Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine) Page 5

  ‘I’m going to record our discussion, Tanisha, so we both know exactly what’s been said today,’ he told her.

  Wordlessly, Lilly rearranged the chairs so that Tanisha was flanked by her solicitor and foster-parent.

  ‘This is the video camera.’ Jack flicked it on.

  Tanisha shrugged and chewed a mouthful of gum. It made a rhythmic clack that reminded Jack of the heart monitor attached to Malaya Ebola.

  ‘Before we get started I’m going to read you the caution,’ said Jack.

  Lilly leaned forward. Jack could smell the perfume he’d bought for her last Christmas.

  ‘This is supposed to be an informal chat,’ she said. ‘My client isn’t under arrest.’

  ‘That’s true, but I’d rather Tanisha understand the implications of what she says today,’ Jack replied. ‘It’s imperative that she tells the truth.’

  Lilly turned to Tanisha and gave a whispered explanation as to what the caution meant, as if the kid hadn’t heard it a hundred times before. Jack fingered Tanisha’s rap sheet. She had almost as much experience as he did.

  At last Lilly agreed to continue and Jack read out the caution. Tanisha pulled at her gum with finger and thumb, drawing it into a ten-inch string, before stuffing it back in.

  ‘Tell me about the South Side Massive,’ said Jack.

  ‘What?’ Tanisha sneered at him.

  ‘What do you know about the gang who call themselves the South Side Massive?’

  Lilly held up her hand. ‘Stop right there. Tanisha came here today to answer specific questions about an assault on another teenager.’

  ‘I think it would be helpful to put that assault into context,’ he replied calmly.

  ‘Then by all means you should do that,’ she said. ‘Then ask your specific questions.’

  He held her gaze. They both knew that this was going to get very sticky. Of course, Lilly refused to look away.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty common knowledge around the estates that one of the crews there is called South Side. It’s also pretty common knowledge that you’re a member.’

  ‘Are you asking or telling?’ said Lilly.

  ‘I’m putting the assault in context,’ Jack replied.

  ‘And now you’ve done that, do you have a question for my client?’

  Jack took a deep breath and reminded himself that all defence briefs were this spiky. It was just their job. Only last week some newly qualified solicitor had threatened to report him to the Police Complaints Authority. Water off a duck’s back. Jack had personally given the number to the little tosser.

  So why did it sting when the lawyer was Lilly?

  ‘Okay, here’s a question your client might feel able to answer. On Monday night was Tanisha with any members of the South Side Massive?’

  ‘It might assist if you could be more specific,’ said Lilly. ‘Name the people you have in mind.’

  Jack smoothed his tie. He didn’t have all their names. ‘How about if Tanisha tells me who she was with on Monday night.’

  ‘Can’t remember.’ Tanisha shrugged.

  ‘Come on, Tanisha,’ Jack laughed. ‘It wasn’t long ago.’

  Tanisha kissed her teeth. ‘I hang out with a lot of people, I can’t say exactly who was around and who wasn’t, can I?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Jack’s eyes flicked to the camera, ‘but can you tell me at least, where you hung out?’

  Tanisha glared at him without blinking. Jack forced a smile.

  ‘Did you go to a friend’s house?’ he suggested. ‘Maybe you did your homework together?’

  Tanisha still didn’t take her eyes off him. ‘Like I said, we hung out.’

  Jack tipped his centre of gravity forward, ever so slightly, reducing the space between them. He let another minute of silence roll by, let the camera record it all.

  ‘And did any of this hanging out take place in Hightown?’

  Tanisha reached deep into the front pocket of her jeans and extracted a tissue. Slowly and deliberately she spat out her gum.

  ‘I don’t live there no more, do I?’ she said.

  ‘So you weren’t there at all?’

  ‘No.’

  Jack knew that another copper wouldn’t be able to suppress a smile, but all he could feel was overriding sadness as he turned off the camera.

  The potato is so hard and cold, the butter won’t even melt into it. Demi presses it into the flesh with her fork but it just sits there, in yellow, oily smears.

