“It’s alright, he’s not come out. He’s pissed up – just acting up. It’s nothing.” Said Mick, staring out of the front window in the direction of Kev’s house, and looking down the street to see if Liam was wandering up the avenue.
“Dad, he’s at that new mates house on the next avenue, do you want him home?” shouted Noel from the top of the stairs.
“Nah, it’s alright – just tell him to stay there, tell him he’s to phone you when he sets off coming home.”
“Alright dad, no hassle.”
Mick spent the next hour or so pacing around the house, constantly wandering in and out of the front door to see if Kev had come out.
*****
Tania was fuming.
“Aw Kev, why are you such a bell end? You’re going to get us kicked out of here, and you’re going to get a fucking thick lip as well, carrying on like that.”
“Thick lip, have you heard yourself? Who’s going to give me a fucking thick lip? You’re going soft on me you.” Kev laughed mockingly as he stood in the kitchen and drank the last of the lager in his can.
“And you better put that carving knife down as well, in case the dibble end up coming here.”
“The dibble! Tania, you’ve lost it you. You’re turning into one of them soft arses. Give yer head a wobble and get back to normal, I can’t stand you acting like Princess fucking Diana.”
“Princess Diana? What are you on about?” Tania was not impressed with Kev’s attitude at present.
“You – you’re acting like a fucking saint, it’s proper weird.”
“I’ll tell you what’s weird, you fat cunt. Weird is you threatening Johnny Booth’s mate with a carving knife.”
“Johnny Booth?” Kev suddenly looked alert, though his drunken frown remained, making the crease of his forehead push down onto the bridge of his nose.
“You don’t know your arse from your elbow! You’re telling me that you didn’t fucking notice Johnny Booth emptying that Mick’s stuff out of his van on Saturday?”
“That weren’t Johnny Booth, you…”
“Kev, shut the fuck up. You’re pissed, and you’re acting like a proper dick. Now shut your mouth, and give me that money. I’ll go and take it round, and try to make the peace. You, go to bed or something. Try and choke to death in your sleep.”
Tania was getting close to slapping her husband across the face, his behaviour since he’d been given this house was becoming more stupid by the day. It was as though he had conned himself that it was his house, not a bloody council rent, thought his wife.
“It wasn’t Johnny Booth though…”
“It was. But let’s just say I’m wrong, for the first time in my life. Are you going to chance it?”
Kev’s smug grin was fading quickly. “Well, if you’re dead certain?”
“Just give me the money, you twat.”
*****
Tania knocked quietly and politely on Mick and Rachel’s.
Mick ran upstairs and opened the bedroom window fully to see who it was, and more to the point, to see if it was Kev, and whether or not he was armed. He was relieved to see that it was Tania. She had an apologetic look on her face.
“Let us in a minute please love, I’ve brought your money.” Tania held up the wad of notes in her hand. Mick just nodded, and then his head disappeared from the window. Tania could hear his feet pounding down the stairs. Seconds later, the door opened, and Tania was welcomed into the house by a very tense looking Mick, and a very angry Rachel.
“Look, I’m really sorry. He’s losing it, honestly – that was bang out of order love. But he’s been told, there’ll be nothing else said about it.” Tania handed the money over to Mick.
“He wants to watch it, pulling fucking knives out…” Mick was clearly unimpressed. Rachel on the other hand was glad that Tania had come round, and that she’d brought the money.
“Thanks, I really appreciate you coming.”
Tania’s eyes flicked up and locked on to Rachel’s.
“It’s alright, don’t thank me. I just can’t believe he’s acting like this, he’s losing the plot. Honestly.” Tania was keen to distance herself from the actions of her husband.
“Right, listen yeah, thanks for the money. But let’s just leave it at that. We’re having a fucking nightmare on this street, and we don’t want nowt to do with anyone.” Mick was scowling at Tania, in much the same way that he had been when his head appeared at the bedroom window a moment earlier.
