‘Because they’re a bunch of bastards, that’s why.’ When Babs saw the look on her daughter’s face, she took another sip and went on. ‘Oh, I dunno. I think it was something to do with your dad . . .’
‘Our dad . . . ?’
So rarely was Stanley Miller’s name mentioned in the flat that Jen was quite shocked to hear him mentioned twice in one day. First of all, when Bex had been fishing for info and now it seemed he was to blame for the feud with the Ingrams. Her strongest memory of him wasn’t a face – she’d been too young to remember that – but a smell. Old Spice, his aftershave of choice. It was a hazy memory of him leaning over her bed, clouding her in a delicious aroma – Bay Rum jumbled up with fruits and spices. A dad who’d smelt good but who was, from all accounts, a right bastard. As a little girl, when she’d asked her mum where Daddy was, she’d been told that he was ‘away’ or sometimes that he’d ‘gone to heaven’. Eventually, she accepted it. When she’d become a teenager, she’d taken a renewed interest in her father but any questions to her mother about him were met with, ‘I dunno . . . Can’t remember . . . Who cares?’ When she put the same questions to relatives, she was told, ‘Don’t worry about him . . . Be grateful he’s gone . . . Bad business.’
No one talked. After her husband’s mysterious departure, Babs had seen various other guys from time to time but she never seemed to have any luck with men. But then, women on The Devil’s Estate rarely did.
Jen attempted to sound offhand as she tried to lure her mother into a chat about Stanley Miller. ‘Why would our old man have got into a ruck with the Ingrams?’
But her mum made it clear she wasn’t taking the bait, and smartly changed the subject. ‘Who was that lad who brought you home?’
‘Some spiv I met in Soho,’ Jen replied, giving Babs a cold stare, which said, You’ll tell me one day.
‘He seemed like a nice enough boy . . .’ Babs suddenly remembered what she’d seen downstairs and cheered up. ‘Eh – was that his fancy motor parked outside? Here! Look at you!’
‘Possibly. I think he thieved it actually.’
‘He must have liked you to drive on to this estate with a car like that. He’ll have been lucky if he got downstairs and found it wasn’t on bricks. Hope you’re seeing him again?’
‘No. He’s not my type.’
Her mum’s brief moment of cheer disappeared. Jen was only eighteen but her mum took an obsessive interest in her love life. She was happy as Larry when her daughter dated and hit the bottle when she split with someone, which wasn’t usually long after. There would be pointed reminders that nice blokes don’t grow on trees and that she wasn’t Princess Di. It took a while for Jen to realise that her mother was trying to compensate for her own disastrous love life through her oldest daughter’s. Perhaps that was why Jen was so determined to avoid her mum’s mistakes and all those other women lumbered with dead-beat blokes.
Babs’ disappointment shone through. ‘You never give a boy an even break, do you?’
Ten
‘Will your wife be happy about you buying another woman clothes?’ Dee Clark asked coyly, reaching for a wad of cash on her boss’s desk, first thing Monday morning.
John’s office was much classier than Dee had expected – cushioned carpet; plush chairs around a desk topped with smoky-green glass; Chesterfield sofa backed against a wall filled with framed, signed, black-and-white photos of John grinning with celebs.
He’d called her up yesterday and asked her to pop in for a chat, which had made her ecstatic, knowing that all the calls he’d put in about her had come back with a massive thumbs-up. She didn’t blame him for calling around; a man in his position had to make sure he wasn’t inviting trouble into his house. Loyalty, keeping your mouth shut and knowing when to look the other way were key assets in the world John inhabited. Dee had no doubt that when he got on the blower, people said she ticked all three. But she was still worried about the type of job he was going to offer her.
She soon found out when she parked herself opposite him at his desk and he got straight down to business.
