Handcuffs, Truncheon and a Polyester Thong, page 13
“Come here sweetheart, let’s get you in the car.” Wrapping my jacket around her, I bundled her into the back seat and sat next to her so I could rub some warmth back into her arms.
Wiping her face with her sleeve she bit her bottom lip as her chin wobbled.
“Me Mum’s sick and I’ve got no nappies or milk for the baby, I didn’t know what to do ‘cept phone you.” The tears began to flow again.
I looked at Shirley who was shaking her head as she leant forward to turn the dial on the dash. “Here you go poppet, I’ve put the heating up for you.”
The warm air blasted out as I cuddled Amy closer to me. She had the lingering odour of dirt in her hair, on her skin and her clothes. It was 2:15 in the morning for God’s sake; this poor kid had been wandering the streets in the pouring rain. “Where’s your Mum now, is she still at home?” I gently coaxed.
She nodded and tucked a wet strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s wiv me bruvvers and me baby sister.”
“How old are they Amy?”
She thought for a moment. “I’m six, Jamie’s four and me younger bruvvers two, got a baby sister too. Annie was borned in June.”
I counted off the months. That made the baby just five months old. “AM21, AM21 are you free to speak.”
“Yep, go ahead Heidi.”
My heart sank as Heidi continued.
“They’ve previously been on the At Risk register with Social Services, combination of alcohol and drug dependence with the mother and no father on the scene.”
The radio fell silent.
“Think we’d better go pronto Mave, if the mother’s sick the kids are on their own.”
Shirley pulled away, tyres juddering to find purchase on the wet road as we sped towards the address.
It was a mid-terraced house, just like any normal house. A blue door, grey nets at the window, chalked graffiti on the red brick, which was pretty standard for the area.
As I pushed open the door, I quickly realised that nothing I had dealt with so far could prepare me for what was inside. Climbing over discarded newspapers and black bin bags spilling rotten food onto the uncarpeted hall floor, I tried hard not to actually touch anything as the dried brown streaks smeared on the walls gave off the distinctive smell of excrement. The stench was unbearable; my boots stuck to something tacky on the floor.
Amy’s mother was sprawled out on the sofa in the first room I came to. She wasn’t sick; she was drugged up to the max. Used hypodermic needles were scattered nearby and empty bottles of cider littered the floor. I shook her awake.
“Uggh warra youse want? Just fuck off, piss off out me ‘owse.” She dropped her head back down onto the sofa, oblivious to anything else.
I needed to find the children.
Pushing open the second door in the hallway, in the dim light I could make out two little boys huddled together on a mattress on the floor, dressed in filthy soiled clothing. The baby was lying, eyes open but not moving in a battered old cot in the far corner. The silence from them was hauntingly cruel. No sobs, no cries, nothing. Just an eerie, dark undertone. I brushed the baby’s cheek with my finger looking for a response. She grabbed it and curled her own little fingers around it. Scooping her out of the cot, trying not to baulk from the smell of this tiny room, I pressed my radio.
“Heidi, get Supervision here urgently and Ambo for the kids, they seem okay, but they need checking.
All around the house was evidence that Amy had been trying so hard to look after her brothers and baby sister. She had positioned a chair by the cupboard and fridge so that she could reach them for food. This was so futile as they were empty, apart from two bottles of cider on the middle shelf of the fridge along with a small lump of fur-covered cheese, wedged in between.
This was wrong, so very wrong. Children were here to be loved, cherished and protected. I’d seen animals in better living conditions than this.
Leaning against the wall as I rocked Annie in my arms, I allowed a tear to escape and trickle down my cheek.
This is what I meant Mum, this is the reality. THIS is the loss of innocence.
These kids probably didn’t even know that there should be a Father Christmas, let alone know he didn’t actually exist. My radio crackled into life.
“Mavis, Duty Inspector’s on scene, he’s coming in to see you.” I clicked my radio and acknowledged Heidi.
