Blood Sisters

by Julie Shaw

  He lifted his own hand and placed it over hers. It was blood-blackened. Crusted. A claw come to claim her. ‘Babe,’ he whispered. ‘Babe, you have to help me.’

  She left him outside. He kept on crying, and she couldn’t concentrate on anything with him crying. Being such a mess. Being such a junkie. A remorseful snivelling junkie. Besides, she didn’t want him in there, she decided.

  Was she still in shock? She had no idea, only that a stillness had come over her. The ‘capable head’ her boss said she had on her shoulders. At the interview. That was why he’d given her the job.

  She tried not to look at Gurdy. Instead she scanned the far reaches of the building, her eye eventually resting on something heaped in the corner. She walked across to it. It was a dust sheet. A big one.

  She had no idea what to do. Only that she had to do something. So she grabbed it and shook it out and took it back to where Gurdy lay.

  The blood. That was what you did. You tried to clear up all the blood. But there was just so much. He was lying on a lake of it, for one thing. And all about him, spatters and globs of the stuff – so much so that she didn’t know where to start. She started anyway, screwing up a corner of the dust sheet and applying it to the floor, but the more she scrubbed the worse it looked, even in the darkness.

  Water. She needed water. But there wasn’t any water. It was useless. But she kept scrubbing even so. Making circles around the circle of blood that demarcated where he’d taken his last breath. She started to wail as the reality hit and was startled when she felt Paddy place his hand on her arm.

  ‘Stop, babe.’ Paddy’s voice. A hand stilling her arm. ‘Stop, babe,’ he said, softly. ‘There’s no point.’

  He was no longer snivelling. Both his touch and voice were firm. And, in that instant she felt a wave of relief. He could take charge now, couldn’t he? Make it all go away. And he did. First the dust sheet, which he tugged from her hands, gently. Then pulling her back to her feet. It was as if a switch had been flicked and the Paddy that had been broken had been replaced by the old, calm and calculating one. The one who could deal with this mess. Take control. ‘You go outside,’ he said. ‘I know what to do.’

  Vicky did as instructed, but stood and watched from the doorway. Watched as Paddy ripped part of the dust sheet to make a rag. Watched as he bent down next to Gurdy and picked up the crowbar. Wiped the worst of the blood from it, then wrapped it inside the rag, before pushing the package inside the front of his bomber jacket.

  Then he stood for a bit, his eyes scanning the interior, his gaze finally coming to rest on the body by his feet, and lingering there for a long, thoughtful moment. Or was it? Vicky wished she could read his mind.

  Then he came back outside and, taking her arm, urged her towards his car. ‘Come on,’ he whispered. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  Just like he was a character in a movie. ‘But what about Gurdy?’ she said. ‘Won’t they—’

  ‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘Shhhh!’ He patted his front, where the crowbar was. ‘This is all we need. We can leave him here, babes,’ he said, as he opened the passenger door for her. ‘When he’s found, the cops will think it was a drug-related killing. Or a racist attack. Or something like that. And without a weapon, they can’t pin any of it on us.’

  On us. Not on me. He’d said on us. She stripped off her pinafore, and bundled it up into a ball, inside out, then placed it in the footwell before getting into the car. Pinafore. Pin it. It was a ball of damning evidence. Were they both responsible? Was that what he was saying? But he was right: she had been there and had done nothing to stop it. Her Paddy had murdered her friend before her eyes and she had allowed it. Just stood there and let him.

  No, that wasn’t right. She’d tried. She’d tried her best. Or had she? She could have run away, couldn’t she? Run away and screamed for help. Or just screamed the place down. But she had done that, hadn’t she? She’d screamed and she’d yelled at him and then – yes, she had done it – she’d stopped him by hitting him with the crowbar. But too late. She had not acted quickly enough. She’d been too scared and too blind to see what he’d been doing. He was mad from the coke – and fuck knew what else, these days – and perhaps he had planned to kill Gurdy all along.

  Was that true? She stole a glance at him. His face looked like granite. Bluish, where his stubble had started sprouting on his chin. Grey, black and blue. Like a rock. Still and calm now. Just staring ahead, driving the car, being Paddy. All trace of the monster she’d witnessed long gone, now the grip of the drugs had gone away.

