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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  The same thoughts had flashed through her head when Tiff mentioned their dad’s money. The teacher at school said Little Bea was a natural gymnast, but Jen didn’t have the readies for extra classes. Sometimes you can only buy your kids’ dreams with money. And what about her own dreams? She was only twenty-eight for crying out loud, plenty of time to get back to the career she’d always yearned for. But she also felt guilty. Their mum had moved heaven and earth to create a good life for them, all on her own. And what was Babs going to think if they took even a penny of his money? She knew what – she’d blow her friggin’ top!

  ‘Come on Jen,’ Tiff coaxed her, ‘all he wants is a sit-down, to meet us proper like. What you do after that is up to you.’

  Did she really want to meet the bloke who had kissed her off when she was young? Jen couldn’t even remember him, but she recalled how bloody cold their home was sometimes. What was that about? Jen realised she had a mountain of questions for him.

  ‘Alright, but I ain’t letting my girls have a penny of his dirty dosh. And let’s keep this to ourselves. Mum’s been hurt enough already.’

  The shag pile carpet in the Imperial Hotel was so deep it nearly came up to Jen and Tiff’s ankles as they walked to their dad’s suite. When they reached his door, Tiff whispered – it was the kind of place where a couple of Mile End birds felt they had to whisper – ‘One thing’s for certain, the old man weren’t lying about the money he’s supposed to have. This place must cost a bomb.’ But when she looked around, her sister wasn’t there. She was twenty yards away and she wasn’t moving. Tiff hurried back. ‘What’s the problem?’

  ‘I’ve changed my mind. We should never have come. Mum was right, he’s a crim.’

  Tiffany rolled her eyes. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because only a wrong ’un could afford to stay in a gaff like this.’

  Tiff took her sister by the arm. ‘So much the better for Courtney and Little Bea. That means they’re in line for a big pay-out when he pegs it. Now come on.’

  Jen protested, ‘Mum’s gonna kill us when she finds out.’

  ‘I’m not telling her and neither are you, so she won’t be killing anyone.’

  The two women were still hissing at each other when the door to the suite opened and their father welcomed them in. Tiff shook his hand. Jen tensed as Stan hugged her tight. ‘I can’t tell you what a treat it is to see you here. I know it can’t have been easy. I know what your mum would say. But if it means anything to you, you’ve brought a little ray of sunshine into a dying man’s last days. There’s a drinks cabinet over there, help yourself. I can’t join you; doctor’s orders.’

  Tiff helped herself to a large voddy and her sister chose a miniature Coke. Like the room, the drinks cabinet stank of money. Even the juice bottles looked like they came from a French vineyard. They took seats on the plush antique chairs, looked down on by proper pictures, with real paint and everything. Their dad sat on an ottoman and put his legs up. After a silence only interrupted by Stan’s hacking cough, they got down to business.

  Tiff’s first question was about his dough, while Jen wanted answers about the past. Stan seemed more interested in helping Jen.

  ‘Look, love, I don’t want to drag it all up again. All I’ll say is that me and your mum were very young. We were stupid, the way young people are. We gave it a go and it didn’t pan out. I’m not going to pretend I was husband of the year. I did some hurtful things and I’m really sorry about that. I’ll never forgive myself for walking out on you two. It should never have happened but it did. I’ve lived with it every day. The important thing in life is to move on. I have but she hasn’t.’

  Jen’s lips thinned, obviously pissed at the swipe at her mum. ‘I don’t really remember you, but I remember our house was freezing. Why didn’t you look after us properly?’

  Stan coughed into his handkerchief. ‘I don’t want to badmouth your mum or anything, but I’d give her dosh to pay the bills and sometimes . . . Well, she liked a bit of a roll down the bingo.’

  Jen got upset, her voice rising. ‘That’s funny, Mum used every last penny from her cleaning job to see us right. If you’re going to keep blaming her, I’m outta here.’ As if to emphasise her words, she gripped the side of the chair, ready to get up.

  ‘I ain’t blaming anyone,’ Stan insisted. ‘I’m saying the past is the past and we should look to the future.’

  Jen‘s gaze hardened. ‘So where have you been holed up all these years?’

  Tiffany was proper fed up with this episode of This Is Your Life.

