by Nicky Black
Lee sighed and left the room. He climbed the slim, spiral staircase to the mezzanine level and his bedroom. He’d been up since the early hours – slept badly on the spongy bed that dipped slightly in the middle. He made a mental note to speak to the landlord about that, and the drippy shower in the en suite that sounded like a waterfall in the middle of the night. He missed the hotel’s crisp sheets, dry towels and solid mattress.
His stuff had arrived at bang on eight o’clock. He’d spent the last hour assembling the shelves that had once adorned his living room wall in Islington, now proudly lining the wall of his new living room here in Newcastle. He’d hoped the sound of the hammering and the electric screwdriver would rouse Louise from her bed. He was wrong. He’d been looking forward to them spending time together, sorting out the flat, and his disappointment stuck in his throat every time he put his head round the door and peeked at her sleeping face, her eyes slightly puffy, mouth a little open. She didn’t move a muscle, didn’t respond to his voice or his gentle pokes, so he’d returned to the living room to hammer that little bit louder.
After he’d emptied his suitcases and filled the wardrobe, he lay across his bed, his arms stretched above his head. He wondered what Nicola was doing right now. Was she thinking about him as much as he was thinking about her? He couldn’t imagine anyone so different to Anita. Anita whom he’d wanted to marry, Anita who’d said yes, Anita who’d worn the cheaper-than-would-have-been-expected ring, though only now and then when she remembered. Anita, the badass Iranian-born lawyer with the sleek face of a racehorse, who’d made partner at the age of twenty-eight, earning five times what he did, sleeping four hours a night at best to get where she needed to be professionally. But where she needed to be geographically was anywhere but London. The place was dated, dirty and dangerous, so when the offer of the job in Vancouver came up, she’d said yes on the spot. No consultation. Of course he was pleased for her. He’d hugged her, lifted her off her feet, taken her out for Japanese food.
‘You’re coming with me, darling, of course,’ she’d said, her arms around his neck.
‘Of course!’ he’d claimed, pulling her face into his shoulder. Who would turn down an opportunity like that?
Nicola held onto the bags of grocery shopping as she sat on the packed bus, its final destination the airport, full of people trying to keep hold of their overexcited children and suitcases full of PG Tips, on their way somewhere hot, foreign and beachy. The schools broke up yesterday, and Nicola dreaded the long days ahead in the refuge, the kids climbing the walls, the mothers right behind them.
She’d spent the morning reliving the night before. It had felt so natural, being in his flat with his daughter. She was astonished at their close bond, formed already after so many years apart. She saw a lot of him in her, though he was blind to it. Determined, pragmatic and somewhat argumentative. She had his eyes and his height, his slightly protruding ears. She’d felt their ease with each other as they’d concentrated on the patterns and the pins, so much so that she’d begun to wonder whether she could have a relationship with her own mother after all these years. It had been almost twenty years since she’d seen or heard from her. She actually didn’t know if she was alive or not. If her mother walked back into her life, would she love her, just like that? Would she even recognise her? And moreover, would her mother love her? She felt a flurry of excitement at the prospect. A mother in her life. Not a very good one, but a mother nonetheless.
As she’d filled her shopping basket with the cheapest, on-offer produce, she realised her mother wouldn’t know that Mark was dead. Her mother’s voice had stayed with her all these years, slow and unfaltering, the words long and incomprehensible, the pitch getting higher and higher as she lost control of her emotions, her face reddening, her chin shaking. Nicola had always taken the blame, she was too quiet, too loud, too soft, too cold. She could hear her mother shouting at her now: You didn’t take care of him, you let him get out of control, you allowed him to die! Louise might have forgiven Lee, but Nicola had no forgiveness in her. Illness or not, her mother could rot in hell.
