The Grave Tattoo

‘Not this family,’ Jane said. ‘Reputation, reputation, reputation. It should be carved on their coat of arms.’

‘And you’re the woman to break the silence, Jane,’ Dan said confidently. ‘Now, where are we going to celebrate your mission?’

‘I was going to go home and pack.’

Dan made a dismissive noise. ‘Jane, Jane, what are we going to do with you?’

‘You’re getting middle-aged,’ Harry confirmed. ‘Dan’s right, we should go out on the razz.’

Jane groaned. ‘Oh, all right. But I’m not dancing till dawn like the last time. I’m going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight, and that is a promise.’

Three hours later, they were leaving a Soho pub, en route to a nearby club, tipsy but in control. The same could not be said of Geno Marley, whose senses quickened to alert when he heard the front door of the Marshpool Farm flat whisper open.

Tenille’s luck had just run out.

My friend fears for his safety, as who would not in his position. If he is taken, he will be hanged. Little doubt attends that. Although many years have passed since the sensational case of the mutiny on the Bounty & although few think of Captain Bligh now Admiral Nelson’s name is on the lips of all, there are still many who would smile even as the hangman slipped his noose over that tanned & sinewy neck. ‘Are we safe here from prying eyes?’ he asked. I told him that the garden at Dove Cottage is left to my exclusive use when I am working. There is what we call the New Door that gives on to the passageway, but none comes through it when they know I am at work. The garden itself is protected from the idle curiosity of passers-by with its thicket of rambling roses & honeysuckle. We are as isolate here as if we were on the very summit of Helvellyn.

8

The banging, Jane slowly realised, was coming from outside her head. She growled in her throat as she tried to force her eyelids open. ‘Slapper,’ she berated herself, realising she’d fallen into bed without bothering to take off her make-up. She rubbed her lashes free of mascara and groaned. She pushed herself into a sitting position, wishing immediately that she hadn’t done so. Her stomach roiled and an acid burp joined the staleness in her mouth in an evil brew. There was a pain in her sinuses and, inexplicably, her legs ached when she tried to move them.

Somehow, she dragged herself out of bed and lurched for the door, snatching at her dressing gown as she passed. She wrestled with the arms, calling, ‘OK, OK, I’m coming,’ to whoever was trying to break her door down. The sound of her own raised voice made her wince. Jane unfastened the locks and chain securing the door and yanked it open. ‘What the hell…’ she began, but found herself addressing empty air as Tenille pushed past her and dived into the front room. Jane rubbed a hand over her face. It didn’t make anything clearer. With a sigh, she closed the door and followed Tenille.

Jane leaned in the doorway for support and took in the picture of frightened misery curled in the bean bag. ‘Before you open your mouth, Tenille, I need to tell you that I have the hangover from hell. So this better be good.’

Tenille shivered and pushed a knuckle into her mouth. Jane could see her teeth biting down hard on it. It took her a moment to figure it out in her messed-up state, but eventually she realised the child was fighting tears with every ounce of strength she possessed. That was shock enough to restore Jane to something approximating a normal state of awareness. In all the time she’d known Tenille, she’d seen her angry, frustrated, smarting under injustice, defiant and outraged. She’d never seen her anywhere near the verge of tears. She’d also never seen her look so young. Her eyes were wide, but the rest of her face seemed to have shrunk round the bones. The prettiness that threatened future beauty was in abeyance, replaced with a taut fragility.

Jane crossed the room and squatted down next to Tenille. She put a cautious arm round her shoulder. Physical contact wasn’t something they did usually, but she’d worried needlessly. Tenille slumped against her, body rigid. Jane said nothing, just let her free hand rhythmically stroke the girl’s arm. Then suddenly the barriers broke. Tenille burrowed into her side like a lamb butting up against its mother and the crying began. It started as a quiet weeping, then rose to a desperate, gulping sobbing that shook them both under its force.

Jane felt completely at a loss. She couldn’t remember any adolescent trauma that had reduced her to this state. She’d shed her share of tears, but never in this abandoned, helpless way. She found herself mouthing the traditional platitudes–‘there, there,’ and ‘it’s OK, Tenille, you’re OK with me.’ But they seemed helpless against this tide of anguish.

At last, the terrible sobs subsided and Tenille pulled away, wiping her eyes and nose with the back of her hand. Her eyelids were swollen and she was breathing hard through her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said thickly.