  Instead of answering, Stan said, ‘Get us a glass of water.’ When Tiff handed it to him, Stan took out a transparent bag full of white powder.

  She sniffed. ‘Doing a bit of the old Snow White?’

  He half-grinned back at her. ‘Coke? Not bloody likely! This is one of the meds the quack’s got me on.’ He mixed it with the water and knocked it back. His face screwed up. ‘That stuff’s nasty.’

  Tiff and Jen were both silent as they stared at him, as if seeing him for the first time. Seeing his illness. Their dad was up the creek without a paddle.

  ‘Dad . . . err . . .’ Jen stammered, ‘you don’t have to answer—’

  He waved her words aside. ‘It’s alright, babe, you’ve got a right to know.’ He put the glass down. ‘What happened was this. I was running my own property empire and I pissed off the law. It was partly my own fault; I know that now. Anyway, when you piss off the cops, they don’t forget. They’re always on the lookout for something to do you for. Then my brother topped himself.’

  Jen broke in. ‘You had a brother?’

  ‘Your mum never told you about Pete?’ It was the first time he’d got angry. ‘I know she ain’t got no love for me but she should’ve told you about your family. Everyone has the right to know about their flesh and blood.’

  Seeing the stormy look on Jen’s face again, he waved his frail hand in the air to stop her tearing a strip off him. His eyes grew misty as he talked about his brother. ‘Your Uncle Pete was my big brother. He looked out for me when we was growing up.’

  Stan shook his head. ‘I can’t tell you when it happened exactly, but suddenly it was like I was having to prop him up. He was a troubled man and decided to end it all. Of course, the law thought this was their big chance and tried to pin it on me.’ His voice became fierce. ‘Like I would do that to my own brother. It broke my heart when he died.’

  His head dropped into his hands as he fought with his emotions. The sisters looked at each other, not sure what to do. Finally, Jen said, ‘Dad, maybe you should lie down. We can have our chat some other time.’

  His head came up. ‘I’m alright, darlin’. I don’t like chatting about the past. It’s not all about your mum. There were other people involved. I’ve got my own scars as well.’

  Whatever she thought of him, Jen didn’t like seeing her dad laid low. She got up and poured him another glass of water.

  ‘Cheers, pet. Anyway, two-twos, I had to leg it abroad until it blew over. As soon as I got the wink I was going to come home, even after your mum officially divorced me, which I only found out about once I decided to come back to Blighty. But the Bill wouldn’t let it go. When the plod are out to get you, they’re out to get you, know what I mean? So I sold all my property here and reinvested it in Spain. I couldn’t get in touch, in case the coppers were watching. I hated the situation but what could I do?’

  Tiff spotted the snag in his story. ‘But you’re back here now under your own name, right?’

  For just a second she was sure there was a steely look in his eyes. But then they went soft again. Had she imagined it? Had she just glimpsed the real Stanley Miller?

  ‘I hired a lawyer in London who made enquiries at the Yard. Turns out they’ve got nish. It was all bollocks. There is no case against me and there never was, so I was free to come back.’

  Jen kept plugging away about the past. Tiff drummed her fingers on her armrest. Her ears pricked
up again when her father said, ‘Look, babe, I’m not going to say my property business was totally on the level, no business ever is. It had a complicated structure under a lot of different names. But since the quacks told me the shutters are coming down, I’ve been working night and day to make sure it’s all legit.’

  He paused. ‘I need the trust for your girls to be airtight. Which means I want you, Tiff and your mum to look after it until the girls reach eighteen. But that needs all three of you to sign the documents my lawyer has drawn up . . .’

  Tiffany scoffed, folding her arms. ‘Trust for your grandkids? A little dosh put aside for all of us? I don’t believe a word of it.’

  Stan went red. ‘Do you know what happens when someone tells you you’re dying?’ His fingers were bone white on the arm of the chair. ‘Every last fucking thing you can remember flashes before you. And then, whether you like it or not, every last wrong thing you did takes a turn sitting next to you and keeps poking and poking until you give an account of yourself.’ Stan looked Tiff directly in the eye. ‘I have to come to terms with what I did to you. The only way I can do that is to make sure my grandbabies are taken care of.’

