by Emmy Ellis
She could handle anyone but Will discussing her like that.
“So she’s been a slag all this time, selling sex.” He tutted. “Gross, if you ask me. Like, she works in an actual place, some parlour or other, and men book in, and she shags them in her room there. A room. Can you believe that?”
“That’s…interesting,” Benny said.
“Why is it?” Mum barked. “I suppose you want to book her.”
Orchid’s stomach rolled. She agreed with Mum—for once. If Benny had the chance, he would book her, then take what he wanted without paying for it. She recalled his breath in the hallway at his house that time she’d taken him the drug money. Revolting, his hands on her, what he’d said, how she’d felt, the tears, the need to run home, even though she’d hated it there; an unwelcome place could still be a relief to step into, and it had been. The people who lived there were still saviours in certain storms, familiar although detested, lighthouses guiding the way.
“Kath, you’re clearly unhinged tonight,” Benny said, haughty.
Only tonight? The woman was unhinged the majority of the time, although she hid it behind a carefully constructed veneer.
“Unhinged?” Mum let out her maniacal laughter, the type that bought her time, a titter lasting ages, dying out only when she knew which route she’d take. Everything about her was contrived, every move, every decision picked over until she had it just right, designed to give her maximum power. “That’s one word for it. The thing is, you’re the one who’s made me that way.”
Trouble in paradise? How come she’s changed her tune?
“What the fuck are you on about?” Benny snapped, impatience in his strict tone, like he wanted to slap her, teach her a lesson, give her one of those famous black eyes where she told the neighbours she’d walked into a doorframe or banged her face on an open cupboard, so clumsy, nothing to worry about.
“Look,” Will said, “keep your voices down. I told you the door was open.”
Orchid imagined him gesturing to it, reminding them with the wave of his hand that behind it, the slag and the men could overhear.
“Blame your mother for getting irate and lairy, not me.”
No, it’s never your fault, is it.
“So what’s the deal here?” Benny asked, quieter now.
Orchid was surprised he’d obeyed Will without telling him off for dishing out an order. That was a first. He didn’t usually pass up the chance to berate him.
Will sighed. “We’ve been over this before.”
“So tell me again. Who are these men?” Benny pushed.
Another sigh. “London leaders. They run The Cardigan Estate—there are estates all over, all with different leaders. She’s protected by them—I’m sure you know this already. Anyway, they’re in there, having a meeting about changing her name by Deed Poll or whatever. They’ll get her a new passport and birth certificate. I’ve been earwigging while waiting for you. She’s going to start again elsewhere, properly.”
“She bloody well isn’t,” Mum said. “She’s coming home with us. We’ve got everything worked out. Tell him, Benny.”
Benny coughed. “Right, let’s recap. I’ll kill those blokes, then your mum’s going to make out to Rebecca that she loves her and all that bollocks, get her to trust her, then, when we get back to Birmingham, Rebecca’s a goner. I’ll deal with that side of things. There’s something I want to sort out with that little madam first, and I’ll do her in afterwards.”
Orchid didn’t need to imagine what that was. He’d made it clear with his sly touches that could be put down to accidents should anyone have seen, his side-eyes when he didn’t think she was watching, and him forever licking his lips, the tip of his tongue skirting the bottom of his oily moustache… He had it in mind to use her, finally, going all the way. He’d be eager after years of being denied the full package, maybe slap her around for leading him on, give her a face like Mum’s was at times, bruised and battered. She hadn’t led him on, far from it, but in his eyes, by her not allowing him carte blanche on her body, she was a cockteaser, something he’d liked to call her, whispering it in her ear as he passed.
“What do you need to sort out?” Mum asked.
“Never you mind,” Benny said. “So, Will, son, are the men packing?”
“No, there’s no need for weapons when they’re only having a chat, is there.”
“I’ve brought along my pistol. Might be small, but it does the trick. A bullet to each of their heads, then we’re out of here. Got a car nearby, have you?”
“Yeah, I parked it out of sight.”
