Cut To The Bone Page 3

  But Rita stood her ground.

  "This doesn't look like a joke to me. My husband was being considered for a job but he's suddenly been admitted to hospital. Why I need to speak to someone. It might take a few days for him to recover..."

  "I don' fuckin' care if 'e's gone to the moon. Off ye go. Pronto."

  Rita sensed there was nothing to lose. She'd walked all that way and would have to walk back. "So what's going on here? Why isn't there anyone except you around? No lorries, nothing? I thought Transline was a hauliers and truck rental business."

  "So it is. And everything's out at the moment, OK?"

  She then noticed a wolf-like Alsation appear from nowhere to chase a pigeon on the yard. Suddenly, a whistle from the guard and the dog turned its attention to her.

  Jesus.

  All pink gums and evil eyes kept her in focus. It drew closer. Rita screamed and began to run, but it followed, picking up speed, and only when she'd reached the end of Crowmore Lane did she glance back to see the creature held by the neck fighting its handler to finish the job. The letter must have fallen from her grasp but no way was she going back to look for it.

  She slumped against a wall alongside the main road, aware of her shoe’s broken heel, her stark shadow on the pavement. Her heartbeat too fast, and not just because of the dog.

  Her watch showed one o’clock. She thought of Freddie again, then Frank, with increasing alarm. She counted out her thirty-six pence again. If she couldn't use the bus, she could at least try a phone box, half a mile back towards Briar Bank.

  *

  The Chamber of Commerce was listed in its tatty directory and Rita was connected to a woman about to leave for lunch.

  "I won't keep you," Rita began, "but what do you know about Transline plc, hauliers and truck rentals in Crowmore Lane?"

  "Are you in business yourself?"

  "No."

  Rita then gave an account of the recent confrontation and waited as the woman’s computer came to life.

  "That sounds rather more like a police matter,” the other woman said. “But I have some information which to me seems perfectly normal."

  “Even though there’s no email address or website?”

  Silence.

  "Go on, please," Rita urged.

  "According to our records, Transline was established two years ago. Moved up from Dover to expand… "

  Meanwhile, two old folks who'd appeared outside the booth’s glass, pressed themselves closer.

  "Have there been any other complaints?" asked Rita.

  "Not that I'm aware of. But then I don’t deal with that side of things."

  "Who does?"

  The woman coughed.

  "We're reappointing in September."

  "Great."

  "Now then, Mrs…?"

  "Rita Martin. 74, Holly Road, Briar Bank." She almost added not for much longer but the woman sounded as if she was shutting drawers, locking something up. In a hurry.

  "Mrs Martin, I have to go. But do tell the police about that incident. It may be connected with the recent Traveller problem. Maybe they're nervous..."

  Join the club.

  *

  Rita found herself limping amongst lunchtime shoppers and Grammar school kids eating pies and checking their mobiles as they window-shopped. She'd got nowhere with that call and knew something dodgy was going on. Having decided that the cops would be no better, she resolved to get home by 1.20 and grill Frank some more.

  He was waiting. Taller from being on the top step and looking just as pissed off as when she'd left him. He passed a can of Stella from one hand to the other.

  "You said half a bloody hour, woman." He accused, letting her pass by into the hallway

  "If I'd had more than thirty-six pence on me, it would have been."

  "You only gotta ask."

  Rita snorted, then saw Freddie propped up on cushions in the lounge. A smell of poo hung in the air.

  "He needs changing." Rita kicked off her shoes and picked him up. "Of course you couldn't do that for me, could you? Oh no."

  "Did you get the job?" he slurred, catching her out.

  "They wanted a school leaver."

  "They?"

  "It don't matter. Just say I tried, eh?" She caught him looking at her shoes.

  "'Ow did that happen then?" He picked up the damaged one.

  “Cheap as chips, weren’t they?"

  Rita began the nappy changing ritual. Freddie's little face was all screwed up in one big scowl when normally he'd have been pleased to see her. Something had upset him and it wasn't getting better, not even with a nice clean pad in place.

  "Tell your Mum," she whispered to him, seeing Frank disappear into the kitchen. "Has he been horrible to you?" As if understanding her, the infant let out a hideous yell. As a kid living in Thurrock, she'd been scared stiff by the sounds coming off the Thames, especially in fog, but this was worse. Her own flesh and blood for a start. It was as if all the hurt and anger built up since the holiday had condensed into more than just a warning. This was the start of war, and although she sensed she was already losing, it was nevertheless a war she must win.

  BOOK TWO

  Monday 2nd February 2009

  5

  The five months since Rita's visit to Transline had passed as sluggishly as the outflow from the Oxford Canal, known as Black Dog Brook. Almost half a year laden with suspicion and gloomy silences whenever she’d asked Frank what job he was actually doing. And despite a new month beginning and signs of an early spring in the frosty little garden, she felt her heart begin to freeze over.

  Frost too, inside the bedroom window glass, and neighbours on the kerb muffled by their de-icer sprays and car exhausts belching out from sluggish engines.

