by Liz Mistry
Today, she’d give anything to walk right on by, storm upstairs into her bedroom, drag the boxes containing the PI photos and reports on Freddie Downey downstairs and burn the lot of them. She could just pretend none of it had ever happened. That her childhood had been the feel-good Disney, ice cream and trips to the zoo one that other kids had.
She sighed and braced herself. Life was not always a box of fucking chocolates – today it was more like a rat poison sandwich. She got her key out, but suspected that her mother would have forgotten to lock the door behind her, regardless of Nikki’s repeated warnings. She was wrong. The door was locked so she took her key and unlocked it. As the door opened, a waft of spicy masala tea and the muted sounds of Anika and her mum talking drifted through from the kitchen. Nikki wandered down the short hall and pushed open the door and looked at them. Her mum, despite everything, was good-looking. People said that Anika and Nikki looked like her and Nikki was glad of that, for the alternative would have been too hard to bear for any of them. Her mum was nearly fifty, with her hair styled into a shoulder-length bob whilst Anika’s was long and straight. The likeness between the three ended at looks, for, whilst Lalita was good-natured, organised and full of vitality, Anika could be unreliable and easily led. She was prone to bouts of depression and unlike Nikki, trusted far too easily, which was one of the reasons for the current disagreement between the sisters. For a second, neither of the two women noticed her. Then the smile faded from Anika’s lips and a frown appeared. ‘Thought we were just meeting for a catch-up, Mum. Didn’t realise you were staging an intervention.’
Lalita Parekh wafted nail varnished fingers. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Ani. It’s not an intervention. Nikki wanted to talk to both of us and so I invited you over for tea. Surely a mother can have her two daughters in the same room without them scratching each other’s faces off?’
Nikki studied her mum. She looked pale – strained even. A pang of guilt jabbed Nikki, for here she was about to bring her mum’s worst nightmare back to life.
Anika turned her glare to Nikki, sarcasm dripping venomously from her tongue. ‘Oh, of course if Princess Nikita calls, we all have to jump. Can’t have the princess waiting, got to put everything on hold to accommodate her.’
Biting the sharp retort that sprung to her lips, Nikki instead pulled out a chair and accepted the cup of spicy chai her mother poured from the saucepan on the stove. Not sure her stomach could handle the milkiness at that moment, Nikki placed it by her side, leaned her elbows on the table and got straight to the point. ‘I got called to a murder in Gaynor Street this morning.’
Her words hung in the air; the only sound was a quick gasp from her mum. Nikki gave them a moment to absorb the implications of this. They’d realise that if it didn’t concern them in some way, Nikki would never have mentioned it. Her mum’s face paled even more. A pulse began to beat at her temple and Nikki jumped up and got her a glass of water. Anika bowed her head, probably to avoid Nikki seeing her expression, but she systematically pulled each of her fingers in order until they cracked. This was her “tell” – Anika had done this ever since she was a little kid and although Nikki usually chided her for it, today wasn’t a day for chiding.
Her mum spoke first. ‘Does this concern us in some way?’
Slamming her palm down on the table, spilling Nikki’s tea in the process, Anika snorted. ‘Of course it does. ’Course it bloody does. Why else would she be here talking about Gaynor Street, Mum?’ Anika’s voice got louder so that by the end of her speech she was almost spitting the words out. She jumped to her feet and headed to the back door, ready to run, like she did from every problem life gave her.
Using every ounce of patience she had left, Nikki kept her own tone low. ‘I didn’t want you to hear about this on the news – and I didn’t want you to be interviewed by a uniformed officer before I’d spoken to you. I had to mention that I’d lived there – that we had.’
Ani spun round, her face twisted in rage, her eyes flashing. ‘That’s just it, Nikki. You didn’t. You didn’t need to do a bloody thing. You could have just shut up and said nowt and we wouldn’t even have to think about it all.’
‘Further down the line they’d have looked at previous residents of the street and it would have looked suspicious if I hadn’t come clean at the time. You know that. This is a murder, Anika. Look, sit down and let me explain everything.’
