‘And you say she regularly goes out and leaves the children alone?’
Shuffling her feet, unnerved by the intensity of the younger woman’s gaze, Pauline said, ‘Well, no. I mean,
yes
, she does go out every week, but Nicky’s always there to look after Connor, so she’s not exactly leaving them on their own.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Irene contradicted her bluntly. ‘
She
’s his mam, so she’s the one who should be looking after him. Nicky’s only fifteen; what’s she supposed to do if something bad happens?’ Turning to Jay now, determined to get her tuppence-worth in while she had the chance, she said, ‘And their dad’s no better – taking off like that without so much as a by-your-leave. And, I mean, I’m no fan of Sue’s, what with her buggering off out all the time and leaving the kids to fetch themselves up, but he’s got to shoulder his share of the blame, ’cos neglect is neglect whoever’s behind it. And if you want my opinion, you’d be as well to question that Leanne one if you’re looking to find who broke the window.’
‘Sorry?’ Jay’s shapely eyebrows puckered with confusion.
‘Terry’s girlfriend,’ Irene said, as if Jay really should have known this already. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t done this to get back at Sue for thumping her that time.’
‘Or one of her brothers,’ someone else chipped in.
‘Mmm,’ Irene murmured, nodding her head and folding her arms. ‘Any one of that lot’s capable. You mark my words, love, it’ll be one of
her
lot behind it.’
‘I believe somebody reported seeing somebody running from the scene?’ Jay said, looking around.
‘Yeah, me,’ Irene told her. ‘I heard the smash, and looked out, and someone was legging it past my gate.’
‘Do you have a description?’
‘Well, no, ’cos it was dark and I didn’t have my glasses on,’ Irene admitted. ‘But I’d bet my life it was one of the Millers, ’cos they hate Sue. Anyone’ll tell you that.’
Flipping to a fresh page in her notepad, Jay asked for Irene’s name and address.
‘Irene Murgatroyd,’ Irene said, watching to make sure that she spelled it correctly. ‘Number seventeen, and I’m always in if you need to interview me properly.’
Thanking her, Jay looked at Pauline.
‘Er, no, I don’t think so,’ John said before Pauline had a chance to open her mouth. ‘We don’t speak to the Days or the Millers, so we can’t help you.’ Gripping Pauline’s arm now, he tried to pull her through the gate, intent on getting her inside before she got them mixed up in anything.
‘I’ll still need your names,’ Jay called after him. ‘It’s just routine, sir. We’ll be speaking to everybody in due course, not just yourselves.’
Yanking her arm free, Pauline turned back and gave her name. Then, fearing that the policewoman might think that they all shared Irene’s caustic opinion of the Days, she said, ‘I hope you don’t think I’m accusing Terry and Sue of anything, ’cos I’m not. Sue would never hurt them kids, and Terry would never let anyone do anything to them, either.’
‘As I told your husband,’ Jay replied. ‘It’s just routine to make a list of everybody who knows the family in these situations.’
Nodding sadly, Pauline said, ‘When there’s a death, you mean?’
‘Nobody knows if there
is
a death yet,’ Jay told her quietly, sensing that she probably cared more about the neighbouring children than she felt free to express in front of her bossy husband and opinionated friend.
‘So, he’s alive, then,’ Irene declared – loudly, to make sure that everybody heard it from her first. ‘Well, thank the Lord for that. Now, let’s just hope their Nicky’s as lucky, ’cos she’ll not stand much of a chance if that lot don’t pull their fingers out and get back inside to look for her.’
Assuring the crowd who were beginning to mutter their discontent that the fire crew would do everything in their power to rescue the girl if she was in there, Jay asked if anybody had the parents’ phone numbers.
‘If anyone’s likely to have Sue’s, it’ll be Tina Murphy,’ Irene said, pointing out a younger woman who was standing in a garden further down the road. ‘She’s about the only one who still talks to her round here.’ Folding her arms now, she nodded in the opposite direction. ‘You’re best off asking Carole Miller for Terry’s, though. She’s in the dirty house down there; number thirty-two. She’ll probably have his new address, an’ all, ’cos him and the floozie are supposed to have gone and got themselves a fancy new flat, according to her. Not that they bothered inviting any of
us
lot round for the housewarming, mind.’
