Geezer Girls, page 5
Nothing.
Another stair creaked. Jade shuffled back on her knees. She grasped the handle of the next drawer. Wrenched it open. Gasped when she saw what was inside. Piles of loose cash – tenners, twenties, fifties, even hundred-pound notes. Bouncing bollocks. What the hell was her mum doing with all this spare cash?
But she didn’t have time to ponder her question as she heard Mrs Grieves’s breathing joining the creak of every step she took. Jade’s hands dived inside the drawer. Into the money. Her hands moved left. Moved right. Still no little black book. Panting, her hands shuffled in a wild dance. Suddenly they stopped as she felt something hard in the left-hand corner. Her fingertips pulled it forward. Bingo. Her mum’s address book. She shoved her hands behind her back at the same time as Mrs Grieves opened the bedroom door.
The landlord of the Dirty Dick let out a low wolf whistle as the black woman came through the pub door. Legs up to her gold-looped earrings, trim and tall, with brunette braided extensions that were a shade lighter than her skin. She wheeled a suitcase behind her as if she’d come straight from the airport. He stopped polishing the bar and pulled himself straight. Gave her a smile. She didn’t smile back, but spoke with a soft African accent. ‘I’m looking for a Jason Nelson.’
The landlord ran a curious look over her. She didn’t seem like Jason’s usual type.
‘He ain’t here, babe.’
The skin on her face tightened at the ‘babe’.
‘Tell him to come now,’ she ordered, then wheeled her suitcase and herself towards the nearest table.
‘Hang on, love, I don’t get on the blower until . . .’
‘Just tell him that his package from Sankura has arrived.’
The social worker stood in the doorway and looked at Jade suspiciously. Mrs Grieves was a small sparrow of a woman, with the cuts of life indented on her shrivelled face and faded eyes that sparkled only every Friday and Saturday night at bingo.
Jade stared at the older woman from the vantage point of her knees. Her pose and expression mirrored exactly what her school report claimed that she was – a reckless, mischievous child.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ the older woman demanded, showing her thin, sliced teeth stained with tobacco. The older woman’s eyes settled on the piles of paper scattered on the floor.
Jade sprang to her feet, her hands remaining behind her back.
‘This is your mother’s room, isn’t it? I told you not to come in here.’ Mrs Grieves’s words came in a rush as she pushed herself into the room. The red heat of rage spread across her cheeks. ‘What have you got behind your back?’
‘I just wanted to get this,’ Jade answered as her tears began to fall.
One of her hands came out from behind her back, clutching a rectangular object. She showed what she was holding. The Soft Cell cassette she’d found in the dressing-table drawer.
‘My mum loved this. “Tainted Love” is her favourite.’
‘I know you’re upset, dear, but our driver’s waiting. Get your stuff together and I’ll see you downstairs.’
Mrs Grieves turned and left the room. As soon as the woman disappeared Jade stopped crying. She rushed over to her holdall. Picked it up and slung the handle over her shoulder. Then she picked up her lunchbox. Opened it. Her hand moved to her back pocket. She pulled out the black book she’d hidden there just before Mrs Grieves had entered the room. She opened it and began to flick through, searching for the M page.
‘We need to leave now.’ The older woman’s voice was hard.
She knew M was only a couple of pages away.
‘Now.’ The voice was a frantic reminder of Battleaxe at school.
She’d look later. She slipped Nikki’s address book inside her lunchbox, next to her packet of fags, and her first communion candle. And the other thing the social worker had told her to pack – her passport.
six
They took the lift to the ground floor. Exited Manny Shinwell House using the back door. Passed a group of run-of-the-mill boys-on-the-block who were too busy practising the latest poses and patter to notice the anxiety in Jade’s eyes. She kept her lunchbox tight to her side like it was a new body part. Soon they entered the car park, packed with vehicles, most belonging to the Chrisp Street market stallholders. The churning wind carried tiny drops of rain. The sky was the colour of trouble overhead.
‘There’s the car,’ Mrs Grieves said.
