Twenty minutes later they came back, bringing a cup of tea and a sandwich for the detained man. It all looked very thoughtful. A new prisoner was being put in with him, really to serve as witness to his ‘suicide’. This young man, pulled in for dangerous driving, nearly passed out at the sight before him.
There was blood everywhere, all over the place, but it was the dead man’s staring face that did it for him. His eyes were bulging and he looked more angry than anyone the boy had ever seen in his life.
On the floor of the cell was a single word, written in letters of blood. BASTARDS.
Back at her flat, Cathy, alone now, picked up the dirty cups and glasses and took them out to the kitchen. She pressed the button on her answerphone, and as she loaded the dishwasher she played back her messages.
The first one was from Eamonn, and she listened to it with only half an ear. Normally his voice made her go peculiar. Today it was just another message on the tape. The second was from Michaela, and Cathy listened to it with disbelief on her face and hatred in her heart.
‘Hi, Cathy, just trying to track you down . . . I’ll call again later.’ Mickey must have been making sure that neither Cathy nor Desrae was going to the school for any reason. That made sense, when he was intending to go there himself. She hoped he rotted in Hell.
The third message made her jump. She recognised the voice. It was unmistakably Shaquila Campbell.
‘Mrs Pasquale? It’s Shaquila here, can you ring me? I have some information I think you might be interested in.’ She gave her mobile number and rang off.
Cathy didn’t bother listening to the other messages. Instead she picked up her coat and left the flat. An hour later she was at Shaquila’s flat.
The other woman let her in nervously. ‘Listen, you should have rung me. If Terry knew . . . I mean, yesterday he got so upset . . .’
Cathy placed a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘Calm down, Shaquila. You have nothing to fear from him ever again.’
Shaquila’s eyes widened. ‘What are you telling me?’
‘He’s dead,’ Cathy whispered. ‘Or at least he will be soon, if he’s not already.’
Shaquila looked at her as if she were mad.
‘He’s dead, believe me, the man’s gone from your life,’ Cathy insisted. ‘He’s had what’s known on the streets as an assisted suicide. He’s cut his wrists and throat. Or he’s going to at some point tonight.’
Shaquila’s voice was flat. ‘Is this for real?’
Cathy nodded. ‘It’s for real. You can relax, Shaquila, he ain’t never coming back.’
The other woman closed her eyes and her body seemed to sway with emotion. ‘Oh, how I have dreamed of this day! You don’t know what it’s like.’
Cathy laughed gently. ‘I do, Shaquila, believe me.’
‘Was it your daughter he had yesterday?’
Cathy nodded again. ‘I got to her just in time, but thank you for warning me even if I didn’t get the message. I know what it took for you to defy him like that.’
‘I was terrified. I didn’t see the girl, I just heard him talking about it. I remembered your daughter’s name was Kitty and I put two and two together. I hope she’s OK?’
‘Shaken, subdued, but OK. Thanks again.’
Shaquila suddenly laughed out loud. ‘He’s really dead?’
Cathy said gaily, ‘As a bleeding doornail.’
They toasted Terry’s death in red wine, and like two old friends laughed and chatted together. Shaquila was a woman given a reprieve from a living death.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Cathy asked her.
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. It will be so good just to be able to move about freely, you know? Not to have to wait in for him to come and take me, when and as often as he wants. I can finally be free.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever settle? You know, with another man?’
Shaquila laughed bitterly. ‘I don’t want no man, thank you very much, and before you ask I don’t want no woman either. I just want to be happy. I want to bring up my babies and just be happy.’
‘I know what you mean, but you’re beautiful, Shaquila, men will want you. With your looks, you won’t be alone for long.’
She shrugged. ‘We’ll see. How about you? You married, divorced, what?’
‘Widowed. But I have a man. He’s in the States so I see him every month. It suits us. I also have a man I think I love more, but he’s older than me, a different person altogether from the man I have already.’
‘How much older?’
