Someone Who Isn't Me, page 3
Before Dev could extend the discussion – which wasn’t going to get them anywhere – she collected her files and made her escape, making it back to the car just as a traffic warden hove into view. She pulled out into the traffic, ignoring a few angry horns as she did so – if you waited for a space, you’d never get out – and drove to her favourite greasy spoon, where she had an egg sandwich and a huge mug of tea to marshal her resources for the day ahead.
But by the time her third appointment was finished, her resources had just about run out. It was almost three. Each appointment had overrun – which was par for the course – and there had been no time for a break or for any lunch. On the other hand, she was feeling optimistic. The delinquent Kyle had admitted to using pills again, but seemed ready to have another go once Kay spelled out the options to him, and the new client, Jassy, seemed well-motivated.
She ate an energy bar as she drove to her last appointment with Poppy. Kay braced herself. Things might look good on paper, but something was wrong. Poppy was starting to slip back, and Kay had to catch her before she slipped too far.
Parking on Poppy’s road was always difficult, so Kay parked on the main road and took her stuff out of the back, hoping her car would be too scruffy to interest any passing twoccers. She checked her backpack. All the folders were there – you didn’t leave confidential stuff in the car – and what she thought of as her teenage revival kit; cans of coke, cigarettes, sweets – the kind of stuff that had got her through doors in the past, and was always useful for navigating sticky periods in support sessions.
Poppy lived in a shared house in a run-down part of the city. It was an area full of industrial sheds, takeaways, budget food shops, bookies.
A steady stream of traffic flowed past her. The air made her skin smart and there was a chemical taste in her mouth. She was the only pedestrian, walking briskly along the cracked pavement. And yet there were green spaces – a patch of wasteland where a building had been demolished colonised by brambles and dandelions, an old car park, virtually empty, where weeds were forcing their way through the concrete, a buddleia clinging on to a cracked gutter.
She was in the edge lands, spaces where the urban sprawl began to decay, and nature, battered and struggling, began its fight back.
And where people who had lost their way might find a place to survive.
She turned onto the road where Poppy lived. It was a dark street, aligned so it never seemed to get the sun. On one corner there was a vacant, weed-filled space, and on the other side of the road a grey industrial shed. As she walked along the pavement, she passed houses with all the obvious signs of multiple occupancy – uncared-for gardens, overflowing bins, tatty curtains pulled across windows even during the day.
Kay came to the last house. The window was covered with what looked like an old blanket. The gate to the gennel that led to the back of the houses was hanging off its hinges. Looking down the passage, she saw a bike, quite a powerful one, against the wall.
She knocked on the door and waited, her hand poised to knock again. After a few minutes, it opened a crack, and a Poppy’s face peered cautiously round it. She was yawning and rubbing her eyes. ‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’
She was like a flower in the middle of a scrapyard, her fair hair hanging in tangled curls round her shoulders, her face pink and white as if she had just woken up.
‘It’s our appointment,’ Kay said.
‘Oh. Yeah. Look, I’m a bit… I think I’ve got the flu, you know, so…’ Poppy made no attempt to open the door further; in fact, she looked ready to close it in Kay’s face.
Alcohol flu, pill flu or worse? It didn’t look good and Kay wasn’t leaving until she found out more. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Let’s have a cup of tea.’ She smiled and moved towards the door, as if she had no idea Poppy didn’t want to let her in. Poppy, after a moment’s hesitation, stood back from the door and pulled it open. She was wearing a pair of loose shorts, an oversized T-shirt with the slogan ‘The Sorting Hat Said Broadmoor’ on the front, and not much else. Her bare feet were grubby, but they had the pink plumpness of a child’s.
There was a sour smell as Kay stepped through the door. The corridor was bare boards with a random carpeting of mail – junk, official-looking envelopes, free newspapers. Kay suppressed the urge to pick it up and sort it. They usually had their meetings upstairs, where Poppy had made herself an attractive bedsit amid the general squalor. Today, however, Poppy led her into the small kitchen at the back of the house and snapped the light on, illuminating a sink full of scummy liquid and a draining board piled high with unwashed cups and plates. Trays and wrapping from past takeaways were strewn across the table, and falling out of the over-full bin. Kay noticed, but didn’t comment on, screwed up foil on the table and a spoon scorched black underneath. Her heart sank.
