Blood Daughter: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Three (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  Dee and Uncle Frank had hit it off as soon as they’d clapped eyes on each other. The man was a notorious flirt and he’d tried it on with Dee that first time. She had played flirty-flirty right back.

  ‘Good,’ he answered simply as he fixed a drink for both of them. ‘She’s been a touch under the weather so she’s having an early night, I won’t wake her if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it. And what about the kid? Nicky isn’t it?’

  John was hoping that Uncle Frank was going to get to the point quickly. He knew this wasn’t a social call. Frank McGuire didn’t do social. ‘Yeah, he’s good too. He was up at university but he didn’t take to it so he’s back home.’

  ‘Sometimes the best place for the young uns is in the bosom of their family.’

  There was a long silence before Uncle Frank casually asked, ‘So, what’s happening on the scene these days? Any new Faces on the block I should know about?’

  John was equally casual. ‘I wouldn’t know bruv, I’m retired these days.’

  His visitor nodded. ‘Wise move. You’ve got to get out while you’re ahead, haven’t you?’ His old eyes twinkled. ‘You should move to Spain like me. Lovely weather, lovely beaches, lovely birds. You should get a place near me and then we could catch up more often.’

  John was leaden. ‘Yeah.’

  There was another long silence. ‘So, no gossip then?’

  ‘No.’

  Frank nodded again before adding with a glint and a grin, ‘Oh, come off it John. Surely you’ve heard something about the gold job at that private vault – they made off with a couple hundredweight of the yellow stuff – lucky bastards!’

  John’s heart sank. ‘Oh that, yeah. I read about it in the papers. Lucky bastards indeed.’

  ‘You ain’t heard who was behind it?’

  John got up and poured himself another Scotch. His back was turned when he answered carefully, ‘Not a peep. I bet my life it was some new boys on the block.’ When he retook his seat, he realised Uncle Frank was giving him a long, cold stare, the same one he’d used on John as a kid when he’d put a foot out of place.

  ‘Oh? Bet your life on it, would you Johnnie?’

  John maintained eye contact. One of the first things he’d learned from this man was the way to tell if someone was trying to have one over. You looked them directly in the eye and if they looked away they were a wrong’un. John kept his stare steady and straight.

  Uncle Frank wet his lips. ‘You’ve got to admire their front pulling off a stunt like that. That takes some nerve. Good luck to them I say. But still, a bit cheeky, don’t you think?’

  ‘In what way?’

  Frank shrugged. ‘Well, not checking who the gold belonged to for starters or whether it was covered by someone. I mean, what a bunch of amateurs those boys must be! Those kind of details are basic . . .’ He caught John’s gaze again, ‘as you know, of course.’

  ‘And was it? Covered by someone?’ John downed his Scotch, which left his throat burning in a way seasoned drinkers like him didn’t often feel.

  ‘As it happens it was – by me.’ John tried desperately to keep the shock from showing. ‘And I’m gonna make it my personal mission to find out who took it and get it back, ship shape and Bristol fashion.’

  John knew he was being toyed with and decided to cut to the chase. ‘Got any leads then?’

  His mentor spread his mouth wide. John knew it was meant to be a smile but it looked like the mere stretching of the lips. ‘A little dickie bird told me you might have had something to do with it.’

  John was stony-faced. ‘That’s pure bollocks.’

  The old gangster burst out laughing. ‘I know! That’s what I says to the little dickie bird! A pile of dog shit! Besides, I’m sure you’ve got a rock solid alibi for the job.’ When he got no answer he went on, ‘As it goes, another, more likely name’s gone in the frame. A chancer by the name of Kieran Scott, some kind of jumped-up nightclub owner. Know him, do ya?’

  John chose his words carefully. ‘I’ve heard the name.’

  ‘Do you reckon he could be my man?’

  John furrowed his brows so it looked like he was thinking, which he was, but not about Uncle Frank’s question. What a fucked-up mess the blag had turned into. ‘Possibly. I have heard he was planning some kind of job to raise money for a drugs deal. Perhaps he got lucky up at that private vault. I’d say it was more than possible, I’d say it was quite likely. Very likely in fact. Can’t think of anyone else who might have done it, and I know all the players.’