Wiping the heel of my hand across my cheek, I clenched my teeth. It wouldn’t do for anyone to see me like this.
Inspector Kellet slipped the signed paperwork into the red folder and handed it to me. “I’ve authorised an Emergency Protection Order Mavis, Social Services have been notified, we’re just waiting on a crisis placement for the children.” I tucked it under my arm.
“Thanks Sir, what’s happening with the mother?”
“Don and Bob are taking care of that side of things, she’s been arrested, she’s on her way to the Bridewell now. Didn’t go without a fight though.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say, I was struggling with a mixture of anger and despair. How, in this day and age, could this happen? They were babies, isn’t it a mother’s job to protect her babies?
A few hours later, in convoy, we took Amy, Jamie, Christopher and Annie from the hospital to their emergency foster home. They were bathed and given clean nightwear and the little ones were settled down to sleep. I held Amy’s hand as she opened the door to her own bedroom. Bending down to her level, I took her dressing gown off.
“This is where you’ll be staying Amy, you’re only in the next room to the others so don’t worry.”
Eyes wide with wonder, she quickly scanned the room, taking in the single bed, the pretty pink night lamp and framed pictures of Peter Rabbit on the walls. She put her little hands on the clean sheets of the bed, smiling as she bent down to smell them.
“It’s flowers, it smells of flowers, can I really sleep here?”
Her bottom lip began to quiver. As I wrapped my arms around her and held her to me, she began to cry. Not big heaving sobs or noisy wails, but the most distressing cry of all. The silent cry, a cry that signals despair and defeat. She still loved and missed her Mummy, regardless of the obvious neglect, but she was torn with loyalty, fear and apprehension.
She snuggled into me, her head on my shoulder, leaving a wet trail of tears on my neck.
In the tiniest of voices, she whispered “Thank you, lady.”
I felt a surge of anger mixed with an overwhelming desire to cry with her, but I was a Police Officer, I was here to make things right, to be strong.
We don’t cry do we?
In reality I knew that I had separated an already fractured and damaged family and what lay ahead for Amy, her baby sister and two little brothers was now in the hands of the Courts and Social Services. We had done our duty, it was time for them to do theirs, to hopefully give one little girl and her family a safe and happy ending.
I tucked Amy into her bed and told her a magic story of Princesses and Castles, kings and Queens…
“…and they all lived happily ever after…”
With her eyes closed, her breathing gentle and rhythmic, I tiptoed out, closing the door behind me.
As I left the house I looked up at her bedroom window.
Please God take care of her.
A slight movement from the curtains caught my attention, and there she was, waving to me, holding the teddy bear I had given her.
I blew a kiss, got into my car, closed the door and wept.
28
A Dead End Job
Six rest days off after nights signalled lots of Ella & me time. This was even more poignant as I kept returning to the incident with Amy and looking at comparisons between her and Ella. I knew it was going to be one of those jobs that would stay with me for my whole career.
“Right you little monkey, come and sit here for a cuddle, I’ve got crisps, Twiglets and Chocolate Buttons.”
Ella’s face lit up as she bounced on the sofa next to me. Clicking the video remote I started the film. Our favourite. Mary Poppins.
Ella crunched a Twiglet and pointed the remaining bit at me.
“Mum, have you ever seen a dead person yet, you know a real dead humung beening?”
I tried not to laugh.
“It’s human being Ella, erm no, not yet but that’s a strange thing to want to know.” She shrugged her shoulders as her hand disappeared into the Twiglet bag.
“I just wondered if they had wings when you found them or do they come later?”
Jeez, questions on Theology, I could only spell the word, not have an in depth discussion on it.
“I’m not sure I get what you mean sweetheart.”
“Oh nuffink’ I just thought it would make it hard to get them out of the front door if they were dead AND had a huge pair of wings. Can I have another Twiglet?”
…and with that the conversation on dead people was over.