  But was he a monster? Was her boyfriend a killer? Was the father of her child a cold-blooded killer? He turned to look at her, as if feeling the strength of her scrutiny, and she realised she loved him just as much as she feared him.

  ‘Wassup! Whaaaathe fu … Whassgoing on … Whasssa – Vicky!’ Vicky’s mam blinked her way out of her slumber. ‘What the fuck time d’you call this, young lady!’

  They had moved like assassins, by mutual agreement. Paddy up the stairs so he could get himself sorted – strip his clothes off, run a bath, get into it, clean up – while Vicky, of necessity, given the far more difficult task, went to check on Chantelle and face her mother.

  She opened the door into the front room very quietly, and was rewarded with a minute or so of grace. Chantelle was spark out on the floor, on her crocheted blanket, beneath the arch of her baby gym, as if she’d fallen asleep mid-play. As was Vicky’s mam, snoring lightly, on the sofa, close beside her, one arm flung out as if reaching for her granddaughter’s head.

  Tears sprang in Vicky’s eyes. For all the memories she didn’t have. For the thought that way back, during a time she couldn’t remember, the baby in this tableau might have been her. For the knowledge that, despite everything, her mam did love her granddaughter. For the enormity of what she might now lose.

  ‘It’s almost ten to eleven!’ her mam spluttered now. ‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been thinking all bloody sorts. Nearly phoned the police!’

  ‘Mam, shhh,’ Vicky pleaded. ‘You’ll wake up the baby!’

  ‘I’ll give you wake up the sodding baby, my girl! Who the hell d’you think you are, stopping out, leaving muggins here to babysit? I’ve been worried sick, I have, wondering what’s happened to you – worried sick! Thinking you’ve had a car crash, or been raped, thinking God knows what else! Where the hell have you been? And why the hell didn’t you phone me?’

  In a corner of Vicky’s mind a revelation registered. That this was true. That despite all appearances to the contrary, her mother worried about her. Her mother might even love her.

  But this was no time to dwell on motherly love. Motherly belief was so obviously more important. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ she trotted out, as per the story they’d agreed. ‘Paddy picked me up from work, and on the way home he had to go out of town to deliver a car part. So we made the detour, and he had a puncture. Hit a nail in the road. And—’

  ‘And it’s taken him this sodding long to fix it? You think I was born yesterday?’

  ‘Mam, listen! I’m trying to tell you. His spare was flat too. So he had to walk miles to find a phone box – we were in the middle of, like, nowhere – but he couldn’t, so he went on, and—’

  ‘And what were you doing?’

  ‘I was waiting in the car for him. Mam, will you just let me finish? And he couldn’t find a phone box but he eventually found a petrol station, and got some of that stuff you can inject into flat tyres so you can fix the puncture temporarily, but it took ages to do and then we had to drive back really slowly, and’ – she raised her arms and held her hands out, palms up – ‘that’s why we’re so late. I’m sorry, Mam. I would have called but once we were back on our way home it seemed quicker to just come home than drive round and round …’

  ‘Round and bleeding round,’ her mother huffed, reaching down to pick up Chantelle, who was now stirring. She sniffed her bottom. ‘Well, you can bloody change her and put her to bleeding be
d! Where’s lover boy anyway?’

  Vicky indicated with a nod as she took the baby. Her precious, precious baby. ‘Having a bath,’ she said. ‘He got covered in filth sorting the tyre out.’

  ‘Oh, so just use all my hot water, why don’t you?’ she yelled upstairs, as she shoved her feet into her slippers and toddled off into the kitchen.

  Paddy was lying on Vicky’s bed, staring at the ceiling. She’d thought he might have fallen asleep, she’d been so long changing the baby, giving her a bottle and settling her down again – down in her basket in the front room, for the time being at least. She could bring her up and put her down in her cot later.

  Her warm, living baby. She thought of Gurdy; she couldn’t stop herself. Of his body lying cold and dead and wet in a lake of blood, and had to fight to stop the images from filling her mind’s eye.

  Paddy turned over on his side to look at her. He was naked, apart from a pair of boxers. ‘I thought it best to stay put,’ he whispered, beckoning her towards him. ‘Didn’t want to set your mam off even more.’

