by Roberta Kray
Lolly wasn’t sure how she felt about being back. Not nostalgic so much as . . . as what? The emotions she felt were strange, ambivalent. She had grown to love Mal – the only father figure she’d ever known – but her relationship with Esther had always been strained. Lolly’s teenage years, enhanced by Mal’s kindness, had been simultaneously blighted by the dark shadow of Esther’s contempt.
‘We done here?’ Vinnie asked.
Lolly was about to nod when the thin wail of a baby’s cry, plaintive and piercing, floated through the air. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. Where was it coming from? There were no other houses close by, and visitors never brought children here.
‘Do you hear that?’ she asked, turning to Vinnie.
‘Hear what?’
‘A baby. A baby crying.’
Vinnie shook his head. ‘I didn’t hear nothin’.’
‘You must have. Turn the engine off.’
Vinnie obliged, and they both listened. Silence. He raised his eyebrows. Lolly frowned and got out of the car. She went up to the gates and pressed her face against the metal scrolls. She listened some more, straining her ears. Just the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees. Esther was the only person living here now, along with the staff. Mal’s current digs were less salubrious: a small cramped cell in a London prison.
She peered along the empty drive, shivering in spite of the sun. Had she heard it? Perhaps it had just been a figment of her imagination, something dredged up from her subconscious. The locals said this place was haunted, but then the locals said a lot of things.
Lolly didn’t want to hang about in case Esther caught her. She retreated to the car, still none the wiser. ‘Okay, I’m done here.’
‘Feeling homesick?’ Vinnie asked as he set off again.
Lolly glanced over her shoulder. ‘No, just curious.’ If home was where the heart was, then Kellston was probably more home than here. But she didn’t really belong there either. She was one of those people caught between two worlds and at the moment both of them were rattling her nerves.
2
Friday 16 September. Kellston, East London
Lolly saw Terry Street as soon as she walked into the Fox. He was sitting in the same place he always sat, the place Joe Quinn had always occupied too – over on the left from where he had a good view not only of everyone coming in but of the whole pub. She wasn’t looking forward to the meeting. He was expecting a wedge and he was getting nothing – minus nothing if you counted the ruby ring she’d had to abandon.
Vinnie cleared off to the bar, leaving her to it. She gave the news to Terry quickly, omitting the part about how she’d panicked and concentrating instead on the fact she’d been absolutely certain she’d been sussed.
‘I could tell from the way he was looking at me. And when he cleared off with the ring . . . I didn’t have a choice. It was stay and get collared or get the hell out of there.’
‘You didn’t try anywhere else?’
Lolly shook her head. ‘I was thinking that maybe they’ve circulated a description. I’ll have to change the way I look, change my story. Someone must have sussed me. Perhaps we need to go further out, get further from London.’
Terry didn’t look impressed. ‘Perhaps it’s time to call it a day.’
But Lolly couldn’t afford to lose the extra income, whatever the risks. It was what enabled her to survive. ‘No, not yet. I don’t think so. Give me a few days and I’ll sort something out.’
It worried her that he might think she’d turned him over, concocting the story about the salesman. Vinnie could hardly corroborate the tale. For all he knew, she could have gone into the shop, flogged the ring and then dashed back to the car. Did Terry trust her? She hoped so, but you couldn’t really trust anyone in his game.
‘Sorry,’ she said.
Terry pursed his lips. ‘At least you hung on to the diamond.’
‘I’ll shift it, I promise.’
Lolly had the impulse to apologise some more but fought against it. She looked at Terry, remembering him as he’d been six years ago, cheeky and confident with big ambitions. Well, he’d got what he wanted: Kellston was his manor now, along with most of the East End and some of the West End too. He was smart, good-looking, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a lot of charm. What set him apart from other men, however, was that indefinable quality that can only be described as charisma. When he walked into a room, everyone looked. When he spoke, everyone listened. It didn’t do to underestimate him. Like most men in positions of power, he had a ruthless streak.
