Blood Sisters

by Julie Shaw

  Lucy followed Vicky upstairs, both of them treading on the edges of the risers, where they knew they’d be safest from creaks; the legacy of many a previous giggling late-night return home. Not that Lucy was worried that her mam and dad would go off on one or anything. If Vicky genuinely needed her (and it seemed as though she did, because she certainly wasn’t giggling) then, of course, there’d be both a shoulder and a bed for her. Always. Her mam and dad knew as well as she did what Vicky’s mam was like.

  But there was no point in waking them if she didn’t need to – not at this hour. Which she didn’t, and with their own bedroom at the back, across the landing, there was little danger that they’d even so much as stir. When Jimmy had dropped her home an hour back and they’d spent a while smooching on the sofa, they could hear her dad snoring through the ceiling.

  Vicky sat down on the bed heavily, and Lucy reached for the bedside lamp switch. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, seeing her friend’s evident distress. Her cheeks were smudged with dirt, evidence of tears having been roughly wiped away, but other than that, Lucy was relieved to note, she looked as though she’d not come to any harm.

  Well, at least not physically. ‘Everything,’ Vicky said, her voice tight with emotion as she poured a handful of change back into her bag. ‘Oh, Luce, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have come here, but I just didn’t know where else to go. I just got in a cab and—’ She spread her hands. ‘I just … I just came here. I’m so sorry.’

  It was a sad reality, Lucy thought, that she hadn’t been Vicky’s first choice. An even sadder one that she felt the need to apologise for bothering her. And all down to that dickhead of a boyfriend of hers, no doubt.

  ‘Stop saying sorry,’ she said sternly. ‘So, come on. Why are you here? Something to do with Paddy, I presume?’

  She regretted her tone as soon as the words had left her lips. She knew from experience that Vicky would surely only leap to his defence even quicker, particularly now, with Jimmy’s dad in the picture. But there was no fiery riposte forthcoming tonight. Her friend’s eyes simply filled with fresh tears.

  And out it all came. What he’d done. What she’d seen. What that bitch Lacey had started. And what she hoped her boyfriend and his friends were going to finish. Were finishing even now. ‘I frigging hope so. I hope they kick the shit out of him,’ Vicky finished.

  ‘Lacey?’ Lucy asked, confused. ‘Who is Lacey?’

  ‘The new girl. The bitch.’

  ‘What, at work?’

  Vicky nodded. ‘And she’s already got a frigging boyfriend. What a bitch! Got a boyfriend and she didn’t even care!’ A fresh sob escaped her. ‘And nor did he!’

  Lucy nodded. That, to her, seemed entirely in character. Particularly now, with a prison spell looming. ‘Sounds like a case of carpe diem …’ she said thoughtfully.

  Vicky frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Latin,’ Lucy explained. ‘It means “seize the day”. I got it off one of the solicitors at work.’

  ‘Does it? Well, she was certainly doing that. And seizing my fucking boyfriend while she was at it, for that matter. Well, if she wants him that badly, she can bloody have him.’

  Lucy knew Vicky didn’t mean that, so she clamped her mouth shut. They were the words she had longed to hear from her friend for such a long time, but she knew Vicky didn’t mean them now, any more than she ever did. Where Paddy was concerned, it was like she was immune to reason.

  She reached instead for the box of tissues on her bedside table, snug in its cerise crocheted cover. ‘Here,’ she said, nudging her friend, ‘have a blow.’

  ‘And that’s another fucking thing,’ Vicky hissed as she plucked at the petal of pale tissue poking from the slit in the top. ‘My mum’s shit, Luce. You know that? Just shit. Why me?’ She scrubbed at her cheeks with the tissue as she spoke. ‘Why me? What did I do? What did I do in a past life to get a mum who’s so fucking useless?’ She poked a finger at the tissue box. ‘I want a mum who makes covers for tissue boxes for me, like your mam does. I want a mam who’d even bloody think about buying a box of tissues to put in a fucking home-made tissue box fucking holder in the first place! I want a mum who’d think about me for a single fucking minute! Like, fucking ever! Just a single bloody tissue-box holder of my own. Honestly – is that so much to ask?’

