But he just tightened his grip muttering, ‘Let’s find you a cab.’
They stepped out into the drizzle. Realising that she was not going to escape she quietened down as they made their way to the bright lights of Bethnal Green High Street. Clarke checked the street.
‘Does your mum know you’re out?’
The word mum seemed to set her off because she began to laugh in a raucous wild fashion. Crazy girl, Clarke thought. As her laughter rang in the air he spotted a black cab. Hailed it. He opened the cab door and threw her into the back.
‘Where do you live?’
She mumbled an address somewhere in Bow. Clarke slammed the door shut and made his way to the cabbie up front. He told him the address and pressed some money into his hand.
‘There’s an extra fiver there to make sure she gets to her door alright.’
Clarke watched as the cab drove off into the distance. Little girls always caused trouble. If it weren’t for little girls he wouldn’t be trying to erase fresh footprints that led to a crime he’d helped commit twenty years ago.
Nineteen-year-old Jo-Jo slumped drunkenly against the back seat of the cab. She twisted around and watched the tub of lard disappear in the distance. She couldn’t remember the last time some bloke had been kind to her. Men were usually after one thing. No, she corrected herself. Usually after two, the second of which was to impress her mum. She stared out of the window at London, as it whizzed by in a blur of hellish colours before her eyes. Streets she’d once known like the back of her hand. She’d been away for two years now. Hadn’t wanted to go but her mum had put her on the first train out of here and told her not to come back until she sorted her shit out.
She lurched as the cab hit a bump in the road. She pulled out a half bottle of vodka from her bag. She knew she’d already had a skin-full but what the fuck. She tipped the bottle to her lips. Her face twisted as the neat alcohol burned a path down her throat. She gulped more as she thought about her mum. A woman, she knew who would most probably do one thing when she clamped eyes on her – throttle her to death.
Chapter Nine
Daisy stared at the only woman who had ever been a true mother to her. Jackie Jarvis. Thirty-six, five foot two, pixie red hair and freckles that some people mistook for cuteness, but those that got to know her knew she was one of the gutsiest and most caring women around.
They were together in the small, cosy kitchen of Jackie’s second home, her flat in Ernest Bevin House in Hackney. Daisy sat at the table while Jackie bustled around making a brew for both of them. Daisy remembered the first night Jackie had bought her here. It was a month after her dad had died, a hot, sticky evening in August. While Daisy unpacked her belongings in her new bedroom she’d heard the rising voices. Jackie and her new husband, Elijah ‘Schoolboy’ Campbell. Talking about her.
‘Are you off your head bringing Frankie Sullivan’s girl here?’
‘And what the hell did you expect me to do? Just leave her? Abandon her into the care system like I was when I was fifteen? She’s here for good and if you don’t like it you know where the door is.’
‘Alright, but you better not forget that she’s Frankie Sullivan’s daughter and always will be. Whether you like it or not, she’ll always be a gangster’s girl.’
A gangster’s girl. The words had run around, like hot ashes, in her mind, until the pain was too much to take. She’d gone to her bag and taken out her penknife . . .
‘What’s that mind of yours ticking away over?’
Jackie’s voice brought Daisy back to the present. She looked up at Jackie who stood with her hands jammed in her jeans pocket leaning against the edge of the sink. She didn’t tell Jackie what she’d been thinking because she knew that Jackie still felt guilty about what had happened that night.
‘Wishing this day would be finally over,’ she replied instead, her fingers rubbing her left bracelet.
Jackie moved and sat down besides her. Her green eyes twinkled as she asked, ‘So when are we gonna meet that young fella of yours?’
She said what she always said. ‘I just want a bit more time with him and need to meet his parents.’
Jackie shifted forward, the twinkle in her eye disappearing. ‘You ain’t ashamed of us or something? It has been a year now—’
‘How could I be ashamed of a woman like you?’ Daisy quickly denied.
‘You told him about your dad yet?’