“Good lad.” Benny paused. “Um, where did you get it from?”
Will laughed. “I learnt from the best. Stole it, didn’t I.”
Benny sighed, probably with relief. “I was going to say, a hire car or whatever leaves a trail. Right, it’s time to get inside. What’s the layout in there, do you know?”
Orchid lifted her head to peer through the bottom of the window. Mum stood with her arms folded, her usual stance when in this kind of situation, as if she needed the self-hug to boost her spirits and calm her nerves. Were her boobs bigger? She had one foot out, tapping it on the ground, and she eyed Benny with hate. What had happened for her usual adoring expression to vanish like that?
Will explained. “As soon as we go in, to the left is another doorway. Beyond that is the warehouse. There’s a table against the right-hand wall, two chairs in front of it. Another door on the right leads to a bathroom, and another on the same side goes out the back.”
“What the fuck do they have a bathroom for?” Benny asked.
“For showering after they’ve killed people. They’ve got this circular saw, electric, and they chop people up. It can get messy, I suppose.”
“How the chuff do you know all this?” Mum stared at him as if suspicion picked at the loosening threads of her trust in him. “Seems you have a shitload of info, stuff you shouldn’t even know.”
“I got chatting to some bloke in a pub, I said that in my texts, plus, like I also said, I’ve been earwigging and nosing through that gap in the door.”
“So he spilt the beans, did he, this man in the pub? Just like that?” Mum cocked her head—she knew something was off.
Fuck.
“He was drunk.” Will shrugged. “What are you getting in my face about it for? I got you info, didn’t I? You wouldn’t even know where Beck was if it wasn’t for me. Anthony fucked up and got himself killed. I didn’t. Can’t you for once be pleased with me? Tell me I did good?”
Orchid’s soul ached. Will had always secretly needed Mum’s approval, some sign that she gave a shit, and as far as Orchid knew, he’d never got it. Seemed he wouldn’t now either.
“Tell you that you did good?” Mum laughed, low and sinister, no stringing it out, she knew exactly what she’d say next. “From the minute you were conceived, nothing about you has been good. Same with Rebecca. The pair of you are thorns in my side.”
Will ran a hand through his hair, possibly fighting not to have a row with her. Now wasn’t the time to let out his feelings—that could come later, inside. If he lost the plot, Mum and Benny would presume they were up to something.
Stay on track, Will.
“So, are we getting on with it then?” Will moved towards the door.
Orchid waited until the three of them had gone through, the door closing behind them, then she got out of the car and ran around the warehouse, imagining George heading for the front at the same time. Greg had left the back door open for her if she changed her mind about being involved. Seemed she had, because she sped to it. Mum being nasty to Will had set her feet in motion.
A gunshot, faint. Orchid stopped running and listened, her ear close to the gap where the back door was partially open.
“You fucking… What the hell?” Benny.
“I’ll have that, thanks.” George.
Scuffles. Muffled words. George and Greg would be behind Mum and Benny now, their hands cl
amped over their mouths. Orchid went inside, adrenaline rushing through her, and moved to the main area, standing by the bathroom door. The twins pushed Mum and Benny onto the two chairs, stepping back, guns pointed at them. Will collected rope off the table and looped one lot around Benny, tying it tight while the bearded bastard protested and made to get up.
“I’d stay put if I were you,” George said.
“Well, you’re not me, are you,” Benny spat.
“No. Thank heaven for small mercies.” George sniffed. “I wouldn’t want to be you, to be fair. Some ageing prick who only thinks he knows how things work, playing at being the hardman, when really, you need lessons from us.”
“I don’t need lessons from anyone,” Benny ground out.
Will tied Mum to the chair. She peered over her shoulder at him, the familiar expression of hate wrecking her face. Orchid was under no illusions—that woman hated Will in this moment, could kill him with her bare hands if he hadn’t pinned them to her sides.
“You’re a bastard,” Mum said. “A no-father, double-crossing bastard.”
