by Lulu Taylor
Her strappy, short cocktail dress shimmered lavender and silver. The shoes were a bit of a risk, but somehow they worked – big, yellow snakeskin platforms that made her legs look extremely long. She could see that the make-up artist and hairdresser had done good work – she looked fresh and young but her best features were subtly highlighted: her blue-grey eyes widened and emphasised with a little kohl and silver glitter shadow and some mascara, and her lips shining a delicate rosebud pink.
Best of all, Freddie was coming tonight. Her eyes glittered back at herself from the mirror as she remembered the pleasurable things they’d done together in the Leonard Bernstein Suite at the Crillon. It had been a delightful place to sample her first taste of sex and Freddie had proved very competent indeed in that department. They’d spent most of the next day extending her education. Later, perhaps, they would be able to sneak up here to the suite and celebrate her birthday properly.
Lucy came up, beaming. She looked elegant in a black column dress. Her hair had been softened and straightened, and the make-up artist had given her smoky eyes and cherry lips. ‘How are you doing?’ she said. ‘Ready for the party?’
‘You bet.’ Daisy grinned back at her. ‘But I’m feeling somewhat underdressed without a parrot or two.’
‘I shouldn’t worry,’ Lucy replied. ‘Knowing your dad, he’s probably got some tame unicorns downstairs for an extra birthday surprise.’
At that moment there was a knock on the suite door and a second later Daddy breezed into the room, an unmissable presence in his dinner jacket, a bright silk waistcoat stretched across his large front and a blue silk bow tie at his neck. ‘Ladies, ladies!’ he roared, clapping his hands. ‘You all look amazing – gorgeous! Wonderful! Have you had a lovely day? I hope you’ve looked after my Daisy! Now, now …’ He grabbed each girl in turn and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. ‘Where’s my girl? Ah, there she is! Daisy – you look beautiful.’ Daddy gazed at her with misty eyes. ‘Beautiful.’ He turned to the other girls. ‘Now, ladies, I need a moment’s privacy with my daughter. Would you excuse us? Just a moment, that’s all.’
He took Daisy’s arm and led her through the connecting door to the bedroom of the suite, shutting it behind them. Immediately his expression became grave.
‘What is it, Daddy?’ she asked anxiously. A prickle of fear raced over her skin and she shivered.
‘Some bad news, my darling. I’ve just heard. I’m afraid that Mummy’s been very silly. She’s taken an overdose of her medication and has been taken to hospital.’
Daisy felt her stomach plummet as though she’d stepped into a lift travelling downwards at super-speed. ‘But … but … how is she?’ she stammered. ‘Is she all right now?’
Daddy fixed her with a steady gaze and shook his head sadly. His oiled hair gleamed under the lights of the suite. ‘Daisy, I’m sorry. Things don’t look good at all. She’s extremely ill. The doctors are not sure what the outcome will be.’
Daisy felt sick. She could hardly believe her ears. A moment ago she had been carefree, laughing, sipping champagne and worrying about whether her dress was too short. Now, she was shaking, her palms clammy and her brain whirling as she tried to process what she’d been told. Mummy ill? Possibly dying? She had not been truly close to her mother for years, but suddenly found she yearned for her with all her heart. ‘Mummy,’ Daisy said in a broken voice. She looked wildly towards the door and began to kick off her shoes. ‘We’ve got to leave at once. I must go to her—’
‘No.’ Her father’s voice was firm. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘Wh … wh … what?’ Hot tears were stinging Daisy’s eyes but she blinked them back. Only one escaped to roll down her cheek. She could hardly take in what she had just heard.
‘You are to do no such thing. This is a very important party. You will dry your eyes, powder your nose, put your shoes back on and walk into that ballroom downstairs with your head held high. There’s nothing you can do for your mother. She’s unconscious and would not be aware of your presence one way or the other. The party must go on. You must do this for me, Daisy, do you understand?’
She knew at once that her father was deadly serious. There was no way she would be seeing her mother. It was another test, she realised. He was assessing her reaction under this awful pressure, seeing whether she had the strength to act as though nothing in the world was troubling her. She realised that the pain in her hands was the feeling of her own fingernails digging deep into her palms. I can do it, she told herself. I’ll never fail a challenge he sets me.