‘I need someone to front my security here. Obviously, I’ve got the wrong guy in charge at the moment and a bloke like me can’t afford to let a situation like that rest. I need someone who knows how to handle themselves and I’ve seen enough to know you do.’ His fingers caressed the glass of whiskey on his desk. ‘You’d manage my staff and ensure order was kept. All off the books of course, so you don’t need to worry about the taxman. Plus, there will be other benefits. I have to go abroad sometimes on business and I may need someone to watch my back while I’m away, so you’d be coming with me and some of my boys to arrange things. You know what I mean. So, what do you say?’
Dee knew not to agree straight away. Eagerness could be a real weakness in certain situations. She crossed her legs. ‘I’m not sure. I mean, what would your security boys say if they had a take orders from a lady?’
He huffed, then took a slug of his drink. ‘I couldn’t give a fuck. The only geezer with a vote in this organisation is yours truly. And after their performance the other night, when you were giving it large, I don’t think they’re in a position to say dick about anything.’
Dee stretched her arms to squeeze her breasts together and looked into the middle distance, thinking about what John had said but not in the way he imagined. ‘I suppose I could consider the position. There’s just one thing – this job wouldn’t involve anything crooked now would it?’
‘Wash your mouth out, darling. I’m a respectable businessman. What do you take me for?’ But he was giving her a knowing grin at the same time.
Dee had to stop herself from grinning back; she was getting exactly what she’d hoped for. ‘Alright John, you’re on.’
He knocked back the remainder of his drink, slapped the glass down and said, ‘Stand up.’
‘You what?’
‘I’m your boss now.’ He raised his eyebrow.
Dee slowly stood and watched as he ran his gaze along the length of her body. If he thought she was going to do a striptease for him he had another thing coming. Well it wouldn’t happen yet, anyway. Once she got him exactly where she wanted she’d be happy to give him his own private viewing.
‘That clobber has got to go.’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ She’d carefully kitted herself out in a Calvin Klein knit tube dress, which had taken her six months to save up for (none of that fake knock-off shite for her), five-inch mauve platforms and a large turquoise spirit stone on a chain around her neck.
‘You want to be taken seriously by my people, you’ve got to be wearing the right gear.’ He pulled out a drawer, reached in and took out a roll of banknotes. He counted off a grand’s worth and threw it over his desk.
‘Get yourself togged out in one of them designer business suits and a sensible pair of shoes.’
That’s when she had made the remark about his wife.
Hearing her question, John’s expression glazed over. ‘My missus? Which one do you mean? I’ve had two and they both spend their spare time – which is all of their time – filing their nails and working out new ways to take my financial pants down. I mean, wives? Which reminds me, if any legal beagles from the family division turn up here in pinstripes with a writ in their hands, tell ’em I’ve gone to Spain. And if their clients carry on killing the goose that laid the golden egg the way they have, I may have to.’
Dee’s smile was genuine. No little lady indoors to knock out of the game? That was one less problem to worry about. But the next thing he said made her realise there was a sting in the tail. ‘Although I’ll be honest, my latest squeeze, my Trish, I do sometimes wonder if it might be third time lucky.’
John leaned back with a dreamy look splattered across his face. Dee made a mental note to make taking care of ‘my Trish’ a priority.
She returned an hour later in a tailored black suit and cream, ruffle blouse. She wore a pair of black flats to make sure she wasn’t too much
taller than John. She liked her heels but it had to be done. Some men just didn’t like a bird looking down at them. She made sure her look was professional and sexy too but without being too obvious about it.
Satisfied, John took her from the office down to the bar area to introduce her to the staff. They were all lined up in a row, about twenty of them. She studied their faces carefully for some indication of what each one really did, as opposed to what they were supposed to do. She’d realised straight away that John didn’t make his living out of this club and he must have a bunch of rackets going on. She needed to find out what they were and get involved in them ASAP. Once she’d made herself indispensable in the club, she would do the same with whatever his real business was, and then it would be easy to move from the boardroom to the bedroom.
Then it would be time to get out her old copies of Country Life and Vogue.
In the meantime, she was practising smiling, flirting and giggling whenever her employer and future husband was around. And smiling, flirting and giggling didn’t come easy to Dee Clark, so she had her work cut out. She stood slightly behind him – which also didn’t come easy to her – as he addressed his staff.
