‘Ask her, is it? Ask her? Well, I’m asking you, lady! And you’d better have a bleeding good reason for this, or I’ll strip the skin right off you!’
Sarah froze as fourteen stones of violent mother-fury thundered towards her. Then, at the very last second, she leaped out of the way.
Swerving to make a grab for her, Maggie stepped squarely onto the kitten and skidded into the wall with a house-shaking thud. Flat on her face in the mud and debris that the council laughingly called a garden, she struggled to right herself, rage causing her eyes to bulge and the breath to hiss out of her mouth in a wet spray of foam.
‘Just wait till I get a grip of you, Sarah Mullen! I’m gonna bleedin’ batter you!’
Edging back along the wall, Sarah trapped herself in the corner. Sinking to the floor, she curled into a tight, protective ball, whimpering, ‘No, Mammy, don’t! It wasn’t me, honest . . . It was an accident!’
‘Get up!’ Maggie hissed, grabbing her by the hair. ‘And shut your lying mouth, ’cos that weren’t no accident, that was you being your nasty-arse self!’
Sobbing as her mother lavished blows on her head and her face, Sarah screwed her eyes shut and raised her arms to protect herself.
Letting go suddenly, Maggie staggered back a step and stared at her arm in disbelief.
‘You’ve cut me!’ she gasped. ‘You’ve fuckin’ cut me!’ Sickened by the sight of her own blood dripping onto the ground at her feet, she sank to her knees.
Shocked, Sarah got up and took a tentative step towards her. ‘I’m sorry, Mammy. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Get away!’ Maggie yelled. ‘Just get away, or I swear to God I’ll kill you!’
‘Mammy, please,’ Sarah sobbed, keeping her distance as she desperately tried to explain. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you and Joey! It was Karen’s fault, honest it was! It was my turn, but she wouldn’t let me have him, and—’
‘Shut your mouth!’ Spittle flew from Maggie’s mouth. ‘I don’t want to hear your lies. I just want you out! You’re bad, Sarah – bad, useless, an’ good for nowt but trouble – just like your bastard father! Why don’t you just piss off and leave me and our Karen alone!’
Tears of rage and sorrow at this rejection and injustice streamed down Sarah’s cheeks. Why was everything always her fault, while Karen the liar could never do any wrong? It just wasn’t fair.
Swiping at the tears with the back of her hand, she said, ‘Right, I’m going, and I’m never coming back – ’cos I hate you!’ Turning to run, she screamed when her mother’s hand shot out and grabbed her skinny leg.
‘Well, I hate you an’ all, d’y’ hear?’ Maggie snarled, digging her nails in hard. ‘I hate you an’ all!’
Too far gone to care now, Sarah lashed out wildly, trying to free herself from the painful grip.
Feeling a blow to the back of her neck, Maggie threw her hand up and was shocked to feel a warm wetness. Bringing the hand around to her face, she stared at her crimson-stained fingers.
‘Oh, my God,’ she wheezed. ‘Look what you done now!’
Cowering behind the kitchen window, Karen saw it all. But most of all, she saw the blood. It was everywhere, and she was petrified that Sarah was going to kill Mammy, then come after her. Starting at the sound of the telephone ringing, she raced towards it and snatched it up.
‘She’s hurted Mammy! Sarah’s hurted Mammy! There’s blood, and, and—’
‘I’ll be there in a minute,’ the man on the other end said, slowly, calmly, taking instant control. ‘Now put the phone down and dial nine-nine-nine for an ambulance. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good girl. Do it right now, then open the door and wait outside till someone gets there.’
Tony West loved his job. He thrived on always being in the thick of things, relished the power. Black, white or yellow, he didn’t differentiate. If someone stepped out of line, he stamped on them. Crime committed – punishment dealt. Simple.
He was in a particularly good mood right now, having received the nod to a stabbing at Maggie Mullen’s house. The caller was a child, so it was unclear who the victim was, but he hoped it wasn’t Maggie. Much as he’d like to see her suffer, he’d prefer it if she were the one holding the knife. Disarming her would give him the perfect opportunity to indulge in some not-so-reasonable force – payback for their last encounter, when she’d spat in his face for saving her miserable life. He should have left the fat-arsed bitch where he’d found her – flat on her back on the Princess Parkway, playing chicken with the drink-drivers.
