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

by Dreda Say Mitchell

  ‘You alright, Court,’ he said as soon as she reached him.

  He was skinny, with hair in zigzag cornrows and a skin tone similar to her Auntie Dee’s. A portable CD player peeped out of the front pocket of his low-riding jeans and the ch-ch-ch sound of music came from the earphones around his neck. They were soon sitting in the shadowed stairwell, sharing his earphones, bobbing furiously away to Sean Paul’s ‘Get Busy’. She loved, loved, LOVED this tune. Proper bassline, people!

  Mum and Auntie Dee had said go straight to Nanna Babs’ . . . but a couple of minutes wouldn’t do any harm.

  Seventy-Five

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Babs asked her former husband as she stumbled backwards into the sitting room. He matched her step for step. ‘Thought you were on a flight back to Spain.’ Her heart was drumming away like crazy.

  He ignored her question. ‘Not going to offer me a brew or anything?’ He tutted. ‘Is that any way to treat the man who gave you two beautiful girls?’

  A cold chill ran along Babs’ spine. ‘This ain’t a good time. The girls will be here soon to take me out—’

  ‘And no one invited me,’ Stan said with mock sadness. ‘That breaks my heart. Oh well,’ he shrugged, ‘I suppose I’ll learn to live with it—’

  Babs wasn’t having it. ‘Cut the bollocks. Why are you here?’

  Stan pulled out a bunch of papers. ‘Sign it. My lawyer’s clever, see, he had another copy.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ she spat back.

  She tried to get around him but he grabbed her arm and slammed her into the sofa. She wasn’t taking this. Babs jerked herself forward and up. ‘You need to fuck off outta here before I call the Bill.’

  Stan watched her coldly. ‘When you’ve signed it I’ll piss off into thin air, never to be seen again.’

  ‘Maybe I will . . .’ He stepped triumphantly towards her, but stopped when she added, ‘When you tell me what I’m signing.’

  He laughed like a mad man. ‘You still don’t get it, do you? All these years it’s tickled me something silly to think of you on your knees, scrubbing them houses.’

  Babs stumbled back again. ‘What’s that got to do with you?’

  He curled his lip. ‘That was always your problem, never could figure out what was right in front of you. I really did fancy you in the beginning—’

  ‘And then I became just another tool for you to get what you wanted, that fucking business of yours.’

  ‘Clever girl.’ He flew at her and crashed her into the wall. Babs fought hard but he wouldn’t let go. ‘If you don’t sign, so help me—’

  Stan’s words choked in his throat as Babs slammed him a good one in the nuts.

  Stan doubled over, groaning in pain. ‘You . . . fucking . . . bitch.’

  Babs didn’t hang around. She ducked to the side and belted for the front door. She opened it . . .

  ‘Owww!’ Her head jerked back so violently she thought it was going to rip clean off. Stan had her by the hair.

  ‘Let me bloody well go.’

  He twisted her to face him. Babs was petrified by the expression on his face. Pure evil. Waves of rage came off him like heat from a volcano.

  He threw her on the floor. The corner of her head caught the skirting board. Dazed, she looked up at him. Stan loomed like her worst nightmare.

  ‘All you had to do was sign the papers.’ He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her into the sitting room. Babs tried to fight back, but she felt so limp and drained.

  Somehow she made her mouth move, her words coming out slurred and slow. ‘You’re the mug here. Pete never killed Denny.’

  ‘What?’ She couldn’t see his face clearly but heard the shock in his voice.

  ‘Mickey and Mel took you for a proper mug. You topped your own brother for nothing—’

  ‘Shut up.’

  Babs twisted the knife. ‘Mug! Mug!’

  He shoved his face close to hers. ‘I’ve warned you—’

  ‘Mug! Mug! Mug!’

  ‘Shut up!’ he bellowed. But she wouldn’t.

  ‘I’ll shut that fucking trap of yours for life.’ Stan closed his hand around her throat. Pressed down and squeezed tight. The air stuck in Babs’ chest.

  Can’t breathe. Can’t breathe.

  Babs tried to lift her arms, but nothing happened.

  ‘Bye-bye, Babs-babe.’

