Faceless

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble?’ Lucy said timidly.

  Susan smiled without answering. Deep inside she was wondering if she had gone stark staring mad.

  Jason and Marie were in the TV room at the back of the house. Like everywhere else it was spotlessly clean, though the furniture was shabbier here than in the rest of the place. Marie guessed that this was the room they used when they were not entertaining. It was more relaxing here than in the other rooms because it was not like a magazine picture. As they sat together and talked, Marie felt herself unwinding.

  ‘She doesn’t mean it. My mum . . . I mean, Verbena. It’s just that she’s had me to herself for so long she finds it hard to share me now, that’s all it is.’

  Marie grinned at her boy. Soon he would be a man, and from what she had seen he was going to be a good man. A decent man. He was certainly going to be a handsome man.

  ‘I am sorry if I’ve caused a rumpus but I felt the urge to see you. I missed you so very much when I was away from you.’

  He looked into her face.

  ‘Why did you do it, Mum? Why did you kill your two friends?’

  She shook her head sadly.

  ‘I wish I knew the answer to that, Jason, I really do. But I don’t remember it, any of it. I woke up covered in blood and that was when I realised what had happened. My handprints were on the weapons used and I was charged with murder. Two counts. My brief tried for manslaughter due to diminished responsibility but it was rejected. I was deemed fit and able mentally, and they assumed I had known what I was doing and why I was doing it, I just wasn’t telling them. But I have never been able to remember any of it.’

  ‘Truly?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Truly. But you have to understand, Jason, I was a different person in those days. I was an addict and they’re not like everyone else. Their whole life revolves around getting drugs or drink, whatever their preference is. I would take anything I could lay my hands on. It’s like an illness only people don’t understand that. People who can control their lives do not become addicts. I could never control mine. I did far too much too soon and it took its toll on me. I was fifteen when Tiffany was born and just seventeen when I had you, and I was just far too young for all that responsibility. So I started to get out of it, take drugs. Tried to stop the pain and the hurt that my life had brought me.’

  She saw the searching way he looked into her eyes and felt a desire to lie to him, but she knew she couldn’t. He had to know the truth and he had to accept her for what she had done and who she was now, otherwise they would both be living a lie.

  ‘It’s hard to believe you did something like that.’

  She clasped his hand tightly.

  ‘I know, I feel like that myself. I have had to learn to live with the knowledge that I went out of control and took the lives of two people I liked and cared about.’

  He nodded like a seventeen-year-old ancient.

  ‘I’m not going to take drugs ever.’

  It was said fervently and with complete candour.

  ‘Some of my friends have taken Es and smoked grass, but I won’t. If Mum knew who the boys were she would freak out because they’re all what she classes as good lads from good homes. But the world is different these days, drugs are practically socially acceptable. In Amsterdam the government check out the drugs to make sure they’re good quality. My friend James said his dad reckons that will happen here eventually.’

  ‘I hope not. Drugs can never be a good thing, can they? Not if they destroy lives. They destroyed my life and yours.’

  He nodded solemnly.

  ‘And Tiff’s. Are you going to get Anastasia? Only I hate to think of her being adopted. She’s all that’s left of Tiffany, isn’t she?’

  ‘I am going to try. I just have a few things to sort out first.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Oh, just a few things that need doing. Nothing for you to worry about.’

  As she said the words her decision to be honest with her son went out of the window. She would be as honest as she could about everything else, but she could never admit to him that she was contemplating killing his father.

  Though she didn’t remember killing the first time, she was determined to remember every second of it this time. This was retribution, not murder – there was a difference as far as she was concerned.

  Her phone rang and she was glad of the intrusion. As she answered it and heard Maisie’s voice she felt her heart begin to beat faster.

  Patrick was driving around the streets erratically. Since the call telling him about the raid on the club he had been possessed by a rage so acute he could feel it eating into his very soul. When he found out who was responsible he was going to bite their heads off personally and after ripping out their hearts he was going to get seriously nasty. As he drove he thought up more and more elaborate ways to inflict pain on his enemies.

  He just could not believe it! He had taken out the most dangerous and notorious Gangsta in the country and now someone had the gall to try and fuck him over. He was absolutely livid. He was meeting with his boys and they had better come up with some answers or he would want to know why.

  This was typical of the British mentality. He did all the collar, the hard work, and now some little firm thought they could capitalise on it. Well, it was not happening. No fucking way. If it was the Yardies he would have heard by now, he kept a couple of boys in their camp to be on the safe side, and anyway they would just have taken him out. This smacked too much of retribution; this was revenge, and he was racking his brains trying to think of someone who’d worked for Malcolm Derby and would actually have the gall to front him up. He could think of no one at all. He also had to allow for the fact that someone in his pay was giving out to all and sundry about his business. That was another thing he had to think about.

  As he pulled up at Maisie’s flat he saw the gleaming BMWs of his workforce and sighed. Why didn’t they all just leave out a dirty great fucking sign saying: ‘Meeting going on, knock on the fucking nearest door.’