Daisy said nothing, dropping her gaze from her adoptive mum. Jackie grabbed her hand, careful not to touch her bracelet, and caressed the inside of her palm with her thumb. ‘The past has a way of coming back to bite you in a very painful place, I should know. Your Jerome may be alright about it. You should tell him.’
Anything else they might’ve said was stopped by the sound of the front door opening. Female chatter swarmed inside. Daisy smiled and got up knowing exactly who the new arrivals were; her surrogate aunts, Anna, Roxy and Ollie. When they saw her each of them gave her a hug like she was five years old. Anna was black, the tallest of the trio, with a beautiful face and a girl-about-town nature that made Daisy easily understand why Anna and the legendary lawyer Bell Dream had been lovers for over ten years now. Ruby was white, with a body shape that could best be described as homely and loved to chat about anything on God’s given earth. Ollie was the quiet one, who’d arrived in Britain as a shell-shocked child soldier from the African country of Sankura, but had transformed herself into the director of two well-respected organisations helping refugees. Daisy knew they had all ended up in the care system when they were fifteen and became fast friends. What happened to them while they were in there they wouldn’t say. And she never asked. Everyone was entitled to their secrets.
‘You all packed?’ Roxy asked Jackie as the women settled themselves in the sitting room.
Tomorrow the women were off on a much-needed two-week holiday to Spain. Roxy owned a luxurious villa there.
‘Bloody case won’t close,’ Jackie groaned.
‘That’s because you’re taking far too much with you,’ Ollie chided in her soft, lightly accented voice.
‘A girl can never have too much. Besides I’ve got to take stuff for the boys as well.’ Jackie had three sons, sixteen-year-old Ryan and her eleven-year-old twins, Darius and Preston, otherwise known as Little Whacky and Little Mojo in honour of two close family friends.
Anna settled her brown face into a beaming smile as she looked at Daisy. ‘You could still come with us. You work way too hard. Chill out, girl, and have a break.’
Daisy gazed back at her knowing her aunt was right. She did give Curtis and Hopkirk more hours than a person should give any job, but only hard graft was going to get her where she wanted to be in life. Anna’s offer was so tempting. The chance to get away sounded like pure heaven. But then she thought about the key. About Charlie’s medicine cabinet. She shook her head. ‘Now Charlie’s gone I’ve got a load of stuff to sort out.’
Jackie sprang to her feet. ‘Talking about sorting out you can help me get my feckin’ case closed.’
She ushered Daisy into what was once her bedroom. All traces of her youth had been cleared, with the room now transformed into an office that Jackie’s husband, Schoolboy, used for his catering business. After that first dreadful night here this room had become her sanctuary, the place where she could shut the door and stare down at Regent’s Canal below and sort through her thoughts. Now she stared at Jackie’s bulging leopard print suitcase that lay open on the floor.
‘Looks like you’re packing to go away for a lifetime,’ Daisy said as she hunched down next to the case. Jackie laughed as Daisy rifled through it making decisions about what could stay and what could go.
‘Do you really need to be taking this?’ Daisy’s hand shot in the air. She held up a lime green vibrator. ‘Won’t this count as a very offensive weapon?’
‘Oi.’ Jackie gave her a mock stern look. ‘Pop Juicy Lucy back like a good little girl. And anyway it’s medicinal; I use it to
massage my back.’
They both chuckled as they looked fondly at each other. Suddenly Jackie’s laughter drained away. ‘I never regret the day you became my daughter.’
Daisy froze at the unexpected words. She eased to her feet and faced her adoptive mum.
‘Not even after what I did in this room?’ She regretted the words as soon as she saw the blood drain from Jackie’s face. But she pressed on. ‘Or when I went clean off the rails and then up the platform back when I was sixteen?’
‘It’s only natural that you should’ve wanted to find out about your mum. Any kid would want to.’ She ran one hand down Daisy’s left arm ‘Do you still think about her?’
Daisy thought for a few seconds. Shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Not as much as I did in the past. But it would be great to meet her, if nothing else to close that chapter on my life. It’s kind of sad to think that if she passed me on the street I wouldn’t even recognise her. But then again, my dad always said I was better off without her.’