  Frank gave him a sly grin. ‘I know you do Johnnie, me lad. That’s why I thought I’d drop in and pick your brains. You know what’s going on, don’t you? Anyway, I don’t see any need for any unpleasantness here. I’ll swing by and see this Kieran geezer, explain what’s what and if the bullion turns up somewhere for me to collect, we need say no more about it.’

  Frank got up. ‘Nice to catch up and get your take on the take. We should go out for a jar some time and have a natter about the old days. Of course, if you hear anything more about this job, you’ll be sure to let me know, won’t you?’ When he reached the door he turned back. ‘Oh yeah, pass my love on to that gorgeous lady of yours.’

  A few minutes later, John was alone, his mind moving a hundred miles a minute. He didn’t feel bad about dropping Kieran in the brown stuff. The first rule of getting your fingernails dirty was to look after number one.

  He got up to stand in front of the boxing photo. He saluted Henry and Muhammad with his empty glass. ‘Looks like Kieran was right. I can’t be trusted after all.’

  Chuck Berry’s ‘My Ding-A-Ling’ started playing in Babs’ dream that night. She rolled over restlessly; something wasn’t right here. But she couldn’t wake herself up. The song got louder and louder . . . Babs pitched forward in her bed with the speed of a zombie rousing for a night’s work. The music wasn’t playing in her dream, it was bloody playing in her cell.

  Shit! Fuck! It was the phone hidden in her deodorant. She must’ve forgotten to pop it on vibrate. If she wasn’t in such a state she’d have smiled because she knew why Kieran had put that ringtone on it. The tune had been playing in the former washhouse on The Devil all those years ago, while she and Kieran happily folded bed sheets together and the other women of the estate sang along loudly. That was until his mum had appeared, creating a fuss. And because she had, it had been the day Kieran and Babs silently agreed that she’d become his second mum.

  Babs rushed over to the bottle, scared that one of the kangas on night duty might have heard it. If she got busted that would be her parole gone. The deodorant was rocking with the vibrations like it was dancing.

  With shaking hands she pulled it out, clicked on the call and whispered, ‘Hold your horses a sec.’

  She crept over to the cell door and listened. Waited for the sound of footsteps. When none came she let out a long sigh of pure relief.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked quietly as soon as she got back to her bed.

  ‘Tiff.’

  Babs rolled her eyes. God give her strength. ‘What the heck are you doing calling at this hour?’ Her voice might be quiet, but it wasn’t soft. She laced it with all the annoyance she was feeling.

  ‘It’s only eleven for fuck’s sake.’

  ‘This ain’t the Ritz, you plank. Lights-out is at ten in here.’ It had taken her ages to get used to when she was first banged up. Some nights she’d stare aimlessly at the ceiling because it was so hard to sleep. ‘What couldn’t wait until the morning?’

  Her daughter paused. This was never a good sign. Finally Tiff answered, ‘My bank account’s a bit low, so I need to get my hands on some hard cash.’

  Babs groaned. She should’ve guessed. No wonder Tiff had been on her like a ton of bricks about getting the houses on the market. ‘You got yourself into a bit of bovver?’

  ‘Course I ain’t,’ Tiff batted back quickly. ‘I got laid off from the garage—’

  ‘Oh
, Tiff hun.’ Babs’ shoulders slumped. Her daughter had been such a tearaway in her youth that Babs had worried she’d end up doing serious bird or, God forbid, six feet under. But Tiff had turned it around, getting a steady piece of work in a garage under the arches in Bethnal Green.

  ‘I’m sure I’ll find another job in no time, it’s just that I’ve got a few bills to pay and my cash is all tied up, know what I mean?’

  ‘Is that why you’ve been going into one about selling the houses? You’re not really wanting money to sign up on a course?’

  Tiff sniffed. ‘I’ve got my pride Mum.’

  Babs felt so ashamed. Her girl had been crying out for help and she’d more or less told her to sod off. ‘The problem is, love, I don’t have any spare cash—’

  ‘You must have a little tucked away,’ Tiff pressed.