  He was surrounded by a bunch of fucking morons, but then again, what was new? He didn’t want anyone too intelligent working for him because they eventually wanted what you had. It was the unwritten law. But this lot were just above the level of a class of five year olds and he had to have a good sort out in the near future.

  As he walked past the line of cars he scratched his keys down the side of each one. He couldn’t even get parked at his own meeting! What a fucking performance this was turning out to be.

  He stomped towards the building and was amazed to see Marie Carter standing in front of him. She had walked out of a doorway right into his path.

  ‘All right, Pat? Long time no see.’

  Patrick looked at Marie in abject horror. She was the last person he had expected to see tonight.

  ‘Well, well, well. Marie Carter. What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘You took my baby . . .’

  Patrick laughed. ‘Oh. That’s what brought you here, is it? Little Tiff.’

  She stared at him warily and he started talking to her again.

  ‘She was a whore, like you are.’

  As he spewed out his venom to the woman he had destroyed, he saw the torque wrench coming towards his face but as he tried to sidestep it, he stumbled.

  Marie hit him, over and over again. And with each blow she felt the anger and the hatred leaving her body. Eventually she stopped. Breathing heavily from her exertions, she smiled down at his crumpled form.

  ‘That was for my Tiff.’

  Then she walked away from him without a backward glance.

  It occurred to her that she had killed again and probably jeopardised her relationship with her son and grand-daughter. But someone had to take Patrick Connor out once and for all.

  It seemed fitting that it had been her.

  Kevin Carter was screaming out obscenities at everyone and anyone. Heavy sedation had been prescribed and he wa
s now being held down once more and injected with Librium.

  ‘By rights he should be out cold!’

  The night sister was always amazed at what the human body could take when it was under pressure. A tall thin Nigerian woman, she had worked on agency at the hospital for over four years and was more than aware of the state of mind of each of her patients.

  ‘Keep hold of him until the drug takes effect.’

  The two male nurses and a female orderly held him tightly. They did not need to be told to keep hold of him; one of the men was already sporting the beginnings of a black eye from their last encounter.

  ‘What set him off ?’

  The nurse shrugged.

  ‘Who knows? He was talking away to old Sally about his kids, she was smiling and nodding like she always does – God knows she doesn’t know what’s going on from one day to the next – when he suddenly started going berserk.’

  The female orderly said quietly, ‘Whoever this Lou is, I hope he don’t get hold of her. He hates her.’

  Kevin was still talking, quietly now but they were wary of letting him go.

  ‘She knows I know all about her and what she can do. I should have told but it’s too late now. My girls are destroyed . . . Both of them destroyed. She should have been burned up a long time ago, the fucking old bitch! What she done to those two girls was wrong, so wrong. My daughters were both ruined by her . . .’

  ‘Shhh now, calm yourself, Mr Carter. You are in hospital, remember?’

  He was nodding. His eyes were closing but still he fought to keep himself conscious. They held him till his body relaxed and his pulse was back to normal. Then they let go of him.

  ‘Off his trolley!’

  The Nigerian nurse nodded sadly.

  ‘Poor man.’

  ‘He is a murderer, don’t forget.’

  The female orderly was in her element. She kept her neighbours regaled with stories about the patients on her ward. At the moment Kevin Carter was a favourite topic of conversation.

  ‘How can we forget when you keep reminding us?’

  Kevin was still mumbling in his sleep. He was quieter for the rest of the night, but his explosive outbursts were getting more violent and frequent as the days wore on. The doctors would have to up his medication before someone got seriously hurt.

  As she wrote up her report the nurse wondered what the fate of this man would be. Prison would not be the answer, he was completely over the edge. Sighing, she stretched and wished the night would end so she could get herself some well-deserved sleep.

  Mickey was upset and it showed. With his mother at Bingo he was now acting the man of the house. The fact that he had told Lucy she had to find somewhere else to live was forgotten in the surprise of her turning up in a taxi to collect her stuff. She looked different somehow. More in control, more relaxed. For some reason her doing what he had asked had wrong-footed him. Especially as she had done it so quickly. It occurred to him that she might actually have wanted to leave. There was also the fact he was going to miss her and that was the worst thing of all. He had been all ready to front up his mother for her as well!

  As she dragged the bags out to the waiting taxi he didn’t attempt to help her. But she didn’t ask him to either so he let her get on with it. As she walked back into the house she said, ‘You could have folded the clothes up for me, Mick. Most of the stuff is new and hasn’t even been worn yet.’

  She said it without any animosity whatsoever but the words set him off.

  ‘You should have packed yourself then.’

  Lucy laughed and that annoyed him even more.

  ‘I could hardly have packed if I didn’t know I was leaving, could I? Anyway, who’s rattled your bleeding cage? I’m doing what you wanted so why you have the hump I don’t know. Perhaps you’re going through the change. You’re like an old woman, perhaps you’re turning into one.’

  She laughed once more at her own joke until she saw the look on his face. Then she surprised them both by saying gently, ‘Come on, Mick, play the white man. How can you be cross with me when I’m only doing what you wanted? Or, more precisely, what your mother wanted?’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘With a friend.’

