Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series)

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘Yes,’ Babs mumbled, her grip tightening around Jen, but careful not to hurt her arm.

  The doctor pushed his glasses higher on his nose. ‘I shouldn’t really be doing this but according to our records, Desiree was discharged into the care of your husband Stanley on . . .’

  Babs didn’t hear the rest. She felt as if she’d had a stiff drink on an empty stomach and then had the air sucked out of her lungs.

  ‘Mrs Miller, do you suspect foul play? If so we’ll need to call the police . . . Mrs Miller? Mrs Miller?’

  Babs felt herself falling. She heard Jen shouting, ‘Mummy! Mummy!’ The quack raced to the door and yelled, ‘I need some assistance please.’

  She came to briefly when the doc slapped her cheek. ‘Can we call someone?’

  ‘Yes. Richard Smith.’

  Then she fainted.

  Fifty-Six

  When Babs awoke, she saw Richard by the side of her bed. She sprang up. ‘Where’s Jen?’

  Richard gently pushed her back down. ‘Jen’s with the nurses. They’ve told her you’re tired and need a little sleep.’ He asked, ‘What happened?’

  Her voice sounded to her as if it belonged to someone else. ‘Stan murdered Desiree—’

  Richard’s face grew alarmed. ‘Slow down. Who’s Desiree?’

  Babs’ mouth started racing. ‘I was expecting when I met Stan. Her dad was a coloured fella, but I weren’t with him no more. She was born early and had to stop in the ozzie here.’ Her voice rose. ‘Stan took her away while I was in prison for the brothel thing. Ask the quacks here. Then he murdered her and told me she’d died in hospital.’

  He patted her shoulder, trying to calm her down. ‘How do you know he murdered her?’

  Her hands flew in the air. ‘Where is she, then?’

  Richard said, ‘I’ll get in touch with my colleagues and they’ll ask him.’

  Babs shook her head. ‘Don’t do that. He’s not stupid enough to kill a kid without having a rock-solid cover story. Don’t worry about him. I’ll get him for this, you see if I don’t. He’s a child killer. We know how to deal with them in the East End.’

  ‘You need to get out of that flat. Leave a message saying you’ve gone away for a few days,’ Richard told Babs as they drove towards her parents’ place. Both Jen and Tiff were conked out in the back. ‘I’ll get in touch with my colleagues and they’ll start an investigation. In the meantime, you’re to sit tight. On no account take the law into your own hands. Are you listening, Babs? Babs?’

  She was listening but she wasn’t taking any notice. ‘Sure.’

  ‘I mean it. If you do something stupid, I can’t help you. My colleagues will get in touch and we’ll take it from there. OK?’

  ‘Sure.’ But she already had a plan in mind. ‘I’ll move in with my parents until you’ve sorted things out.’

  ‘Would he look for you there?’

  Babs didn’t answer. Richard dropped them off at her mum’s and gave her a final warning, pointing his finger. ‘I mean it; this is a police matter now. Stay out of it.’

  She watched him drive off and whispered to herself, ‘A police matter, my arse.’

  Rosie Wilson got the surprise of her life when she found her daughter and her two little ones on her doorstep.

  ‘Babs, luvvie, I didn’t know you’d be dropping around.’

  She glanced back into the house. George wasn’t going to like this.

  Babs hustled her children inside. The baby was sleeping like a dream and Jen was gazing around.

  ‘Mum, I’ve got to go somewhere. Can you look after the kids for me?’

  Rosie didn’t like her daughter’s face. She looked pale and strained. ‘Of course I will, pet.’ She took baby Tiffany and cradled her. ‘Is everything alright, you don’t look yourself.’

  Babs smacked her lips in irritation and reached for the baby. ‘No problem, Mum, if you can’t look after them—’

  Rosie shuffled out of Babs’ reach. ‘I just told you I would. I don’t know what’s got a flea in your clothes, but you can tell me all about it over a brew.’

  Babs shook her head. ‘No time for that.’ She bent down and looked into Jen’s eyes, so like her father’s. ‘You listen to everything Nanna Rosie tells you. And be a good girl for me.’ She looked up at her mum. ‘Jen’s hurt her arm—’

  ‘My other nan hit me,’ Jen piped up.

