Dirty Daddies Page 5

  I wonder if it was always all just a load of empty words. Promises made out of thin air meaning sweet fuck all.

  I have to double up on socks by lunchtime, and my belly is rumbling worse than ever. I pick some blackberries from a hedge but they don’t do shit to stop the hunger. My water runs out not long after and fuck knows where I’m going to find another tap to fill it back up. I consider knocking on someone’s door and asking to borrow their bathroom, but I’m too worried they’ll call the cops on me.

  By the time I reach the outskirts of Gloucester my feet are so blistered I’m limping. My shoulders are aching from my backpack and my lips are dry as fucking paper.

  My mind is so numb that all I can do is count my steps to keep on walking.

  One. Two. Three.

  Twenty-nine.

  On and on and on until I’m in well into the city.

  I drop my backpack to the floor when I finally get to Eli’s. I hammer his door with all the strength I have left in my hands, and even then it takes him a minute to open it.

  He used to be pleased to see me, but not anymore.

  He leans out and looks behind me, checking for other people – like I’ve ever brought anyone along to this shithole with me.

  “What you doing here?” he asks, like my backpack doesn’t speak for itself.

  “I left,” I grunt. “Gonna let me stay or what?”

  He takes a drag on his skinny roll-up and I hold up my fingers for him to give it to me, but he doesn’t. “Bring any cash?”

  I knew this was coming, and I knew I’d feel like crap to say no. I shake my head. “Rosie’s been careful. She even hides the chocolate now.”

  He laughs and I’m not sure it’s not at my expense. “Stupid bitch.”

  I wonder if he’s talking about her or me. Maybe both of us.

  “Can I stay then or what?”

  He smirks. “Or what?”

  I fold my arms. “I don’t fucking need you, Eli. I’m here because I want to be, not because I’m fucking desperate. I can take care of myself.”

  “You can’t take care of yourself enough to outsmart that snooty fucking bitch and bring me some fucking cash though, can you? How you gonna pay your way?”

  I shrug. “I don’t need her cash, I’ll make my own.”

  “Oh yeah? You gonna be earning your keep?”

  I nod. Grit my teeth. “I’ll pull my weight.”

  I stare at him, taking in the tattoos on his neck, the buzz of close cropped hair on his scalp. The way he could be such a looker if he wasn’t always so filthy and scruffy.

  I bet they say the same about me.

  “Alright,” he says finally. “You can stay, but you better make it worth my while.”

  The place smells rancid as I step foot in there, but I’m done caring about any of that. He doesn’t offer to take my backpack and I don’t expect him to. I don’t expect him to do shit for me other than give me somewhere warm to sleep tonight and maybe a bit of food in my belly.

  I set my backpack down and take a seat on his grimy armchair, choking back the sadness that this is really it for the time being.

  I’ve almost convinced myself it’s going to be fine when I see the package of white powder on the coffee table.

  I’ve almost convinced myself I made the right decision when he snorts up a big fat line of it.

  I hate him when he snorts this shit.

  I hate the person it turns him into.

  But it’s too late for all that now. I’m just grateful when he makes me a sandwich.

  Chapter Five

  Michael

  I have to use my lunch break to make agency calls on behalf of a girl who’s no longer on my books. I take a bite of my sandwich, cursing that I’m spending so much time on hold. I’ve a lot of people to speak with, and not a huge amount of time to do it in.

  The result: more of the same old shit.

  They’ll need her to register. They’ll need some form of ID. They’ll need to do an assessment.

  They’ll be able to do none of those things unless Carrie actually agrees to toe the line.

  I’m exasperated by the time I look up Rosie and Bill’s number at the end of my shift. One last shot, that’s what I tell myself. One last attempt to reason with them and get them on side enough to keep her room open for her until we can get her into these appointments.

  It’s Rosie who answers. She sighs as she registers it’s me.

