Faceless Page 5

  But then Marie had also killed her.

  As Lucy placed her coat in her locker, Karen was waiting as usual these days. She was big all over, all double chins and flabby belly. As she walked her legs seemed to meet at the knees from the weight and she looked as if she was going to drop to the floor at any moment. Her hair was permed, badly, and her teeth were yellowing. She always had a smell about her, a mixture of cigarettes and cats. As she leant on the lockers she looked like a grotesque parody of a good-time girl, though considering her cousin’s sad demise Lucy felt it might not be diplomatic to mention this fact.

  Puffing deep on a Raffles cigarette, Karen blew the smoke into Lucy’s face. It was a heavy stream, blown with gusto, and she closed her eyes tightly at the onslaught.

  ‘Seen your sister lately?’

  Lucy sighed heavily.

  ‘No. And before you ask, Karen, I won’t be seeing her. I loathe her, can’t you understand that? I know what she did, and I hate her for it. I liked Bethany. So why you keep wanting to hassle me, I really don’t know. But if makes you feel better then go for it.’

  As she went to pass Karen a heavy push knocked her backwards. Lucy was shocked by the force of the attack and it showed on her face. The hand holding the cigarette was raised and for a split second Lucy thought Karen was going to stub it out on her face; she was capable of it. Instead she poked it towards her victim menacingly as she spoke.

  ‘You tell your sister I am going to smash her fucking face in, right? Tell your mum and your dad, too, and make sure Marie gets the message. I ain’t scared of her. I ain’t scared of no one. You remember that. Bethany’s kids are without her while your sister is walking round with normal people, having a life. Well, I will see that she pays properly for what she did.’

  Lucy could feel terror welling up inside her.

  ‘I hope you do find her, Karen. If I find out where she is, I’ll let you know, OK?’

  Karen smiled then.

  ‘But you can find out where she is, can’t you? Being her sister, like.’

  Lucy realised then exactly what Karen wanted. She wanted to set her sister up for a beating, and knowing Karen, a serious one.

  ‘How am I supposed to do that?’

  ‘You ring the parole board, probation, whatever, and tell them you want to meet her. I’ll take it from there.’

  ‘You want me to set Marie up? Blatantly set her up?’ Lucy’s voice was incredulous. ‘That’s a nicking for the lot of us, you included.’

  Karen saw the logic of what she was saying.

  ‘I suppose I can find out where she is and let you know without setting up any meeting. What you do after that is your business,’ Lucy said slowly.

  Karen grinned.

  ‘Fancy a cuppa?’

  Her fierce expression was changing by the second. Now she had what she wanted she was her old amiable self again. As they walked to the canteen Karen grabbed Lucy tightly in a head lock. The stench was overpowering. It was a jokey gesture outwardly but was Karen’s way of letting her know who was the stronger. The message was heard loud and clear.

  Lucy would happily set her sister up for a bit of righteous retribution if it kept Karen Black off her own back for the foreseeable future.

  Mrs Harper was a trial but Kevin felt he was well able for her. He was building a small extension on to her kitchen and it felt like he was undertaking the construction of the Sistine Chapel. Her Irish accent grated on him now. This was the longest job in recorded history. Or at least it felt like it anyway.

  ‘Do you think I should move the sink at all?’

  Kevin sighed.

  ‘The sink is better off at the window. Give you a bit of a view when you’re washing up, eh?’

  He smiled as he looked out over her twenty-three-foot garden and into the home that backed on to it.

  ‘But won’t I have the dishwasher?’

  Kevin looked at the ceiling and took a deep breath.

  ‘You will still use the sink, though, won’t you?’

  Silently he cursed her, as he cursed his wife and everyone he could think of. It was nearly time to go home and he couldn’t wait. It was Thursday and that meant steak and eggs, his favourite meal of the week. With thick bread and butter it slipped down a treat.

