BETRAYED. Jacqui Rose
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very moment. Scraping his tongue with his teeth, Gary lit a cigarette, hoping it would somehow remove the foul taste.
He looked round. The front room was strewn with cans and overflowing ashtrays. Gary couldn’t remember anything about the evening and he wasn’t going to bother to try. He could see the sunlight pushing through the curtains, but with his head pounding, causing his eyes to hurt, Gary had no intention of welcoming in the early morning.
The sofa wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but the effort required to walk up the stairs was beyond Gary and his hangover definitely felt like it was getting progressively worse with each waking moment.
‘Fuck.’ Gary Cole sighed heavily as he heard the small cries of Zak coming from upstairs. Lighting another cigarette, Gary took two attempts to prise himself off the sofa, wishing his son would either be quiet or realise the beauty of sleeping-in late.
Walking into the kid’s bedroom, the huge grin given to him by his son went some way to soothe Gary’s fatigue and pounding head. ‘How are you, boy?’ Bending down to hug him, Gary pulled back quickly.
‘Christ almighty. Smelly arse.’
Picking up his son and trying not to let the smell of Zak’s nappy make him nauseous, Gary saw that Julie had already got up.
‘Now then mate, where’s your sister? Knowing Julie, she’s already in Daddy’s bedroom looking for extra pocket money.’ He smiled at Zak, kissing him on his nose before adding, ‘On that score son, she’s very much like your mum.’
Opening the unpainted plywood door of his bedroom and expecting to see Julie rummaging through his things, Gary sighed. The last thing he felt like doing was playing hide and seek with his daughter.
‘Julie, come on out now, doll, Daddy has a headache and really doesn’t feel so well. Please babe.’
Trying to keep his patience, Gary went back to his bedroom and checked in the wardrobes, each time opening the door and each time saying ‘boo’ to an empty closet, much to the amusement of a giggling Zak.
Stomping down the stairs and thoroughly pissed off, Gary continued to call, hoping the game would soon be over.
‘Julie, please babe, stop now, Daddy gives up … Julie? For fuck’s sake. I give up, darlin’.’
Where the hell was she? He’d had enough now. He knew she wasn’t in the front room, and the adjoining kitchenette was tiny; too tiny for a game of hide and seek. An old gas cooker stood against the side wall and the cupboards were high up out of reach on the right hand wall; impossible for any child to get to. So where?
A slight feeling of panic started to rise in Gary. He tried to quickly push it away but his heart started to beat faster as he thought about the events of the previous night. It was still a blur. Yes, he remembered Julie had gone out to get sweets, but he couldn’t actually remember her returning. But she must have. The sweet shop was only ten minutes away, at most. He could’ve sworn he’d heard the front door shut. But then how could he? He’d been asleep. Pissed out of his mind.
‘Julie? … Julie?’ Running up the stairs two at a time, Gary went into the children’s bedroom again, depositing Zak back into his cot who immediately started to scream.
Gary started to run, ignoring the pain in his head. He flung open all the doors, hearing himself breathing hard as he entered each room, feeling the sweat of cold anxiety run down his back as he looked under the beds, realising there was nowhere else for him to look for his daughter. In the background he could hear the hysterical cries of Zak compounding the terror in his own mind.
‘She’s gone. Open the fucking door, for fuck’s sake, just open the fucking door.’ The wild hammering on number fourteen was heard throughout the estate as one of Gary Cole’s next-door neighbours came to the door.
Opening the door, the woman was astonished as she watched Gary fall to his knees, sobbing. She looked at him and something about the way he cried made her crouch down and hold him in her arms.
‘What is it, Gal?’ The pain that gripped his body made it nearly impossible for Gary Cole to speak, and when he did it was only a few words. ‘Julie’s gone. She never came back. She never came back.’
5
Julian Millwood felt like his face was about to explode. The throbbing ache not only encompassed his jaw but the whole of his body. He’d gnawed on the inside of his mouth, tasting his own blood. His lip felt like it’d swollen to twice its normal size. Goddamn tooth. He knew he should really go to the dentist but he hated them. To him, they were on a par with coppers.
With the curtains closed, he lit up a cigarette, exposing the gloom of the room and trying to ignore the pain now making its way up into his ear.
The thick grime in the bedsit was evident. Piles of old magazines and newspaper clippings were strewn across the floor and the tatty blue Dralon chair was full of papers dating as far back as three years ago.
The kitchen surfaces were covered in stinking takeaway cartons and the sink was full of dishes with the food so solidified on them it probably wasn’t worth attempting to clean them. Julian groaned heavily. It was cleaner in the frigging nick, and that was saying something.
His time in prison had been a nightmare. It’d been the first time he’d served a long stretch but he knew it could’ve been worse, far worse, and with time off for good behaviour he’d only had to serve half of what the bitter man-hating female judge had given him. A result.
He’d asked his uncle to look after the place whilst he’d been inside, expecting when he came back out to at least see the stained sheets changed and the milk he’d poured on the cereal on the morning of his arrest to be thrown out. It hadn’t. Everything was just the same, only with a more putrid smell.
It was as if his uncle had been keeping the place as some sort of shrine for his return, although Julian knew it was only because his uncle was a fat lazy bastard and as long as there was a free roof over his head, the man didn’t care what condition the place was in.
Not that he was much better; he’d lived here for the past ten years and in all that time he’d probably bothered to clean it once, when his girlfriend had visited him. He hadn’t dated her long, probably no longer than a month or so. He hadn’t actually liked her. It was what had come with her that he’d liked.
But it’d all gone tits up when she’d come round for a surprise visit. She’d found some pictures and had quickly gone and rounded up her father and brothers, who’d given him the battering of his life.
He supposed it’d been his own fault. He shouldn’t have left out things he didn’t want prying eyes to see. And he’d known she was a nosy cow after he’d found her going through his mobile phone for text messages from other women. When he’d caught her she’d looked mortified, blabbing an apology, but he’d immediately laughed, knowing she couldn’t have been further from the truth if she’d tried.
Touching his swollen mouth, Julian looked around again. He detested the flat. The estate. The area. But like a moth round a flame he was drawn back time and time again. He’d once tried to move away, but he’d only lasted a month. He hadn’t known anyone and all he’d really done was swap one shithole of a place for another. At least this was an area he knew; he’d grown up here and he supposed it was what he was used to – and Julian Millwood was certainly a creature of habit.
Trying to light up another cigarette, Julian cursed as his lighter, running out of gas, gave out only a small spark. Remembering he had another one in his pocket, Julian put his hand inside his jacket and smiled when, along with the lighter, he pulled out a pink pair of little girl’s knickers.
Alan Day was proud of his work. In fact he was very proud. He was one of the best at what he did. He was the defence. The barrister people loved to hate. The man who let the guilty walk. And Alan Day had been in the job long enough to know that the majority of defendants who walked into his mahogany