by Bo Brennan
Teenagers denied the existence of parents. Parents were uncool. In secondary school their mere existence was the stuff of urban legend. Teenagers weren't born, they just were.
That was certainly the case in this inner city state school where fragmented families were the norm. Even Terri herself doubted the existence of some of her pupils’ parents. Most of them she would never set eyes on in the four years she was charged with educating their offspring. Sometimes she was thankful for that. But not this one.
Sasha Grant’s mother was different. A single parent, she was attentive and involved in her daughter’s education. Once she'd even requested more difficult reading material for the child because she’d devoured the standard curriculum books with ease. That was certainly a first in Terri's long teaching career.
“You know the rules, Sasha.” Terri sighed as she turned the basic Nokia model in her hand to off. “You can collect it from me at home time.”
Badger Farm Estate, Winchester.
The security intercom was broken as was the lift. The stairwell smelled of stale urine. He tried to hold his breath as he climbed the three flights of concrete stairs to the third floor, but his thirty cigs a day habit had him gasping halfway up the first. Was it really any wonder people lost their children when they dragged them up in slums like this?
He took a cursory glance around as the key slid easily into the lock. The only people around this time of the day would be the dolies and druggies, and no one cared what they said. Of course, there were also the single mothers - but they were easily sorted.
The small flat was surprisingly neat and tidy. And clean, very clean. That would make his job a whole lot easier. No dust marks to worry about.
He took the black sack from his shoulder bag and began removing the photos from the sideboard. The toys could stay, would serve to add to the drama.
Entering the bedroom he raised his eyebrows noting the carefully made double bed next to the crib. He'd left his own a crumpled mess when he'd crawled from it this morning.
He rummaged through the drawers and wardrobe finding nothing worthy of note. Left the neatly arranged new packets of baby clothes, with labels still attached, just as they were. All he would need to do here was strip the bedding from the crib.
He stood frowning in the doorway of the next room. The single bed and decor indicated a child’s room, but it was far too tidy and organised for that. Concluding it was a guest room with dated decor he moved onto the bathroom.
No tide marks in the bath, nor skid marks in the toilet, he noted when he lifted the lid to relieve himself. The cleanliness of the place compelled him to wash his hands after, something he rarely did at home. With a smile, he scattered the contents of the white wicker laundry basket onto the linoleum floor. He wouldn't make the same mistake as last time.
The tiny denim jeans panicked him for a second, until his eyes fell on the size 8 flimsy sequinned camisole and thong set. Sexy. Very sexy. He held them up and admired them, wondering what she looked like. He’d said she was small, but by all accounts she was perfectly formed.
A noise in the flat next door refocused him back to the job in hand. Swiftly he collected the unwashed baby clothes and threw them into the black sack. Refilled the laundry bin with the remainder, and put it back exactly as he found it. At the door, he paused and looked back at the laundry bin, chewing on his bottom lip. It wouldn’t do any harm. He’d get a lot more pleasure out of them than she would. He licked his lips, and retrieved the thong and camisole from the bin. Folding them neatly, he slid the undergarments into his jacket pocket and moved on.
In the kitchen he checked the washing machine and fridge. Left the still packaged baby bottles on the side, and took the used ones in the sterilising unit on the worktop. Opening the cupboard above, he tutted and shook his head when he found an opened tin of baby formula. No breast feeding here. Hardly surprising really, judging by the size of her clothes her tits were barely enough to play with.
Slinging the full bin bag over his shoulder, he picked up the half empty jumbo pack of new-born Pampers by its convenient plastic carry handle, and headed for the door.
Doing a final sweep of the lounge area, he decided he would take one of the new toys in the corner after all. It would save him a lot of time and money with his sister’s kid’s first birthday looming. Besides, it was no use here anymore.
Janet fumbled with her door keys, muttering furiously under her breath as she surveyed the dark stain outside her front door. That old cow in 12a had let her bloody dog cock his leg up her door again. She really was going to have to say something.
“Mummy,” her small daughter said tugging at her dress.
“Hang on a second, Kala,” she said struggling to keep the shopping bags, which were cutting into her wrist, from landing in the pool of dog piss at her door. “Just stay over there a minute.”
“Kala's a very pretty name, for a very pretty little girl”.
The hair on the back of Janet’s neck stood to attention. The Aldi bags landed at her feet as her grip on their meagre staples lost all importance. Eyes wide with fear, she spun round to face him. He was smiling as he stroked her baby’s soft dark curls. In one swift movement Janet lunged forward and scooped her three year old daughter up into her arms.
“Hello, Janet. Long time no see.”
“What do you want?” she said clutching her daughter tightly to her breast.
“Mummy, you're hurting me,” her precious baby protested wriggling against her.
“That's not very nice for mummy to hurt you like that is it, Kala?” he said stepping towards her.
Janet recoiled. All the breath in her lungs rushed from her parted lips as she flattened herself against her closed front door. The dog piss soaking the welcome mat squelched over the sides of her flip flops, wetting her toes.
“If mummy is a good girl, Kala, you won't see me again,” he smiled patting her little girl's head. “Don't give me reason to come back, Janet.”
