Dark Spaces Page 2

  As Lilly unlocked the door and stepped over the post, she vowed to get some proper, permanent help.

  She ignored the answer machine, winking its accusations at her, and picked up the phone. She dialled the number Sheba had given her and laid Alice on a play mat she kept in the reception.

  ‘Brady Moore and Lodge.’ The response was instantaneous.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Lilly. ‘Were you waiting for the phone to ring?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the receptionist, as if that were obvious. ‘Can I help you?’

  Lilly checked her notes. Her biro had been running out and it was difficult to make out the name. ‘Can I speak to a Paul Sara … sorry I can’t read my own writing.’ Lilly squinted. ‘It’s definitely Sara-something.’

  Lilly heard nails tapping a keyboard.

  ‘There’s no one here of that name. Could it be Paul Santana?’ asked the receptionist.

  Lilly rechecked the piece of paper. In all honesty it could say anything. ‘Let’s give him a twirl,’ she said and gave her name.

  The hold music was The Planets by Holst, a deep resonant cello rising and falling. Lilly pressed the squawk box button and the music filled her own office. Alice looked up and pointed a chubby finger towards the sound. As the crash of a cymbal resonated, Lilly bent over her baby and began conducting. Alice gave her best smile, the stubby ends of front teeth erupting through her gums. The music lifted towards a crescendo and Lilly waved her arms and head madly, her long curls flying. Alice squealed in delight.

  The music stopped abruptly. ‘Paul Santana.’

  ‘Right.’ Lilly straightened. ‘Hello there.’

  ‘Miss Valentine?’

  Lilly blew a stray tendril from her mouth. ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I’m sure the error is mine,’ he said. ‘But I can’t place you momentarily.’

  Ooh, he was slick.

  ‘No error at all,’ said Lilly. ‘We’ve never met.’

  ‘An unfortunate circumstance, I’m sure.’

  A bit too slick.

  ‘Your name was passed on to me by Lydia Morton-Daley’s therapist. I understand you’re the family’s solicitor.’

  ‘Indeed,’ he said. ‘I deal with all the Morton-Daleys’ legal affairs.’

  ‘The difficulty, as I understand it, is that you specialize in commercial work and that Lydia requires criminal advice.’

  ‘Oh, I think my knowledge will be enough to cover the small matter of a teenager drinking too much,’ he said. ‘I may not be Rumpole but this isn’t serious enough to cause concern.’

  Lilly sighed. When would some lawyers learn to stick to what they were good at? She wouldn’t pull up a chair, stick her feet on his desk and advise his clients on their tax bills, would she?

  ‘She was three times over the limit and crashed a Merc she’d hot-wired. When the police pulled her out she was still holding a bottle of vodka. With her history it doesn’t look great.’

  ‘History?’

  ‘She’s been nicked four times in the past couple of years. Once for criminal damage, twice for shoplifting and recently for disorderly conduct. Each time she got off with a caution but that’s most definitely not going to happen this time,’ said Lilly. ‘It’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Lydia could spend some time in custody. And, if that happens, her family aren’t going to be best pleased, are they?’

  Lilly let the question hang in the air, her meaning as clear as a mountain stream.

  He coughed. ‘Perhaps on further reflection it would be better to transfer the file to a solicitor with more time to spend on it. These cases can get very time-consuming.’

  The oil slick oozed out.

  ‘Why don’t I give you my email address?’ said Lilly. ‘And you can send the papers over.’

  When Gem wakes up it’s nearly one o’clock and the telly and the lights are off. The leccy must have run out. Her cheek is stuck to the settee and when she pushes herself up it peels away like a plaster coming off in the bath. It feels like some of her skin got left behind. She even checks there’re no bits of it on the PVC.

  Gem didn’t go to school this morning. Mum was on the missing list and she couldn’t leave Tyler on his own could she? But it’s gonna get well boring if they can’t watch anything.

  Tyler opens his eyes and looks at his sister. He’s been asleep too, cuddled up with Marley on the floor.

  ‘I hungry,’ he says.