Anika looked from her mum to her sister, her chest rising, her breathing loud and fast.
‘Come on, Ani. If Nikki thinks we need to hear this, then that’s what we should do. Sit down and listen, beti.’
Scraping the chair she’d vacated moments earlier away from the table, Ani sat down, arms crossed over her chest, face set in stone as Nikki told them everything: about the anonymous letters she’d received, about the diary extracts, the newspaper articles about Peggy Dyson and the young lad murdered in Cambridge, Gerry Hudson’s murder and the diary extracts they found under his pillow.
‘We’re still trying to piece everything together, but it seems fair to assume that the two cases are linked and by involving me, someone seems to be indicating it’s to do with when we lived there.’ Nikki took a sip from her tea and when it settled in her tummy with no ill effects, she took a longer sip, savouring the sweet spicy warmth as it trailed down her throat. ‘Do either of you remember him – Gerry Hudson?’
Lalita looked at her eldest daughter, her eyes moist with unshed tears, her fingers clasped tightly in her lap. ‘He was a vile man. Lived opposite us. He and your father were as thick as thieves – I sometimes wondered if Hudson was propping Freddie up – you know like a silent partner or something. Rumours were always flying about him, but in those days, what happened on the street stayed on the street.’
Anika was calmer now and she too sipped some of her tea before speaking. ‘I was too young to remember much of anyone outside the house. I remember all the women coming and going, the kids – but that’s about it.’
Nikki took out the photocopies of the diary extracts and handed them over. ‘Ever seen these before?’
When both shook their heads, she took out the copies of the real photos she’d taken from Gerry Hudson’s house. ‘What about these. Any of these kids seem familiar?’
Huddled together, Ani and her mum took their time studying the photos without saying a word. Finally, Lalita raised her head. ‘I do recognise some of these as kids from the street. You two aren’t in any, but I do recognise some of the kids – can’t remember any names though. Let me think about it. Can I keep them? Maybe something will click later on?’
Nikki nodded. ‘Sure, I’ve got copies. Don’t show them to anyone else though. This is all between us for now.’
With a frown, her mother picked up one of the photos again. Nikki made a mental note of which photo it was, for she was as sure as she could be, that her mother was keeping something from her – and that didn’t bode well.
Chapter 38
After her daughters left, Lalita Parekh sat for a long time at the kitchen table, her chai going cold in the cup before her. Everything she’d been feeling for the past few days was explained. She still hadn’t told Nikki about either the note on her car or the one that had been pushed through her letterbox, but she was now convinced that it was from Downey. Who else could it be from? With leaden limbs, she pushed herself up from the chair, stumbled, then righting herself, she double-checked the back door was locked before closing the kitchen blinds. In a trance she walked through the hallway to check the lock on the front door, her fingers trailing against the walls on either side as if to help her balance. For double safety she slotted the security chain over too, then made her way to the living room to close the curtains she’d opened after receiving Nikki’s call earlier.
She hardly noticed the tears streaming down her cheeks as, holding on to the banister, she hefted her weary bones upstairs. Once in her bedroom, she locked the door and leaned against it, eyes closed. She’d always suspected this
day or one very similar would come, but as time passed she became complacent and less vigilant. Years ago, had she found a note like that on her windscreen, her mind would automatically connect to Freddie Downey. Now, after Nikita’s revelations about Hudson’s death, Lalita was convinced Downey was behind it all – the letters to her daughter, Peggy’s death, the notes, and even Hudson’s death – just like he’d been behind everything all those years ago. As he’d promised, he’d come back for her – for revenge – and Lalita doubted she’d be able to escape this time.
Scrubbing the tears away, she walked over to the window that looked out onto the street below. Standing first to one side, then the other, just out of sight of anyone looking up from the street below, she perused the area. Would she recognise Downey now? After all these years he’d have changed and Lalita wasn’t convinced she’d spot him quickly enough to escape from him. He was a violent man – ruthless, sadistic. Both she and Nikita bore the physical scars to testify to that. All three of them bore the emotional ones too – sometimes she thought that that kind were even more destructive.