Pulling up at the kerb, he saw a small, thin girl standing on the pavement beside the front door, her plain face a dirty mask of distress, the grime on her legs streaked white with piss – a pool of which she appeared to be standing in.
In the passenger seat, probationer Kay Porter shook her head as she unclipped her seatbelt. ‘Poor little sod,’ she murmured pityingly. ‘Look at the state of her.’
‘I’ve seen worse,’ West said, accidentally brushing his shoulder against Kay’s breasts as he leaned down to unwedge his baton from down the side of the console.
‘Oh, please,’ she hissed, pressing herself back against the door.
‘What?’ He was the picture of innocence. ‘I didn’t do anything. You wanna chill out, darlin’.’
Suppressing the urge to yell at him to stop calling her that as if she were some piece of fluff that he’d been given to amuse himself with during his working hours, Kay gritted her teeth and followed him out of the car.
‘Yeah, this is mild compared to the filth you’ll see round here,’ West was saying now, adjusting his trousers around his six-pack-and-a-barrel gut. ‘You’ll think this one’s dressed for a picnic with the Queen by the time you’ve seen a few more. Which reminds me—’ He leaned towards her conspiratorially. ‘Word of advice: if you ever have to give anyone a boot up the jacksy, watch where you put your foot, ’cos you don’t wanna be getting shit on your lovely shiny shoes.’
Kay bit back the cutting retort that sprang to the tip of her tongue. She knew that any complaint she made would be met with derision. He was a patronizing swine. Always explaining everything, and making snide digs about the neatness of her uniform, as if ironing her shirt and polishing her shoes proved that she thought herself too good to get her hands dirty with ‘proper’ police work.
West shook his head in despair as he sauntered towards the child. Kay was doing his head in. She was such an uptight bitch. Taking everything he said the wrong way and acting like she was trapped with an animal when they were in the car together. He couldn’t wait till her probation was over and he got rid of her.
Reaching the little girl, he bent down with his hands on his knees and smiled.
‘This your house, pet?’
‘Yeth,’ she lisped around the thumb stuck firmly in her mouth.
‘And what’s your name?’
‘Kawen Mawie Muwwen.’
‘That’s a nice name. And I bet you’re the clever girl who called nine-nine-nine, aren’t you?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Good girl. Mummy inside, is she?’
‘Yeth.’
The living room reeked of cabbage soup gone bad. Wrinkling her nose as she followed West inside, Kay quickly changed her expression into a sympathetic half-frown when she noticed Maggie Mullen sprawled on the couch, her left arm wrapped in a dirty, bloodied towel, being held above her head by a scruffy, gaunt-faced man.
‘Fine mess this, eh, Maggie?’ West strutted into the centre of the room and cast a glance of undisguised disgust around him. ‘Bit gutted, actually. Got myself all geed up on the way over thinking I’d find you standing over some poor bloke with his bollocks sliced off. Still, can’t have everything, can we?’
‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ She shot him an evil glare. ‘Who asked you to come, anyhow? I don’t need the pigs, I need an ambulance.’
‘Shouldn’t it be here by now?’ the man holding her arm asked. ‘She c
ould bleed to death, you know.’
West narrowed his eyes. ‘It’ll be here. And you are . . . ?’
‘Lawrence Dakin. I’m an old friend of Maggie’s.’
I bet you are, thought West. About as old as the joey you rode in on.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked brusquely.
‘I didn’t do this, if that’s what you mean,’ Dakin replied evenly, fully aware of the implication behind the question. ‘I just—’
‘It was my Sarah, if you must know,’ Maggie cut in, immediately succumbing to a coughing fit. Slumping back when it passed, puce-faced and breathless, she waved at Kay. ‘Pass us me fags, will you, love?’
Kay looked around for the cigarettes. Finding them on the floor between the cup-ring-encrusted table and the couch, she handed them over. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed West’s look of contempt at her compliance. No doubt she’d get a lecture when they left about the evils of kowtowing to the natives.
‘Your Sarah?’ West said. ‘She another little ’un?’
‘Yeah, she’s seven – and evil as fuck!’