Cathy thought. ‘About sixteen years or so. I’m not sure exactly. He looks older than he actually is.’
‘There’s an old African saying: The older the buck, the harder the horn.’
They laughed once more.
‘Thanks again, Shaquila, I really appreciate the way you tried to help me,’ Cathy told her.
Shaquila took the small blonde woman in her arms and they embraced as only women can.
‘Thank you, Cathy. You have taken away a nightmare that has lasted nearly all my life.’
‘Well, the nightmare’s over now.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better be going, Shaquila. I have to get back to the hospital.’
They embraced once more.
‘Don’t be a stranger now, you hear?’
Cathy smiled. ‘I won’t. Take care.’
Shaquila nodded. ‘You too, and thanks again.’
She shut her door and heaved a sigh of relief. Her life, her real life, was just about to start. Squeezing her hands into fists, she did a little jump for joy.
That night in the club Cathy celebrated with everyone, but inside she was sad. Richard was with one of Susan P’s girls and it was obvious they knew each other very well. As she saw him chatting to the tall brunette Cathy felt a stab of pain go through her heart. She realised she was jealous.
Susan P watched and went over to her. The worse for wear after more cocaine than usual, she opened her mouth before she realised what she was saying.
‘She’s one of his regulars. Yvonne’s a real professional and knows just what Richard likes.’
Cathy smiled. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he paid for it?’
‘Oh, he pays all right. Likes a bit of exotic now and then does our Richard. Knows what he wants and takes it. With a tom there’s no tie, is there? That’s what makes them so attractive to some men. They fuck them, have a laugh and then leave them.’
‘I suppose so.’
Susan P looked at her friend and said gently: ‘Have I just put me big foot in it?’
Cathy shrugged. ‘’Course not.’
‘He really cares about you. You realise that, don’t you?’
‘I care about him too, as a friend. A good friend.’ And as she watched him with the tall statuesque prostitute she knew that that was all they could ever be to one another. Just friends.
Now that the danger was over, she wasn’t sure she wanted anything more. Maybe last night’s feelings for Richard had just been because of all that had happened.
And besides, she had Eamonn. Eamonn, her Irish boy, the man who had taken her virginity, the man she loved with all her heart and soul.
Could you love two men? Cathy thought she did, in two very different ways. Suddenly it occurred to her that she might well love two men, but she didn’t need either of them.
One was a lover, one a good friend - the best friend anyone could have.
And that was exactly how she would leave it.
Terry Campbell’s death in custody hit all the papers. The apparent suicide was one of many that had taken place over the last few years.
As the word hit the street many people breathed a sigh of relief. The only person to cry for Trevale was his mother. The news broke Myra’s heart.
She had loved her son with a passion that was as fierce as it had been perverse. She followed him within the year and was buried with him, Shaquila saw to that, but there was no headstone, nothing. Not a thing to say th
at either of them ever existed.
Shaquila saw to that as well.
Chapter Forty-Six
Kitty opened the door to the flat. When she saw who the visitor was she squealed with delight. ‘Mum, it’s Richard!’
He walked into the flat with his usual fierce expression carefully concealed. Kitty adored him and on the occasions when they met he always managed to look like a benevolent uncle.
‘Hello, Kitty Cat, and how are you?’
She hugged him. There was something about him that made her feel safe and at home in his presence.
‘I’m OK. Auntie Susan’s coming round later. Are you staying for a while?’
He smiled down at her and said in his low husky voice, ‘Only for a few minutes.’
Cathy was busy making a pot of coffee when he came into the kitchen. She smiled at him tremulously. ‘Hello, Richard. Sit down, I’ll make us a drink and then we can chat.’
As he played with Kitty, Cathy watched them. There was something about Richard that made you either love him or loathe him, and she and her daughter loved him. Richard was like a mainstay to Kitty, a big kind uncle who’d bought her sweets when she was a little girl, and then fan magazines as she became a young woman. He wasn’t empty-handed now; he was never empty-handed where Kitty was concerned.