  It said on the menu ‘baked potato’ but the thing on Demi’s plate feels like it made friends with a microwave for a couple of minutes at the most. If she had a phone she’d take a photo of it and send it to one of those consumer programmes her gran loves. Demi hates the food in the school cafeteria. The only thing going for it is that it’s free.

  She abandons her main course and picks up her pot of jelly. It hasn’t set properly and slips over the side of her spoon on to the table.

  ‘Clean that up, you dirty bitch.’

  The noise in the room is deafening, but Demi knows who is shouting at her. She carries on with her pudding, letting the cool gelatine slide down her throat.

  ‘You wipe that up before I make you eat it.’

  Demi doesn’t look up. She knows Georgia Moore will be at the end of the table, sandwiched between the two cronies who laugh at every pathetic joke she makes.

  ‘I know where you come from it don’t matter,’ Georgia shouts, ‘but this is England and we don’t put up with filth.’

  Demi feels the heat at the back of her neck and stacks everything on her tray. She wipes up the tiny blob of jelly with a paper napkin and heads out into the playground. On good days Georgia gets bored and finds someone else to torture. But not today. She keeps step behind Demi, her cling-ons just behind.

  ‘I saw on the telly that people in Nigeria don’t use proper toilets,’ Georgia laughs, ‘that they just crap in the street.’

  Demi hears the sniggering all around her as other pupils catch on to the fact that the Georgia Moore show is in full swing. A group of boys interrupt their football game to see what the fuss is about.

  ‘Imagine the stink.’ Georgia is enjoying the attention now. ‘All that shit just sitting on the roadside.’

  The audience hoots in appreciation and Demi imagines that this is what it must feel like to be on The X Factor and have Simon Cowell lay into you on national telly. She speeds up towards the gate.

  ‘I don’t know about you lot, but I can smell Demi Ebola from here,’ Georgia shouts.

  Unable to bear another second, Demi sprints into the street. Leaving school premises at lunchtime is strictly against the rules but Demi doesn’t care. She needs to get away.

  Outside, she takes a sharp left, her feet pounding on the pavement, but she can hear panting behind her. They’re right on her tail. But she’s had practice. Plenty of practice. If she can make it to the end of the road, she can lose them. If she can just keep going. Her heart hammers in her chest, but she can’t slow down.

  She can see the junction. She can make it.

  Without warning, a white transit van backs out from a side street, blocking Demi’s path. If she doesn’t stop she will crash into its metal side. She screeches to a halt. For a split second she hesitates. Too late. That moment is all it takes and Georgia and her comrades are upon her.

  Demi feels a hand grab a fistful of her hair and spin her around. She gasps as it tears away from the roots.

  Georgia leers into her face. ‘You’re not just minging. You’re completely stupid.’

  Demi feels the tears well in her eyes. They’re hot and they sting. She tries to blink them back.

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Leave me alone,’ Georgia mimics.

  The other girls laugh and crowd into her, Demi can feel their pizza breath on her face. Her arm is bent behind her back and the pain makes her wince. Once upon a time, she might have hoped a passer-by would intervene, today she knows that won
’t happen. A mother, out shopping with her toddler, crosses to the other side.

  ‘You’ve put us to a lot of trouble, Demi,’ says Georgia. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  Demi squeezes her eyes shut. They stole her phone weeks ago and she doesn’t have a penny on her.

  Georgia yanks at Demi’s hair, ripping it from its roots. Demi bites her bottom lip. Whatever they do to her she refuses to give them the pleasure of seeing her crumble. She waits for the hot slap of a hand against her cheek, or the kick of a heel in her shins.

  ‘Is there a problem here, Demi?’

  Demi’s eyes shoot open to find Chika standing less than a foot away, some of her friends behind her.

  She lifts a chin at Demi. ‘Everything all right?’

  Chika’s shoulders are relaxed and she bobs from foot to foot in a casual dance. Her friends lounge against one another. Yet something in their stance makes Georgia loosen her grip on Demi’s hair.

  ‘This ain’t your business,’ says Georgia, but something in her tone is unsure.

  Chika checks her friends and they all laugh as if Georgia has just told the funniest joke.

