, she’d gone. Left, apparently.” He paused to stare, his smile no longer present, just those long teeth of his, bared, giving him a feral look. “And that got me thinking. Did you listen in when I was chatting to your mum earlier this afternoon? Did you warn Rebecca someone was coming? Because no one with purple hair was in that parlour.”
“I didn’t say anything to anyone.” Will hoped the fear he experienced didn’t sound in his voice.
“Shame we haven’t got a recent picture of her. She never did like her photo being taken, did she. The one I sent to the blokes, it was from her thirteenth party, that one I threw in The Scotsman, d’you remember? Sadly, they couldn’t be sure if that image matched any of the slags’ faces. And get this, the one with purple hair had left—last night. Funny, that.”
Was it Rebecca at The Angel? Had she got wind and run again?
How, though? And who would have told her the men were coming?
Chapter Five
A week later, Rebecca skipped up Justice Road again, her satchel strap on her shoulder, the bag itself bouncing, as it always did. She walked up the steps and rang the marble-ball bell, waiting for Mrs Didders to answer. She stood there for ages, tapping her foot, then, at the movement in the corner of her eye, glanced down the street.
Mrs Florin ambled along the pavement tugging her daisy-patterned shopping trolley, and she turned onto Mrs Didders’ path. “Oh, I’m that worried. She hasn’t opened her door all week; I had to eat that Victoria sponge myself. Asleep, you said, when you left here last?”
Rebecca nodded. “She took a tablet with her cuppa, said it helped her sleep.”
“Oh, yes, she did say she had insomnia.”
Rebecca didn’t know what that was, she’d just recited what Anthony had instructed, saying if Mrs Didders was found with the powder in her system, it’d be put down to the tablet. Rebecca had no idea what he was talking about with the ‘found’ business, but so long as she did as she was told, everything would be okay. Good job she’d remembered to say it now, because she was supposed to last week if she saw anyone, and she’d seen Mrs Florin, but they’d got caught up talking about the golden dog Rebecca hadn’t polished.
“I’ll ring the bell again.” She prodded it, and the two-tone ring bonged inside. It sounded echoey, more so than usual, and it gave her the creeps.
“Can you climb up on that windowsill and look in?” Mrs Florin pointed to the window in question, which, if you stood in the garden, was above an adult’s head. “Get on that tree branch there and have a nose.”
Rebecca glanced that way and reckoned she could manage it. For the first time she spotted half a window at ground level. There must be a cellar. Maybe that was where all the ghosts lived. “Okay then.”
She jumped down the steps and walked across the grass, recently mowed into stripes by the bloke who came to do it every fortnight. A small tree stood to the right of the living room window, and she shimmied up, the bark scuffing her knees, her skirt riding up her thighs. God, if Declan Green across the road saw her knickers, he’d take the mick out of her.
On the thick branch that jutted out like an arm, she scooted along and peered down into the room. Mrs Didders sat in her usual chair, her cage beside it, and she had the same clothes on as last week. She was asleep again, her mouth hanging open, her hands in exactly the same place across her tummy as the last time Rebecca had seen her.
“She’s having a kip,” she said. “Catching flies.” A Mum saying, one Rebecca didn’t understand. “She looks a bit grey, though, and there are a lot of flies around her. One of them is even on her closed eye.” She shivered along with the leaves as she pushed herself backwards, suddenly needing to get away from the sight.
“Flies?” Mrs Florin slapped her hands on her chest. “Grey, did you say?”
“Mrs Didders is grey, not the flies.” Rebecca skidded down the trunk and joined the elderly neighbour on the path. “Shall we go round the back and see if I can get in through a window? She sometimes leaves the one for the little loo open.”
Something about Mrs Didders being in the same clothes unsettled Rebecca, and while Anthony would tell her to go home and mind her own business, she couldn’t, because Mrs Florin was here, and she seemed worried. Rebecca liked her, she gave her fifty pence sometimes if she ran to the shop to get her some milk.
“Yes, let’s do that,” the old woman said. She parked her shopping trolley by the front gate.
Rebecca led the way down the side of the house and opened the other gate at the end. The back garden was paved, so no need for the bloke to mow out there, and the door was still open, wider than she’d left it.
“Oh, she must be airing the house.” Mrs Florin stepped inside. “Maud? Are you all right?”
Rebecca followed, overtaking her down the hallway, and she entered the living room to the sound of what seemed like a hundred buzzing bees. The flies complained angrily at her disturbing their airspace, and she wafted her hand to get them out of her way. A fat bluebottle crawled on the loop of one of Mrs Didders’ curls, right up and over, a living roller-coaster carriage.
“Mrs Didders, wake up, I’ve come to do the cleaning.”
Mrs Florin came to stand beside Rebecca, and her eyes widened. “Oh my. Come out, love.” She tugged Rebecca’s hand.
Rebecca dug her heels into the carpet. “Why? I can wake her up.”
