Refusal (The Cardigan Estate Book 3)

by Emmy Ellis

  They were always like this, but in the end, they complied, then they either broke or fought.

  He moved to the hidden cupboard, inserted a key, and opened the door. He selected some items—a hair shaver, a bottle of shampoo, and shower gel. He didn’t like beating dirty men, preferred them clean and the whole of their faces visible.

  Kevin turned to look at Martin, who was still fully dressed and watching the door.

  “You wouldn’t get far, my men are downstairs. If I have to call one of them to help you get undressed, things will be worse for you. I prefer being alone with the likes of you, and any interruptions by someone else tends to get me tetchy—or tetchier than usual anyway. Get undressed.” Kevin closed the door and locked it.

  “Fuck, fuck…”

  And there it was, the submission, the fight gone out of him. Martin took his clothes off and laid them on the bed as if they’d cost a fortune, a reverent action that let Kevin know those items were the most important thing the man owned at the moment. Of course they were. On the streets they kept him warm and in this room they preserved his modesty.

  “Turn around.” Kevin took cuffs from the cupboard and secured Martin’s hands behind his back. “I’m going to give you a beard and haircut, the shaver in one hand, the knife in the other. Does that make my intentions clear if you decide to try to hit me?”

  “Yeah, just get on with it, man. This is fucking freaky.”

  Perhaps for you, but not for me.

  With the hair and beard removed without complaint, Kevin took off the cuffs and ordered Martin into the shower area. He’d allow hot water this time, cold wouldn’t get the grime off, but if Martin remained here for a while, cold was the order of however many nights Kevin played with him.

  He took a towel from the cupboard and threw it at him. Martin dried himself. It was amazing what a bit of grooming and a wash could do. He didn’t look like the same person. Now, although skinny, his ribs on display through parchment-thin skin, Martin appeared almost normal.

  He stretched his arm out to pick up his clothes.

  “No,” Kevin said. “You stay naked. I like to see the patterns.”

  “P-patterns?” Martin frowned, most likely trying to work it out.

  “Turn around again.”

  Martin obeyed, shaking, and Kevin cuffed his wrists again.

  “Remain looking that way until I tell you otherwise.” Kevin stared at the arm manacles in the cupboard. Reached over and took them out. He clipped them to Martin’s biceps, each one with a steel ring at the top.

  “What are those for? Oh God, please, let me go.”

  “Be quiet.”

  Next, Kevin took two lengths of wire out. They resembled a washing line, with their blue outer coating, but inside were plaits of fine steel. They had carbine clips on the ends, and he reached up to secure them to the two rings in the ceiling. The others, he attached to the rings on the arm manacles. Martin remained pliant throughout, his shoulders slumped, as though he knew fighting wasn’t worth it.

  Kevin placed the knife in his inner pocket, ready for if Martin gave him hassle, then took a whip out of the cupboard. “I’m going to create the patterns now.” He walked round to stand in front of his captive. “Shall we begin?”

  Chapter Seven

  Aniyah swung her legs back and forth on the chair in The Flag. Dad had picked her up, driving round the corner, then drew to a halt in front of the bus stop. Shona had stood in the shelter, and she’d got in the passenger seat, a great big smile in place.

  “We’re going out for dinner,” she’d said. “It’s a special night.”

  Aniyah didn’t know why it was special, they hadn’t said, not as they’d waited for their food, or now, their pudding on the way. They’d chosen a knickerbocker glory each.

  “Your dad has something he’d like to ask you,” Shona said.

  Was this the special bit? Aniyah looked at him, her hands clasped in her lap. Dad put his arm around her and smiled. He smelt like the coat in the cupboard.

  “We’ve been thinking,” he said, “and as your mum’s a bit…a bit up in the air at the moment, would you like to come and live with me?”

  Aniyah thought about Mum, ‘up in the air’, even though she’d never seen her actually in the air, and nodded. She grinned, thinking of the peace, how she wouldn’t have to listen to the rants.

  No more cupboard.

