The Fall - By Claire McGowan

Keisha

Keisha was meant to be out by noon today, the council said they’d given her enough time. Whatever was left would have to go to landfill.

Finding her father’s name hadn’t had as much an effect on her as she might have thought. He was still an unknown white guy, a blank, just like he’d always been to her. Now she knew he was smart, not a drunk like Chris’s dad, shouting about the IRA all the time. That was something, she supposed. But then she thought, And what have I ever done? F*cked up my GCSEs and worked in a nursing home? Yeah, he’d be proud of her – not.

Mercy had been everything – head-wrecker, pain in the arse, source of all food and advice – wanted and unwanted. Mercy had been home, and now she was gone and so was home with her. This guy, this Ian Stone, he was nothing but a bundle of genes. What difference did it make if she knew his name?

Still, she put the contents of the old folder into the ‘keep’ bag, and closed it up before she humped the rest of Mercy’s stuff down the high street to Oxfam, hoping no one thought she looked daft.

‘Some stuff,’ she muttered, dumping the bags at the old white woman behind the till.

‘Oh, thank you, dear.’ The crumbling woman peered at it through her glasses. Posh. Keisha waited a second, as if the woman was going to challenge her to prove she owned the stuff, hadn’t nicked it. ‘It was me mum’s,’ she said.

‘That’s kind.’

They believed her. Keisha headed back to the house, light-handed. It was bright and sunny, and everyone seemed to be out on the streets, mums with buggies (she didn’t look too closely at the kids, wondering where Ruby was on this nice day), old ladies shuffling along with huge plastic shopping bags, dodgy geezers hanging about with mobile phones. It was when she was passing the fruit and veg shop that she suddenly got a bad feeling. Had someone stopped in the crowd for a minute, and she’d sensed it? Whatever it was, she could feel eyes on her. Someone was watching. On the warm street, Keisha felt a chill run over her, and zipped up her Adidas top. She looked around the street, noisy with voices. Nothing. She walked on faster, and turned into her mum’s quieter road.

Behind her she heard footsteps continuing, the soft tread of trainers, a shadow on the bright pavement, and she turned round with her heart racing.

‘All right, Keesh?’

‘You scared the shit out of me.’

‘Just saying hi.’ Jonny shrugged. A tall guy, heavy in the arms and legs, signet rings on his beefy hands. He was Chris’s mate – his best mate, she supposed. But what was he doing on her mum’s street?

She narrowed her eyes at him, stepping back out of his reach. ‘And what’re you doing here? Last time I checked, you lived in West Hampstead.’

He cracked a knuckle. ‘Deano’s been looking you. Asked me to keep an eye out.’

So he’d been watching her. She tried not to shudder. ‘And he sent you down here, did he? What’s he want me for? He’s the one changed the f*cking locks.’

‘Naw, he got put out, didn’t he.’

‘He got evicted?’ That would explain the locks being changed – if it was true. She zipped her top up tighter. ‘Yeah, well, my mum died. Did he know that? After he “visited” her, she fell down dead with a f*cking heart attack!’

Jonny dipped his head. ‘Yeah. He’s sorry. Never meant her no harm. All he did was talk to her.’

‘Yeah. Talk.’

‘Deano says he only wanted to see his kid. Got a right, hasn’t he? No reason to send the cops round on him.’

‘What? Don’t be daft, I’ve not been near no cops.’

‘You know they’ll be after you too, if you say stuff.’

She gave him a dirty look. ‘Look, I gotta go. Moving out today.’ Better let Chris know she wasn’t going to be here, just in case he felt like dropping by with any of his other lovely mates.

‘Oh yeah? Where you going?’

She shrugged. ‘Away. Far away. Mind your own.’ That was a good question though, wasn’t it? The lad wasn’t as dumb as he looked. Where the f*ck was she going?

‘You been ringing anyone recently?’ Jonny asked innocently.

‘How the f*ck would I do that? He’s cut my phone off, the twat.’

‘Deano reckons you might’ve seen that blonde chick. The one whose fella got banged up for Anto Johnson.’