Leaning against the bonnet was a tall man in an open wool overcoat, having a smoke. He flicked the fag. Turned in their direction just as the sun came through above. Gobsmacked, Jade felt her mouth fall open when she saw his face. It was what the girls at school called ‘a bit of awright’ – pop-star quality and teen-heartbreaker good looks. The sunlight that surrounded him made him look like he was already a pin-up on her wall.
‘Come on, dear.’ Only when the older woman spoke did Jade realise that she’d stopped walking. She sighed as she picked up her feet, catching a glimpse of her distorted reflection in the shiny, greased puddles created by the rain. They reached the car. Jade blushed as the man pushed himself straight and gave her a killer smile. She caught the colour of his eyes and couldn’t look away. A blue so deep that she felt she was drowning in them. Her blush deepened and she swallowed as she finally looked away. Mrs Grieves opened the front passenger door and said, ‘In you get.’
She felt the tears burning her eyes, the back of her nose. Bouncing bollocks, no way was she going to start blubbing again. She sniffed as she lowered her head and got into the passenger seat. Placed her bag on the floor between her legs. Wrapped her arms baby-tight around the lunchbox in her lap.
The ends of Frankie’s blonde hair blew in the breeze as he walked towards Mrs Grieves. He made sure that his back was to the car so Nikki’s daughter couldn’t see what he was going to do next. Without speaking to the social worker he jammed his hand into the top inside pocket of his coat. Pulled out a bulging, brown envelope. Handed it to the woman. Her hand trembled as she took it. Frankie had seen that shaking before. On his mum, shivering from Sunday to Sunday, after years of drowning in drink. But it wasn’t his business to tell this pitiful woman that she needed her own care worker.
Besides, him and Mrs Grieves had a history. She had become his social worker after he’d done a runner from the first care home they’d placed him in. After the police had found him sleeping rough in an abandoned car, they’d placed him in St Nicholas with Mrs Grieves as his care worker. Care worker my arse, he thought. She’d been too busy boozing her life away to take much interest in the kids in her care. He’d told her all those years ago what was really happening to him, Jason and Finlay in that place, but she hadn’t given a toss. It was only accidentally, years later, that he’d discovered she had a massive debt with a casino up West. He’d purchased her debt and now she did anything he asked her to. But he didn’t want her to think he was a total heartless bastard, so he always gave her a bit of pin money when she did a job.
Frankie lowered his voice. ‘Don’t forget to make sure you lose all three case files. And if any nosy bastard asks, tell them the girls are at one of those respectable care homes, like St Anne’s. Don’t forget I still need one more girl. And don’t forget she’s gotta be black.’
Mrs Grieves slipped the envelope into her bag as she answered, ‘It’s going to be hard for me to find one straight away because I won’t be in the office over Christmas. I’m being shifted to the airport to look after any refugees or asylum seekers. . . .’
Frankie’s hard stare made Mrs Grieves’s words dry up.
‘You know what’s gonna happen if I don’t get that girl . . .’
Business over, Frankie smiled as he made his way to Nikki’s daughter in the car.
Nerves crawled up Jade’s spine as the driver’s door was pulled open. Cold air danced inside as the man settled his long body into the seat. The tang of tobacco and aftershave shifted towards her. Her arm tensed around her lunchbox. A sharp rap at the window made her look up. Mrs Grieves was bent over, peering through the window, her bony fingers digging into the leather of her shoulder bag.
‘Well, this is goodbye for now, Jade.’
Jade’s eyes bulged big with alarm. ‘But miss, ain’t you coming?’
The social worker’s lips tightened as she straightened. Stepped back. The door lock clicked down. Startled, Jade swung around to face the man in the car. Her lunchbox nearly toppled from her lap when his hand shot out towards her.
Horrified, Jade stared at the offered hand. No adult had ever invited her to shake their hand before.
‘Everyone just calls me Frankie,’ the man next to her said as he pushed his hand out farther. His cockney accent was low, light, filled with the smoke he’d been inhaling a few minutes ago.
‘Go on, babe.’ He laughed. ‘Shake it. It ain’t the big, bad wolf.’