  Lucy couldn’t help but smile, and her smile was infectious, because soon Vicky was smiling too, and then the pair of them were laughing – having to stifle their giggles in the same way they’d done countless times before, back when life was much simpler.

  But it was never going to last, and, in a matter of minutes, Vicky’s laughs had turned into the sort of wretched, shoulder-shaking sobs that Lucy knew were unlikely to stop any time soon. She pulled her friend close to her and stroked her hair while she cried, keen to offer comfort but wary of offering anything in the way of comment, much less proffering any advice. Whoever the girl was – and she certainly sounded like the bitch Vicky had called her – Lucy doubted she’d have meant anything to Paddy. Though, oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was a bit more to it; if Paddy – soon to be out of Vicky’s life, at least temporarily – could be forcibly expunged from her heart at the same time? By going off with whoever-she-was, and setting Vicky free.

  But it was a wish Lucy knew wasn’t going to be granted anytime soon. Because Paddy didn’t just have a long string of convictions for petty crime. If gossip was to be believed, and Lucy had no reason to disbelieve it, he had a long string of petty infidelities behind him as well. Vicky didn’t know the half of it, and Lucy wasn’t about to tell her, because, without evidence, she might as well be pissing in the wind – as her Jimmy had so eloquently put it. Not to mention being ever heedful of the advice in her magazines – that she’d simply be shot as the messenger.

  And every time, every single time, he came right back to Vicky anyway. Like he owned her. Like, however many other girls he toyed with, it came back to the same thing. That he didn’t actually want anyone else. That she was his. The thought creeped Lucy out.

  So she said nothing. She simply listened as her friend’s crying lessened. She knew Vicky was weeping as much for the thought of losing him to prison in a matter of days as to some girl he’d snogged in a club, after all. And, in a while, Vicky stopped, and declared herself to be exhausted, and was only too happy to be mothered by Lucy, in the way she almost never was at home; to be undressed and gently shepherded into Lucy’s warm bed, with the duvet tucked round her and the bedside light extinguished, murmuring her undying gratitude as Lucy left her, for a few hours on the sofa again.

  This time alone, under a throw.

  Which turned out to be no more than a matter of minutes.

  As before, Lucy woke and didn’t know what had woken her. But this time, her senses keener, she soon guessed. And this time, her reactions were as swift as they were anxious. She knew exactly what she’d heard. The slamming of a car door. And it was now being followed by another familiar sound. Of what she felt certain was another taxi heading off back down the road. And she could guess right away who it had dropped.

  She wrestled the throw from her, grateful that she’d left on her dressing gown, and sprinted angrily to the front door before he was barely through the gate. Then, her thoughts almost in overdrive, to match the thumping of her pulse, flicked the button on the door so it was on the latch. This time, if need be, she would wake her parents.

  Then she stepped outside, barefoot, the front step freezing beneath her soles. ‘Don’t even think about it, Paddy,’ she said. ‘You hear me? Just turn around and go home. She’s not here.’

  He turned to fasten the gate, which immediately struck her as a ridiculous thing to do, and when he turned around again she could see that he too had been crying. For Christ’s sake, she thought, temporarily disarmed by this realisation, despite knowing his penchant for turning on the taps. ‘Oh, Luce. You should have seen him. He was really so upset … how could I not forgive him? How?’
r />   Blah, blah, blah. Lucy knew how all that worked as well. For Vicky, at any rate, who was susceptible to his mind-games, but definitely not for her. She studied his face as he turned back and approached her. His ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt-but-female-hearts-always-will’ face. She could also tell by his expression that he knew she was lying. ‘She’s not here, okay?’ she said again. ‘Gone home. Half an hour back. So how about you just do the same, Paddy?’ She cast her gaze up and backwards. ‘Before my mam and dad wake up.’

  Still he continued to approach her, looking pale and contrite, and as he neared her she could see that he had a weal on his cheek. And a stain on his jeans, and another on his shirt. Good. So perhaps the girl’s boyfriend had given him that pasting. And perhaps, knowing the fate he’d already been warned to expect come his court date, he’d not even put up much of a fight.