  Gem nods at him. She’s hungry as well but she doubts there’ll be anything in the fridge.

  She pats Marley on the head and he wags his tail. The dog must be starving too. When Mum gets back she’d better have been to the shops.

  She picks up Tyler. His nappy is massive and his trousers feel damp around the bum. Mum thinks he should be dry by now, but he ain’t, so Gem don’t know why she even says it.

  She takes him through to the kitchen and opens the fridge. It don’t work so they just keep stuff in there away from Marley. Like she thought, it’s virtually empty. There’s a tin of chicken soup but she can’t even heat it up, can she?

  ‘I hungry,’ Tyler says again.

  ‘All right,’ Gem says and reaches for the tin opener. They’ll have to eat it cold. It ain’t like it’s the first time.

  She’s spooning it straight from the tin, one for Tyler, one for Marley, then one for herself, when Mum walks in.

  ‘That’s not clean, Gem,’ she says and flops into the chair opposite.

  Gem shrugs and carries on. ‘We need money for the meter.’ She notices Mum ain’t carrying no shopping bags. ‘And food.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go over to Mary’s and borrow a couple of quid?’

  ‘We already owe her a fiver,’ Gem replies.

  Mum sighs and pats herself down. Right in the bottom of her jacket pocket she finds a single battered ciggie and lights it. Gem watches the end glow red and the smoke stream out of Mum’s nose.

  ‘Give us a puff,’ she says.

  ‘You shouldn’t even be smoking at your age,’ Mum says. But she hands it out to Gem. ‘You should be in school.’

  Gem hands the spoon to Tyler so he can lick off the cold soup and takes the fag. Marley jumps up at the baby, trying to get the spoon.

  ‘Get down.’ Mum bats Marley away.

  ‘He’s hungry,’ Gem tells her.

  ‘We’re all fucking hungry.’ Mum holds out her fingers in a V shape to take her ciggie back.

  Gem steals another quick drag and puts Tyler on the floor. Marley leaps at him and steals the spoon, making a run for it into the other room. She can’t be bothered to chase him.

  ‘I’ll go out then, shall I?’ she asks.

  Mum nods and drops her dog-end into the empty soup tin.

  It was dark by the time Lilly got back to her cottage and she made straight for the kitchen, ditching Alice in a high chair alongside. She flicked on the kettle and when the water boiled she poured it over a large saucepan of spaghetti. Then she added a fistful of salt crystals. Her mother had always told her that the water for cooking pasta should be as salty as the Mediteranean; a rather exotic pronouncement, given she had never been further than Blackpool.

  When the pan was bubbling Lilly pulled eggs, bacon, cream and parmesan from the fridge.

  ‘Is that Carbonara?’

  Lilly almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Bloody hell, Sam.’

  Her teenaged son dropped his school bag on the floor at his feet. Not far behind was his dad.

  ‘Is that what I think it is?’ his dad asked.

  Spaghetti Carbonara was her ex-husband’s desert island meal. When they’d first got together Lilly had made a huge vat of the stuff which they took back to bed with them. She’d cooked it at least once a week during their marriage.

  ‘I think you have a sixth sense about it,’ she said. ‘Isn’t Cara expecting you back home for dinner?’

  David shrugged. His new wife didn’t really cook. Instead she followed a macrobiotic lifestyle that featured a profusion of raw vegetables a
nd pulses. Lilly laughed and slung more spaghetti into the pan.

  When they’d all had seconds, Sam slunk out of the room mumbling something about geography revision and Lilly poured herself a generous glass of wine. David did the same.

  ‘You’re driving,’ she told him.

  ‘Actually, Lil …’ He took a gulp. ‘I was hoping I could stay here tonight.’

  Lilly almost choked. ‘What?’

  When she and David had separated she’d been bereft. Gnawed bare like a dog’s bone, even her marrow sucked away. It had taken her years to get past the corrosive anger to a place where they could be friends for Sam’s sake. Surely he couldn’t be suggesting what she thought he was suggesting?

  ‘I meant on the sofa of course,’ he said.