  But along with the food he would have Louise’s whining and never-ending saga of Marie and what she might do, could already have done or might be considering doing in the future. It was driving him mad. As much as he loved his daughter and he did, though he could only admit that in the privacy of his own thoughts, her release had opened up a real can of worms. But for all the upset, he was glad she was out.

  The thought of her locked up all those years had preyed on his mind. Every Christmas had been like a knife in his ribs as he wondered what she was doing, if she was enjoying herself. As they had sat down to dinner he had wondered what she was eating. Did she get any cards, gifts, whatever?

  Although what she had done was terrible, she was still a person, still his daughter, and she had been a drug addict. That was something everyone conveniently forgot. Marie was so out of it in those days she didn’t know the day of the week most of the time. He remembered how she would prowl the streets looking for a dealer. It was an illness, whatever people wanted to think. But it was a self-inflicted illness.

  He began to get his tools together and heard a theatrical sigh from Mrs Harper. Well, she could go and boil her shite. He had had enough for one day. Ten minutes later he was sinking a large brandy in the pub.

  Cissy Wellbeck walked over to him and he forced himself to smile. She was all right, was Cissy, but he wasn’t in the mood for her at the moment.

  ‘Can I have a word in private, like?’

  He nodded, had no choice. If Cissy wanted to talk to him she would.

  ‘Marie was down the market today.’

  The words had the effect of a bucket of cold water thrown over him. At least Cissy had dropped her voice. Usually she sounded like a fog horn.

  ‘So?’

  He didn’t know what else to say to her. Louise would have been well able with a put-down, but it wasn’t his style.

  Cissy poked her large moon face at him.

  ‘Look, Kev, I ain’t trying to add to your burdens but Marie is not exactly flavour of the month round here. You know that without me having to spell it out. All I’m saying is, have a word with her. There are still a lot of people who feel she ain’t paid the right price for what she did. Personally I think they were all as bad as one another. Accidents waiting to happen, the three of them. But she’s taking a big risk showing her boatrace round the market. Caroline’s mother still has a stall there and if she sees her . . .’

  Cissy left the rest of the sentence unspoken.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Have a word.’

  He smiled grimly.

  ‘I can’t have a word, as you put it. We fucked her off out of it. We don’t even know where she is.’

  Cissy shrugged.

  ‘Fair enough. I’ll keep it to meself, but others must have recognised her too.’

  ‘Well, if they did that’s their problem, ain’t it?’

  Cissy looked into his eyes and felt sad for the man before her. She could see the misery inside him. Knew that Marie had been his favourite. She had been a good kid, old Marie. But the drugs had taken their toll, as drugs and drink are wont to do. Whether alcohol or smack, eventually it destroys whoever is involved with it.

  ‘It’s no good getting the fuck with me, Kevin. I’m only trying to avert a disaster. I knew it was pointless talking to Lou about it, so I thought I would mention it to you.’

  He gripped her arm gently.

  ‘I’m sorry, Cissy. But since she’s been released it’s brought it all back, you know?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I know, mate. I know. But if she wants lynching, she’s come to the right place. Too many long memories here. You know that as well as I do.’

  He watched her
walk away. She wasn’t a bad old stick really. Lou hated her even though she spoke to her. But if Marie was back in the area his wife was going to go berserk. Maybe he should visit his daughter. Put her wise, like. Without Louise knowing, of course.

  It was a good idea. It would give him a bona fide reason to see Marie, and if Lou found out he could always say he went to see Marie for her. To stop Lou getting grief. To stop Marie going to the market and stirring up trouble.

  He knew he was a coward, but with Lou being like she was it was the only way he could see his child.

  And he wanted to see her desperately.

  Marie listened with half an ear to the woman at the Job Centre. She had heard it all before, she knew better than anyone that the chances of her getting a real job were nil, but she went through with the charade anyway.

