Taken

The pain of the slap on Casey’s cheek from her mother stung less than the pain from the hurt and humiliation it caused. The midwives rushed forward and started to usher Casey’s mother out of the room.

‘No Mum, please stay! Can you let her stay please?’

The Chinese midwife first looked at Casey and then her mother before speaking.

‘You can stay if she wants you to.’

‘Mum?’

Casey watched her mother’s eyes narrow and a stony expression appear on her face as another contraction began to take hold.

‘It’s fine. My daughter’s made her feelings abundantly clear. I’m sure she’ll manage just exceptionally on her own. She always does.’

‘Mum please, don’t go! Mum! Please, I’m scared!’

The banging of the labour room door reverberated round the little room. Less than an hour later Casey’s 9lb 8oz baby was born.

‘Can I see? Is everything okay?’

‘Everything’s fine, Casey, you did really well.’

‘Please can I see?’

The midwife looked sympathetically as she spoke.

‘It’s probably best you don’t; it’ll make it easier.’

The tears poured down Casey’s face as she begged the midwife in charge to listen to her.

‘Please, at least tell me if it’s a boy or a girl.’ It was the second time the labour room door had banged shut but it this time the noise sounded even louder to Casey as it hung in the air, mixed in parts with her scream.

Casey jolted herself up out of bed. She refused to lie there all night being melancholic. Moving back to the living room she started to search in her bag, hoping there was still some vodka left in the bottle she kept tucked away in case of emergencies.

CHAPTER SIX

‘I’ll give you fucking strict orders, mate.’ Janine Jennings’s face was red with anger as she pushed the bouncer in his chest, using the full force of her weight.

‘Let me fucking past, you great big lump of cunt.’

Vaughn smiled at Janine’s foul language. He’d known her for as long as he’d known Alfie and even though most of the time she tried to behave like an Essex princess sitting in her eight-bedroom mansion, the real East End girl came shining through when it mattered.

‘Now what’s all this?’

Janine turned at the sound of the familiar voice and saw Vaughn Sadler standing there with a bedraggled Emmie.

‘Where the fuck have you been, young lady? You’ve had me worried out of me bleedin’ mind. I drove up here like a bitch out of hell when I got your father’s message. You’ve got some explaining to do.’

‘I’m sorry Mum, I thought …’

‘You thought? Fuck me, Em, that’ll be a first.’

‘Don’t be too hard on her Jan; she’s had a bit of a rough evening.’

‘Hard on her, Vaughnie? She don’t know the meaning of it. Her father treats her like her shit’s made out of gold. I nearly choked on me fucking biryani when I got the message she was up West, and then when I got here this cunt said I can’t go in my own husband’s club!’

Vaughn saw Emmie start to cry again and he gave her a big hug, feeling sorry for her. He loved spending time with his goddaughter and he found her to be a sweet girl who was often overshadowed by Janine’s loving, but domineering personality.

Vaughn looked at the bouncer, who shrugged apologetically at him. He guessed Alfie had given him strict orders not to allow Janine in and it was probably worth more than the bouncer’s life to go against them.

It was a comedy club open to the public but he also knew it was a front for Alfie’s other business dealings. No doubt he didn’t want his wife poking around upstairs where he stashed a lot of his stolen goods.

Vaughn felt Emmie shiver and he brought her in closer to the warmth of his body. Alfie had asked him to take Emmie back to the club but now Janine had arrived he wasn’t quite sure what to do. He looked first at Emmie and then at Janine and decided to take matters into his own hands; as long as he kept an eye on Jan, it wouldn’t do any harm to take her inside. They could sit in the back room together until Alfie came back.

‘It’s fine; she’s with me, you can let her in.’

The bouncer didn’t get out of the way immediately and Vaughn not only noticed this but saw it as a blatant sign of disrespect. He grabbed hold hard of the bouncer’s crotch, making him double up in pain.

‘Don’t be an arsehole; get out of my way, shit-for-brains, otherwise your missus will have something else sliced up in her egg and bacon sarnie in the morning.’