  Relief washed over Lilly but that was quickly eclipsed by the piquing of her temper.

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘What’s happened?’

  David didn’t look up from the rim of his glass, but the pink glow seeping up from his collar to his ears told her everything.

  ‘Cara’s thrown you out,’ she shouted. ‘She has, hasn’t she?’

  ‘Shush,’ he said and pointed to the ceiling, indicating where Sam’s bedroom was situated.

  ‘Bloody hell, David,’ Lilly stage-whispered. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing.’ David put down his wine and coughed. ‘But Cara has got it into her head that I’m seeing someone else.’

  Lilly slammed her own drink onto the table, sloshing its contents over the wood.

  ‘Christ Almighty, David, when will you ever learn to keep it in your trousers?’

  Lilly was furious. God knows she was no fan of Botox Belle but she and David had a life together, a child together. Lilly thought he’d finally grown up.

  ‘It’s not how it looks,’ he said. ‘Cara has got it all wrong.’

  ‘That’s what you told me,’ Lilly spat.

  ‘Well this is nice.’ Sam leaned against the door frame. ‘Just like the good old days.’

  David looked up. ‘Sorry, Sam, your mother and I were just discussing a few things.’

  Sam rolled his eyes and lifted his shirt to scratch his stomach. His muscles were washboard tight, each ab clearly delineated. Lilly knew he’d started to use the gym at school but the transformation was incredible. She had to stop herself staring.

  ‘Your dad’s staying here tonight,’ she said. ‘He’s had a bit of a row with Cara, but nothing to worry about.’

  ‘So you thought you’d come over here and row with Mum instead?’ Sam shook his head. ‘Sucker.’

  ‘Sam!’ Lilly and David shouted as one.

  He put up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Whatever. Just keep it down, would you, some of us have work to do.’

  With that, he sloped away and David mouthed his thanks to Lilly.

  It’s hours before Gem has anything worth taking to Ali.

  First she tried Superdrug but it was completely on top. Some old cow of an assistant followed her around. Even when Gem pretended to check out the rows of nail varnish, she stood about a foot away, her arms folded. Bitch.

  Boots was no better.

  And it ain’t like Gem’s green. She’s been shoplifting since she was about ten or eleven. Definitely ten. She started when she went into care the first time. Mum got sent away and Gem got sent to a foster family. Ronnie and Sandra Fitzpatrick. They were all right as it goes. Treated her like one of their own kids. The oldest was called Chris, only Sandra insisted everyone call him Christopher, which is a bit wanky really, but then she gave the name to him, so it was up to her. Anyway, it was Chris who first took her out on the rob. He showed her all the best places and how to get the stuff from the shelves to her pockets. Gem was a natural and they were soon at it every day.

  ‘I have taught you well, young Padawan,’ he used to say.

  He tried to teach her some other things as well, but Gem weren’t having none of that.

  In the end she got even better at it than Chris and they only ended up getting caught ’cos he got all competitive and tried to nick a bike from Halfords.

  Chris blamed it all on Gem of course, and Ronnie and Sandra believed him. After that she got sent to a children’s home.

  When she gets to the end of Ali’s road, she counts up what she’s got. Four packs of batteries, a jar of coffee and a half-bottle of Jim Beam. It should earn her at least a tenner.

  The house next door to Ali’s has been closed up, wooden boards nailed across every window. He’ll be glad about that ’cos the place had got taken over by junkies and they were always setting fire to stuff and leaving dirty needles in the garden.

  When Gem rings the bell, it’s Ali’s wife who comes to the door. Her name’s Herika and she don’t speak much English.

  ‘Is Ali in?’ Gem asks.

  Herika nods and points to the kitchen at the end of the hallway. Gem wipes her feet on the mat. The house is always spotless and she don’t want to trail any mud indoors. Ali is sat at the kitchen table chatting to two other men. He once told her he was from Turkey so he must be talking in whatever language they speak there ’cos Gem can’t understand a word. Herika skirts behind them to the cooker where she’s frying slices of them big shiny purple things. Gem don’t know what they’re called but they smell lovely.

