by Liz Mistry
Anika rose, frowned at Enaya and her mum, and headed to the back door. ‘I’d better get back to Haqib. I’ll speak to you later.’
Chapter 54
‘I need your car for the day.’
‘Eh, well, the thing is, like, I need it. Got deliveries to make, you know.’
‘You’re not hearing me. I said I need your car.’ Downey clenched his hand into a fist and pressed it against the palm of his other hand. The sound of his knuckles cracking darkened the atmosphere in the small garage.
Downey’s friend, a small man in overalls and a greasy oil smear on one cheek stared at Downey’s huge fist and swallowed hard, but still he resisted. ‘I need it. Can’t you borrow one from someone else?’
Leering at the other man, Downey picked up a car wrench and took a step forward. The mechanic took a step back, glancing round looking for a weapon he could use, but he was too late.
Downey slammed the wrench onto the man’s shoulders and then when he was on his knees, he slammed his fist into his face, waited till he fell to the ground and rounded off his attack with a kick to the guts. Whilst the injured man rolled about the floor, moaning, Downey searched through his pockets till he found the keys. He grinned and threw them in the air before catching them again in his open palm. ‘Amazing what a little bit of gentle persuasion can do, eh?’
The car was a wreck. The clutch grated with every gear change and the brakes were slow to respond, but it served Downey’s purpose just fine. He needed wheels for the day and although he could well afford to rent, or even buy a car, he wanted to stay under the radar. So, a few minor inconveniences like the pervasive stink of weed – no doubt the delivery the lad had referred to, the overabundance of empty pop cans and empty takeaway wrappers in the foot-well, were a small price to pay.
Downey turned into Nikki’s road without indicating. During his time in Bradford, he hadn’t spent much time in this neck of the woods. BD3 had been his stomping ground, but it seemed that his girls, as he liked to call them, had moved to the other side of the city centre. Driving down the road, Downey’s face split into a wide grin when he saw the two bruisers parked up outside Nikki’s house. One leaned on a souped-up Ford Escort all bulging biceps, tattoos and a stupid durag on his head – tosser wasn’t even black – while the other sat on the doorstep, shades on, head back, lapping up the sun.
Well, well, well. Seemed that the weaselly whippet PI, Dougie Shearer, had finally realised that Downey was AWOL from his home in Livingston. About time too. Driving past, taking care not to look at the two men, Downey drove to the very bottom of the street and tucked his car between a van and a Mini. This development was very interesting. Very interesting indeed. Angling his side mirror so that he could see the two men, Downey considered what the presence of the two thugs meant. Clearly, Nikita had decided not to go all official on him – yet. She’d called in the heavies to protect her family and that pleased Downey. Seemed his oldest lass was a chip off the old block after all – prepared to do whatever was necessary even if it wasn’t within the scope of the law. When he’d first realised she was a copper, he’d swayed between anger and amusement – cursing the fact that any daughter of his could be part of the Old Bill. Now, it seemed that she might in fact be a dirty cop. Downey wondered who she’d called in the favour from and made a mental note to check it out.
Settling down, windows open, Downey pushed his car seat back and, allowing his mind to wander, kept an eye on the two bodyguards. He wished he’d been a fly on the wall when Shearer finally got wind of his departure. He’d have paid a lot to have seen the idiot’s smarmy face when he found the images Downey had left behind for him to find. Stupid little tosser wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. Granted, it had taken Downey a year to realise he was being watched. But hey, it was only every so often and at first, Shearer had been very professional. However, towards the end, he’d become complacent – just getting his few photos and cashing his paycheque. It amused Downey to think that he’d not only got the better of the PI, but also of that little bitch Nikita. From the day she was born, she’d done nowt but cause trouble for him, and before long he’d make sure that she got her comeuppance.
In a way though, him working out that he was being surveilled had led him to keep an eye on what he called his assets. He had a lot of grudges that needed to be settled and he’d used the last few years compiling his own evidence, getting his own intel and, of course, that’s what had led him back here to Bradford. He was content, for now, to watch with interest to see what his bitch of a daughter would make of all his clues. Would she be smart enough to put it all together? He doubted it – but that was okay. For now, he was happy to have his loose ends tied up for him. Happy as long as none of this came back on him. But he’d be well out of it by the time he was under threat.
