Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘The thing is,’ her mother wasn’t giving up, ‘the Old Bill dragged your sister home again the other evening when you were out. They rounded up Tiff and her mates down the cemetery and found some leaf in the girl’s pocket, a car radio in her bag, and she was tanked out of her head. They’re going to let it go this time but if they catch her again, it’s going to mean the courts and social workers, probation officers and the rest of it. We don’t need that lot poking their snouts in our business, do we? She’s only a kid after all. If you take her into town, at least you can keep an eye on her and keep her out of trouble.’

  Jen turned on her mother in fury. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Downstairs.’ Babs followed her daughter out and shouted after her, ‘Don’t have a go. She’s only a kid.’

  While her mum and sister were going at it upstairs, Tiffany was in the front room. A boy who lived on their landing had rung the bell five minutes before and passed her a piece of folded paper. He’d told her that the note had come from a friend and she knew at once which ‘friend’ it was. She took it off him, stuck it down her top and returned to the sofa to watch Blind Date. She had one hand in a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and was using the other hand to play with her Mod style short hair and flat fringe. She had a huge, smartass smile on her face. She’d heard the shouting upstairs and knew what was coming next.

  Until her job interview with the guy in the Bad Moon, Tiffany didn’t have many pleasures in life. But then, as she often thought, not many sixteen-year-old girls on The Devil did. She liked a slug of something hard and a smoke, pinching stuff and the odd fight, but none of these compared with royally winding her sister up.

  Jennifer had ideas above her station. She was constantly giving the bum’s rush to the local lads looking for a date, because they had no drive or ambition. Drive and ambition? Where the bloody hell did Jen think she was, talking bollocks to the judges at Miss World? She was always moaning, ‘I’m better than this’ when something bad happened on the estate. She had all these big, fairy-tale bollocks dreams. Just because she was studying part-time on a fashion course in that college in Whitechapel, it didn’t make her better than anyone else. Tiffany loved dragging her straight back down to earth, reminding her she was just another no-mark from the East End of London, like all the other tuppenny birds.

  When her sister came stomping through the door, Tiffany looked at her, pulled a face and then shook her head. ‘Oh no, sis, I’m not going out with you if you’re going to be wearing that. Supposing someone sees us?’

  Jen stopped suddenly, as if someone had whacked her over the head. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘That dress – it’s a bit slaggy, ain’t it? Haven’t you got something else? I suppose not; you’re too much of a tramp.’

  Her big sister’s eyes gave Tiff a scornful once-over like she was something in the Sally Army shop window. But Tiffany didn’t care. She was proud she didn’t go around like Jen in pretty-me-girlie gear. None of that shit make-up for her; a tracksuit was way better than a dress that hardly covered your fanny.

  Jen took a handful of her sister’s hair, pulled her head towards her and hissed, ‘You’re not coming into town with us so there’s no danger of anyone seeing you – and you’re not going down the cemetery with your crapster mates either. You’re going to stay in and watch telly with Mum. Do you understand?’

  Tiffany had the same look on her face that a cat has when it brings a bird into your house – it knows you’re disgusted but there’s nothing you can do about it.

  She faked a pout and wailed, ‘But Mum said you’d take me. Otherwise, I might sneak out of the flat and hang out with all the boys and who knows what will happen to me then?’

  Jennifer Miller tightened her grip on her sister’s hair. ‘You ain’t coming.’

  Unlike most minicab drivers, the one taking Rebecca ‘Bex’ Blake to meet her friend Jennifer actually drove her onto the Essex Lane Estate – known to all those in the know as The Devil’s Estate – rather than stopping on one of the roads that ran by it and refusing to go any further. Perhaps he was braver than the others or perhaps he was new to the job, wasn’t from the area and didn’t know its reputation. But the fact that he’d asked for the fare upfront suggested that he knew the full S.P. about The Devil’s Estate. He skated down one of the estate’s drives, beneath the looming dark blocks, and dropped Bex off near the lift that led up to the Millers’ flat. Then he drove away at high speed, like a getaway driver in a gangster movie. The local kids weren’t above building barricades out of wheelie bins and then demanding a ‘parking fee’ from any driver that they’d forced to stop.