  Rita observed all this through the cold net curtain. Here were people with somewhere to go, with a regular pay packet guaranteed at the end of it. She turned to look at the marital bed. His side was empty. Nothing unusual about that, even at 8 a.m. He'd often take himself off early, disturbing her sleep, but where to? That question forever on her lips was never answered, and for the sake of peace, she'd stopped asking. So long as the housekeeping came on a Thursday, she kept her mouth shut, and although Transline never sent any post to the house, she just knew Frank was with them.

  That hadn't stopped her having paranoid moments - wanting to follow him down the road, to hang around the depot. Wondering if he'd get back in one piece from wherever he'd gone and why the promised Transit van was never seen.

  At least the boozing had stopped. There was neither the time for that any more, nor for any mates to call round like old times for a pint or a trip to the bowling alley.

  Rita shivered before slipping her old dressing gown over her pyjamas. She then tiptoed along the landing which was silent, warmed by sleeping breaths, to make a brew and set breakfast out for the kids. A daily routine timed to the last second. But if Jez made excuses for not going into school, that timing fell apart.

  As she sat for a few minutes with her mug between her chilled hands and Jip spread across her feet, she realised with a slowing of her heart, that today was her 30th birthday.

  Had she been alive that long? It felt more like sixty that she'd kept grafting, saving, keeping everyone happy. No, a hundred would be nearer the truth.

  The postman had been along Holly Road earlier than usual but with nothing for number 74. Not even from Frank. What else did she expect? He'd been in surly-silent mode, moving like a shadow round the place from the moment he'd shown up at lunchtime yesterday. Not a word had passed between them
, even with it being Sunday, and all sitting round the table for chicken, peas and ‘roasties.’

  "What's wiv 'im?" Jez had pressed her in the kitchen while she was washing up.

  "Maybe his job's getting him down."

  "Not me, then?"

  "Don't be daft." Then she'd given him a hug with her wet hands. Felt he'd lost some weight around his ribs. "It'll be alright. You'll see."

  Easy words and she could tell he wasn't convinced. Wasn't convinced by anything much any more, especially since his driftwood carving of a swan proudly displayed near the Head's office, had been broken up then burnt in the playground by other jealous kids just before Christmas. He’d come home with a few blackened bits and wouldn't be comforted.

  "'Appy Birthday, Mum."

  She whipped round in surprise.

  "Jez?"

  He held out a little package wrapped up in a red paper napkin she recognised from last Christmas.

  "For you." He then bent down to pat Jip whose tail slapped against his legs. "Made it specially."

  Rita's eyes began to sting, and she blinked to keep the tears in check while she unwrapped the napkin. Her fingers soon made out a long neck, then a heavier oval shape below it, and, sure enough, she'd guessed right. It was another, smaller swan which lay in her hand. Neither driftwood nor balsa wood, but something heavier, painted white with an orange beak and dark, knowing eyes skilfully highlighted in the middle to make them shine. Its belly nested in her palm, perfect in every detail.

  "It’s fired clay. D'you like it?" he asked, and, rather than see her cry, hunted for a dog treat in the drawer.

  "Do I like it? It's brilliant!" She kissed her boy's cheek, but he pulled away, embarrassed, leaving the scent of Frank's aftershave which he must have recently borrowed.

  "I reckoned you'd not be gettin' much from ‘im, that's why." His gaze switched to the window. "Anyhow, whatever else happens here, I've decided."

  "Decided what?"

  "To be a teacher. Like Miss Landerman. Doin' art an' stuff."

  Rita smiled. This youngest teacher at Briar Bank Primary School had taken the destruction of Jez's sculpture the most to heart, and to the Governors. To show how, in her opinion, and despite the staff's best efforts, some kids just shouldn't be in a normal school. And still the culprits hadn't been caught. It was she who'd written to Rita and Frank straight afterwards expressing her disgust. No wonder she was Jez's heroine.

  "You'd be great at doing that," Rita said, clearing a space in the middle of the table and setting the creature down. "It's good to have ambition. I did, once."

  "And?" He helped himself to Sugar Frosties and limited the milk to half a cupful like he'd been taught.

  "I wanted to be a hairdresser. I'd spend Saturday mornings doing your Gran's hair. Fiddling with the rollers, trying out different styles… ”

  "Cool." Then he stared at her intently. "Why don't you do it now? I mean, get trained or summat?"

  Rita smiled again, but this time it was tinged with a sadness that he noticed.

  "I will, one day,” she said. “But hey, we're going to be late."

  She flew upstairs to dress, then get Freddie and Kayleigh organised. Maybe there were silver linings after all, she thought, brushing the little girl's hair and setting a Barbie clip in place. Maybe soon everything would turn out alright.

  "Bye, Mum." Jez called out.

  "Got your coat? It's freezing."

  "Yeah. D'you want summat from the shop on me way back?"

  "No thanks. You come straight home."

  In fact she'd run low on cash and no way would she sink so low as to ask the Shah's for tick, like some did round there.

  She heard the front door close and felt in that moment as if her sole, remaining best friend had gone forever.