  Ali looks up at Gem and smiles.

  ‘Hello, my precious stone.’ He always calls her that. ‘What have you got for me today?’

  Gem lays the gear on the table and waits as Ali inspects it, turning the batteries over in his hands as if he’s never seen any before.

  ‘It’s all good stuff,’ Gem tells him. ‘None of that own brand shit.’

  Herika slides a plate of food onto the plastic tablecloth and the men each take a piece. Gem’s stomach growls.

  Ali swallows and sighs. ‘I can see that, my precious, but it’s getting very hard to shift anything these days. There’s a recession on, you know.’

  Ali turns to his mates who all nod in agreement, their lips and fingers greasy.

  That’s the trouble with Ali. He makes out he’s all nice and friendly but he’ll still try to rip you off. Sometimes, if he won’t give her enough, she’ll try Fred the Shred over in Ring Farm, but that’s miles away and she’s got to get back with some tea for Tyler and Mum.

  ‘I’ll give you a fiver,’ says Ali.

  Bastard. If she buys fish fingers, chips and beans from the Spar, another bunch of robbing bastards, then there won’t be anything left for the meter.

  ‘It’s easily worth a tenner,’ says Gem.

  Ali shakes his head. ‘Sorry, my precious, no can do.’

  Tears sting Gem’s eyes. She’s really cold, really tired and really hungry. ‘Eight.’

  Ali shakes his head and slips another piece of food into his mouth. Gem watches him chew and tries not to scream. In the end Herika puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers something in his ear. Her lips are all pink and smooth. Gem runs a finger over her own chapped mouth, the dry skin catching on her nail.

  ‘My wife will be the death of me,’ Ali laughs and reaches behind him to a tin box. He takes out a five-pound note and three one-pound coins, then holds them out to Gem. ‘Spend it wisely, my precious stone.’

  Gem grabs the cash, hurries down the hallway and heads off to the Spar.

  Lilly snuggled under her duvet, Alice asleep on her chest, laptop balanced on her knees, family-sized bag of Revels on her bedside table.

  She smiled at the thought of David downstairs on the sofa, trying to get comfortable in an old sleeping bag that hadn’t been washed since Sam’s last camping trip with school. She’d chucked a folded towel at him for a pillow and told him to sleep tight, an edge of cruel enjoyment in her voice. There was a spare on her bed, but she was buggered if she was going to give it to the two-timing rat.

  She logged on and accessed the file Santana had sent her. It was made up entirely of police documents. Mr Slick hadn’t made any notes of his own, hadn’t even been to see his client
in the Grove by the looks of it.

  Lilly popped a Revel into her mouth and opened the arresting officers’ notes. PC Rashid and WPC Knight had been called to attend a party in Great Markham. The neighbours had reported an argument breaking out among a group of youths in the country lane outside the house where the party was taking place. But before the police officers arrived at the scene they were forced off the road by a blue Mercedes SLK careering wildly up the lane at speed.

  My colleague, PC Rashid, who was driving the squad car, quickly made a U-turn and we set off in pursuit of the Mercedes.

  The temperature that night had fallen well below zero and the roads were icy. It soon became obvious that the driver of the vehicle was making no concessions to the conditions, travelling at speeds of over seventy miles an hour.

  Both our siren and lights were functioning, but the driver made no attempt to slow down. As the Mercedes approached a particularly sharp bend it slid over a metre to its left, scraping a tree.

  My colleague and I were very concerned that if another car approached from the opposite direction there would be a head-on collision. We took the decision that at the first opportunity we needed to overtake and force the Mercedes to a standstill.

  We followed the car for a further mile, during which period it hit more trees, bushes and even a low wall. At all times the speed did not fall below sixty miles per hour.

  When the road opened out PC Rashid accelerated. As we came alongside the Mercedes I looked inside. The driver was a young female aged 14–18. She was white with short dark hair. She glanced in our direction and I gestured her to pull over. Instead she began to increase her speed.

  ‘Mum.’