Daddy spoke quietly. ‘Are you a Dangerfield – or not?’
She took a deep breath. ‘All right. But afterwards I’m going straight to the hospital.’
Daddy nodded. ‘Agreed. I knew you wouldn’t fail me, Daisy. Now, are you ready to go down?’
She pushed away thoughts of her mother lying in bed, alone in a cold hospital miles away, perhaps even dying while they were talking. She lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, slipped her feet back into her shoes and stood tall. ‘I’m ready,’ she said, in the strongest voice she could muster.
‘Good.’ Daddy smiled at her, evidently relieved that she was being so amenable. ‘Now, remember – no one must guess a thing.’
‘No one will.’ From somewhere deep within herself, Daisy managed to summon a smile. ‘I am a Dangerfield, after all.’
Daddy put a hand on her shoulder and stared into her eyes. ‘Never forget that, Daisy.’
Then they walked together out of the bedroom to join the others who were laughing and joking in the sitting room next door.
16
‘’COS IT’S YOUR birthday, innit?’ Jamal said as they came out of the restaurant. Chanelle had told him off for spending all this money on her.
He put his arms around her and pulled her close to him. The next moment they were kissing, not caring that they were in the street and that passersby were having to walk round them.
‘No one’s ever done anything like this for me,’ Chanelle said, when their lips finally parted.
‘Should fuckin’ well hope not!’ Jamal laughed.
‘I don’t mean candles and dinner and all that stuff …’ She laughed as well. ‘I mean, no one’s ever done anything special for me – spoiled me, like you do.’
‘I do it ’cos I love you, you know that.’ He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. ‘And I’m gonna look after you, I promise. You need someone to spoil you, you’re a beautiful girl, Chanelle.’
She snuggled into him and he put an arm about her shoulder. ‘Come on, we’ll go back to mine,’ Jamal said. He had moved into his own place now, a rented flat in a house off the Walworth Road, and it was their private base. The happiest hours Chanelle had ever known had been spent there, most of them wrapped up with Jamal under his duvet as they experienced all the joy of each other’s bodies. He’d shown her what making love with real tenderness and emotion was all about, and she adored it.
‘This has been the best birthday of my life,’ she said, gazing up at him. ‘The best.’
Jamal had done everything he could to make it special for her. He’d turned up for their night out with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of sparkling wine – ‘’Cos you’re eighteen, and someone’s got to make a fuss of you!’ he’d said. They had opened the bottle at Chanelle’s house, and Michelle had sighed over it, and shared a glass with them, telling Jamal that he was being dead posh.
She had deteriorated further over the years. There were no more pregnancies, which was a blessing, but her health was shot from the long-term abuse to which she’d subjected her body. She was on many different types of medication to control her heartbeat, her blood pressure and the early-stage diabetes that had begun to plague her. Then there were the other symptoms: her gaunt frame, her shaking hands, her blurry eyesight and failing memory. She still drank more than she was supposed to – Well, Chanelle thought, she’s not supposed to drink anything at all, silly cow! – but the only pleasur
e left to her came from the beer and fags she loved. Now that she was getting sickness benefit, she felt she could afford a few luxuries.
Her birthday present to Chanelle was a packet of fags and a magazine, plus a card with a badly written scrawl inside: Luve ya, babes, happy birthday.
It was as much as Chanelle had expected and she was pleased to get it even though she didn’t smoke very much. She knew her mother could not stretch to anything more. Michelle did her best under the circumstances.
Jamal’s present was brilliant, though. After the fizzy wine and the flowers, he’d taken her out. He’d already told her to dress up, so she’d put on her favourite outfit – a tight black jersey sheath that clung to every curve – and a pair of knee-high black leather stiletto boots that laced up the front. A slick of bright red lipstick finished it off.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he had said when she’d come downstairs.
‘Oh, my little girl, all grownup!’ Michelle had said in her cracked, gravelly voice. She’d beamed with pride. ‘You’re a proper woman now, ain’t you?’