  ‘You don’t get to tell me what is and what ain’t my business.’

  Chika’s body is still loose, but she takes a step towards them.

  ‘I don’t see why you care.’ Georgia is pretending to hold her ground, but Demi can hear the trace of fear in her voice. ‘She ain’t nobody to you.’

  Chika takes another step so that she’s now face to face with Georgia. The two cronies melt into the background.

  ‘Just so you know, this girl’s sister is my bredren,’ Chika squares up to Georgia, ‘which makes her family, you get me?’

  The other girls call out their agreement.

  ‘And when someone is beating up on a member of my family, that vexes me.’

  Georgia releases Demi. ‘Fine. Whatever.’

  She tries to move away but Chika is blocking her. She has to physically push past, clearly frightened that Chika might hurt her. Chika doesn’t move until Georgia is touching her, then she opens her mouth, bares her teeth and hisses like an angry cobra.

  Georgia lets out a squeak and runs away.

  ‘Stay in touch,’ Chika shouts, as Georgia reaches the other side of the road and hurries back in the direction of school.

  Everyone is in fits of laughter when she finally disappears, and Chika puts an arm around Demi’s shoulders.

  ‘You on your way to visit Malaya?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, though that hadn’t been her immediate plan.

  ‘We’ll come with you,’ says Chika.

  ‘Can we eat first?’ a girl with waist-length braids grumbles. ‘I’m starving.’

  Chika turns to Demi, her arm still heavy and protective. ‘You okay with that?’

  Demi tries not to smile. It’s been a long time since anyone cared what she thinks about anything.

  She nods and allows herself to be steered into a fried chicken place. On a sticky chair, stuffing her face with chips and ketchup, listening to the girls shout at the owners and laugh into their mobiles, Demi notices how warm it is inside.

  The black granite kitchen surface was cold to the touch. Lilly ran her finger along it, feeling the pleasing smoothness. It ran the entire length of Annabelle’s kitchen, punctuated only by a deep butler sink, and there wasn’t a single crumb or drop of water on it.

  ‘Is that an end to this business, now?’ Annabelle loaded a tray with teapot, cups and milk in a jug.

  Lilly see-sawed her hand. Something about Jack’s questioning bothered her. Not so much what he’d asked, but what he hadn’t.

  Annabelle carried the tray to an enormous oak table that could easily seat ten, and began to pour the tea.

  ‘They didn’t seem to have any evidence against Tanisha at all.’ Annabelle’s tone was bright.

  Lilly didn’t want to worry her so she took a seat next to Annabelle. ‘You’ve got quite a place here.’

  Lilly had expected a modest semi, or a cottage like her own. She’d pictured knick-knacks and wellies by the door. In fact, Annabelle’s home was palatial. An enormous old rectory, set in acres of woodland. Through the kitchen window, Lilly had spotted an outdoor swimming pool and a tennis court beyond.

  ‘It’s a touch too big for my needs,’ said Annabelle.

  Lilly nearly spat out her tea. There had to be at least eight bedrooms in a place this size. The triple garages outside could have housed a small family.

  ‘Is that why you foster?’ Lilly asked.

  ‘No,’ Annabelle said, but offered no further explanation.

  They sipped tea in silence until Tanisha breezed in. She was barefoot, her toes painted the same gold as her fingers, and she was wearing earphones, listening to an iPod.

  ‘Can I get something to eat?’ She spoke too loudly.

  Annabelle smiled and got up from the table. She opened an American-style fridge and pointed to a shelf of smoothies and yoghurts.

  Tanisha wrinkled her nose so Annabelle gestured to a wooden bowl, overflowing with fresh fruit.

  ‘Can’t I have some crisps?’ Tanisha shouted.

  Annabelle leaned forward and removed one of the ear plugs. ‘You need to take care of yourself.’

  ‘But I don’t like all that shit,’ said Tanisha.

  ‘You need to take care of the baby,’ said Annabelle, pressing a palm on Tanisha’s stomach.

  Tanisha rolled her eyes but reached for an apple. ‘They’re hard to chew.’

