Sweetie (32 page)

‘I am going to grease a baseball bat and rip that fucker’s arse right open – and that’s just for starters.’

Sue’s eyes gleamed as she imagined it. There was some disagreement over the best way to kill him when they’d finished torturing him, with Michelle bent on suffocation by strangling, just as he’d done to Chantal, and Sue favouring a knife through the heart.

It was Nanny Parks who came up with the best solution. Having listened in stunned silence to most of the talk she suddenly suggested that perhaps the best way would be carbon-monoxide poisoning.

Attach a hose to the exhaust pipe of his car inside the garage, start the engine and leave it running. He’d die alone and no one would know for days.

‘We need to be able to get his body in the car first and he’s a real lump,’ warned Gillian.

‘We can do it with five of us,’ said Grace. ‘It will be a struggle, but we’ll manage.’

‘I’m not sure I can, sorry,’ Potty apologised.

‘Don’t worry about it, Potty. Just break that fucking lock and get us in there,’ said Sue, and Potty nodded vigorously.

‘I can’t be part of it, girls, I hope you understand, 323

but I could create a diversion with the police. Call them up and say that I’ve had kids trying to break into the flat or something?’ Nanny Parks was offering to do what she could.

‘Well, I want to see it, and I don’t wanna miss a second.’ Lizzie was adamant about that.

‘But we need you to wait in the car, Liz,’ said Sue.

‘I’ll wait in the car,’ said Potty, relieved to be able to offer something that did not involve taking a life.

Her Lucy had survived; she didn’t need an eye for an eye like the others. Least, that’s what she told herself.

Grace stood up to open a window; it was getting close in there with all of them smoking and it was making her feel a bit nauseous. As she passed Potty she gripped her shoulder in a reassuring gesture, as if to say, It’s OK, I understand. Potty looked up at her with tears of gratitude in her eyes. They twittered nervously amongst themselves until Sue called for order again and went through her list, point by point, making sure they all understood.

‘The only question now is, when?’ said Grace.

‘Well, it’s got to be before Terry gets back with the girls on Saturday, so it’s either tomorrow or the day after.’

‘The day after,’ they all chorused in unison. They all needed time to get their nerve up, but not too much in case they lost it altogether.

‘Are we going to tell the men?’ asked Michelle.

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‘Not till it’s over,’ said Sue. ‘They’ll try and talk us out of it. Besides, this is between us.’

‘I’ll mind the kids then,’ said Nanny Parks.

‘Do you mind, Mum?’ asked Gillian.

‘No, I’ll have them all round here then call the police, say I’ve seen somebody trying to get over the garden fence. They’ll come quick if I tell them it’s just an old lady and a load of kids.’

Without becoming directly involved she was giving her tacit approval to the whole scheme. Grace smiled gratefully at her mother. ‘I still think you’re mad, the lot of you, but that’s all I’m going to say on the subject.’

Nanny Parks stood up awkwardly, the effort of getting out of the chair playing hell with her arthritic knees.

‘Right, I’m gasping, anyone for a cuppa?’

The last boy had proved tender, young and easy pickings. For all that he had done, they were still so stupid. He was glad of the beating. In a way, he’d almost enjoyed it. It had covered his tracks so well that now no one suspected a thing. The future looked bright for him and he felt safe and secure as he stroked the fur on Twinkle’s back. It would be time soon for a visit upstairs, after he’d eaten the dinner the local authority provided for him. What a lot of prats they were, fussing round him, bringing him meals and showing concern! He gently put the cat on 325

the floor, stretched his long muscular arms above his head, and felt excitement stir at the prospect of reliving his latest conquest. He discarded his dessert, tinned peaches and cream, in favour of something more satisfying.

His muscles still hurt, he had trouble climbing the stairs, but once he was back in his favourite room he felt a surge of pleasure rippling through his body. The last one had been nice and easy. He preferred a struggle, but the kid had been placid and trusting. He was damaged anyway, so what good was he to society? Just another burden on over-stretched resources. Far better to let the kid satisfy him and then be done with it. The real kick had lain in snatching him from right under the mother’s nose.

Two in a bed, the big boy and then the brother . . .

heavenly!

