Mary sat at the kitchen table with her head held in her hands. Bills, bills, and more bleeding bills. Final demands, letters telling her the bailiffs were coming. When was it ever going to end? No sooner had she paid one bill and another one landed on her doorstep. She couldn’t answer her front door without fear anymore. If she heard the loan-sharks were on the estate she always closed the curtains, turning the lights off so the men didn’t know if she was in or not. But it was only a matter of time before they caught her coming home, or even turning up at her work. Mary sat staring into space, wondering how on earth she could get some money together fast to help her out of the big dark hole she’d fallen into again. She knew what was coming.
Mary hurried up the stairs and dragged the double bed away from the wall. It was heavy and she struggled. Pulling the carpet back, she lifted up the loose floorboard with the end of her thin fingers. Her hand disappeared into the dark hole and she moved it about, searching. Finally she pulled out a ten-pound note, clearly disappointed that was all that was left under there. Mary quickly placed the floorboard back and pushed the carpet back over it. She was exhausted, sweat blooming on her forehead as she dragged the frame back. Sitting on the edge of the bed she held the ten-pound note out in front of her and let out a laboured breath. Maybe she could chance her luck and buy a scratch card, double her money, even treble it? No, her luck had run out months ago. She’d won nothing for ages down the bingo hall, not a carrot. She rushed back down the stairs and went into the living room. She grabbed her handbag and pulled out her mobile phone and sat thinking. With shaking hands, she sent a text message.
I need to see you. Elsa needs things. Can we meet @ the side of Queens Park tonight at 9?
Mary pressed the send button and held her mobile phone to her chest. She’d promised herself that she wasn’t going to ask that bastard for another penny now Elsa was eighteen, but she couldn’t manage without his help; she needed a lifeline and the kid deserved a proper start at adult life. Money had always been tight in this household and why shouldn’t her granddaughter’s father put his hand in his pocket when she couldn’t make ends meet? She took no pride in it – every time she met him, she told him she was only asking because she was desperate. Up to now, he had always put his hand in his pocket, even if it came with a lot of grumbling. Elsa had needed a lot of things growing up, things she couldn’t have afforded; new clothes, new shoes, he didn’t get how much money it cost to bring a child up. And Karla never helped. She was as much use as a chocolate fire-guard, absolute bobbins. No, all the responsibility was left to Mary. Well, today she was going to see Elsa’s father and tell him straight that he needed to give her a decent amount of money to help look after his daughter until she found work and could fend for herself. Alright, she might have treated herself to a few nights at bingo from the money in the past, but who would have denied her that?
Mary sat down and clocked the photo album on the edge of the sofa. Elsa had been looking at it last night and she must have forgotten to put it back where it belonged. Her fingers stroked the cover and she smiled as she opened the first page. There they were, photographs of when they were all younger; happier times – simpler, certainly. Mary sat down and placed the album on her lap, she loved looking back. She spotted one of herself with an old friend. She chuckled to herself and shook her head. ‘Bleeding hell, look at the state of you there, Mary, what on earth were you wearing?’
It was good to have memories of days gone by, times when people were happy, seeing friends she had lost contact with and remembering the nights out they had all had together. Mary turned the page over and her expression changed. There was Karla, her baby, her girl, stood outside a shop with her friends smiling from cheek to cheek. She spoke to the photograph in a low voice. ‘You were pregnant then, weren’t you? That dirty bastard had his hands all over you. I wish I had known, I would have stopped it, cut his balls off or had him done in.’
She had to close the book, bad memories flooding her mind. Mary blamed herself for the way Karla had turned out. By her own admittance she hadn’t exactly been mother of the year, far from it. Maybe she should have cuddled her daughter more, told her how special she was and how beautiful she was? But she was in a bad place herself back then and the drink had got a grip of her. She shook her head – she was never going down that road again.
Mary had been sat ready for over half an hour. She’d had a wash and combed her hair in an effort to look half decent. There was no way she was having him calling her names again. The last time she’d been to see him, he’d told her that she stank of fags and to open the window in the car because she was knocking him sick. Cheeky bleeder. Nobody was at home yet and if anyone was to ask her where she’d been she could always say she was at the bingo hall. Nobody would question her on that, they never did.
It was dark outside as she left the house. Mary zipped her coat up as she rushed down Rochdale Road. Her head was dipped low, she didn’t want anyone to see her. Queens Park was a place Mary used to take her granddaughter when she was younger. For hours she would push her on the swings. But now Mary could see a silver Mercedes at the end of the road in the layby. He always hid away in the shadows of the night, never wanting anyone to see him. She lifted her shoulders back and inhaled deeply. It was showtime.
You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife when Mary sat in the car. She didn’t look at him, eyes facing forward looking out of the window. She inhaled and twisted the edge of her coat.
‘I’m struggling to look after Elsa. I know you said that last time was the end of you giving me anything, but she needs something to help her leave the nest. She’s your blood and it doesn’t matter how old she is, she still needs supporting.’
His voice was firm, chilling. ‘It’s always been about bleeding money with you, Mary; take, take, take. I told you I would support her until she was eighteen and that was it. You’re lucky I’ve even put my hand in my pocket at all.’
Mary finally turned to face him, the smell of his aftershave was strong, catching in her throat. ‘And you’re lucky I’ve not been banging on your front door telling your Mrs about her.’
His hand seized her neck, squeezing at her windpipe. His teeth clenched tightly together as his words fired out like bullets. ‘Don’t pull this shit with me, Mary, because you’ll end up in a fucking body bag. I’ll just take you one dark night and nobody will have a clue where you have disappeared to. Trust me, you old tart, I’ll make sure nobody ever finds you. You’ll be six foot under.’
He let his grip loosen and moved his hand away from her throat. She was coughing and spluttering, her eyes bulging from the sockets.
‘Don’t you ever lay your hands on me again. This is your child that you created – by having your dirty way with my daughter. She was barely more than a child – I could have you lynched for that. But, like I have always said, as long as you do right by your daughter then my trap will be shut. Are you forgetting about everything that I’ve done for your child, all the things I’ve gone without? I could have had her banged in care and walked away from her but I didn’t, I chose to stay and support her unlike her bleeding mother.’
‘Don’t ever try and blackmail me, Mary. Have I made myself clear?’
Mary tried not to show the panic rising in her and sat back in her seat with her arms folded tightly in front of her chest. She had to change her tune, speak nicely to him. ‘I just want her to be happy. To have what every other girl has. My hand is always in my pocket for her, and I do my best to make sure she never goes without. I lie awake at night worrying about how I’m going to pay bills, put food on the table. I’m not rolling in cash, you know.’
‘Don’t give me all that, Mary. Everyone knows you’re always down at the bingo.’
Mary listened to the sound of rustling. She side-eyed him. He placed a stack of twenty-pound notes on her lap and growled over at her. ‘This is the last time you ever come and see me for money. If I see you here again, you’ll be in the boot of my car and taken where nobody will ever find you. Don’t ever ring me again.’
Mary was silent, her hands slowly picking up the cash from her lap. She knew well enough what this man could do. She was doing this for Elsa – but if she ended up dead, who would care for her then?