Jade rubbed her lips together as she continued to look nervously at him. Before she shook his hand she needed to try and figure out what type of man this Frankie was. Nikki had told her there were two kinds of blokes in this life – gents and geezers. Nikki said she couldn’t say much about gents because not many of them had crossed her path, but geezers, now those she could write the rule book on. Jade shuddered as she heard her mum’s words in her mind – ‘All geezers are interested in is impressing their mates, getting bladdered, wearing gold until it pops out of their eye sockets and making your life hell. Geezers use their knuckles not their brains.’
Jade flicked her mind back to the bloke beside her. He gave her a reassuring grin. Finally her hand moved out of her lap and took his palm. His skin felt rough, but secure. He gave her hand a gentle shake.
‘Now that weren’t hard, was it?’ His hand dropped away as his grin grew.
She shook her head as she blushed.
‘Now I know you must be wondering why that nice Mrs Grieves ain’t tagging along with us for the ride, but she’s got a bit of an emergency. You packed your passport?’ Jade nodded. ‘So where we going?’
‘To a place called St Nicholas . . .’
‘Ain’t he the saint that looks out for all the kids?’
‘Right on, babe. St Nicholas is this big house which looks after girls and boys who’ve lost their mums and dads . . .’
‘I ain’t lost my mum.’ Jade vigorously shook her head. ‘She’s coming back to me . . .’
‘I know,’ Frankie reassured softly. ‘I knew your mum. . . .’
‘What?’ Jade shot back at him. Her mum hadn’t ever mentioned knowing a Frankie.
‘We used to work together. She’s a great girl, that’s how I know she’d want you to be well taken care of. She’s gonna feel much better if word gets to her that you’re being well looked after in a place like St Nicholas.’
Jade’s face sagged as she thought of her mum locked up in a tiny cell. Frankie caught the look on her face. ‘Really sorry to hear about your old girl. But don’t you worry, babe, I’m gonna make sure that you’re properly sorted out.’
He reached over and put the radio on. Blondie’s ‘Hanging On The Telephone’ swept into the car. As Frankie started the engine, he softly sang along with Debbie Harry. Jade stared up at Manny Shinwell House one last time. She’d be back. Wouldn’t she? With her mum?
Frankie felt like the dog’s bollocks as he drove Nikki’s daughter to St Nicholas. Everything was going bang on plan. Once he got Jade settled with the other girls he would be ready to get them to work for him, just like their old ladies used to.
Frankie whistled as his motor swung past the late-night-closing corner shop into St Nicholas’s driveway. The care home was located well away from any of the neighbouring houses, on its own near a large green field where the fog often drifted in the morning in winter.
‘Welcome to St Nicholas,’ Frankie said to Jade.
As he cut the engine, out of nowhere a police siren blared behind the car.
Jason was coked as high as a balloon when he entered the Dirty Dick boozer later that afternoon. He saw the black woman straight away, sitting at a table sipping a drink. He swaggered over, the ends of his wool coat flapping behind him. The woman looked up at him. He gave her the once-over. She was a pretty sort, but he didn’t go with black birds.
He pulled up a chair. ‘You got it?’
The woman opened her Prada bag and dug inside. She pulled out an A4-sized beige envelope and pushed it across the table to him. As he plucked it up the woman stood up and grabbed the handle of her suitcase.
‘Hang on a minute, I’ve gotta check that the right merchandise is inside.’ Jason couldn’t be sure, but he thought she stared back at him with the same look his old man would give his mum before he clouted her one.
‘I’ve done my part.’
And with that she left. Jason quickly opened the envelope. Pulled out what was inside. He whistled as he stared at the contents. Frankie was right – when the girls saw this lot they would do anything to help their mums.
Frankie waited tensely in the car as the siren continued to scream behind. Shit, he hoped this wasn’t a load of aggro. He would bet his life they weren’t after him, but the Old Bill were like cockroaches, often appearing when he least expected them. He let out a long sigh of relief when the police car whizzed past them to stop at the front of the house.
‘What’s going on?’ Jade asked, peering through the windscreen.