  Bex pulled her Gap coat tighter around herself, making her high-end bra pop up even further (not that her 40C boobs needed more assistance). It was summer and warm but her coat was full length to cover her fake tan legs. No girl walked around The Devil in a short number if she wanted to avoid trouble: filthy catcalls being the least of it. She put her head down to avoid eye contact with anyone who might be hanging around and hurried over to the block’s entrance. The door had had its window put through. She opened the door and nearly jumped out of her skin when a man emerged from the shadows.

  He held a can of brew in his hand and swayed towards her. ‘You looking for some action?’ In his boozed-up slurred voice the words came out as, ‘You ’ookin’ for slum ashion?’

  Bex ran past him and belted for the stairs, which she knew wasn’t a smart move – all sorts went on in the stairwell of the block Jen lived in, and right enough she ran into a group of three boys smoking joints halfway between the first and second floor. Luckily they were too stoned to make the usual threatening and rude comments so she side-stepped them and kept going until she reached the third floor. She hurried along the landing and pressed the bell on Jen’s door.

  As she waited, she looked out, over the balcony wall, across the long line of darkened, deck-access flats and blocks that looked like prison wings rather than homes. In the shadows that the buildings threw, dirty deeds were done most nights. Not for nothing was it known as The Devil’s Estate for miles around. Bex lived on the other side of Mile End and The Devil made her estate look like a palace. Sometimes she considered asking her friend if they could meet up at Mile End Tube or up West, to spare her this journey. But that would remind poor Jen what a proper dump she lived in and Bex didn’t want to do that. Her friend had enough problems. And she knew what kind of a place she lived in, anyway. Bex totally got why she wanted out, a good job and an honest fella. Getting off this estate might not have been much of an ambition, but it was the only one that counted, until you did.

  When Bex knocked on the door, it was Jen’s mum who answered it. Mrs Miller smiled and greeted her but avoided making eye contact, which wasn’t like her. Babs was always so open and friendly that sometimes Bex wouldn’t have minded nabbing her and taking her home to replace her own mother, who never had much time for her, but plenty for the Bingo.

  She shouted her daughter’s name and Jen came to the door. Bex couldn’t help but be gobsmacked at what a knock-out her mate was. She was slim and trim, unlike Bex who carried a muffin top around her middle, currently squeezed into a panty girdle that was hurting so much it made her eyes almost water. It didn’t matter how many diets she tried, she just couldn’t shift the fat. Big-boned, that’s what her mum claimed she was, but Bex knew she was a gut-bucket with a sweet tooth that went berserk come midnight. Still, she could always count on Jen to make her feel like a million quid, telling her that men liked something to hang onto: a nice bit of plump ’n’ grind.

  The girls gave each other a quick peck on the cheek and that’s when Bex noticed that the devil’s offspring, the gum-chewing Tiffany, had appeared at the door too. Bex stared daggers at the little bitch. She despised Jen’s sister; a mega headache that even a box-load of Anadin couldn’t make go away.

  ‘Alright?’ The thing next to Jen had the cheek to speak to her, before resuming that cow chewing, her arms folded.

&n
bsp; It was only when Jen called out goodbye to her mum and the front door slammed shut that Bex realised that Tiffany was now standing with them on the block’s landing, all sulky mouth and slightly hunched shoulders in an Adidas fur-lined hooded parka that was a couple of sizes too big. She also sported a pair of mauve-tinted Lennon style shades. Who wore sunglasses in the dark for fuck’s sake? And her Doc Martens were a crime against fashion that Bex wouldn’t allow herself to look at. Jen’s sister looked like a wannabe Liam Gallagher ready for a ruck. The girl took out a piece of paper and started reading it. I’m surprised she can even read, Bex thought bitchily. She looked at her mate who avoided her eyes as her mum had done a few moments earlier. She looked back at Tiffany who had a smirk on her face and then she turned back to Jennifer in disbelief.

  ‘No way Jen – please tell me we’re not taking this little slapper with us . . . ?’

