Race to the Kill, page 6
‘Mind you own business,’ Sarah hissed. She didn’t care about the truth. It wasn’t important.
She and Agnes got on with their work in silence.
Forty minutes later, Lou finished her painfully slow writing in the two sets of accounting ledgers. She closed the books, gathered them to her chest, and carried them back into the kitchen.
‘That’s done for another month,’ she said, with a sigh.
Sarah watched her go into the storeroom at the back of the kitchen and open the old safe with a heavy key, from a bunch she kept in her pocket.
‘I could show you how to do it on the computer,’ Sarah said. ‘On a spreadsheet. It would save you loads of time.’
‘No thanks,’ Lou said. ‘I don’t want to get hacked by some snotty-nosed kid and have all my secrets let out on the Internet, for everyone to see.’
‘Fair enough.’ She stifled a laugh at Lou’s ignorance.
Sarah waited for Lou to go upstairs to the bar, before entering the storeroom, which also housed the washing machine and dryer. She opened the washing machine and scooped the clothes into a clean plastic bin liner, then shoved the tea towels and bar towels into the dryer.
‘Back in a minute,’ she said to Agnes, ‘and if Lou asks, tell her my period started. I’ve gone back to my caravan to get a tampon.’
Agnes looked disgusted, but Sarah didn’t care. She stepped out of the back door and set off across the car park. The heat of the day was a shock and her feet kicked up miniature dust-storms in the ruined tarmac.
‘Oi!’ Joe Heron was shouting at her from the building site, but she pretended not to have heard. ‘You silly bitch! Come over here, I want a word with you!’
She broke into a run, but hadn’t reckoned on her rubber clogs, fake Crocs she’d got on a market stall. She stumbled in one of the potholes and fell forward, trying not to drop the bag of wet clothes. Although he had the whole width of the car park to cover, Joe Heron had long legs and was as fit as the dogs on the track. She’d barely picked herself up and checked the palms of her hands for grit, when he was on her.
‘Don’t you dare ignore me,’ he spat.
‘I’m not. I just need to get these clothes hung up to dry.’
‘What’s in there?’ he said. ‘Let’s have a look.’
He snatched the bag out of her hands and pulled out a dark-grey hoodie.
‘Doing our Tommy’s washing now, are you? You could have done mine.’
‘Just did him a favour, that’s all.’
‘Oh, yeah? In return for what?’
‘Nothing!’
‘You been leading my little brother on, have you? He might talk like a child, but he’s all man between his legs.’
He shoved the bag at her groin and she grabbed it, trying to deflect the blow.
‘I’ve got to go.’ She stepped to one side to get past him, but he gripped her wrist.
‘Why did you send Uncle Derek after us?’ he said. ‘You lost it or something?’
She shook her head. ‘He needs your help. I thought it would be a good idea to keep him on side.’
‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ He jerked her arm around and back, until the ball and socket in her shoulder screamed with pain. ‘Don’t ever tell me.’
A car engine made them both look up and they saw Derek’s dark-green Jaguar pulling into the entrance. Joe dropped her arm. The pain in her shoulder had brought tears to her eyes, she blinked and let them fall as Derek looked her way.
‘Just fill the trench in, Joe,’ she hissed. ‘Do what your Uncle Derek says, or I’ll tell him about your other little business, and he won’t like that.’
‘What the fuck do you know?’
‘Tommy tells me all sorts. He tells me how you charge those poor buggers rent next door, and if they don’t pay, you smash up their things.’
‘You know nothing.’
‘I know you’re also growing skunk in the old bus at the back of the yard. Imagine how your Uncle Derek would react if he knew about that.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ he said.
‘Wouldn’t I?’
‘You’ve got too much to lose.’
She looked at him for a moment, then a laugh bubbled up in her throat. ‘You think so? I’ve got nothing to lose, Joe Heron, nothing at all.’
She turned away from him and hurried to her van, the bag clutched in both arms.
Five minutes later she’d hung the clothes on a rope, slung along the back of the van, away from view. There was a knock on the door. She was expecting Joe, an apology perhaps, or even a continuation of the argument, but whoever it was didn’t try to force the door open. They waited.