Martin came into Orchid’s view from the far corner, and he walked towards her, face ashen. “I don’t do well in these situations,” he said to her. “I’ll sit in the car.” He strode out, closing the door behind him.
Orchid switched her attention back to the warehouse.
Will came round the front and stared at Mum. “I wish I was a no-mother bastard. But I will be soon.” He stood between The Brothers and stared in Orchid’s direction. He raised his eyebrows: Are you staying over there or coming here?
She took a step forward, then another. Benny’s scent filtered to her, the sweat of fear, acrid, strong, vinegary, his body giving away his terror, even though on the outside he appeared mutinous and resolute in keeping his true feelings to himself. And his usual odour underlined it, one she’d caught whiffs of in the dead of night when he’d come into her and Will’s room, paused by her bed, and stared down at her, rubbing his crotch, whispering, “One day, Beck, one day…”
She shuddered, and all the hate she had for him surged up, a wave that reached the top of her head and ended with goosebumps freezing her skin. The hairs on her arms stood on end, her instinct recognising someone so intrinsically wicked, warning her to keep away. Like she needed reminding.
She took another step.
Benny caught sight of her first, whipping his head round to stare at her. Instead of shock coating his face, a sneer twisted his mouth—playing the hard nut until the end. “There you are. Come to gloat, have you?”
She slotted between Will and George and studied Benny, careful to keep her face blank. She didn’t want him knowing how much she detested him, how her skin crawled whenever he was near. His phantom hands of the past gripped her down below and on her breast, and she struggled not to gasp. How could memories be so acute after years had gone by? How could they rip into you, transport you back there, taking away your control, your ability to remain in the present?
“Missed me, did you?” he asked. “I missed you. I mean, what’s not to miss? Look at those juicy tits…”
Mum didn’t have the same restraint as Orchid, and a rasping gasp whooshed. “I fucking knew you were after her. You wanker. Wasn’t I enough for you?”
Orchid digested that. Mum’s first port of call was to think of herself, how it affected her—how she wasn’t good enough. Where was the sympathy for Orchid? Where was the motherly instinct to feel for her child over herself?
“You’re a washed-up old cow,” Benny said to her. “Now shut up. I’m sick of your gob and your plastic chest.”
“No, you shut up,” Mum raged. “All these years you’ve been ogling her, while I was the one to stick by your side. She ran off. She didn’t put up with your limp dick of late—are you even sure you could get it up if you did try it on with her?”
Orchid’s temper soured. This woman, she was something else. “I wouldn’t let him touch me with a barge pole.”
Mum snapped her focus to Orchid. “Well, you let every other man touch you these days, so why not Benny?”
“He couldn’t afford me.”
Mum tried to stand then gave up, mania contorting her face. “You’re such a little bitch. I hate you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” Orchid didn’t know how she remained so calm, but a sense of inevitability washed over her—she wasn’t as bad as Will in wanting her mother to acknowledge her in a kind way, to love her, that all-encompassing need had died long ago, but it seemed a spark still flickered, indistinct but there all the same, and this calmness, it taught her you couldn’t change a person’s feelings no matter how much you wanted to. You couldn’t make someone love you.
She looked up at George, who stared down, empathy written all over his face. Had he been through the same? Had someone treated him badly, and all he’d wanted was love? He lowered the gun and held it out to her, eyebrows rising in question.
She took it.
Chapter Seventeen
They waited behind the bookies in the darkness, their forms just as dark apart from their eyes and mouths inside the holes of their balaclavas. Orchid hadn’t put one on before, and the woolly material itched, her cheeks hot, prickly. This was Rebecca and Will’s first big job, their first time being allowed into the main circle instead of left home alone, a test of their mettle and obedience. Fifteen and thirteen years old, forced into this awful life. Their roles tonight had been drummed into them for two weeks, and she could perform hers in her sleep she’d gone through it so many times. Benny reckoned things should go smoothly, what with his intel, but if they didn’t, they’d deal with that as and when.
