by Martina Cole
She had just not realised it. Had not realised how lonely and frightened she was. The man who had made her so happy a little time before frightened her now. The man who had told her he loved her and wanted her more than anyone else in the world had deliberately set out to make her into the girl she was, a watered-down version of her mother. Or the mother he had told her about anyway. The one who had abandoned her kids, dumped them and lived for drugs. Well, Tiffany had done the same thing and yet she knew she wasn’t really bad, just weak and unhappy. If her mother were here now she would beg her forgiveness. But it was all too late. Patrick Connor had knocked all the decency from her body and shame made her want to keep away from everyone, especially her own little daughter.
Like her mother she was ashamed of what she had become, and the more ashamed she became the more drugs she wanted to consume. They, at least, killed the pain. Tiffany hated herself inside and out, Patrick had seen to that. She had absolutely no self-respect any more.
He had done his job well, she would give him that much.
She heard the door and didn’t even open her eyes. She assumed it was Carole back from work. She had drunk the last of Carole’s whisky so was expecting a row but wasn’t too worried. She should have dumped the cards by now and received the money for them, so they’d have a few quid to see them through the next few days. Then Tiffany would have to go on the street, but it would be far away from London. Far away from her daughter and brother. She was resigned to being alone now. Anastasia was better off without her.
She could smell herself, a sour smell like milk that had been left in the sun for a few days. But it was a comforting smell as well. It told her she was still alive. She watched the colours behind her eyes, bright vibrant colours that she loved to see. There was a whole world behind her eyelids that she had not enjoyed since she was three years old.
As she relaxed back on to the dirty cushions she felt a hand wrap itself around her neck and her eyes flew open to see Patrick’s face close to her own.
‘You smelly, dirty cunt! I have you at last.’
The fear was so acute she felt faint. She could smell his breath and was acutely aware that he could smell hers. He threw her back on to the cushion and she saw the look of disgust that crossed his face and closed her eyes against it.
‘You are crunched, girl. I will make you sorry you ever decided to try and think for yourself. All I have done for you and this is how you repay me, is it? You made a complete cunt of me and you actually thought I would let you get away with it?’
He was poking a finger into her chest and it hurt, but she knew it was nothing to the hurt she was going to experience before too long.
‘You are dead, Tiff, so you better start saying your prayers, mate.’
He slapped her heavily across her head and she felt her ear split. He wore a heavy keeper ring, and though the pain was sharp she was beyond feeling it. She was used to it. She didn’t even cry, just looked up at him sullenly.
He saw the look and slapped her again, but he had a plan for her and was careful not to make her look any worse than she already did.
He cut himself a line on the dirty table and she watched enviously as he snorted it.
‘Carole will wonder where I am.’
She was clutching at straws and knew it.
He grinned.
‘It was Carole who told me where you were, Tiffany. She’s five grand better off, the ugly bitch. She couldn’t wait to sell you down the river, love. You ain’t got no mates, you ain’t got nothing.’
She kept quiet. She knew the last thing to do now was antagonise him.
‘See what you cost me? See all the trouble you cause, and yet you still think you can treat me like shit, don’t you?’
He was gone, she could see it from his eyes and decided to keep quiet and do what he wanted. Someone had once said that he was a psycho and they were right. Even without drugs he was unpredictable and vicious.
‘I killed Maxie and Eddie today over you. Both good grafters. Maxie was the closest thing I had to a mate and now he’s dead. All over you, Tiff. I hope you’re happy now?’
She knew that he really believed she was the cause of what had happened. He was good at blaming other people for his own mistakes. According to him he never, ever did anything wrong. It was always someone else. Today it was her turn to take the blame.
She was finally convinced of the lunacy of the man before her and becoming more and more terrified by the second.
‘You just don’t realise the trouble you have caused me, do you? Well, it stops now. I am going to sort you out fucking once and for all.’
Tiffany was dragged from the sofa and even though her legs were like jelly she allowed him to frogmarch her from Carole’s flat. People were going about their daily business as he threw her in the car but she knew no one would interfere. It was that kind of neighbourhood.
You could be stabbed to death in this street and no one would have seen or heard anything because it made life safer to keep yourself to yourself.
Jason was more aware than any of them realised of what was happening with his adoptive mother. He also understood it all on one level. But his real mother, his birth mother, had affected him strongly. To feel her near him brought joy. She was beautiful and he could feel kindness exuding from every pore of her body. It was like his dad said: she had been a victim, like Tiffany was a victim now. She needed understanding and she needed him in her life, just like he needed her. He knew all this already, and he was going to talk to Verbena about it as soon as he could and reassure her that his birth mother would never take his adoptive mother’s special place. He loved his adoptive mother and needed her as well.
As he listened to his real mother’s voice, low and husky, he knew that this was someone who was good inside. It shone from Marie like a beacon. Whatever she had done, it had been many years before when she had been a different person. He had seen what drugs had done to his sister and understood that.