‘Yeah, ’cos they know what’ll happen if they don’t keep their heads down,’ someone else said nastily.
Thanking them for their help when she’d taken down all their names, Jay went to speak to Tina Murphy – who, it transpired,
did
have Sue Day’s number. Ringing it, only to find that it was switched off, Jay left a message asking Sue to contact her urgently. Then she went back up the road to Carole Miller’s house.
Frustrated to get no answer there after several minutes of knocking, despite being sure that she’d seen somebody moving behind the grimy nets covering the front-room window, she headed back to the station, hoping that she might find something there which would help her to trace the boy’s parents.
3
Terry was absolutely knackered when he finished his shift. It was gone eleven by the time he drove into the parking lot behind the flats and he just wanted to kick his boots off, eat his dinner, and go to bed. But one glance at the shadows dancing behind the curtains of his fifth-floor living-room window as he traipsed wearily towards the main doors let him know that there would be no peace for him tonight.
Six weeks they’d lived here, which made six week
ends
of torture for Terry as Leanne filled the flat up with giggling girls, all trying to out-Mariah and out-Leona each other on the karaoke machine into the early hours. And he wouldn’t have minded if any of them could actually sing, but they were all as bad as each other.
And the
mess
. . . he’d never seen anything like it in his life. Wine and beer spilled all over the new carpet, empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers stuffed down the new couch cushions, ashtrays full to overflowing. It was like a kids’ party, but way worse than it being your own kids, because at least you could tell them to shut up and clean up. But when it was your girlfriend, you had to respect her right to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted – or so Leanne kept telling him.
Letting himself into the flat now, Terry hung his jacket up in the hall and opened the living-room door. Leanne and the girls were dancing around in the middle of the floor, while another was using the new coffee table as a stage, her words indecipherable as she belted out whatever song she was butchering through the echo-overloaded microphone.
Gazing around, Terry felt the irritation churn in his empty gut. Leanne had put them in a lot of debt furnishing this place, insisting that everything had to be brand new and top of the range. Washer/dryer, leather three-piece, flat-screen TV, king-size bed, designer sheets, copper-bottom pots and pans . . . The list had been endless, and Terry had no doubt that the paying back of the credit cards would be, too. And considering that
he
was the mug who was working every flaming hour under the sun to pay for it, he didn’t appreciate her letting her mates trash it like this.
One of the girls suddenly noticed him standing there. Squealing, ‘Terry!’ as if she knew him well enough to be so familiar, she rushed over to him and tried to hug him.
Snapping, ‘Leave it out, love. I’m not in the mood,’ Terry stomped into the kitchen, ignoring the calls of ‘Spoilsport!’ from the girls. Kicking the door shut, he slammed his keys down on the ledge. It was bad enough trying to cope with Leanne when she’d had a drink, but the thought of being pawed by a whole gang of pissed-up teenage girls made his skin crawl.
Opening the oven door, he glanced inside, not in the least surprised to find it empty. His dinner had been waiting in there every other night this week, but he should have known better than to have expected Leanne to bother on a Friday night. It might be the end of his week, but it was just the beginning of hers, and she obviously had better things to do.
Wishing he’d thought to stop off at the chippy on the way home, he opened the cupboard and pulled out the bread.
Coming in just then, Leanne slinked towards him with a sexy smile on her face, purring, ‘Hey, gorgeous. Where’s my kiss?’
Sidestepping her without a word, Terry opened the fridge and took out the margarine.
‘Oi, grumpy!’ she teased, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘Don’t,’ he muttered, prising her hands away and walking back to the counter.
Frowning, she pushed the door shut and folded her arms. ‘All right, what have I done?’
‘Do you need to ask?’ he said coolly, slapping two slices of bread onto a plate and looking for a knife.
‘Well,
yeah
. Wouldn’t bother if I already knew, would I?’
Turning, Terry peered at her. He could have reminded her that she’d promised not to have the girls round this weekend. And he could have pointed out that he was absolutely knackered after a week of twelve-hour shifts, which he’d only taken on to try and get them out of the debt
she
’d put them in. And he
could
have asked why she was so damn selfish that she couldn’t even be bothered to make his dinner when she must have known he’d be starving. But he couldn’t be arsed.
