She had no intention of showing she was afraid of him. She folded her arms and stared as he approached the stall.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped.
He lifted his grey fleece hood over his head, sniffed loudly and wiped his hand on his tracksuit trousers. It was a wonder they didn’t fall down, Sals thought; the crotch nearly reached his knees. Tufts of greasy hair poked out under his hood, and his skin was as pocked as ever with acne. Sals wanted to tell him that washing his hair occasionally might help with the spots, but stopped herself. Instead she snapped, ‘If you’ve something to say, spit it out. I’m busy.’
Dwayne returned her stare. Slowly his mouth moved into a half-smile, then one of his boots flew up and caught the edge of the trestle table. Sals’ precious stock of crockery wobbled precariously. As her hand instinctively flew out to steady it, his boot landed on her fingers. She pulled her hand away with a yelp. The table wobbled again and some of the pieces slid backwards and crashed to the ground behind her.
Nearby traders watched in horror, but no one moved in to help.
Sals fought angry tears and fell to her knees, crawling around to salvage whatever she could.
She missed the approach of Winston Mitchell, whose street-name was Scrap. He held two heavy gilt and leather leads in one hand, and pulled at the throats of two flat-headed, slavering pit bull terriers.
She caught sight of the dogs just too late to get out of their way. They both pounced, and one sank its teeth into her upper arm. She was wearing two woollen jumpers and a thermal vest, with a jacket over the top to keep out the early morning damp, but the animal’s teeth penetrated the layers until it found flesh. Sals screamed in agony.
Some of the other traders moved towards her, but before they could reach her Dwayne landed a boot in her face and the second dog’s teeth were ripping at her half-gloved fingers. Blood dripped to the ground and Sals screamed again.
‘I’m calling the police,’ one of the traders said, stabbing numbers into his mobile phone.
‘Better call an ambulance too,’ another shouted.
‘I think you need a new table,’ was the last thing she heard Winston Mitchell say before he sped off, taking the dogs with him.
‘Bastard!’ she yelled after him. ‘Lousy, fucking bastard!’
Dwayne leaned across the table till his face nearly touched hers. ‘Next time it’ll be your head.’ As he pulled away, he landed another punch in her eye, and she felt a warm globule of spittle slide down the side of her face.
He moved in again, and she smelled heavy smoke on his breath. ‘Tell your grandson we know he’s around. We’re looking forward to welcoming him to our territory.’
Then he was gone.
Some of the other traders started to pack her broken china into boxes, while another, ignoring her protests, lifted her into his van and drove her to Casualty.
Jason had scoured the floor with bleach until he was satisfied that no sign of Haley’s blood remained on Sals’ kitchen tiles. The washing machine was churning again, and he was confident that this final wash would remove the last traces of blood from his tracksuit. Gran Sals had suggested taking all his clothes with her in a black bin liner when she loaded her little van to go to market, but Jason had stopped her. The police were about, he told her, and their dogs had the scent of Haley. They only lived a hundred yards from the Aviary estate; the dogs would pick the scent up, and both Sally and Jason would be arrested. Jason had been in enough trouble in his life; he knew well enough how to clean up after himself. All his clothes, underwear and all, had gone through the washing machine twice, with bleach as well as soap powder. At least, that was the idea; as he emptied the water he’d used to scrub the floor, he spotted his bloodstained sweatshirt still lying on the floor. How could he have forgotten to put it in last time? He screwed it into a ball and stuffed it behind the machine. As soon as this cycle was finished, he’d see to it.
He hadn’t expected his gran to be so understanding. She’d said she wasn’t going to let anything get in the way of his chance; nothing else mattered except his scholarship and his new life. She’d even given him money and told him to get the hell out here. If only it was that simple!
Sals had helped clean him up, and given him one of her dark tracksuits to wear instead of his own. He looked a sight in it, but he’d worn worse inside, and right now all that mattered was staying out of trouble. Apart from being with Chantelle of course. Last night, when he’d knocked at her place, she’d been surprised to see him but pleased all the same, at least till he told her about Haley. As soon as he laid eyes on her he knew she was on the game and doing drugs; that would have been why she stopped visiting him in Wandsworth. Somehow that wasn’t quite as bad as if she’d stopped loving him, but his heart had nearly broken in a million pieces when he saw faint track marks on the inside of her leg. It was his fault, his and Haley’s, that she had turned to drugs.