‘What? I don’t even know her.’ She thought of the blonde girl’s purse with her address, inside the house in her ‘keep’ bag. ‘I’m busy. F*ck off, Jonny. Tell “Deano” I don’t have no more eyes for him to black.’

Jonny shook his head as if Chris had accidentally drunk her last can of Coke or something. ‘He never meant it, Keesh. Just stressed, you know? Times are hard. He misses you. Said you might’ve had a misunderstanding, like about that club night.’

She looked at him. Did this mean she’d been right – Chris had gone back to help Anthony Johnson that night after all? Why did he beat her up then, if all he’d done was get blood on him trying to save the man’s life? ‘Don’t know what you mean.’

‘You gonna visit the kiddie then? Your little Ruby?’ Jonny cracked his knuckles like he was just passing the time of day. ‘Deano was wondering where she was.’

There was no way she was talking about Ruby with this twat. ‘I don’t know where she is. And he won’t find her either. She’s not here.’

He smiled again. It was horrible. ‘Found you, didn’t he?’

Her heart was thudding. ‘Listen to this, Jonny. You can f*ck off. And you tell him he can f*ck off too. Leave me alone, leave Ruby alone. Or else I’ll tell what I saw. You tell him that. He’ll know what it means.’

Confusion was spreading over Jonny’s face. She set off walking, refusing to look back. But before she opened the door she paused; she didn’t want him to see what house she went into. He’d gone.

In the quiet gloom of the house, she put her back to the door, breathing heavily. F*ck. F*ck. Jonny had hands like a gorilla. Thank f*ck it was the middle of the day. She had goosebumps all up her arms. What was Chris playing at? He wanted her back now, after he’d thumped her about? She wasn’t that girl – was she?

‘He’s after me, Mum,’ she whispered to the empty house. ‘What do I do?’

There was no answer from the oily shadows. Well, there was no need, she knew what Mercy would have said. Keisha picked up the bag of things to keep, then closed the door and posted the keys back through the letter box. Keeping a good eye out for six-foot-four loonies in Umbro tracksuits, she got on the train and took it up to West Hampstead. Without really knowing why, she was going to Belsize Park.


Charlotte

Charlotte practically ran down the last street to her house. She hated being outside in that area now. There was the memory of the red gloop sliding over her eyelids, and maybe she was getting paranoid, but she felt people were looking at her, the gang of kids by the chicken shop, the black woman wheeling her baby. Everyone who was black, she felt they were staring at her and thinking, That’s the one, the racist one. That’s her.

Finally she was on her own, and almost in a fever she pulled Dan’s jumper round her, shivering in the emptiness of the flat. It wasn’t cold; it was just that he wasn’t there. Then she took the tea-stained letter out of the bin and sank down on the floor. It seemed better somehow, more suited to the depth of her feelings than just sitting down on the sofa. She remembered one time coming home from work with flu, sinking down like this, and Dan had picked her up and carried her to bed. No one was there to carry her now.

What an idiot she was! Of course she hadn’t been ready to go back to work. She couldn’t pretend to care about tampons and cereal now. But God, how embarrassing! She banged her head lightly against the door. Chloe and Tory and Fliss would be having a good old giggle at her. It was a mistake she’d never have made before. But when she came out of the ladies’ the Snax people had arrived, a greying corporate man, his wedding band eating into his pudgy finger, and a hard-faced blonde girl all shiny with lacquer and gloss.

‘Here’s Charlotte,’ Simon said with that fake heartiness of his, showing her he was nervous about this one. It was a big new account for them and the recession hadn’t been kind to PR firms.

‘Tea? Little café au lait?’ Ugh. Simon was so full of bullshit. They were making murmurs about transport. ‘Oh, tell me about it, that Northern Line’s making me prematurely grey! No, don’t look.’ Gales of fake laughter.

Charlotte hauled the corners of her mouth up into a smile, wiping damp hands on her dress. Before, she’d have known exactly what fluff to say to them. ‘Hiii! Have you come far? Love your shoes. Oh, it’s such an honour to work on this brand, I eat them all the time . . .’