She blamed Downey for Anika’s propensity to choose the wrong man – her inability to put herself, or even her son before the love of her life. She’d been a doormat to Yousaf, Haqib’s dad, for years – always seeking his approval, changing herself to suit him. Both Nikita and Lalita had tried so hard to make her see how worthless he was, how she deserved better than that, but the lessons learned from her father had left their mark. Nikita was the opposite. The elder daughter, she’d taken on the role of protector to both Lalita and Anika from such a young age. Nikita kept her emotions under wraps. Like a hedgehog, her prickly nature was her defence against being hurt. Lalita was just pleased that finally her eldest was beginning to let people under her prickliness. Marcus was good for Nikki, as were Sajid and Langley and, if she’d only allow them to be, Stevie and Felicity Springer would also be good for her.
Flicking the bedside light on, Lalita settled herself on the floor beside her bed and pulled a suitcase out from underneath. It had been a long time since she’d looked in it and she hesitated before unzipping it. Still, she was reluctant to flip the lid open, for when she did, she’d be transported back to there. Back to that horrible time in her life, back to the life she had thought she might never escape.
Lifting the lid, her hands shaking, she flipped it open and just sat for a while studying the contents. Right at the top was a clear plastic bag with a tiny Baby-gro inside and a hospital baby wrist tag. Tears filling her eyes, she reached out and lifted it. She opened the seal at the top of the bag and after slipping the tiny garment out, held it to her face, inhaling deeply, imagining the baby smells that had long since evaporated. Nikita – a tiny red-faced squalling baby – even then she’d been strong. She’d had to be and sitting there on the floor of her bedroom, the smell of her baby filling her nostrils, Lalita drifted back in time …
‘I told you to get rid of it, didn’t I? No one wants to screw a fat bitch, do they? How are you supposed to pay your way with a sprog in your belly, you stupid slag? As if I don’t have enough mouths to feed. I’ve already got them two feckless sprogs with Peggy – don’t want any more with you.’
‘Freddie, no please, Freddie, don’t.’ But he had a hold of her hair and was dragging her through to the kitchen. He pulled her round and with a final thrust propelled her against the kitchen table. It caught her right in the stomach, and she yelped, falling to the sticky lino floor. ‘No, Freddie, no, you’re hurting the baby.’
‘Damn right I am. If you won’t get rid of it the way I told you to, you’ll get rid of it my way.’ He raised his booted foot and before she had a chance to roll into a ball, he landed it right in her belly. The baby kicked a few protesting flutters in her abdomen and then … stillness. Lalita groaned, the pain was excruciating, but somehow she managed to curl up, her arms cradling her slightly swollen belly as Freddie took aim again. This kick caught her hand, scraping it, breaking two of her fingers, but she didn’t care. She had to protect her baby, for he wasn’t done. She recognised the look on his face – that dark, gloating anger. Freddie Downey wasn’t done, not by a long chalk. Bracing herself, Lalita shut her eyes, and waited, sobbing and squirming on the floor.
Then, there was hammering on the door and she recognised the voice. It was Mr Moretti from next door. ‘What’s going on in there? Do I have to phone the police again, Downey?’
With a final ill-aimed kick that caught the top of her legs, Downey marched to the front door, yanked it open and stormed past Moretti, slamming it shut behind him. ‘Mind your own fucking business, Moretti. Nowt going on here for you to worry about. Now piss off back home and mind your own business!’
‘Or what, Downey? Or what?’
‘Or I’ll fucking kill you. I promise you, I’ll kill you.’ Downey’s voice faded as he headed down the road and then Mr Moretti was pushing the door open and peering inside.
Lalita tried to get to her feet, but doubled over at the pain in her abdomen, until gentle hands helped lift her – Peggy and Mr Moretti, one at either side. Lalita could have cried with relief. Peggy was always kind to her, always tried to keep an eye out for her – when she wasn’t high on drugs, that is. And Mr Moretti was a saint. He stepped in whenever he could on her behalf and gave the kids ice cream from his van. ‘I phoned an ambulance, Layla. You’re bleeding.’ Peggy’s voice was frantic.