The dark days of those seven years in prison still weighed on him. He’d avoided repeating the experience. Had used the time to educate himself. To find out sure-fire ways to earn money on his release – all under the wire of course. The sun warming his face through the windscreen reminded him of his release from HMP Oakwood in Birmingham fifteen years ago. His contacts inside the nick had made it easy for him to forge a new trade – one which kept him away from vipers like Layla Parekh and Peggy Dyson. It wasn’t long before the trade he built in transporting drugs throughout the country paid off. He was smart though. Kept himself high up the chain but with no direct links. Expanding into Manchester and then later Glasgow had made him more than comfortable and now, approaching his sixtieth birthday, he was all set to cash in and retire. But, of course he had a few things to sort out first.
Chapter 55
The rest of the day had been a blur for Nikki. She’d had to suffer explaining her PI’s findings to Springer and then again to Archie when he came in. Plus, she’d had the added mortification of being teased at throwing up at the Hudson crime scene and no amount of denying that it had been the sight of the body that had made her vomit would get them to ease up. In the end, she’d grinned and held her hands up, laughing alongside her colleagues, whilst mentally cursing the journalist. Lisa Kane: the bitch had done her job well.
She’d deliberately stayed late at work, wanting to avoid Anika’s birthday tea and had spent hours poring over the CCTV footage in the near-empty room, determined not to give Springer any excuse to haul her over the coals. They didn’t seem to be any further forward and no sightings of Downey had come in. Officers had been dispatched to interview any of Downey’s contacts on record, but so far zilch.
Eventually, she’d given in and headed home. Weariness penetrated right down to her bones. Her neck was stiff, her back achy. It had been a long day – and emotional. When she pulled into her street, Nikki debated knocking on her mum’s door before going home – just to check she was okay, but she just couldn’t face it. Instead, she drove down the cobbled back alley that separated her street from the adjacent one, cursing under her breath at the potholes that made the car lurch. She wanted to be sure that Ali’s guys were in situ at both the front and back of her street. There wasn’t space for a car to park in the alley so Nikki had instructed Ali to ask his men to park in the parking space Nikki’s mum had paved out in her backyard. She’d also stressed that they needed to do frequent foot patrols up and down the alley.
With no streetlights at the back of the houses, the area was only illuminated by lights from inside the houses. Evidence of urban fox activity was all over the street with ripped bin bags spewing rotting garbage across the cobbles. She swore that these animals, to her no more than large rodents, were getting more and more wily as they managed to topple the bins that were only half full and scavenge in them. Marcus had secured their wheelie bins with padlocked chains for just this reason.
Before she got close to her mum’s home, a bulky figure with a torch stepped forward, shining the beam inside her car. His partner stood behind, hand hovering over his radio, ready to phone for backup if necessary. It was Haris, one of Ali’s right-hand men.
&n
bsp; When Haris recognised her, he averted his flashlight from Nikki’s eyes and she opened her car window, smiling. ‘All okay out here?’
‘Apart from the foxes, it’s been dead.’ Haris’s voice rumbled through the darkness, strong and reassuring.
Nikki’s shoulders untensed and her face relaxed into a smile. ‘Good, let’s hope it stays that way. You need anything? A loo break or owt? Might as well have one now if you need it whilst I’m here.’
The other heavy approached. ‘No need, your mum’s been in and out giving us cups of spicy tea and samosas and something she called dhokla – loved that. We’ve been taking it in turns to nip in for loo breaks.’
Nikki grinned. Her mum was doing what she always did when stressed or anxious – cooking – and Isaac would be in his element helping her. He loved nothing more than being in the kitchen making things. ‘Pity you’ll have changed shifts before morning. You’ll miss the full Indian breakfast.’
When the impromptu bodyguard looked suitably crestfallen, Nikki grinned. ‘Don’t worry I’ll tell her to keep some for you for tomorrow night if you’re still needed. When do you change shifts?’