  ‘You what?’ Rosie was clearly outraged.

  Babs straightened. ‘Not now, yeah. I just need to use the lav and then I’ll be gone.’

  Rosie beckoned Babs towards her, and lowered her voice. ‘Your dad’s in. I don’t know what he’s going to say about this—’

  ‘Y’know what, Mum, the way I’m feeling now, he can fuck off.’

  ‘Babs Wilson-Miller.’ Rosie was scandalised and let it show.

  Her daughter grabbed one of her hands and held on tight. ‘I’m begging you.’ Then she was rushing up the stairs to the loo.

  ‘This generation . . .’ Rosie mumbled to the children. ‘Well, it’s about time you met your granddad.’

  She waltzed the children into the sitting room. George frowned. ‘If this is who I think it is—?’

  Rosie had had enough. ‘You listen to me, you cantankerous old fool. These are your grandchildren and they will be staying here tonight. If you don’t like it, I suggest you get a room at the Seaman’s Rest.’

  But George wasn’t listening. He was looking at the baby in her arms. His heart did a flip; the baby was a dead ringer for his Babs. His Babs – he hadn’t thought about his daughter like that in years. Just then the little mite woke up and started fussing and crying. George Wilson’s heart melted. He opened his arms at the same time as his daughter shut the back door.

  Babs knew Richard would be parked nearby to see if she made an attempt to leave. She peeked around the back wall. There he was. About fifty yards down the road. He was going out of his way to help her, but this was her problem. She was going to deal with it on her own.

  She caught a bus back to the estate. From below she checked there were no lights on in her flat and her murdering bastard of a husband hadn’t put in an appearance. But of course he hadn’t. Probably too busy knobbing the posh bitch in Islington and telling her money was no object. When she went into their home, she shivered, not just because it was cold. This was the lair of a child killer. She didn’t know why she felt in her bones that Stan had snuffed out the life of her little girl. But if he hadn’t done that, where was Desiree?

  Babs left her bag behind in the flat. She had one aim and one aim only now; to take care of Stan. For good. Her steps were confident as she walked across the estate and a few minutes later she tapped on a door. When it opened, Babs was greeted by a shocked face. So shocked, the door wasn’t even slammed shut again.

  ‘Hello, Mel. Can I have a word?’

  Fifty-Seven

  ‘What the . . .?’

  Babs didn’t let her arch-enemy finish her sentence. ‘Don’t worry; I’m not here to cause any bovver. Stolen rings, knocking shops, even Denny – I couldn’t give a fuck. I just need some information. Is Mickey in?’

  Mel’s features turned nasty. ‘You’ve got some kind of nerve . . .’

  Babs’ voice was nearly a whisper. ‘I told you – I don’t want any trouble.’

  Mel stepped outside the flat to see if she was alone. Then she relaxed slightly. ‘I don’t know what your game is, but there’s no point in playing it. Now sod off, before I decide to fix you good and proper.’

  Babs nodded. ‘I understand. I felt the same until this afternoon. But things are different now. I bought into Stan’s version of events back in ’72. But I might have been wrong all along. I just need some help.’

  Mel shook her head. ‘No can do. It’s too late for that now.’

  The door was closed in Babs’ face. She walked away, not sure where to go. But then she heard a shout. It was Mel again. ‘Oi – come here a minute.’ Babs went back.

  ‘What d
id he tell you?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Stan – what did he say?’

  Babs smiled at her ‘What is it the boys say in the changing room? I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.’

  Mel pursed her lips. ‘Mickey’s down the hospital, thanks to the hiding your Stan dished out.’

  ‘He’s not my Stan any more,’ Babs growled, her body shaking.

  ‘I see. Alright then, come in.’

  In the living room, Mel poured herself a Bacardi. ‘Do you want one?’

  ‘I do as it happens. A large one.’

  The two women sat facing each other. Mel was still sizing her up.

  ‘I just want to ask you a couple of things.’

  But Mel was more interested in her own questions. ‘What did he tell you? He didn’t try to blame us for the girl, did he?’

  ‘The girl?’

  ‘Yeah – Denny. We only realised you knew the bird during the court case in ’72. Did he tell you we put his brother up to it?’

  ‘No. He told me you and Mickey killed her.’

