Faceless

by Cole, Martina

  She knew it never would.

  Chapter One

  Louise Carter lit a cigarette and stared at her husband with anger and disgust. She smashed the kettle down on to the worktop and plugged it in with a venom he had not seen in years.

  ‘Fucking cheek of her, coming round here after the trouble she caused!’ He noticed her hand was shaking as she puffed deeply on her Embassy cigarette. ‘I can’t believe she had the fucking nerve . . .’

  Kevin Carter stood up and pulled his tiny wife into his arms.

  ‘Calm down, we knew it would happen one day.’

  He hated to see her like this. Over the years they had resumed a semblance of normal life again. Their daughter Marie’s aberration had been forgotten, or at least it had on the surface anyway. Friends stopped mentioning her and life had just about returned to normal. But it had been hard on Lou, bloody hard. It had broken her as the tablets she constantly popped proved.

  ‘How did she look?’

  Louise pulled herself from his arms. She stared into his face as if he had gone mad before her eyes, like their child had done all those years ago when she had killed her two friends.

  ‘What kind of fucking question is that? She looked alive, which is more than the two girls she battered to death bloody look!’

  ‘Calm down, Lou, for fuck’s sake. I was only asking. I mean, would you recognise her, like? Remember her? Know who she was?’

  She swiped her tongue across her lips and nodded.

  ‘I’d know that bastard anywhere, but she was slimmer, prettier than ever. Waste on her, that was. Bloody whore! Always a bloody whore from a kid . . .’

  Kevin shut out his wife’s words. He had heard them too many times over the years for them to have any real effect. He wanted to go outside and see his daughter but knew that if he did, it would cause too much trouble.

  Louise had never got over it all. In fact, none of them had, though he would still like to know if Marie was OK. Instead he made his wife a cup of tea and gave her one of her tablets.

  But the thought of his Marie so close, and he unable to talk to her, hurt him inside. Whatever she had done she was still his daughter. Nothing his wife said could change the tie of blood, and Marie was his blood.

  Still, Louise was his priority at the moment. Her breakdown had split the family, made everything so difficult. Marshall’s suicide on top of everything else had finished her. Oh yes, his daughter Marie had a lot to answer for. He closed his eyes because tears were threatening.

  Kevin Carter was a big man. At over six foot, he weighed in at seventeen and a half stone. In his younger days he had fought bare-knuckled to get himself a stake and now he had a small building business.

  The Carters were respectable. The thought made him smile. Or they had been once, anyway. And over the years they had fought to get that much back at least. They would never get their son back. He was dead and buried this long time, but Louise visited his grave every day. It was Marshall’s putting a gun into his mouth and blowing his head off that had tipped her over the edge once and for all. In a way it had seemed more of an act of violence than Marie’s killings because Marshall had killed himself while he was sober and straight whereas Marie had been so out of it on drugs she at least could argue she had not known what she was doing.

  A son and a daughter, gone in weeks. A family ripped apart in the time it took other families to have a holiday, come back, and go to work. It was all such a bloody waste, and now she was back, his Marie was back, and he wondered what trouble would follow her this time. Because trouble had followed her from the day she could talk and walk.

  The front door opened and they both turned towards it fearfully.

  It was Lucy.

  ‘What’s the matter with you two, sitting in the dark?’

  Their other daughter’s keen eyes registered tension in the room.

  ‘She’s gone then?’

  Louise’s voice was heavy with dread.

  ‘Who? Who’s gone?’ queried Lucy.

  ‘Marie.’

  At the sound of her sister’s name Lucy’s face screwed up into a mask of disgust and she pulled her lips back over her teeth until she looked almost feral in her hatred.

  ‘That’s all we need! Mickey popped the question this lunchtime and I said yes. I suppose I can kiss him goodbye now, can’t I?’

  Louise stirred herself.

  ‘Don’t be so silly. I fucked her off out of it. We won’t be seeing her again, love.’