Oscar had been wrong. When he’d left his flat he was certain nothing could’ve wiped away his good mood. Billy had done a good job cleaning up the bedroom, leaving it spotless and without any trace of the night before, and he’d been looking forward to the meeting to discuss the new business venture he and Alfie had branched into – but that had all changed after he’d been kept waiting. The only thing he felt like doing now was putting a knife in somebody’s head; preferably Alfie’s.

He’d been waiting nearly two hours, and as his good mood had been drained away by the passing of time and the countless comedians rehashing old jokes and expecting applause, Oscar’s head had started hurting and he’d been forced to take one of the migraine tablets he’d been given by one of his associates who dealt in pharmaceuticals.

The only part of the two-hour wait Oscar had enjoyed were the abusive heckles he’d shouted at the comedians. When Alfie went on stage, the audience were always pre-warned not to heckle. If anyone did, one of Alfie’s heavies would have a quiet word in their ear. Oscar remembered with a smile a man who thought he’d play tough guy and ignore the warnings; he was found later on in the evening outside Ronnie Scott’s with severe concussion and ‘funny cunt’ written on his forehead in black marker pen.

Oscar was about to get up and leave when he saw Vaughn walking into the club accompanied by an anorexic looking teenager and a woman who would put Ten Ton Bertha to shame. He quickly stooped down in his seat, not wanting to be spotted by Vaughn and having to engage in any more talk about fucking holidays.

Janine hadn’t ever been inside her husband’s club and she was impressed by what she saw. In the back of the large room was a stage, lit up by four huge disco balls with a dance floor in front of it. A DJ was on the stage playing a mix of classic soul tunes. Thick purple velvet curtains, which matched the velvet sofas and chairs placed round the room, hung down from the high ceiling framing the stage. There were different-shaped mirrors everywhere, and the long bar on the side wall was heaving with punters waiting to be served. It had everything. There were high-tech private booths at the back of the massive room complete with their own television and music players, and it looked to Janine as if business was doing very well. With that in mind, she continued to follow Vaughn into the back, making a mental note to ask her husband for a larger monthly allowance.

Half an hour later, Alfie walked into the back room, still wound up from the events of the night. He stopped dead in his tracks – causing Oscar to bang into the back of him – when he saw Janine sitting there eating her way through a large bag of crisps. He placed the pair of pliers, still stained with Jake’s blood, on the side and spoke angrily to his wife.

‘What’s the point in you having a mobile phone if you never answer it? You’re a fucking disgrace, Janine.’

‘Me? What about Emmie? It wasn’t me that sneaked out on heat chasing some guy.’

‘No, but pity the bloke if you were. Fuck me, you’re her mother! You should’ve been watching her.’

‘Stop it, both of you! I hate you! I hate you!’

Emmie screamed hysterically as she ran out of the room, leaving her parents open mouthed.

Oscar sat quietly watching this display; he’d known Alfie was married and had a kid but he’d never seen either of them until now. The daughter was pretty enough although she was evidently underweight, but the idea the handsome, womanising Alfie was married to the woman in front of him, whose right arm alone would feed the starving millions, took some believing.

Janine Jennings was about to open her mouth and chastise Alfie for upsetting Emmie but she saw the look in his eye and decided not to say another word.

She was furious with Emmie. Not just because her daughter had snuck off with a boy – she’d done that herself when she was the same age, and Emmie was no different to any other teenager – but she’d given her a fright, and when she got frightened she got angry; she’d always done that. The thought of something happening to her beloved daughter was unimaginable. Recently though, she’d noticed a change in Emmie; she’d become much more secretive and sullen, and Janine Jennings had a feeling there was more to it than just teenage love.

Alfie banged his hand on the table giving Janine a fright and made her jump out of her thoughts.

‘I’ll get one of my men to drive you both home and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, but tell Emmie she should count herself grounded.’