  I launch quickly into my monologue, telling her I know how hard they’ve worked with Carrie, how much time they’ve put in, and how difficult this has been on all of them, but if she could just find it within herself to give this one final push…

  It’s another sigh that cuts me off.

  “You’re too late,” she says. “She’s gone.”

  My mouth drops before I reply. “Sorry?”

  “She took off this morning. Left with all her clothes and everything.”

  “And where has she –”

  “Don’t know, don’t really care,” she interrupts, and it pains me.

  “She didn’t say?”

  “Didn’t see her. She’d slipped out the living room window before Bill and I got up.”

  I’m lost for words, my pulse heavy in my temples. “Have you called the police?”

  She tuts like I’ve insulted her. I probably have.

  “Of course we did. They won’t do anything until she’s been missing forty-eight hours, not given the trouble we’ve had before. By then she’ll be eighteen. Not our problem.” She pauses. “And not yours, either.”

  Her tone is kind but it’s pointed. I’ve known these people a long time, and they know me. “She’s not on your books anymore, is she?” Rosie asks, already knowing full well she isn’t.

  It’s my turn to sigh. “No, not officially.”

  “Then I think it’s about time we all let her go, Mike. We’ve all tried.”

  Not hard enough.

  I can’t say that to her, not given how hard they’ve worked for those in need over the years, so I don’t.

  “You’ll let me know if you hear anything?”

  She tuts again. “You’ll be the first to know. It’s not a long list.”

  I say thanks, and I’m surprised at how clammy my palms feel when I hang up.

  Gone.

  She’s really gone.

  The thought of her being alone out there is a kick to my gut. She could be cold, hungry. Lost, for all I know.

  We’re surrounded by miles of woodland – she could be trekking through there for days. She could trip and break and ankle. Those boots of hers have seen better days. They wouldn’t hold up to that.

  I’ve grabbed my car keys before I’ve regained my composure. And I’m driving the streets before I’ve even contemplated what my strategy is.

  There isn’t one. She could be anywhere.

  I head out towards Gloucester, scouring the verges for sight of her. Nothing.

  I double back and drive the country lanes through the forest. Nothing.

  I pass through Lydbrook three times, asking dog walkers if they’ve seen her around. Nothing.

  Finally, I drive into the heart of Gloucester itself, not caring that the night is closing in and I haven’t stopped for dinner. I wander streets I shouldn’t be wandering, asking questions of those settling down outdoors for the night.

  I’m crazy and I know it.

  I shouldn’t be doing this, and not even Jack is around to talk some sense into me.

  Finally, after stopping at all the picnic areas through the forest on my way back home, shining my flashlight around like a madman, I accept defeat for the evening.

  I grab some instant noodles and eat them in a daze. I do internet searches on my work laptop, even though I know my history is logged, and I ring the local police and hospitals before I allow myself to get some sleep.

  Nothing.

  Carrie Wells has gone.

  I don’t sleep a wink.

  Carrie

&
nbsp; The sleeping bag at Eli’s stinks of weed like the rest of the place. I know they say it’s nature’s herb and all that, but it’s always smelled like crap to me. It’s only ever made me sick and giggly. I don’t really do giggly, so I’m better off without the shitty stuff.

  Eli says it will chill me fucking out, but I do chilled even less than I do giggly. He stays up late with the TV on loud. The room is full of the stench, and when I hunker down under my grotty covers that’s when I come to realise everything smells of it here.

  I probably smell like it here.

  He has a couple of cats that he doesn’t let out. Their litter tray stinks even worse than the weed. Some random ex-girlfriend left them here, he told me once. He hardly feeds them, so I share my ham sandwich with them, loving the way they purr as they settle down under the covers with me.

  Maybe I can take them on the road with me, but they’ll probably run away.

  I wouldn’t blame them.

  I’d run away from here too if I didn’t need to stay warm for the night.