  “It won’t be for a while, I need to get things sorted,” he went on, “put a case forward, as your mum has full custody, but… Can you keep it to yourself for a while? I don’t like asking you to lie, but we wouldn’t want Mum upset, would we.”

  No, that would mean more rage, more shouting.

  “Will you live with us?” Aniyah asked Shona.

  Shona appeared nervous, and she rubbed a thumb over the nails on her other hand. “Would you like that?”

  Aniyah nodded.

  Shona glanced at Dad. “Well, I haven’t been asked…”

  Dad laughed. “Will you?”

  “Of course I bloody will.”

  The puddings arrived then, and it was like a party, with the ice cream, the jelly, and whipped cream on top—oh, and the sprinkles. They reminded her of baking time with Shona, and she smiled, excitement fizzing in her belly. Then the guilt came, a squirming nugget in her chest, and tears stung her eyes.

  “What’s up?” Dad asked her.

  “I was thinking whether Mum would be lonely all by herself.”

  “Why would she? You’ll see her a few times a week, like you do me at the moment. And she has Willa.” Dad stroked her hair—hair the nasty neighbour kids said was ‘stupid’.

  She’d be happier away from them. It reminded her to ask Dad that question. “Why do people call me half-and-half?”

  Dad’s sunny smile faded, and he looked like he did when Mum barked at him. Oh. She hadn’t meant to do that, told herself she never would, but now she had and… The tears plopped out and ran down her cheeks.

  “They must mean you’re half of Mum and half of me,” Dad said. “Like they’re half of their mum and dad. That sounds about right. Who says that?”

  “Peter and Olivia over the road.”

  “Ah, you don’t want to be listening to the likes of them. They’re angry kids, don’t know any better.”

  Shona reached across to hold Aniyah’s hand. “When you live with us, you won’t have to see them much. You can go to a new school as well, if you like, round by your dad’s.”

  “With the kids in Dad’s street?” Aniyah liked them, they were nice to her, whether they were the same as her, white, or black.

  “Yes, with them.” Shona smiled.

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s eat our pudding then, before it melts,” Dad said. “And Shona bought you some new clothes today. They’re in a bag in the car.”

  Immediately, Aniyah said, “I’ll tell Mum you got them.” This was how it had to be, to prevent anger spilling out of Mum.

  “That’d be best,” Dad said.

  They stayed in The Flag until half past eight, then Dad said he had to get her home, school tomorrow. In the car, Aniyah stared at some ladies standing on the corner, and as they drove past, one of them with bright-red hair waved.

  “Who’s that?” Aniyah waved back.

  “That’s Princess,” Dad said.

  “A real one?”

  Dad laughed. “No, it’s just her name. She lives in my street, nice lady.”

  Aniyah liked the look of Princess, in her tight scarlet dress and lots of makeup. One day, she’d be just like her, all pretty and smiling. For now, she was content to be a little girl, one who had a better life ahead of her than the one she was currently stuck in. A new mum in Shona, and friends who didn’t call her names.

  She smiled. Yes, tonight was a special one.

  * * * *

  Mum pulled the new clothes out of a Next carrier bag, holding each item up then slinging them to one side. They landed in a heap on the sofa, all crumpled, th
eir hangers poking up in every direction.

  “Bloody fancy gear,” she muttered. “Who does he think he is, saying he doesn’t have much money, yet he’s buying this sort of crap?”

  Aniyah almost blurted that Shona had paid for them but held it back. She clamped her lips tight so no words could come out, getting Dad into trouble. The happy end to her time with him and Shona was ruined now, what with Mum going on, her face wonky with what Aniyah guessed was spite. She looked the same as Peter and Olivia when they shouted at her from their front garden, except she didn’t have gaps in her teeth and they did.

  “Ah, he’s left the receipt in the bottom.” Mum held it up and squinted at it. “A hundred and ninety-five quid? Bloody hell!” She grabbed the clothes in her fist. “You don’t need these, got enough already. I’ll take them back to the shop.”

  With each one that made the return journey into the bag, Aniyah held back tears. A set of three T-shirts, pink, white, yellow. Two pairs of jeans. White trainers with sparkly pink stripes. A jumper. Socks. Knickers. Two nighties. Pyjamas. And a headband with flowers on it. So pretty. So not hers now.