  Babs didn’t know where she got the strength from but she managed to raise a hand, aiming for his eye but getting her nails deep in his cheek instead. He growled as he swung her to the side like a rag doll. Babs’ hand flopped back. Dark lights started flashing in her vision. Her breath was coming short. She was dying and there was nothing she could do about it.

  ‘I’ll teach you,’ he snarled. Blood was dripping from the scratches, but he was grinning like a demon.

  Stan increased the pressure, making the air bubble away in her chest. I haven’t said goodbye to my family. My wonderful girls. Little Bea and . . .

  What happened next was a blur. A spray of blood hit Babs full in the face. Stan looked down at her, blood pouring from his head and a stupefied look on his face. He toppled over to the side to reveal a wide-eyed and terrified Courtney holding her grandmother’s steam iron. Courtney hit her granddad’s head again and again, until he stopped moving.

  The iron tumbled from Courtney’s hand as she looked, horrified, at her grandfather’s body.

  ‘Courtney . . . sweetheart,’ Babs rasped.

  Courtney dropped to her knees. ‘He was . . . he was . . .’

  With her last bit of strength, Babs pulled her granddaughter into her arms. Courtney started sobbing against her chest.

  Babs eased her up. She drew air noisily into her body, gasping as she met her former husband’s wide unseeing eyes. Courtney had killed her grandfather. Oh God.

  Think, think, think. Babs got to her feet as quickly as she could, swaying slightly. She drew Courtney to her side. ‘I don’t want you to worry about a thing, baby.’

  Courtney’s eyes were wild. She was trembling. ‘I had to come and get you for your surprise party at the Knackered Swan. Auntie Dee gave me photos . . . they’re a surprise as well.’

  Babs knew she had to think on her feet. She checked her granddaughter over. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’

  She took Courtney into the bathroom, making sure she kept Courtney’s gaze averted from Stan. First thing she did was remove Courtney’s bloody coat. There was no blood on her clothing and Babs scrubbed her face clean.

  She took Courtney into the passage and got on her knees. ‘You have to listen to every word I’m going to say, OK, love?’ Courtney nodded, her face frozen in fear. ‘You’re going to go back and say that you saw me, but I told you I was coming over on my own. Say that you didn’t tell me about the party, just that your mum and your aunties were waiting for me down the local.’

  Courtney nodded again, so Babs carried on. ‘You didn’t see your Granddad Stan—’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No, listen.’ Babs shook her slightly. She hated doing it but her beloved Courtney had to understand. ‘You didn’t see him, only me. I only let you come in the hall. And tell them I took your coat because you fell on the way and got it dirty. You got it?’

  Courtney just nodded, the tears threatening to fall again. ‘This isn’t your fault, baby,’ Babs reassured her. ‘Whatever questions anyone asks, you’ve got to stick to our story. If you don’t things will get worse. Much worse.’ She drew in a fresh breath. ‘Granddad Stan was a bad man. A very bad man. If you don’t stick with our story, his badness will stay with us. You don’t want that, do you?’ Courtney shook her head furiously. ‘Good girl. Now off with you and tell everyone I’m on my way.’

  Her granddaughter flung herself into her arms and they hugged tight.

  ‘I love you, Nan.’ Then Courtney rushed off.

  Babs slumped against the wall, her hand covering her mouth. She couldn’t let anyone know what her beautiful, brave Courtney had done.
She was only trying to defend her. The child was so young, just ten years old. If anyone knew what had gone on, Courtney’s life would be ruined. Babs wasn’t going to let that happen. She went into the sitting room and made herself look down at her dead ex-husband.

  ‘May you rot in hell,’ she spat. Then she put her hands in his blood and smeared it over herself.

  Babs’ heart beat like a manic drum machine as she made her way to the surprise party. She kept her head up so she didn’t have to look at the blood on her clothes. When she got inside the lift, she nearly crumbled with emotion when she saw the first photo; a black-and-white snap of her and Denny at school, their arms around each other. She half smiled as she noticed the elastic bands her best mate always wore to keep her white socks up.

  The next photo was on the door of the former washhouse. A formal studio portrait of her with her mum and dad on her mum’s thirtieth birthday.

  The photos went on and on.

  Dee in two plaits, missing her two front teeth, smiling like mad into the camera.