  His voice lost its emotion. ‘You don’t want to know – fine, get up and leave. I ain’t stopping you. But know this, on my heart, I’m going to set that trust up if it’s the last thing I do before I close my eyes.’

  Jen stood. Her chin trembled slightly as tears sparkled in her eyes. ‘I think I’ll just powder my nose.’ She fled to the state-of-the-art bathroom. Stan and Tiff were left alone.

  He studied her. ‘Still sitting on the fence, darlin’?’

  She opened her hands. ‘Dunno, Stan. Maybe.’

  ‘I understand. But I’m too old to play games. And I’m nearly too dead anyway. You’ll see when you get to my age. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go neck some of the hundred and one pills I’ve been issued with. Fuck knows why, I’m a goner anyway.’

  He used his stick to slowly ease up. Tiff didn’t know whether to help him or not. For the first time since meeting her dad her instinct was to help, but she didn’t move. She felt guilty at her attitude and wondered why she wasn’t interested in the old man’s life like Jen.

  The door to the suite burst open. A young woman stepped inside. She was dressed from head to toe like a Kelly Osbourne mini-me, hauling shopping bags from some of the city’s most exclusive stores. When she saw Tiff, she whipped off her DKNY sunglasses and threw them across the room. Her bright blue eyes lit up like icy fireworks. She seemed ready to thump someone. She dumped her bags and screamed, ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  Tiff was so stunned by this bat out of hell that she could only say, ‘I’m Tiffany.’

  ‘And what the fuck are you doing here? You look like you should be in some low-rent Goth convention.’ The woman marched over to her. ‘Get the fuck out.’

  Alerted by the noise, Stan came out of the bedroom. ‘Oh hello, luv, I weren’t expecting you back this early.’

  Her false lashes flickered like crazy as she turned her attention to Stan. The glow from her eyes seemed to blast him backwards. ‘Obviously fucking not. As soon as my back’s turned you move some fucking slag in.’ This woman was East End to the core. When a red-eyed Jen appeared, her voice went stereo. ‘I don’t fucking believe it, here’s another one, except this one is done up like Tweedledum. You having a bit of girl-on-girl action without inviting me?’

  Both Jen and Tiff gasped, but Stan held them back with a raised hand. He hurried to the woman as fast as his spindly legs would let him, as if he feared she was about to attack. He explained in an undertone, ‘They’re my daughters. I told you I had daughters. Keep it down. This is a posh hotel and I don’t want any complaints.’

  ‘Fuck the neighbours. I want to know what they’re doing here.’

  Stan’s eyes were haunted when he looked at Tiff and Jen. ‘They’ve dropped by to catch up, that’s all.’

  The firecracker sneered, ‘Oh, they’ve just dropped by to catch up, have they? You fucking prick! They’re here on the take! What’s the matter with you? Get ’em out. If I find out they’ve been here again, I’ll show you what it’s fucking like.’

  ‘They’ll be off in a minute. Look . . .’ He pulled out his wallet and took out a gold card. She snatched it, her poisonous stare fixed on Tiff and Jen.

  Stan begged, ‘Get yourself off up Bond Street and buy something fancy. Something that sparkles.’

  The woman swivelled to face him, her mad hair flying to the side. She ranted, ‘Oh, I will. But if I find out that you’ve ever, ever, spoken to these two scrubbers again, then so help me . . .’ She pointed a finger in turn at Tiff and Jen. ‘And let me give you two ladies a bit of advice. I’m from Hackney, right? I know people. Proper people. If I find out you’ve been chiselling Stanley, I’ll have the pair of you taken out. And don’t think I’m joking.’

  She cuffed Stan around the head as if he was a little kid and marched out.

  As she went Stan reminded her, ‘Don’t forget about dinner tonight, lovecake.’

  ‘Fuck your geriatric mates!’ She slammed the door so hard the walls shook.

  Head bowed, Stan shuffled over to the ottoman and sat down.

  Tiffany said casually, ‘Was that a friend of yours?’

  Stan pulled his head up. He seemed close to tears. ‘In a manner of speaking.’ Then he added, by way of an apology, ‘She’s my wife.’

  Sixty-Eight

  ‘Fucking hell Stan,’ Tiffany said with distaste. ‘Are you for real, bonking a nutter like that?’