There was a horrible smell, partly like something gone off and partly like an uncared-for public toilet. Kay tried not to let her reactions show on her face, but Poppy must have seen something because she said, ‘Ew. It smells like Greg’s been peeing in the sink again.’ The look she gave Kay was a challenge.
‘I wondered what it was,’ Kay said mildly, mentally deleting Greg, whoever he was, from her list of future house guests. What else had gone wrong? Poppy never paid much attention to the rest of the house, but she was always fastidious in her own space, keeping her room and the adjacent bathroom clean and attractive. Kay sat down at the table and Poppy, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down too.
‘Tea?’ Kay asked. Poppy nodded and looked vaguely round. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve brought some with me,’ Kay added, getting out her flask.
As she poured tea and offered Poppy a handful of the sugar sachets she’d collected from various cafés, there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Poppy tensed as the footsteps came along the corridor.
‘There you are. I thought I said…’ The woman who came into the kitchen stopped speaking abruptly as she saw Kay. She was tall and model-slim with long, fair hair. Her face was half-concealed by dark glasses and a scarf draped with precise carelessness around her neck. It was hard to estimate her age. At first glance, Kay put her in her twenties but as she studied the woman’s face, she realised she was probably in her forties.
‘Who are you?’ Her voice had the huskiness of the habitual smoker.
‘I’m Poppy’s support worker,’ Kay said. ‘Kay McKinnon. And you’re…?’
Poppy looked at the two of them, clearing her throat, her hands tearing a tissue into small pieces, and when the other woman didn’t speak, she offered, ‘This is Leesha.’
The woman spoke to Poppy, not Kay. ‘This is what you’ve got instead of Xanthe?’ She lit a cigarette and took a long pull. ‘I think I preferred the original.’
It wasn’t remotely funny, but Poppy glanced at Kay, then at the woman, and giggled dutifully. Leesha turned slightly to exclude Kay. ‘Are they digging them up now or what?’ Poppy gave that same nervous giggle. It was the way the playground bully cuts the victim off by enlisting the support of others. Kay could tell that whatever hold this Leesha woman had on Poppy, Poppy wasn’t going to go against her. Whatever this woman wanted, Poppy would do it.
Retreat? Come back when the field was clear? It went against her nature, but sometimes it was the best—
Poppy slumped at the table, her face looking paler, shining with the faint sheen of sweat. ‘Are you all right?’ Kay said, anxious at this sudden change.
‘I’m thirsty,’ Poppy said. She pushed the cup of tea away. ‘This tastes like shit.’ The freshness had gone from her face. The debris on the table – the scorched spoon, the tinfoil wraps – coupled with Poppy’s sudden collapse told Kay all she needed to know. Poppy had been on opioids when Tania’s House had taken her on, her engagement with the charity being one of the conditions placed on her by the court when she was arrested and convicted of possession.
This, to Kay, looked like severe withdrawal. If Poppy was back on hard drugs, she would be back to full-scale addiction very quickly. She was also in breach of her probation, which could have serious consequences. Kay had to stand her ground and fight.
Before Leesha could speak, Kay reached into her backpack again. ‘Have some of this.’ She produced a bottle of water and a can of coke. Poppy held out her hand, waving the water away and reaching for the soft drink.
She popped it open and gulped it down, then belched. For a moment it looked as though she was going to throw up, but she managed to get herself back under control. Kay nodded at her and turned her obvious attention away from Poppy, while keeping the girl in her peripheral vision as she fished in her bag again and produced a packet of cigarettes. ‘Here,’ she said. Poppy looked at her. It was like a flash of understanding between them. Kay’s gesture said I know you need something. And Poppy’s said, More than this, but she took a cigarette and lit it, drawing on it hard. Her hand shook. She looked at Leesha. ‘Did you…?’