It was another hour before Alfie and Oscar arrived in Redchurch Street, a scruffy road full of office blocks behind Shoreditch High Street. He hadn’t had the opportunity to talk to Oscar properly yet, as Vaughn had insisted on having a drink with him; reminiscing about jobs they’d done together and trying to calm the hyped-up Alfie down. Then, when Vaughn had heard they were heading towards the East End, he’d jumped in the back of Alfie’s BMW and got a lift to an illegal gambling house in King John Court, a few streets away from where they were now.

As Alfie followed Oscar up the stairs of the empty block of offices Oscar owned, he wondered why he’d been so guarded about speaking in front of Vaughn. He’d always been open in sharing the ins and outs of his other businesses with him: the protection rackets, the counterfeit money, the stolen electrical goods and hundreds of cloned bank cards he’d kept above the club; even the copious amounts of drugs he shipped into the country each year from China: Vaughn knew about it all. But this venture, with Oscar, Alfie wanted to keep close to his chest.

The passage along the top floor was lit with a low-watt light bulb, making it difficult, but not impossible, for Alfie to see the rubbish strewn everywhere. At the end of the hall sat a large Albanian looking man sitting on a hard chair, staring at nothing in particular. At his feet lay a large machete and an empty bottle of water.

The man stood up, nodding an acknowledgement to Oscar as he approached, and opened a door to the side of him. Alfie trailed in silence through it and up another flight of steps. At the top, Oscar opened another door.

Inside Alfie saw five young women, aged from around sixteen to twenty-five. They stared with wide anxious eyes and expressions of fear as he walked further into the room. Alfie briefly thought of his schooldays as the girls stood to attention, scared to make a movement.

‘They’re no trouble, not like the brass here. They don’t talk much English, if any, but the guy downstairs speaks their language so communication’s no problem. They’ll do anything I tell them; they’re too scared to say no.’

Oscar grinned at Alfie then leered at the smallest and youngest looking woman, who quickly put her head down.

‘Want to test the goods, Alf? We need to start breaking them in, so you might as well start now.’

Alfie shook his head, feeling strangely uncomfortable. At the back of his mind he realised this discomfort was probably the reason he hadn’t confided in his long-term friend. Over the years he and Vaughn had owned brothels, but the brasses had come and gone as they pleased. This was different; this was trafficking, and even people like him had a conscience.

‘What’s up, Alfie, getting cold feet? Are you going soft on me in your old age?’

One thing Alfie Jennings prized highly was his reputation. He hated anybody thinking that he was weak, and looking at Oscar with that mocking glint in his eye pissed him off. What was he thinking? Business was business; there was no room for sentiment. Storming out, Alfie put the haunted faces of the girls in the back of his mind.

‘So are we going to keep them there?’

‘It’s not ideal. We could maybe move a couple above your club tomorrow morning.’

‘How many have we got?’

‘Ten; well nine now.’ Alfie raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

‘It’s a long story, I’ll tell you on the way back.’

With all the temporary road traffic lights on the blink, the drive through Shoreditch and through the Angel into Soho would have usually frustrated Alfie but instead he sat listening to Oscar recount his tale of the previous night in stunned silence.

When they arrived back at his club, Alfie was still lost for words and it was Oscar who turned to look at him.

‘So you know everything now; my darkest little secret. There’s no backing out now.’ Oscar chuckled, rubbing his pulsating temples. ‘You’re well and truly in now, Alfie.’

As Oscar stepped out of the car, Alfie realised he’d let himself in for a whole lot more than he’d bargained on. There was no backing out now; Oscar had shared his secret with him and Alfie knew that in Oscar’s mind they were now both implicated. If he tried to walk away from the deal, Oscar would think he couldn’t be trusted and would bring him down. One thing Alfie was certain of was when Oscar got jumpy he was a dangerous person, and the last thing he needed right now was any more shit, especially when it came to Oscar Harding.

Oh yes, Alfie Jennings knew he was over a barrel, and a very large fucking barrel at that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Casey Edwards didn’t know if it was the thumping of her head which had woken her up or the loud scratching noise in the far corner of the room. After she’d discovered her emergency supply of vodka was empty, she’d taken herself out to a late night bar, but she had no recollection of getting home. As she opened her eyes, the noise got louder – she supposed in her intoxicated state she must have picked up yet another stranger with hygiene issues. Raising her head with a slight amount of difficulty, Casey stared in horror as she saw a large rat – of the four-legged kind rather than two – scratching away.