As he pulled open the drawer and gazed at the eyelashes, he felt an erection stir almost immediately.

It had been difficult to wank in the hospital. A little black nurse had had a nice firm arse and caused him to fumble with his penis under the blankets, but seeing that mad fucking Potty woman walking round the ward had put him right off. He had pretended to be asleep, but he had seen her. They were all so stupid! Getting out, getting the brat and fucking him had proved too easy. By suppertime he was back in bed, tucked up with the perfect alibi.

He carefully removed the eyelashes and laid them 326

out on paper tissues. They were so distinctive against the white background. The curly dark ones belonged to the black kid – she’d been a fighter; then the soft brown downy ones . . . now he was nice . . . and the dark lashes of the big boy who’d really loved having his arse spanked. Now he had added another set to his collection from the idiot baby. It was all too much for him. He climaxed over and over, and finally fell in a heap on the nearby bed.

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Chapter Nineteen

The following day the funfair came to Victoria Park and Lucy begged Potty to take her: ‘Please, Mum, please! All my mates are going!’ She hovered over her mother as she was unpacking the shopping in the cramped kitchen. Posters announcing the fair had been pinned up for weeks, but no one had seemed that interested until now.

‘Oh, love, I’m shattered. I’ve been on my feet all day at work. Can’t you see if your dad wants to take you and the little ’uns?’ But Potty knew before she asked that there was no way Michael would give up his evening in the pub to do anything with the children. She listened in as Lucy went into the lounge where Michael lay flat out on the sofa, a can of beer by his side. She could hear the pleading tone in the girl’s voice and his mumbled reply.

When Lucy came back into the kitchen looking deflated, Potty knew what his answer had been.

Michael had little or no interest in any of the kids these days. It seemed his life was just one long piss-up.

‘He says he’s got to go out. Oh, Mum, come on, it’ll be better with you anyway. It’s been ages since 328

we’ve done anything as a family and I really would like to go.’

Lucy hung around expectantly while Potty noisily put tins and packets away in the cupboard, feeling her anger rise. At the bottom of her shopping bag she came across the tobacco which she’d bought for Michael, always thinking of him first in every -

thing she did. Rather than give it to Lucy to hand over, she took it into the front room where she flung it at his prone form. It hit him on the side of the face and caught him unaware as he watched the news.

‘What was that for, you stupid lump?’

‘Me, a lump? You lazy good-for-nothing! What are you doing tonight that’s so important you can’t take the girls to the fair then?’ Potty’s voice betrayed her increasing impatience with her husband.

‘I’m meeting John tonight. He said he might have a few weeks’ work for me on a job he’s doing in Spitalfields.’ She knew that was a lie.

‘When was the last time you did anything with the kids?’

‘Oh, don’t start, I’ve been looking after them all day!’

‘You call lying in bed all day looking after them?

They’ve been round Michelle’s since I dropped them there on the way to work – you could at least have picked them up. There’s a fucking maniac out there on the streets, but you don’t seem to give a shit.

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You’re happy to let them wander around by themselves or let other people look after them. What sort of a fucking father are you? Your own daughter was nearly raped and murdered and you act like nothing even ’appened.’

Potty’s face had coloured with rage to the roots of her newly styled hair. What had been taken for granted for years was finally becoming intolerable to her. He hadn’t even flinched when she mentioned Lucy. He just didn’t care. Michael Potts was dead weight and she was sick of carrying him.

She looked around the lounge at the dirty plates and cups he hadn’t bothered to pick up, the socks and other random items of clothing which had been dropped where they’d been taken off, and felt a surge of pure fury.

‘I don’t need another kid, Michael, I’ve already got three. You want to buck your ideas up or else!’ she cried, furiously banging plates and cups together as she swept through the room.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ He was baffled. She never used to be like this. Silly cow, must be taking the wrong tablets.

‘Well, I’m having trouble working out what exactly it is you contribute around here. There’s got to be more to life than this, you know. I don’t want to live like this any more. I want to set our girls a good example, let them see that decent people work for a living. Move your feet!’ She snatched up one of 330

the girl’s dresses which was scrunched up in a ball beneath his crossed ankles.

