Survivor: Only the strongest will remain standing . . .

by Roberta Kray

  Lita held the sparkling ring in her palm. On first sight the stone looked like a large circular diamond – about 0.90 carats – set in platinum, but she wasn’t fooled by appearances. Mal had always said she had a good eye. He’d talked her through all the techniques of telling a genuine stone from a fake, and she’d listened carefully, wanting to please him. In some cases, like this one, it was simple; in others, there was more work involved.

  ‘So?’ Terry said.

  Lita checked the ‘diamond’ for flaws, holding it up to the light. Then she put the stone close to her mouth and breathed lightly on it. Immediately a thin mist appeared on the surface. She laughed and handed it back. ‘I hope you didn’t pay too much. That flashy stone’s never seen a mine in its life.’

  Terry dropped the ring back in his pocket. ‘Lucky guess,’ he said.

  ‘Nothing lucky about it. Want to try me with another?’

  ‘Like I’m carrying round the bleedin’ Crown Jewels!’

  Vinnie leaned forward, looked at Lita and spoke for the first time. He had a deep bass voice that seemed to travel from the depths of his chest. ‘How did you know?’

  Lita tapped the side of her nose and smiled. ‘Trade secret,’ she said. ‘But if you ever need anything valued, just ask.’

  ‘I’ve got people to do that,’ Terry said.

  ‘What, like Brenda? I bet she’s never given you a fair price in the past ten years.’

  Lita was surprised by the confident way she was talking, as if she was an expert when it came to fencing stolen goods. But now that she’d started she was determined to keep up the act. It was desperation that spurred her on; if she couldn’t make some cash, her choices in the future were going to get smaller and smaller. She had to find the means to survive and if that meant working on the wrong side of the law, so be it. ‘You’d be better off selling straight to a jeweller.’

  ‘And getting myself nicked in the process? I think I’ll pass if you don’t mind, love.’

  ‘Obviously you have to stay away from the London stores – they’ve all got lists of stolen gear – but there’s less chance of that in other places, Surrey or Buckinghamshire, counties with money. I reckon the right person could shift the better pieces for twice what Brenda gives you.’

  Terry folded his arms across his chest and gazed at her. ‘You reckon, do you?’

  Lita looked straight back into his eyes. ‘I do.’

  ‘And that right person would be…?’

  ‘Someone who looks the part, who speaks with the right accent. Someone they’d never suspect of doing anything illegal.’ She paused and then added, ‘Someone you can trust.’

  Terry laughed, showing a row of perfect white teeth. ‘How old are you, Lolly?’

  ‘Eighteen,’ she said. She could have added that everyone called her Lita now, but she didn’t. Somehow it would feel like an affectation, as though she was saying that her old name wasn’t good enough for her any more. Lita was Esther’s invention, a diminutive that belonged to Kent, to a big house in the country and a lake that shimmered in the midday sun. Here on the dirty streets of Kellston she would always be Lolly.

  ‘I’ll think about it, okay?’

  But Lita suspected he was only humouring her. And who could blame him? She smiled anyway. ‘Don’t think too long or I might get snapped up by someone else.’

  Terry grinned back at her. ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

  Lita finished her orange juice, put the empty glass on the table and stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink. It was good to see you again.’

  ‘You too. Take care, Lolly.’

  Before she left to resume her job hunting, Lita went to the Ladies. Here she sat and peed and wondered how long it would be before her money ran out. A few weeks? A month? She was living frugally but she still had to eat. And she couldn’t stay in Albert Road for ever.

  She flushed the loo and washed her hands at the basin. Her gaze slipped to the gold Cartier watch on her wrist, a present from Mal. If she was desperate, she could sell it, although she baulked at the idea. It wasn’t only beautiful, but it had sentimental value too.

  Lita dried her hands, sighing as she thought of Mal. He could be locked up for months before the case went to trial. And what then? She didn’t want to dwell on what kind of sentence he might get. Hopefully, he would send her a visiting order soon. She wanted to see him again, to let him know that she hadn’t turned her back. He’d been there for her and she would do the same for him.

  Lita was still thinking about Mal as she walked out of the Ladies into the narrow corridor leading back to the main part of the pub. She had only gone a short distance when she sensed rather than heard that someone was behind her. Glancing casually over her shoulder, all she saw was a fast blur of movement before a hand was clamped over her mouth. Suddenly she was being hauled back and round a corner, her heels dragging on the floor. She had barely acknowledged what was happening to her when she was abruptly manhandled into an upright position, spun around and slammed against the wall. A tremor ran down her spine, making her legs shake.

  It was only then, as he stood in front of her, that she saw her assailant clearly for the first time. Panic welled, sheer black fright that made her heart thump uncontrollably. Tony Cecil loomed over her, his features contorted with rage. He put a hand to her throat, pushed his face into hers and hissed, ‘Make a sound you bitch, and you’re dead!’