Chanelle had certainly felt like it as they’d climbed into a minicab. They’d gone up West to a posh hotel and Jamal had waited until they were in the bar with a cocktail each before announcing what his present to her was. Chanelle had been sipping her Long Island iced tea and thinking how delicious it was when he’d said casually, ‘Don’t you want to know what I’ve got you, babe?’
‘It’s this, innit?’ she’d said, blinking at him in surprise. ‘Going out.’
He’d laughed and told her that his real present was the chance to go back to the dancing school if she wanted. She’d told him how much she’d once loved to dance and that she’d stopped going to lessons. These days she got most of her dancing pleasure from going to clubs with Jamal and hitting the dance floor. It was so sexy to dance with him, knowing that people were looking at how well they moved together and what a great couple they made.
She’d cried a little then and hugged him, and he’d laughed and said, ‘You oughta get some singing lessons too, ’cos you got a naice voice as well. You could be a star one day, I’m serious. Now, finish your cocktail ’cos we’ve got a table booked somewhere fancy.’
‘Maybe you’ll make my dreams come true,’ she said as they went out of the bar and headed for the exit. On their way, they passed great wooden doors standing open on to a ballroom. Inside, hundreds of people were milling about, looking rich and glamorous in their expensive party clothes as they sipped champagne.
‘Look at that,’ she said to Jamal, nudging him.
He followed her gaze and nodded. ‘Yeah, man. Serious fucking cash to pay for something like that.’
Just then, Chanelle turned and saw two people walking down the corridor towards them: a glossy-looking girl with perfectly done hair and a shimmering cocktail dress tottering on her heels alongside a tall, tanned man with a stomach that bulged out from under a silk waistcoat. Chanelle and Jamal instinctively stood back to let them pass. As they drew level, the girl looked Chanelle right in the eyes. For a moment, they were caught in one another’s gaze and Chanelle sensed the enormous gulf between them. This girl looked like she’d never been hungry, tired, or wondered where the money she needed to live on was coming from. She looked like her biggest dilemma was choosing her nail colour or running out of phone battery. And yet, as they stared at each other, Chanelle saw something else in the blue-grey depths of those eyes. Sadness? Fear? She couldn’t tell. Then the instant was gone, the pair had passed them and were approaching the ballroom doors. She heard the man say, ‘Are you ready, darling?’ and the girl reply, ‘Yes, Daddy,’ then Jamal pulled Chanelle on, down the carpeted corridor.
‘Rich bitch,’ he said with a grin. ‘C’mon, let’s get out of here. This place ain’t for us.’
In the restaurant they went to, the staff had given them strange looks and the waiter had been a bit sniffy when Jamal had ordered the drinks and food, but they hadn’t cared. They had candles on the table, a starched white cloth, and they’d eaten pâté and toast, then steak with chips, and chocolate cake to finish, along with a bottle of expensive red wine. Chanelle had never felt so sophisticated in her life.
‘Thank you, sweetie,’ she’d whispered as they emerged afterwards, full and happy and a little hazy with wine.
They got on a night bus heading back south of the river and snuggled up together at the back, murmuring to one another as the bus ground its way back through the middle of the city, stopping every few minutes to take on more passengers or drop them off. They were over the river and heading east when the bus took an unexpected left turn and rumbled along a different route from usual. Jamal frowned and sat up, peering out of the windows into the darkness.
‘Hey, what’s goin’ on?’ he muttered. ‘Where da fuck are we goin’?’
‘Everything all right?’ Chanelle asked sleepily, aware that he was gripping her hand more tightly than before.
‘Yeah. Yeah. No problem. Don’t worry about it. We’re on some kind of diversion, that’s all.’
The bus rolled on further off its usual route and then came to yet another stop. The doors beeped, opened so that people could get off, then beeped again and began to close, but stuck before they were fully shut. The driver opened them and tried again, but the same thing happened. He tried several times with no luck.
‘What’s going on?’ Chanelle grumbled. ‘Fuckin’ muppet.’ She shouted towards the driver, ‘Come on, mate, let’s get moving!’
‘I can’t move the bus when the doors aren’t operational!’ the driver bellowed back. Next they heard him on the radio to his controller.