‘Three a.m.’
‘Well, keep sharp till then – need anything, just ring me okay?’
Reassured that the two men were on their toes, Nikki decided to set her phone to waken her at half three – assuming she was actually asleep by then – so she could just see how efficient the next two guys were. By the end of this she would owe Ali big time, but it was worth it to keep her family safe.
She drove on to the bottom of the alley and turned right into the front of her street. With its streetlamps on and lights from living-room windows, this side of the street had a distinctly less threatening feel to it. She spotted the rest of Ali’s guys straight away. Their car was parked opposite her house giving the men inside a clear view of Anika’s house through the windscreen and her mother’s through the side and back mirrors.
Ali was a close friend. Straight as a die, quick to help if there was any crap going down on the streets and completely loyal to Nikki. She’d helped him out on more than one occasion, and they didn’t normally keep tabs on who owed what. However, this extended surveillance was a big ask. Whilst four of Ali’s men were keeping watch here, they weren’t out earning money in their taxis. Ali wouldn’t allow them to be out of pocket, so Nikki was aware she’d have to find some cash to pay her friend back. Looks like the leaky car window would have to wait another few months, to say nothing of the double glazing she’d been pricing up for the kitchen.
As expected on a week night, it was quiet. Mr Hampson from the end of the street was walking his dog. Mr Bhullah was just setting off for his night shift at the Farmer’s Boy factory and a tabby cat, which she frequently saw exploring the area, crossed the street carrying something in its jaws. Satisfied that there was nothing to see, she exhaled, rolled her shoulders in an attempt to loosen up and got out of the car.
Nikki slammed her car door shut, she crossed the street and slid into the back seat of the undercover car. ‘Anything?’
Both men turned sideways so they could speak to Nikki. ‘Just the usual comings and goings – nothing of note really.’
The car smelled of samosa and dhokla, a spongy savoury Gujarati snack, and Nikki grinned, raising her eyebrows in mock innocence. ‘Any visitors bearing gifts?’
The guy in the driving seat, slapped his hand on the steering wheel. ‘Told you we should have opened the window for longer – she’s sussed us out.’
The other one returned Nikki’s grin. ‘Your mum’s a bloody star. I could do stakeouts like this every night, if I was getting fed like this.’
Nikki shook her head. ‘If my mum fed you every night you wouldn’t fit behind the steering wheel. Keep alert, yeah, and call me if you need owt.’
*
The living-room light was still on and the TV flickered through a crack in the curtains. Marcus was still up, waiting for her as usual. She hesitated by the gate. She wanted to go in – to allow Marcus to pamper her, to vent and let his broad shoulders take some of the weight, but another part of her wanted to get into her car, pretend it was Saj’s Jag and just drive and drive and drive.
Despite Saj’s reassurances earlier and her own logic telling her she wasn’t to blame for bringing yet another threat to her family’s doors, she couldn’t dispel the gut-wrenching guilt that made her want to scream and yell and destroy something – herself? She was on the point of heading back to her car, to drive to the nearest 24-hour supermarket to buy a kit – razor blades, gauze, cotton wool. Her breath came fast and deep and no matter how hard she twanged her wrist, she couldn’t squash the urge. Harder, she twanged – harder and harder, her heart pounding, her body near collapse and then she reached out and gripped the wooden gate – the one that she and Marcus, on Sunni’s instructions, painted a jaunty red earlier in the summer. Some of the weight lifted. She slowed her breathing, until the twangs on her wrist stopped.
A sound startled her and her head swung up to the door. Marcus stood, the light from the hallway illuminating him. ‘Bad?’ he asked, walking down the stairs.
Nikki nodded and allowed him to help her into the house. She was home and she was safe.
Chapter 56
Marcus helped her into the house and guided her through to the kitchen, sitting her down at the table. Without saying a word, he removed the elastic band from her wrist, bathed her wounds, put cream on them and then sat opposite her. ‘The kids are still up, but you don’t have to do this tonight, Nik. You look done in.’