  “Why are you crying?” Mum snapped. “Aren’t the clothes I buy you from the market and jumble sale not good enough?”

  Aniyah didn’t nod or shake her head, too afraid to in case she got it wrong.

  “Well?” Mum dumped the bag on the floor and stood, walking over to loom over Aniyah. “I suppose whatever your dad gets is better, eh? Met his new girlfriend, have you?”

  Aniyah didn’t feel well. “No.” The lie had her feeling worse.

  “She’s some fancy solicitor,” Mum went on. “Know what one of those is?”

  “No.”

  “Well, she works in the court, with criminals, bad people.”

  “Like Peter and Olivia?”

  “Yeah, just like them—and their mother.”

  “Why does she work with them?”

  “Because she does, that’s why. Probably likes putting them in prison. She’ll get inside your dad’s head, you mark my words, saying I’m a shit mother, then they’ll take you away from me.”

  How did she know that?

  “And I won’t have a leg to stand on.”

  Aniyah stared at Mum’s legs. They seemed okay, not like they were going to fall off or anything.

  “If it comes to that,” Mum gabbled on, “you tell them you want to stay with me, that I care for you, that I’m good, got it?”

  Aniyah nodded. She wouldn’t do that, though. She might be young, but she knew her home life wasn’t right. The kids at school, they had mums who helped with homework and baked cakes like Shona. They sewed up holes in socks and didn’t shout all the time. Well, that wasn’t true, because Peter and Oliva’s mum shouted a lot, too. You could hear them from over the road, even with the front door shut.

  Other mums didn’t drink, smoke, and leave their children home alone when they went to the pub in their fur coats.

  Other mums didn’t take clothes back to shops.

  “Good girl,” Mum said. “Now, fuck off to bed, it’s late.”

  Aniyah wandered upstairs, barely seeing for the tears. She undressed, thinking of the new pyjamas she’d never put on, and climbed into bed, pulling the covers over her. She thought about Shona, putting bad people in prison. Would she do that to Mum? Was she bad enough to go there?

  The thought kept her awake for ages, then chased her around in dreams where Mum sat behind rusty bars and clutched a Next bag bulging with bottles of vodka and cigarettes, the fur coat her only blanket. Peter and Olivia appeared, shouting that name at her, and Shona came along, stuck her arm out, and killed them with blue lightning that crackled from her fingertips.

  Aniyah woke, her face and pillow wet.

  She couldn’t wait to go and live with Dad. Things would be better then.

  Chapter Eight

  Lavender sat on Debbie’s sofa, a pink velvet throw over her tucked-up legs, a cup of hot chocolate in her hand. Work had gone well once she’d left Charles standing there in the dark—she’d shut his visit out and got on with things—although she’d taken out her anxiety on Sid Dempsey’s bare backside. The girls had clocked off earlier than usual, no clients after half eleven, and it was nice to have a shorter shift.

  “Right, let’s get this straight,” Debbie said from an armchair opposite. “The only way you can be free of Robins is if he’s dead.”

  Lavender nodded. “He warned me he wouldn’t stop looking, would get me in the end, and he’s stuck to that promise.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard rumours at first, people talking in The Angel. You know, ‘Kevin Robins is after some bird called Aniyah’. How many Aniyahs do you know?”

  “Hmm. Stands to reason it’s you, given that you were involved with him.” Debbie sipped her drink.

  “Not by choice.” Lavender didn’t know why she needed Debbie to know that, but she did.

  “I’d ask why you didn’t go to the police from the start, but I know how these people work. I was with Cardigan, remember, and now I’m in with The Brothers. Their world isn’t ordinary. They have different rules, live by some code people like us aren’t aware of unless we’re in their lives.”

  “About them…” Will they help? Will they go against another leader for me? “I know there are turf wars, Christ, we’ve just had one between the twins and Richie Lime, but… Would Greg and George get involved in this? Is it something they’d be comfortable doing now they’ve secured The Cardigan Estate as theirs? Do they want to rock the boat if they don’t have to?”