  There was certainly no fight in him now. ‘Look, Luce,’ he said, once he was near enough that she could smell him; the same pungent aftershave he always wore. ‘Whatever Vic thinks she saw, she didn’t, okay?’ His voice was wheedling. ‘Look, I just want to talk to her … to explain to her …’

  ‘To say sorry?’ Lucy couldn’t help but spit the words out. ‘As per usual? Well, you can’t. Because she’s not here for you to grovel to, okay? I told you. Go home, Paddy, okay? Go home and sort it out with her tomorrow.’ Or not, if I had my way, she thought but didn’t utter. ‘Because you know, I really, really don’t want to get involved.’

  Lucy clocked the way he winced when she used the word grovel. It was hard to judge just how pissed he was – let alone what he’d taken. And for a moment she thought he was going to do as she’d asked.

  ‘Look, I know she’s in there,’ he said, still appeasing, still sounding reasonable. ‘So can’t you just ask her for me? Please, babes? Let her decide, yeah?’

  Lucy shook her head, knowing from long experience not to trust him. ‘No, I can’t. Because she isn’t here. I told you. So you can stand here all night, and it won’t make any difference. It’s—’

  ‘God, for fuck’s sake!’ The change came out of nowhere. ‘So that’s what I’ll do, yeah? Okay? That’s the plan then. I’ll fucking stand here all night.’ He was bouncing on the balls of his feet slightly now. ‘That’s what I’ll do. I’ll fucking stand here all night and there’s fuck-all you can do about it, either.’ He loomed closer, and now the alcohol on his breath eddied between them. ‘Pissing “don’t want to get involved” crap. You fucking love it! Little miss filth-lover. You just fucking love being involved.’

  Lucy stood her ground. If there was one thing she believed without question it was that Paddy Allen would never dare lay a finger on her. Which didn’t make it less scary, just kept her on the spot. Plus she was angry. ‘Right,’ she said, and now she did move, to turn her back on him. ‘Have it your way. I’ll just go and call the police.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Paddy hissed at her. ‘On what grounds, exactly? Like I’m doing anything wrong.’ She heard a sound and turned around again. He had run back and, to her astonishment, simply vaulted the gate.

  ‘Oh, just go away,’ she tried again, emboldened by the distance – and the gate – between them now. ‘Sod off back where you came from. You think Vic even wants to clap eyes on you again? Surprise, surprise. No, she doesn’t. And guess what?’ She smiled at him. She couldn’t seem to help it. ‘That, Paddy Allen, is like music to my ears.’

  He banged the latch on the gate down and stomped back towards her so fast that she heard herself gasp. And had taken hold of her arm before she could get away from him, putting paid to her previous confidence. He was almost nose to nose with her now, tall, dark and swarthy. Like a gypsy out of some romanticised Hollywood film.

  ‘You know what, love?’ he snarled. ‘I get you. You know that?’

  She glared at him. ‘You think.’

  ‘No, I do, Luce.’ His face inched even closer. ‘Trust me, I do. I can see right through you. You know why you hate me? Because you’re jealous of what Vic’s got.’

  Lucy pulled her head back, incredulous. What was he on? ‘Jealous? Of Vic having you? You really think that? Then you’d better speak to whoever it is you get your drugs from. Seriously. And take your hand off my arm.’

  To her astonishment, he did so. Immediately. Shook her arm away, almost. ‘Always so fucking clever,’ he said, grinning nastily. ‘And it’s my pleasure, love. Wouldn’t touch what you’ve got on offer with a bargepole.’

  ‘That right?’ Lucy taunted him, realising, with some pleasure, that she’d hit his Achilles heel. ‘Don’t you mean couldn’t? Would like to, but couldn’t? There’s nothing I’ve got that’s on offer to you, Paddy. I’ve always set my sights a lot higher.’ She spread her palms in mock apology. ‘Sorry.’

  She clamped her mouth shut then, slightly in shock at her own boldness. Where had that come from? Perhaps she’d had just signed a warrant for her imminent demise. The second stretched, and as it did so she found herself shaking. First a little, then a lot, her naked legs in a tremor. She hoped he couldn’t tell. She hoped she was wrong. Then, for one horrible moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. That he was going to stretch a hand round her head, grab her hair, crush her to him. Exert his power and masculinity, and address the change in power-balance. Tough it out. It would be such a Paddy thing to do.

