11
“What do you want?”
The woman’s door was barely open but he still caught a whiff of cooking fat and cooped-up cats. A skinny tortoiseshell sidled through the gap and marked its freedom by depositing white hairs on black trousers. He bent to stroke it, but the cat hissed and bared its teeth. The woman looked as if she’d like to do the same.
He straightened up, gave a lazy smile. “What do I want? That’s no way to greet an old friend of the family.” Smile still in place, he pulled an envelope from his coat pocket. “Especially when he comes bearing gifts.”
Her eyes narrowed and she made a grab, but he swung it out of reach.
“First things first, Mrs Flinn. Where are your manners? Shouldn’t you be inviting me in?”
She folded thin white arms across a scrawny chest. “I should be phoning the Bill, that’s what I should be doing. And if that fool daughter of mine had anything decent between her ears, she’d be telling you to sod off.”
His mouth tightened. “But she hasn’t. And she isn’t.” He put a foot in the doorway and a finger on her cheek. “And you want to watch your mouth.”
She stepped back and rubbed a hand across her face, distorting lines already etched too deep. Her belligerence gave way to resignation.
“What do you want, Charlie?”
“A little chat. That’s all.”
She hesitated, knowing he wouldn’t give up without a fight. She couldn’t believe Vicki had gone off with him. Not after all she’d said. Stupid cow couldn’t even say it face to face. Reluctantly she opened the door wider. “Five minutes. That’s all.”
He took a deep breath and followed her through a dark passageway. He had to squeeze past an upturned bike without a chain and a cardboard box full of sleeping kittens. The kitchen was filthy. Hairs and grease everywhere. There was something sticky on the soles of his shoes but he had no desire to investigate. He hovered in the doorway, careful not to touch anything.
“See you sold your shares in Proctor and Gamble then.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
There was a carry-cot on the floor near the cooker. A baby was crying: face red, fists clenched, tufts of dark hair sticking out from her tiny head.
“Little Lucie doesn’t sound too happy.”
The woman had positioned herself against the sink, aiming for the laid-back look. “Keep away from her. She’s too young even for you.”
He didn’t say anything, just slowly – very slowly – looked her up and down. Everything about her was faded: ill-fitting denims, sloppy sweater, mouse-coloured hair. Taking his time, he walked towards her, shaking his head, tutting. “Didn’t get the message, did you?”
“What message?” Had Vicki sent another note?
The expression ‘didn’t know what hit her’ made sense now. She saw the hand, subconsciously admired the long, manicured nails, but the blow didn’t register for several seconds. Then, tentatively, she ran her tongue along her teeth; the loose one at the front was hanging by a thread. She knew he was watching her, waiting for a reaction, but she was too busy bracing herself for the next strike.
He lifted his hand but only to reach for a greying dishcloth festering on the draining board. He held it between thumb and index finger and flung it in her face. “Told you to watch your mouth, didn’t I?”
The blood tasted vile. She could feel it oozing down her chin. Her lip was probably split as well. He was close enough for her to count the tiny flecks of hazel in his eyes. She was shaking so much only the sink was keeping her upright. She used every ounce of effort to keep her voice level. “You don’t scare me, you little shit.”
He stroked a finger along his jawbone then tapped it slowly several times on his chin. The silence was awful. She broke it without thinking. “Soon as you’re out of here, I’m on to the cops.”
He sighed. “I don’t think so.”
Steeling himself to touch her, he grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her head back. The cold water was a shock. It was splashing into her eyes, running into her mouth and nose. Struggling made it worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. The panic accelerated when she realised his hand wasn’t on the cold tap.
His eyes were searching the window sill behind her. “Watch it. Wash it. It’s all the same to me, Annie.”
She stiffened as he reached across her for a spray gun, held it in front of her eyes.
“Don’t worry. I’ll save you a bit. You’ll be able to give the place a good scrubbing when I’m gone. I’m surprised at you, Annie. You could age trees with the rings on that top over there. Get a grip, girl. The social wouldn’t like it. Not with young Lucie around.”
The baby was transfixed: staring, wide-eyed.
He held the container aloft, apparently studying the label. “It’s good stuff, this, Annie. Anti-bacterial. Just the job.”
She screwed her eyes, tried not to scream as the liquid hit her lip. It tasted worse than the blood. When she spat, he rammed it into her mouth. She started to gag and her knees gave way. He held on for a few seconds, then let her drop. There was a hank of hair in his fist. He leaned over her, rinsed it off his hands. He curled his lip as the hairs joined tea-leaves and eggshells clinging to the bottom of the sink.
The woman was on the floor, slumped against a cupboard, her sweater soaked and blood-stained. He nudged her with his foot. “Accidents in the home, huh?” He tutted. “Who’d have thought it? Sooner you get that seen to, the better.” He looked round for a cloth to dry his hands. A tea towel had dropped from a hook on to a dish of dried-up cat food. He left it, shook his head, knelt beside her. “Look, Annie. You’re a busy woman. I only came to get a few things straight, then I’ll get out of your hair. Okay?” He gently lifted her face towards him. “Okay?”
She didn’t react so he moved her head up and down in an exaggerated nod. “Thing is, we don’t want Mr Policeman round asking tricky questions, do we?” Now a heavy-handed shake. “Lost your tongue, have you?”
She tried to speak but her lips were swollen, her mouth on fire.
“What did you say, Annie?” He paused. “Did you say you swear on Lucie’s pathetic little life you won’t talk to the police?”
She nodded.
“And did you say you’d rather eat shit than breathe a word against me?”
Another nod.
“And did you say you’ll be only too delighted to let them know Vicki’s with a friend, in Brighton, you think. You’d like to help more of course, but you don’t know the friend’s name, let alone her address.”
“Shore.”
He laughed. “That’s right. Sea shore. Now. Just to show there are no hard feelings.” He reached into an inside pocket and handed her the envelope. “There’s a few quid in here. Don’t spend it down the boozer. It’s from me and Vicki, for you. Right?”
She nodded again, followed him with her eyes as he got to his feet and walked to the carry-cot. He bent down and chucked the baby’s chin. Lucie’s bottom lip quivered but then she grinned revealing two perfect white teeth. Charlie turned his head to the woman. “Got your eyes, hasn’t she, Annie?” He stroked the child’s hair, reached into his pocket and laid a small furry bundle by the child. “And that’s something for the kid. Just from Vicki. Special delivery.”
He was back across the room in seconds, grin like a Cheshire cat on cream. “That seems to be everything… for now. Make sure you have got it right, won’t you, Annie? Next time, it’ll be bleach. And I’ll bring my own shooter.”