Eeny Meeny - [3]

Helen parked her motorbike a safe distance from the towers, and continued on foot. Women generally didn’t walk the estate alone at night, but Helen never felt concerned for her safety. She was known here and people tended to steer clear, which suited her fine. All was quiet tonight, apart from some dogs sniffing around a burnt-out car, so Helen picked her way past the needles and condoms and stepped inside Melbourne Tower.

On the fourth floor, she paused outside flat 408. It had once been a nice, comfortable council flat, but now it looked like Fort Knox. The front door was riddled with deadlocks, but more striking were the metal grilles – padlocked firmly shut – that reinforced the main entrance. The vile graffiti – flid, retard, mong – that covered the exterior gave a clue as to why the flat was so protected.

It was the home of Marie and Anna Storey. Anna was severely disabled, unable to speak, feed herself or go to the toilet. Anna (now fourteen) needed her middle-aged mother to do everything for her, so her mum did the best she could. Living on benefits and handouts, buying food from Lidl, being sparing with the heating. They would have been ok like that – these were the cards they’d been dealt and Marie was not one to be bitter – had it not been for the local yobs. The fact that they had nothing to do and were from broken homes was no excuse. These kids were just nasty thugs who enjoyed belittling, bullying and attacking a vulnerable woman and child.

Helen knew all this because she’d taken a special interest in them. One of the scrotes – a vicious acne-covered dropout called Steven Green – had attempted to burn out their flat. The fire crew had got there in time and the damage was contained to the hallway and front room, but the effect on Marie and Anna had been devastating. They were utterly terrified when Helen interviewed them. This was attempted murder and someone needed to be called to account for it. She did her best, but the case never went to court for lack of witnesses. Helen urged her to move, but Marie was stubborn. The flat was their family home and had been kitted out specially to deal with Anna’s mobility limitations – why should they have to move? Marie sold what valuables she still possessed to fortify the flat. Four years later, the drugs factory blew up. Before that, the lift had worked fine and flat 408 was basically a happy home. Now it was a prison.

The Social Services were supposed to call round, to keep an eye on them, but they avoided this place like the plague and visits were fleeting at best. And so Helen, who had little to keep her home at night, would pop in. Which is why she’d been there when Steven Green and company returned to finish the job. He was high as usual and clutching a petrol can that he was trying to light with a home-made fuse. He didn’t get the chance. Helen’s baton caught him on the elbow, then across the neck, sending him sprawling to the floor. The others were caught off guard by the sudden appearance of a copper and dropped their petrol bombs to flee. Some of them made it, some of them didn’t. Helen had been well trained in how to take the legs out from under fleeing suspects. She foiled the attack and not long after had the distinct pleasure of watching Steven Green and three of his closest friends get a substantial prison sentence. Some days the job really did give back.

Helen suppressed a shiver. The dingy corridors, the broken lives, the graffiti and filth were too redolent of her own upbringing not to provoke a reaction. It conjured up memories she’d fought hard to suppress and which she forced back down now. She was here for Marie and Anna – she refused to let anything darken her mood today.

She knocked on the door three times – their special code – and after much unlocking the door swung open.

‘Meals on wheels?’ Helen ventured.

‘Piss off,’ came the predictable reply.

Helen smiled as Marie opened the outer grille for her to enter. Already her dark thoughts were receding – Marie’s ‘warm’ welcome always had that effect on her. Once inside, Helen doled out her gifts, received hers and felt utterly at peace. For a brief moment, flat 408 was her sanctuary from a dark and violent world.

5

The rain poured down, washing away her tears. It should have felt cleansing, but it didn’t – she was too far gone for that. She plunged madly through the tangled foliage of the wood, not heeding her direction. She just needed to keep going. Away. Away. Away.

Thorns tore at her face, stones lacerated her feet. But on she went. Her eyes scanned desperately for someone, something, but all she could see were trees. For a moment she had a terrible thought – was she even in England still? She screamed for help, but her cries were feeble, her throat too hoarse to function.

At Sampson’s Winter Wonderland, families were queuing patiently for Santa’s Grotto. The whole site was really just a handful of marquees hastily erected on muddy farmland, but the kids seemed to like it. Father-of-four Freddie Williams had just bitten into his first mince pie of the season, when he saw her. Through the driving rain, she appeared ghostly. Freddie’s mince pie hung in mid-air as she limped slowly but deliberately across the site, her eyes fixed on him. On closer inspection, she wasn’t ghostly, she was pitiful – bedraggled, bleeding and deathly pale. Freddie didn’t want any part of her – she looked mental – but his legs wouldn’t move, rendered immobile by the fierceness of her gaze. She covered the last few yards quicker than he’d expected and suddenly he was reeling backwards as she launched herself upon him. His mince pie somersaulted into the sky, landing with a satisfying