Kimberley Chambers - The Victim

Livid that Stanley had brought her friends into the argument, Joyce knocked his dumpy finger away from her face, stood up and gave him a dose of his own medicine. ‘You wicked, bald-headed old bastard! How dare you call me a nobody! If anybody’s a nobody in this house, it’s you, Stanley. You have no style about you, no bloody class, and that’s why you always hated Eddie Mitchell from the word go, because he was something that you wasn’t. I loved my Jessica more than I’ve ever loved anyone, and if I can accept that what happened was an accident, then why can’t you? Both Frankie and Joey have forgiven their father – they know how much he loved their mum – but no, not you, you have to be the odd one out, Stanley. Bitter, twisted and full of grudges, that’s what you are.’

Unable to control his boiling temper any longer, Stanley lifted his right hand and slapped Joyce fiercely around the face. ‘You are poison, Joycie, and I’m leaving you. In fact, I want a divorce.’

As Stanley stomped out of the living room, for the first time in donkey’s years Joyce was left totally struck dumb.

Back in Holloway, Frankie had stopped crying and was now ready to continue her story. ‘Where was I?’ she asked.

‘You and Jed had fled to the trailer in Tilbury,’ Babs reminded her.

‘Oh yeah. Well, my mum rang my mobile, said that my dad was on the warpath and she asked if she could come and see me to sort things out. She was so sweet, my mum, she was beautiful and everybody loved her, Babs. Anyway, I gave her the address, but not long after she’d turned up, my dad and uncle Raymond turned up as well, so my mum hid under the bed. My uncle kidnapped me; he bundled me into a car and drove off. He didn’t know that my mum was there, but he’d put tape over my mouth and my hands were tied up, so I couldn’t even tell him. Finally he realised something was wrong and he stopped the car. When I told him that my mum was in the trailer, his face went white and he drove straight back there. But, we were too late. By the time we got back there, my beautiful mum was already dead.’

As Frankie began to cry once more, Babs rested her young friend’s head on her shoulder. ‘If it’s too upsetting for you to talk about your mum’s death, just tell me what happened with Jed,’ Babs suggested.

Frankie nodded, then wiped her eyes with the cuff of her sweatshirt. Talking about her mother’s demise was still far too raw and she couldn’t relive it – it was too awful for words. ‘Well, after my mum, you know, died, my dad got put in prison and I moved in properly with Jed. Things started to go downhill almost immediately. I hated his mother and I couldn’t adapt to what he called “a traveller’s way of life”. By that time I was trapped, though. I was pregnant with Georgie, my mum and dad weren’t there to help me, and I wasn’t even speaking to my grandparents. Jed was a bastard. He knew I couldn’t run away ’cause I had nowhere to run to, so he did exactly as he pleased. I was so naïve, Babs. I used to think that he was actually working when he stayed out all night, but he was out shagging other birds. Jed was such a convincing storyteller, even God would have believed his lies.’

Babs squeezed Frankie’s hand. ‘Don’t beat yourself up for believing him. They’re all lying bastards – trust me on that one, honey.’

Frankie smiled gratefully, then carried on talking. ‘Looking back now, apart from right at the beginning, I can’t believe that I ever really loved Jed. I mean, how can you love someone who tries to strangle you and gives you black eyes regularly? And I’m sure the night Harry was conceived, Jed practically raped me.’

‘You can easily love an evil man like that, because I did it also, remember?’

‘He even got another girl pregnant while we were together and I still forgave him, but one day I woke up and I felt differently. The love I’d had for him had turned to hate and I wanted him out of mine and my children’s lives.’

‘So, is that why you stabbed him then?’

Frankie fell silent for thirty seconds or so. Apart from her friend, Kerry, nobody knew the real reason that she had stabbed Jed, and she was weighing up whether she should tell Babs or not. She turned to her cellmate. She had barely spoken to Kerry for weeks and she had to tell somebody the secret that was burning a hole in her heart.

‘My grandad was a legend in the East End. Harry Mitchell was his name, and I think he was one of the biggest villains to ever come out of Canning Town. He wasn’t the best grandfather in the world – me and Joey rarely saw him – but obviously I still loved him ’cause he was my dad’s dad. Anyway, a few years ago my grandad got murdered. It happened on Christmas Day and it was awful for my dad. Well, to cut a long story short, I found out that it was Jed and his cousin Sammy that had killed him and that’s why I tried to kill Jed. That and everything else, I suppose. I just lost it.’

Babs eyes were like organ stops. Her own sorry tale was just about druggies like Dennis and nonces like Peter, but Frankie’s sounded like something out of one of those gangster movies. A bit like Once Upon a Time in America .

Babs caught her breath and asked the all-important question. ‘Are you sure it was Jed that killed your grandfather?’

‘Absolutely positive. I recorded the evidence on tape, but Jed’s cousin ran off with it, so I have no proof.’

Both girls stared at one another. Neither knew what to say next, but it was Babs who broke the ice by laughing. ‘Wow, man, that is some heavy gangster crap, but Frankie, my sweet child, if we don’t laugh about the shit God threw at us, we will go mad and fucking cry.’

Pat the Pigeon was having one of her nostalgic, melancholy evenings. In the daytime she was quite a happy person. She would spend time with her family, tend to her pigeons and she had the added bonus of Stanley’s habitual visits. However, once darkness fell, Pat’s mood changed. It was only then that she realised what a lonely fifty-five-year-old woman she really was.

Flicking through the TV channels, Pat stared at BBC1 with a glum expression on her face. Waiting for God was on, a programme about people like herself who had no spouse and ended up in one of those poxy retirement homes, sitting in their own piss and shit. About to turn the depressing programme off, Pat was stunned to hear the doorbell ring. She glanced at the clock, it was just gone half-nine and nobody ever visited her at this time of the evening. Pat put on her fluffy slippers and cautiously walked towards the front door.

‘Who is it?’ she shouted nervously.

‘Pat, it’s me, Stanley.’

With her heart leaping out of her chest with excitement, Pat undid the chain-lock and opened the front door. ‘Are you OK? Whatever’s the matter, Stanley?’ she asked as she clocked the dismal expression on poor Stanley’s face.

Stanley nodded to the suitcase beside him. ‘I’m really sorry for turning up here this late, Pat, but I didn’t know where else to go. Joyce has betrayed me in the worst way possible, so I’ve left her. I’ve got the pigeons in the back of the car. I couldn’t leave ’em at home ’cause she’s such a wicked old bag. She threatened to cook ’em in a pie once. Is it OK if me and the birds stay here for a few days? We’ll be out of your way in no time, I promise.’

Pat looked into Stanley’s distressed eyes. She rubbed his arm and smiled. ‘Of course it is, my love. My home is your home, Stanley, and you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you like.’