Looking out of the dirty bus window, Nicola let her mind once again drift back to the night before, to happier memories. As she relived the feel of Lee’s naked flesh all over her, his mouth on her breasts, her hands pulling him further to her, she felt herself get aroused and blushed fiercely. The woman next to her shuffled in her seat, and Nicola wondered if the woman could sense the sex oozing from her skin, just like Nicola could still smell the sweat on the back of Lee’s neck, could feel it trickle from the small of his back onto her hips. She bit at the inside of her cheek to stop herself smiling. She coughed to hide a chuckle, glancing around her. No one took a blind bit of notice of her. She was completely invisible, and that’s how she wanted to stay. As she climbed down the steps of the bus and headed to the refuge, the bags felt light in her hands. She felt stronger, physically and mentally. At last she wasn’t alone. She could grieve for Mark, Margy, even Micky, but now that she had Lee, she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
She headed for the back lane that provided a handy short cut to the refuge. As she turned the corner she was thrown roughly against one of the backyard gates with a thud and she felt a familiar hot breath against her cheek.
She pulled in her breath as the pain of the gate’s padlock dug into her spine. ‘Micky, what.... what are you doing here?’
‘D’you think I’m some kind of mug?’
‘No, no....’
‘Is it tattooed on my forehead here, eh? Mug?’ He jabbed at his forehead so hard that the fingernail left an imprint in the skin. ‘Will I have it tattooed on yours? Because you’ll be one if you don’t get home, I mean it.’
‘I don’t want to come home.’
‘I’m not asking you what you want, I’m telling you what you’re gonna do.’
‘It’s my life –’
‘– There’s no life without Micky, there’s only life with Micky, right? Life with Micky, sweet as a nut. Life without Micky doesn’t exist, right? I’m waiting.’
Nicola tried to catch her breath, the lock of the gate digging further into her ribs.
‘And what if I don’t?’
She heard the flick of the blade by her ear and she tried to squirm away from him, but he pushed his body against hers harder, making her cry out as the lock dug deeper in, nearly piercing her skin. She couldn’t move, her head rigid with his arm against her throat. Her terrified eyes darted down towards the blade. She felt her breath become shallow and her head light and woozy.
‘Put it this way,’ Micky said, the blade touching her cheek, ‘you’ll not want any mirrors around the house, because if I can’t have you, I’ll cut your face to shreds.’
‘Just give me a breather, Micky, I don’t want it to be like this. Please, Micky, you’re really hurting me!’
She felt his body give slightly, and as her throat became less constricted, tears of relief ran down her cheeks. He sighed, and bashed the ball of his hand against his forehead, two, three times. He panted a few times, folded the knife away and put it in his pocket. He took her chin in his hand and forced her to look at him. Nicola stared into his eyes, with a look of judgement that made Micky’s pupils contract. She put her hand to his face and his eyes closed at her touch.
‘Why are you going on like this?’ she gasped through her tears. ‘This isn’t you, Micky. This was never me and you.’
There was a moment’s silence.
‘Because I love you.’ His voice cracked a little. ‘You won’t listen.’ He gripped her arm tightly and spoke to her through gritted teeth and tears. ‘Why won’t you listen?’
She put her arms around his neck and pulled his head to her shoulder. ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘it’s okay.’
Lee sat at his desk, looking at the cracked clock on the wall. He’d left Louise still asleep at one o’clock, unmoving, unforgiving for being disturbed. He’d called Debbie at work. She’d laughed at him when he’d asked how she g
ot their daughter out of bed, and instead of furnishing him with parental wise words on the subject, she asked him if he’d like to come for dinner at the house one evening in the week. Lee had frowned. Well yes, he’d said, he supposed he could. Still, he waited on the answer, but Debbie hung up and he was none the wiser on the question of raising the living dead.
The clock clicked five past two. DC Thompson had arranged it. She was picking the kid up from his house on the pretext of questioning him over a break-in at the transport yard at Central Station. CCTV evidence was her devised weapon. Of course his brother, Gerry, would put up a fight, call her every bitch under the sun, but inside Gerry Woods would be delighted and somewhat relieved that his soft little brother was finally getting some proper work done. You’re not an Irish Woods unless you’ve done some time. Lee flicked the plastic band that held Mark’s file together and waited. He was looking forward to checking out Tyrone Woods for himself.
When the receptionist rang to say he had a visitor at reception, he promptly picked up the file and marched through the office to the front of the station. But he couldn’t see DC Thompson or Tyrone. Instead, Nicola stood anxiously. She looked relieved when she saw him. Lee smiled weakly at the receptionist and pulled Nicola by the elbow into an empty interview room where she sat down, waving away a plastic cup of water.