Nikki exhaled, grabbed his hand and held on tight. She’d asked Marcus to keep the kids up despite it being a school night so she could update them. Memories of Charlie finding out about her dad on a radio news report had taught her that being up front with her kids was the best policy. She’d already waited too long – maybe even years too long – to tell them about her past. ‘Haqib here too?’
Marcus nodded and she smiled. ‘I need to do this tonight. Can’t risk them finding out from some sleazy article or a social media smear campaign.’
He lifted her hand and kissed her palm. ‘I’ll call them down then.’
Ten minutes later they were all in the living room waiting for their mum to come through from the kitchen. Nikki had rehearsed it all in her mind on the drive home. She’d sit the kids down in the living room, Haqib included, telly off, Marcus and her on the chairs either side of the stove, Sunni on the floor, older kids on the couch – the smell of home-baked brownies wafting through from the kitchen – well, perhaps not that last bit – Nikki wasn’t the best cook in the world. She’d pave the way slowly, describing all of Marcus’s contributions to their family life, how much of a loving family they were, how safe she and Marcus had made their home, then she’d move on to how her and Anika’s childhood had not been safe, not been secure, not been happy and full of joy.
The reality was vastly different. She walked in to the living room to Ruby yelling, Charlie moaning, Sunni crying and Marcus shaking his head in dismay.
Ruby glared at her brother. ‘I told you not to touch my pens, Sunni. They’re my special ones and well you know it. You’re such a little prick – you know that?’
‘Ruby – language.’ Marcus’s tone was mild, clearly trying to smooth things over before Nikki came in – but too late.
All Nikki’s deep breaths and calm thoughts flew out the window as the imaginary scene she’d created disapparated before her eyes. Her tone was cutting and cold – too cold for the situation, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘They’re only bloody pens.’
‘No, they’re not, Mum. They’re not only pens – they’re my special gel ones. The ones I use for my artwork. That little brat shouldn’t even be in my room. He needs to learn boundaries.’
‘Do not, Rubster. I just wanted to borrow them.’ Sunni picked them up and threw them across the room, scattering them all over. Charlie tutted loudly and curled her feet up onto the sofa. ‘This place is l
ike a damn zoo. Why can’t we have a normal family? Why does everything have to be such a drama?’
Haqib, headphones on, frowned. ‘You should live in my house, Charlie. Drama from dawn till dusk – that’s how I live.’
Nikki closed her eyes, trying to grasp a fleeting memory of the scene she’d hoped for, but when she reopened them, all she saw was chaos and, just like that, she lost it. ‘SHUT UP! The lot of you, just damn well shut up. If you’d had the sort of childhood your Auntie Anika and I had, you’d know all about it. Every night your Ajima had to lock us into the dingiest, crappiest room in the world just to keep us safe from our own father. We never had bloody gel pens. Our clothes were second and third hand and never fitted us properly. Our dad hit us – not with his hand, but with his belt, or his fists or his feet so …’ Nikki took a deep breath and looked at the stunned faces of the four kids. Twanging the elastic band, she’d placed on her other hand, the blood drained from her face. She sank onto the couch next to her eldest daughter Charlie and cradled her head in her hands. ‘I’m sorry – so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you like this.’
Before Marcus had the chance to comfort her, Charlie and Haqib each put their arms round Nikki’s shoulders and Sunni climbed onto her lap, arms round her neck hugging her tightly, whilst Ruby stood in front of her saying. ‘Don’t cry, Mum. Don’t cry.’
Nikki tried to staunch the tears that flooded her cheeks. She never ever cried in front of the kids. Hell, she rarely cried, full stop, but now the floodgates were open, she just couldn’t stop. Ruby handed her a fistful of tissues and Charlie looked up at Marcus. ‘We got this, Marcy, you get the kettle on.’
Haqib looked up. ‘Nah – get a bottle of wine. I think Auntie Nik needs something a bit stronger than tea.’
Nikki laughed. Trust Haqib to lighten things. Scrubbing her face with the tissues, wishing she’d had the foresight to swipe one of Sajid’s lovely soft hankies, she sat up, exhaled and looked at her kids’ worried faces. ‘I needed to talk to you about something tonight and it all came out wrong.’