‘It’s OK. That’s what friends are for,’ Jane said, despising herself for finding nothing but cliché. ‘You want to tell me what all that was about?’

Tenille looked away. ‘You was out last night,’ she said accusingly. ‘I came round, but you was out.’

‘I went clubbing with some friends,’ Jane said.

‘So I went back down the flat. I didn’t want to, because I knew he’d be there, but you was out so I didn’t have no choice.’

‘Who was there?’ Jane wondered if the drink had induced short-term memory loss. She seemed to be missing crucial logical steps in the conversation.

‘Geno.’ Tenille spat the word as if trying to rid her mouth of a bad taste.

‘Sharon’s boyfriend?’ The cold hand of apprehension took hold of Jane’s chest.

‘Sharon’s fucking bastard boyfriend.’

Oh shit, oh no, oh shit. ‘Wasn’t Sharon there?’

‘Sharon’s on nights. She says he has to stay over to make sure nothing bad happens to me.’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘She’s too fucking stupid to see he’s the bad thing waiting to happen.’

Jane rubbed her back. ‘Has he been…bothering you?’

‘He looks at me. You know?’

Jane knew. ‘What else?’ She dreaded the answer.

‘He’s said things, when Sharon’s out the room. How he likes sweet young flesh, that sort of shit talk. Man, I knew he was just waiting his time till she was on nights.’

‘What happened, Tenille?’

She began picking compulsively at the zip on her jacket. ‘First couple of nights, he was pissed and passed out on the sofa. But last night he was waiting. Soon as I came through the door, there he was, standing in the doorway, undoing his trousers.’ She shuddered. ‘Told me it was time I tasted some real loving.’ Her lip curled in contempt. ‘Bastard. I tried to get back out the door, but he was too fast. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the living room and threw me down on the sofa.’ She shook her head, as if to shake off the memory. ‘Then he got his cock out. Man, I never been so scared my whole life. I thought for sure he was going to rape me. Then I realise he wants me to blow him. Just the fucking idea made me want to throw up. So I grabbed the lamp off the table and I smashed him over the head with it.’

Jane felt her heart contract in fear and pity. ‘You did the right thing, Tenille.’

‘I didn’t hit him hard enough. I should have fucking killed him. But he was just stunned, like. So I jumped up and ran for my room. I pulled the drawers and the bed across the door so’s he couldn’t get in. I was shaking, man, fucking shaking. The next thing is he’s hammering on the door and screaming like a fucking animal. Jane, I didn’t know what to do. He was like a crazy man. The door was shaking, I thought he was going to break it down.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘Then I got salvation.’

‘What happened?’

‘You know that asshole lives next door to us? Big fat greasy biker geezer?’

Jane nodded. ‘I’ve seen him. Ugly bastard, right?’

‘Ugly and mean. Next thing I know, he’s at the front door, telling Geno to keep the noise down or else he’ll break the fucking door down and rip Geno’s liver out. And suddenly it all goes quiet. Last thing I hear is Geno standing outside my door, saying, “You can’t stay in there forever, bitch.” I nearly pissed myself. I tell you, I never closed my eyes all night. I waited till I heard Sharon come home, then I was out the door and down here. Man, I was praying you were home.’

‘You did the right thing, Tenille.’ Jane gathered her woolly thoughts around her. She was going to have to do something about this. Tenille couldn’t be left at the mercy of Sharon’s sick bastard boyfriend. ‘You can stay here for now,’ she said. ‘I’m supposed to be going away today for a couple of weeks, but I’ll get this sorted before I go.’

Tenille looked incredulous. ‘You? Whatchu gonna do? Geno’s not going to listen to you. And there’s no point telling Sharon, she’ll just twist it round so it’s my fault, like usual.’

Jane got to her feet. Tenille might be the streetwise one of the pair of them, but Jane knew something the girl didn’t. It might just be estate gossip, but she had a feeling it was more than that. And if she was right, it would give her a weapon that would make Geno head for the hills faster than a speeding bullock. Jane straightened her shoulders, trying to look like someone who could take care of business. ‘Trust me, Tenille. I’m going to fix this.’