  It had taken her four years to go from A-category, lockup, to D-category, open prison, and then another year before she had been able to hit the pavement. Her life had been decided by a panel of police and probation officers and social workers. People she knew would be looking over her shoulder for the rest of her life. If she changed jobs, they had to know. If she moved, they had to be told. If she shat more than twice in one day . . . She could not even get into an argument like normal people. If she caused any kind of disturbance she was back inside and forced to finish her sentence. Even an unpaid parking ticket could get her locked up for years.

  She forced the thoughts from her mind but it was wearing, this constant vigilance. Keeping your natural reactions under close check. She daren’t even argue with anyone because then she could be straight back inside, and maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  Now she was out she could see that her real climb back to normal living was going to be harder than anything she had ever accomplished before. But she listened politely because it made life easier. That was the first thing she had learned twelve years ago. Listen, and listen, and listen. Whether it was to a screw, the Governor, or another prisoner. Keep a still tongue and smile or frown as required. It made life much easier in the long run.

  She was brought back to the present by the bombshell dropped by the woman sitting opposite her.

  ‘Mr Jarvis is willing to give you a go. He knows your history, remembers reading about it, and he knows also that he is getting you and your skills cheap. But beggars can’t be choosers, eh?’

  Marie forced herself to smile politely, but the urge to tell this woman what to do with her job and her condescending attitude was almost overwhelming.

  The woman handed her a piece of paper with an address in East London.

  ‘He wants someone to do the wages and generally run his office for him. I think you will be more than up to it but he won’t pay you very well. Five pounds an hour max.’

  Five minutes later Marie was walking along a busy road and pondering what the woman had said.

  It was a job and she needed one. Needed something to fill in the time which was lying heavy on her hands. It was in an office, which she wanted. Factory work was too personal. People in factories knew each other’s lives intimately, and camaraderie and back biting didn’t really appeal to her. No, a small office would do for her, and Mr Jarvis had a small office by all accounts.

  As Marie jumped on a bus she felt lighter than she had for a long while, for all she knew she could earn more in a few hours back in her old life than she would in a week with Mr Jarvis.

  But that was in the past, when money had been the be-all and end-all of her existence. Money for skag, brown, shit, whatever epithet you wanted to put on heroin. She was assailed once more with fractured memories of strange men, strange cars, and the sickly smell of unwashed male bodies. She went quiet inside as she had taught herself to do when such memories flooded her being.

  That was the past. What she needed to get herself was a future.

  Tiffany was dressed and ready to go when the doorbell rang. It was Carole Halter and her sidekick Mary Bragg. She let them in and made them a quick coffee.

  ‘Where’s Anastasia?’

  ‘Me mate’s got her till the morning. I’m off on a job interview.’

  The two women looked at her in the skimpy school uniform and smiled.

  ‘You look about twelve in that!’

  Tiffany grinned.

  ‘I ain’t got me make-up on yet, and I will have to blow soon. What do you want?’

  Carole blew out her lips, making a raspberry sound.

  ‘Could you borrow me a ton? Just till the weekend, like.’

  ‘Look, Carole, if I had it I’d give it to you, but I really ain’t got it.’

  Carole looked deflated, all her good humour leaving her in an instant. She shook her head sorrowfully.

  ‘All I done for you . . .’

  Tiffany had heard it before, but she didn’t interrupt the woman.

  ‘I didn’t tell your mum where you were. I lied for you. Lied through me teeth to me oldest mate for you. Told her no one knew where you were. I lied to a murderer for you, and you can’t see your way clear to lending me a few quid.’

  The whine in the older woman’s voice was annoying and unnecessary.

  ‘I ain’t got it . . .’

  Carole stood up as if to leave.

  ‘Well, if you ain’t got it . . .’

  ‘I can let you have thirty quid, but that’s all I’ve got. I’ll leave meself short.’

  As she said it Tiffany cursed herself. She would have to get the fucking bus in a school uniform now. Or try and borrow some dosh herself.