‘I’m going,’ Leesha said abruptly. She looked directly at Poppy, who looked back at her, a kind of mute plea in her eyes. Leesha jerked her head and Poppy followed her out of the kitchen.
Kay stood up and moved quietly until she was in a position to see down the corridor. The two women were talking, their heads close together. Kay heard Poppy say, ‘… don’t like him…’ and Leesha’s response, ‘… doesn’t matter. If you want…’ Her masked gaze moved towards the kitchen. Kay stayed where she was. Let this Leesha woman see that Poppy had support.
She went back to her seat at the table when she heard the front door close behind Leesha, then there was the sound of Poppy’s feet running up the stairs. She listened as Poppy moved around on the floor above her, then there was silence. After waiting about fifteen minutes, Kay was ready to go upstairs and check, but then she heard movement and Poppy came back down and into the kitchen. There was more colour in her face, but her eyes were unnaturally bright. She’d clearly taken something, but not enough to knock her out. While she was upstairs, she’d changed into a tiny skirt and top, pulled her hair back from her face and fixed it with a clip. It looked pretty – casual but stylish. ‘I like the way you’ve done your hair,’ Kay said, stifling all the other things she wanted to say.
Poppy mulled this over, accepting another cigarette from Kay. ‘Yeah. I got to go out.’
Kay ran her hand through the shapeless mess her own hair had become. Since a fire that had just about destroyed her cottage near Whitby, she hadn’t been bothering with a hairdresser. She’d cut it herself, keeping it cropped brutally short. No wonder that Leesha woman had made fun of her. ‘I don’t know what to do with mine,’ she admitted. ‘What do you think?’
Poppy looked surprised, but pleased to be asked. She squinted at Kay over the smoke from her cigarette. ‘It needs some product on it. And colour. You could, you know, get it shaped a bit. Feather it round your face. It’d hide the… make it look, you know, softer.’
‘You think I should keep it short?’ she asked, deferring to Poppy’s expertise.
‘Yeah. Suits you, or it would if it wasn’t a mess.’
Fair enough. It was a mess. She smiled at Poppy. ‘Thanks. Are you still doing hair? Would you do mine for me next time you come to Tania’s?’
She thought she saw a flicker of interest on Poppy’s face before it smoothed back into cool indifference. ‘If you like.’ Poppy shrugged. ‘Only I’m, you know, too busy to come in. For a bit.’
Push it, or step back? Kay had just seen Poppy being intimidated. She couldn’t ignore it. Poppy had to know Kay was on her side. ‘Who’s Leesha?’ she asked.
‘Just a mate.’ Poppy looked down, rejecting Kay’s invitation to talk.
‘You need to come to Tania’s House,’ Kay said gently but firmly. ‘You’ve been missing your appointments with Graham.’ Graham was Poppy’s probation officer.
‘Yeah, well, he’s useless.’
Kay rather agreed with that, but this wasn’t going to help Poppy. ‘But you need to see him. And if you need some more help, we can find that for you.’
‘I’m fine,’ Poppy said.
‘Are you? Listen, Poppy, whatever you say to me, when we’re having a support session, is confidential. Whatever you tell me, whatever it is, I can help.’
Poppy’s eyes filled with tears suddenly, and she turned away so Kay wouldn’t see. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’ Her voice was muffled.
‘I can’t make you tell me anything,’ Kay said carefully. ‘And I wouldn’t try. Sometimes, if you’ve got a problem, even talking around it can help. I know you’re back on stuff. Is Leesha selling it to you?’
Poppy’s laugh was jerked out of her. ‘You think you know everything, don’t you?’
‘No,’ Kay said slowly. ‘I obviously don’t. Come in and talk to me, or let me call you if you’d prefer that. You need help, Poppy. That’s what I’m here for.’
Poppy didn’t deny it. Her head drooped and she wouldn’t meet Kay’s gaze. ‘It’s too late for that. I want you to go,’ she said.
It was important now to show Poppy she had control. ‘Of course. But you’ll come in to Tania’s, won’t you?’
Poppy looked at her. ‘Just to do your hair?’