  Eli isn’t coming on the road with me, not like he promised. We talked about it earlier, but he’d already been snorting his white stash by then. He told me he wasn’t ditching this place for a crappy fucking gig in a caravan somewhere. He told me he doesn’t love me, either. I already knew that. I already knew all of it.

  He says I’m going to have to pay my keep before I leave here, that food doesn’t come cheap even though I’ve only had a couple of slices of bread and I had to tear the crusts off because they were mouldy. It just reinforces everything I already know.

  People are dicks, and nobody gives a fuck. Not Bill and Rosie, and not Eli either.

  I’d leave tonight if the memory of my ice-block feet this morning wasn’t still fresh. I’d wait until he passed out and slip past him, maybe try to find some cash to take with me on the way. Cash or drugs to sell. I’m sure I could get a decent price for them, just to set me up.

  “Ain’t you gonna watch this with me?” he grunts, and I curse that he knows I’m still awake.

  “I’m fucking tired. Walked all last fucking night.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ll be walking all through this fucking one if you keep speaking to me like I’m a soft fucking asshole.”

  It stings to bite my tongue.

  “Lee’s coming over,” he tells me, and I cringe inside. “He’s looking forward to seeing you.”

  “He can go fuck himself.”

  Eli laughs. “He’s hoping you’ll do that for him. Says he’ll give you a tenner towards your caravan fund.”

  Lee Davis was a mistake of mine. A stupid idiot who told me I was special.

  Like I said, I’ve never been anywhere near a real man. Lee Davis is nothing but a joke. A druggie joke who thinks he’s a hard man. He’s not. I punch harder than he does.

  Still, how it ended between us is all the incentive I need to get myself up and out of there. I move the cats and climb out of the sleeping bag. I head to Eli’s grotty bathroom and put on another couple of layers under my clothes.

  He doesn’t even look at me when I head back through and pick up my backpack.

  “Where do you think you’re fucking going?”

  “I’m gonna make a move,” I say. “Gonna head down south. See if I can get to the coast.”

  He laughs, points to the armchair. “Sit your skinny ass back down.”

  I head for the front door regardless, hissing under my breath as he catches me. He moves fast for a stoner. That’ll be the coke. His breath is hot and fucking gross. I give him the finger even as he pins against the wall.

  “Fuck off,” I hiss. “I’m fucking leaving.”

  “You always were a snotty fucking bitch,” he says. “I told you. Lee’s coming. He wants to see you.”

  “And I don’t want to fucking see him.”

  “Tough fucking shit,” he says and then his eyes soften, just a bit.

  For that moment he’s the Eli I always knew. The boy who could convince me to do anything, just with a smile, even though I knew I’d get all the blame for it.

  “There’s some pasta in the cupboard. Why don’t you make yourself a proper dinner?”

  I glare at him. “I can’t pay you for it.”

  He shrugs. “We’re friends. We help each other.”

  Friends.

  That’s a fucking joke.

  But I’m hungry, even after a crappy sandwich. I know it’s cold outside and I don’t want to walk through those alleys on my own, not right now when I’m already tired enough to drop.

  “Alright,” I say and he smiles.

  “That’s my cute little sis.”

  He ruffles my hair and I cringe.

  I’m not his sister and I never have been.

  He lets me go and I drop my backpack. I head through to the kitchen with a sigh and he takes his TV show off pause.

  “Make me some as well while you’re at it,” he says. “I’m fucking starving.”

  I was only pretending when I spat in Rosie’s stew, I’m not tonight.

  Chapter Six

  Michael

  Three days and three long nights.

  I’ve been calling every agency I can think of through my lunch breaks and driving around the streets looking for her every night, despite knowing full well that she’s probably long gone. I wonder how she celebrated becoming an official adult. I wonder if she celebrated at all.

  I found myself at Rosie and Bill’s front door last night, just to check in person that they hadn’t heard anything. Their eyes said it all. They told me she’s a lost cause and it’s sad I haven’t accepted that yet. But I haven’t.