  But Carole was her only link with the past and she needed that sometimes. Though why, she wasn’t sure. Maybe it was true, the old saying that blood was thicker than water. She still wanted to feel that her mother was close by even if she didn’t actually want to see her in the flesh, and over the years Marie’s old pal Carole had provided that contact with the past Tiffany seemed to crave. As she handed over the money she knew she wouldn’t see Carole for a few weeks. She never did when she was owed money. Carole was scum with a capital S. But she had been there for Tiffany when she was younger and she owed her for that much at least.

  When they had gone she went into Anastasia’s room and opened the little girl’s piggy bank. As she emptied it she felt shame wash over her like a blanket of sweaty heat.

  But she would replace it, she would, and if she got this job it would be back before the weekend.

  At least that’s what she told herself.

  Alan Jarvis surveyed the woman in front of him with a smile.

  ‘Coffee . . . tea?’

  Marie was so nervous she could hear her heartbeat.

  ‘No, thank you.’

  She sat down when he offered her a chair; noticed that he watched as she crossed her legs.

  He was a good-looking man in his early fifties, tall and well-built if inclined to fat. She guessed he ate properly to stop himself piling it on. He had nice eyes, but was full-lipped which made him look as if he had sex on his mind constantly. Years ago she would have booked him as a good punter.

  The thought made her tremble.

  He could, to all intents and purposes, have been a punter.

  That bothered her more now she was out than it had when she had been inside. To acknowledge that there had been a time in her life when the filthiest of old men would have been worth a trick to get a few quid preyed on her mind.

  She had that same feeling now she had hated then. Receiving that once-over look men had always given her made her feel she was still the old Marie, the one who would do anything for money.

  His office was a Portakabin full of pornographic calendars and the usual crap collected by men who had no real understanding of the female mind, let alone body. He was sad and he knew it and she knew.

  The old Marie would have overlooked it all, done whatever he wanted for the cash. Not the new one. The new improved version, like the washing-powder adverts claimed, was stain-free these days. But it took just one look to bring all the shame and humiliation right bac
k.

  ‘I understand you want the wages and PAYE doing. What else is in the job description?’

  He smiled again, a lascivious smile that made him look ridiculous.

  ‘What else do you want to do, love?’

  She stared at him with cold blue eyes. Quiet again, she knew that eventually she would unnerve him. She carried on staring at him and saw confusion first and then embarrassment in his eyes.

  ‘Let’s start again, shall we?’

  She didn’t answer him, just raised one eyebrow a fraction.

  He pretended to read her CV this time.

  ‘I see you have a degree in English literature.’

  He glanced up at her as he spoke and she nodded.

  ‘For all the good it will do me. But it made the time pass. Reading is a big hobby in prison, as I am sure you appreciate.’

  Mentioning prison first was a good gambit for her and she realised it immediately.

  ‘Long time, I understand?’

  ‘Nearly thirteen years including remand. I was cat-A, locked up, and eventually went down cats until I was allowed out. Now here I am, in your office, looking for a job. Time is a funny thing, Mr Jarvis. You think it will never pass but it does. And the next thing you know, a whole new life is opening up before you.’

  It was the right thing to say.

  He looked ashamed and also relieved that she had put her cards on the table. She knew it had suddenly occurred to him that he was trying to banter with a woman who had already killed twice.

  She smiled and the expression completely changed her face.

  ‘Look, Mr Jarvis, you know what I was imprisoned for - it was a nine-days wonder at the time. But if you give me this job I will work hard for you and can promise I will do whatever is necessary to keep this office running smoothly. I am over-qualified for this job, but as the woman at the Job Centre pointed out, beggars can’t be choosers.’

  ‘Do you know anything about the scrap metal business?’

  Marie grinned.

  ‘No, sir. But I am willing to learn.’

  He looked into her open face, remembering the photos of her in the papers. The Sun had said she was a murderer with the face of an angel, and they were right for once. She had the blonde good looks that many women envied. She had a good bone structure and with the right clothes could be a stunner.