Taking Liberties (Liberty Chapman) Page 22

  A drugs house. ‘Bingo,’ Liberty whispered under her breath.

  Chapter 19

  June 1986

  It’s funny to see Geraldine all dressed up. I mean, she’s not wearing a skirt or anything, but she’s ditched the donkey jacket for a sort of raincoat with a belt. She’s even polished her shoes. We decided that I’d be best off sticking with my school uniform. Though I’ve put tights on rather than socks because I don’t want to seem like some daft kid.

  She drives like someone who detests it, the gears grinding and screeching, Geraldine swearing and shouting. I’m glad when we get to the courthouse. It’s not what I was expecting, though I’m not sure what I was expecting. This is like a new doctor’s surgery or something. A square building with red bricks. The car park’s empty except for two cars.

  Just inside the door there’s a reception desk with a man sitting behind it. He’s in a black uniform, but he’s not a copper. He’s on the phone and Geraldine stares at him impatiently. She hates to be kept waiting. ‘I fail to see what can be more pressing than getting you before the judge, Lib,’ she says, with a huff.

  At last a bloke comes off the phone and smiles. ‘Can I help you?’ he asks.

  ‘We have an appointment at three,’ Geraldine replies, showing him the face of her watch. ‘To see His Honour Judge Monkton.’

  ‘Let me look at the list,’ says the man.

  Geraldine rolls her eyes as if she’s never met such an imbecile. I’ve seen her give that look to everyone from the plumber who said she needed a new boiler to the social worker who said it might be better for me not to do this. I’ve been on the receiving end of it a few times. The only person who escapes it is Snowy. ‘There’s a hearing and we’re going to be late,’ she says, moving past the reception desk.

  ‘Right.’ The man’s flustered but he doesn’t want to let us past. ‘Is it the Greenwood application?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The man goes bright pink. ‘They’re running a bit late.’

  ‘Well, that’s bloody unfortunate,’ says Geraldine. ‘Because it took us a good hour to get here and Elizabeth had to take the afternoon off school.’

  I flash him my uniform to underline her point.

  ‘Right. It’s just that I don’t have anything to do with the timings,’ he says.

  ‘Oh dear,’ says Geraldine, as if she couldn’t give a shit.

  ‘Could you wait here, please?’ He almost runs through a door behind him, leaving us standing. There’s a little table and three chairs at the other side of the room so I go and sit down, but Geraldine leans over the man’s now empty desk and rummages through the papers that are scattered over it. That’s another thing about Geraldine: wherever she goes she acts like she owns the place. Mam would have called her la-di-da, and she is a bit, but she’s not stuck-up.

  At last the man comes back. ‘The judge says he’s not quite ready, but since there’s a child involved he’ll expedite matters.’

  ‘Good grief, man, we weren’t expecting to find him in makeup and a ra-ra skirt.’

  The man gives a thin laugh. ‘Right. Well, if you want to come this way.’ He opens the door to a corridor and lets us in, holding it open. We walk to the end where there’s a door with a sign on it saying ‘Chambers’. The man gives one loud rap and lets us in. ‘Judge Monkton,’ says the man. ‘This is Elizabeth Greenwood and . . .’ He looks at Geraldine but she’s already pushed past him, her hand outstretched towards the judge.

  ‘Geraldine Miller,’ she announces. ‘Elizabeth’s foster-parent.’

  The judge takes Geraldine’s hand and gets his arm pumped for his trouble. When she lets go, he flexes his fingers as if he needs to get some feeling back into them. ‘Do sit down, ladies,’ he says, with a smile, and waves at some chairs. ‘Now, Elizabeth, how are you feeling today?’

  I’ve been asked that question like a million times by a million different people. To be honest, it’s pissing me off. ‘Fine.’ I sit down. ‘Completely fine.’

  ‘And you know what you’re doing here?’

  I nod. I understand perfectly well. Dad wants to see me. He says it’s because he loves me and misses me. And the judge wants to know what I think about that. I cross my legs and feel a trickle of sweat running down the back of my knee. I wish I’d worn socks and not a pair of tights.