  Babs in Mile End Hospital maternity ward staring down adoringly at newborn baby Jen.

  Babs with Beryl and Cheryl drinking sloe gin on the landing.

  Babs with Jen and Tiff and Nanna Rosie in Vicky Park.

  Babs holding her first grandchild Courtney.

  And there they all were at Courtney’s birthday bash the week before – Babs, Dee, Tiff, Jen, Nicky, Courtney and Little Bea.

  Babs didn’t even realise she was sobbing her heart out. Her gorgeous girls had created a wonderful walk down memory lane. A tribute to her life. And now that life and theirs was about to fall apart.

  Seventy-Six

  ‘What’s taking them so long?’ Jen asked her two sisters impatiently.

  Tiffany shrugged. ‘You know Mum, she’s probably still putting on her slap.’

  Their half-sister, Dee, was watching the increasingly restless crowd. People had been waiting for things to kick off for quite some time now.

  ‘Oi,’ she called, spotting someone she didn’t know. ‘Get your mitts out of the mini sausage rolls. No one starts on the nosh until she gets here.’

  The person quickly whipped their hand away; Dee Black was a woman who didn’t stand any nonsense.

  Dee turned back to her sisters. ‘I told you we should’ve had it at an upmarket venue. Somewhere plush and cultured.’

  Tiff rolled her eyes. ‘Bloody hell, you’re not still rabbiting on about that? Give it a rest will ya.’

  Dee blinked her false eyelashes at her, furiously. ‘Everyone’s so low rent here. Look at ’em.’

  The crowd was a motley crew of people, mainly from The Devil’s Estate.

  Jen said, ‘This is where a lot of her mates are.’ She leaned forward and whispered, ‘It must be that surprise we laid out on the way that’s keeping them. I bet Mum’s gobsmacked.’

  They all looked as pleased as Punch with themselves at the thought of the surprise.

  Nicky, Dee’s boy, who was keeping lookout, suddenly and dramatically raised his hand, signalling for silence. But then he frowned and said, ‘Hold up.’ He peered through the window. ‘That can’t be right . . .’

  His mum snapped, ‘What are you going on about? It’s either them or it ain’t.’

  ‘It’s . . .’

  Before he could finish, the door opened and Jen’s daughter Courtney came in. Alone.

  ‘Where’s your Nanna Babs?’ Jen asked. Then she looked closely at her daughter and scowled. ‘Where’s your coat?’

  Courtney swallowed, her face pale. ‘I fell . . . it got dirty . . . Nanna Babs kept it.’

  ‘So where’s your grandmother?’ Dee asked her. ‘Are you alright? You look a bit peaky.’

  Courtney swallowed again as she nodded. ‘Nanna said she’s just coming over.’ She looked up at her mum. ‘Can I use the loo?’ She scarpered without waiting for an answer.

  Jen stared after her. ‘She didn’t look right. Maybe I should—’

  ‘She’s coming! She’s coming!’ Nicky called out excitedly.

  The lights popped off and they fell silent.

  Half a minute later, the door opened. The lights flew back on and the crowd gathered at Babs Miller’s surprise fiftieth joyfully cried, ‘Happy birthday!’

  But the happiness was sucked out of the room at the sight of the blood on her face and white dress.

  ‘Something terrible has happened,’ she said, ‘someone needs to call the coppers.’

  ‘Let go of my fucking mum,’ Dee screamed as the police led a handcuffed Babs to their panda. Her husband and son held her back.

  Tiff and Jen looked on, shocked and tearful. Courtney had her face muffled against her mum, bawling her eyes out. The people on The Devil were used to the badness in life. But no one could get their heads around this one. Our Babs murdering her ex-husband Stan? Never. But his bloody body pointed the finger squarely at her.

  ‘I won’t let them take her,’ Dee carried on, almost beside herself with fury and grief. ‘My mum was taken from me once before, it ain’t happening again.’

  ‘Shush babe, shush,’ John soothed her. ‘We’re going to get her the best brief there is.’

  Babs turned as she reached the cop car. ‘I’m gonna be alright. I don’t want none of you to take this on.’

  The crowd shook their heads sadly as she got into the back of the car.

  As the car pulled away Babs met Courtney’s eye and mouthed, ‘Remember.’