  Lucy slung her leather bag over her shoulder and walked towards the stairs. She didn’t answer her mother, but the sound of her heavy footfalls on the stairs said all they needed to hear. Her bedroom door slammed and it was like a death knell.

  ‘What made her come back here, Kev?’

  He sighed.

  ‘I don’t know, love. Blood, I expect. We are her parents, after all.’

  Louise stood up and smashed her mug into the sink. It was a satisfying feeling, smashing something. She had learned that over the years.

  ‘You, Kevin Carter, can speak for your fucking self. She is nothing to me - nothing.’

  He was getting angry now.

  ‘Well, whatever you say, Lou. That’s how it’s always been in this fucking house so why change the habit of a lifetime, eh?’

  He dragged his jacket from the back of a kitchen chair and stormed out. He walked slowly to the pub, eyes and ears peeled for any sign of his Marie. But she was gone.

  Half of him was glad, the other half desperate just for a glimpse of her. Just to know she had survived and was OK.

  In the pub he sipped his pint slowly. He had a lot to think about.

  Amanda Stirling smiled easily at the woman before her.

  ‘I’ve put you through here, OK?’

  Marie followed her along a dimly lit corridor. It was freshly painted but still had the feel of decay about it. The coving was cracked and aged, the thin carpet bare in places. Marie closed her mind to it.

  She walked into a room that was not much larger than her cell had been. It had a single bed, a bureau and a wardrobe. The walls were painted white, and a dark blue carpet graced the floor. The bedspread was like a throw-back to the sixties, orange and blue circles on a green background.

  She smiled her thanks tentatively.

  Amanda shrugged.

  ‘Not much, I know, but it’s clean and it’s yours.’

  ‘It’s fine, really.’

  Amanda was aware that this woman was trying to make her feel better and decided she liked her. Considering what she knew about her, that was quite a surprise. Marie seemed to understand and smiled again.

  ‘There’s tea- and coffee-making facilities in the bureau, but as you know there is a large rec room if you feel up to mixing with the others.’

  Marie smiled again and turned away. Amanda took this as her cue to leave.

  ‘If you need anything I’m in my office.’

  Alone, Marie let the mask slip and sank down on the bed. It groaned under her weight and she put her arms out as if she was going to fall.

  It all felt surreal.

  She looked at her carrier bag and sighed. Twelve years and ten months and she had nothing.

  Nothing.

  She busied herself making a cup of tea and tried to block out the thoughts that were crowding her head. Twenty-five minutes later she was in bed, a book in her hands and the curtains closed. She felt safe at last. Snug and safe. But she didn’t feel free, and wondered if she ever really would.

  Patrick Connor was black. Black, handsome and rich. He was a body builder with enormous biceps, a wide grin and, strangest of all, deep blue eyes. His Irish grandfather’s namesake, he loved the shock people felt on first meeting him. Those blue eyes gave him the edge, no doubt about it.

  He pulled out a Tesco bag stuffed with grass and shoved it unceremoniously into his gym bag. He was dropping it off as a favour, but he also had a mission in mind. He locked the door to his flat and skipped towards the lift. As he d
rove away in his brand-new BMW he let his mind wander.

  He had a new bird, Corinne. She was half-caste and she was pretty, but she was also heavily into crack. Just what he was looking for, in fact. He was going to visit her later and see if she fancied a job. He had a feeling she’d jump at the opportunity. Crackheads would sleep with a Siberian tiger for a rock. That’s what he liked about them.

  His mobile rang and he answered it, his deep brown voice full of confidence as he shouted, ‘Yo!’

  A moment later his face paled and he pulled his car over, screeching to a halt to the consternation of the driver behind him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  His street accent had reverted to Queen’s English in a matter of seconds. He snapped the phone off and closed his eyes. Marie was out. She was out and about. She’d be looking for him and, Christ forgive him, he had nothing to tell her. Or nothing she would want to hear anyway.

  He turned the car around and drove towards Silvertown. He needed some answers and he needed them now.

  Lucy opened the front door.

  ‘You took your fucking time.’

  Patrick walked into the small terraced house, his huge bulk blocking out the light.

