The Dead Ex(7)

Mum looked pleased. ‘I bought it for you because you’re a good girl.’ Then she handed Scarlet a crisp tube for her pink shoulder bag. The lid was slightly open.

‘Why is there sugar inside?’

‘Don’t touch!’ Mum shut it quickly.

‘I’m sorry.’

Mum’s face went kind again. ‘It’s me that should be sorry, love. I’ve got a lot on my mind. Tell you what – how do you feel about moving somewhere new?’

They often imagined going to different places. It was part of the game. ‘Where this time?’

‘Somewhere warm.’ Mum’s eyes went all dreamy, like they did when she woke up. ‘We could have a home near a beach and build sandcastles.’

‘Could we eat ice cream? The ones with chocolate flakes that melt in your mouth?’

Mum lifted her up into the air and swung her around. She wasn’t dreamy any more. She was awake and excited. ‘As much as you want.’

‘Yes please!’

‘We can only do it if you follow the rules. Got it?’

Scarlet nodded solemnly. ‘Got it.’ The words made her feel all grown up.

They made their way down the steep steps outside their flat and the big red letters that someone had painted on the walls. C–U–N and then another letter which had been crossed out. ‘We don’t need to know what that means,’ Mum always said.

‘Watch out for the dog shit. Jump! That’s right. Hold my hand when you cross the road. Are you warm enough? Don’t forget your words.’

But all the time, Scarlet kept thinking about the book with the pretty pictures which she could have been reading in class right now.

The rain trickled down the neck of her new jacket. ‘Just a drizzle,’ said Mum. She kissed her. The Pat Chew Lee was mixed with the smell of the fags.

‘Off you go. See you at the gates.’

Scarlet ran over to the swings. No one else was there. Not even the mothers with the little ones who were too small to go to school. She kicked the ground to start herself off. Forward. Back. Waiting. Waiting.

‘Shall I push you, love?’

The voice had the same friendly sound that had belonged to the man who had visited last night. It meant he was from ‘the south-west’.

Back. Forward. Back. Forward. Don’t forget your words.

‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

‘Want some crisps?’

Scarlet stopped. The man handed over the tube. Then she reached in her bag for the sugar. Just as she gave it to him, there was a shout.

‘You there. Stop!’ Another man was running up to them. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of illegal possession of a controlled substance …’

‘No. NO!’

Mum suddenly appeared, but then a woman in cop uniform ran up and held her back. A second one tried to take Scarlet’s hand.

‘Come with me, lass. It’s all right.’

‘LET HER GO!’

‘MUM! COME BACK.’

‘Scarlet! SCARLET! Let me talk to my little girl, you bastards.’ Mum’s cries pierced her ears as they pulled her away.

Was this part of the game?

‘It’s all right, love,’ said the cop. ‘You’re safe now. Come with me.’

‘GET AWAY.’

The man pulled his hand away but not before she’d sunk her teeth into his flesh.

‘Don’t bite me, you little cat.’

They were putting her in one car and Mum in another. Hers went first.

‘COME BACK,’ she wept, hammering on the window with her fists. But Mum grew further and further away until the other car was a little black spot.

And then she was gone.





Rose. Neroli. Sandalwood. Ylang-ylang. Patchouli.

All are said to have aphrodisiac qualities.

Do they work? Put it this way.

Some days I love him still. Other days I hate him. Right now I wish he was dead. It would be so much easier. Then no one else could have him either.





3



Vicki


‘This is David,’ says the smooth, husky voice. ‘You know what to do.’

But I don’t. In fact, I lost my way on the day that it happened. I put down the phone.

Stop. Don’t think about it. Or the stress might trigger it off. The ‘thing’ that sits on your shoulder, day after day. Teasing you into thinking that everything’s all right now before striking you out of the blue.

Deep breath. That’s better. Work this out calmly. Why not just ring again? He might pick up this time. Even though my ex-husband has said he never wants to hear or see me again, I miss him. That’s why every now and then I call, just to hear his voice on the answerphone. Besides, this is an emergency. So I’ll give it another go.

‘This is David …’

My ex-husband’s deep, assured tone takes me back to the evening we’d met. It was a fundraising dinner in aid of a scheme to rehabilitate prisoners, and I’d been told, in no uncertain terms by the authorities, that my presence was ‘required’.

David Goudman (as his nameplate read) was late, which meant I had an embarrassing gap on my right, limiting me to conversation with a very quiet woman on my left. When he finally arrived, he was deeply apologetic as well as courteous and charming. Dismissing my questions about his work – property development – he seemed far more interested in me.