Monday 8 October, 11.35 a.m.
They’d passed another stuffy, smelly night on the sofa cushions, Kath queening it upstairs while Chi, Fifi and Debs had put the sofa cushions on the floor, squashed together and tried to sleep.
They woke when Kath burst in asking where the cup of tea was before lurching out of the room. ‘I need the loo.’ She was avoiding looking at Chi.
Which left her wondering. Was she simply biding her time? Playing her as a cat does a bird. Or had she forgotten last night’s suspicions?
It didn’t take long for her to find out.
Minutes later, Kath staggered back into the room and dropped into her chair. Debs had disappeared into the kitchen to make a ‘brew’ while Fifi was barely sitting up, her heavy black eye make-up smeared across her face. Chi stayed watchful, hardly noticing the fug of cigarette smoke, the sickly sweet scent of spliffs and tobacco mingling nauseatingly with cheap perfume and air freshener. (Which didn’t do any of the things it said on the can.) She allowed herself a brief respite. What she smelt when she closed her eyes was rum and coconut oil; what she heard was the swish of waves meandering up a sandy beach, washing over shells and white sand. What she felt on her face was heat. What she was wearing was not ripped jeans and two fleeces but a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with spaghetti straps. On her feet were flip-flops bought from a colourful boy at a beachside stall, not a pair of boots (wrong size) which she’d picked up from a charity shop.
She closed her eyes and felt nothing but the heat of the sun on her face.
She was to go with Jubilee to Spanish Town, Jamaica. And she knew how.
Kath was watching, sensing something she didn’t understand – yet. But she’d picked up on Chi’s mood. ‘You happy about something?’
Chi’s tempting image dissolved and fear crept in. The soothing sound of waves crashing over white sand was replaced by the heavy clang of bolts being shot, the jangle of keys being turned, doors being slammed, screams and taunts, fingernails scratching her face. A whole place populated with Kath-alikes, each one as nasty, cruel and psychopathic as her one-time friend. And the smell that filled her nostrils was the stink of mouldy damp and toilets that needed bleaching. The smell of uniforms and fear.
BANG BANG BANG
She started. That was a real noise.
One of the neighbours was objecting to their music. That was the trouble with terraced houses – two lots of neighbours. Someone shouted, ‘Turn the fuckin’ noise down. The baby’s trying to sleep.’
‘Turn it up,’ Kath ordered. Fifi stopped fiddling with her newest piercing and stood up, wobbling a bit on her skinny heels, six inches high and thinner than a finger. She tried to remonstrate. ‘They’ll make a complaint, Kath.’
‘And I care?’ And then at the top of her voice she shouted, ‘Fuck off,’ before turning back to Fifi. ‘Now – turn the music up.’
6 p.m.
Kath had persuaded a reluctant Debs to drive her to a new housing estate on the Ashbourne Road. She wanted to view The Obstacle. That was another thing she had learnt in prison. Know your enemy. The girl who’d given her that particular piece of advice had killed a neighbour who’d been (deliberately, she said) annoying her. The hostility had come to blows and so the girl, Emmie Clayton, had torched the woman’s house.
‘Easy,’ Emmie said. ‘You just make sure the back door’s secured and then you chuck a Molotov (plastic bottle full of petrol and a rag in the neck of the bottle) and whoosh. Gotcha.’
She’d wagged her finger at the gobsmacked audience. ‘But first I had to plan. That means observation, knowing what nights she’d be in, track her movements, make certain she was going to have too much plonk to get out of bed. Know your enemy.’
So Kath had listened and learned. Planning + Observation = Success. In other words: Know your enemy. Get close to them. Watch them.
And that was exactly what she was doing.
Emmie Clayton’s neighbour had died in the fire along with her two-year-old daughter.
Debs parked the car opposite number 18 Badger’s Rise. AKA Chez famille Korpanski. It’s easy to find out where a police officer lives. Half the time a squad car’s parked outside. Or you can take the long way round and follow him home from work – or the gym.
From the car they had been treated to the sight of mother and daughter scuttling into their car, a little Clio, heading off somewhere and, twenty minutes later, DS Mike Korpanski and his son, Ricky, in shorts and trainers, peering at their Fitbit watches and heading out for a run together. Kath chewed on her burger. ‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘Father and son going out for a jog together. How sweet.’
Debs said nothing but Fifi, sitting in the back, spoke up. ‘You’re never going to take him on, Kath? He’s fuckin’ enormous. And he looks as if he works out. Even the kid does.’
Kath didn’t even bother to swivel round. ‘I got my ways.’
‘Why?’
Kath turned her head. ‘Because I can never get to her if he’s around. He’s in the way. He’s a fuckin’ obstacle.’
Debs clamped her mouth shut. There was no reasoning with Kath when she was in this mood. Or in any other mood, actually. In fact, there was no reasoning with Kath – period.
Kath was thinking.
She’d wandered up past the police station three or four times in the last couple of weeks. Most of the time she’d seen nothing going on and no sightings. But twice she had had a chance to observe.
Piercy, hateful pregnant cow. Her friend’s advice echoed in her ears. Don’t just see things from your point of view. Take it all in. Watch and learn.
God, prison was better than going to villains’ academy.
Her target was walking down the steps of the station, her DS by her side. He must have said something funny. She was throwing her head back and laughing, her hands protectively holding her stomach. Or rather, the bump. And Kath, who was learning to be observant and patient, noted something else. The detective sergeant put a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. The smile lasted just that little bit longer than it should. The hint was that they were more than just colleagues and Kath, with her new-found education, was learning to read between the lines. DS Korpanski would never let anything harmful happen to his DI. She wouldn’t get to within six feet of Piercy without Korpanski taking her on. And, looking at the powerful physique and heavy tread, she knew without a weapon she had no chance.
So she had to think this one through.
She’d turned away. Challenges are nothing but an obstacle which needs to be surmounted. It was up to her to surmount this one. And Kath had an idea. It had taken months, but she was beginning to piece together the whole plan. She drew in a breath. It would work. She was almost there. She was just missing one small detail. And she had the feeling that Chi might just hold the answer.