Aunt Haley had taken the place of Chantelle’s mother. She’d given Chantelle a home since her real mother died, sent her to dance classes, brought her up to be a good girl. He understood how Chantelle felt about her aunt; she had a lot to be grateful for. But Haley wasn’t what she appeared; what Chantelle didn’t know was that her aunt didn’t really want the best for her.
When he’d rung her this morning he was pleased to find she was staying at Luanne’s. Luanne was strong, and seemed happy to look after her for the time being. Chantelle warned him to get off the estate and go as far away as possible; she had told the Feds it was Yo-Yo who had been at her flat, but they could be on his tail soon as well, so he had no time to hang around. Luanne had agreed to get him another shank to keep him safe on his way up west.
The knock on the door made him jump. Chantelle’s voice came through the letterbox. ‘Jason. Open the door, quick, before anyone sees us.’
He opened the door and Luanne and Chantelle both stepped quickly inside. Chantelle’s eyes were swollen; the sight of it brought a lump to his throat, and he put his arm around her.
‘I’m so sorry about Aunt Haley,’ he said holding her close. If she was so unhappy now, she must never know what had really happened to her aunt. ‘What did Haley do to Yo-Yo?’ he asked Chantelle. ‘Why did he have her killed?’
Chantelle said nothing, but looked at Luanne.
‘He’s supplying you, ain’t he?’ Jason asked. ‘Did she find your gear, and threaten to tell the Feds?’
Chantelle hesitated. ‘Worse than that,’ she said. ‘Yo-Yo hid a lot of gear at mine. She found it, and handed it to the police.’
Jason scratched his untidy mass of dark curls and leaned against the wall. ‘Jesus. You ain’t safe either. He’ll have you punished. You should come with me right now. I need to look after you.’
‘Don’t do this,’ Luanne argued. ‘We’re scared enough already.’
‘Then both of you come with me.’
Luanne shook her head. ‘I have Alysha to think of.’
Jason sucked air through his teeth. ‘Bring Alysha too. We’ll all start fresh. It’s not safe for you here. You’re all in his debt big time.’
Luanne shook her head again. ‘I can’t, Jason. How can I leave that useless lump of a father of mine? We’ll be OK, all of us together. Alysha and I will take care of Chantelle for you. By the time everything’s sorted with Haley, you’ll be up west and you’ll be set up. Chantelle will join you then.’
Jason’s eyes pierced into Luanne’s. ‘I’m relying on you. Don’t let her out of your sight.’
‘I’ll look after her.’
‘They won’t release the body for a while,’ he told Chantelle. ‘You know it takes time when it’s murder. If you change your mind, or anyone frightens you, ring me and I’ll be there.’ He turned back to Luanne. ‘Did you get me a shank?’
Chantelle opened her bag and took out a supermarket carrier. ‘There’s some money in there too.’
‘I’ve got money.’
‘Take it. You can use it to set us up somewhere when I join you.’
Jason pulled the wad Sals had given him from his pocket and waved it at her. ‘I said I’ve got money. You need this more than I do.’ He took the knife and pushed the cash back into her hand.
‘Do you really need a shank?’ Chantelle asked. ‘If you’re caught carrying you’ll go straight back inside.’
He smiled. She did still care, then. He balanced the knife in his hand. Good size, easy to conceal. Luanne had chosen well. ‘The Feds don’t understand. They don’t have to cross gang territory. I’m not looking for trouble, it’s just that I’m a mixed race boy, and I can’t walk from postcode to postcode without protection. This shank is a good size.’
‘It’s Alysha’s,’ Luanne told him. ‘She’s Michael’s Younger. He gets her all sorts.’
‘You be careful,’ Chantelle said, close to tears again.
He reached for her and held her close to him. ‘I love you,’ he whispered.
Over her shoulder he saw Luanne smile and wrinkle her nose. Chantelle buried her face in his shoulder. ‘I’m not worth it.’
‘Yes. Yes, you are.’ He dropped his arms and took her face in his hands. ‘It breaks my heart to hear what’s happened, but I still love you. I’ll never stop loving you. I’m going to sort everything. But you have to get yourself off that shit, you hear me? I’m back now.’ He let go of her and slumped against the wall. ‘Is that why you never came near me this last two years?’