“Thing is,” said Rachel, “I didn’t think when I gave you that money. But Mick’s right. We didn’t ask you to pay people to sort anything out, and it’s not like we’re loaded.” Rachel felt a lot more confident with Mick here. She had been too much of a push-over earlier, and she felt stupid for handing the money over.
“And it’s not our problem, anyway!” added Mick, quite sarcastically. “I mean, if Rachel had just watched on from the window, and stopped you’s from falling in the trap, you’d have got arrested and you’d have been kicked out by now anyway. So it’s you who should be round here, owing us a fucking favour – not the other way around.”
“I know, I know, seriously, honest. It’s okay, I get it. He’s been drinking beer in the garden all day. I understand, we just don’t want any trouble ourselves. You know what I mean?” Tania was trying her best to be nice and make the peace but Mick and Rachel just couldn’t warm to her at all.
“Yes, we know what you mean,” said Rachel, “we wish we’d never been picked for these houses to be honest. So, no offence but we’re just keeping our heads down now.”
“That means don’t come back round here again, and tell your husband the same thing.” Mick was talking in an aggressive and to-the-point manner.
“Well thanks for being so understanding about it. If he carries on acting like such a numpty, Kev will be out on his arse, and I mean that. I can’t stand the fat bastard.”
Mick opened the door and held it at the top. Tania walked through the gap, beneath his arm, and smiled awkwardly as she left.
“Seeya.” Said Rachel, sombrely. Mick closed the door.
“Right. Sorted. And nobody got killed.”
“Mick, I’m really sorry – but you only heard half of my story. I was telling you about my day,”
“Yeah, sorry, I got distracted when you said you’d given that dick two hundred and fifty quid!” said Mick, still looking annoyed at Rachel.
“Well, the reason I was so relaxed about giving that money over was because of this.” She held the cheque out for Mick to get hold of. “This was the next bit of my story.” Rachel handed Mick the letter. He stood and read it, and began laughing. Rachel burst out laughing too.
“Oh, you dick! You still shouldn’t have give them that money though!”
“I know. Well, I was just giddy, but as soon as you pointed it out, I realised what a stupid thing it was to do. Soz Mick.”
“Don’t matter babe! We’re fucking loaded! Ha ha mint! Come on, get the internet on and let’s get a settee sorted out. I’ve been on that buy and sell page for the last few days and there’s nowt good on them sites. Do they have loot anymore?”
“Loot? I doubt it. Look on eBay or try that Gumtree site.”
“Finally, summat good’s happened!” said Mick, sniffing his armpit and gagging at the smell. “I’m just going for a shower.”
Chapter 17
A FEW WEEKS LATER
Rachel hated Saturday nights. Not too many years earlier, in the old house, it had been her favourite night of the week. All of the family would be sat around watching TV or films, piles of sweets, bottles of pop, bowls of crisps and popcorn, duvets and pillows were everywhere. Mick would have a few tins of beer and Rachel would have a bottle of red wine and it would be the most relaxing and fun night of the week. Saturdays had always been a really good laugh.
But as the kids had grown older, and found their own social engagements to attend on Saturday nights’, and particularly since Mick had starte
d his cash-in-hand job on weekend nights after the fire, Saturday evenings had become quite a lonely and miserable time for Rachel, and she dreaded it.
There was only her and Shania in the house, and Shania spent most of the time staring gormlessly at her tablet, so Saturday nights had slowly but surely become ironing and laundry night. And as Rachel hung the ironing on hangers all over the downstairs door handles, ready for the kids to take up to their respective wardrobes, she realised with a judder that this was her third Saturday in the house.
“God, that’s flown!” she muttered to herself as she packed the ironing board away and stacked the undies on the stairs.
The boys, Liam and Noel were staying at their gran’s overnight, as they’d been out with their friends back home on the Gameshawe Estate, and Maureen had no problem with them staying over. Britney, arrived home just after eleven. She looked like she’d had a sip or two of the cider or whatever it was that had been handed around.
“I’m juzz gonna go bed, really tired…” she said, in a small and quiet voice.