She opened the door and there was Derek with a dog. It looked larger and heavier than a greyhound, but with the same sleek nose and sharp eyes.
‘You all right, pet?’ Derek asked. ‘Only I didn’t like what I saw back there.’
Sarah rubbed her arm and winced. ‘I’ll be okay.’
‘Stay away from that lad,’ Derek said. ‘Don’t tell my Lou I said this, but he’s a wrong ’un. Too much like his dad. Bad breeding. Once they get the fight in them, you can’t get it out. I’d hate to see you get hurt. We, Lou and me, we’d hate to lose you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ll be okay, although there is one thing I need some help with.’
‘Your wish is my command,’ he said, and swept the flat cap off his greased-down hair with a flourish.
‘My door doesn’t lock properly. I get a bit nervous at night.’
Derek looked at the loose strike plate. ‘I’ll get a screwdriver and some strong glue. That should do it.’
‘If that’s all it needs, I’m sure I can do it myself,’ she said.
‘Sure, you’re a dab hand at most things,’ Derek’s eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. ‘Pop up to the house tomorrow, when things are quieter, and I’ll dig out what you need.’
‘What shall I do tonight?’
The dog was looking at her, head cocked to one side.
‘He likes you,’ Derek said. ‘I just got him off a fellow in The Royal Oak, in lieu of a debt he owes me. How about he stays here, with you? Be a guard dog.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Wolf. He’s a bull lurcher. Three-parts sight-hound, one-part pit-bull. He’s got a loud voice, and a good set of teeth, but he’s kind. Just keep him muzzled around the other dogs.’
She looked at the dog and smiled. ‘He’s perfect, Mr O’Connor. Thank you.’
Before the punters arrived for the evening races, Tommy had planned a little party in the cafe. He brought the girl into the kitchen to meet Sarah.
‘This is my sister, Melissa,’ he said proudly.
She was pretty, her hair shot through with highlights and pinned up. Someone had done a good job. Too much make-up for a girl of her age, Sarah thought, but then she caught herself; she’d been just the same, wanting to be noticed. How things changed.
‘I’m Sarah,’ she said. ‘Your hair’s nice.’
‘Did it myself. I’m learning to be a hairdresser,’ the girl said. ‘I’ve got a part-time job.’
‘Yeah,’ Tommy said, grinning proudly. ‘She’s doing ever so well.’
Sarah bit down on the urge to sneer. She’d been sweeping up cuttings and shampooing old ladies since she was fourteen. Not any more, though. She was no longer part of that world.
‘That’s nice,’ she said, and hoped it sounded sincere. ‘Do you work somewhere local?’
‘In town. Hair Today, it’s a new little salon on the market,’ Melissa said, tossing her head as if to show off just how wonderful it was. ‘Shall we see if Aunty Lou’s coming, Tommy?’
Sarah was glad she wasn’t expected to respond, because she was on the verge of losing her carefully controlled expression of disinterest. Of all the places the girl could be working, it had to be that one. Silly bitch. How dare she walk in here and drag up a tidal wave of unwanted memories, just when Sarah was trying to live a quiet life? Sarah blinked and shook away the feeling that she’d just done very badly at the quiet life experiment.
She picked up a broom and swept the kitchen floor until her arms ached. Then she stood and watched through the hatch as Joe and Derek arrived. They said to come on through, but she had too much to do. Besides, she didn’t need any reminders of happy family reunions. Agnes was upstairs, setting up the bar and it gave Sarah a glimmer of satisfaction to note that she hadn’t been invited.
When Lou came into the cafe, she looked from Melissa to Tommy’s grinning face and back again, then she glanced at Joe, who’d cleaned himself up and was looking almost respectable, but she said nothing. Lou O’Connor didn’t give much away, but Sarah was fairly sure she didn’t like surprises.
‘Look who’s here, Aunty Lou!’ Tommy bubbled with happiness. ‘It’s our kid.’