  Tiffany didn’t respond to Tubby Guts’ insult. Instead, she screwed up the note the boy had given her earlier and lobbed it over the balcony wall. She didn’t need the handwritten note to remind her what it said: Don’t fuck up.

  Three

  The huge bouncer studied Bex and Jen hard before announcing, ‘Well, you two aren’t twenty-one for a start, but no one’s going to pull me up for thinking you are, so you can come in. But her . . .’ He looked at Tiffany who was staring at him with her arms folded and hatred in her eyes, ‘I mean, come on; she don’t even look like an eighteen-year-old pretending to be twenty-one. Be fair girls – I’m not being unreasonable here, am I?’

  This was too much for Tiffany who shouted, ‘Sod off you prick, I’m twenty-five. What are you, blind?’

  Jennifer swiftly moved in-between her sister and the bouncer to stop Tiff from trying to deck him, then turned on the charm. This was the third club they’d queued for already that evening and things weren’t getting any easier.

  ‘Alright, this is it straight up, we’re all twenty-one, but my friend here’ – Jen gestured backwards at Tiffany with her thumb – ‘she’s never looked her age. Come on mate, help us out; we’re just three girls who want to dance. That’s not a crime, is it?’

  The bouncer was sympathetic but couldn’t help. ‘Seriously girls, if it was up to me, I’d let you in, but the cops and the council are busting everyone’s balls on the underage thing at the moment. One sniff that we’re letting kids in and that’s our licence gone. Seriously . . .’

  He was distracted for a moment by a man with Beckham good looks, dressed in an expensive, slim-line powder blue suit, which made his already piercing blue eyes even bluer. The stranger playfully punched his arm and said, ‘Alright bruv, what’s occurring?’

  ‘Just another boring night in the life of an underpaid doorman. At the moment I’m trying to explain our club’s very, very strict policy on age to these young ladies.’

  The young guy laughed. ‘You’re barring three lovely birds like this? Have you gone gay or something?’ Then he drew close to the bouncer: ‘Have you seen Dandy? I want a word.’

  The doorman jerked his head to the inside of the club and the hottie in the suit swaggered in: ‘Catch you later, yeah?’ Clearly he didn’t have to queue or pay.

  As he went up the steps, he caught Jennifer’s eye, held her gaze and smiled at her until she looked away, her heart beating like the clappers. He was sporting a pricey diamond earring and his gelled hair was dyed bleach blonde. Tanned, slender and tall, he had confidence in spades.

  Behind her, Jen heard Bex whisper, ‘Cor, I would . . .’

  The bouncer was getting impatient. ‘Sorry girls, I can’t help. Now move it along please.’

  While Tiffany worked up a strop, Jen studied the young man from her vantage point at the door. He was deep in conversation with a shifty-looking guy and whatever they were discussing was obviously serious. There was a lot of nodding, shaking of heads and shrugging of shoulders. Then the sleazy-looking one noticed that Jen was eyeballing them and dug the gorgeous one in the ribs. He turned to look at her, turned back, whispered something and the two retreated into the club.

  ‘Ladies, please,’ the bouncer sounded narked now. ‘Could you stand aside?’

  The two older girls admitted defeat, but Tiffany Miller never admitted defeat. Ever.

  She shoved her sister out of the way and tried to get into the guy’s face, even though he was at least a foot taller than her. Her voice went stereo. ‘Do you know who you’re dealing with here? Do you?’ Jen and Bex took an arm each and tried to drag her away but Tiffany wouldn’t let up. ‘I’m from Mile End, dick brain. I know people. I could have you shot, no problem! Watch your back, you little fucker! People will be coming for you, you six-foot wanker . . .’

  The bouncer shrugged his shoulders and grinned at them. Like most door staff, he could never understand why people behaved like they’d just been released from some nut house. It only confirmed he’d made the right call to bar them.

  ‘You need some help, gorgeous?’ a voice said near Jen. She looked around to find a group of three lads, the one who’d spoken giving her a thorough once-over. He obviously liked what he saw because his tongue licked his bottom lip. ‘I can get you into the club and then . . .’ he stepped closer to her, ‘me and you can get better acquainted.’