Jake slipped off his sandals and let the cool marble work its magic. He felt overheated, which was crazy, given the pitch of the air conditioning inside Chania airport. He suspected the dark blue, grey and white décor was meant to be soothing, but it wasn’t helping him feel any less out of sorts. Funny to think that only the day before he’d been indulging himself with dreams of home. But now that he was in the departure lounge with a ticket for London in his pocket, he felt a curious mixture of apprehension coupled with determination to prove to Caroline that he could cut the mustard.

It had all happened so fast. Within minutes of their initial conversation, Caroline had been online, searching the bucket shops for a plane ticket for him. When he’d tried to ask her what she had in mind, she’d shushed him with an impatient, ‘We’ll talk, Jake. Now let me sort this out.’

Long minutes had passed before she exclaimed, ‘Perfect.’ She clicked the wireless mouse a couple of times then sat back, a smile of satisfaction neatly in place. ‘There you go, Jake,’ she said, turning the screen to face him. Apparently, he was now booked on a flight from Chania to Athens, with an onward connection to Heathrow. The following day.

‘You’re not coming too?’

Caroline gave him a puzzled look. ‘This is your show, Jake. I’d only cramp your style. You surely don’t think Jane is going to be thrilled to see you if I’m hanging on your arm?’

‘I don’t understand what you want me to do, Caroline.’ He tried to sound casual, but it came out petulant.

‘It’s very simple. You’ve just opened up the possibility of a fascinating and valuable find. I want you to track it down. And if you can’t manage that yourself, I want you to be glued to the side of the person who does.’

He pushed his hair back from his face in a gesture of exasperation. ‘But, Caroline, we’ve no evidence that the bloody thing exists.’

‘According to you, Jane seems to think so,’ she said, sweet reason in a sundress.

‘It’s just a crazy theory.’

‘Believe me, I’ve made some great finds chasing wilder geese. Look at it this way. Jane is in a unique position. She’s a Wordsworth scholar. And she comes from Fellhead. Now, in my experience, serious scholars don’t get worked up about things like this unless there is some spectacularly good reason. Bear in mind, Jane may not have told you everything she knows.’

Doubt chased surprise across Jake’s handsome face. ‘Why would she hold back? Are you saying she didn’t trust me?’

Caroline chuckled. ‘When academics have something they think might give them an edge, they trust no one. Sweetie, no matter how much Jane loved you, you can bet your bottom dollar that if she had knowledge that might be parlayed into professional stardom she’d have hugged it to her bosom. And this body in the bog could be the catalyst that gets things moving in a more urgent way.’

‘This is insane,’ Jake said.

‘No, Jake, this is business. If you seriously want to make a career of this, you’re going to have to be prepared to exploit your contacts and find ways to make sure that when something good turns up, you’re standing at the shoulder of whoever has their sticky hands on it.’

‘I get that,’ he said, feeling patronised and belittled but unable to find a way through to asserting himself. ‘What I don’t get is what you expect me to do. In practical terms.’

Caroline exhaled a thin stream of smoke. ‘Go and see Jane. Mend as many of your fences as you need to get alongside her. Be contrite. Tell her you read the story in the paper and it made you realise you were wrong not to take her theories seriously. Persuade her that she is the one and only person who can track down this bloody manuscript, and make her do it. That’s what I want you to do.’ She turned her head to look out across the bay, as close to irritation as he’d ever seen her.

‘I don’t think she’ll be very pleased to see me,’ he muttered.

‘Of course she won’t. You walked out on her. But you’ll do what it takes to get back in her good books, Jake.’

‘What do you mean, “what it takes”?’

‘Do I have to spell it out? Tell her you want to find this manuscript to spite me, if that’s what works.’ She smiled serenely. ‘I’ll leave it up to you.’

‘It won’t be easy.’

‘Use your charm, Jake. There’s not much point in having it otherwise, is there?’

As he remembered her words, fresh determination surged through Jake. He’d show Caroline he could be much more than a toyboy. He would make her take him seriously, whatever it took.

The shower had helped a little but Jane still felt raw and tender. She made them both coffee, swallowing a couple of painkillers while she waited for the kettle to boil. She wasn’t sure if what she was planning was the right thing, but she couldn’t see any alternative and she wanted to be as close to firing on all cylinders as she could manage. She took the mugs through and perched on the edge of her bed. ‘There’s someone I’ve got to go and see,’ she said. ‘I want you to wait here.’