Sarah shut the hatch then. She didn’t need to see any more. There were breadcakes to slice for the burgers and another pile of onions still to chop. She ran the kitchen knife back and forth on the wall-mounted sharpener and tested it on the flesh of her upper arm. At its touch, her skin opened in a hairline fissure and a thread of blood came to the surface. Finally, she felt something.
CHAPTER TEN
Saturday evening
Despite having lived on the estate as a child, Chloe had never been to the greyhound stadium.
‘I didn’t imagine it would look like this,’ she said, taking in the wide expanse of the car park, gradually filling up with cars and minibuses.
Maureen stood next to her, catching her breath. They’d walked from her house, along the Horse Road, a track overgrown with thistles and ragwort, loved by dog-walkers and glue-sniffers, which led from behind the shops on Winston Grove.
‘Aye, well,’ she said. ‘It’s come on a bit since I first came here.’
There was a concrete mixer in one corner, and a new building beyond it, making it look as if the ‘Grand Re-opening’ had come too soon. To the left of the car park, there was a high corrugated iron fence, enclosing what looked like a scrapyard. They’d passed a gate to the yard on the Horse Road, but when you looked at it from the car park, it seemed that the scrapyard and the greyhound stadium were part of the same business.
The main building was newly painted in white with CHASEBRIDGE STADIUM picked out in black lettering. A string of bunting hung over the turnstiles.
‘Well, it was all different years ago,’ Maureen said. ‘Just a flapping track for the diehards. None of this two-for-one and meals-included malarkey.’
Chloe wrapped her arms around herself and wished she’d brought a coat. It had been beautiful earlier and she could still feel the glow of the sun on her face, but by six-thirty the air was cooling. She followed Maureen across the car park with a shiver.
They waited by the turnstiles and watched the cars pulling in and lining up to park. After a few minutes, Chloe spotted Lizzie’s dark-blue Mazda hatchback. Sean and Lizzie got out, deep in conversation, until Maureen waved madly.
‘Coo-ee!’ she called, shrilly, and Lizzie’s face snapped into a polite smile as she waved back.
Maureen led the way to the entrance. Chloe followed her. As she pushed hard against the cold metal of the turnstile, the feeling of being closed in gripped her for a moment and she caught her breath. She thought she heard a metal gate clanging shut, a key turning, but she shook the memory away. Maureen placed the flyers on the counter and said something to a young man behind a glass window. Chloe focused on Maureen’s fingers, counting out their entrance money, and wished she would hurry up, so they could get out of this pen and into the open again.
The young man waved them through, and Chloe took a deep breath, as they filed out onto a tarmac path that ran along the side of the greyhound track, towards the main stadium building, a Union flag waving from its roof. Someone bumped into her from the side.
‘Sorry!’
She looked round. It was the girl from the hairdresser’s. Mel, the man had called her.
‘Hello,’ Chloe said.
‘It’s just you stopped,’ Mel said, giggling, ‘and I didn’t!’
Mel teetered on high heels, and Chloe could smell alcohol on her. She was too young for that, Chloe thought. She’d never been much of a drinker herself, even at Mel’s age.
‘You’ve kept your hair up, then!’ Mel said.
‘Yes,’ Chloe said. ‘I fancied a kip this afternoon, but I had to make do with sitting bolt upright on the settee, trying not to mess it up.’
The girl laughed.
‘Thank you for fixing it up for me,’ Chloe said.
‘That’s all right. It suits you,’ Mel said. ‘Are you okay? You look cold.’
‘Freezing,’ Chloe said. ‘I thought it would be warmer than this.’
‘I’m boiling,’ Mel laughed. ‘You can borrow my jacket if you want.’
It was like a miniature biker jacket, a pattern of a heart shot through with an arrow picked out in studs on the back. It was pretty.
‘It’s okay,’ Chloe said. ‘No, I couldn’t.’
‘Go on, take it. I’ll come find you if I want it back, and if you can’t find me, leave it with the girl in the cafe.’
Before Chloe could protest any more, Mel had thrown the little leather jacket across her shoulders. It was warm from the girl’s skin and Chloe pushed her arms into the sleeves, grateful to be protected from the cooling evening air.
