The Know (45 page)

Bethany looked stunned. Her pudgy face was still troubled and her eyes were filled with tears. She had the same wild hair as her mother, and as Monika rarely pulled it through with an Afro comb, she looked unkempt and scruffy. Joanie’s heart went out to her.

‘Tell me what’s troubling you.’

‘I can’t, Joanie. Don’t make me tell you, please. They’ll come after me, I know they will. You don’t know what they’re like.’

She was crying hard now, wringing her fat little hands together. Joanie saw that the nails were bitten to the quick. She had also lost some weight though she was still solidly built. It occurred to Joanie that this child was actually a bundle of nerves, but Monika being Monika had not even noticed or asked what the matter was with her own daughter.

Joanie hugged her gently.

‘Tell me and I’ll sort it out for you, I promise.’

Bethany smelled of drink. It took Joanie a few seconds to register that fact. But she knew the smell. This was Monika in a kid’s dress.

‘Go into your bedroom, Beth, I’ll be in soon.’

The girl ran off, glad of an excuse to leave them.

‘She smells of drink, Mon.’

Monika laughed.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me, mate. You know what she’s like. Remember the turn out with Kira and the Bacardi?’

Joanie shook her head, annoyed.

‘I mean, Mon, she has
drinker’s
breath. She is drinking seriously.’

Monika still didn’t take it in. She had no real interest in what her daughter did or didn’t do for that matter. Bethany was an unwanted appendage, no more and no less. To her Bethany was like a photograph, just a reminder of a vanished past. She’d be around until she was legally ready to go, and then Monika would wave goodbye. It was what most people did with their kids, she believed. Took care of them until it was time for them to leave, then breathed a sigh of relief.

But she knew what Joanie was like so she pretended to care. She plastered a concerned expression on her face and hoped it would suffice.

‘Mon, that child is on the piss, love,’ Joanie persisted.

‘Like mother, like daughter, eh?’

Monika was bored already. Bethany had never held her interest for any length of time. Even as a baby, Monika cared about her only when she was in the mood to care. That particular mood had not been on her for a long time.

Joanie closed her eyes in distress. Here was a woman who had everything and she didn’t know it. She had a daughter who loved her and yet she honestly didn’t know or care about the fact. She knew nothing of the terror of having a missing child, and if she did would shrug it off like she did everything else in her life.

Joanie tried to swallow down her anger because she knew that Monika only treated her daughter the way she had been treated herself.

Monika’s mother was still alive and kicking but had no interest whatsoever in her kids. Never had had, never would have. None of them found that in the least bit disturbing. It was the norm to them and they had lived all their life with that knowledge. Monika was incapable of deep feeling. It wasn’t in her makeup.

‘I’m going to see how Bethany is. OK, Mon?’

But Monika wasn’t listening; she was pouring more drinks. Bethany was already gone from her mind.

‘Tell her she’s grounded for the rest of the night. Fucking cheeky mare!’

‘What do you think she was talking about, Mon? Who could she be so frightened of that they made her react like that?’

Monika rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

‘You know what a drama queen she is. Ignore her, she’ll get over it. Probably opened her big mouth out of turn, as usual. She’s always in the shit with someone. ’

She took a deep swig of her drink.

‘Always round that bleeding Lorna’s . . . another bag of trouble, her. I wish Bethany’d fucking move in there. Might as well, she’s rarely here these days.’

Joanie turned to go in search of the girl.

‘Oh, leave her, Joanie. Best thing with her is to ignore her. You make a big deal out of it and we’ll never hear the end of it.’

‘Something is radically wrong with that child, Monika. You pour me another drink and I’ll be back before you know it, OK?’

‘Suit yourself.’

She was annoyed, wanting to be with Joanie herself. But Bethany as usual was getting all the attention. Monika stared at the empty bottles and shouted, ‘I’ll pop down the offie and get some more vodka.’

Joanie just nodded then went into the bedroom to see how Bethany was. She was lying on her bed, her pudgy body curled into a ball. Her round cheeks were stained with dirt and tears. She needed a good bath and a change of clothes. Joanie always felt the urge to clean Bethany up, had often done so over the years.

Now she sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand gently on the girl’s shoulder. Bethany wouldn’t look at her so she kissed the top of the child’s head before saying, ‘I ain’t going nowhere until you tell me what’s wrong with you.’

Bethany didn’t answer her, but the quietness of Joanie’s voice and the kindness in her tone caused her to cry harder.

Joanie was the only person who had ever shown her any kindness or care in her whole life. Who had made Christmas special. Had always let her stay over with Kira on Christmas Eve so she had something to get up for the next morning. Monika usually turned up at dinnertime, dishevelled and half drunk, but Bethany hadn’t minded because she was with Kira and she was warm and fed and she had had presents. Joanie had always got her something nice to wear, pyjamas and slippers as well as a toy.

And she had repaid that kindness with betrayal.

‘Please tell me what’s wrong, Bethany. I just want to help you, sweetheart.’

Sobbing now, she sat up. Hugging Joanie, she whispered, ‘If I tell you, do you promise not to say it was me? Promise me, Joanie?’

She pushed the girl’s damp hair from her face and smiled.

‘Just tell me, lovie. I can’t promise anything like that until I know what’s wrong.’

‘Can we go to your house?’

Joanie nodded.

‘Don’t let me mum come, will you?’

‘This is about Kira, isn’t it?’

Bethany nodded, her big eyes still full of tears. She was only an eleven-year-old girl but she already knew more than most married women. It was all plain to see in those big brown eyes for anyone who could be bothered to look.

‘Get your coat on, Bethany. Leave your mum to me, eh?’