  Brixton Dave wasn’t smiling any more. Daisy watched him carefully and could see the step-change. He was checking his phone, making phlegmy noises in the back of his throat. Something was wrong. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘Police on the estate,’ he replied. ‘The Greenwoods wouldn’t be that fucking stupid, would they?’

  Daisy gave a snort. She was absolutely certain that neither Jay nor Crystal would have called the police.

  ‘How can you be sure?’ he demanded.

  ‘I know them,’ Daisy replied. ‘The police are the last people they want sniffing about their business. And, anyway, how the hell would they know where we are? I don’t even know where we are.’

  That seemed to pacify him. Just. But he kept checking his phone, muttering under his breath. Daisy needed to distract him before he lost the plot. ‘Can I get a drink?’ she asked him.

  He looked up from his phone like he’d only just noticed that he was sharing the room with a piece of shit. It made Daisy shiver. ‘What?’ he asked.

  ‘A drink.’ She nodded towards a bottle of Tango at his feet. ‘Can I have some, please?’

  His face was something between a sneer and a snarl but he scooped up the bottle of pop and brought it over to her. ‘Thirsty, are ya?’

  Daisy nodded.

  His eyes locked on to hers, he shook the bottle, took off the top and sprayed her with the fizzy orange liquid. ‘There you go,’ he said, emptying the rest of the bottle over her head.

  Daisy had had men pouring various liquids over her. The trick was to shut your eyes and mouth tight. As she battened down the hatches, she knew that she was running out of time.

  Liberty watched the flat. More lads arrived on bikes, brakes screaming as they came to a halt outside, then disappeared inside for a few minutes before pedalling away again. There was no mistake. It was a drugs house.

  Her mobile rang and she turned her back to the flat to answer.

  ‘Crystal?’

  ‘Where are you?’ her sister demanded. ‘You were meant to stay where I could see you.’

  ‘I’m round the back of the block,’ Liberty replied. ‘You can get a better view here.’ Another wave of smoke from a barbecue floated by, the smell making her stomach growl. She realized she was starving.

  ‘And have you seen anything?’ Crystal asked.

  ‘I think so, yeah.’

  ‘What?’ Crystal shouted down the phone. ‘You’ve seen Frankie?’

  Liberty took a nervous look over her shoulder. ‘No. But I’ve found somewhere he might be.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Lib?’

  Another boy, maybe thirteen or fourteen, rode up to the door of the flat. He caught Liberty looking and raised his left hand, made the shape of a gun and pulled the trigger. Liberty whipped her head away from him. ‘Our Frankie’s got a drug problem, right?’ she asked.

  Crystal sighed.

  ‘Well, I’m standing very near to a flat where they’re serving up,’ said Liberty.

  ‘And you’d know that how?’ Crystal asked.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, I grew up on the Crosshills. I know a drugs house when I see one, same as you do.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  Liberty checked the flat again. The boy had ditched his bike and was now inside. What was she going to do? She couldn’t just knock on the door and ask to have a look around. The boy came out, tucking something into his waistband, but he didn’t get back on his bike. Instead he walked away from the flat towards Liberty.

  ‘I said what are you going to do, Lib?’

  Liberty’s heart thumped as the boy neared. He was running his bottom teeth over his
top lip, making a small piercing in the skin above bob up and down. ‘I’ll call you back,’ she whispered, and hung up.

  The boy stopped a few feet from Liberty and jerked his head up, part threat, part question. What are you doing here? What do you want? ‘What you looking for?’ he said. His voice hadn’t broken.

  She was about to explain that she was looking for her brother, when she realized his question was not a general one. He wanted to know what she was looking for that might be found in his waistband. She almost laughed. Did she really look like she wanted to buy some drugs? Clearly this boy thought so. Still, maybe it was a way to get inside the flat to see if Frankie was there. ‘I want some coke,’ she said.

  ‘Powder or rock?’ the boy asked.

  ‘Powder,’ Liberty replied. ‘Two grams.’

  The boy nodded and held out his hand. ‘Ninety.’

  Liberty reached into her bag and took out her purse. For a second, she wondered if he might steal it and run off, but he just waited, hand outstretched, until she placed the notes on his palm. Presumably there was more money in drug-dealing than in street robbery.