Opening his overcoat, he removed two movie magazines and slipped them under the kitchen table to the girl. Kitty left the room with them and Cathy laughed.
‘You always bring her that crap, every time. I ban them and you bring them. How am I supposed to discipline her?’
He shrugged. ‘She’s a kid, for Christ’s sake, so let her be one. Anyway, all the girls love anything to do with Tom Cruise or River Phoenix.’
‘She’ll become an airhead.’
‘All women are airheads. They don’t mature until their thirties.’ He said this with a rueful smile and Cathy, placing the coffee on the table, slapped him on his bald head.
‘You’ve got some front . . .’
He interrupted her then. ‘Yeah - more front than Brighton. Do you know, she reminds me of you when you was a kid. That same leggy look, the same freshness. Though in fairness you’ve weathered well, girl, considering all that’s happened to you.’
Cathy felt tears prickling her eyes. What she would have done without this man’s friendship over the years, she didn’t know. He was the rock she had clung to as the tides washed over her. No matter what had happened he was there beside her, helping her.
‘So, Richard, what brings you here then?’
He took a deep breath; he hated to be the bearer of bad news and had a feeling that this woman had had all the bad news she could take in the last few weeks.
‘Your mother was released a few days ago. I was only told this morning. I thought I ought to warn you.’
Cathy went white with shock. ‘Are we in any kind of danger?’ she asked him finally.
‘I really have no idea,’ Richard admitted. ‘As far as I can make out she was released into the community. You know she was being treated on a psychiatric basis towards the end? It seems they moved her out of Cookham Wood and into a small hospital in Essex called Rampton. She did so well there that they released her. Now no one seems to know where the fuck she’s gone. They had arranged accommodation, social workers had fixed back-up for her, and she was to be a day patient at Basildon Hospital, but Madge pissed off more or less immediately after they left her. No one has seen or heard from her since.’
Cathy bit her lip.
‘She is classed as a manic depressive,’ he went on. ‘As long as she takes her medication, she’s fine. Dolmatil evens her out, like. Now, though, it seems she has decided to look after herself, and quite frankly I’d say be wary for a while. She’ll turn up, her sort always does.’
Cathy interrupted him. ‘Normally on the street. Half the bag ladies are out of the mental hospitals, aren’t they? Is she dangerous, Richard? Tell me, please. Not for me, but for Kitty. I need to know.’
He shrugged. ‘The doctor’s report says she’s no danger to society, otherwise they’d never have let her out, but whether she’s a danger to you, I have no real idea.’
Cathy lit a cigarette and pulled on it deeply. ‘If it’s not one thing, it’s another,’ she said wearily.
‘Just keep a weather eye out, that’s all you have to do. Once she turns up we can all breathe easily again. I mean, she might be sweet as a nut. We really don’t know.’
Cathy laid her hand on top of his. ‘You’re so very good to me. What would I do without you?’
‘You’d have survived. You’re a survivor like me.’
‘I nearly didn’t the day I first met up with old Desrae, but that’s a story for the dark winter nights. But all that aside, I’m worried. Not for me, for Kitty. I’ve never told her about her granny. There didn’t seem any point.’
‘Well, there is now, and she’ll cope with it. I mean, think about it. At fourteen she’s seen more of life than most adults. More than you wanted her to see, I know but you’ve brought her up smashing, she’s a credit to you, darlin’, and you should appreciate that fact. You done a blinding job with her. She’ll cope.’
Cathy finished her coffee before answering him.
‘I’ll see what happens first. If I hear from my mother then I’ll have to sort something out, won’t I?’
Richard nodded. ‘I suppose so. Like you say, worry when there’s something to worry about, eh? Now I’d better go. I have to work for a living - which is more than I can say for you lot.’
After he’d left Cathy sat at the table and pondered this new situation. She wanted to see her mother, and she didn’t want to see her mother. It had been a long time. Far too long really for either of them to know the other. Remembering her childhood, she tried to concentrate only on the good bits, the fun bits, but it was hard. Ron’s face swam before her eyes and she shut them tight, trying to blot out the image.