‘See you later,’ Mel said and tottered off with a little wave.
Chloe wondered about her. She was so trusting, keen to make friends when they’d only just met. It reminded her of some of the girls she’d known in prison. She thought about what Mel had said earlier that day. This was her family’s place, but she didn’t live with them. It occurred to Chloe that the girl might be in care. She had that look about her. Tough and vulnerable at the same time, and older than her years.
Maureen was waiting for Chloe by the main entrance, a set of double doors leading to a staircase. On one side of the doors was the cafe and on the opposite side was a room full of men standing on little platforms, with signs next to them, covered in names and numbers. It was like the bookies’ stands at the horse racing, but more cramped. For a moment she felt the grip of claustrophobia and a memory of being a small child, knee-high in a crowd of dark-trousered men, the air full of cigarette smoke, losing her mother’s hand in the noise and the crush.
‘All right, pet?’ Maureen was there, her hand on Chloe’s arm. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘Just, you know, all these people.’
‘Say no more,’ Maureen said. ‘Why don’t you stay outside? Find yourself a place to stand along the rail, you’ll get the best view of the race. I’ll bring you out a drink and something to eat.’
‘Thanks.’
Chloe wanted to say something else, but she was stuck for words. That was the good thing about Maureen, you never needed to explain anything to her. She understood how you felt.
Chloe turned away from the building towards the track. It wasn’t a big place. She knew there were greyhound stadiums where there were seats and stands all the way round, and thousands of people crammed in to watch the racing. She’d seen it on the television. But here there was only room for a couple of hundred to stand by the rail and on the flimsy-looking stands in front of the building. Tonight there were no more than about twenty or thirty people milling around outside, but it was still early. She looked up and saw a long window on the first floor of the stadium. It was lit with coloured disco lights. There was Mel again, waving down at her, a drink in her hand. Chloe waved back as a voice on the loudspeakers announced the first race.
She stood close to the rail and watched as men and women in white coats began to lead the dogs out. They talked to them and pulled their leads close. The dogs sensed the excitement and circled their handlers. Each dog had a number on its coat and Chloe wondered which one she would follow. There was a dark-grey dog, not quite black, being led across the grass by a woman in a headscarf. She heard the announcer say the dog’s name: ‘Susi’s Holiday, number six.’ That’s the one, she thought. She can be my winner.
Someone nudged her arm.
‘Here, I’ve got you a can of Fanta,’ Maureen said, ‘and a cheeseburger, is that okay?’
‘Thanks,’ Chloe said, ‘how much do I owe you?’
‘It’s all included, remember?’ Maureen said. ‘The voucher covers the food and one drink.’
Chloe was both pleased and relieved. She’d spent more money than she should have done today. First there were the things Jack needed in hospital, then she’d paid for the haircut. It wasn’t expensive, but still, she didn’t have much left. The dogs were being led to the traps and she watched them go past. Each one was so perfect, but she was happy with her choice, a dark-grey dog with long limbs and fine-boned head. The dog looked round and Chloe felt it had seen her, their gaze locking together for a moment, until the handler led it away.
She leant against the rail, barely conscious of Maureen standing next to her, and kept her eyes fixed on the black and white striped jacket of number six, as the dogs hurtled out of the traps and round the track in a blur. In seconds, they’d almost completed the circuit. She felt the sand fly up, peppering her cheek, as the dogs rushed over the finish line. It was over so quickly.
‘The four dog! Mr Liviiandi!’ Maureen said, clapping her hands. ‘I put a pound on him. We can stretch to another drink after I collect my winnings. Are you coming up to the bar before the next race?’
Chloe shook her head. She still had a half-eaten burger and she intended to make the can of Fanta last as long as she could.
‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘I want to watch the dogs going back to the kennels.’
She walked along the rail. Most of the punters were moving towards the building to collect their winnings from the bookies, or upstairs to the bar to drown their sorrows. The handlers had put the dogs back on their leads and were leading them into a low shed beyond the stands. Susi’s Holiday nudged her handler and the woman stroked her head and murmured to her.