  *

  Next, the walk to Kayleigh’s school through Downside, one of the worst sink estates in the county, but no way as bad as Scrub End further north. She’d tried enrolling her at Briar Bank Primary last year, but no luck. It had been full, with a long waiting list.

  Jip pulled both her and Kayleigh along while Freddie was still bawling his head off since his rushed breakfast. Rita was just about to stop and give him his dummy, when her daughter stalled as she dug in her coat pocket.

  "What on earth are you doing?" Rita shouted. "Don't 'you know what time it is? Mr Dawes at your school'll be having a go at us again."

  The dummy met Freddie’s mouth.

  "I don't care. Look." Kayleigh pulled out two crumpled twenty pound notes.

  "Who gave you those?" Rita took them from her before they fell to the ground.

  "Dad."

  Someone pushed past with a shopping bag on wheels, tutting about overpopulation, but Rita stayed focused.

  "When?"

  "Yesterday, before 'e went off. 'E said to buy what we liked."

  "Nothing about a birthday, then?"

  The child looked puzzled. Jip began pulling at his lead again.

  "No. Why?"

  "Never mind. It means we can have a nice tea." And as they turned off towards Downside, Rita pushed the hurt to one side, already planning a menu. They'd have lamb chops, Jez's favourite, with carrots and mash. Then, because being thirty only comes round once, there'd be a Viennetta to finish. With wafers, of course. Which even Freddie could manage.

  *

  2.30 p.m. and the postman was coming up the path with the second post. Rita felt like a kid all over again, waiting to see what would land on the mat, but when just two manila envelopes floated to the floor, her heart dropped with them. Bills, she knew it, and still nothing from Frank.

  *

  With the darkness freezing outside, and the three kids lined up on the sofa in the lounge watching TV with a packet of Jelly Beans each, she then went into the kitchen, and before scraping the carrots, steamed open the two manila envelopes. Their enclosures made her catch her breath. BT’s bill was for £150 while the electricity was double that, with the red total demanded within the week.

  Anxiety gnawed at her insides while the noise from the TV and the kids' laughter filled her head. But not quite. How the Hell was she going to pay these with just £21 left in her purse and the family allowance set aside for food? She started on the carrots and cut herself, feeling strangely numb as blood dropped into the washing up bowl, turning the water pink.

  By six o’clock, the meal was ready, with a full plate for Frank topped by another to stop it drying out in the oven. Yes, she'd cooked for him as well. Like the love bit, this was how she was made. Jez and his sister wasted no time tucking in, while Freddie sat replete with a fluffy rim of mash around his mouth. Rita had the smallest chop, the least amount of everything else, but felt no hunger as she merely pushed the food around her plate.

  Suddenly the hall phone began to ring. She paled and Jez saw her hesitate.

  "Shall I go?" He was already half off his chair. "Might be Dad."

  "I'll take it, thanks."

  Whoever it was wasn't giving up. Rita picked up the receiver.

  "Who is it? Frank?"

  A rough silence, then a sound like rubble falling.

  "I ain't comin' back. I 'ad to tell ye." The phone box line was getting worse. Was he near a building site? Maybe one that kept going with searchlights after dark? "Where are you?" Her heart now somersaulting in her chest.

  "Don't make it 'ard for me, for fuck's sake, Rita..."

  "We’ve just had two bills totalling four hundred and fifty quid. The rent's due on the 18th and how’s long's my twenty-one quid supposed to last with three kids -
yours as well, don't forget. And your dog?" Worry became anger as his voice seemed to be moving away. "So you're not coming back?"

  "Like I said, I can't. Not for a while anyhow..."

  "It's Transline, isn't? You're with them. Into something dodgy."

  "And you nicked me private letter. Bad girl."

  Rita gulped.

  "Only because I was worried. Can't you see?"

  He didn't reply, and in the end, all she could think of was what sat in the oven. "I got a nice tea ready,” she said. “Chops and stuff. You always liked that." It sounded pathetic. It also sounded like he was being told to end the call. Some bloke hassling in the background.

  The line went dead. So did her heart, and when she got back to the kitchen, the kids' faces were turned expectantly towards her, whereupon Freddie suddenly asked, “was that Dada? Ain't 'e comin' back for your birfday?" His first proper sentence, and the man it was meant for, wasn't there to hear it.

  6

  Briar Bank District Council Housing Committee.

  Steeple Mount Park,

  COVENTRY

  CV3 8FT

  19th March 2009

  Dear Mrs Martin,

  Further to your request for emergency accommodation for yourself and your undermentioned dependants, I am pleased to inform you that following lengthy discussions, the committee has agreed to offer you first option on Flat 1 at 11, Wort Passage, Scrub End Estate, which fell vacant on the 12th inst.

  We strongly advise you view this accommodation at the earliest opportunity and to make a prompt and positive decision, bearing in mind the pressure our limited housing stock is now under. To that end, Nick Little, our Family Placement Officer will meet you at this address tomorrow at 11a.m. Please advise immediately if this is not convenient, by telephoning 01503 457852.

  Yours sincerely,

  Mrs Wendy Hill.

  BA (Hons) MBE.

  Chief Executive.