  ‘Cut it up,’ Annabelle laughed.

  Tanisha grabbed a knife from a block and hacked the apple into four pieces before replacing the ear plug and dancing out of the kitchen.

  ‘She’s a great kid,’ said Annabelle. ‘She’s had to cope with a lot of problems in her life.’

  Lilly thought about the girl lying in the coma, and the look in Jack’s eye as he had turned off the video camera. She had a dreadful feeling that Tanisha’s problem’s were about to get a whole lot worse.

  Chapter Three

  The thing about parents is that they don’t remember what it was like to be young.

  They start sentences with the words, ‘when I was your age’, then go on about how really great they were.

  ‘When I was your age, I ate whatever was put in front of me.’

  ‘When I was your age, I wouldn’t have dared to argue with my father.’

  They don’t have any idea about how things are today, and they certainly don’t ask.

  Then again, maybe they do. Maybe other kids’ parents actually listen. Maybe they all sit and eat together (having taken the trouble to find out what their kids like) and chat.

  But Jamie’s parents don’t do anything like that. They work. They read the Sunday papers. They go out to restaurants. If Jamie were ever to dare mention that he might have a problem, Dad would frown over his half-moon glasses.

  ‘What on earth can a chap of your age have to worry about? These are the best years of your life and don’t you forget it.’

  Anyway, Jamie aims for minimum contact with his dad. Most of the time he’s at school, so it’s easy, but even during the holidays he stays in his room a lot of the time.

  Mum’s better. Well a bit, anyway. She usually calls him on Friday mornings from the train. They don’t have much to say to one another, but it’s a habit neither of them can break.

  The dorm is a pit as usual, with clothes spilled over the floor. Jamie rummages through the piles until he finds his trousers. They’re crumpled and dirty but he doesn’t care and pulls them on, dragging the waistband low on his hips. Then he reaches over to his bedside table, plunges his fingers into a pot of wax and pushes a handful through his fringe.

  ‘Waiting for Mummy to call?’ shouts Tristan from the bed next to Jamie’s. ‘So sweet.’

  Jamie flips him the finger and pulls out his phone.

  Rule one in boarding school is never, ever show your feelings. You will be teased mercilessly by your house
mates, but if you express the tiniest of feelings, it will get worse.

  He heads down to the dining room, grabs a tray and helps himself to bacon and toast. A lot of the kids here moan about the food, but Mum only ever opens packets from Marks and Spencer so Jamie hardly feels deprived.

  A communal jug of orange juice is in the middle of a table. Jamie pours himself a glass and takes a seat at the furthest end of the hall. When the mobile rings he answers immediately and faces the wall. Phone calls are only allowed in the evenings after prep and if any of the masters catch him he’ll get a detention.

  ‘Jamie?’ Mum asks.

  Honestly. Who else is she expecting?

  ‘Hi Mum.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’ she asks.

  Jamie wonders what she’d do if he told her the truth.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum.’

  He can hear the sound of train wheels on the track. The countryside whooshing by as Mum heads into London. He wishes it were him, escaping into the city.

  ‘Exeat this weekend,’ she says brightly. ‘Any plans?’

  ‘Ben is having a party on Friday night,’ Jamie says. ‘I told you last week.’

  ‘I remember now.’ Mum has clearly forgotten. ‘What time will you be back?’

  ‘I’ll probably stay over at his place,’ Jamie shrugs.

  ‘No rugby match on Saturday?’

  Jamie sighs. He’s never been picked for the rugby team. Ever.

  ‘Have you got everything you need?’ Mum asks.

  Jamie pats his back pocket. He has the only thing he needs.

  ‘Have fun,’ says Mum. ‘I expect you’ll be fighting off the girls.’

  Jamie rolls his eyes and wonders how she can be so stupid.

  ‘Clever girl,’ Lilly smiled at the empty bottle Alice had just polished off.

  ‘Now let’s put you down here while Mummy gets ready for work.’

  Lilly pressed the baby across her chest, patting her back in a soothing rhythm and moved slowly across the bedroom floor. She hummed softly, a song she remembered her own mother singing, and one Sam had always loved.