‘Right, as some of you who were on duty on Saturday will know, there was a bit of a fracas in here.’ He massaged his temples with his fingertips to show his displeasure. ‘And truth be told I’m a bit peed off that my so-called security team had the piss taken out of them by my bird here.’ He used his thumb to indicate Dee. ‘I mean, alright, she’s obviously a bit tasty in a ruck but even so . . .’
She didn’t look like she was tasty in a ruck at that moment. She looked like a travel agent who was delighted to be selling someone a cheap holiday in Ibiza.
John turned to his current head of security and stabbed a finger at him. ‘You’re fired!’
The man was so shocked, he didn’t move. That was enough for Dee to drop her plastered, frozen smile for a moment and bare her teeth. ‘Are you deaf, mate? Fuck off out of here!’
When John turned and gave her a dirty look, she realised she’d gone too far. Shamefaced for sticking her oar in, she popped the smile back in place.
‘His replacement will be Miss Clark here.’ Dee smiled and waved at them like the Queen. John went on, ‘Any queries on the maintenance or order in this club will go through her and I’m sure you will all show the same loyalty to Dee as you do to me.’ He added by way of a joke, ‘Even if she is black and a short-arse’.
The crowd tittered while Dee kept smiling. He was right, she was black; but more accurately she was mixed-race and John was even shorter than she, although he didn’t seem able to admit it to himself. But even through the grin, she thought, You’ll pay for that remark one day, matey . . .
In the distance a phone rang. One of John’s gophers went to answer it and then returned to whisper in his ear. He turned back to his staff, ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to go and see a man about a dog. Perhaps while I’m gone you’d like to say a few words, Dee?’
She waited patiently, a butter wouldn’t melt smile on her face. When John had left the bar, her sweetness died away. She folded her arms and in a low growl said, ‘First off, I like to be called Mizz Dee.’ She took a menacing step forward, ‘But what you really need to get through your heads is this; don’t mess me about, because there’s only one thing you need to remember, I’m the baddest bitch there’s ever been.’
Stacey Ingram was shocked to see her friend in the playground at school. Stacey was pretty like a doll, small and with light chestnut hair whose go-to style was a ponytail. While it was only months until they were all leaving anyway, Tiffany had long made a habit of turning up for registration before disappearing again on the way to her first class. Sometimes Stacey joined her, but that was a no-no now. Even talking to Tiffany was out. She’d been warned by her mum and after the night before, when she realised that Babs Miller was on the hunt for her kid among the graves and they were nearly caught together, she’d decided to give her friend a miss from now on. She shuddered when she remembered Tiff’s mum giving chase, and replayed the moment she’d fallen again and again in her mind. Had Babs recognised her?
‘Oi, Stace!’
Stacey looked round in horror to see Tiffany slouching propped against a wall waiting for her to leave class. She pretended not to have heard and scurried off but she was soon caught up. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Leave it out, Tiff, I can’t hang with you anymore. You know that. My mum will have my guts for garters and no mistake.’
Tiffany scoffed. ‘Scared of your old girl? How old are you? It’s a sad, sad state of affairs, Stace, it really is . . .’ Tiffany always found it hard to comprehend that her pretty, fragile mate could have come from the same gene pool as ug mug Mel Ingram.
Stacey was looking round like a hunted animal. ‘You don’t know my mum.’
‘A mum’s a mum, babe. You have to stand up for yourself.’
‘Don’t call me babe, it’s embarrassing.’
There was no discussion about why the families hated each other; they’d already been through the mystery of what it was all about a number of times. Tiffany had no interest in her father Stanley, who she didn’t remember, although her mum said that even though she’d been a baby she’d bawled the house down the day he’d done a bunk, as if sensing her Daddy was never coming back. Mentally Tiffany scoffed at that; it sounded like some fairy tale a parent told her kid to make them feel better. But she knew that this feud went back so long that it might have even lasted since her father was around and it had crossed her mind that he might have been part of it. Given her mum and Jen’s sensitivity on the subject of Stanley Miller, she wondered if she might find something out and use it to cause trouble at home. She loved a good row and would do anything to relieve the boredom. But the only explanation Stacey was able to get from her mum was that Babs was a slag, Jen was a flamin’ slag and Tiffany was a complete and utter flamin’ slag.