‘That’s a bit rich, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, you reckon, do you?’ Maggie glared at him. ‘Well, if you think this is bad—’ she waggled her injured arm, almost sending Dakin flying across the room ‘—you wanna see what she done to that cat!’ Shaking her head now, she moaned, ‘Oh, I can’t believe a kid of mine could pull a stunt like that. Honest to God, I can’t.’
Clearing her throat, Kay said, ‘Um, what was that about a cat?’
‘Go see for yourself,’ Maggie motioned with a nod towards the kitchen door. ‘Only don’t say I didn’t warn you, ’cos it ain’t pretty.’
‘In a minute.’ West took his notepad from his pocket. ‘Let’s just get the full story first.’
‘Oh, no, you don’t!’ Maggie shook her head. ‘I didn’t ask for you lot, and I ain’t telling you nowt. Just call it a domestic and piss off.’
‘Bit late for that.’ West grinned nastily. ‘When a kid’s involved, we can take whatever action we see fit.’
‘Ah, but she’s only seven, so you can’t do nowt to her,’ Maggie countered.
‘Depends what’s going on. So, like I said, let’s get the full story, shall we?’
‘Kiss me arse!’
Dismissing this with a wave of his hand, West said, ‘Why did she do it, Maggie? Been laying into her again?’
‘Again?’ Maggie’s mouth dropped open. ‘What d’y’ mean, again? I never laid a hand on her!’
West squinted disbelievingly. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to swallow that?’
‘You can think what you like. I never touched her.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Maybe we’ll get a different version from her, eh?’
‘You ain’t got no right to question her, you bastard! I’ll get me brief onto you, you see if I don’t.’
Noticing Dakin squirming uncomfortably, West zoomed in on him. ‘And what’s your take on this, sir? You know it’s an offence to conceal evidence, I’m sure.’
‘What evidence?’ Maggie yelped indignantly. ‘I just told you I never touched her! . . . Not straight off, anyhow,’ she added, looking as if she’d like to bite off her own tongue for saying it at all. ‘I only defended meself when she started going psycho.’
‘Ah, so you did hit her.’ West’s eyes glinted with jubilation. ‘Right, where is she? What’ve you done to her?’
‘Oh, shit!’ Maggie hissed, furious with herself for falling into his trap. ‘Look, I haven’t done nowt, Mr West, honest. Nowt you wouldn’t have done in the same situation, anyhow. Christ, what was I supposed to do? She was trying to kill me!’
‘Where is she, Mrs Mullen?’ Kay’s voice was grave.
‘I don’t know. But don’t worry, I never did nothing to her, I swear I didn’t.’
‘Let’s have the full story, then.’ West came full circle. ‘The truth, this time.’
Using artistic licence to cover her back, Maggie reluctantly told him what had happened. When she reached the part about skidding into the wall, she had a flashback of the mess and retched, groaning, ‘Oh, God help me, it’ll be all over me slippers!’
They all looked at her feet. There were scraps of fur stuck to the sole of her right slipper, and something gorelike had splattered onto her ankle and dried there.
‘Aw, no . . . shit, no!’ she cried, kicking the offending slipper off.
Grimacing, West went to check out the backyard. Going through to the kitchen, he tried the back door. It was locked. ‘You got the key for this?’ he yelled.
Pulling the key from her pocket, Maggie thrust it at Dakin.
‘Oi!’ she called as he moved towards the door. ‘You better not let her in if she’s still out there, ’cos I’ll do for her! I mean it!’
‘You say she’s only seven?’ Disapproval rang through Kay’s words.
Nobody’s fool, Maggie Mullen caught it and spat it right back at her.
‘Ever had a kid look you in the eye and tell you they wish you was dead, have you? ’Cos that’s what she said to me, and all the while she’s cutting me up like a flaming loony! Here, take a look at this if you don’t believe me.’ Hauling herself upright, she turned her head and lifted her grease-thick hair.
Kay gasped when she saw the gash on the other woman’s neck. It was still bleeding: a faint pulse, sending thin rivulets of blood down the flesh and into the collar of Maggie’s blouse. Sparking her radio to life, Kay put out a renewed call for the ambulance, then looked around for something to stem the flow of blood.