‘Never in a million years did I think I’d agree with something your old man said, and I know I shouldn’t say this, but something here,’ Jackie’s hand dropped from Daisy’s arm and covered her own heart, ‘tells me you’re better off not knowing about your mum.’ Jackie had always had good instincts about people. ‘Look, I know you can look out for yourself, but I’m still your old girl, so if you need anything while I’m away please give Misty a bell, OK? That’s why I asked you to come to see me, cos I want to make sure you’re alright when I’m away.’
Daisy smiled as she thought about Miss Misty McKenzie, drag queen extraordinaire. She always found it hard to pin down exactly what was Misty’s relationship to Jackie and her surrogate aunts but the best way she could describe it was that Misty was like their big sister. How they’d all met she didn’t know, but together they owned the trendy Shim-Sham-Shimmy club located in London’s docklands.
Jackie pointed her finger at her. ‘I mean it Daisy.’
Daisy nodded. But in her mind she decided that she wouldn’t need to contact Misty. Nothing major was going to happen in only two weeks was it?
Stella watched one of her newest girls getting half-strangled on the CCTV screen. She sat alone in her private office on the top floor of the brothel. Everyone did a double take when they saw her office. Most people expected either flock wallpaper, paintings with women posing in their birthday suits and dildo-shaped furniture or a cold, minimalist, business-like space, with a U-shaped desk, with two chairs, neutral coloured carpet and not much else. What people got was a trip to another age. A roughly made wooden desk, brick walls, a real log fire and windows covered with white curtains printed with brightly coloured flowers. The door was bright yellow with the words Calam and Stella painted in black fancy print. Pride of place, behind her desk, high on the wall, went to the large framed poster of the movie Calamity Jane. Doris Day posed, whip in hand, decked out, from head to toe, in classic cowboy gear, her name in bold, red print beside her under the tagline: ‘Yippeeeee! It’s the Big Bonanza in Musical Extravaganza!’
She had CCTV everywhere in the brothel, which she watched from her private office on the top floor of the house. Of course, her punters didn’t know that, most crept in wearing hats and with their collars up. If they’d known they were the amateur turn in Stella’s home movies they’d have probably stayed at home with a mucky book and a hanky, the dirty bastards. Her place might not be in Park Lane or some other swanky part of town like some brothels, but she had a reputation for running a clean and discreet show. She charged a minimum of a grand for a whole night with one of her girls and the only people who could cater to that weren’t your usual Joe but men with money to burn in their pockets. Politicians, entrepreneurs, lonely businessmen in a strange city, whose auditors didn’t ask any questions about their expenses. If you had the money, Stella had the tricks. There wasn’t much that she didn’t cater for. Only thing she didn’t do was anything to do with kids. Never kids, not inside her four walls.
The young man fucking the girl senseless with his hands around her throat was a rising star in the city, the eldest son of a prominent family. Of course he’d given a false name when he’d first come here, called himself Ted or some other bogus shit, but Stella had made it her business to find out who he really was. Knowing the names of the people you did business with could always come in useful. And the tapes she kept on all of them made sure that the cops never came knocking at her door. She noticed her girl’s hand moving closer to the panic button she’d had put in every room. Stella had learnt the hard way that good boys from good families were always the worst. Her first pimp had been one of those – swore he loved her, but beat her sideways every time he claimed she hadn’t bought in enough cash. Eventually he’d sliced off her nipple in a rage one night. The last night she’d ever worked for him. The night she’d realised that, unless you were your own boss, the cards life dealt her would be forever stacked against her.
The girl’s hand slipped away from the panic button as bogus Ted collapsed against her. As Stella eased back in her chair thoughts of another punter came into her mind. Or former punter she corrected. Charlie. Poor, dead, sod. She shook her head as memories of him flooded her mind the same time there was a knock at the door. It opened to reveal Tatiana wearing a red silk dressing gown. Without being told the other woman took a seat on the sofa, which was covered in the same bright fabric as the curtains, by the window. Stella joined her. Held out her right hand. The other woman took it and ran her fingers across the deep lines on Stella’s palm as the silence drifted inside the room. Then she spoke, giving Stella her fortune. Stella had been having her palm read since she was a teenager. She had always been curious, sometimes desperate to find out what the future held for her. She’d been doing it for so long that it was a habit she couldn’t break even if she wanted to.