Chantelle pressed her lips together to stop herself crying. It didn’t work.
‘Jason, don’t . . .’ Luanne put out a hand and touched his arm.
He swung around angrily. ‘I need to know,’ he shouted. ‘Chantelle, I need to know why you never came to me.’
‘Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,’ Luanne urged.
He took Chantelle in his arms again and forced himself to speak gently. ‘Don’t cry. OK. It’s OK. I’m gonna sort it. As long as you still love me, nothing else matters. I’ll sort this.’
Chantelle didn’t answer.
‘I’m going to help you. Just tell me you want us to have a life together. All I need is to know you love me and want to be with me.’
‘I love you,’ she whispered. ‘But you deserve better.’
He shook his head. ‘No. You’re my girl. I don’t want no one else.’
Chantelle looked away.
‘Are you still my girl?’
She looked at him. Her forehead crumpled and her lips quivered. Those large chocolate eyes had filled his thoughts while he was away.
She nodded.
‘OK,’ he whispered, stroking her hair. ‘We can do this. You don’t need drugs now. I’m here. You have to go cold turkey. It’s the only way. You can do it, baby. I’ll help you.’
She nodded again.
‘We’re gonna get there. You and me.’ He smiled sadly and dug into his pocket for the money Sals had given him out. He divided it roughly in two, and handed her half. ‘If any of the Brotherhood get on your case, give them this. I’ll get you more. You do not go back on the streets, you hear me? You’re my girl. No one touches you.’
‘You ain’t top dog round here no more, Jason Young,’ Luanne interrupted. ‘You can’t upset the Brotherhood like that. You’ll make it even harder for her. The Brotherhood run things now. They’ve already killed Haley cos she crossed them. They’re planning to kill you too, and then they’ll kill her. Is that what you want?’
Jason threw Luanne an angry look, then twitched his head sideways to tell her to get lost. She opened the door and stalked outside, slamming it behind her.
‘I’m sorry, Jase,’ Chantelle said weakly. ‘I just wanted stuff to stop me missing you.’
‘I know, baby, and I’m sorry I had to leave you alone all that time. But I’m back now, and I love you. If you love me too, that’s all that matters.’ His voice softened. ‘You’re not safe here. You’ve got to let me take care of you. If you’ve given Yo-Yo up to the Feds, you need to get away. Come with me.’
‘I can’t leave till my aunt’s stuff is sorted. If I go they’ll come after us for the money I owe for the stuff Haley gave to the Feds. If I pay Yo-Yo, they’ll leave us alone.’
‘I’ll get you money to pay Yo-Yo.’
‘No. I’ll sort it. Then I’ll follow you.’
‘How?’
‘He won’t hurt me if I keep making money for him.’
Jason took a sharp breath. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to kill Yo-Yo Reilly for touching his girl. He said nothing, but made a silent promise to himself. When he spoke again he made an effort to keep his voice even. ‘Baby, if you think whoring for him will keep you alive, you ain’t got nothing up here.’ He stabbed at his temple, fighting his temper down.
Chantelle didn’t reply.
‘You really ain’t safe, baby, you gotta believe it. He’s doing you to get at me.’
She stared at him dumbly. Her eyes looked bigger and sadder than he’d ever seen them. ‘Are you not listening to me?’
She gave herself a little shake. ‘I will come and join you. But I can look out for myself.’
‘I don’t think you can, not against Yo-Yo. Come with me, let me care for you. Please.’
She didn’t answer.
He gave her shoulders a little shake. ‘Do you still want to dance?’
She nodded.
‘It’s our dream, right? I’m going to make our dream happen.’ He kissed the red cocaine scars at the edges of her nose. ‘We said we’d dance and now we’ve got the chance. Let’s get out of here and start again.’
‘Yes, I will, but not today. Please, Jason! Don’t ask me again.’
He dropped his hands to his sides. He’d been shot and stabbed, spent years locked in institutions and been hungry on the streets. The pain that he felt at that moment was worse than all of those put together. He bent to fix Alysha’s knife inside his sock, using the time to regain control over his temper.
‘OK.’ He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Stay. Do what you have to do. But keep my number with you all the time.’
He tried to read her face, but those beautiful, gold-flecked eyes couldn’t look back at him.