  Debbie stared at the ceiling for a moment, then at Lavender. “Okay, while you’re technically under my protection, with Cardigan leaving me the pub, the parlour, and the run of the girls on the corner, I’m protected by The Brothers, as are you, even though they don’t stick their noses into my business. We live on The Cardigan Estate, so The Brothers will have a duty to help. So…yes, if you’re in danger, I’d say they’ll step in.”

  Lavender sighed out her relief. “So you won’t have to do the killing?”

  Debbie shrugged. “I’ve got to be honest, I don’t fancy it. I mean, Mickey and Harry were my grudges, my irritations to deal with. Robins isn’t. No offence, but he’s your bugbear.” She paused. “And I think I know what you meant earlier. You don’t necessarily want me to kill him, you just need my help in getting him killed.”

  “Yes, it came out arse backwards. I just needed to tell someone. I can’t keep hiding like this. So do I murder him? Or is that The Brothers’ job? How does it work?”

  “I heard they do all the legwork then let whoever’s got a beef do the killing if that’s what they fancy.”

  “You heard or you know?” Lavender gulped some hot chocolate.

  Debbie sighed. “Look, this is between me and you, okay?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Good. They didn’t have anything to do with Mickey except to dispose of the body. With Harry… They helped me, got him to their warehouse—and I killed him while they stood by and watched. We disposed of him together. So, if you want to kill Robins, they’ll sort it so you can.”

  Lavender didn’t know how she felt about that.

  “Can you?” Debbie asked. “Are you angry enough to murder someone? Look at what you did before. You put killers in the nick, banged up for life. You were on the side of the law. Can you step over the line even more than you have by selling sex?”

  “I’m scared enough,” Lavender admitted. “I’ve been running for three years. Okay, not running as such, but looking over my shoulder. I left a profession I loved, couldn’t think of what to do for a job, then I thought of a woman called Princess, how she was in plain sight on the street corner yet invisible at the same time, and that gave me the idea of what to do for work. Plus, the things I had to do with Robins and his men… May as well be a whore.”

  Debbie winced. “Whore. It sounds so…nasty.”

  “You know what I mean. But to answer your que
stion—who knows if I could do it? I haven’t seen Robins or the like since I walked out of my old life. In my head, yes. In my dreams, definitely. Who’s to say what I’ll feel like if I came face to face with him. I might shit myself or get so arsey I clobber him one.”

  She was more likely to be afraid, knowing how he worked, what he could do to her. She’d hit him, and he’d produce a gun, press it to her temple, and pull the trigger without a second thought.

  She’d seen him do it.

  Debbie leant her head back. “From experience, I can tell you anger takes over. You think of what they did, how it affected you, and this…this rage fills you, guides you. I stabbed Mickey and Harry—I cut Mickey’s dick off, for fuck’s sake—and I enjoyed it, every minute. But I’m a good person, a nice bird, and wouldn’t hurt a fly normally. You learn a lot about yourself when you become a murderer. Some things you don’t like to confront—mine is the enjoyment—then there’s the niggle in the back of your mind that even with The Brothers helping, all trace of the dead person gone, the police could still come after you. Can you deal with that side of it, too? You’ll still be looking over your shoulder either way.”

  “It can’t be worse than worrying about Robins and his men finding me. This is why I’m so moody all the time, come off as uptight. I’m on the edge constantly.”

  “I did wonder why you were a grumpy cow.” Debbie smiled.

  Lavender laughed. The times she’d wanted to let herself go, enjoy her hours with the girls at work, showing them she was fun. But she’d had to hold back, becoming a new person. If she was known around here as sour, it wouldn’t gel with the version of herself she’d been before.

  She’d started on the corner, then Debbie had approached her with a space in the parlour, and Lavender had grabbed the chance to hide. Her time out on the street had been fraught with anxiety, and she was frightened one of his men would roll up in a car and bundle her inside. Yet still she’d worked there, basically taunting him: Here I am, look, out in the open. Come and get me.

  Was she sick in the head or something? Why want to hide but show yourself? Why turn to selling sex?