  I can’t.

  We’ve never had Carrie Well’s mobile number on her case file, simply because she refused to give it to anyone, me included. It was Rosie’s parting gift to me, followed up with the assurance that there’s no way the madam will answer, but it still felt like I’d been handed the Holy Grail as I left their doorstep and headed back to my car. I pulled over before I was even back in Lydney, my heart thumping as I keyed her number into my mobile.

  Rosie was right, of course. The call rang straight to voicemail.

  They’ve gone straight to voicemail ever since.

  When the office is quiet and my meetings are done for the day, I sit back in my chair and stare at my handset. Nothing from Carrie, and only a string of unanswered texts from Jack in Germany. I haven’t replied because I daren’t. I can’t lie, and the moment I tell him Carrie has taken off somewhere and I’m on a one-man mission to locate her and solve her housing crisis, he’ll either have me committed or fly back home to scream some sense into me.

  If Carrie would just pick up her pissing messages and think to let me know she was safe, life would be a whole lot easier. I’ve left several voicemails – all of them perfectly professional requests that she please let me know she’s still breathing. All of them guarded and work-focused – mentioning my calls with the housing agencies and how I’d appreciate her contacting me to push things forward.

  Maybe I should try a more personal approach, but that would be more than my job would be worth should it ever reach the ears of my superiors.

  So I don’t call again. I drive instead. My usual route, which up until now has proved utterly pointless. Another evening of fruitless searching. Picnic areas and back alleys and meandering lanes through the middle of nowhere, all for nothing.

  I’m on autopilot as I drive back from Gloucester, contemplating whether I really do need to put this search to bed and move on. I’m thinking I should fill Jack in on what’s been happening and hope that his common sense manages to hammer its way through my thick skull.

  I’ve all but decided this needs to be my final night scouring the streets for an adult woman who clearly doesn’t want to be found, when I notice a figure walking along the hedgerows by Forest Oak Farm. I slow down, but only a little, well aware that it’s probably just some random out walking their dog after dark, but my heart is in my throat when
I see the backpack swinging heavily from the woman’s shoulder. It’s a she, it’s definitely a she, and she’s limping. I close the distance and a pale face turns to me, illuminated by my headlights for long enough that I recognise the glowering stare. Her long black hair is whipping in the evening wind, her mouth angry and tight as she glares at the stupid idiot with his lights on full beam.

  I slam on the brakes in a heartbeat, and the car skids to a halt just past her.

  She must recognise the car, that’s the only explanation for why she waves her arms and tries to run for me. I’m already out and rushing in her direction when she limps onto the tarmac.

  Her backpack crashes from her shoulder and she’s about to crash down with it as I grab hold of her and keep her steady. She weighs nothing in my arms. My poor lost Carrie is nothing but a limp little bird with hollow bones. I’m holding her so tight I’m worried I’ll crush her, but she holds me right back and lets me support her without squirming. Her eyes are sunken and tired, even in the moonlight, and her lip is split and dried with crusty blood, but despite any of that she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

  “I’ve got you,” I tell her as she digs her fingers into my arms. “Are you hurt?”

  “Sprained my fucking ankle this afternoon.”

  She struggles in my grip, trying to hitch her backpack back up, but I hold her firm. “You’ve been bleeding,” I tell her, nodding to her lip as she stares right up at me.

  “I’ll live.”

  “I left you messages.”

  “Got no battery, no minutes left, either.”

  I pick up her backpack and sling it over my shoulder, being careful not to let her go for even a second. I take a step towards the car but she digs her heels in, even though it makes her grimace.

  “I’m not fucking going back there!” she hisses. “I’m eighteen now, I don’t fucking have to. They don’t fucking want me there anyway!”

  I stop. Think. And she’s right. Of course she is.

  There’s no room waiting for her now at Bill and Rosie’s. There’s no room waiting for her anywhere, not this time of night.