Will was out the front, leaning on a lamppost beside an overflowing bin, acting casual, like he was waiting for a friend to turn up to go off to the cinema, popcorn and Cokes on hand, all an illusion. He’d been told to keep his head down, chin to chest, eyes up, and observe—CCTV would capture him, so he had to be careful. A balaclava would only draw attention should anyone go to the takeaway pizza shop down the way.
“Pull your hood right down over your face as far as it’ll go,” Benny had said.
Rebecca had wondered how he’d see if he did that, but of course, she hadn’t said anything. Mum would have slapped her, told her not to question Benny, and Benny himself would have followed that up with a cuff around the earhole.
Anthony sat in the van as a getaway driver.
They’d come here via an alley, Len using bolt cutters to snip the padlock on the wooden gate, then Trev had taken them, putting them inside Len’s rucksack on his back, an extra weapon, Benny had suggested, good for cutting body parts off if the combination to the safe wasn’t given up. The loss of fingertips was good for loosening tongues.
They huddled at the back of the empty yard, guns at the ready, Rebecca’s shotgun heavy in her hands but familiar now. Benny had been teaching her how to shoot on some scrubland, tin cans perched on outcrops of rocks that had tufts of green hair in the form of moss. He’d stood behind her, his body pressed close, to ‘help’ her aim, get it right. She’d never forget his hardness nudging the bottom of her back.
The bookie, Ken Tripper, was apparently doing his accounts. He stayed behind once a month to toil over the books, then later, he used the night depository at the bank to drop the day’s takings, a creature of habit, so Benny had said. He usually left via the back, the money in its special bag inside his holdall, and walked along the alley between the bookies and the laundrette, going out the front to his car.
He wouldn’t make it there with the money tonight.
Rebecca’s heart rate picked up at the thought of hurting the man, any one of them severing his fingers with those cutters until he told them which numbers would open the safe. The guns were supposed to be for threatening purposes only, waved about for effect, but she’d overheard the chats at the kitchen table and the news reports that followed. Sometimes, people got shot. The adults laughed about it, reliving the way blood had leaked into
clothing, how a man toppled backwards, clutching his belly, red seeping between his fingers.
How hadn’t the gang been caught?
Benny glanced at his watch, the face of it illuminated, and whispered, “Inside.”
They converged on the back door in a side-by-side line that soon filtered into single file, Benny at the helm of his fiendish ship, Rebecca at the stern, everyone else on board in the middle, filling the deck, cannons primed, pirates ready to pillage.
Benny smashed the glass in the door with his rifle and reached inside to twist the key in the lock, another creature-of-habit thing in their favour. Benny had an inside man who’d receive some of the spoils and had been threatened with a bullet up his arse if he even thought about dobbing them in.
Benny went in, glass crunching beneath his heavy-duty boots, and Rebecca peered to the side to look through one of the windows. A man had come to investigate and stood in a doorway beyond a staffroom area, grey wire-wool hair awry, shadows beneath his wide dark eyes, hands raised, and they shook. His shirt wasn’t done up to the top, silver chest hair on display, and his brown leather belt was undone, the ends hanging. Maybe they’d disturbed him having a wee, and it saddened Rebecca that such a natural occurrence could be stopped by the sound of tinkling glass, his stomach rolling over, his heart thudding: Is someone breaking in?
Everyone filed inside, and at the threshold, Rebecca stopped. She didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to be a part of this, but if she remained out here, she’d be for it when they got home, get more than the slipper for her trouble.
Forced inside by a lifetime of indoctrination, a touch of rebellion trying to lure her back out in the darkness, anchor her there so she wasn’t a part of this, she watched, shotgun by her side, forgetting all she’d been taught—she was supposed to hold it up, aimed at Tripper, the same as everyone else was doing. Benny reckoned, when presented with the sight of people in balaclavas, all wielding weapons, you’d do just about anything they wanted. With Tripper’s hands already up, the threat of her gun wasn’t needed. Still, she lifted it, in case one of the others clocked her disobeying, and she played her reluctant part.