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t aware she had any friends. Not close friends anyway. They both had lots of acquaintances but neither had an actual bosom pal. With mothers like theirs friends were never encouraged, there was always something wrong with them, and so eventually they stopped bringing people home.

  ‘Who are you staying with then?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘No one you know.’

  He was suspicious now and thought it might be another bloke.

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Who the fuck are you, the friend police? Giving me the third degree like you own me or something.’

  He was taken aback and it showed.

  ‘I thought we were supposed to be engaged, Lucy? In case that fact has slipped your mind.’

  He was self-righteous now, on his dignity, and she wanted to laugh at him again.

  ‘Hark at you, you pompous little twat! I was under the impression we were engaged as well until I got me fucking marching orders from you and the East End’s answer to Bonnie Parker. But I think we both know it’s time for a rethink, don’t we? I ain’t marrying your fucking mother, mate, I have enough trouble with the one I’ve already got. So you think on that when she gets in from Bingo and wants you to make her a cup of tea while she regales you with stories of how she “only wanted one number” all fucking night. What woman in her right mind would want to take that on?’

  She walked out of the door and he grabbed her arm, pulling her round to face him.

  ‘I want to know where you’re staying!’

  ‘And I want world peace, to win the Lottery and a shag off Denzel Washington, so like me you’ll know what it’s like to want, won’t you?’

  As she walked down the path the cab driver smiled at her. He was about thirty-five, dark-skinned with thick black hair. That smile tipped Mickey over the edge.

  ‘Who’s he fucking smiling at?’

  As he spoke his mother turned into the street with one of her cronies, Gladys Lancaster. She was like his mother, old before her time, dried up and vicious. Lucy thought it all highly amusing. Inside she was pleased to see Mickey was jealous. It proved to her that there was a man in there somewhere.

  Only a small man, she admitted, but a man nonetheless.

  For the first time in ages she was in control and it felt good. He was looking at her like he used to before they got bogged down with the wedding preparations and their mothers. Before he let her boss him about and she had lost all respect for him.

  ‘Oh Mickey, don’t be silly.’

  As she spoke his mother came up to them with her friend.

  ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.’

  She’d had a couple of brandy and ports, plus four barley wines in the Bingo hall, and was ready for a fight. She was determined to see Lucy off and determined to do it now. In fact, if it was left to her then her boy would live with her for the rest of her days.

  ‘Mum!’

  Her son’s voice was high.

  ‘Don’t you “Mum” me! You’re better off without her and the tribe she comes from. You can do better than the Carters.’

  Lucy opened the taxi door without even answering. The driver was finding it all highly amusing and his laughter was making Lucy want to laugh too.

  ‘Drive.’

  Her voice was full of suppressed laughter as the taxi pulled away quickly from the house, leaving Mickey, his mother and her friend speechless.

  ‘She’s gone then?’

  He heard the satisfaction in his mother’s voice and answered her in a shout that could be heard three streets away.

  ‘It fucking looks like it, don’t it? Happy now, are you? You fucking miserable old bag!’

  Her face was ashen
as she watched her son stalk off down the street in his slippers.

  Her hand was still pressed over her mouth in shock as Gladys said happily, ‘What a bleeding night this turned out to be.’

  Mary Watson had won three hundred pounds with a full house, hence the over-indulgence in drink. But it meant nothing now as she realised she had finally gone too far. Like his father before him Mickey had his limit and she had pushed him over it this night. She had won a few battles but she had a feeling Lucy Carter would win the war.

  Marie had lain in the bath at the hostel for over half an hour and now she was lying on the bed in her room, staring at the ceiling. She could not believe what she had done, what she was still capable of doing.

  All those years of controlling herself were for nothing. The degree, the hours of dedicated learning, trying to be a better person, were all for nothing. She was still a killer and this time she didn’t have the excuse of drugs.

  She had always had a temper, had always been capable of taking care of herself. At school she had been the best fighter in her year and had been proud of that fact. No one had dared to mess with Marie Carter, and when she had gone right off the rails, her reputation as a hard nut had made it all the easier because no one had the guts to tell her to her face what an arsehole she was.

  When she had had her Tiffany at fifteen she had looked everyone in the eye with a steely glare and no one had ever had the front to say anything to her face. It had become a habit in the end. The worse she was, the more aggressive she got with people. That way they didn’t say anything to her she didn’t want to hear. No one ever had the guts to tell her where she was going wrong because they were too frightened to. Then the drugs had taken over and it had seemed at the time like a natural progression. She was bad, wasn’t she? She was off the rails and didn’t care about any of it.

  Only she did. Deep inside she cared but she was too far gone to admit it to herself, let alone anyone else. So the cycle had started all over again until finally she had gone too far. She had killed two young women whom she had liked and had thought she cared about.

  For all these years she had told herself that it was out of character for her to do something like that, when in fact it wasn’t. Tonight had proved to her that she was more than capable of harming someone even stone cold sober.