  ‘Wait around that corner,’ the boy said, flapping his hand around the side of the flat. ‘Another younger will come.’

  ‘Can’t I wait in the flat?’ Liberty asked.

  The boy let out a pffft. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘How do I know I’ll get what I paid for?’

  He gave her the once-over. ‘You ain’t from this area, is it?’

  Liberty shook her head. ‘North of the river.’

  He nodded, as if that made perfect sense, and turned to move away, their conversation over.

  Crystal was already calling Liberty’s mobile when Liberty made her way around the corner as she’d been instructed.

  ‘What’s happening, Lib?’

  ‘I’m buying some coke,’ Liberty replied.

  ‘What?’ Crystal shrieked down the phone. ‘Have you completely lost the plot?’

  Liberty leaned against the wall, keeping her eye on the flat. ‘I’m trying to get inside, remember.’

  ‘And buying drugs is going to help how exactly?’

  Liberty sighed. ‘I don’t know exactly, do I? I need to get inside somehow. Look, have you got a better idea?’ She paused and listened to Crystal breathing heavily. ‘Thought not. Look, we know Frankie and Daisy came to this block and, yeah, they might not have been coming to the place where baby drug-runners are in and out every two seconds, it might just be a fat coincidence . . .’

  ‘Fine,’ said Crystal, and hung up.

  Sol watched Chapman from a safe distance, barely able to believe his eyes. She was buying drugs. He tried to think of any other rational explanation for what he’d just seen, but there simply wasn’t one. The lawyer had handed over several banknotes to a younger and was now waiting for her stash. It just didn’t make any sense. Not the buying-drugs part. He had long ago stopped being shocked by who used. Coppers, lawyers, judges. He’d seen it all over the years. Hell, he wasn’t so lily white himself.

  But why come here? It had been obvious from Chapman’s faltering stroll across the front of the flats, then the same routine at the back, that she hadn’t known where she was heading. It was almost as if she’d stumbled across the flat in question and decided to buy some drugs on the spur of the moment.

  At last, the flat door opened and Chapman, who hadn’t taken her eyes from it, pushed a stray lock of hair from her face and secured it behind her ear. When another younger came out and picked up his bike, Sol caught her taking a few deep breaths, the only sign to confirm that inside she was probably bricking it.

  The lad cycled the few steps to her, then stopped, steadying himself with one hand on the wall. He reached into his waistband for something Sol couldn’t see, but knew perfectly well what it was, and pressed it into Liberty’s hand. As he pushed his pedals to move off, Chapman spoke. Her voice clear, all trace of anxiety banished. ‘What’s this?’ The boy turned to her and sniffed. ‘I paid for four grams,’ said Chapman.

  The boy shook his head. ‘Two.’

  ‘No way, sunshine. I paid for four.’

  The boy stared hard and Chapman did a very decent job of holding her own, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised. Miss Liberty Chapman was a bloody good actress. But he already knew that, didn’t he? ‘Don’t piss me about,’ she said. ‘Give.’

  ‘The mandem said two grams.’

  Chapman laughed. ‘I don’t care if the Queen herself said two. I paid for four.’ She took a step towards the younger and pointed at the flat. ‘Let’s go in there and sort this out.’

  The boy flapped his hand at her. ‘You wait here.’

  Chapman took another step and laughed again. ‘Not a chance. You’re ripping me off, or trying to.’

  ‘I ain’t,’ said the boy, his tone surprisingly offended. ‘He definitely said two.’

  Chapman was right up in the boy’s face now, her eyes wide. ‘We’re getting this sorted.’

  The boy shrugged and circled his bike, heading back down the path to the flat. ‘They ain’t gonna let you in,’ he called, over his shoulder.

  ‘Let them try and stop me,’ Chapman replied.

  Liberty balled her fist, so that the boy wouldn’t see it was shaking, and stalked after him to the flat. What was she doing, arguing with a drug-dealer? It was a plan with disaster written all over it. Though calling this a plan was an overstatement. Basically, she’d opened her mouth and some words had spilled out. She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge a hard, dry lump in her throat.