“Neighbour from No. 32 is reporting he hasn’t seen the old lady next door for several days Mavis; voters show an Alice Creighton, 87 years.”
I groaned. Thanks Ella!
No sooner does she mention something, it happens. I’d avoided the optional Post Mortem visit during my early probation as I didn’t quite fancy savouring my breakfast twice in one day. After all, I wasn’t going to be the one that had to bloody dissect them. I just needed to know how to deal with finding them.
Standing in front of the dull black door to No. 34, the abode of the unseen Mrs Creighton my heart sank. The backlog of newspapers and milk bottles could mean only one thing.
Grimacing, my stomach did a huge flip in anticipation of finding someone just a little bit dead for the first time. To be honest, unless someone has ever taken the opportunity to actually keel over and expire in front of you, the chances of seeing a dead body are probably few and far between. I lifted the letterbox, had a discreet sniff and baulked. Yep, something smelt very dead inside the little terraced house.
“Here yer are love, it’s her spare key, use this.”
The kindly neighbour proffered the shiny bit of metal on a piece of string to me. I looked at it, looked at him and looked at the front door. It was at this exact moment I realised that I was the one wearing a uniform, and as such, I was probably expected to do something about the unseen Mrs Creighton.
Why couldn’t I have worked at Sainsbury’s, they never have to find dead people do they?
I let that thought hover in the air before slipping the key into the lock, tentatively turning it and stepping through the door. I glanced back to a sea of faces belonging to the concerned neighbours outside, watching in a medley of keen anticipation and sheer nosiness.
Just on the remote chance that there was anyone alive to hear it, although I did seriously doubt it judging by the smell, I loudly announced my arrival in a quivering voice.
“Mrs Creighton, Mrs Creighton, it’s the Police Mrs Creighton.”
No reply, nothing. Not even a whisper.
I carried on along the hallway, checking each room in turn. There was no sign of Mrs Creighton but in the kitchen I found a pan of some awful smelling gunk on the old enamel gas stove. The furry growth on the top had been fermenting for some considerable time. I held my breath, this was going from bad to worse. I tried again.
“Mrs Creighton, don’t panic, it’s the Police, just need to know you’re okay.”
Silence.
I began to climb the staircase, picking my feet through the threadbare runner, sweeping my fingers along the dark brown bannister. I just knew I was going to find her rather deceased somewhere upstairs.
Oh please God don’t let her be all horribly… well you know what I mean… just make her sort of fresh…ish…!
The first bedroom was empty apart from an old 1930s wardrobe, several dead flies on the ledge of the cast-iron fireplace and a commode. Motes of dust whipped up, catching in the muted sunlight from the window. Coughing I closed the door. Creeping out onto the landing, I put my very sweaty hand on the door handle to the second bedroom, pausing long enough to control my breathing as my heart threatened to explode through my shirt.
I turned and pushed. The door creaked open…
… and there, lying in bed amongst her pink rayon sheets and green polyester quilt, mouth wide open and eyes hooded was Mrs Creighton.
Very grey, very still, very cold and very, very smelly…
…and in my expert opinion… just a little bit dead!
I froze.
Oh faark I’ve got a dead body. A real life dead body. My first.
Panic ensued. Think Mavis, think, what did they teach you a Bruche? For a split second I didn’t care what they had told me at Police Training college, it didn’t matter. All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there…
…and then I remembered. It all came flooding back, I knew exactly what I had to do.
My priority was to confirm that there was no output from Mrs Creighton, no breath, no pulse, nothing that could be resuscitated, no signs of life.
Way to go Mavis.
I held my breath and walked gingerly over to the bed, jumping as the floorboards creaked. Oh blimey, facial hair. Mrs Creighton has facial hair. I hesitated, wondering if she still had her false teeth in, which in turn reminded me of Marj at our first aid classes. A quick glance at the bedside cabinet confirmed that her teeth were accounted for, floating in a disgusting yellowy green glass of err, something. Fantastic that was all I needed. I’d never get a good seal around her mouth for CPR if it was caving in through lack of teeth. The thought of shiny gums and spit made me feel sick.