Layla looked down at the lino and saw a small pool of blood. She looked up at her friend. ‘He’s killed her – he’s killed my baby.’
‘Ssh, ssh, sweetie. We don’t know that. Let’s just get you to hospital and we’ll see. If she’s as strong as her mummy, then she’ll make it.’
Lalita pressed her fingers over the soft fabric and smiled. Peggy had been right. Nikita was tough – not that she should have had to be and that was something Lalita couldn’t forgive herself for. She shouldn’t have gone back to him after she had Nikita, but then she wouldn’t have had Anika, would she?
The life they had with Freddie Downey had been like a constant thundercloud with only her two children giving it its silver lining. They’d deserved better than that. For twelve years Nikita had seen the things that man was capable of. For twelve years she’d allowed her children to be subjected to all sorts of things. That was something she could never forgive herself for and now, when they’d moved on with their lives, Downey had come back into them – and this time, Lalita wasn’t sure they’d come out the other side in one piece.
Chapter 39
Now that she was out of the house and back in the sunlight, Nikki drew in deep breaths. Someone was making pakoras and the hot spicy frying smell grounded Nikki. Things all around were normal – it was just her mad life that was in chaos. Stomach gurgling, she breathed in the aroma, and realised she was starving. Food had been the last thing on her mind all day. Although eating something now was tempting, Nikki still had that unsettled sensation in the pit of her stomach that told her if she ate anything, she’d hurl. The meeting with her mum and Ani had been awful. Her mother’s hopeless expression – the way her face paled and the worry lines across her forehead had deepened, made Nikki want to kill Downey for all he’d put them through. Anika’s animosity was hurtful, but she could cope with that. It was Ani’s way of coping – deflecting the blame onto Nikki was par for the course with Ani. What she couldn’t cope with was the vulnerability of the two women she loved most in the world. If Downey was behind all of this, then Nikki would make sure he paid.
Before heading over to her car to retrieve the documentation she wanted to study that evening, she glanced towards her mother’s house. Her mum had pulled all the curtains closed and Nikki’s heart contracted. Her mum was cocooning herself in darkness like she’d done when they first escaped Downey. Nikki started to walk across the road, determined to take her mum back to her house, but then stopped. She’d piled a lot on her and Nikki needed to give her space to process everything – space and privacy. Marcus’s words – �
�You can’t always take away the hurt” – came to mind. She’d just turned back to her car when a large, flashy BMW drove up the street and glided into a parking space outside her mum’s house.
Opening her own car, which was parked on the opposite side of the road, Nikki cast a glance towards the vehicle. The driver had remained inside and the engine was still humming. Perhaps it was all her thoughts of Downey, all her memories that had resurfaced or perhaps it was just her copper’s instinct. Whatever it was, instead of grabbing her stuff and heading home, Nikki slid into the driver’s seat and using her side mirror, observed the car. Her vision of the driver was obscured, but he still had made no attempt to leave the car. Nikki glanced up and down the street trying to work out who the man had come to visit.
That was when she saw Isaac, head down, shoulders hunched, walking up the road from the bus stop. She smiled. Isaac always made her smile. She’d intended to pop in and see him at Lazy Bites today but events had overtaken her. She made a promise to herself to do just that the next day. As she watched Isaac draw level with the BMW, a short Danny DeVito lookalike, in a smart suit with gold dripping off his wrist, got out of the car and extended an arm to Isaac. What the hell did this bloke want with Isaac?
As Isaac pulled his headphones from his ear and gripped the older man’s hand, Nikki got out of the Zafira and ambled across the road. ‘Hi, Isaac.’
In different circumstances Nikki would have been tempted to take a photo of Isaac’s dismayed expression. The smile faded from his face and his eyes darted around as if he was looking for an escape. But right now, with this smarmy gold-adorned man in the smart BMW talking to her friend, she wasn’t amused.