‘Just to do my hair.’
‘OK…’
Kay left, having obtained Poppy’s agreement to come to Tania’s House the following Monday. But in the meantime, Kay needed to check her schedule, try and clear a bit of time to give Poppy some additional support. This was more than just a return to drugs – people had relapses, and it wasn’t good, but they could find their way back again. Poppy’s It’s too late made Kay think that there was more to this than drugs.
And there was the problem of this woman, Leesha. Was she Poppy’s dealer? Dealers had a strong influence over their clients – the clients relied on the dealer for their fixes – but it was a commercial relationship, the dealers relying on the users for their market and their money. What Kay had just seen looked like more than a drugs deal. This Leesha woman was putting pressure on Poppy to do something, and whatever it was, Poppy didn’t want to do it.
She had been sycophantic in her interactions with the other woman, and in that exchange by the door, she had sounded scared.
There were dealers who were even more malign than the ones who simply sold the stuff. There were the ones who used the power of supply to make the users, the addicts, do things they wouldn’t otherwise do. What kind of pressure was Leesha putting on Poppy?
Kay wasn’t going to give up. She needed to get Poppy away from this Leesha woman, and that would involve… She thought hard as she walked back to her car. How could she stop Leesha? Get the police onto her? Kay had no proof. Physically remove Poppy from her influence? Residential rehab? Tania’s House offered some short-term residentials a bit further north, near Bridlington, but apparently places were like gold, and Kay couldn’t see Poppy agreeing to a stay in Bridlington, especially not the way she was at the moment.
As she drove back, she made her decision. She’d fought battles before to win back young people who seemed to be lost beyond hope. She thought about Becca, the foster-daughter she was closest to. She and Matt had been told more than once that Becca was a lost cause, and look at her now.
Not that Becca was in such a good place at the moment.
Kay sighed. That was a different problem for a different time. But she was going to fight for Poppy. She would get Poppy back.
Chapter 5
Bridlington
Becca’s flat – or more exactly, her bedsit – was above a shop on one of the main roads out of the centre of Bridlington. The shop was a sell-everything hardware sort of place, and if Becca had wanted mop heads or tin buckets, it would have been handy. As it was, it was just the place she had to get through to reach the stairs to her room.
It was a twenty-five-minute walk from the supermarket, maybe twenty if you walked as fast as Becca did. Walking saved on the bus fare, and anyway, the service was pretty much crap. The weather, that had been so good earlier, was turning. Clouds were gathering. She pulled up her hood and huddled into her waterproof to protect herself from the early evening chill.
When the shop was closed, she had to go in through the back of the building, along a narrow alleyway where people dumped the kinds of stuff you didn’t want to look at too closely. Becca had seen needles and used condoms among the dumped rubbish. She always watched where she was putting her feet when she came along here.
She let herself into the backyard, noting again that her landlord, George, the guy who owned the shop, hadn’t repaired the lock on the gate yet; it was still held by a loop of string.
Becca unhooked it and stepped through, pulling the gate closed behind her. There were high walls separating the yards along the terrace, and the limited space was crammed with discarded storage boxes, an industrial-sized wheelie bin, some cracked paving slabs and bits and pieces of broken furniture. A metal fire escape ran down the wall from the attic window of Becca’s room, ending about three metres off the ground, where a drop-down ladder provided access.
Tucked away under the fire escape and hidden under a tarpaulin was a small motorbike that Kay, Becca’s foster-mother, had bought for her at the beginning of the year. Not that Becca could afford to run it, though she hadn’t told Kay that.
The yard could have been nice. In the summer, the sun had shone on it all day, and plants had grown up through the cracks in the asphalt, making it look green and garden-y, but right now, it was just a place where all the junk from the shop got dumped.
She let herself in through the back door, checking round as she did so for any sign of the kitten that had appeared just a couple of days ago. She’d often see it pouncing on leaves blown across the ground, and vanishing as soon as it became aware of her watching. It looked very small to be out, and she hoped it had a home somewhere.
There was no sign of it, so it probably did.