Tutting when he shook his head at her before turning back to his sandwich-making, Leanne said, ‘Oh, so it’s like that, is it? You’re not talking to me. Right, well, fine. If you want to be miserable, go for it. But don’t think you’re ruining my party.’
‘God forbid,’ Terry muttered under his breath.
Shooting him a dirty look, Leanne went back into the living room. Slamming the knife down on the ledge when he heard her turning the music up a couple of seconds later, Terry marched into the doorway and yelled at her to turn it down. Smiling defiantly, she reached down and turned it up some more, causing a barrage of protest from the next-door neighbour who immediately began to pound on the wall.
‘Pack it in,’ Terry snapped, walking across the room to turn it down himself.
‘Don’t you dare,’ Leanne hissed, her chin lifted in challenge as she stood in front of the machine. ‘I mean it, Terry. It’s mine, and I’ll have it as loud as I want.’
Aware that her friends were all watching, waiting to see how he would deal with this, Terry’s voice was so low that he could barely hear himself when he said, ‘Stop being stubborn, Lee. Unless you
want
to get us evicted? ’Cos that’s what’ll happen if next door reports us to the council.’
‘He hasn’t got the bottle,’ Leanne retorted unconcernedly. ‘Anyway, they can’t just evict you like that these days. They have to have proof. And then you get warnings before anything happens, so stop being such a moany old man and chill out.’
Knowing that there was no point trying to reason with her while she was being like this, Terry flapped his hands in a gesture of surrender and walked out of the room. Snatching his jacket off the peg, he was just pulling it on when Leanne followed him out.
‘Where are you going?’ she hissed, closing the door behind her so that the girls wouldn’t hear – although she wouldn’t put it past them to have their ears pressed up against the wood as she spoke.
‘Out,’ he replied coldly. ‘And I expect that lot to be gone by the time I get back. And I
mean
it.’
‘Don’t tell
me
what to do,’ she retorted childishly. ‘I’m not one of your stupid kids that you can order about. And don’t ever talk to me like that in front of my mates again, either, because it’s really embarrassing.’
Growling, ‘Grow up,’ Terry yanked the door open and walked out.
Running to catch it before it slammed behind him, Leanne closed it quietly. She felt like going after him and telling him what a wanker he was being, but then the whole block would know that they were arguing again and she refused to give them the satisfaction. It was bad enough that her friends had seen him acting like that after she’d spent so long telling them how fantastic he was for an older man. But if he thought she was kicking them out just because he’d told her to, he had another think coming. So, plastering a fake smile on her face, she bounced back into the living room as if nothing was wrong.
‘Terry all right?’ her best friend, Goldie, asked, handing her a spliff.
‘Fine,’ Leanne lied, taking a deep drag. ‘He’s just a bit tired, that’s all.’ Looking around then, she said, ‘What’s everyone sitting down for? I thought we were supposed to be having a party.’
‘You’re bad, you,’ Goldie said, chuckling softly as Leanne went to the karaoke machine to select a new song.
‘Do I look like I care?’ Leanne grinned, reaching for the microphone.
Outside, Terry had just realised that he’d left his car keys in the kitchen. Telling himself that it was just as well, because he’d probably end up killing someone if he got behind the wheel while he was so wound up, he tugged his collar up and headed out of the estate on foot.
It was impossible to walk in a straight line with the wind growing fiercer by the minute, but he put his head down and struggled on through Alexandra Park, keeping an eye out for gangs of lads on bikes. There had been a spate of muggings in the park recently, but Terry almost welcomed the thought of anyone trying to jump him. He’d probably get a good kicking, but at least he’d have had someone to vent his anger on before he went down.
And,
God
, was he angry right now.
Leanne was gorgeous and he loved her to bits, and when it was just the two of them, she was happy just to cuddle up on the couch and watch TV. But when she got around her friends she was like a spoilt kid: inconsiderate, loud, and more than capable of pressing all the right buttons to get him good and riled. Not that he’d ever dream of laying a finger on her, but he got enough aggravation off the guys at work without having to take even more off her when he got home.