Helen Black - Damaged Goods

Helen Black

AVON

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2008

Copyright © Helen Black 2008

Helen Black asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

Extract from A Place of Safety © Helen Black 2008. This is taken from uncorrected material and does not necessarily reflect the finished book.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Source ISBN: 9781847560704

Ebook Edition © JANUARY 2006 ISBN: 9780007281862

Version: 2018-05-24

To Andrew

There are over 60,000 children being ‘looked after’ by the state in the UK.

One third of the homeless in this country were raised in care.

Sixty per cent of young offenders in this country have been through the care system.

Dear Mum,

I can’t believe you did this to us. You always said that no matter how bad it got we’d have each other.

You said we’d always be together.

We did everything we had to.

I even kept my mouth shut when I knew I shouldn’t.

And what was it all for? You’ve thrown us away like rubbish so that’s how they treat us. We’ve been split up and I’m not even allowed to see the babies.

I can’t tell you how much I hate you for what you’ve done, and if I ever see you again I’ll cut you to pieces.

Kelsey

Cover Title Page DAMAGED GOODS Helen Black Copyright Dedication Epigraph Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twent-one Acknowledgements About the Author About the Publisher

Grace worried the kitchen surface with the corner of a J-cloth, trying once again to remove a mark made years before by a hot spoon. The phone call had unnerved her and her hands shook. She bent over the cooker and lit another cigarette on the gas ring, hoping it would calm her. It didn’t. What she needed was a hit. A £10 bag would do, just enough to put her in a better place, just enough to allow her to explain things properly. To make herself clear. Just one hit to get through this.

She checked her watch. Five past eight. That should give her ten minutes, enough time to race downstairs to the dealer on the ground floor. He charged over the odds but what could you do?

The tap on the door was soft but Grace jumped all the same. No time to get the brown now, this was one conversation she would have to do straight.

She took a last deep drag on the cigarette and answered the door. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

‘Who were you expecting?’

Grace shrugged.

Outside, a dog scratched and barked.

‘Get out of it,’ Grace yelled.

‘It’s probably hungry.’

‘Aren’t they all,’ said Grace, and turned on her heels. ‘Shut it behind you, it’s fucking freezing.’

‘Hardly. Are you clucking?’

Grace rubbed her arms, their skin barely able to support the scars that ran like the rungs of a ladder from shoulder to wrist. ‘Not really.’

‘I thought you’d be back on the gear.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’

‘I don’t really care one way or the other.’

Grace sighed and picked up her cigarettes. When this was over she’d have that hit, get completely out of it. She clamped a cigarette between her lips and turned to the cooker. In one sweeping and familiar action she bent over the front gas ring, one hand holding back her hair, the other reaching for the ignition. But before her finger pressed the button she felt the back of her head explode.

Grace was confused. Had she finally got her hit? Funny, she couldn’t remember cooking up. She anticipated the melting sensation that the drugs would bring when they moved through her bloodstream.

Instead, the back of her neck felt warm and wet. As dazed as she was, she knew it was blood.

‘Why did you …’

There was another explosion and everything went black.

CHAPTER ONE

Monday, 7 September

Lilly Valentine thumped the photocopier. ‘Stupid piece of shit.’

‘You’ll break that.’

She yanked at the tray where her document was stuck.

Her boss floated to Lilly’s side. ‘I said you’ll …’

‘It’s already sodding broken.’

Rupinder’s deft fingers removed the tray in a tinkle of bangles and dislodged the offending piece of paper. ‘You’re late,’ she said.

‘I operate on Indian standard time,’ Lilly said. ‘As you’re so fond of telling me.’

Rupinder opened the front door. ‘Which is fine in Delhi …’

Lilly struggled outside, balancing three files, a mobile phone and her bag. She tossed her head to move the curtain of curls that had fallen into her eyes.

Rupinder shook her head and tucked the loose tendrils behind Lilly’s ears.‘… but this is Hertfordshire.’