“Yes, you do look tired, love. Go on, get yourself up to bed, a good nights sleep will do you wonders!” said Rachel, deliberately encouraging and nurturing her teenage daughter’s belief that her mother had been born yesterday. Rachel always thought that if she allowed the kids to think that she was as thick as pig shit, they wouldn’t feel that they had to be too conniving or sly.
Once Britney had got herself upstairs and ready for bed, and Rachel had finished hanging the last load of washing on the radiators, Mick finally arrived home, just after midnight. After fixing him up with a can of lager, his favourite comedy on television and his tea on his lap, Rachel went out and stood on the doorstep to have her last cigarette of the day before turning in.
It was a cool, still night. There was no traffic, no aeroplanes were coming in to land, or taking off from the airport. It was just really still, and silent. It wasn’t very often that you could enjoy complete peace and quiet in Greater Manchester, but this was a rare, satisfying moment, thought Rachel as she put her cigarette between her lips and flicked the wheel on her lighter, inhaling the satisfying smoke deeply and blowing it out slowly.
The street was eerily quiet, there wasn’t a soul around and Rachel was determined to enjoy this moment of tranquillity as best she could, before going off to bed. She looked up as the bedroom light came on at the house across the road, and Suzanne looked like she was running past the window, which made Rachel smile. What the fuck is she up to now? She wondered as she blew the cigarette smoke out of her nose. Then Graham was right behind her, and he looked like he was running too. The shadows were flickering in the room and Rachel felt her insides somersault as it registered that this wasn’t right. Graham was attacking Suzanne. Was he? Nah, they’re just pissing about. No, he’s properly kicking the shit out of her. Her mind was racing, but Rachel couldn’t be sure what she was witnessing. She stood a few seconds longer, taking a long, deep draw on her cigarette, keeping her eyes fixed on the light from the upstairs window across the road. Right then, she saw Graham dragging his wife across the room by her hair. Rachel thought she heard a scream, a very short, muffled scream. Another shadow appeared, and it looked like a punch was being thrown.
Rachel felt sick, her adrenaline had kicked in and before she knew what was happening she was across the road, and she was trying to open the front door. It was locked. Rachel then found herself opening the gate at the side of the house, she was running around to the back door, in the next blink she was inside the house, there was banging, shouting, screaming, and she was running up the stairs.
Suzanne was sobbing. Graham was shouting, it wasn’t clear what he was shouting, it was all just a noisey blur, Rachel’s heart-beat was the loudest thing she could hear as she reached the top of the stairs. She saw a metal thing, holding one of the doors open, she bent down quietly and picked it up.
God, it’s heavy, she thought. Her heart beat was booming in her chest, and twice as loud in her head. Graham was still shouting,
“You got me sacked you bitch!” he shouted as his wife struggled on the floor. Suzanne was sobbing and screaming and pleading and wriggling about hysterically beside the bed, trying to get away from her attacker.
Rachel entered the room silently. Suzanne was cowering at the side of the bed, one arm was raised above her head. That was when the kick went in. Graham kicked his wife in the face like he was kicking a football across a park. She was knocked out cold, long before she landed on her back in a pile on the floor. She looked dead. It looked as though Graham had killed her.
The squelching thud noise of the kick had made Rachel sick, it was an involuntary reaction, and she had vomit all down her chin and down her front as she reached Graham. She had raised the metal thing up and it was above his head. Just as she was about to pull the object down with full force against the back of his head, Graham heard the ghastly noises of vomit, choking and terror that were coming from Rachel. He turned slowly, and had a scared, startled look in his eyes as Rachel smashed the object against the side of his head. The impact made a horrific squishing, cracking noise. He fell to the floor, landing with a thunderous thump beside his wife.
Then there was nothing. Just silence. From a room filled with chaos, noise and violence just seconds earlier, now there was nothing but a very instant, very intense silence.
A thick, richly coloured stream of blood began pouring from Graham’s ear.