  But in that instant she saw she had pierced something in him. Found that sweet spot – that soft spot. The thing that made him hate her most of all. The truth that here was someone, a female, who he couldn’t own, ever. And she knew that excited him as much as it infuriated him. He’d always loved a challenge, after all.

  She saw his fists clench. The war that was raging in his head. She raised her chin a notch, almost challenging him to strike her or grab her. He did neither – he was all sorts of things, but not stupid.

  ‘You know what, bitch?’ he said instead. ‘You won’t win this battle.’ He glanced up to Lucy’s bedroom where, she hoped fervently, Vicky was still sound asleep. ‘She’s mine, okay? Mine,’ he said, ‘whatever you think. And you slag me off to her at your peril.’

  He turned around then and began loping back towards the gate. He didn’t seem half so drunk any more. Lucy was just about to speak when he turned back again. ‘And hers.’ He waggled a finger at Lucy. ‘You got that, sweetheart?’

  ‘Just piss off,’ Lucy told him. And, now, at last, he did, proffering a thumbs-up and a grin as he headed down the road.

  She watched him all the way round the corner before going back in. And only then, once the door was locked, the house dark and silent, did she fully realise just how terrified she’d felt.

  But strangely powerful. And more resolute than ever.

  Chapter 11

  Vicky looked down at the blue line on the stick in her hand and stared. It was a busy Thursday, and she was already a good ten minutes late for work. But, though she knew that, she couldn’t move: she was transfixed.

  In the fairy-tale scenario she’d fashioned for herself, the baby had been conceived on a Monday. The Monday night before Paddy had been led away and taken off to prison, which made it a child that would be born of love. Of commitment, and passion, and also of promises. That they would love one another always. That they would always be together. That she would wait for him, like a wife torn from her husband by war. That he would do right by her. Return to her. Stay with her.

  She had walked home on the Sunday morning, carrying her slingbacks by their straps, having borrowed a pair of Lucy’s old pumps. And despite her assurances to her friend that she was done with him completely, she’d still felt a pang when Lucy told her he’d come to find her, and a similar rush of unwelcome emotion as she rounded her corner to see his Capri parked outside.

  She tried to steel herself, even so, calling to mind – which wasn’t hard – what she’d seen in the nightclub, with Lacey. And, as she approached, she was heartened to see that he’d not ventured into the house. It would make it all the easier to t
ell him to sling his hook.

  She saw him first, walking silently in the old Dunlop plimsolls, and, as always happened (and perhaps always would, more was the pity), she felt the fluttering of butterflies in her gut.

  He was half-sitting, half-standing on their gate, smoking a cigarette in the watery sunshine. He was so beautiful, she thought, even though she didn’t want to think it. And she wondered just how he would cope if – when – he got incarcerated. She’d heard the stories. And she’d seen documentaries on the telly, too. He was a good-looking man – but only just a man, really. In prison terms, eighteen was no age at all, was it? Yes, a world away from sixteen – to Vicky, Paddy was a man through and through. But in prison … She shuddered. There would be men in prison – older, harder, stronger men in prison – who’d feel the same attraction to Paddy as she did.

  And when he saw her – when he turned to flick his spent cigarette into the kerb – that sense of his vulnerability was even stronger. Just his face, his swollen cheek, his look of shame, his look of love, were sufficient to make her completely rethink her decision, and consider going with her feelings after all.

  But she held firm. There was too much pain and anguish to bear. She stopped on the pavement, and nodded towards the car. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. So, please, just go away, Paddy, and leave me alone.’

  She was surprised by the calm way she’d managed to get the words out. And mindful, which made her resolve that bit stronger, that what Lucy had said about her naivety wasn’t true. She had been here before. She might be here again. Probably would be, if she didn’t end it now.

  ‘Vic, babe, please,’ he began, opening his walnut-brown arms out to her.

  She walked around them, eyes down, and started up her path.

  ‘Please, Vic. I love you. Vic, please hear me out.’

  She ignored this as well, and reached into her handbag for her key.

  But it was her mother who opened the front door.