Taking hold of her limp wrist, I bent over her to check for any signs of life.
As I tentatively move closer to her face, I paused waiting to see if any air was being expelled from her nose. The hairs on her top lip remained static. Oh dear. I moved in closer, my own breath barely perceptible … and suddenly her eyes shot wide open.
A low moan drifted from her mouth as she sat bolt upright in bed. Letting out an almighty screech akin to a banshee, she flailed her arms in the air.
“What the fuck are you doing in me bedroom?”
I screamed.
Mrs Creighton screamed…
…and I legged it out of the bedroom in sheer terror, flying down the stairs, missing several steps as I went.
The neighbours, fearful of my findings and the wailing from inside the house, crossed themselves in Godly reverence before disappearing back into their own houses as I fell over the door mat, landing sprawled out on the pavement. Standing alone outside, I gathered what was left of my dignity and quietly meditated my predicament before forcing myself to return inside the House of Horrors.
I made Mrs Creighton a cup of tea, washed her dishes and contacted a relative to advise them she had been suffering from a rather awful bout of influenza, aggravated by a Night Nurse induced coma.
Plumping the pillow behind her, I folded back her quilt and handed her a bowl of chicken soup the next door neighbour had brought round.
“Here you go, that’ll make you feel better Mrs Creighton.” She grumbled, sniffed, tasted the soup and let the spoon rattle back into the bowl. “D’ya know what would really make me feel better?”
I was mesmerised by the flake of chicken adhered to her top lip as her tongue snaked up trying to dislodge it.
“Anything, just say and I’ll see if I can sort it for you,” I gently crooned.
“I’d feel a whole lot better if you’d just fuck right off – and don’t let the door smack you on the arse on the way out!”
Back at the nick I filled in my report on Mrs Creighton before going off duty, still stinging from her ingratitude and gobsmacked that an 87-year-old lady could actually know, let alone use, the F-word.
“There you go then Mave…” Bob dunked his biscuit in the chipped mug, brought it up to his mouth with seconds to spare before it drooped, “…it’s the four S’s, you should’ve known that!”
I closed my notebook. “What on earth has sun, sea, sand and sex got to do with an ungrateful old biddy with Tourette’s?”
He grinned, cramming the rest of his biscuit into his mouth. “Nope, it stands for not all Shitty Smells Sniffed Are Stiffs…!”
29
A Coupon For Jayne Mansfield’s Bra
“I’ve been thinking lately… you know, about Dad. Have you really never heard from him since he left?” I curled a piece of hair nervously around my finger and stared intently at Mum.
I waited.
She picked up her oversized blue leather handbag from the side of the chair and using it as a distraction technique she began to rummage around in the bottom, almost disappearing from sight as her head plunged further into the depths.
“Mum!”
She looked up. Guilty? Chastised? Embarrassed? Hurt? Her face was trying to tell me something, but what it was I couldn’t tell.
“It was a long time ago Mavis, you, Michael and Connie were just babies. He’s never been a part of our lives and there’s really no reason why he should be now.”
Her lips were set in a thin line. Now that was one look I did recognise. I wondered if I should keep trying or let it slide. She was right, I knew that, but curiosity was getting the better of me, and for some strange reason, after all these years, I was beginning to feel a sense of loss. How could a man walk out on his wife and three young children and never look back?
“There’s not much to tell, he got up one morning, went out to fetch the morning paper and that was it, he just didn’t come home. He always had the wanderlust your Dad, he was a roamer before I met him, Merchant Navy did that to him. I was surprised that he actually wanted to settle down at all.”
I moved to sit on the edge of the armchair as soon as I saw her blue eyes glisten with the onset of tears. Once again she delved into her handbag and pulled out her handkerchief with a flourish.
