‘I am really Sorry to hear about Mel,’ she said. And she really was. What was the world coming to when a woman couldn’t walk home without being beaten to the ground?
‘Glad you came,’ Stacey said with a skittish expression. She could clearly tell what Babs thought about her. ‘Be seeing you, then.’ Not if I see you first!
Once she was alone, Babs turned her attention to her old enemy. Mel was hooked up to a machine and had tubes coming out of her. Babs couldn’t help gasping at the state she was in. One eye was shut tight and her face was battered black and blue. Whoever had clobbered her hadn’t been mucking around. Babs thought back to the first time she’d seen Mel in the Go Go Girls Modelling office. She’d been so full of bluster, prancing around in a fur coat. Babs took no pleasure in the state she was in now.
Mel’s one good eye was bloodshot and rheumy.
‘I hear you wanted a word,’ Babs said.
Mel’s cracked lips opened and she croaked, ‘Eight . . . seven . . .’
Babs’ eyebrows dipped in confusion. ‘You what?’
‘She’s groggy from the medication,’ a pretty nurse told Babs.
Mel started speaking again, this time with an urgency that seemed to be upsetting her. ‘No eight-seven . . . nine . . . ten . . .’
‘Maybe you should come back later,’ the nurse advised.
Babs didn’t have a clue what Mel was going on about, and she wasn’t coming back later. ‘I’m off—’
Mel’s hand shot in the air and the machine started going bonkers. ‘No . . . ten . . . nine . . . nine . . .’
Babs had had enough. She started for the exit. All the way she could hear a drugged-up Mel almost pleading, ‘Nine . . . ten . . .’
Babs was grateful for the peace. She was sitting on a bench dedicated to Councillor Joseph Carter – whoever he was – for services to the community, near the disused building that had once been the washhouse. Back in ’85 the council had turned it into what they called a ‘partnership hub’, a place where residents could ‘interface’ with the council more easily. What a crock of crap that had been. After that initiative had slid its way down the sewer the place had stayed empty and unloved. Babs often came here to remember what this estate had once been. The laughter, the women, the kids, the jokes. The way mums would yell for their children to come home. The children laughing and crying when they took a tumble in the adventure playground that had been pulled down years ago. They’d even had a caretaker back then. What happened to the community that would help out if there was a problem that needed sorting? They didn’t have money, but that didn’t make them animals. It weren’t like that no more. Everyone shut their door instead of going in and out of each other’s homes. Everyone waited for the council to clean the stairs instead of clubbing together and doing it themselves.
Babs pulled out a miniature vodka and raised it high. ‘Here’s to the good old days.’ Then she hesitated, remembering being spat on.
‘Here’s to some of the good old days,’ she amended and downed the lot.
Seventy-One
Fucking creep making your sisters sign tomorrow at 2. Save yr sisters. :(
The text from Babs only reached Dee the following morning. Her mobile had been playing up. She almost ditched the useless thing. The tomorrow in the text was now today. She didn’t have any time to lose. She drove her metallic silver Corvette to the Imperial Hotel. She and John had been talking to those in the know about Stan, but no one knew a dickie bird. So if the mountain wouldn’t go to Dee, Dee was going to the mountain, hoping the mountain was not in his room.
In the reception, she explained to the smartly dressed girl on the desk that she was a new chambermaid reporting for duty.
As soon as she heard the word ‘chambermaid’, the woman got all sniffy. ‘The first thing you need to know is that chambermaids don’t come into reception. Ever. They present themselves at the staff entrance round the back.’
I’ll present you with my fist, Dee thought, but kept it to herself. She followed the woman’s directions, and found what she was looking for easily enough. A young woman in the standard maid’s rig, who already appeared bored with her life, sat perched on a pile of pallets, smoking a ciggy.
Dee walked up. ‘Hello, babes. How’d you like to do a girl a favour while bumping the width of your purse.’
She looked Dee over with sharp, brown eyes. ‘Dunno. Depends what it is.’
‘I just need to borrow a maid’s outfit and get a master key for the suites.’