  Two hours later, the door to Babs’ holding cell door opened and a cop stepped in, ramrod-straight, like he was on his best behaviour. He cleared his throat. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’ Then he turned to the visitor and respectfully said, ‘Sir.’

  A man decked out in the belt, braces and brass of a top cop walked inside and closed the door. His hair had turned iron grey and was clipped short, but Babs would still recognise him any day of the week.

  ‘Tricky Dickie?’

  The man Babs had known all those years ago answered, ‘Commander Patrick Johnson.’ Patrick? So that had been his name. He sighed and sat on the bunk next to her. ‘You can still turn a fella’s head.’

  Babs blushed like she hadn’t done in years. ‘I don’t think there’ll be any fellas where I’m going.’

  He took her hand, just like old times. ‘What happened? I thought Stan did a flit years ago.’

  ‘He turned up like the bad penny he is. And before you ask, I did kill the rotten bastard. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.’

  He placed his finger on her lips. ‘Whatever you do, don’t say that to anyone. Don’t say a word until your lawyer gets here—’

  The door opened again and the same cop stood there with a bloke in a suit. ‘Not another word, Mrs Miller,’ he warned.

  ‘This gentleman says he’s your lawyer. I thought you were using the duty solicitor?’

  Babs hadn’t let herself cry yet, although she so wanted to. You’ve gotta do this for Courtney, you’ve gotta do this for the family, she told herself over and over. This brief was obviously a proper lawyer. He had a proper suit, a proper briefcase and was wearing proper aftershave.

  Commander Patrick Johnson stood up. ‘We’ll talk later,’ he promised.

  When they were alone, the lawyer sat down on the bunk. She spat, ‘Who the hell are you? I don’t need another lawyer. I’ve admitted killing Stan and that’s all there is to it. Now hop it.’

  The suit cleared his throat. ‘So I understand. Although that’s a shame. If you’d waited a few hours before making a statement, I’d have been able to help. You missed out some rather important information that might have influenced which charges the police preferred.’

  ‘Cry me a river.’

  The brief raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s up to you of course. But we can sort this out.’

  ‘Indeed. Now why don’t you go and top up your eau-de-cologne?’

  But the lawyer wasn’t done. ‘That’s not why I’m here anyway. I do the legal work for Mr and Mrs John Black
and Mrs Black asked me to look over some documents for you.’

  Babs felt reassured to hear Dee’s name. Mind you, she was sticking to her guns. She’d done Stan in and that was the end of the matter.

  The lawyer opened his briefcase and produced a folded and creased copy of the contract that she’d been expected to sign earlier that afternoon. It seemed a very long time ago.

  ‘I think I’ve identified what the late Mr Miller was up to. On page 53, in amongst a lot of jargon, it seems he was hoping that you would transfer ownership of two properties in Mile End.’

  Babs sniffed. ‘You know what I think? That crapster was off his rocker, good and proper.’ She scoffed. ‘Me, own properties. As bloody if!’

  The lawyer pressed on. ‘I’ve already checked the land registry. You own them – since 1972.’

  Babs felt the ground move beneath her feet. ‘Hold on.’ She started pacing. Her mind rewound furiously. She spun around to face the lawyer. ‘There was this one time when my name was on some documents, but it was a forgery . . .’ That’s what Stan had said about the deeds to the knocking shop. Back in ’78, Mel had sworn neither she or Mickey had done it. Probably Stan playing her for a fool right from the start. Didn’t matter, it was still a fake.

  ‘I can assure you they aren’t forged,’ the lawyer said.

  Babs folded her arms in frustration. ‘They must be. I never once signed anything . . . Blimey . . .’ She slumped on the bunk. It’s funny what you can recall. She remembered like it was yesterday. The day she’d seen Neville again. Stan was perched on her desk in the Go Go Girls Modelling Agency . . .

  ‘What’s this then?’ she asked.

  Stan plonked himself down on the edge of the desk. Whatever had been troubling him all week must have got sorted because he was back to his usual cheerful, charming self. ‘I told you a couple of days back. The papers I need witnessing.’

  He shoved a pen in her hand and then turned to the first page. ‘Just sign where the pencil mark is.’

  Most of the document was covered by the other papers; she couldn’t see what she was signing.