Joanie walked Bethany down the road. Her hand was hurting, so strong was the child’s grasp.

She didn’t want to hear what her daughter’s friend had to say, but she knew she must. They walked in silence, simultaneously frightened yet comforted by the other’s presence.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Monika came home to an empty flat and a note from Joanie saying she would be back soon, she had to run an errand. It never occurred to Monika that Bethany might be with her friend; she was already too drunk to think straight. Didn’t even bother to check on her daughter to see if she was still in her room.

Instead she poured herself another drink and put the TV on. Settling herself on the sofa, she munched her way through the goodie bag she had brought from the off-licence.

Monika was happy. She was back on her old footing with Joanie and that was all that mattered.

In fact, Joanie
owed
her big time.

She glanced at the clock and knew she should have hit the pavement by now but she couldn’t be bothered. She’d had too much to drink anyway, would only end up arguing with a punter. Once Joanie was back at work she was going to try to get into a parlour. That was Monika’s dream and as she had already told herself, Joanie Brewer owed her so it was the least she could do really.

She’d just sit it out until Joanie came back, then work on her.

She was a mate, after all.

 
Jesmond was settled with a glass of brandy. He gulped it, wondering what the outcome of his revelations would be. All those years he had covered his tracks and now, just as he was ready to reap his reward, it had all blown up in his face. But he was nothing if not resilient.

He looked at Jon Jon and said, ‘The Rumanian girls were followed by Czechs only they were little more than kids. Knew it all, though, before they got here. They’d been well trained. Anyway, we don’t actually use them here, we sort of pass them on . . .’

‘What do you mean, pass them on?’

Jesmond had the grace to look ashamed of himself.

‘Sell them on.’

Jon Jon frowned at the implication.

‘Who to?’

Jesmond shrugged, his heavy dreadlocks quivering.

‘Pippy Light . . . he was the middleman. From what I can gather some of the girls were used here for films and the others made their way to Amsterdam. I don’t know exactly what happened to them, you’d have to ask him.’

‘How old were these kids?’

It was obvious from his voice that Bernard was not only shocked by what he was hearing but ready to give vent to his anger. It was in his stance, in his voice. He was clenching and unclenching his fists as if just waiting for the right moment to attack the man before him.

Which was exactly what he was doing.

Jesmond couldn’t look either of them in the face.

‘All different ages. I didn’t exactly ask for their fucking birth certificates . . .’

Bernard kicked him hard in the knees, nearly knocking him off his chair.

‘How old are we talking about here? Fifteen? Ten? Younger?’

Jesmond’s mouth was so dry he could barely get the words out.

‘Like I said, man, all ages.’

Jon Jon and Bernard were staring at him, both thinking that he had not disagreed with any of the ages mentioned.

‘You piece of shit, you don’t give a flying fuck, do you?’

Jesmond didn’t dare to look up.

‘It’s not a matter of caring. Once the initial deal’s done you take a step back from it. The kids were Pippy’s department, not mine. I deal with the older girls.’

Bernard laughed sarcastically.

‘
Older
girls? How old are they then? Not the big grown-up nine year olds? Bit old for you lot, ain’t they?’

Jon Jon had to hold Bernard back then and it took all his strength. Jesmond stood up from the chair and tried to move towards the door.

‘Sit back down! And you, fucking calm down, will you?’

Jon Jon was trying to keep it all together now, forcing Bernard away from Jesmond with his shoulder.

‘Calm down, Bernard. You can do what you want with him when I find out what I need to know, OK? Until then you fucking keep a cool head.’

He settled Bernard down with difficulty, pouring him another drink.

‘I’ve been doing business all this time with the Gary Glitter of fucking Barking and Dagenham! Can you credit it? I’m sorry, Jon Jon, but this is fucking unbelievable.’ He shook his head once more and downed the brandy in one. ‘Un-fucking-believable! Of all people, you know? If it was anyone but him . . . I’ve worked with him, been mates with him, for so long . . .’

He poured himself another drink.

‘I just can’t take it on board, it’s too much. Wait until I tell everyone else that they’ve been dealing with a nonce, a fucking beast! No one will believe it.’

‘You can say that again. Now let me talk to him, OK?’

Jon Jon turned back to Jesmond who looked smaller somehow. Without his habitual hardness, his arrogance, he didn’t look half so dangerous.

‘What happened to me sister? Did you have anything to do with her disappearance? Did Little Tommy or his father ever come to you?’

‘You’d better ask Pippy Light, Jon Jon. All that part of the business was down to him and a mate of his. I never had anything to do with it after it was set up.’

‘You took the money though, didn’t you?’

Jesmond looked into Bernard’s eyes.

‘You have got to understand. It’s like I said - the money is astronomical, more than you’d ever earn with dope, coke, you name it. And it’s live cargo. It can move itself if necessary.’

Jesmond wiped a hand across his face. He was trying to make Bernard understand the hard financial reality. He knew that money was Bernard’s god. Over the years they had striven jointly for it - except in this one instance.

‘Come on, Jesmond. For once in your fucking life tell the truth.’

‘Your sister, Jon Jon, would never have come near or by us. We never dealt in English kids, only foreign ones, and they were already broken in by the time we got them.’

Bernard and Jon Jon could not believe what they were hearing. It was chilling to listen to him talk as if what he had done meant nothing. It genuinely
didn’t
mean anything to him, that was the worst of it.

‘If I was a nonce and I went to Pippy, what would he offer me?’

Jesmond shook his head.

‘I don’t know. Like I said, you’d have to ask him. He got someone else in to help out with the specialised stuff - wouldn’t tell me who. Said I didn’t need to know.’