  Babs smacked her lips irritably together. ‘Oh yeah, let me look under my bunk, shall I? I’ve got a mint stashed away there.’

  ‘Sorry Mum.’

  The girl needs a helping hand and you’re being sarky. Babs’ shoulders slumped even more. Abruptly she got to her feet as an idea hit her. It wasn’t something she would ordinarily do, but Tiff was in a tight spot . . .

  ‘There’s a mate of mine who will dosh you up the cash. I’ll arrange a meeting for you in a couple of days.’

  Twenty-Nine

  ‘I’m telling Mum,’ Little Bea whispered to her sister in the dead of the night. ‘It’s dangerous out there.’

  Courtney was pulling on a mini dress her mate had lent her and a pair of heels another mate had filched from a shop down The Lane.

  She confronted her sister as she struggled into a shoe. ‘And you’d know all about it being a bit screwy out there from those books you keep reading.’ She marched over to her wide-eyed sister. ‘You blab to Mum and I’ll have to blab about the books you’re really reading, you get me?’

  She stared meaningfully at the Swallows and Amazons hardback on the side table. They both knew what was really in there was the autobiography of a now-deceased East End gangster. Her baby sister couldn’t get enough of this true crime stuff. They had a deal – Courtney would get the books for her from the library and in return Little Bea would stay schtum about Courtney’s little adventures.

  She stepped back and smiled. She loved her sister really and didn’t want her to worry. ‘I’m only going out for a couple of hours. I’ll be back before Mum wakes up.’

  Courtney had been sneaking out for the last year, going out and about in the wee hours when her mum thought she was tucked up in bed. She didn’t even have to sneak out the window like some of her mates because she’d nicked her mum’s keys once and got some dodgy geezer down Bridge House to cut a set. You wanted anything off the beaten track on The Devil, Bridge House was the place to be.

  As Little Bea burrowed under the duvet, Courtney got her face on and then took a long, hard slug from the can of cider hidden in the wardrobe. She couldn’t go to sleep most nights without being boozed up. It was the only thing that kept the nightmares at bay. She tiptoed into the passage. She didn’t know why she was bothering to be quiet because an elephant could’ve wandered into their flat and Mum wouldn’t have woken up, she was that knackered most nights.

  Courtney opened the door and closed it behind her with a tiny click.

  Courtney didn’t need directions to the party. You could hear it for miles, somewhere far away on the Devil. There was a party most nights in one part or another of the estate; it was just a question of finding it and the noise was its own invitation. As soon as word spread there was an empty flat, kids would find it, tear down the metal sheeting the council hammered over the door and that was your venue for that night’s rave. The kids would stick a big guy on the door to collect money to cover the sound system but, of course, it was bring your own drink and gear. These weren’t charity events.

  Some nights these parties were actually alright. But usually they ended in gang fights, punch-ups or, worse, a stabbing. It wasn’t often the police turned up; mostly the neighbours decided they weren’t getting fingered for calling the cops. Just occasionally, a van load would appear and get pelted with cans and bottles for their trouble. And the law weren’t unwelcome sometimes. Getting chased across the estate by the boys in blue was a lot more fun when a gig turned dark. The worst end to one of these gigs was when a caretaker who took his job more seriously than most went down into the basement and switched the leccy off. When the lights went out and the music stopped that was when you were in danger of being attacked or robbed.

  Courtney followed the noise round one of the blocks into the courtyard below. There was an open door on the top balcony, kids hanging around outside while beats were thundering inside. Some of the fallout from the party was already around her. One girl, unsteady on her feet, was being walked up and down, supported by her mate who was telling her, ‘Chuck up babe, better out than in.’

  A bottle from above crashed and splintered near Courtney’s feet. The girl telling her friend to heave turned to her and said, ‘I’d give this one a miss if I was you. It’s getting a bit lairy up there.’

  Courtney looked upwards. The girl was right, it was. But Courtney went on anyway for the same reason she always did. It was better than waking up from a cold, shivering nightmare. Besides, if her luck was in, Rockers might put in an appearance. He loved these kinds of gigs, preening around with his mates, playing the big shot.

  On the door, the guy asked for a fiver.

  Daylight robbery. These parties were usually only a couple of quid. ‘I ain’t got a fiver.’