She looked away as he collected up her neighbour's things and disappeared from view into the concrete stairwell. Trembling, she drew a ragged breath and tentatively peered over the balcony into the car park below. When she saw his car pull out onto the main road she hurried inside and bolted the door. Her groceries would remain spilled across the balcony for the rest of the day.
City Secondary School, Winchester.
The shrill sound of the school bell was immediately followed by the teeth grating noise of forty chair legs scraping against the floor in unison. It never ceased to amaze her how the usually sloth like teenagers could move faster than whippets on the tail of a rabbit when the home bell rang.
The bell had taken her by surprise today. She'd fobbed the kids off with writing an hour long essay on the importance of treating fellow pupils with respect, while she immersed herself in tomorrow’s lesson plan. For once, she wasn’t taking her work home tonight. Tonight, Terri Davies was going on a date.
“Essays on my desk before you leave please,” she shouted over the ear splitting noise.
Her eyes darted to the door just as that sneaky little shit Craig Markham disappeared through it. Terri Davies might be approaching forty but she could still move like a bloody whippet too. And she always caught the rabbit.
“Mr Markham, I think you've forgotten something,” she said catching up with him halfway down the corridor and grabbing his rucksack as he feigned deafness.
“That's bleedin' assault that is,” he protested as the rucksack crashed to the floor scattering its contents.
“Your rucksack is free to sue me, Craig,” she said. “Essay?”
“I'm gonna get my dad up here to sort you out, bitch,” he spat taking a step towards her and glaring at her with eyes filled with a level of hatred a child shouldn't know.
“Super. I shall look forward to finally meeting your father,” she said, breaking his furious stare to glance down at their feet where the two Bunsen burners and sealed box of test tubes lay. “We'll b
e able to discuss your lack of manners, and limited vocabulary, as well as your compulsion to steal school property. Essay or detention?”
Crumpled essay in hand, and light fingered little shit Craig Markham safely delivered into the science teacher’s unforgiving hands, she returned to her desk and sighed at the fresh pile of papers now covering it. At some point she'd get round to marking them, just not tonight.
She shuffled the papers into her satchel, unintentionally frowning hard from her altercation with her pupil most likely to become a serial killer, and shuddered. God that kid gave her the creeps. His father was a local menace. If he ever turned up at the school she'd hide in the stationery cupboard. Why the hell did she do this job anyway?
The answer came sooner than expected. Terri raised her eyes to the small meek cough at the side of her desk. Because of kids like her. Her face relaxed into a warm half smile when she met the coy gaze of Sasha Grant, her pupil most likely to succeed.
“Sorry about the phone, Miss,” she said. “But my brother's in hospital and I just wanted to see if my mum had phoned with any news.”
Terri frowned, she felt like shit now. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sasha,” she said. “Is he okay?”
She screwed up her face and shrugged. “I don't know, Miss. Mum had to go back to the hospital this morning. He’s only little, it don’t feel right without him at home.”
Terri unlocked her desk draw and rifled through the confiscated iPods and gadgets to retrieve her favourite pupil’s phone. “Are you all right, Sasha?” she said holding it out to her. Sasha nodded meekly. “You know I’m here if you ever want to talk don't you?”
She gave a half smile and nodded again. “Thanks Miss.” The Nokia tune rang out as she switched the dated handset on and studied it intently. Raising a shoulder she said, “She hasn't phoned. They're probably home by now.”
“No news is good news,” Terri said. “Now go on, get yourself off home before you miss your bus.”
As Sasha hurried off to catch the bus to the council estate across town, Terri smiled after her. All the time there were still enough good kids to make the job worthwhile, Terri intended to keep hauling her arse out of bed each morning to help shape their futures.
Red Wall Chambers, London.
“It was absolutely incredible the way you demolished their expert witness today,” Leon enthused, dumping his arm full of case files onto her desk. “Have you ever lost a case, Miss Firman?”
“Flick Firman lose a case? Never!” The big voice came from the little man standing in the doorway, folder in hand. What the Chambers Senior Clerk lacked in stature he made up for with ego and attitude.
“Good evening, Jasper,” Flick said as she shook out her unworn wig and hung it on the hook above her robes. “Please tell me that's not more work? I am pretty stretched.”
“Too stretched to notice I've been restricting your caseload exclusively to the High Court?” he said. “I'll happily spread you around the circuit if you think you can make a living from traveling expenses, Felicity.”
Flick huffed a chuckle. That would never happen. Her reputation brought more work than they could realistically handle - boosting both their incomes, and forcing every barrister practising at Red Wall Chambers to undertake to the service of pupillage simply to lighten the load. But it paid to keep Jasper sweet. As their public face it was his responsibility to keep the work coming in. He was good at it too. Controlling the most prestigious law chambers in the country brought immense influence. Influence she may well need in her corner one day.
She raised her brightest, most seductive smile, before responding to his empty veiled threat. “Now now, Jasper, you know how much I appreciate all that you do for me. Your bonus payments always bear testament to that. I couldn’t do it without you, darling,” she said gently patting his cheek when she really wanted to slap it hard and go home.
