Kimberley Chambers - The Victim

Joey pulled away from her and stared deep into her eyes. ‘You haven’t answered my question yet, Frankie.’

‘I wish I could answer it, Joey, but I’m sorry, I can’t,’ Frankie replied. She then walked away without a backward glance.

Stanley Smith was not having the best of evenings. When he was a lad he had been taken to one of the first Chinese restaurants ever to open in London. He had no memory of whereabouts exactly it was, but he did remember that he had been taken there because it was his Auntie Agnes’s fortieth birthday. The evening itself was nothing to write home about, but what did stick in Stanley’s mind was that he was forced to eat some kind of fish heads, then on the way home he got a clip round the earhole from his mother because he spewed his guts up over some poor bloke on the train. Ever since that day, Stanley had avoided eating Chinese food like the plague.

‘So what do you fancy then, Stanley?’ Jock said, handing him a menu.

Stanley glanced at the menu and immediately felt queasy. ‘Don’t they do any English food, Jock? I ain’t a lover of rice or bleedin’ noodles, mate. I had food poisoning on this shit once.’

Jock laughed and called one of the waiters over. He explained Stanley’s predicament and the waiter turned to Stanley. ‘We do very nice omelette and very nice chip.’

‘Yeah, that’ll do, mate,’ Stanley said politely.

As Jock chatted to his granddaughter, Stanley studied the rest of the company. They were all bloody youngsters and he felt about as out of place as a Nigerian at a National Front march.

‘You remember my daughter Louise, don’t you?’ Jock asked, as he excused himself to go to the toilet.

Stanley hadn’t seen Jock’s daughter for a good few years and she had put on that much weight he would never have recognised her unless Jock had told him who she was.

‘Hello, love. You look well,’ Stanley lied.

‘Ah, thanks Stanley. How are you keeping? Your Joycie still looks well, don’t she? I saw her recently in a pub.’

‘What pub? She never said, where did you see her, Louise?’

Louise sat down on the chair next to Stanley. ‘In the Bull in Romford. I work behind the bar in there at lunchtimes. To be honest, I didn’t speak to her, Stanley. I’ve put on a lot of weight recently, so she probably wouldn’t have recognised me anyway. Not only that, she was with Eddie Mitchell and I didn’t wanna make meself busy.’

About to swallow a sip of his beer, Stanley very nearly choked. He spat the beer back into the glass. ‘Eddie Mitchell! It couldn’t have been my Joycie. We’ve had nothing to do with him since my Jessica died.’

‘It was definitely Joyce. I was always round your house years ago and she still looks the bleedin’ same. I could hear her chatting and laughing with Eddie. There ain’t many people got a full-on laugh like your Joyce has, Stanley.’

Feeling the colour drain from his cheeks, Stanley grabbed Louise’s arm. ‘Are you sure it was Eddie with her? Think carefully, because this is important.’

Louise was rather merry. She also wasn’t the brightest of girls and didn’t even realise she’d said the wrong thing. ‘Of course I’m sure it was Eddie. Everyone knows who Eddie Mitchell is, don’t they? Blimey, Stanley, my mate Carol went out with him before he got with your Jess, so I know what he bloody well looks like. He even bonked Carol in the back of his car once while I was sitting in the passenger seat like a bloody gooseberry.’

‘Whatever’s the matter, Stanley?’ Jock asked, as he returned to the table and clocked his pal’s deathly white face.

Stanley ignored him and turned back to Louise. ‘How long ago did you see them in the pub together?’

‘About six or seven weeks ago,’ Louise replied, necking the rest of the wine in her glass. She had just sort of realised that something was amiss when her dad had shaken his head frantically behind Stanley’s back and she didn’t fancy any agg with Eddie Mitchell. She stood up and smiled. ‘Perhaps I got it wrong, Stanley. My eyes play me up terrible sometimes. In fact, I’m going to have an eye test next week to see if I need glasses.’

Stanley knew without a doubt that Louise was lying. He stood up just as the waiter reappeared.

‘Omelette and chip, sir.’

Filled with anger and betrayal, Stanley pushed the waiter, who then unfortunately dropped the plate on the floor.

‘Stanley!’ Jock yelled, as he chased his friend out of the restaurant.

‘Leave me alone, Jock,’ Stanley warned. ‘You knew about this, didn’t ya? Go on, fucking admit it.’

Jock at least had the sense to look shamefaced. ‘I’m so sorry, Stanley. I didn’t wanna get involved, I knew how you’d react and I didn’t wanna cause no trouble between you and your Joycie.’

Stanley turned to Jock with a look of pure hatred on his face. ‘You were meant to be my poxy mate!’ he screamed.

‘I am your mate, but everyone knows what Eddie Mitchell is capable of and like most people, I don’t wanna cross him. I’ve gotta think of my own family’s safety, ain’t I?’

As Jock turned to grab his arm, Stanley roughly pushed him away. He then walked towards him and, as Jock backed into a wall, Stanley pointed his forefinger into his face. ‘Me and you are finished, Jock and don’t you ever fucking contact me again.’

Full of pent-up rage, Stanley turned on his heel and stormed over to his car. He had been betrayed by the two people closest to him in the worst possible way and he would never forgive either of them until the day he died.

‘Are you OK, Frankie? You been ever so quiet since visiting time. Did your brother upset you or something?’ Babs asked her cellmate.

Frankie sat down on the edge of her bed. ‘I’m OK, it’s just I’ve been thinking about my kids a lot today. I try not to as a rule, because it upsets me too much, but sometimes you just can’t help it, can you?’

Babs stood up, walked over to Frankie’s bed and sat down next to her. ‘Look, don’t feel you have to, but I feel so much better inside for telling you my story, so if you wanna tell me yours, I’m a good listener. Like me, you’re a lovely person, Frankie, and I know something bad must have happened to you as well.’

Frankie bowed her head and stared at her feet. Her dad had always told her to be careful to whom she told things. ‘Tell no bastard nothing, Frankie, especially someone you’ve only known five minutes’, he’d always say.