  Vicky unbuttoned her blouse, took her bra off and stepped out of her work skirt. Then took her tights off and went across to join him. He’d watched her throughout and a wild thought entered her head – would he be expecting to have sex? But no. She could see as soon as she lay down beside him – his eyes were full of tears, the skin around them all puffy. He’d been lying here crying again.

  She placed a palm on his cheek. ‘What the fuck have I done, babe?’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s the drugs, Paddy. You know that,’ she said, because it was. ‘It’s the drugs that have done this. Not you.’

  ‘Tell that to the judge,’ he said wretchedly. ‘Tell that to fucking Gurdy.’

  ‘But it is,’ she persisted. ‘That bloody animal, that bloody Mo! You should never have got mixed up in any of it, ever. It’s not like you had nothing else you could do,’ she went on, beginning to warm to her theme. ‘Is it? You’d have never have done this were it not for the drugs. Oh, babe, and going to prison. Being away from us for so long …’

  ‘Which I’m going to be again,’ he said. ‘Oh, fuck! What have I done?’ he swallowed another sob. ‘Babe, you are going to stand by me, aren’t you?’

  She shifted position so she could look at him face to face. Feel the heat of his breath on her cheeks. ‘You don’t even have to ask that,’ she said, knowing it to be true now. No matter what – and she knew her grief for Gurdy would all too soon hit her. But no matter what, she understood. She knew who and what were to blame here. And, whatever happened, she would stand by him. They’d be fine. He had said so. No evidence. They’d be fine. Poor Gurdy would be buried, and then the world would move on. It would all go away, and they’d keep their dreadful secret. But if it didn’t. If she did have to fight for him, she would. Whatever happened, she would stand by her man. ‘Pad, I love you,’ she told him. ‘You’re Chantelle’s father and I love you.’

  He drew both his arms around her and held her tight. Almost too tight.

  ‘Fuck, I love you,’ he said into her ear. ‘Fuck, how I love you! I’ll stop, Vic. I promise. I’ll do anything. Anything. I don’t think I could go on living if I didn’t have you. I don’t know what the hell I’ve ever done to deserve you. But, fuck, I love you – I need you, babe. You’re my life.’

  He loosened his grip on her a bit then, so he could smother her with kisses. Tiny little kisses, all over her face. Little individual declarations of undying love that tore into her because he’d never done such a thing, ever. That ripped into her and almost burst her heart.

  Because this should have been the happiest moment of her life.

  Chapter 26

  Vicky woke up to find her mother looming over her. Shaking her and hissing her name.

  ‘What, Mam?’ she whispered angrily, wondering what the hell she was doing there. Chantelle was right there, in her cot, sleeping soundly. But wouldn’t be for long. What the hell was her mum doing, barging in there?

  ‘Get up!’ her mam barked at her. ‘You too,’ she said to Paddy, while he groaned and rubbed his eyes. ‘Come on! The pair of you, hurry up!’

  ‘Why?’ Vicky said, her brain firing darts of fear and shock. She somehow found the words she knew she needed to say and got them out. ‘What the fuck is going on?’

  ‘Frigging cops are here, that’s what,’ her mam said, jabbing a finger into Vicky’s shoulder. ‘Probably for this fucker, here, lying there like the picture of bloody innocence. Get up, Vicky! The neighbours’ll be having a field day if the knocking gets any louder and I’m not opening the door to them till you two are up.’

  Vicky tried to think. Find more words. The police? Downstairs? Now? She pulled the covers off, keeping her face away so she wouldn’t have to meet her mother’s eyes. ‘Go let them in,’ she said. ‘We’re coming. Tell them we’re coming down. Okay? It’ll be a mistake. That’s all it’ll be, Mam. Keep your hair on. Just a mistake.’

  ‘Yeah, and I came down in the last shower of rain. Mistake, my eye,’ she said, before stomping off back down the stairs.

  Paddy was still coming to. Christ, how could he not get what was happening? ‘Shit,’ she said. ‘Shit! Paddy, the police are here! Get your bloody head together! Get your jeans on!’ she said, yanking the covers off him too.

  He snapped to attention. ‘I can’t!’ he said. ‘They’ve got blood on them, haven’t they? Oh, fuck …’

  ‘Then find some trackies. The grey ones. There.’ She pointed. ‘And keep calm,’ she said. ‘Calm, okay? Don’t wind them up.’ Then she wondered if, actually, he should do exactly that. That’s what he would do, if he was innocent. Kick off. That was exactly what he would do.