‘I’ve got to go back,’ she said.
‘Back where?’ he asked.
‘To Micky. I have to go back.’
‘No, Nicola. Let me help you. Don’t do it.’
Nicola sat straight in her chair, her face set in determination. ‘If I go back, I’ll be able to get information, I’ll get whatever you need to put him away.’
‘No fucking way – it’s too dangerous.’
‘So is this.’ She leant forward, her eyes level with him. ‘It’s the only way. I’ll never be safe until he’s locked up.’
‘You can do it without going back. If he tried to kill you and the kids–’
‘– I can’t prove it.’
She was right. He’d hit a brick wall with the garage. The CCTV ‘broken’, the owner uncommunicative, frightened even. No one was grassing on Micky Kelly. ‘I won’t let you,’ he said.
‘Yes you will!’ She threw his hands back at him and stood up, knocking the chair to the floor. ‘I’m sick of being a piece of property, Lee. Don’t start this.’
‘Shit!’ He rubbed his head and gathered his thoughts. ‘Are you sure?’ He looked up at her, a bruised, helpless look.
She nodded and smiled slightly. ‘You better be worth it.’
Lee stood up, confused about where his fear was coming from. He was afraid for her safety for sure but, more than that, he was afraid that she still loved her husband, that he could lose her when he’d barely found her.
She grasped the handle of the door.
‘Wait!’ said Lee, his hand over hers. ‘When?’
‘Tomorrow,’ she said.
He conceded and allowed her to open the door. She walked out just as Tyrone Woods signed his name at the front desk. Nicola stopped and did a double take, then threw Tyrone a hard stare and looked back at Lee as she headed for the main door. Lee held out his hand to his next interviewee.
‘Detective Sergeant Lee Jamieson,’ he said. Tyrone sank his hands deep into his pockets, shooting an uncertain look at the back of Nicola’s head as she ran down the steps of the station.
‘Come in,’ said Lee.
He closed the door and Tyrone sat at the interview table.
‘Am I under arrest?’ asked Tyrone coldly.
‘What’s that?’ asked Lee pointing at Tyrone’s coat pocket, the top of a can of beer peeking out.
‘I’m eighteen, so I am.’
‘Nah, you’re not. I can tell you your birthday if you want, Tyrone Aloysius Woods.’
Tyrone stared back at him, like he had the power to make him back down.
Lee continued. ‘I know everything about you.’
Tyrone blinked nervously.
‘I know your brothers, and your mam and your dad, where they’re from and what they’ve done. But there’s something puzzling me.’
Tyrone looked off into the distance like he gave a shit.
‘How come every lad in that youth club, if I was to ask them one by one what they thought of Mark Redmond, would say he was pure gold? Were you the only one he offered drugs to?’
Tyrone didn’t answer.
‘Or were you the only one prepared to grass him up?’
‘I’m not a grass.’
‘But you are, Tyrone, you are. I’m surprised anybody will have anything to do with you. You’re just a snotty little grasser. Why would anybody want to mix with you?’
‘They’re me mates.’
‘Some fucking mate you are: who you going to grass on next? I’d rather shit in my hands and clap than have you for a mate.’
‘Fuck off, you know nothin’.’ Tyrone looked towards the door, expecting something, someone to save him.
‘You know he killed himself,’ said Lee, sitting back in the plastic chair. ‘I pulled him loose, did you know that? He was purple. He killed himself because he couldn’t face going to prison again, couldn’t face letting his sister and his wife and baby down, hated life without his job, down there, at that centre. He loved the lads there, too, tried to keep them from getting into trouble like he had.’ He leant forward towards Tyrone. ‘But you know all this, don’t you?’ He could see Tyrone’s eyes were filling up. ‘You must have had some big reason to do that.’
Tyrone stood up, breathing deeply.
Lee stood, too, and grabbed onto his arm. ‘Hang on, you’ve got blood on your hands.’
‘What d’you mean?’
Lee saw a tear trickle down Tyrone’s cheek. He looked frightened and Lee softened.
‘You know what I mean. You’ve been used, Tyrone. Who by?’