He felt he could look at her for hours, she was so still and tranquil. She made him feel calm and complete.
He heard Verbena calling him from the kitchen and excused himself. There were sandwiches and a cake ready to be brought into the lounge. He plastered a wide smile on his face as he walked to his adoptive mother’s side.
‘Thank you for doing this, Mum, it looks scrumptious. I know how hard it must be for you.’
Verbena looked at the boy she adored and forced a smile to her face.
‘It’s the least I can do for the poor woman. I just hope we’re doing the right thing, that’s all.’
‘What do you mean?’
Verbena shrugged.
‘Well, think about it. From prostitution to prison, drug addiction to a beautiful home like this. I’d be very careful for a while if I were you. She may only be out for what she can get. After all, that’s what people like her do, isn’t it?’
She saw the hurt on his face but couldn’t stop herself now.
‘Look, Jason, I don’t want to upset you, son. But people like her, your so-called birth mother, they just use people. Especially men. Why do you think she’s all over your father, eh?’
Jason was nonplussed, unsure where his mother was going with this.
‘What do you mean? Dad likes her as much as I do. She’s nice.’
Verbena could see the confusion on his face as he tried to convince himself that she meant no harm. Even though deep inside he knew better, knew what she meant to do and was trying to avoid a confrontation. She had always been protective of him and he had appreciated it over the years. He had never called it jealousy before, but he knew there had been an element of that to it. If he had said he liked another boy’s mum, for instance, she had always been miffed. He had learned very young how to be a diplomat.
‘Of course your dad likes her, Jason. She is making sure he likes her. I don’t want to speak ill of the poor woman but I have to speak as I find. Don’t forget what she was, is - a murderer and a prostitute.
’
Jason stared into the face of the woman who had been everything to him for years and was surprised to find he didn’t really like her. He loved her, but he had never liked her, and at this moment in time he was also feeling another repressed emotion which was anger. She often made him angry with her throwaway remarks. Like when his friend Thomas’s mum had come round. She was fat and jolly, always laughing, and his mother had said she was OK, but just a bit too loud. ‘A touch common’ had been her exact words. It had angered him at the time.
‘That was a long time ago. Why don’t you leave her alone! I want to know her and I will know her, whatever you try and say.’
Verbena sensed the animosity coming off her child and felt sick at the thought of what he was saying. He would prefer that thing to her? The woman who had loved him, adored him, all his young life? It was as if a cancer had split open and all the poison was pouring out.
She was whispering feverishly as she grasped his shoulders, ‘She may be your birth mother but that means nothing, nothing! I was the person who fed you and loved you. I don’t really see why you need someone like her in your life. Her own family didn’t even want her ...’
‘Your family didn’t want you because of Dad, did they? Because he was black. So what’s the difference really?’
Verbena was incensed at his defence of the woman she saw as her rival. A rival not only for her son’s affection but also for her husband’s.
‘How dare you say that to me of all people? Without me, boy, you would have been in a home all your life like that sister of yours. I was warned, all right. Blood will out, people said. But I didn’t listen, and my God, they were right. You’ve found your level with her, haven’t you! For all the fine education I provided for you, it seems you still want the gutter I dragged you out of.’
Jason was stunned at her words and the vituperative way she said them. Her eyes filled with tears as he stared at her in utter disbelief.
Verbena was sorry as soon as the words left her mouth. As she went to take the boy in her arms he pushed her forcibly away. Then, turning, he ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to his bedroom. Ossie was out in the kitchen in seconds.
‘What have you done now, Verbena?’
It was the accusation in his voice that was her undoing. She sat at the table, put her head on her arms and cried like a baby.
Tiffany was in Patrick’s flat and he was getting weirder by the second. She had only ever seen him like this twice before and each time it had been over the murder of a close friend. She now realised he had probably caused those murders. He was capable of anything.
As she watched him stalking round the room she felt the familiar fear encompass her body. She was sweating profusely, and her heart was hammering against her chest. He was talking constantly.
‘What is it with you fucking people? I give you everything you need and yet you still think you can mug me off. I spent poke on you and you will repay my investment or I will break your fucking neck.’
He stuck his face close to hers.
‘Are you fucking listening to me?’
He was screaming the words in her face.
She nodded, her face crumbling with terror. She was aware that he was dangerously close to the edge and that if she antagonised him now he would really harm her.
‘Look at the state of you! You fucking stink and you look what you are, lady, a fucking drughead. A slapper. An ugly whore. I am ashamed to admit I ever fucked you. You are a worthless piece of shit – what are you?’
She couldn’t answer him, too scared to talk, knowing that the sound of her voice could be the trigger he needed.
‘I said, what the fuck are you?’
‘I am a worthless piece of shit, Pat.’
