“Who do you think lives in a house like this?” Len said in a plummy accent as the Transit van turned onto Bracewell Road.
“A smackhead chef or a kitchen-klepto.” Tara sniggered.
Shelley yanked the steering wheel. The Transit van jerked and ran up on the curb. She heard the impact in the rear. Under most circumstances, she would have been pleased to see Tara happy, but the inappropriateness of the situation riled her. Moreover, they were blatantly having a laugh at her expense.
Shelley kicked open the driver’s side door. Standing in the Monday morning light, she remembered they were supposed to be keeping a low profile. She looked around. Apart from the parked cars, the road was empty and all the houses had their curtains drawn.
Maintaining her vigilance, she walked to the back of the van and opened the doors. Tara and Len slithered out onto the street.
“We’ll clean up. You get yourself home and get some kip, love,” Len said, patting Shelley on the back. He curled his arm around Tara’s waist and the two of them sauntered up the road towards his house. “Laters,” he called out, turning round to wave at Shelley and the others.
“Nighty night.” Tara turned and waved. They looked like an unfortunate couple walking off the set of Blind Date. Cilla wouldn’t need a new hat for them.
Angel reached for Shelley’s hand. “Don’t let her upset you, babe. She doesn’t mean to. It’s just her way.”
“I’m surprised he’s not too fucking council for her,” Shelley said.
“Do you want me to stop at yours tonight?” Nicole lit a cigarette.
“I’ll be waking in a couple of hours to get to Praed Street. We won’t get much sleep.”
“I don’t think I could sleep now anyway,” Nicole said.
Shelley turned to Angel. “Do you wanna come with us?”
“If you want me to. I feel so bad about what happened. I’m so sorry. If I could’ve done something different...” Angel wrapped her arm around Shelley’s shoulder.
With Angel on one side of her, and Nicole linking her arm on the other, Shelley walked with her friends down the road towards her car.
“What if we were seen on CCTV?” Shelley asked, opening the door of her 350SL.
“I doubt it, babe,” Angel said.
Angel followed behind Shelley’s car. Shelley dropped off Nicole to her Chimaera where she’d abandoned it on Saturday night. Then they drove in a convoy heading for Hampstead.
Alone in her car, Shelley felt apprehensive. Fear pervaded her about being caught on tape at Trellick Tower and at The Lanesborough, and the depth of the canal, and whether parcel tape remained effective in water.
She blasted her Pink Floyd Dark Side of the Moon CD to drown out the noise in her head, but it didn’t work. A hit was required to stop that – temporarily providing a break from caring. But how would she score and manage to use in her small flat with both her friends present?
***
As soon as they arrived in Shelley’s flat on Willoughby Road, Nicole disappeared into the kitchen to put on the kettle. From not wanting to be left by herself, Shelley was now anxious to be without her friends. Although they knew about her habit, she couldn’t call Jay while they were there, and she had no heroin left. There was nothing except the skunk Nicole had.
After bringing the tea to the other two in the lounge, Nicole rolled a joint. Shelley glanced at her phone – 6.57 a.m. Even if she were to call Jay, she couldn’t do it until she’d gone to the clinic. Once she had heroin, the chance of her actually going to Praed Street was close to nil.
“What time does the drop-in open?” Shelley asked.
“Ten, I think.” Nicole passed Shelley the joint. Shelley took an extended toke. Added to her concern for the lack of ‘A’ class drugs was her fear of attending the clinic. The staff would know something was wrong because she’d only recently been checked. Usually she could lie: blame a split condom with a punter, or an overenthusiastic boyfriend – not that she ever had any boyfriends, but she could tell a story and tell it well. In this instance, however, lying would not come easy. It never did after a rape.
Shelley took a hard pull on the joint and held her breath for several seconds before exhaling. She averted her eyes to her wrist. The dot-to-dot puzzle she’d created was scabbing over. Farther along, in her hand, she saw a plump, blue vein. In her mind, she pictured a syringe full of heroin and crack; the needle sliding in; pulling back; watching the blood percolate in the barrel; pushing in; feeling the rush.
“Are you all right, love?”
“Yeah.” No, I’m desperate for a hit. “I think I wanna be on my own now though. I’m sorry,” Shelley said, offering the joint to Angel.
“You shouldn’t be on your jacks, babe.” Without taking a toke, Angel passed the joint to Nicole who sat between them on the sofa.
“I’m not letting you go to the clinic by yourself and I don’t want you going back on the heroin when I’ve gone either.”
“For fuck’s sake, Nic. What do you expect? I’m a junky.”
“I know that’s why you want me to leave.” Nicole jumped up from the sofa. “You’d rather be with your heroin than with me. Is it a better friend? Am I that bad that a damn fucking powder is better?”
“It’s not like that. I’ll get ill,” Shelley said, looking up at Nicole who was standing in front of her.
“I know. I’ve seen it, but you have to stick it out.”
“She’s right. I know a few girls who’ve done it. You go cold turkey,” Angel said. “And there’s meetings you can go to. Step programmes.”
“I don’t believe in all that self-help bollocks.”
“What else are you gonna do? You’ve been cold fucking turkey loads of times but you just give up.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I’ve seen you. Shivering, sweating, disappearing for ages in the loo, coming back with your eyes pinned, scratching. I’m not an idiot. I’m your friend, Shelley, supposed to be your best friend, and you don’t even confide in me. What does that say about me?”