  The boy knocked at the door. As it was opened, Liberty moved behind him and peered inside.

  ‘What the fuck?’ said a voice from inside.

  The boy began to mumble, but Liberty spoke up over him. ‘I’m getting ripped off here and I want it sorted.’

  The man just inside the door stared at her. He was older than the boy, but not by many years. Eighteen tops. The hair on his upper lip was more bum fluff than moustache, and a series of gold chains hung around a skinny neck, still pitted with spots.

  ‘I said, I’m getting ripped off here,’ Liberty growled. ‘And I’m not happy about it.’

  The young man looked first at the boy, then at Liberty. ‘What the fuck?’ he repeated, and went to close the door, but Liberty skirted around the boy and put her foot in the way.

  ‘I’m not going away,’ she said, her voice rising.

  The young man scowled at her foot and it occurred to her that if he slammed the door, she might get a broken bone for her trouble. But she left it there and did her best to look angry, rather than terrified.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ he said at last, and opened the door a little wider, so that she could step inside.

  Chapter 20

  July 1986

  It’s the last day of term. Everybody’s running around, yapping about what they’re going to do in the long holidays. Anne-Marie Dobson’s told just about anyone prepared to listen that she’s going to her nan’s caravan in Filey. I sit in the corner of the playground and take out a book and my lunch. I always pack a sandwich and an apple, and Geraldine always makes me bring a slice of cake. Today’s offering is lemon drizzle, but the icing’s not so much drizzled as slapped on, like plaster. Geraldine likes baking, even if she’s not too good at it. She says it helps her deal with stress. And right now she’s really stressed. She can’t believe the judge said I’ve got to go and visit Dad and she’s furious. I pick off a bit of the icing and suck it.

  ‘Giz a bite.’

  I push the lid back over my Tupperware box.

  ‘Don’t be tight.’

  I look up now and have to cup my eyes against the sun. It’s Mark Johnson, a lad from the bottom set, whom everybody calls Jonno.

  ‘Only messing,’ he says, and squats next to me. He runs a hand over his fresh skinhead. ‘Do you like it?’

  I don’t know that I do. He had nice thick curly hair before. I can’t think why he’s chopped it all off.

  ‘Are
you going to the fair tonight?’ he asks me.

  I’ve not given it any thought so I just shrug.

  ‘It looks a good ’un this time,’ he says. ‘Speedway, umbrellas, waltzer . . .’

  ‘I’m not that bothered,’ I say.

  I mean, I like fairs. Last year I went with a couple of mates. We had a laugh and a couple of fair lads took a shine to us, saying they’d give us free rides and that, if we met up with them behind the candyfloss van. We didn’t fall for that one. Them girls don’t really speak to me now, though. I expect their mams told them not to.

  ‘There’s loads of us going,’ says Jonno. ‘It’ll be a right laugh.’

  I don’t answer. I try to keep myself to myself mostly so I don’t have to answer any awkward questions.

  ‘I’ve got plenty of cash,’ he says. ‘I’ve been helping my uncle Barry on his pop van every weekend.’

  The back of my neck goes hot and prickly. ‘I’ve got my own cash, thanks for asking.’

  He looks at me all embarrassed when I fish in my bag and bring out the emergency money Geraldine insists I carry about.

  ‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ says Jonno. ‘I just didn’t know what happens when you’re in care, like. I didn’t know if they gave you pocket money.’

  ‘Well, they do,’ I say. ‘Plenty.’

  Jonno laughs. ‘Right, then, you can pay for me.’ He gets up and wipes the dust from his trousers. ‘We’re meeting outside Woolie’s at half six.’

  ‘I didn’t say I was coming, did I?’

  He’s still laughing, but he seems a bit less cocky now. When one of the other lads kicks a football at him, he heads it away with a big leathery slap. ‘You should come,’ he calls to me. ‘Life’s too short as it is.’

  The hallway darkened as the front door slammed shut. Liberty knew she was going to have to think fast. In another room, loud hip-hop music played and someone was trying to keep up with the lyrics. A cloud of smoke hung against the ceiling.

  ‘So what’s all this about?’ the young man asked the boy.