Tatiana kept her intense, dark eyes glued to Stella’s palm. ‘I see two women. Both dark . . .’ Stella drifted with the younger woman’s hypnotic words. Ten minutes later Tatiana’s hands began to smoothly move up Stella’s arms. Stella eased back into the softness of the sofa. The other woman’s hands moved to her stomach, and up to her breasts. Stella closed her eyes as her boobs were caressed and stroked. She had learnt in life that you took what you wanted and fuck everyone else. If they didn’t get it, that was their problem. Stella sank into the magic of the prostitute’s touch when the door crashed open. Her eyes rejoined the world. A distressed and panting Molly, the pint-sized receptionist, stood in the doorway.
‘It’s the cops. They’re raiding the place.’
‘You’re making a big mistake, fellas,’ Stella stormed as she was jostled down the stairs by a uniformed cop.
Stella was pissed off. Her place was never raided. Some of her clients were people with influence and that meant a blind eye was turned to the goings on at her place. She’d also been given to understand by a person in a position to know that the police had more important fish to fry, like the influx of Turkish and Kurdish gangsters into their patch, than high-street knocking shops. Providing they didn’t make any trouble for the law-abiding locals, that was, and Stella King didn’t make any trouble for them at all, she ran a very tight ship.
And now it looked like she might have to share some of her tapes with interested parties to get her wheels turning again. She reached downstairs, where shamefaced customers were having their details taken and near-naked women stood backed against the walls. She noticed one of the female cops talking to one of the women who had recently arrived from the Ukraine. Shit, this wasn’t good. One of the cops approached Stella. Big, uniformed, with acne on his face. His sharp eyes settled on her.
‘Officer, this is a respectable hotel,’ Stella said with all the dignified outrage she could muster. ‘What the residents get up to is their business.’
‘Really? I must be Batman then – what with you being the Joker an’ all. Some of these ladies are claiming you brought them to this country illegally and then forced them to w
ork as prostitutes. Would you care to comment on that?’
‘I ain’t saying nuthin’ until I clap eyes on my brief. He plays golf with your superiors you know . . .’
The officer just scoffed and swung around. ‘Let the rest of them go,’ he shouted. Then he turned back to Stella. Grabbed her arm. Marched her outside without speaking inside.
‘What’s going on?’ Stella demanded as they approached a police van.
She’d never heard of a raid without the Bill taking everyone down the nick. Why were they just taking her? The policeman didn’t answer her. Instead he opened the van and strong-armed her inside. The door banged shut behind her. The darkness cloaked her as the van sped off. The ride went on for five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. Wherever she was being taken to she knew it wasn’t the nearest nick because it was a five-minute journey from the brothel. What was going on here? A few minutes later the van jerked to a halt. She heard the passenger’s and driver’s doors slam shut. Heard footsteps coming closer on the ground outside. The footsteps stopped outside the back of the van. A key rattled in the lock. The doors were thrust open. Revealed the people who stood outside. Heart beating like the clappers, she stared at the faces of two men. Men she’d hoped never to see again in her life.
Chapter Ten
Jim Clarke and Courtney Johnson.
‘How’s business, Stella?’ Johnson said.
‘Twenty years ago we agreed never to cross paths again,’ she spat back, tensing on the seat.
‘That was then. This is now. Circumstances change,’ Clarke answered.
‘Look boys, what’s the deal here? You running a bit short? You need a loan?’ Stella mocked. ‘Just tell me what you want and let me go so I don’t have to see your ugly mugs ever again.’
Stella backed up violently into a corner at their next move. Johnson got inside the van and Clarke followed. Clarke shut the door and then both men sat down. Stella stared at them in the semi-darkness.
Gangster Girl Page 7