  Mel was outraged. ‘We killed her? What the fuck?’

  ‘Yeah. And that you fitted me up for owning the brothel.’

  ‘And you believed him? What kind of an idiot are you? Surely you know he lies for England?’

  ‘Yeah, I know that now. But I didn’t then.’

  Mel calmed down and topped the pair of them up. ‘It was his brother Pete who killed the girl.’

  Mel stared at the ceiling. Babs realised there were tears in her eyes. ‘What happened?’

  Mel’s head dropped back down, crying properly now. ‘I can’t say. I was to blame, really.’

  ‘I told you, Mel, I’m not here to cause trouble. I’ve got troubles enough of my own.’

  Mel bit her bottom lip for a time, then said, ‘If I tell you what’s what, you can’t go blabbing to Stan.’

  Babs crossed her heart. ‘Whatever you tell me stays inside this room.’

  Mel took a hard swallow of rum. ‘We needed to get Pete out of the business. He was always pissed, a menace, but Stan wouldn’t have it. He was a sucker for his brother. So when Denny turned up on the scene, we saw a way to get rid of Pete.’ She shook her head. ‘The strange thing was, I really got to like her. We told her we’d make her into a top model. Pure bollocks of course. Anyway, we got her down to the knocking shop by telling her there was a showbiz bash going on.’

  Babs wanted to speak but kept quiet. ‘She was such an innocent. Celebrities in Mile End, give me a break. We made sure that Pete got blotto and we got him into one of the rooms upstairs. Then I pulled Denny aside and told her about our plan—’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘We were going to put pig’s blood all over Pete’s room and tell him that he’d offed the girl. At first Denny didn’t want any part in it, but I told her we’d get her a job on a cruise liner. She was desperate to get away from that disgusting stepdad of hers.’ Mel polished her drink off and slapped her glass on the table. ‘So she comes in to help us spread the blood around but then she gets cold feet.’ Mel’s eyes grew wide. ‘I tried to stop her. Grabbed her. She sidesteps me and the next thing I know she’s falling . . .’

  It was like Mel wasn’t in the room with Babs any more as she recounted the story.

  ‘She hit her head on the corner of the fireplace. She was gone. There was nothing we could do. So me and Mickey went on with our plan, except this time we really did have a dead body.’ Mel chucked her glass violently across the room, where it shattered into pieces. ‘You wanna blame me? Go ahead. I blame myself, it was my idea.’ Mel was jeering, but Babs could hear the emotion thick in her throat. Her worst enemy was on the point of cracking up. ‘The first time I met her outside the modelling agency I told her to go home . . .’ Mel shook her head tiredly.

  ‘What a fucking mess. You can call me many things, but I’m no bloody murderer. Nor’s my Mickey. Stan’s been pulling your tail all along. He thought it was his brother who killed her. The only reason he’d have fingered us was to get you to do his bidding.’

  ‘Stan said you put my name on the deeds to the knocking shop. That’s why I got banged up.’

  Mel swept her hand restlessly through her hair. ‘Neither me nor Mickey ever clapped eyes on your signature. How the hell could we make a good copy?’

  Babs wasn’t even stunned to hear what Mel was telling her. Stan had probably been yanking her chain from the get-go.

  Mel carried on, ‘Your old man’s the one who stitched us all up.’

  Hadn’t he just! ‘That was a terrible thing you did with Denny and she – God rest her soul – paid the price. But another terrible thing happened. When all this business was going on, I was pregnant, you remember?’

  Mel nodded.

  ‘When my baby was born, it was touch and go whether she’d survive. While I was in the cells, Stan came and told me she had died. But it wasn’t true. He took her out of the hospital. Did you or Mickey ever talk to him about that?’

  ‘Give over. We were too busy trying to stuff each other up to swap small talk about babies.’ Abruptly her tone changed. ‘Why? What are you saying?’

  Babs’ whisper had a rasp in it. ‘He killed her.’

  Mel gave her a grim smile. ‘Bollocks. He’s a sicko but he wouldn’t kill a kid. Not even for money. Not his style.’

  Babs gave the same answer she’d given to Richard Smith. ‘Where is she, then?’

  Mel got out another bottle of booze, drank straight from it and thought for a while. ‘I dunno.’