‘Oh, what, now you’ve got some poxy cleaning job, suddenly we’re the Brady Bunch?’ Michael licked the gummed edge of his cigarette paper and rolled it between the fingers of one hand. He looked at her and smirked.

Stung by his comment, Potty finally saw red.

‘Actually, there’s a supervisor’s job coming up and I’m going to put myself forward for it. It might just be a shitty cleaning job to you, but I love my work and I love the dignity it gives me. Shame you don’t have any pride, you useless piece of shit! I like what I can do with the extra money, and I want my kids to have the same things that other kids have, instead of hand-me-downs all the time.’

‘Piss off!’ Michael lit his roll-up and pulled at a strand of tobacco which had become stuck to his lip.

Potty looked down at him and knew then that he wasn’t worth the effort of a reply. Deep in her heart something had changed, but it had taken a long time for her to understand its significance. Was this really the man she had laughed with and loved so much?

His face was unshaven and his eyes puffy from non-stop drinking. She knew then it was just a matter of time before she gave him his marching orders.

She dropped the dirty items of clothing in the washing basket in the bathroom and dumped the plates and cups noisily in the sink while Lucy waited 331

at the kitchen table, where she had been listening with a sinking heart.

‘Well, Mum, can we go? Please!’

Potty turned and looked at her girl and felt a surge of love for her. They’d be all right together, they didn’t need him. She knew she and the kids would survive.

‘Yeah, go on then, get yourself ready. We’ll pick Sara and Jessica up on the way.’ Potty laughed as Lucy jumped up and down in delight and rushed her mum at the sink with a huge hug and a kiss on top of her head. Lucy was already taller than Potty and was going to be a big, bold girl. She’d grown up a lot this summer, surviving that attack and growing stronger from it. Lucy was growing up fast and Potty could see traces of the woman she would become. She felt hope rising in her chest at the prospect. She was proud of her girl, and proud of the way she had come through her ordeal. She was proud too of the help she had given Maria. All in all, Potty knew Lucy would be OK. She looked at her daughter with tears in her eyes.

Lucy looked back at her, bewildered. ‘You all right, Mum? And are we gonna have some tea before we go? I’m starving.’

Potty smiled back. ‘No, I’m not cooking after a day at the hospital, I’ll get you a hot dog or some -

thing at the fair.’

Lucy whooped with delight. They never ate out 332

because they couldn’t afford it so this was a real treat.

‘Give me ten minutes to get this shopping put away and change into some clean clothes. I’ll call Michelle and let her know we’re coming.’

Potty approached her new red phone with deep pleasure. It had only been put in the week before, their first phone; no more rattling around in her handbag looking for two-pence pieces to go down the phone box. She carefully opened the red address book she had bought herself and looked up Michelle’s number. She loved her shiny red phone and the way it smelt so new, not like that horrible greasy thing in the phone box outside the flats.

She dialled the number and was thrilled at the sound of the double ring at Michelle’s place, half a mile away. Michelle was definitely up for a trip to the fair. She’d been stuck in with the four girls all day and was desperate for a change of scene.

‘It’ll be good to see you, Potty. I’ve been freaking out all day about this other business, and I think Paul knows something’s up. I just gotta get out the flat for an hour or two. I ain’t never been good at fooling that man, ya know, and he knows I’m bothered over something.’

‘Yeah, me too. See you in about quarter of an hour then, Mich.’ Potty carefully placed the receiver back on its cradle. She didn’t bother saying goodbye to Michael, what was the point? She brushed her hair and painted on some pink-tinted lip shine, smiling at 333

herself in the mirror, pleased with what she saw. Sod Michael.

It was a sultry evening as the two women and their five girls made their way towards the park. From a distance they could hear the thump of loud music.

‘Harlem Shuffle’, a tune familiar to Potty, got her quickening her step, and the four younger girls pulled eagerly on their mothers’ arms, asking for goes on every ride.

Lucy kept quiet, knowing not to push her luck.

They were going out and she might see some of her mates, that was enough for her. She hoped she might see Maria, but was sure Mary wouldn’t let her out of her sight. As the lights of the fair came into view, growing bright in the dusk, Potty found excitement rising in her own chest; she was as bad as the kids.