Now, smiling blankly at them, all she could think was, My boyfriend’s in prison. Did you know? My boyfriend’s in prison. I have to get him out! He’s locked up in there! She swallowed her hysteria and wobbled into the meeting room on her uncomfortable heels.

The problem started when the blonde began leafing disdainfully through the documents Charlotte should have assembled in advance. Instead, running late, she’d pulled them off the copier in passing.

Simon was in full flow with his jargon-generator: ‘Social media platforms . . . Digital SEO strategies . . . Pushing the envelope on this one . . .’ when the girl curled up her mouth and said, ‘Er, what’s this?’

‘Paradigm shift in snacking behaviour . . . I’m sorry?’

‘This.’ She waved one of the bits of paper. ‘Why is this here?’

Charlotte’s heart thrust up her throat and into her mouth. ‘Oh God, that’s mine! Sorry! Wait, wait.’ She tried to grab it, but Simon had already picked it up. Printed on the paper was INNOCENT – have you been a victim of rough justice? She’d printed out the wrong screen. Shit shit shit.

Charlotte flushed a horrible colour, like rotten beets. For a second she wondered madly could she relate miscarriages of justice to low-calorie snacks. It’s a crime that snacks have so many calories. No, no. God, that was a terrible idea. ‘I’m so sorry. I’ve printed the wrong thing.’ And to her horror, the tears she’d been fighting all day rose up to her mouth in a sort of shrieking sob. ‘I’m sorry!’ She clapped her hands over her mouth. ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’

Blonde Girl, Corporate Man, Fliss, and Simon all stared at her as she tried desperately to hold back the tears, twisting and blinking and sniffing. Corporate Man cleared his throat and said, ‘Ahem. Do you have an actual sales plan for us?’

‘Of course. Of course.’ Tripping over her feet, wiping at her face, she went to print out the right thing, and the meeting continued, but it was already too late. Blonde Girl looked at her watch several times, and at the end of Simon’s presentation Corporate Man cleared his throat and said, ‘Well. We’ll be in touch.’

Everyone knew that meant: F*ck off, you bunch of rank amateurs. And once he’d shown them out, laughing and back-touching all the while, Simon turned to Charlotte. His expression changed like a shutter coming down. ‘A word?’

Alone in her kitchen, Charlotte moaned softly and banged her head again. The faint pain she felt on the outside was almost a relief from the twisted mess inside. It was unbelievable. She’d never even got less than seventy per cent in any test or exam ever, never missed a day of work, and now she was fired!

Or, she assumed she was fired. Simon would never say anything so direct, not when there were words to lard around it like plastering a wall. Clear she wasn’t ready to be back, he said. Not ready for client-facing opportunities. Needed to trim some fat. Take some time for herself.

She thought it meant she was fired. Certainly it meant she wasn’t going back tomorrow, and she wasn’t getting paid.

Try to keep working, Dan’s letter said, crumpled in her hand. You’ll need the money. Already she was failing him. Charlotte hugged herself, balled up against the door. She’d thought it was rock bottom before, when Dan was taken away and her tooth was lying bloody in her hand, but she hadn’t realised then just how many things she had to lose. And now they were all gone. This was worse. This was worse than the worst. What the hell was she going to do?


Hegarty

It was easy in the end to locate an address for one Mercy Collins in Gospel Oak, and just as easy to find out she’d died the week before. The neighbour seemed delighted to see Hegarty and wanted to tell him all about the youths in the area. ‘Eggs, they are throwing at my door! What kind of children do this?’

‘Yes, I’m very sorry, Mrs – Suntharalingam, is it? Listen, I’m trying to locate Mrs Collins. Her house appears to be shut up.’

‘She has gone, God bless her, my poor friend.’

‘Gone?’

‘Passed away.’

So the mysterious Keisha Collins wasn’t to be found in her mum’s house, either. He was sure she knew something, that stroppy girl. But where was she?