As Stacey began to move off, Tiffany caught her by the arm. ‘Same time tonight then?’
‘You’re not listening are you?’ Stacey answered through gritted teeth. ‘I’ve told you, it’s not happening.’
Tiffany moved up close to her mate’s ear, so close she was nearly nuzzling it. ‘Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts?’
Some of the other kids around were starting to pay them attention, so Stacey drew a line. ‘It’s too risky. I just want to mind my own business and get on with my life. Is that too much to ask?’
Tiffany shook her head and pursed her lips. ‘Disappointing. Really disappointing.’ Before Stacey could move off, Tiffany took her by the shoulders, spun her around to fully face her and kissed her, smack-bang on the mouth. There were audible gasps from the spectators. Red with horror, Stacey shoved Tiffany away, drew a deep breath and took off at high speed.
When she was gone, Tiffany turned on the gawpers and shouted, ‘What you staring at? Wankers.’
No one dared say anything back. Everyone knew the girl was a spitfire and it was well known that she was ‘connected’ with some well dodgy youth. What they hadn’t known was that she was the type of girl who kissed other girls.
Tiffany headed for the school gates. She’d only dropped in to catch up with a few friends and show Stacey up for a laugh. Although, if she were truthful, Stacey was packing some fuck-off fine lips. She’d kinda liked the kiss, not that she’d admit that to anyone. But as she walked down to the high street, she wondered if she’d gone too far. Maybe seeing those two women tonguing each other for England down the Pied Piper had rubbed off on her some way. Come on, she weren’t no geezer bird. She’d just stay clear of the women’s section of the bar the next time she went down the pub to get an envelope.
Eleven
The first thing Jen saw that evening when she got in from college was her mother oohing and aahing over the biggest and most luxurious bunch of flowers that she’d ever seen. It was too big for her mum’s pride and joy sideboard and seemed a little large f
or the carpet where it was now resting.
‘They for me?’ Tiffany sneered behind her.
Jen turned at the sound of her sister’s voice. She’d been so knocked out by the floral display she hadn’t even heard her sister come home. Tiffany had a smirk on her face that soon turned into a curl of her lip, like Elvis hitting the wrong note, and then she was off to her bedroom. Probably tired out from an afternoon’s five-finger discount shopping in town, Jen thought scornfully. In contrast Jen was in a good mood because her tutor had asked to see her and a few other students tomorrow early evening to give them some extra lessons. An excited sizzle went through her thinking that she was well along the road to her dreams of getting into the fashion industry.
Jen looked the bouquet over and then asked Babs, ‘Where the hell did that come from?’
Her mum ran her fingers over the petal of a bright yellow flower as if she were touching the finest silk. ‘That young man who brought you home the other night popped round with them a couple of hours ago.’ She looked up at Jen. ‘Lucky he caught me in as I’m off to Bingo with Terri.’ Terri was her mate who she cleaned houses with in the square across the road. Babs frowned. ‘Why the heck did you tell him your name was Simone?’
Realising her mum would have told Nuts her real name, Jen groaned.
Babs turned back to the bouquet and in a dreamy voice continued, ‘I made him a cuppa and we had a nice little chinwag. Seems like a very, very nice boy. He certainly seems to be making something of himself. He even brought me something.’ She pointed at a bottle of Moët champagne. ‘He said I could save it for your wedding.’
Babs Miller didn’t add what her daughter could read in her eyes: ‘He brings you home in a Merc; he buys you a beautiful spray. Still think you’re too good for him?’ She didn’t need her mum giving her the third degree about her choices in life. Jen examined the gilt-edged card that was attached to the bouquet. It read simply: Will you be my orchid? Love Nuts x
Blood Sister: A thrilling and gritty crime drama Page 7