Her loud high-pitched scream didn’t do her head any favours as she ran into the lounge, barricading her body against the door. She felt the bile rise as she rushed to the toilet, forgetting for a moment about the filth awaiting her in the windowless bathroom as she violently emptied the contents from her stomach.

A black coffee and a half a Kit Kat later, Casey was on the phone to the landlord, frustrated at the lack of alarm Mr Goldman was showing.

‘What do you want me to do, love? Start charging him rent?’

‘I want you to do something about it. Come and take a look.’

‘It needs poison, not an audience. This is London love; weren’t you ever told the story of Dick Whittington? What you need is a cat.’

‘I thought pets weren’t allowed.’

‘They’re not.’

He laughed and carried on joking. This infuriated Casey, causing her to break down into floods of tears. Within a moment of her emotional outburst he agreed to take a look, preferring it, Casey supposed, to female hysterics on the phone so early in the morning.

After the call, Casey hurriedly went through her packed bag of clothes and discovered that apart from two pairs of lilac lace knickers, her only other clean item of clothing was a low-cut grey mini dress more appropriate for a night out than an overcast Thursday morning or a pair of jeans with a stubborn red wine stain on them.

After fifteen minutes of trying to get the stain out, Casey decided it wasn’t going to shift, no matter how hard she scrubbed. She felt faint and realised she needed to eat something other than chocolate; she had a busy day ahead.

Pulling on her jeans and putting on the least crumpled top she could find in her bag, she left the flat and wandered the short distance down Dean Street, doing a right into Bateman Street and walking into the first cafe she came across.

The runny egg on the chipped white plate and the overdone piece of fatty bacon were just two of the culinary delights of Lola’s Night Cafe. Casey stared at what was in front of her, feeling her stomach turning over once again.

‘Not hungry love? Never mind.’

Casey tried to smile at the woman who was speaking to her in between breaking out into short bursts of ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, which was being played on the radio. Contrary to the toothless woman’s belief, Casey was very hungry, just not for what was on offer on her plate.

Getting up to pay, Casey saw the scrawled sign behind the counter: ‘Waitress wanted’.

‘Are you still looking?’

‘For what? My prince in shining armour? Bleedin’ hell, he’s already been in; took one look around and fucked right off again on his white charger.’

The woman opened her mouth wide and cackled loudly, causing Casey to draw back from her rancid breath.

‘I meant the waitressing job.’

‘I know what you meant, love. You’ll be no good to me if you can’t crack a smile.’

‘Sorry, I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.’

The woman stared hard at Casey, looking her up and down and pausing at the top of her head; as if the job depended on Casey’s height.

‘You’ll do. I’m Lola by the way. Now take off that fancy jacket of yours and grab an apron.’

By the time four thirty had arrived, Casey’s feet were killing her and she was certain there were much easier ways to earn minimum wage. The stifling heat of the cafe, with its smells of old cooking oil, greasy fry-ups and countless bowls of watery tomato soup, combined with the lack of food in her stomach meant Casey needed to step outside on occasion into the busy street to get some fresh air.

‘I’ll dock your wages for that.’ Lola had glared at Casey for a moment but almost immediately had broken out into a smile. ‘You won’t have to mind me, Casey love; you’ll get used to me jokes. Keep smiling is what I say; helps your heart keep beating.’

Casey had warmed to Lola and found the woman’s open honesty about her past life refreshing but startling at the same time.

‘I was a brass for nearly twenty-five years. Don’t look so surprised! I didn’t always look like this. I use to have to put ear plugs in from all the wolf whistles I got.’

Lola laughed again and then her face went serious. ‘I would’ve carried on being a tom if it wasn’t for my last husband; been married five times and all of them were a waste of bog paper; but the last one, he was something else. You’ll probably see him in here from time to time, but take my advice, love – don’t be drawn in by his gift of the gab. Do yourself a favour and stay clean away.’