‘Not losing your nerve are you, Lolly?’
She smiled and held his gaze. ‘You know me, Terry, nerves of steel.’
‘Good. Glad to hear it. Only I wouldn’t like to—’
Lolly never got the chance to hear what he wouldn’t like as at that very moment Vinnie came over. ‘Sorry, boss, but I need a word.’
It was only then, as Terry rose to his feet, that Lolly became aware of the change in atmosphere in the pub. Something had happened. There was a frisson in the air, a charge like electricity. She tried to eavesdrop on the two men but Vinnie was leaning in close, almost whispering in Terry’s ear. Seconds later they both took off.
Lolly, realising she still had the diamond ring in her possession, stood up to follow them but then changed her mind. Instead she made her way over to the bar. People were huddled in groups, exchanging information, passing comment. There was an urgency about the exchanges, a sense of both horror and excitement. She caught snatches of their talk, enough for her to gather that someone was dead. And not through any natural causes. She caught the barmaid’s eye and beckoned her over.
‘What’s going on? Do you know?’
‘It’s bad. They’ve just found one of the girls, round the back of the station, at the arches.’
Lolly felt her heart lurch. It had to be one of Terry’s girls – no one else was allowed to work round here – and instantly she thought of Stella. ‘Do they know who it is?’
The barmaid shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
‘And is she definitely—’
But someone was waiting for a drink so that was as much as Lolly got out of the barmaid. She turned around and quickly forged a path through the crowd to the door. Outside there was an obvious police presence with a line of squad cars, lights flashing, heading for the scene of the crime. She watched them for a while before moving off in the opposite direction.
Lolly’s mouth was dry as she crossed over, dodging the traffic, and hurried towards Albert Road. Please God, don’t let it be Stella. They had first met when Lolly was a kid working for Terry. The house, a brothel, had been a place of sanctuary after her mum died, somewhere she could be with friendly faces for a while before returning home – if it could even be called that – to the awfulness of Brenda Cecil and her sons.
There was no reason for Stella to be at the arches. Why would she be? She wasn’t a streetwalker. She worked out of the house, a relatively safe environment, with security and other girls to watch her back. Only the desperate used the arches, the junkies and the destitute. It was a dark and desolate place.
Usually Albert Road was flanked by kerb crawlers who wouldn’t leave you alone but today, even though the body had only recently been found, there wasn’t a car in sight. News travelled fast, and with so many cops in the area, the punters were keeping their distance. Lolly couldn’t remember the last time she’d walked this way and not been harassed.
She dashed up to the house and rang the bell. She waited. No one answered. Anxiously, she jumped from one foot to the other. Where was everyone? There was nearly always someone in. She rang again and rapped on the door. ‘Come on, come on,’ she muttered. The suspense was killing her. She winced at the thought. Jesus, that was the wrong expression to use. Please don’t let it be Stella. Reason told her it couldn’t be, wouldn’t be, but that didn’t stop the fear from rolling over her in waves.
&
nbsp; Finally, the door was answered by a redhead called Michelle. If she was surprised to see Lolly standing there in twinset and pearls, she didn’t show it. Perhaps she was used to unusual sights or just had other things on her mind.
‘Hi,’ she said.
Lolly nodded, her heart in her mouth. ‘Is Stella here?’
Michelle paused, one of those millisecond hesitations that made Lolly’s blood run cold. Oh, Christ. She tried to prepare herself for the worst, but then the girl stepped back and gestured towards the rear of the house. ‘She’s in the kitchen.’
As Lolly went inside she raised a hand to her chest in relief. ‘Ta,’ she croaked. ‘Thank God for that.’
‘You’ve heard then?’
‘Just now. I was in the Fox. I thought . . . Do you know who it is?’
‘Not yet, but Stella thinks it could be Dana.’
‘What?’ Lolly hadn’t known Dana well – she was a fairly recent addition to the house – but the news still rattled her.