Her voice was low and trembling; she was having trouble talking properly. She knew that her fear pleased him and felt a great sense of relief.
He dragged her off the sofa by her hair and into the bathroom.
‘You’d better be scrubbed in ten minutes, Tiff, because I have some work for you tonight, girl, and you’d better do it right or you’ll wish you’d never drawn a fucking breath and died in that cunt’s belly. I mean that, girl. Just give me an excuse to hurt you, Tiff, I dare you to just give me one excuse.’
She stood in the beautiful bathroom with its gold taps and its expensive tiled walls. It was over the top, pictures of nymphs and the Venus de Milo everywhere, and the glass ceiling made her feel she was being watched, which knowing Patrick Connor wasn’t too off the wall. As she already knew to her cost he was capable of anything.
He had left the door open and as she stripped off she was aware that he could come in at any moment. She piled her clothes on to the floor in a heap and, turning on the shower, stepped into the cubicle. The water was hot and even though she felt so bad inside, it felt good on her poor bruised body. She saw herself reflected in the mirror; she’d always been skinny but now she looked emaciated.
She knew that he had groomed her well and that she was trapped with him now. It had all gone too far. Whatever he told her to do, she would do. She had no other option. In a way, being back with him made her feel a weird sense of safety. At least it was over now. Kiss or kill, she had faced him so whatever was going to happen would happen. At least she wasn’t wondering if she would meet up with him any more.
She scrubbed herself. Turning to the door, she saw him watching her. He had a large crack pipe in his hand, and as she realised it was for her she smiled.
She stumbled from the shower, soaking wet and still covered in soap, and took it from him gratefully. Sucking on the pipe as if her life depended on it, she enjoyed the rush when it came, the euphoric rush that made everything better and her life that much more bearable.
Patrick was like a different man now. He was holding her to him gently, caressing her naked back and talking normally.
‘Why do you wind me up, Tiff ? You know what I’m like if I get annoyed, so why do you craze me up like you do?’
She was looking at him, trying desperately to focus on his eyes and also trying hard to make him like her again.
She was back in the cycle once more and he knew it.
As he looked at her he suppressed an urge to ram his fist into her face; she was battered enough as it was. He had a much more serious punishment in mind for her and that would help ease some of the pent-up anger inside him.
There was a hammering at the door of his flat then and it made him jump. People had to get past the doorman before they could reach his home. That was the whole idea of paying a fortune for this place. Access was difficult and it gave him the measure of protection he needed in his line of work. He had also given the doorman a hefty wedge to screen his visitors so that ponce was due a serious slap in the near future.
He walked quickly to the door and shouted, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s the police. Open up, please, Mr Connor.’
He glanced round the room and then pushed the crack pipe into the bin in the kitchen. He was panicking and Tiffany felt his nervousness. Then he shoved her back into the shower and she started washing her hair, as she knew he wanted her to.
Patrick needed her to keep out of the way of the police and she was going to do just that. She started to scrub herself once more. The crack had mellowed her out and she was once again only interested in the next high. A high she might get if she did exactly what Patrick wanted.
He opened the door wide and stared at the two men standing before him.
‘What the fuck do you want?’
The larger man, a DI called Smethurst, smiled lazily at him.
‘Calm down, Mr Connor. We only want to question you.’
The man had large teeth that were stunningly white and Patrick focused on these as he shouted, ‘You got a fucking warrant?’
He knew they didn’t or they would have shown it to him already and been in the apartment. Also there would have been a few more of them, and they would have expected him to put up some resistanc
e.
The DI shook his head and Patrick started to shut the door in their faces.
‘Not so fast, Patrick, we’re here to give you some news. Did you know Maxie died today? We wondered if you’d seen him at all. We’re trying to put together his last movements.’
The younger policeman grinned.
‘We understood you might be able to help us.’
Patrick snorted.
‘Well, you understood fucking wrong then, didn’t you? And another thing – how did you get up here without me getting a buzz or a call from the doorman, eh? You pulled a flanker and now they think I’m a dodgy bastard. Well, my brief will have something to say about that, mate. I think you’re racially harassing me, you cunts. I been with me bird all day, shagging the arse off her in my bed.’
He shouted over his shoulder, ‘Oi, get out here.’
Tiffany had a towel round her head and another wrapped around her body. She walked out into the hallway.
‘All right, seen enough, have you? Now fuck off.’
The DI was annoyed.
‘You don’t seem too bothered about Maxie.’
Patrick shook his head slowly.
‘Oh, I am bothered, mate. But I am also bothered about the fact you come to my door without warning, making a cunt of me in the place I live, and have the nerve to question my whereabouts on the day my best mate died as if I had something to do with it.’
He shook his head again and turned to Tiffany.
‘If that ain’t fucking racial harassment, I don’t know what is.’
She walked back into the lounge. She didn’t want them to see her too closely because she was so bruised and marked.