“No, we need to leave. I have to phone… Wait here. She’s…oh God, she’s dead.” Mrs Florin tottered out into the hallway, the sound of her picking up the phone on the little table loud.
Dead? Mrs Didders?
Rebecca inched closer and placed her ear by the old lady’s mouth. No hot breath came out like it did when she hugged Will, and Rebecca sprang away, scared now, the flies taking her place and hovering around, bumping into each other.
She glanced at the golden dog with the ruby eyes, and even though she’d thought it should stay there last time, her hand seemed to think otherwise, working without her say so, undoing her satchel, reaching out to the shelf, grasping it, placing it in her leather bag, securing the buckle. Mrs Florin was telling some
one she didn’t think an ambulance was needed, it was too late, and Rebecca reversed out of the room to stand next to her, the satchel as heavy as her guilt.
They waited out the front on the path, Mrs Florin gripping the handle of her shopping trolley as if for moral support. Soon, a police car arrived. Rebecca’s tummy clenched, and cold fear spread up her arms at the sight of a copper in uniform coming towards them. They were the enemy, the police, Anthony said so. What if this one asked to check her bag? He’d see the dog and…
Turned out he didn’t. Instead, he listened to Mrs Florin then, leaving his ‘colleague’—that was what he called him—to stand with them, he disappeared around the back. The colleague—“I’m PC Johns, all right?”—asked Rebecca questions, easy ones to answer, because telling the truth was easy. Lying was harder, but she’d do that if she had to.
With the facts established—she even told him she’d been there last week and many before that to do some cleaning—PC Johns took her elbow and guided her home.
“I bet that was a bit of a shock,” he said.
“The flies were horrible. Mrs Florin said she’s dead. D’you reckon she is?”
“Don’t you go worrying yourself about that. Here we are.” He took her up the path and knocked on the door. “What’s your mum’s name?”
“Kath.”
“Kath what?”
“Swithens.”
Will answered, his eyes massive at the sight of PC Johns, and he scarpered down the hallway into the kitchen. He probably thought Rebecca had been caught for something. She went in, and Mum appeared in the kitchen doorway, giving the copper a quick glance then glaring at Rebecca for long enough to get the message across: What the fuck are you doing bringing the filth to my door, you stupid little cow?
“Can I help you?” Mum walked to the front door, her best smile in place, the one she reserved for people who didn’t know what a lawbreaking woman she was.
“Mrs Swithens?” PC Johns asked.
“Miss, thanks very much.”
“Ah, there’s been an unfortunate incident.” PC Johns’ mouth turned upside down. “And Rebecca may well be upset.”
“What’s that then?” Mum pulled Rebecca to her and held her close, like she cared.
For a moment, Rebecca pretended she had a proper mum.
PC Johns sighed. “Mrs Didders at number one. I’m afraid she passed away, and your daughter, along with a Mrs Florin, found her.”
“Oh, bloody hell, that’s a shame.” Mum didn’t sound as if she thought that.
“Rebecca said Mrs Didders was wearing the same clothes as last week—she goes to help the old woman out, I understand?”
“Yes, she’s a good girl, is our Rebecca. Aww, heart attack or something, was it?”
“We won’t know that until the post-mortem—the back door was open, so it’s suspicious circumstances. I just wanted you to know, in case Rebecca has nightmares. We shouldn’t need to speak to her again, but if we do…”
“Yes, of course.”
PC Johns strode away, and Mum closed the door then dragged Rebecca down into the kitchen, her fingertips biting into the top of her arm.
“What the fuck went on?” Mum’s face, red, her eyes blazing, told the story of her anger, and she shoved Rebecca away from her.
Rebecca stumbled, her heart picking up speed. “She must have stayed asleep from when I was there last.” She clutched her satchel strap and looked over at Will sitting at the table.
“The fucking powder…” Mum flew out into the hallway and snatched up the phone. She prodded the buttons, receiver clamped to her ear, and tapped her foot. “Get down here—now!” She hung up and vanished into the living room.
Rebecca gestured for Will to come to her. If someone was on their way, Mum would need the kitchen to chat in. Rebecca led Will to the living room, and she drew him down onto the sofa with her. Mum stood at the window, craning her neck to the right, her fists tight and held to her chest.
“Ah, there he is.” She left the room.
While Mum chatted quietly to whoever had come, Rebecca put her arm around Will and whispered, “Mrs Didders is dead.”
He pulled away to stare at her. “What?”
Rebecca shrugged. “She’s been asleep all week, I bet.”
“But will the police find out about the money?”
“Dunno. But like Anthony said, they won’t think I took it. I’m a kid.”
“I don’t want the coppers to take you away.” Will clutched her hand.
“Me neither, and they won’t. I’ll never leave you. Not even when we’re big and grown.”
Anthony appeared in the living room doorway, face shiny with sweat. He must have run down the road from his house. “What happened?” He pointed at Rebecca.