‘I don’t think it’s Dana,’ Stella said as they entered the kitchen. ‘I know it. Why else hasn’t she come back?’ She gave Lolly a grim smile. ‘Hello, love.’
‘Hey, how are you?’
‘Just waiting for the law to get here.’
Michelle shook her head. ‘We don’t know nothin’ yet. Dana could be anywhere. Just ’cause she didn’t come back last night don’t mean—’
But Stella wasn’t having any of it. ‘It’s her.’ She pulled on the joint she was smoking, her eyes full of dismay. ‘I can feel it. I’ve got the shivers all over.’
Lolly sat down across the table from her. She reached out and briefly covered Stella’s hand with her own. ‘Michelle’s right. You can’t be sure. Not yet.’
‘I am sure. She’d be here otherwise, wouldn’t she? She’d have called or something.’
‘She could have had a skinful, stayed over with a mate,’ Michelle said.
‘She doesn’t have any mates.’
‘She wasn’t working last night, then?’ Lolly asked.
Stella shook her head. ‘She went out about six. We don’t know where.’
‘She wouldn’t go near the arches, though, would she? I mean, what would she be doing there?’
As though she couldn’t bear to be still, Stella suddenly stood up, paced from one side of the kitchen to the other, walked over to the sink and leaned with her back against it. She smoked some more, taking long deep drags. Her outfit – a white miniskirt, boots and electric-blue boob tube – seemed curiously at odds with the oppressive atmosphere of the room. ‘Fuck knows. Maybe someone just took her there and . . . ’ She swallowed hard, blinking two or three times as if to wipe away the picture that had just sprung into her head. ‘You shouldn’t hang about, Lol. You don’t want to be here when the filth show up.’
‘I don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to me.’
But Stella was adamant. ‘No, you push off. You don’t want to get dragged into this. You know what those bastards are like; they’ll have you down the station just for the fun of it.’
Lolly always tried to avoid the attention of the police, but some things were more important than keeping a low profile. ‘They’re not going to be interested in me.’
‘I’m not on my own, hon. I’ve got Michelle here, and the others will be back soon. They’ve only gone to see what they can find out. Go on, you go home. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’
Lolly was aware that in some ways Stella still thought of her as a child she had to protect, a kid who needed taking care of. But reluctantly she nodded, knowing that the older woman had enough to worry about without adding her to the mix. ‘Okay, if you’re sure, only—’
‘I’m sure,’ Stella said insistently. She made a flapping motion with her hand, wafting the smell of dope in Lolly’s direction. ‘Go on. We’ll be fine.’
Lolly felt guilty leaving – she didn’t believe Stella would be fine at all – but did as she was told. As she stepped onto the pavement, she glanced up and down Albert Road. It was still deserted. Not a car in sight, and not a single tom either. She began to walk, shivers running through her as she thought about Dana.
Violent death, although it filled her with fear and disgust, no longer shocked her. She had seen her mum’s body, bloodied and broken, after she’d jumped from the top floor of Carlton House. That dreadful image could never be erased. Not long after, there had been Amy Wiltshire, killed at sixteen. And bad things didn’t just happen in deprived, rundown places like Kellston. The Furys’ baby, Kay, had been snatched from the grounds of the house in West Henby, and the nanny murdered. She thought again about that cry she’d heard, wondering if her mind had just been playing tricks.
Lolly had reached the corner and was about to turn onto Station Road when the cop car went past. She paused to follow it with her eyes, willing it not to stop outside Stella’s. But as she watched the indicator light went on and the car pulled up outside the house. Her heart sank. Stella had been right. For a moment she thought about going back, but what good would it do? Instead she murmured a quick prayer and headed for home.
3
Friday 16 September. Kellston
Lolly got out of her good clothes, hung them carefully on hangers and changed into jeans and a black T-shirt. She made a cup of coffee and took it through to the living room where she sat down at the table by the window. To the left, wedged against the sill, were a couple of boxes, one containing various articles of jewellery, the other old watches in need of attention. Spread out in front of her were the pieces from a broken clock. She made a bit of cash from these repairs and restorations, but mainly they were a labour of love. She liked taking things apart and putting them back together the way Mal Fury had taught her.