So much that was bad had happened in her life, and all because of Madge and her job. In reality Cathy should hate her, but she couldn’t. Madge was her flesh and blood, her only relative after Kitty. Her only family.
Desrae opened his front door with a wide smile on his face. He had been expecting Kitty. Instead he found a shabby woman with dyed red hair standing on his doorstep.
‘Can I help you, love?’ Desrae took a quick look down Greek Street in case someone saw him talking to this old bag lady.
‘Are you Desrae?’
He nodded. ‘What can I do for you, my love? Collecting for something, are you?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I am here about Cathy Duke, or Connor as she was known.’
Desrae narrowed thickly mascaraed eyes and said in a deep voice: ‘What about her? And it’s Pasquale these days.’
The woman sighed. ‘I ain’t here for trouble. I just need to see her for five minutes, that’s all. I have some information for her.’
‘And what kind of information would you have, dear, if you don’t mind me asking?’
She sucked on her teeth a moment before answering. ‘Important information, that’s what.’
Desrae rolled his eyes heavenwards. ‘You trying to wind me up, love? Now who are you? When I know that I’ll decide if I’m going to tell her anything. I can’t be no fairer than that, can I?’
‘My name is Betty Jones, I’ve known Cathy since she was born. I was a friend of her mother’s. Maybe she’s mentioned me? I see her now and again. She visits me like.’
‘Well, why didn’t you ring her?’
Growing impatient, Betty said sarcastically: ‘Because what I have to say is best said to her face. I have never known her address. I was never invited to her home. But I still care for her, as I always have, and I need to see her urgently. I was told you could get me to her.’
Desrae was in a quandary. He wanted to know what was going on, but he didn’t want it to seem as if he was interfering. He had heard of this Betty Jones all right, but wasn’t sure what to do now that
she was actually on his doorstep.
‘What’s this all about then?’ he pressed.
‘It’s about Madge, her mother. That’s what it’s all about.’
Desrae stepped back. ‘You’d better come inside.’
As they walked up the stairs, his mind was working overtime. If Madge were back, then that could only mean trouble for Cathy. And what about Kitty? The girl had no idea that her grandmother had been in prison for murder. She was not going to know either, if it was up to Desrae. That youngster had been through more than enough.
Betty stared around her at the gaudy colours in the sitting room and finally perched on the edge of the two-seater settee. Desrae sprawled in a chair and for a few moments the two weighed each other up.
‘Madge turned up at my house two days ago,’ Betty began. ‘I’ve been trying to decide what to do with her ever since. I know she’s been up here, watching out for her daughter. I’m worried about her. Madge isn’t all the ticket these days. Not that she ever really was.’ Betty sighed heavily. ‘I wouldn’t put it past her to do Cathy a damage if she could. Not that she’s said anything, it’s more a feeling, you know?’
‘Do you think Cathy should be told, is that it?’ Desrae asked, feeling dismayed at the news.
Betty shrugged. ‘Look, here’s my number. I have to get back, I want to keep me eye on Madge. She thinks I’ve gone out shopping. I’ll have to cab it back as it is. Do what you think is best, and then let me know. Here, give me your number and I can tell you what’s going on from my end. Whatever happens, we have to protect Cathy and her daughter. Madge is as mad as a hatter. Years ago, she was a laugh: not any more. She scares me, mate.’ Betty shuddered. ‘I don’t really want her at my place but there’s not a lot I can do, is there? I can’t ding her out, can I?’
Desrae shook his head understandingly. ‘Look, take this.’ He thrust a twenty-pound note into the woman’s hand. ‘Get a cab. And write me down your address as well. I’ll pop on me thinking wig and try to come up with something, OK? I don’t like to rush you off like this but Kitty, Cathy’s girl, is due here and I think it’s best if she doesn’t see you,’ Desrae said tactfully.