‘Who you going to see?’ Tenille demanded. Having unburdened herself, her usual demeanour seemed to be reasserting itself.

‘Someone I think will be able to help.’ Jane hoped her tone would head off further questions.

Tenille stared into her coffee. ‘My dad,’ she said expressionlessly.

Jane tried to hide her surprise. Not long after Tenille had started hanging round with her, Jane had fallen into conversation at the bus stop with one of her neighbours, a young mother from a couple of doors down. ‘It’s none of my business,’ the woman had said, ‘but I noticed that Tenille hanging round your place. You want to watch yourself there.’

‘Why is that?’ Jane had bristled. ‘She seems like a bright kid.’

‘She’s bright, all right. But it’s her old man you want to worry about.’

Jane frowned. ‘I think you’re mixing her up with someone else. She hasn’t got a dad. She says she doesn’t know who her father is. Her mother always refused to tell her, and Sharon says she’s got no idea.’

The woman gave a contemptuous little snort. ‘If Tenille doesn’t know, she’s the only one. Everybody else round here knows the Hammer is her dad.’

Jane felt her eyes widen in shock. ‘John Hampton?’

‘That’s right. He’s always kept an eye out, but from a distance, like. Sharon doesn’t want her to know, see? I mean, you can see why, can’t you?’

Jane could certainly see why. She’d learned very early on that John ‘Hammer’ Hampton was the criminal equivalent of the mayor of Marshpool Farm. He was a serious gangsta, not some teenage wannabe. Drugs, sex and violence were his stock in trade and there was no doubting his grip on the illegal activities on the estate. Jane had heard stories of punishment beatings meted out to those who thought they could freelance on the wrong side of the law without giving the Hammer his due.

And now, here was Tenille openly acknowledging something Jane had thought was deeply buried. ‘You know about your dad?’ Jane said, stalling for time to get her head round this.

‘That he’s the Hammer?’ Jane nodded. Tenille shrugged. ‘I’ve sort of known for years. Somebody at school told me. I didn’t believe them at first. I didn’t want to, I suppose. But one day when Sharon was out, I went through her things. And stuffed right down the back of one of her drawers, I found a photo of my mum with the Hammer. He had his arm round her. They was smiling into each other’s faces, like they was in love or something. And then I knew for sure.’ She took a deep breath. ‘He’s never said a word to me, like. He’s always walked straight past me without a look. I figured he don’t want to know.’

‘Or else he wants to protect you,’ Jane said, reaching for a gloss that might give Tenille a more positive image of her father. ‘He must have enemies. By not letting on to you, it’s like he’s saying, “I could give a shit”, which means you’re a less attractive target to someone who wants to get at him.’

Tenille looked sceptical. ‘Or else he just don’t want anything to do with his bastard now the baby mother’s gone. It’s not like he hasn’t had his pick of other women since my mum died. He’s probably forgotten all about her by now.’

She was probably right, Jane thought wearily. But right now, talking to the Hammer was the only thing she could imagine restoring Tenille to safety. It wasn’t a comfortable thought. Her skin crawled with apprehension and revulsion. The things she’d heard laid at the Hammer’s door were not calculated to inspire a desire to spend time in his company. ‘We’ll see about that,’ she said, half to herself.

‘You gonna talk to him about Geno?’ Tenille looked at her with incredulity.

‘Of course I am.’ Jane finished her coffee and stood up.

‘Respect,’ Tenille said, sounding surprised at herself. ‘You’re pretty spicy for a white girl.’

Or pretty stupid. ‘Stay here till I get back. Don’t let anybody else in, OK?’

‘You know where to find him?’ Tenille asked.

‘I’ve got a tongue in my head. I can ask.’

‘No need. This time of the morning, he’ll be at home. D Block, far end. Flat 87.’

Jane acknowledged the information with a nod and grabbed her coat. ‘Don’t worry, Tenille. We’ll get Geno sorted out.’

We are agreed that he will return in three days when we are both free from encumbrance or obligation. I will confess that I am eager to hear his story. So much has been written and said about the destiny of this ship but only one of the principals has been heard from. It is certain that my friend’s account will provide us with much fresh insight into the mutiny itself & solve the mystery of what happened subsequent to the Bounty, & to those who took her. Aside from my friend, I think there is no man living on these islands who has an inkling of the fate of the Bounty after she sailed away from Otaheite with her crew of mutineers & Natives. I am eager to comprehend these events & to translate them into a Poem. I am limbered up for such a long work with my great Poem. It will be a remarkable undertaking.