The girl burst out laughing. ‘You’re joking. I don’t mind being sacked but I ain’t going to prison.’
Dee wasn’t deterred. ‘Two fifty?’
The girl looked around for prying ears. ‘Five hundred. And my break lasts half an hour. If you’re not back here by then I’ll go screaming to the management that some tough bird has nicked my key.’
Dee got her purse out and told her, ‘You’re wasted here; you should be running a protection racket. Find out which room a Stanley Miller is staying in.’
The chambermaid headed off to reception and was back in a jiffy with the information about Stan’s room. She took Dee through a side door and down to a changing room where she found her some ill-fitting overalls. She was equipped with dusters and polish and pointed to the service lift. Finally the girl gave Dee her master key with the warning, ‘Half an hour, tops – otherwise I’m screaming the place down.’
Dee went up to the top floor and padded her way along the lush carpet to Stan’s suite. She knocked gently on the door. She assumed that he would be out and about as it was the day for the docs to get signed. She had no plan B if he answered. But there was no sound within. She went inside. She could see he was already preparing to do a runner. Suitcases were neatly arranged on the floor and the dressing table had been cleared. Dee hurried to the bedroom. That too was spotless. There was no sign anyone had ever stayed there. In the bathroom she finally found a trail pointing towards her slippery fish. On the shelf was a half empty box of Slim-o-matic, a popular dieting product.
On the side of the box was the usual blah-blah about weight loss heaven and a picture of a woman in a bikini to prove it worked. Apparently if you mixed a sachet in a glass of water you were so full afterwards that chips and cakes held no attraction. Along with testimonials from satisfied customers was the slogan, ‘Lose weight without even noticing!’
‘No wonder the bastard’s so skinny,’ Dee mused aloud.
Then she found something else.
A single pot of M.A.C. yellow eye shadow called Bright Sunshine. Next to it was a shaving brush whose bristles were stained the same colour. Dee applied some to her face. Despite her dark skin tone, she acquired something of the pallor of a dying woman.
Of course, it was possible that Stan was slimmer of the year and had taken to wearing slap. But Dee thought it more likely that his demise was less imminent than he’d been leading people to expect. ‘The crafty little bastard,’ she muttered.
She looked at her watch and realised her half hour was moving on. She took the slimming sachets, the eyeshadow and the brush and stuffed them into her pocket. After one last sweep, she headed for the door. But as she did so, she heard voices on the other side and a key in the lock. Desperate, Dee looked around. Like a lover who’d been rumbled by an unsuspecting spouse, she flung herself under the bed.
The door swung open and two people came in. She recognised Stan’s voice straight off. ‘Alright darlin, let’s get sorted. I’ll get one of the penguins to take the cases downstairs and you go and settle up. Bring the car round and wait for me out front. You can run me over to my brief.’
But Dee didn’t recognise the woman. She had one of those little girl voices favoured by posh girls from North London. Dee could see her pricey kitten heels from under the bed but nothing else. The girl squealed, ‘What makes you so sure they’re going to sign, Pops?’
Pops?
Stan was confident. ‘They’ll sign, Flo, you’ll see.’ Who the heck
was Flo? ‘My two birds are greedy, like everyone else in the world. Babs ain’t greedy but she won’t have any choice if she wants to keep her daughters. You’ll see. Your old man’s got it all worked out nifty-jifty like always. Now – move your tush.’
The girl drawled, ‘Popssss, you’re so vulgar.’
His daughter? Babs had never said Stan had any other sprogs, especially some la-di-da bit. Dee looked at her watch. Only ten minutes before the chambermaid went on the warpath.
Stan was still talking. ‘And after the lawyers, I’m going for a steak and chips. That fucking slimming food really was killing me. ’Ere – are you sure your mum’s credit card will cover the bill?’
‘Of course it will; Mummy’s loaded. That spineless creep she married pays it all off anyway. He’s got so much money he won’t even notice. Don’t stress about it.’
Stan sounded outraged. ‘Clare married again? You never told me—’
‘I thought everything was on a need to know.’
‘Who’s this fella then?’
‘Someone she met at a boring auction house. His name’s Crispin Chapaux – you might’ve heard of him?’