Casey nodded, taking in all the information.

‘What’s his name?’

‘Oscar Harding.’

Old Compton Street was packed with tourists with London guide maps in their hands and puzzled looks on their faces. It was nearly six o’clock and Casey wanted to sleep, but she’d no intention of going back to the flat until it was absolutely necessary. She thought about Lola and what she’d said, but for all she was and did, Casey suspected she was probably a darn sight happier than she was.

She could do with a drink to pep her up but she’d made a decision and for now she was at least going to try to stick to it. She sighed as she carried on walking. It was so hard to live in the present – her mind was always full of fading memories; but it was all she had and her reason for getting up each day.

The bus journey down towards Notting Hill Gate had taken longer than expected and Casey had been ready to get off the overheated bus and go back to the flat in Dean Street, but she’d seen a woman and a little boy sitting quietly at the back of the bus holding hands, saying nothing, just content in each other’s company. They reminded Casey what she had to do.

Portobello Road was dark and deserted, unrecognisable from the bustling market road it became during the daylight hours, and Casey wasn’t sure she’d come to the correct place. She looked down at the address she’d hurriedly written on a torn-off piece of newspaper and realised she was standing right outside where she needed to be.

The red door pushed open and Casey walked up the narrow stairs to the first-floor landing. There was another door to the left of her and she could hear voices coming from inside the room. Taking a deep breath, Casey opened the door to walk into a well-lit room.

‘Hello, please come in and take a seat.’

The red-faced man greeted Casey with a warm smile, gesturing for her to come and take the empty chair next to him.

‘We’ve just finished introducing ourselves. Perhaps you’d like to say who you are.’

Casey glanced at the man with his enthusiastic manner and smiled shyly.

‘Hello, I’m Casey and I’m an alcoholic.’

‘Hello Casey.’

The group greeted her in monotone unison, making Casey smile as it reminded her of being back in school.

‘I’m nearly one day sober and I need to get clean so I can find my son and tell him I’m sorry.’

The applause of the group made Casey blush and unexpectedly brought tears to her eyes as she was handed the white keyring of twenty-four-hour sobriety by a tall woman in her early twenties.

Sitting down in her chair she could feel her heart racing; she hadn’t thought she’d be nervous, after all it wasn’t the first time she’d been to a meeting. In Newcastle she’d been to a few and in Liverpool and in Birmingham as well, but maybe it was different because this time she was determined to get clean; she knew it was her last chance.

She’d never wanted this life but somehow it had invited her in and she’d stayed in its clutches. Living this way certainly wasn’t going to help her find her son, and even if she did, he’d never want her if she was a drunk. The meetings were her only way to keep steady on the tightrope she was walking.

Looking round the meeting in the small room above the designer clothing shop in Portobello Road was like flicking through the pages of a society magazine. There were models and actors both from film and from screen, musicians and old-time rockers, and sitting next to her was an infamous aristocrat holding on to his keyring of twenty-four-hour sobriety.

For the next forty minutes Casey sat listening to tormented stories about the struggle to stay sober, and as far removed as her life could possibly be from most of the people in the room, the sentiments by and large were the same.

In the remaining moments the serenity prayer was read out, as it always was at the end of any meeting, and even though Casey knew it off by heart she chose to stay silent. The words were so poignant to her and as she listened to them with closed eyes, she hoped they’d see her through the following days.

‘God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things that I can and wisdom to know the difference.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

Casey groaned as she looked at the clock; her next shift at the cafe started in less than twenty minutes. She didn’t know if it was going without alcohol or the fact she’d never really worked in her life before, but she was knackered. She’d drifted in and out of work and never really had to worry about money till recently, having had a conservative but steady flow of money from her family who were only visible in her life through the money they’d put in her account.

Eighteen months ago she’d closed her bank account down, deciding it only served to rubber stamp her feelings of worthlessness; it made her feel her family were paying her to stay away. So now if she wanted to eat, drink or pay the rent, she only had herself to rely on; it was both frightening and liberating in equal measures.