When he’d assured the neighbour he would look into the incidence of egg-related crime in the area, and she’d re-latched her door, Hegarty stood on the street tapping his pen on his notebook. So, Chris Dean would have scarpered by now, warned off by his mate Jonny. Keisha Collins wasn’t at her mum’s, she wasn’t at her old flat, and there was no record of her in any hostel in the area. He didn’t blame her if she was trying to hide.

The kid, he’d found out, was in foster care in Kilburn, and hadn’t seen either of her parents for weeks. The social worker, Sandra something, had said rather sniffily, ‘We encourage them to keep up contact, of course, but we do think it’s best for the little one if she’s removed from parental influence right now. Unless they radically change their lifestyles, it’s unlikely the parents will gain custody again.’

‘Even the mother?’

Sandra had sighed. ‘Keisha has tried, Officer. But Christopher’s influence is too strong. I’m afraid she’s quite likely to tell him where the child is, and in the circumstances, we can’t allow it. We have to protect Ruby. Unless Keisha stays in touch with us, arranges visits, there’s a good chance we’ll move the child to permanent adoption.’

So where had she gone, Keisha Collins? Her mother was dead, her child gone, her boyfriend who knew where. As Hegarty stood on the street, turning it all over in his head, his phone began to ring. When he heard that sound, it was usually something bad, someone else dead or beaten or raped. He’d have no time to follow up this case. Well, it seemed he’d come to the end of the trail anyway.

The phone rang; once, twice, three times. He answered. ‘Hegarty.’


Keisha

It was getting f*cking ridiculous now. She’d been outside the blonde girl’s house for at least twenty minutes, sitting on the low wall. She couldn’t ring the bell for flat three – what would she even say? Yeah, it’s me, the girl who nicked your wallet. She’d thought somehow Charlotte would come out of the house and she could warn the girl that Chris was after her – though she’d no idea why. Had she seen something, that dappy-looking blonde girl? What did she know?

That was the plan, anyway. But she’d been here for ages now, and people kept walking past her on the pavement with little ratty dogs on leads, or old couples in matching brown coats. Keisha ducked her head and scuffed her trainers on the cracks in the paving stones. But she could see them looking. Who’s that pikey girl, they were thinking. Maybe I’ll put in a little call to the friendly local cop-shop. A woman with a toddler on a scooter nearly swivelled her neck right round to look at Keisha, and that was it, she was getting up to go, when the big front door of the house opened and a man came out. He was like someone in a catalogue with his stripy scarf, glasses, baby strapped to his chest.

‘Can I help you?’ He was polite, but she heard it in his voice: You don’t belong here.

‘Eh, does Charlotte live here? Charlotte Miller?’

‘Are you a friend of hers?’

Keisha thrust up the wallet with the dog on it. ‘Her purse – she lost it. I found her name in it.’

He smiled uncertainly. ‘That’s kind of you. I’ll get her.’ He buzzed the little button she’d been staring at for hours. ‘Charlotte?’

Keisha heard a wavering voice on the intercom. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Mike from downstairs. There’s a lady here says she has your purse. Did you lose it or something?’

‘Yeah, I did. Thank God.’ The door buzzed and the man stood back to let Keisha into the solid old building, pizza flyers scattered in the hallway. It was that easy. Keisha hoisted up her bags and touched the baby’s covered foot just for a second – he kicked his legs just like Ruby had when she was little. ‘Thanks,’ she said quietly.

Charlotte was on the second floor up the carpeted staircase, and she had the door open. ‘Oh you found it, how amazing.’

She was so bloody trusting, this girl. Even after her lip had been bust and her eye blacked, for f*ck’s sake, her tooth had been knocked out falling on a sink, she was still opening the door to any old stranger. Keisha mounted the stairs and the daylight fell on her and she saw Charlotte frown, recognising her from somewhere.

In a second she would slam the door shut. Keisha held the purse out. Her voice had gone. She coughed. ‘I can help. Please. I can help you. I can help him – your fella. I can help Dan.’