She was hoping work would take her mind off the horror – there was something soothing, distracting about all the intricate parts – but her thoughts, refusing to be still, were bouncing around in every direction. There were some days that were so relentlessly bad, you regretted ever having got up in the morning. And hadn’t she felt it, right from breakfast, that sense of impending disaster?
Lolly sipped her coffee and gazed down at the cars and buses going by. Her rented flat, above an Indian takeaway, was small but serviceable and she had made it comfortable. Everything in it was cheap or second-hand, bought from the market and charity shops, but that didn’t matter to her. She didn’t mind the traffic on the high street or the spicy smells that floated on the air of an evening. To her the flat was a refuge, a sanctuary, a place to call home.
Although she always expected the worst – experience had taught her to be prepared – the past year had gone comparatively well. But she had the feeling all that was about to change. An ill wind, wasn’t that what they called it? Already it was blowing round her ears. She tried not to dwell on Dana, but it wasn’t easy. She lifted her gaze to the sky where a plane was rising through the blue leaving a long white trail behind it.
Her eyes were still fixed on this when the doorbell went, two long rings. Could it be Stella? She quickly rose to her feet and hurried downstairs. As soon as she opened the door, her heart jumped into her mouth. Two uniformed cops were standing there. She thought of the stolen diamond ring sitting in her bag and her mouth went dry.
‘Lolita Bruce?’ the older of the two men asked.
It was a long time since she had heard anyone use her full name. She nodded, wondering if she looked as anxious as she felt. ‘That’s me. What is it? What—?’
‘I’m Sergeant Glass, this is PC Carraway.’ He flashed a warrant card in front of her. ‘Would you mind if we came in?’
Lolly wasn’t overjoyed by the prospect of having the law in her flat but could hardly refuse without looking like she had something to hide. ‘Okay. Yes, of course.’
As she walked up the stairs in front of them, she tried not to panic. She made a fast, mental inventory of everything that was on the table. Was there anything dodgy on display? Occasionally, she would buy the odd dam
aged piece off Terry, a ring or a necklace, and restyle it into something new.
Lolly gestured towards the sofa in the living room. ‘Sit down, please.’ She only had one other chair, the one by the table, and she turned that around to face them. ‘So what is it? What’s going on?’
The sergeant had her fixed in his stare, his eyes boring into her. ‘I understand Mal Fury is your guardian. Is that correct?’
Lolly’s worries about being arrested or caught in possession of stolen property quickly evaporated, replaced by a colder, hard-edged fear. Instantly, she stiffened. ‘Mal? Yes, that’s right. What’s happened?’ Even as she was speaking her imagination was running riot, creating nightmare scenarios where he had dropped dead of a heart attack or been stabbed by some con with a grudge. ‘Is he . . . is he all right?’
‘We were hoping you could tell us that.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘When was the last time you heard from him?’
Lolly frowned. ‘I saw him a couple of weeks ago. Look, what’s going on here? Why are you asking me . . . I don’t understand.’
‘Mr Fury failed to return to prison after work yesterday. It appears that he’s absconded.’
‘What?’ Lolly said again. She shook her head, gave a mirthless laugh. ‘That can’t be right. He can’t have. Why would he do that? He’s out in a few months, a free man.’ She was aware of the two cops watching her closely, but she didn’t need to fake a reaction. ‘That’s crazy! It’s just . . . Are you sure?’
‘Did he have any worries that you were aware of, anything on his mind?’
‘No, nothing. He was fine.’ Mal had been serving the last part of his sentence at an open prison, working on a local farm and glad to be breathing fresh air again. She thought back to the visit, trying to remember if anything had been said, the slightest clue as to why he’d scarper, but she came up with a blank. ‘There’s no reason why he’d do this. It doesn’t make any sense.’