“Holy fuck… holy… fuck… holy fuck. Shit.” Rachel couldn’t catch her breath. She was staring down at the scene that lay before her on the bedroom floor. She looked around the room, the place was a tip, clothes, duvets and pillows were scattered all over the floor. There was a suitcase open, on its side, more clothes were situated all around it and sticking out of the sides. Rachel looked up, and noticed that she was in full view of the street. Centre stage, stood in the spotlight. She walked over to the window and drew the curtains shut.
“Shit. Aw fucking hell, shit,” she was muttering, her breathing was heavy and fast, Rachel sounded like she was having an asthma attack. Suddenly, without warning her legs gave way, and she fell down to her knees, and hunched over on all fours. She vomited. A big, deep thrust from way down in her guts forced out with a ferocious retching noise and then, with it followed a thick, violent burst of sick. Then came another retch.
“Fucking hell,” she tried to say, as another intense blast of vomit threw her words off course. Rachel was on all fours, beside two bodies, puking her stomach contents out, with snot and tears and sweat running freely off her head and dripping onto the puddle of sick on the bedroom carpet.
She was already shivering and shaking uncontrollably as she waited for the next deep wave of nausea to come, but now she noticed that she felt cold. A freezing cloak of sweat had covered her, from her thighs to her shoulders, Rachel was trembling, she felt as though she was inside a freezer at Tesco. But her head and her face were burning up.
“Aw God. Wake up.” She reached out and shook Suzanne’s shoulder. There was nothing, just nothing. “Aw fuck. Shit!” Rachel managed to pull herself together slightly. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. She wiped again, across her mouth, and again over her nose. All she could smell and taste was the fetid, acidic vomit.
“Come on, come on,” she said to herself, pushing her small frame up from the all fours position and trying to stand. Her legs were weak, her entire body was trembling and the snot kept pouring as though she was just stepping out from the surf of the Mediterranean sea.
“Come on,” she continued saying to herself, fighting a new, fresh wave of nausea that was washing over her. Using the door frame for support, she could feel her lungs closing up, she couldn’t feel any air going into her body. Her heartbeat was speeding up again, and that heat in her head, it was getting hotter. Rachel stood and closed her eyes, pushing her forehead against the cool frame, she started counting to ten. “Three… four … five …” She kept going, concentrating on noth
ing more than the next number, and she got up past forty.
Eventually, she realised that she had managed to calm herself down, fighting an anxiety attack off at the very onset. She stayed put, working hard to calm herself and to concentrate on nothing other than her own breathing.
One minute later, she was walking down the stairs, slowly, and carefully, surprising herself by how mindful of the trail of DNA evidence that her sweat and snot and vomit and hair was likely to be leaving behind her. She walked through the reception, into the kitchen and out of the back door, trying not to touch a thing. She tip toed down the ginnel at the side of the property, out through the gate and continued straight across the grass, across the road and into her house.
After closing the door behind her, Rachel collapsed to her bum, her legs stretched out before her and she started to cry, as quietly as she could.
*****
Mick thought that he had heard somebody come in, and paused the telly. After a few seconds had passed, he heard Rachel sniffing and wiping her face with her sleeves.
“Is that you love?” he shouted.
“Yeah,” said Rachel, after a pause that lasted a good few seconds, her voice was quiet, and emotional. Mick wriggled up off his seat and came through into the reception area.
“S’up love, you alright?” He looked a bit confused. He wasn’t scared, or alarmed, but he was concerned. It didn’t seem right. It wasn’t like Rachel, she hated drama queens. He stood over her, holding his can of lager. “You okay?”
“No love. I’m fucked.”
“Eh? What you going on about?” asked Mick, he was beginning to feel scared.
“I’ve just killed that Graham, over the road. He’s killed Suzanne. And I’ve just killed him.” Rachel was staring straight into his eyes as she spoke. It was just so unreal, so insane – Mick couldn’t filter it in, it made no sense. He smiled.
“Right, sorry love. Say that again.” He crouched down, leaning in towards his partner.
Neighbours From Hell : DCI Miller 2: The gripping Manchester thriller with a killer twist Page 12