Frankie didn’t answer. Instead he remained in the car to see what the Bill were doing at the home. Two coppers jumped out of the car, one of them holding the arm of a tall, thin, teenage boy. An average-sized older man stepped out of the main door of the house, his frosty white beard, hair and cap making Jade think he was a dead ringer for Captain Birds Eye, but without the smile and twinkle in his eye. He rushed down the stairs as the policeman thrust the boy forward. Captain Birds Eye looked well pissed off, Jade decided. The police nodded at the man and jumped back inside their car. As the car drove away, the man grabbed the boy by the front of his T-shirt and backhanded him twice across the face. Jade gasped, horrified at what was happening. The man dragged the boy by his ear into the house. The door slammed behind them. ‘I ain’t staying here,’ Jade said to Frankie.
‘Relax,’ he told her. ‘That ain’t gonna happen to you. I’ve got somewhere special for you to stay. What you’ve gotta understand about St Nicholas is that it’s got some troubled kids in it, the type your old lady wouldn’t want you hanging around with. That’s why, while you’re here, you ain’t gonna have nothing to do with the other kids. That boy was most probably lifted by the cops because he was doing something bad.’
‘But that man whacked him one.’
‘Don’t worry about that geezer, Mr Miller, because you ain’t gonna have nothing to do with him. He runs the home, but I’m gonna be the one looking after you. Get your gear together and let’s go.’
Jade got out and stared at her new home. It looked like one of those fuck-off houses she’d seen in books. Tall, with a red roof and white-framed windows with the late afternoon shadow of the nearby trees swaying against its brick walls.
Frankie took Jade’s bag, leaving her with her lunchbox. She walked with Frankie towards the back of the house There was a garden with a long brick building at the bottom and a swing in the middle of the trimmed lawn. They stopped at the bottom of a wrought-iron staircase that led to a landing at the top of the house.
Abruptly Frankie turned to her. Startled, she jumped back. Face solemn and serious, he said, ‘Whatever happens, just remember you can always come to me. I’ll look after you.’
She gazed at him strangely, a shiver shooting through her bloodstream. She didn’t like what he was saying. Like there was something scary waiting behind the door at the top of the landing.
They walked up the stairs. Reached the landing door, which was rusty from years of being battered by the rain. Frankie grabbed the long handle. The door fussed and creaked as he pulled it open. He heaved his arm, settling the handle of Jade’s bag more securely on his shoulder. Jade’s eyes darted around her. Quickly she tightened her hand on her lunchbox and followed Frankie. She entered a corridor that was long and thin with light shooting in from a window planted in the wall directly facing her. Frankie stopped at the first room he reached on the left. His hand grasped the round handle. Opened the door. But instead of walking inside he leaned back, grinned at Jade and said, ‘After you, milady.’
She stepped anxiously forward. Past Frankie. Through the doorway. Into the room. She halted, surprised to see two other girls sitting on separate beds.
‘Hi, girls,’ Frankie said, as he dropped Jade’s bag at her feet. ‘This is Jade. She’s your new roommate. While you lot shake hands, I’ve got a few odds and ends to sort out.’
He stopped talking, his face becoming drop-dead serious. ‘And make sure you stay put until I get back.’
Jade eyed up the two other girls with suspicion. She wasn’t in the mood to make new mates. December 19 was already turning into one of the worst days of her life. Both girls continued to sit on their beds. The white one looked how Jade felt – uptight and plain scared. She stared uncertainly at Jade, over the computer magazine she held in her hand. Then her grey eyes, behind her glasses, flickered wildly, like smoke, from Jade to the door, from the door back to Jade, as if she expected someone to burst in and start slapping her up. The black girl, on the other hand, lounged back, midway through painting her nails fluorescent pink. Her brown face was relaxed, limbs loose, cultivating an air that told the world she was all that and a bag of chips. She gazed at Jade with dark, friendly eyes.
‘I’m Amber, and my girl over there,’ she pointed her finger at the other girl, using a cockney-Caribbean accent that some of the street-smart kids on Jade’s estate loved to use, ‘is Ruby.’
As soon as Jade heard their names she knew who they were. Amber and Ruby, her mum’s mates’ daughters. She’d never met them but had heard Nikki drop their names around at home every so often. What the f’ing hell were they doing here as well?