  To top it all, Chantelle woke up now and started grizzling. Vicky grabbed a T-shirt and her own trackies, and yanked both of them on. Then picked up the baby and jiggled her on her hip while Paddy, wide awake now, stuffed his legs into his trackies. ‘What about a top?’ he asked.

  Christ, he was like a child. ‘Forget the top! Just make yourself decent!’

  ‘Half fucking six!’ he said. ‘Half fucking six? How’d they know?’

  ‘We don’t know they do know,’ she said. ‘It could be anything. Think, babe. Get your head straight. We don’t know why they’ve come here. We’re surprised. Half asleep. Just woken up, okay? This is a shock.’

  She surprised herself by how quickly she was thinking. Blotting the fear out. Just tell the story. As per the whispered discussions that had continued into the small hours. Just tell the story and everything will be okay.

  ‘How could they have found him?’ Paddy asked plaintively.

  Why couldn’t he just get his fucking head straight?

  ‘How should I know? Stop thinking! Christ, Paddy, come on.’

  It was Jimmy’s dad who was waiting for them in the front room. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Could it perhaps be that they hadn’t found Gurdy? She grabbed at the thought that perhaps this was unrelated. Something to do with Paddy’s arrest at the weekend. There was another copper too. Youngish. In uniform. One she didn’t know.

  She held Chantelle against her like a shield.

  ‘What’s he s’posed to have done this time?’ she asked them, as cockily as she could muster. ‘You do realise we have a baby to look after, don’t you? Waking us up at this bloody time!’

  Jimmy’s dad met her stony gaze, looking sad. No other word for it. ‘Look, Vicky, we’re here in connection with a murder inquiry. The body of Gurdip Banerjee was found a couple of hours ago and we’d like you both to come in for questioning.’

  Vicky heard her mum gasp behind her. ‘What?’ she said, feigning shock, feeling sick.

  ‘Why us?’ Paddy asked. ‘What’s it got to do with us? Why are you arresting us?’

  ‘We’re not arresting you, not at this point, but you do need to come in and answer some questions. Down at the station,’ he continued, in a toneless voice. ‘So I suggest you go and put something warm on …’ He glanc
ed at Vicky’s mam then and frowned. ‘And, Vicky, if you need to, to make some arrangements to have your daughter looked after.’

  The growing fear was also genuine, even if the words were a confection. ‘What, Gurdy?’ she gasped, her throat catching. ‘You mean Gurdy is dead? What’s happened?’ She looked desperately at Paddy, then back at Jimmy’s father. ‘What’s happened?’ she said again. ‘And why do you want to speak to us about it? I don’t understand. We’ve been here all night!’

  She’d been aware of her mam sitting down on the armchair by the window. Now she stood up again, slowly, on heavy-seeming legs.

  ‘They have,’ she said. ‘Been with me. Here—’ She reached her arms out to take the baby. ‘Give her here. I’m her grandmother,’ she added, scowling at both policemen, her voice indignant. ‘I’m fine to have her till you’re done.’

  Vicky could have hugged her mother – did she mean to stand by them? – but she simply handed over the baby, her mind whirring with the effort of trying to know how to act. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Of course. If we can help in any way, of course we will. I’ll go and dress. But Gurdy … who’d have done that? Oh my God, I can’t believe it. C’mon, babe,’ she said to Paddy. ‘We have to help them!’

  Paddy, beside her, was clenching his fists. ‘They don’t want our help, babe,’ he said, looking at Jimmy’s dad, not her. ‘They’ve already made up their fucking minds that we’ve something to do with it. But this time, they’ll see they fucked up.’

  Jimmy’s dad ignored Paddy. Acted like he wasn’t even there. Or, if he was, that he had nothing of any value to say. Just that sad look, to her. ‘One at a time, love,’ he told her, gesturing towards the hall. ‘Not together. You first.’ He nodded towards the other officer. ‘My colleague will accompany you, okay? He’ll wait outside till you’re dressed.’ He turned and looked at Paddy then. ‘And then this young gentleman can go and get something on as well.’