Slumping back, Maggie impatiently waved her away. ‘I don’t need nothing on it, love. It don’t even hurt no more, to be honest. It’s me flaming arm that’s giving me gyp.’
Kay was saved from having to force the issue by the siren-blaring arrival of the ambulance. Leaving Maggie in the paramedics’ capable hands, she went to see what West was up to.
Dakin was standing at the open back door watching West tiptoe across the yard towards Sarah, who was sitting rigidly against the wall, her face turned from the house.
‘What’s happening?’ Kay asked quietly.
‘I don’t know.’ Chin trembling, Dakin gave a jerky shrug. ‘I think she’s c-cutting herself.’
Shooting a glance across the yard, Kay saw the glass in the girl’s hand. It was thick and green, like the base of a smashed beer bottle. And it was darker around the edge. Blood, she surmised, probably the mother’s. It didn’t look as if Sarah had used it on herself – yet – but she was obviously on the verge. She had the sharpest point poised above her arm, her face dipped towards it as if willing herself to get it over with.
Sending Dakin to check on Maggie and Karen, Kay radioed the station, to tell them the state of play and to get a second ambulance sent over. She hoped to God that she was wrong, but West might just prove to be the push the girl was looking for.
Stopping ten yards from Sarah, West dropped slowly to his haunches.
‘Hello, Sarah, I’m PC West. Can we talk?’
Turning her face towards him, Sarah narrowed her eyes and, slowly, deliberately, lowered the glass towards her wrist.
‘Don’t!’ West’s hand shot out of its own accord, the butterfly of dread anticipation fluttering in his stomach. ‘Please don’t.’
‘Why not?’ Sarah’s voice was barely audible, her gaze scarily steady. ‘Who cares?’
‘Oh, come on now.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Lots of people will be sad if you hurt yourself.’
‘No, they won’t.’ It was adamant, un-self-pitying. ‘No one cares about me.’
‘I do.’
‘You don’t even know me.’
‘So what? I still don’t want to see you hurt yourself.’
‘That ambulance for her?’ Sarah abruptly changed the subject.
Realizing that she must have heard the siren, West nodded. ‘For your mum, yeah. They’re just gonna take a look at her, make sure she’s all right.’
‘
I hope she’s not.’
‘Why’s that, then?’
‘’Cos a’ that!’ Waving her glass-clutching hand, Sarah pointed out the smeared remains of the kitten a few feet away.
Glancing towards it, West murmured, ‘Oh, I see. She do that, did she?’
With a look that clearly said she thought him an idiot, Sarah said, ‘Don’t pretend she didn’t grass, else you wouldn’t be here. I told her it was an accident,’ she went on bitterly, ‘but she don’t believe me, so she can get lost. It all her fault, anyhow – hers and Karen’s, and I hate ’em both!’
‘Can’t say I blame you.’ Resting his elbows on his knees, West lowered his chin onto his fists and smiled. Sarah’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Look, I’ll let you into a secret,’ he went on, half whispering now, as if it really were their big secret. ‘I hate mine, an’ all.’
‘Your what?’ she asked cannily.
West noticed the slight lessening of tension in her shoulders. Good. She was relaxing. Her reflexes would be slowing. Just a little more and he’d be able to grab her before she could do herself any damage.
‘My family.’ He twisted his lip contemptuously. ‘Mam, dad, sister, brother – I hate the bloody lot of ’em! Can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished they’d all just disappear.’
Sarah chewed this over for a moment, then said, quite seriously, ‘Know what you should do? You should pretend you’re taking ’em out somewhere. Take ’em all to the station and wait till the train comes and shove ’em under it. That’s what I’d do if I was growed up.’
West was stunned by the cold hard logic of the suggestion; more so by the fact that it had come from the mouth and mind of a seven-year-old child – and such a pretty one, at that. She certainly didn’t take after her mother in the looks department.
Averting his gaze from her pale, troubled face, he scanned the rubbish pit of a yard, eyes squinted, mouth pursed, as though giving Sarah’s suggestion real consideration. After a minute, he shook his head.
‘Nah, they wouldn’t go for it. They’ve already got me down as a tight-arse. They’d never believe it if I suddenly started being nice to ’em. Ace idea, though.’ He gave her a respectful grin.
Tainted Lives Page 2