  Jen chucked in, ‘How old is she? Never thought I’d live to see the day my old dad was robbing the cradle.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I know. There’s no fool like an old fool.’ He shook his head in despair. ‘You know what the worst of it is? When I met her in Malaga, what struck me was how laidback she was. And she was, right up until we flew to Vegas for the wedding. I got engaged to an angel and married a monster. No getting away from it, I’ve been a mega prat. Here Tiff – get me a drink, will you? A big one.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t allowed any.’

  ‘I’m not and that’s why I’m having it. With a bit of luck, it’ll kill me stone dead.’

  Tiffany fetched her father a Scotch, although she put a lot of mixer in it. He gulped it down eagerly. Jen looked even more upset at the idea her dad had been trapped by such an obvious gold-digger. ‘You need to divorce that bitch. And you need to do it now.’

  This suggestion cheered the old man up. ‘Divorce? You’re kidding. I’ll be a pile of bones by the time her solicitors have picked me clean. Which brings me to the delicate matter I was hinting at earlier. My wife is labouring under the illusion that she’ll be inheriting my assets, a not-unreasonable thought in the circumstances. But that’s not gonna happen. My grandkids are getting it.’

  Jen wasn’t interested. ‘We can talk about this another time. Pack a bag; you’re coming home with me. I’ll look after you.’

  Stan burst out in a loud chesty cough. ‘No chance. If she comes back and finds I’ve done a runner, she’ll be manning the guns. We can’t talk about this later – there’s no time to lose. If I go before all this is sorted out, that mad bird will get the lot. I’m not having that. I’ve let you down enough already.’

  Jen shook her head. ‘You’re not safe here. That woman is one stop short of East Ham.’

  Stan beamed. ‘Barking? You got that right. I appreciate the thought but you don’t need to worry about your old dad. He can look after himself.’ The hacking cough he launched into suggested otherwise.

  Then his mobile went off. He pulled it out. ‘Yeah . . . that was quick . . . right . . .’

  He rang off. ‘My brief says all the paperwork is in order. He wants us to sign at two tomorrow.’ He grabbed Tiff’s hand in desperation. ‘You have to get your mum to sign. If she don’t, Courtney and Little Bea get sod all and my fucked-up missus gets the lot.’

  Babs tried her best to get the de
mon she’d once married outta her nut as she left to go to work cleaning two houses in beautiful Bancroft Square. Getting her hands on the job had been real jammy. She hadn’t even applied for it. Back in ’89, a note had come through her door looking for a part-time cleaner. She’d assumed the notes were going through all the doors on The Devil, so she knew she’d have fierce competition. But she’d given the number a tinkle, and ended up getting the job.

  And what a cushy number it had turned out to be. The houses were occasionally leased but more often than not both properties were empty. It was a bit odd, but at the end of the day she was getting her dosh so she kept it shut. When there wasn’t much dusting to be done, Babs would mostly kick up her heels and knock back a few jars.

  As Babs turned to shut her front door, one of her neighbours, Sally Rigg, rushed over. Babs liked Sally well enough, but it wasn’t the same as having Cheryl and Beryl there.

  ‘It were awful,’ Sally informed her, shaking her head dramatically.

  ‘What was awful?’ Why did Sally always start her tales in the middle? Babs was forever having to draw her back to the beginning to make sense of it.

  ‘The body.’ Sally made the sign of the cross.

  ‘Is this an early Christmas pressie? Has my old man finally done the decent thing and died?’

  Sally moved closer. ‘Someone battered Mel Ingram. It looks like the ten tonne bitch is a bloody goner.’

  That did get a gasp out of Babs. She hated the vindictive old bag with a passion, but hearing Mel might be dead really rocked her. As far as Babs was concerned, after a nuclear attack there would be two things left in this world – cockroaches and Melanie Ingram. It was really strange, but Mel’s existence was one of the things that gave Babs’ life order. First Stan turns up like a rotten penny and now Mel was done for. She felt like her control was slipping.

  ‘The ambulance people said she’s hanging on by a thread. They’ve taken her to intensive care at the Mile End. It’s lucky they haven’t shut the A&E there yet.’