  ‘Don’t worry, they’re out. Me dad’s took her over her mum’s. She was really in a state. Marie actually came here and knocked on our door.’

  They stood in the kitchen facing one another.

  Lucy was like Marie, you could see they were sisters, but she was a watered-down version. She didn’t have the same thick blonde hair or piercing blue eyes. She was pretty enough until Marie stood beside her, and then she paled into insignificance. She also had an unfortunate way about her. Seemed to be constantly looking down her nose at people. She had always put his back up and she was enjoying doing it now.

  ‘Fuck! Fuck!’

  Patrick’s voice was deep, low.

  ‘She’ll want to know where the kids are. What are you going to tell her?’ Lucy goaded him.

  He shrugged but didn’t answer her.

  ‘They might tell her, Patrick. Social Services. Now she’s out they might think she has a right to know. They are her kids, after all.’

  The sarcasm was not lost on him, but still he didn’t answer her.

  ‘Do you actually know where your son is?’

  He finally met her eyes but didn’t answer her.

  ‘How did you get my mobile number?’

  Lucy looked up at the ceiling.

  ‘Is that all you can fucking say? That mad bitch is home, and she will come looking for us all. I know her better than anyone. She’s going to cause trouble, she can’t help it, Patrick. It’s what she does.’

  ‘Do you lot know where they are?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Of course not. My mum made sure of that. I ain’t so sure about me dad, though. Marie was always his pet.’

  The bitterness in her voice was not lost on Patrick. He grinned.

  ‘I kept meaning to ring, like, but I just never got round to it,’ he said sheepishly.

  Lucy looked at him, her face serious.

  ‘She’ll come looking for you, I guarantee it. And you know what she’s like if she wants something.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Twelve years’ bird will have knocked all that out of her. Take it from me, I know. She’ll have changed. Anyway, she might not want to see the kids.’

  His voice held a note of hope and Lucy turned her eyes to the ceiling once more.

  ‘You are a fucking twat, do you know that? As bad as she was, she loved them kids. Even I have to give her that one.’

  Patrick didn’t answer for a few seconds then said thoughtfully, ‘Well, she had a funny way of showing it, that’s all I can say. Leaving them on their own for hours on end. Pissed up and shooting up in front of them. Oh yeah, she adored them.’

  ‘You put her on the drugs, Patrick, and you put her on the game. The least you could do after you fucked up her head was look out for your own son.’

  He laughed again, this time with genuine amusement.

  ‘Hark at you! If he is really my son he’ll be able to take care of himself. I had to and I ain’t done too bad.’

  ‘That, Patrick, is a matter of opinion. But I felt you should be warned. I mean, supposing she decides to pay back a few old debts, eh? Who’ll be first in line?’

  Lucy let the words hang in the air for a few seconds. Then she too laughed.

  ‘Baseball bats and torque wrenches are still on sale locally, I should imagine.’

  She was laughing as he stormed from the house.

  Carole Halter heard the doorbell and looked at the clock beside her bed. It was twenty past nine in the morning. She snuggled into the warmth of her bed once more and closed her eyes.

  The doorbell rang again and then a hammering on her front door caused her to leap from the bed naked and storm through the flat. She opened her front door wide, displaying a body that had seen its fair share of wear and tear. The obscenity she was about to scream died on her lips when she saw who was standing there.

  ‘Marie? Marie Carter?’

  Marie smiled at her.

  ‘Can I come in, Carole?’

  She walked into the flat and was instantly assailed by once familiar smells: sweat, fried food, perfume and damp. It brought her back to reality. It was years since she had breathed in a similar foetid odour, only then she had not really noticed it. Everyone she knew then had the same sour smell in their home, like old farts and alcohol mixed together. It was disgusting.

  Carole saw her wrinkling her nose up. For a split second she felt the old antagonism return. Then she reminded herself why she had not seen this particular friend for so long and swallowed down the retort.

  ‘Coffee?’

  She made her voice light, but it took an effort.

  Marie smiled.