Tyrone put one arm over his eyes and yanked the other from Lee’s grasp. He stood by the door, his crying eyes still covered. ‘You can fuck off, you can’t keep me here!’
‘No, I can’t,’ agreed Lee. ‘You’re free to go, Tyrone, but I’m onto you.’
Tyrone threw the door open and tore out of the station.
A lead at last.
THIRTEEN
‘Greedy night! Greedy night!’
Liam and Michael Jnr were on their knees, jumping up and down, clapping their hands, joy seeping from their excited faces. Micky emptied the plastic carrier bag onto the floor between them all. Crisps, Maltesers, Starbursts, Haribos, KP nuts, Cadbury’s Caramel, Caramac bars... It had been so long since Nicola had had anything indulgent to eat, her eyes bulged and her mouth watered more than the kids’. They all stared at the mound of goodies and waited for the first one to dive in. Nicola caved in first. She tore at a packet of Mini Cheddars and poured them into her mouth, chewing and spitting bits out as she laughed. The kids were hysterical, pointing at her, tears rolling down Michael’s face. Micky smiled and nudged her gently so she fell onto her side, choking and coughing bits of biscuit into her hand.
She’d been home for four days and was back in her old routine before she knew it. The house was spotless, the garden pristine, and the great pile of Micky’s clothes washed, dried, ironed and put away within forty-eight hours. She’d spent an afternoon at Kim’s, cleaning, washing and stocking the fridge while Kim either stared unseeing into the fireplace, or helped feebly, wishing she could be left alone to let her energy ooze into the sofa rather than into something as meaningless as keeping house. Micky, too, felt his stress easing as the house got back into order. After weeks of sleepless nights, he slept for hours now in his unburdened self.
Micky had been working nights until tonight. Nicola had made sure they weren’t in bed together at the same time, rising at five just before he got home, getting Liam up and dressed, making sure he needed her attention. She’d shrug at Micky as she sat at the kitchen table in the early hours holding mashed-up Weetabix in front of Liam’s red
, tired face.
But Micky was running out of patience. He was getting hard just thinking about her. Four days and he still hadn’t had her. Tania would put out no bother, but it was Nicola’s soft flesh he wanted to feel under him, not the leathery skin and bones of wife number two. Tania was a great shag, he couldn’t deny that, but Nicola turned him on proper. She was young, looked after herself, not like Tania who’d become grey and saggy, especially since little Michaela was born last year. Tania’s appetite for sex was unquenchable, but he’d made his excuses the last few days, feigning a bad back, a dicky belly, and a job to be done in Glasgow. When it came down to choice, there was no choice. He hadn’t felt his wife’s skin under his hands for nearly two months, and his groin ached to be against hers. Like a starving man getting his first whiff of sizzling bacon, he felt the saliva in this mouth and he savoured the anticipation of the passion, tearing at each other just like they used to. His eyes locked on her mouth, her hands, her nipples just peeking through the white vest top.
As Nicola sat up, wiping the crumbs from her face, Micky nuzzled into her neck. Her muscles seized as if nails were being torn down a blackboard. She pulled away, asking if there was anything to drink in the house. Micky grinned and sprang to his feet.
She couldn’t fault his conduct since she’d come back. He’d given her space, played football with Michael, given her money to replenish her wardrobe and make-up. He’d only slept four hours today and they’d spent their Sunday afternoon at the beach. Liam loved riding the Metro. Stand clear of the doors please! It made him hoot with excitement when they all made the long beeeeeep sound of the doors closing. ‘Are there any sharks in the sea, Dad?’ Michael had asked, snuggled on Micky’s lap. Micky shook his head to reassure him. ‘Have you ever seen a shark?’ Michael’s eyes were wide, hoping the answer was a resounding ‘Yes’.
‘Known a few, son,’ Micky said, ‘but not in the sea.’
They’d walked along the beach hand in hand, while the boys ran in and out of the water in their underpants, kicking at each other and collecting shells and stones in buckets. Micky seemed to be well-heeled. There were takeaways, another mobile phone she couldn’t work out how to use, and a new widescreen TV was on order, big as the cinema, he’d said. There was a great roll of cash, hundreds of pounds, permanently in his pocket.