‘Nah. You don’t tend to meet blokes called Crispin in the boozers I go to. I can’t believe your mum married someone else.’
‘Well, a girl’s got to live.’
Stan grunted. ‘I suppose they do. And he settles her bills?’
‘I told you, she’d have to be putting six figures on her plastic before his pockets would feel any lighter.’
Stan was rueful. ‘You’re a lucky girl. If I’d half-inched my mum’s credit card it wouldn’t have covered the chocolates the hotel put on the pillow.’
Dee looked at her watch again. Five minutes left. The door swung open. Another voice entered the conversation, to Dee’s surprise; she hadn’t heard anyone else come in. But from the sound of it, they were a right slag from down Dee’s way.
‘Come on you old fucker – get a fackin’ move on!’
Stan chuckled. ‘You really are a credit to your old dad.’ The girl squealed with laughter. Dee realised Flo and the East End slapper were one and the same.
‘Are you sure your other daughters will come?’ Dee could hear the tension in her voice. Oh, so posh bint didn’t like sharing Daddy.
‘The smell of hard cash is like flies on shit to people from the East End. They’ll be here alright.’
‘And your ex-wife?’
There was a pause. ‘That bitch will follow her brood.’
The door closed and the sound of their footsteps faded away in the corridor. Dee got out from under the bed and slipped out of the room. She flew down the stairs to where the chambermaid was waiting.
‘You’re five minutes late. I’m in trouble. That’s got to be worth another oner.’
Dee took off her overalls and pushed them into the girl’s arms, along with the master key. ‘Here’s a word to the wise. The important thing in a criminal career is knowing when to call it a day. Learn from the mistakes Stanley Miller made.’
The girl was blank. ‘Who the hell is Stanley Miller?’
But a fuming Dee was already marching away.
Seventy-Two
‘She won’t come, will she?’ Jen predicted, her fingers intertwined like a cat’s cradle.
She seemed to have forgotten that her main interest was getting to know the father she’d never really had. All she could think about was having extra pounds for her girls.
Tiff was confident. ‘She’ll be here. Mum’s already lost a husband; she ain’t going to kiss goodbye to her two daughters as well.’
Jen was outraged. ‘She’s not kissing me goodbye. She’ll still be my mum. Sign or no sign.’
Tiff smiled at her. ‘She’ll still be my mum too. But it won’t do any harm to think we’ll cut her off if she don’t put pen to paper.’
They were sitting in the lawyer’s plush office. Normally clients were expected to wait in the reception room, but Stanley Miller was obviously top drawer here. The brief sat at his desk. He looked as if he was going over documents but Tiff suspected he was really doodling. Every time there was movement outside, the two women stiffened slightly. The door swung open and the office junior appeared, a skinny young man in a suit that looked too big for him. ‘More tea, ladies?’
Tiff looked down at the purple concoction she was sipping. ‘If you’ve got any proper Rosie Lee, I’ll have some.’
The junior didn’t get it. ‘Proper tea? That is proper tea.’
Tiff handed him the cup. ‘No it isn’t, it tastes like aftershave that’s been stewed in fruit. I’m thinking more PG Tips with a drop of milk from a real cow with a spoonful of sugar – that’s tea down my way.’
The junior looked like he’d been asked to draw up a multi-million pound contract. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
Jen twiddled her thumbs. ‘She’s not coming.’
For the first time, Tiff began to wonder if Jen was right. ‘No . . . There’s no sign of the old man either. I’m just beginning to wonder if we’ve been Punk’d. If some creepy guy comes in with a film crew, somebody’s going to get decked; you mark my words.’ She turned to the lawyer. ‘Excuse me, bruv – any word from our dad?’
Without looking up, he told her, ‘Mr Miller is a very busy man. It’s not unusual for someone in his position to be out of sync with the clock.’
‘Thanks.’ She didn’t add that he was a pompous twat or that he’d soon change his attitude when the Miller girls became millionaires. They’d probably get a decent cuppa as well. Tiff eyed the papers they were supposed to sign, piled up on the desk. She noticed Jen was staring at them as well.