‘Come on!’ Chanelle said with a sigh. ‘We don’t want to sit here all night.’
‘Nah.’ Jamal looked out into the darkness beyond the window. His arm tightened around her.
A moment later, the driver opened the doors again. His voice came over the speaker system. ‘Everyone off, please. This bus terminates here. Mechanical faults to the doors. Everyone off. All change.’
‘Ah, fuck,’ muttered Jamal. His face had hardened and Chanelle sensed the tension in him.
‘What is it, babes?’
‘Nothing, nothing.’ He got up, raised his collar so that it was as far over his cheeks and chin as possible, then took her hand. ‘Come on, let’s get off.’
They shuffled off with everyone else, and the grumbling passengers milled around the bus stop, trying to work out when the next bus might come along, while their broken-down vehicle stood uselessly beside them, its hazard lights flashing.
Jamal seemed to be hunched over, keeping himself in the centre of the crowd, and darting glances about as if on a constant state of alert.
‘What’s the matter?’ Chanelle asked, worried.
‘You got any cash?’ he demanded in a low, urgent tone.
‘Nah. Clean out.’
‘Ah, shit. Look, here comes another bus. We’ll never get on …’
It wasn’t a question of not getting on – the crowded night bus did not even stop.
‘What is it?’ Chanelle asked, more nervous now.
Jamal pressed his lips to her ear. ‘Do you know where we are?’
She looked about. Everything seemed a bit different at night. Besides, she never usually came to this part of town because … because … She gasped, a painful shot of cold air suddenly flooding her lungs. ‘Oh my God …’
‘The fuckin’ bus took us on a diversion, didn’t it? Don’t say nothing. We’re gonna get a taxi or something and get out of here, all right? But we need some money, yeah?’
‘Let’s just get a taxi, we can stop at a cash point wherever!’ Chanelle said, panicked.
‘We gotta find one first.’
Chanelle looked up the road. The West End was flooded with taxis, all with their yellow ‘For Hire’ lights glowing. Here, the taxis that passed them were taken, shadowy figures sitting in the back seats, roaring past on their way to cross the river. There was nothing to hail.
/> ‘Minicab?’ she suggested, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.
‘Don’t be stupid. No idea who the drivers are.’ Jamal was looking seriously worried. He was usually calm and collected, always in control of any situation. The fact that he was afraid made her feel sick.
But then, the situation was serious, she knew that. The bus had brought them on to the Righteous Crew’s turf. That was a dangerous matter for any Blacksmith Boy. For the gang leader, it was pure recklessness. Chanelle tried to steer clear of the darker side of Jamal’s life but she knew something of the run-ins with the police, the ongoing gang rivalries, and drama of the drugs trade with all its illicitness, big rewards and violence. But Jamal did not get involved in any of his boys’ bloody work: when a deal had been reneged on or a payment missed, he simply instructed his lieutenants to sort it out, and they did. They told stories of their exploits, sitting round the coffee table at Jamal’s place while passing big joints around – some of the boys liked white pipes, cannabis laced with Mandrax to give them a proper buzz – and Chanelle tried not to listen because the stories made her shiver with horror and fear. She thought of Jamal as removed from all that when he was with her. But now, she realised, it was frighteningly close.
‘There’s gonna be another bus in a minute,’ she said hopefully, but Jamal was getting twitchy.
‘Don’t know how long I can wait,’ he said. ‘We gotta get out of here, Chanelle, I ain’t being funny.’
‘Then let’s go. How far till we’re off the turf?’
‘Boundary is Sylvester Road. I reckon it’s only ten minutes away, if we hurry.’
‘We’re gonna run for it?’
Jamal nodded. ‘They don’t know we’re here. Not yet, anyway.’
As soon as the decision was made, they began to move. Jamal buried his face even deeper into the turned-up collar of his jacket, put his arm around Chanelle in a pincer-tight grip, and the two of them began to move at a fast stride, away from the crowd at the bus stop and into the black-and-orange darkness of the city night. They didn’t run for fear of attracting attention to themselves, but moved with obvious urgency, Chanelle’s high-heeled boots tapping rapidly on the pavement as she trotted to keep up with Jamal’s long strides.