  ‘How much have you got?’

  ‘Nuthin.’ Sod him, after he’d tried to rob her she wasn’t stumping up a penny.

  He looked inside the flat. ‘Alright, we need some more birds; it’s getting a bit boysy in there.’

  When Courtney’s eyes adjusted to the light and her ears to the music, shouting and screaming, she saw kids propped against the walls cradling bottles, others stretched out on the floor or in small groups leering and sniggering. She nodded at some and ignored others. Everywhere smelt of leaf and stale booze. But there was no sign of Rockers or any of his crowd.

  She felt a tug on her arm and looked around to find a boy much younger than the other partygoers. He was at the doorway to an empty bedroom. In one hand he was holding on to a small gas canister and in the other a bag of balloons. ‘Do you wanna sniff?’

  She crinkled her brow. ‘Dunno. What is it?’

  The kid seemed proud he knew and she didn’t. ‘It’s NOS. You know, laughing gas. Like you get at the dentist.’

  ‘And what’s the point of that?’

  The kid rolled his eyes like she was a proper thicko. ‘Gives you a bit of a buzz, don’t it? Whoosh – and off you go!’

  Courtney was pissed off that there was no sign of Rockers. ‘Nah, you’re alright kiddo, I’ll wait until I need me molars done.’

  ‘You sure? As I know you, I can do you a special price.’

  She didn’t know him. Instead of answering, she looked around to see that trouble was starting already. Two boys were squaring up to each other.

  ‘I got my mates downstairs!’

  The other kid was tougher; he opened his palm and pushed it into his oppo’s face. ‘Well, go and fucking find ’em then!’

  Courtney was thrown against the wall in the struggle that followed and fell to the floor as other boys piled in. When she managed to get to her feet, she found herself face to face with Rockers. He was laughing. ‘Courtney. Alright beautiful.’

  He had his arm around a girl’s waist and Courtney was stunned to see it was Tash.

  ‘Alright Court,’ Tash greeted her smugly.

  It was all Courtney could do not to smash her fake gob in. Of all the girls Rockers had to step out with, why did it have to be her? He knew what she’d tried to do the other day and still he went with her. It made her feel small, like the little girl she was.

  Rockers eyed up the room and then turne
d to Tash. ‘Gimme five babe; I’ve just got to say hi to a few guys. If I can get past the brawlers . . .’ He stepped forward and began pushing the fighting kids out of the way. ‘Excuse me boys! Big shot coming through! Make way!’

  Courtney stared into Tash’s malicious eyes. There was no pretence they’d ever be mates again. ‘What the fuck you doing with him?’

  ‘What do you mean – what the fuck?’ the other girl preened. ‘Me and my guy there are fucking, that’s what the fucking fuck.’ Her eyes were stone cold, her pupils dilated. ‘I mean, face it girl, you didn’t seriously think you and him? He’s way out of your league.’ She swayed for a moment before snarling, ‘Where do you get a fucking drink in this crap hole?’

  Then she threw her hands crazily into the air and started gyrating to the music. Man-grabbing bitch!

  As the party swirled around her, Courtney felt an urgent need to blot it out, blot out Rockers and Tash, blot out this estate, blot out her terrible secret.

  She walked back to the kid with the NOS. ‘How much?’

  He didn’t seem sure. ‘A couple of quid?’

  ‘I ain’t got a couple of quid.’

  The boy was disgusted. ‘Why you asking then?’ But he made her an offer. ‘Have you got 50p?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘How much have you got?’ She had a handful of coppers. The boy looked, sighed and put them in his pocket. ‘I’ll get into trouble for this.’ He took a balloon from his bag and attached it to the hose on his canister and she watched as it inflated. He handed it over. ‘You’re robbing me blind, you rip-off merchant.’

  She carried her balloon into the hallway, held it to her lips and sucked the gas. It was like a half bottle of vodka and a couple of spliffs in one hazy hit. Then there was no party anymore, no Rockers and Tash, no Devil, no family and no deaths, past or future. She stumbled forward, steadying herself on partygoers and the walls until she reached the door and went out onto the balcony to find her way home.