Ego stroked and suitably placated, Jasper smiled broadly at his hollow victory. “You're in demand. You need to utilise your lackey better.” He gestured to her pupil, failing miserably to blend into the background during their joust. Leon was worth his weight in gold. She could do with ten of him around permanently.
Resigned to another late night she lowered herself into her seat. “What's the case?”
“A Thursday morning quickie,” he said perching on the edge of her desk and handing her the file. “Straight forward Local Authority residency order.”
“Crossley.” Flick sighed at the name. She’d acted for the Local Authority- Haltingbury - when they'd adopted out their youngest two children. This could only be to decide the fate of the boy the couple’s abuse had left stricken, disabled, and in the care of the state.
“Haltingbury were top of the league table last year,” Jasper mused. “You score a Crossley full set and we'll get all of their work.”
“We're talking about children,” Flick said. “Not a poker game.”
“We're talking about money,” Jasper corrected sliding off her desk. “I'll leave it with you.”
Her heavy sigh had Leon lifting his eyes to scan the office. Seeing the coast was clear he came around her desk and picked up the file. “I'll take care of it.” He smiled and raised a shoulder. “As lackey extraordinaire that's what I'm here for. I guess demand is the downside of being a winner, Miss Firman.”
Flick glanced up at him. Her pupil had an awful lot to learn about the thin facade of victory. “If you want to be a winner I suggest you practice elsewhere. There are absolutely no winners in Family Law. Think on that while you get the coffees,” she said shooing him away with her hand.
As soon as he left the room, Flick switched her internet browser to private, entered an obscure password and logged into her Hotmail account. A few mouse clicks later, seven young women were booked onto a ferry and seventy thousand euros were winging their way from a bank in London to an account in Europe.
Chapter 3
Badger Farm Estate, Winchester.
Rucksack on back, Sasha Grant ran all the way from the bus stop and up the three flights of steps to home. She stepped over the apples rolling around the balconied walkway and paused momentarily outside Aunt Janet's door, wondering if the bread and milk spilling from the split carrier on the mat were hers.
Maybe she'd put the bag down and forgot about it if Kala was being naughty. Maybe she should tell her before the dog belonging to the old lady upstairs found the food. Sasha chewed at her lip and looked along the balcony to her own front door. She could knock the door and run. Better still she could tell her mum - she'd know what to do. If she still had her number maybe she could send Aunt Janet a text.
That was best. They wouldn't have to speak then. Aunt Janet wouldn't get angry and her head wouldn't wobble like it was on a stick. Sasha skipped around the shopping to her own front door. She slid her key in the lock and went inside, dumping her rucksack and kicking off her shoes in the hall. “Mum,” she called out. “Are you in?”
All that greeted her was silence.
Anxiously gnawing at her fingernails, Sasha slumped down on the sofa and called her mother's mobile number. It went straight to voicemail. No news is good news, Miss Davies said. When her eyes fell on the toys in the corner, she hung up without leaving a message. The toy she'd saved up to buy her baby brother had gone. Her mum must've been home. There'd be a note. She'd never leave her on her own.
Sasha went into the kitchen and stared at the fridge, that's where her mother usually left notes. There wasn't one, just a jumble of magnetic coloured letters stuck there. She spelled out her name with them while she wondered what to do.
She was a sensible girl, everyone said so. Responsible too. Miss Davies said so in her school report. She slid the plastic letters into place on the fridge door, spelling out the word, and knew exactly what a responsible girl would do.
Sasha went into the hall and picked up her rucksack, laid out her homework neatly on the kitchen table. Then poured herself a glass of milk from the fridge and set it down next
to her textbooks. She dragged a chair over to the kitchen worktop and climbed on it to rummage through the tin cupboard. Smiling, she pulled out the stripy tin of baked beans and placed it next to the half loaf of bread on the side.
Mum would never give her beans on toast for tea, but mum wasn't here - she had enough to worry about with Billy being poorly.
Olivio’s, Park Gate.
Terri Davies felt a little uneasy as the waiter showed her to her usual table with a knowing smile. This was her third blind date and she'd come here each time. She could live with being tagged as the dateless desperado she’d become, for the comfort of feeling safe.
Terri frowned when a fat bald bloke pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. “That seat's taken,” she said.
“Gorgeous George,” he grinned extending his hand. “You are Teacher Terri aren't you?”
Terri momentarily regarded him. His online profile picture showed him ten years younger and thirty pounds lighter. Sod it, she was here now. “That's me,” she said gripping his plump palm.
He clicked his fingers at the waiter. “Over here mate! Double vodka and coke for me, and whatever she's having.”
Terri raised her eyes to the waiter, and was met with a sympathetic smile. “White wine please,” she said.
“Would madam require a large?”
Terri rested her chin in her hand. “Madam would require the bottle,” she said dully.
“I'm starving,” George said rubbing his ample belly. “Get me a large pizza with everything, mate. You wanna bite to eat too, Teach?”
Terri sighed at the afterthought. “Carbonara, please.”