  Lita didn’t think she could make a sound even if she tried. Her throat was closing up from the pressure of his fingers, a strange wheezing noise emanating from her chest.

  ‘Do you hear what I’m saying? Do you?’

  She made a valiant attempt at a nod, a gesture to confirm she understood. And only then, finally, slowly, did he begin to loosen his hold. She felt the air rush back into her lungs, a sudden rush of oxygen that made her feel light-headed.

  ‘Welcome back, Lolly Bruce. I’ve been waiting fuckin’ years for this!’

  Staring into his eyes, Lita saw his dilated pupils and knew that he was high on some shit or other – a revelation that only added to her terror. He was out of control, beyond rational thought or logic, indifferent to the consequences of his actions.

  ‘It’s payback time,’ he whispered.

  She could smell the beer on his breath and another more chemical odour. There was spittle at the corners of his mouth. She didn’t even try to move, didn’t do anything that might provoke him – his hand was still resting at the base of her throat – but her mind, driven by fear, had gone into overdrive. What now? She had to do something? Do what? She had to think.

  ‘You’re still the same little bitch you always were. A grass! And you know what happens to filthy grasses, don’t you?’

  Lita knew it was pointless to try and protest her innocence; it would only wind him up even more. She glanced frantically to her left – ten feet of space to the emergency exit – and to her right where the short corridor formed a right angle with the one where she’d been grabbed. What were the chances of someone coming along? Just about zero, she reckoned, unless the bloody pub was burning down.

  Tony gave a mocking laugh. ‘No one’s coming to save you, babe. Nobody gives a shit.’

  She heard the noise, an ominous click, before she saw the glitter of the blade. Cold steel pressed against her throat. She flinched and his evil grin grew wider. He could cut her throat from ear to ear, slice straight through the jugulars and leave her to bleed to death. Think.

  ‘Say your prayers, Lolly Bruce. It’s time to say hello to your crazy mum again.’

  Perhaps it was the callous mention of her mother that sparked off the anger deep inside her. It didn’t replace the fear but grew alongside it, a swelling of resentment, a fury against all the people who had pushed her around, bullied and tormented her. She could die like she had lived – with her head bowed, with dull acceptance – or she could go out fighting. Lita ran her tongue along her dry lips. Her voice was a thin croak.

  ‘If you kill me, you’ll nev
er know.’

  Tony Cecil stared at her, his mad eyes showing a glimmer of confusion. ‘What won’t I fuckin’ know?’

  She breathed in, careful not to move too much. ‘Who murdered Amy.’

  The words seemed to throw him off balance for a moment, but he quickly recovered. ‘Your stinkin’ pervert boyfriend, right?’ Angrily, he pushed the sharp blade into her throat, piercing the flesh. ‘Right?’

  Lita gasped as she felt the blood slide down her neck. She felt no pain – adrenalin was pumping through her body – but she knew he wouldn’t stop there. Next time the cut would be deeper. Next time he would finish what he’d started. ‘It wasn’t him! And it wasn’t Joseph either.’

  ‘You’re a fuckin’ liar!’

  ‘I saw him. I saw him on the Mansfield that day.’

  ‘Who the fuck are you talking about?’

  Lita’s eyes slid left and right again. If she could just break his hold for a few seconds, she might be able to make it to the fire doors. But what if the damn things were locked? What if the steel bar didn’t work, wouldn’t release? She’d be trapped, back to square one with nowhere to go. No, she was better off heading for the corridor with the Ladies. She could scream, shout, create some noise. Surely someone would hear?

  ‘I can’t… can’t breathe,’ she said, forcing a rattling choke from the back of her throat. She half-closed her eyes and tried to make her body go limp. As if she wasn’t a threat. As if she was too weak to do anything even if she wanted to. Her senses suddenly seemed extra sharp, as though she could see and smell everything more clearly. Her heart, beating twice as fast as it should, felt like it might explode.

  And now he wasn’t sure what to do next. His drug-fuelled brain was struggling with the options. He wanted to carry on hurting her, but he also wanted to know what she knew. It was the latter that won out. He drew back, not far but just enough to give her that window of opportunity. And she didn’t waste it. As soon as she felt him release his grip she sprang back to life, ducked under his arm and sprinted along the corridor.

  Surprise had given her a couple of seconds’ advantage, but he was faster and stronger than she was. As she turned the corner, she could hear his footsteps crashing behind her, hear the curses spilling from his mouth. She wasn’t going to make it into the safety of the main part of the pub. He would catch her, grab her, drag her back. And this time he wouldn’t make the same mistake.

  In her frantic attempt to get away, she didn’t even open her mouth to scream. She was using every bit of energy she had left just to try and outrun him. But it wasn’t going to happen. He was almost on her again, so close she could feel the movement of air between them. Desperate for a weapon, anything she could use to defend herself, she spotted a fire extinguisher and in one last mad gamble swept it up and turned to face him. It was heavier than she’d expected, a dense weight in her arms.