  Jen wasn’t in the mood. She kneed him in the groin. He groaned as he bent forwards, much to the amusement of his friends. Jen knew that she needed to hone the skills of a proper lady if she was going to make it off her estate, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t able to dip into her bag of Devil Estate tricks when she needed to.

  She turned her attention to her wayward sister and gripped her arm. Kicking and struggling, Tiffany was dragged down Charing Cross Road until finally she broke free. She stared at the two other girls with the same look she’d used on the doorman and then hissed, ‘Screw this, I’m off.’

  Swaggering, Liam Gallagher style, she was soon lost in the Saturday night crowds. But although they could no longer see her, the two friends were not spared hearing her as she shouted over the crowds, ‘Oh, and you were right Jen. I never wanted to come in the first place. I only did it to fuck you off. West End? Wanker’s End, more like.’

  Bex made a half-hearted attempt to go after her but Jen took her by the arm. ‘Don’t bother; it ain’t worth it. She’ll find her own way home . . . eventually.’

  ‘Your sister keeps shouting the odds and she’s going to be in real bollocks bother one of these days.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ Jen agreed, grasping full well that her sister was going to mouth off at the wrong person soon enough and live (or die) to regret it. She might bitch about her sister, but in her heart she loved her really. As far back as she could remember, she’d tried to look out for Tiffany. That’s what you did when you were the oldest; you made sure that the rough stuff never touched the young ones. Of course you would expect to get into a bit of verbal with each other, every now and again – that’s what happened in families – but at the end of the day, loyalty was everything. Everything.

  ‘She’s going off the rails and breaking my mum’s heart,’ Jen continued softly, ‘but what can you do? I’ve tried having heart-to-hearts with her, but it goes in one ear and comes out the other. The worst of it is, Mum blames herself. She thinks the stupid girl would have grown up straight if she’d known our dad, instead of him doing a flit when she was a baby.’

  ‘Your dad?’

  But Bex should have known better than to ask that question. She’d asked it many times without ever getting an answer. All anyone knew was that Stanley Miller was long gone and the family never talked about it. And as far as Jen was concerned, that was the best way to keep it. Her dad had left the family home when she was a toddler. She didn’t really remember him, but what she did recall was their flat being freezing, very, very cold indeed. How she could remember this when she’d been so young she didn’t know, but then it was funny what stayed with you from your childhood.

  Arm in arm, the two young women wandered up Charing Cro
ss Road until Jen suddenly jerked Bex to a stop outside a clothes shop. She hadn’t expected to see one here; Charing Cross Road was famous for its bookshops. Jen looked longingly at the mannequins dressed in such pretty clothes. That’s what she wanted, to be a fashion designer; it was going to be her way of getting off The Devil. After leaving school at sixteen, it had taken her a whole year before she got the confidence to enrol at college part-time on a diploma foundation fashion course. She’d left school with no qualifications, so her dream was to one day hold a certificate in her hand.

  ‘How’s it going up at college?’ Bex asked.

  ‘My tutor says my work’s really good. Next time you come round I’ll show you my portfolio.’

  ‘Portfolio?’ Bex nudged Jen playfully in the side. ‘Is that the name of a new cocktail?’

  Both girls looked at each other and burst out laughing. Bex dragged her away from the shop. There was talk of a club in Leicester Square they could try, but they both knew the evening was a dead loss. Too much had gone wrong already for them to have a good time now. Besides, Jen wanted to get home and let Babs know that her youngest had escaped from her cage and was out in the wild, with no zookeepers to look after her. That meant it would be a long night, just like all the others, until Tiffany either came home juiced-up and stoned or was brought back by the cops (with a ‘final’ warning). Or she wouldn’t come home at all until the next day and then claim she’d been kipping at ‘friends’. Sometimes, Jen wondered if the tabloids weren’t right and kids like her sister didn’t need banging up, or a wake up dose of National Service.

  They decided to wrap the night up with a drink and then head home. As they stood together outside a pub, smoking and deciding whether it looked like their kind of place, a hand appeared on Jen’s shoulder. Then the other hand appeared on Bex’s. Startled, both turned around to find the tasty bloke in the blue suit standing, up close and personal, behind them.