Her sister whispered, ‘We should have got our own lawyer to check those contracts.’
‘Yeah, we should. Except until we’ve signed those docs the only lawyer I can afford is Nick the Brief from Plaistow and he has trouble reading and writing.’
‘Perhaps we should read them ourselves?’
‘Face it, Jen, they’re legal documents not Mills & Boon. What chance have we got working them out?’
The door swung open again. Tiff’s heart skipped a beat. But it was only the junior again, empty-handed. ‘We don’t have any PG Tips. Would you like a latte instead?’
‘Have you got any booze?’
‘I’m afraid not, no.’
He was lying. On the lawyer’s desk was an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne ready to go pop after the signing. But it was starting to look like the bottle was going to remain unopened. But as the junior left the office, Tiff saw her mother, framed in the doorway and looking like murder. She stared at them with cold hard eyes. ‘Girls – I want a word – in private.’
The two young women hurried like two naughty children. Babs whispered, ‘I’m going to make one last appeal to you. As your mother, and I hope as your friend. I’ll admit I haven’t always been the ideal mum but no woman is. But I’m begging you, don’t sign. Trust me for once. I know Stanley Miller, you don’t. I can’t even begin to fathom what he’s up to but there will be something. Please. Don’t sign.’
Tiffany avoided her mother’s eyes and saw Jen was doing the same. At that moment Tiffany hated herself, but she’d come too far now. After a long silence, a resigned Babs uttered, ‘Very well. There’s nothing more to be said.’
When the group turned, they saw Stan had arrived. His face looked more waxen and jaundiced than ever. He rested on his walking stick, out of breath. But he had a gentle smile on his face. He hobbled up and the family was reunited. Stan put his spare hand on Babs’ shoulder. She shuddered as if a rodent had run across the room.
‘Babs! Glad to see you’ve finally seen sense!’
She took his hand off her jacket and let it drop as if she was brushing bird droppings away.
‘I saw sense long ago. It’s these two who haven’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But I’m going to sign.’ At the jubilant look on her ex-husband’s face she quickly added, ‘Not because of you, but because my grand
kids mean the world to me. If you—’
Stan’s lawyer appeared outside his office. ‘Ah, Mr Miller,’ he said when he saw Stan. ‘Something’s come up. I’ll need half an hour to sort it out.’
Stan didn’t look pleased. ‘Can’t one of your associates do it?’
‘Afraid not. My apologies.’ He was already motoring away. When he saw his office junior he said, ‘Go and buy some PG Tips at the Waitrose around the corner.’
‘I need information and I need it fast. I’ve checked the Yellow Pages with no joy. Can you access the electoral roll?’ Dee asked John. She was sitting in the back of a cab speeding towards the grander parts of North West London. Dee wasn’t sure where she was going yet but she thought that would be the right area.
His response was sarky. ‘The electoral roll? Yeah, I think I’ve got a copy in the can.’
Dee lost her temper. ‘You’ll be getting a copy of the back of my hand if you give me any more lip.’
‘Fine, I can ring around. Who do you want to look up?’
‘The guy’s called Crispin Chapaux and he’s got a wife and possibly a stepdaughter called Flo.’
‘How do you spell Chapaux?’
Dee’s temper wasn’t improving. ‘How the hell do I know? But he’s obviously loaded.’
‘Alright, leave it with me. I’ll ring some guys. London, is it?’
‘I fucking hope so.’
Dee ordered the cabbie to take her up to Hampstead. As she waited for John to call back, she began to wonder if all this chasing around was worth it. Then she summoned up the image of Stanley Miller telling her mother that baby Dee was dead, and her lust for revenge took the wheel.
John called back. ‘I spoke to an old mate of mine on the force and he looked up your friend Crispin. There’s four names depending on how you spell it, but I’m pretty sure your guy is the one who lives in Islington. I know the area and he’ll be worth a few bob. He lives with a woman called Clare but there’s no sign of any Flo. Hope that helps.’
Blood Mother: Flesh and Blood Trilogy Book Two (Flesh and Blood series) Page 38