  ‘Please. If it’s not too much trouble. Late night?’

  Carole picked up a T-shirt off the worn sofa and pulled it over her head. It just covered her bum and heavy thighs.

  ‘I was working last night. I’m in a club now. It’s better money.’

  As she put the kettle on she was eyeing Marie. The years had been kinder to her old friend than she would have expected.

  ‘You look well, Marie.’

  ‘Thanks, so do you.’

  It was a kindly lie, but well meant. Carole looked dreadful, all dark rings under the eyes, wrinkles and dry skin. She looked fifteen years older than her actual thirty-five. Marie realised that she was aware of the fact herself and tried to change the subject.

  ‘How are the kids?’

  Carole shrugged.

  ‘Bernice is duffed by some coon from Romford, she’s just seventeen, and LaToyah is in Borstal. They caught her skanking in Oxford Street. She beat up the arresting officer.’

  Carole grinned.

  ‘Always a lairy bitch, her. Broke the geezer’s nose and split his eye. She got bird, bless her. Her baby lives with foster parents and I visit every fortnight. Nice people, good house and that. I wish they could keep the little fucker – and her Shaquille is a fucker with a capital Fuck!’

  She laughed at her own wit.

  ‘Got a mouth like a sewer and she’s only three.’

  ‘Like her mother then. I remember LaToyah was a swearer.’

  Carole placed two mugs on the cluttered table.

  ‘She certainly was. Remember when she called your Tiffany a cunt and Tiffany jobbed her?’

  She laughed again.

  ‘Like you, Tiff. Deep waters, her.’

  The laughter was suddenly gone from Carole’s voice.

  ‘I’m not supposed to be here. I’m on licence, like. So keep this under your hat, eh?’ Marie told her.

  Carole nodded as she lit a cigarette.

  ‘’Course. You’ll be on licence for life. I mean, that’s what happens after a murder stretch, ain’t it?’

  Marie nodded but didn’t answer.

  ‘You do look well, t
hough. You’ve hardly changed.’

  Marie had heard enough compliments. She got to the point.

  ‘Where’s Patrick, and what’s he doing now?’

  Carole had been expecting the question.

  ‘Ain’t you heard from him?’ Her voice was incredulous. ‘The black bastard! Are you telling me in all these years that ponce never kept in touch?’

  Marie smiled now, a real grin.

  ‘What do you think? You never wrote or visited. No one did.’

  Carole drew deeply on her cigarette. Silence hung in the air like the smoke.

  ‘I understand, Carole. It was all a long time ago. And, I mean, it ain’t like I was in for shoplifting, is it? I had a fucking big lump and I accept it all now. I have done me time and don’t want any more trouble. I just want to see me kids.’

  ‘Ain’t they told you where they are then?’

  Marie shook her head.

  ‘I ain’t asked and they ain’t offered. Enough said. Tiffany is just nineteen and Jason is seventeen. All I want to know is that they’re OK. But I don’t want everyone knowing what I’m about. I’ll see them in me own time.’

  ‘If they want to see you, you mean.’

  ‘In a nutshell. So where is Patrick these days?’

  ‘Gone right up in the world, him. Still runs women but with drugs as a sideline. He owns a gym and a wine bar, too. All blonde birds and BMW these days. Thinks he’s the dog’s gonads.’

  Marie grinned.

  ‘No change there then?’

  Carole laughed with her, felt herself relaxing at last.

  ‘Nah. No change there, girl. But I don’t think he sees anything of Jason. Last I heard the kids were in a home in Wales. I saw your mum a few years back.’

  ‘How was she?’

  Carole shrugged.

  ‘Same as usual, acting like her shit didn’t stink. Do you know something, Marie? That is one bastard of a woman.’

  Marie didn’t answer her.

  ‘Where’s the gym?’

  ‘Spitalfields, you can’t miss it. There’s a dirty great big sign saying “Pat’s Gym”. Real nineties stuff. Glass windows so they can train and show off all at the same time.’

  Marie smiled.

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’