9

Jane closed the front door behind her and paused, taking a deep breath. She was probably mad to do this. Whatever the unwritten rules were, she was almost certainly breaking an unconscionable number of them by turning up unannounced on the Hammer’s doorstep to tell him it was time to take care of his unacknowledged daughter. But Tenille didn’t have anyone else to look out for her. There was so much promise there, Jane knew she couldn’t just walk away and leave the child to sink or swim.

She turned up her collar against the wind and made her way across the estate to D Block, the tallest of the eight L-shaped buildings that comprised Marshpool Farm. It stood at the north side of the estate, a couple of storeys higher than the other blocks. To her surprise, the far entrance lobby was free from rubbish and graffiti. There was even the faint smell of pine disinfectant. She thought she’d chance the lift since she was going to the eighth floor. Not only did it arrive when summoned, but its interior could not have been cleaner if it had been in one of the towering office blocks at Canary Wharf. If she needed evidence of the power of John Hampton, it was here before her eyes.

Flat 87 was opposite the lift. The door was painted a deep burgundy, in sharp contrast to the scruffy grey-blue of the other doors on the landing. Vertical blinds on the windows obscured the interior. Jane squared her shoulders and pressed the doorbell. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the door swung open, revealing a massive mixed-race man in his early twenties dressed only in a pair of jogging pants. His broad torso could have served as a living diagram in an anatomy class, the muscles large and well defined. He glared down at her. ‘Wassup?’ he demanded in a mid-Atlantic drawl.

‘I need to see John Hampton,’ she said, her voice half an octave higher than normal, her accent scarily middle-class even to her ears.

The man looked amused. ‘He’s not expecting you.’ He began to close the door.

Jane put out a hand to stop him, knowing she didn’t have a cat in hell’s chance against the power of his shoulders but making the gesture anyway. ‘I do need to see him,’ she said. ‘It’s a family matter.’

He gave her a disbelieving look. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Please, just tell him Jane Gresham needs to see him about a family matter. I’ll wait.’

‘You might be here for a long time, Jane Gresham.’ He pushed gently against the door and she dropped her hand. She was banking on the woman at the bus stop having told the truth when she said the Hammer kept an eye on Tenille. If that were true, he could not fail to know about Jane’s place in her life. It might be enough to gain her admission.

She paced to and fro between the door and the lift for what felt like a very long time but was probably only a couple of minutes. When she heard the door open, she whirled around to find the same young man beckoning her. ‘Your lucky day,’ he said. ‘Mr Hampton’s a very busy man, but he can give you five minutes.’

‘That’s all I’ll need.’ She followed him into the flat, whose interior was unlike any other she’d seen on Marshpool Farm. The thick carpet in the hall matched the burgundy of the front door, and the pale walls were decorated with framed photographs of performance cars. The man gestured to her to enter the living room, then closed the door behind her. The room smelt faintly of sandalwood. Sitting opposite her on a cream leather sofa beneath a huge gilt-framed reproduction of one of Jack Vettriano’s film noir paintings was a short, square black man wearing blue jeans and a white T-shirt. His head was as bald as a bowling ball, his brown eyes deep-set like finger holes. Jane had never been this close to John Hampton, but she’d seen him in the distance. It didn’t prepare her for his charisma. Afterwards, she couldn’t have described the room; his presence dominated her consciousness. She understood at once how John Hampton had come to wield the power he did.

‘Dr Jane Gresham,’ he said, his voice a bass rumble. ‘What brings an English teacher to my door speaking of family?’

‘I want to talk to you about Tenille,’ she said, trying not to show how unnerved she felt. ‘May I sit down?’

He waved towards a matching armchair in the corner. ‘Be my guest. Tenille?’ he said, making a show of racking his brains. ‘One of the kids on the estate, right?’

‘People say she’s your daughter.’

‘People say a lot of things, Dr Gresham. A lot of them are bullshit.’ His face was impassive, his body still.

‘It’s true she doesn’t take after you in looks,’ Jane said. ‘But I suspect she’s inherited your ambition. And your toughness. And your intelligence.’