  ‘Can you think of anyone who might be able to help?’

  ‘Not really. Hold up a minute.’ She put the bottle down. ‘You could ask that black tart Cleo, Cleo Clarke, who helped Stan nail me and Mickey at Snaresbrook. She was supposed to be working with us but Stan obviously made her a better offer.’

  Babs remembered the gorgeous black woman from the trial, the one who hadn’t wanted to let her into the knocking shop when she was searching for Denny.

  ‘And where do I find her?’

  Mel shrugged. ‘Fuck knows. She liked the East End, so I doubt if she moved far. And there was another thing – she was very religious. Always reading the Bible, that’s what Daffy told my Mickey. Strange, eh?’

  The two women regarded each other. Mel was first to break the tense silence. ‘Stan or no Stan, you still did a badness to me and my old man. Stay away from my family.’

  ‘The feeling’s mutual.’

  Then, Babs was gone. The name Cleo Clarke turning over in her head.

  Back in the flat, Babs tried to figure out how to track down Cleo. The only clue she had was that the tart was a religious woman and religious people went to church. She got out the Yellow Pages and started calling church after church after church like a mad woman. She got more and more stressed and eventually slammed the book shut. No way was she going to find the woman with this method. Besides, didn’t Bernice, a black woman in her block, say that her church was in the back of a barber’s on Sundays? The Yellow Pages wasn’t going to list that type of gathering.

  Babs got up, took a slug of gin and popped a couple of Annies. She gazed down at her bag. She didn’t have time to find Cleo. She had to deal with Stan now. It was time he understood that hell hath no fury like an East End woman wronged.

  Fifty-Eight

  Babs went to the part of The Devil’s Estate people usually kept well clear of – the underground car park, aka Neverland. It hadn’t taken residents long to figure out if you wanted to get your motor nicked, this was the best place to park it. It also attracted a wagonload of lowlifes – druggies, kids bunking off and crooks who wanted to do deals in the shadows.

  Babs started down the long, concrete slope and soon found herself in a dark underworld that sent shivers through her. Many of the wall lights were busted, but a few still shone a thin, ghostly light around a world of concrete, dumped cars and shadowy figures. She knew who she was looking for but didn’t know where to find him. She ha
d no alternative but to ask someone.

  Babs went towards a group of men sitting on top of a burnt-out car, but moved swiftly past them when she smelt the tummy-wrenching stink of meths.

  ‘You alright, doll?’ one of the winos called. ‘Take your drawers off and come and keep me company.’

  That got a laugh from the onlookers. It almost made Babs scarper, but she kept her nerve. She kept her feet moving until she saw a crowd of teens. Two had plastic bags over their mouths and noses, inhaling deeply. If Babs was Catholic, she would’ve crossed herself because she knew what they were doing – sniffing glue. What was the world coming to?

  ‘You shouldn’t be down here, Mrs Miller,’ one of the lads said, detaching himself from the group.

  ‘Frankie Lloyd,’ Babs answered with her best mum voice. She wanted to tell him his mother would be turning in her grave if she could see him now, but that would only hurt the boy. His mum had been taken prematurely six months ago. Breast cancer. Poor Mr Lloyd took it bad and wasn’t coping, his children running wild. Instead she asked, ‘Know where Kieran is?’

  He didn’t look surprised. Frankie knew once upon a time she and Kieran Scott had been close. He pointed at one of the closed garages at the end of Neverland.

  This is nuts, Babs thought as she knocked on the steel garage door. You can still turn . . . She stumbled back as the door flipped up and out. It was opened by a boy of about sixteen but the garage was what grabbed Babs’ attention. It looked more like a room in someone’s house. A room full of knock-off gear. Tellies, radios, parts of cars, even a switched-on set of Christmas lights stuck up on the back wall. In front of that was a small desk and the person sitting behind it, smoking a fag, was sixteen-year-old Kieran Scott.

  He looked at Babs slowly, his lazy eye moving in the opposite direction from his good one. Goosebumps popped out on her arms. Kieran wasn’t handsome, but he had something that kept you looking. He switched his gaze to the other lad and gave him the nod to leave. Then he lazily eased to his feet.

  The door shut behind Babs with a clang that almost made her jump.