She told the story all over again. Anthony didn’t look too happy, angrier than she’d ever seen him, and her tummy hurt from his stare. Why did Mum let him speak to her like that? To her and Will? Weren’t mothers supposed to protect you? All she seemed bothered about were the jobs and the money.
Anthony turned to look towards the front door. “She’s having a post-mortem, you said?”
“We knew that might happen,” Mum said. “How strong was that bloody powder?”
“Enough to knock her out, not kill her.” Anthony set his sights on Rebecca again. “You gave her all of it, yes?”
Rebecca nodded. “You said to.”
“I know, but…”
He made a move as if to come in and hit her. Rebecca scrabbled for something to say that would stop him because Mum wouldn’t. She’d stand there and egg him on, telling him to smack her harder, use your fists, you fucking wimp.
“I’ve got a dog.” She hugged her satchel against her thigh. “And it’s golden all the way through, and Mrs Florin said the ruby eyes and the gold are real.”
Anthony frowned. “What the fuck are you on about?”
“I took it from Mrs Didders’ house today, because I knew she was dead, so she wouldn’t be needing it.” She didn’t say she’d planned to keep it, sell it, and run away with Will, because Anthony would smack her then. “Do you want to see it?”
Mum came to stand in the doorway, and the two people Rebecca feared most, along with the absent Benny Chadworth, glared at her.
“You stole a dog without being told to,” Mum said. “That could get us right in the shit. Are you thick or what?”
Anthony smiled. “Hold your horses. It might be a stroke of luck. The money and the dog are missing. A robbery… Think about it…” He stepped in and held a hand out. “Give it to me.”
Rebecca undid the buckle and stuck her hand inside the satchel. She wasn’t silly, she knew she’d never see the dog again, never hold it again, but nevertheless, she wrapped her hand around its chubby middle and brought it out. She gazed down into the red eyes, and hers filled with tears.
“That’s big.” Anthony snatched it off her.
It was around the length and width of a bag of flour, and he held it up to inspect it. “Fuck me, if it’s true that it’s real…”
Mum joined him and took it, bouncing it up and down as if to test the weight, test how much money the gold would convert to. She did it with any jewellery they stole, too. “It’ll be worth a fortune. You’d have to fence it elsewhere. Go to London or something. Do we tell Benny? You know all proceeds have to be split.”
Anthony grabbed it back. “Do we tell Benny? Fuck that for a game of soldiers. This is our scoop, nothing to do with him.”
Mum swallowed. She seemed a bit scared. “Will we get away with it?”
Anthony nodded. “If you and these two brats can keep your fat mouths shut.”
Mum bit her bottom lip. “Right, kids, Anthony is going to take this dog to a safe place. You need to pretend you never saw it, got it? You can have some pocket money once the cash comes in for it.” She narrowed her eyes. “If you even think about telling anyone, I’ll fucking kill you.”
Will shook, and Rebecca cuddle
d him.
“We won’t say anything, will we?” She patted Will’s knee. “We never saw the dog, always remember that.”
Mum smiled. “Good. Now sod off upstairs out of my face. That copper coming here fair put the wind up me, and I need a drink. Fancy a celebratory vodka, Anthony?”
Chapter Six
At half past midnight, Orchid left The Angel via the rear door beside Debbie’s room, George in front of her, Greg behind, a human sandwich that brought her comfort. Although saying that, if those men lurked and George got shot, the bullet would go through him and into her, then into Greg. God, her mind wouldn’t stop throwing up scenarios, ones that left her jittery and weak, bringing unwanted memories with them of a time when a bullet had done just that, her screaming, “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry!”
George stopped at the edge of the building and peered around it, using the torch app on his phone, flashing it about down the side of The Angel. Orchid, mesmerised by the beam darting here and there, almost convinced herself she just watched a light show, nothing untoward going on here, my dear, you just carry on with your life.
“Safe to go,” George said.
It snapped her out of the illusion, and they got into the BMW parked beside Debbie’s car, Orchid in the back thinking of how her life had changed once again on the flip of an invisible card, no option to twist or stick, no winning streak, her the victor in this mad game. No, she was the usual loser.
Things had been taken out of her hands during the discussion with The Brothers, and they weren’t taking no for an answer—they’d worked out what to do, and she’d obey if she wanted to live. That was the long and short of it, her alive or dead, because she wasn’t under any false hope that once she’d been snatched and taken to Birmingham, Benny interrogating her, she’d be killed afterwards, Mum and Anthony encouraging it, the same with Len and Trev.
“Lie down then!” George sounded as if he’d had about as much as he could take.
Orchid had forgotten that part of the plan, and she did as he’d said, her cheek pressed to the soft material of the seat, her heart thumping too hard, chest tight, lungs struggling for air. She had to hide in case those balaclava men were watching in the street. If they spotted her, got a proper look at her face, there was no telling what they’d do. Open fire on the windscreen, killing all of them? Or would they want her alive for now, so she could be taken back to Birmingham to face the consequences of seeking a new life?