  Tony Cecil stopped in his tracks. His teeth were bared, his cheeks scarlet with rage. As he prepared to pounce, Lita did the only thing she could – she turned slightly to one side and, using every bit of strength she had left, hurled the fire extinguisher straight towards him. He tried to dodge out of the way but his reactions were too slow. She missed where she was aiming – right for the centre of his body – and it landed instead on his foot.

  Tony let out a howl and dropped to his knees. The knife skittered across the floor. He clutched at his toes, hunched over, rocking back and forth. Lita didn’t hang around to see any more. She turned to get away, but as she did found her path blocked by someone else. Any relief she’d been feeling was instantly replaced with horror. Her immediate thought was FJ, that Tony hadn’t been alone, and she quickly raised her fists to protect herself.

  ‘Hey,’ a familiar voice said, firmly taking hold of her wrists. ‘That’s no way to treat an old mate.’

  Lita’s eyes focused on the face of Terry Street. She didn’t think she’d ever been happier to see anyone in her entire life. Her lips tried for a smile but didn’t quite make it. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured. He let go of her wrists and her arms fell limply back to her side.

  Terry took her chin in his hand and tilted it up to check out her neck. He gave a nod. ‘You’ll live. It looks worse than is.’

  Then he walked over to Tony and glared down at him. ‘Stop yer fuckin’ bawling. It’s hurting my ears.’

  ‘She’s broken it, man, she’s fuckin’ broken it.’

  ‘You got what you deserved, you lousy piece of shit.’

  Tony looked up, his face now white as a sheet.

  Terry’s voice was cold and menacing. ‘You touch her again – anyone touches her – and you’ll have me to answer to. You get it?’ When Tony said nothing, he prodded the injured foot with the toe of his shoe. ‘You get it, shithead?’

  Tony yelped with pain, but eventually gave the required nod.

  ‘Don’t forget. ’Cause I know everything about you, every sordid little detail. You cross me again and you’ll fuckin’ regret it.’ He didn’t wait for a response, but walked back to Lita, bending to scoop up the knife on his way. ‘Let’s get you sorted,’ he said.

  Lita’s hand fluttered to her neck and she saw the blood on her fingertips. There were all sorts of things she might have said, could have said, but what came out of her mouth was utterly mundane. ‘Sorry about your fire extinguisher.’

  ‘Yeah, try and take a bit more care in the future. Those things don’t come cheap, you know.’

  61

  Yesterday, Nick Trent couldn’t have said that he was a hundred per cent certain, that he didn’t have a single doubt, but he’d been sure enough to follow up, to make the call and arrange to see her again. What had given her away? It was the nerves, he thought, the inexplicable anxiety. He had taken her by surprise, caught her off guard, like a knock on the door in the middle of the night.

  Now, as they sat by side on the wooden bench on the green, he knew he was about to hear the truth. She had held out for a while, feigning ignorance, batting away his questions with well-worn lies until he had played his trump card.

  ‘You won’t mind doing the blood test, then?’

  ‘What blood test?’

  Nick had no idea if what he’d said next was true or not. Although he’d heard there had been advances, he wasn’t familiar with the details. ‘It’s new. Much more accurate than the old one. Just to eliminate you, so to speak, to show that you can’t be Lita’s… Lolly’s biological mother.’

  He’d heard the breath catch in her throat. ‘Of course I’m not! Why would you think that?’ And although she must have aimed for indignant, it came out sounding shrill and defensive. ‘No, I’m not taking any test.’ She’d rubbed at her bare arm, glanced at him, given a rueful smile. ‘Can’t stand needles, me.’

  ‘Me neither,’ Nick had left a brief silence before saying very softly, ‘It’s time to stop all this. It’s going to come out. You know it is. She’s yours, isn’t she?’

  The woman had opened her mouth as if to protest, but then a wretched weariness had come over her. She’d covered her eyes for a moment as if her blindness might make it all go away. When she lowered her hands, there was fear on her face. ‘You can’t tell anyone! The old man’s going to kill me if he finds out.’

  Nick wasn’t prepared to make any promises he couldn’t keep. ‘How did it happen?’

  It was a good minute now, maybe longer, since he’d asked the question, but he didn’t press her. The genie was out of the bottle and she’d answer in her own good time. While he waited he stared out across the green, taking in the parched grass and the sunbathers. A dog sniffed at the base of a tree.

  Maeve Riley began slowly, tentatively, as if reaching for the right words. ‘It was while the old man was away, wasn’t it? Halfway through a three-stretch at the Scrubs. And he’s not what you’d call the forgiving sort. I wanted to get rid, but Angela said it was too risky, that half the time women bled to death. It wasn’t legal then, of course, you just had to take your chances.’

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