Last Request. Liz Mistry
Dour rain pummelled the cobbles that ran between the two rows of houses on Willowfield Terrace, making them sleek and dangerous underfoot. Except for the oppressive, grey clouds that promised more of the same, the alleyway was deserted. The air hung heavy, waiting to embrace the latest drama involving the Parekh women as Detective Sergeant Nikita Parekh flung open the back door and stormed out. Anger emanating from her every pore, she flew down the steps into the yard and out the gate, followed by her daughter. Leather jacket flying loose, she ignored the spatter of mucky water that her trainers kicked up the back of her jeans. With a plastic bag looped over one wrist, she raked her waist-length hair back into a ponytail and slipped a scrunchie round it. She was on a mission and nothing would deter her.
‘Mum … Mum! Wait up.’ Charlie, a foot taller than her mum, ran behind, hitching her schoolbag onto her shoulder. Unlike her mum, she tried to avoid the puddles created by the worn cobbles.
But Nikki was already pushing open the back gate of the neighbouring house and striding up the steps. Using her fist, she brayed briefly on the door before turning the handle and pushing it open, not waiting for a reply. Entering the kitchen, she glanced at the hijabed woman cooking a fry-up in a huge frying pan on the cooker. ‘Where’s Haqib?’
The woman puffed her cheeks out in a ‘what’s he done now?’ expression and, shaking her head, pointed her spatula towards the kitchen door. ‘Front room.’
Stopping only to grab a bite from a piece of buttered toast on a plate on the worksurface, Nikki marched out of the kitchen, through the small hallway and into the living room. The room was in semi-darkness, with just the light from an Ikea tabletop lamp and the TV illuminating the area. She went straight over to the large bay window and swished the curtains open, allowing the scant light from outside to penetrate.
‘Oi!’ All angles, acne and attitude, Haqib, slouched on a bright red leather sofa, TV blaring, remote control in his hand, bare feet balanced on top of a glass-topped coffee table. ‘What d’ya think you’re doin’? Can’t see the telly, can I?’
Nikki turned with her hands on hips, and glared at him, the spark in her eyes forcing him to back down.
Charlie panted into the room, the knot on the top of her head wobbling as if it might fall off, her cheeks spattered with raindrops. ‘Mum, if you’d just hang on a minute.’
Nikki extended her hand, one index finger raised to her daughter, just like her own mother had always done, ‘Chup kar.’ She rounded the bulky couch and positioned herself right in front of the TV.
Charlie folded her arms under her boobs, one hip extended towards her mum, pure sulk dripping from her pursed lips.
Haqib bobbed his head, first to one side and then to the other, trying to see the TV, his tone a little less confrontational this time. ‘Can’t see.’
Nikki bent over and swiped his feet off the table.
‘Hey.’ He glanced from his aunt to his cousin, his hands splayed before him. ‘What’s up? What’ve I done now? You can’t just come in and do that, you know?’
Nikki snorted before tipping the contents of the plastic bag she was carrying onto the table where Haqib’s feet had been. Haqib stopped, mouth open. If Nikki had been in a better mood she’d have laughed, but right now she was fuming. Really fuming. Haqib’s eyes moved from his aunt’s stern face to the bags filled with multicoloured pills, then up to Charlie. The pills with their smiley faces, love hearts and winky eyes incensed Nikki. Over the past few months she’d seen umpteen cases of kids in the city taking E and landing themselves in Bradford Royal Infirmary. This new batch was potent – three deaths and a brain damaged kid testified to that. It made Nikki’s piss boil. She snatched the remote from her nephew and switched off the racket that boomed from the speakers. ‘Spill!’
Haqib clipped his mouth shut, then opened it, before once more closing it like a minnow about to get swallowed by a shark. That analogy appealed to Nikki. All she wanted to do was to swallow the lad up, chew him till he squealed and spit him out.
‘I … erm, I …’ He looked at Charlie as if expecting her to bail him out.
Nikki moved closer, breathing heavily, her anger exuding from every pore. ‘You selling MDMA to my 14-year-old, are you? Got a death wish, have you?’ Another step and Haqib was trying to mould his body into the leather couch.
‘You all right in there?’ Nikki’s sister, Anika, called from the kitchen.
Nikki glowered at Haqib. ‘You’d better start spilling before your mum comes through.’
‘For God’s sake, Mum.’ Charlie, her face perfectly made up, eyeliner on point and her school skirt too damn short, flounced forward and flung herself onto the sofa beside Haqib, sliding her schoolbag round till it rested on her lap. ‘If you’d give me half a chance to explain. Haqib didn’t sell me it.’
Nikki glared at the lad, eyebrows raised. ‘You gave them to her? You gave your 14-year-old cousin E? That’s no better. In fact, that’s bloody worse.’
He ran the back of his hand across his nose and glanced at Charlie. ‘I didn’t. I wouldn’t – she …’ He glanced at Charlie and shrugged.
Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Tell her then – you might as well …’
Head bowed, looking like a 2-year-old in trouble for stealing the Easter eggs, he mumbled something.
‘What?’ Nikki’s voice was sharp. She’d thought Haqib knew better than to bring drugs of any sort near her family, near her home or even onto the damn estate. What the hell had he been thinking?
Clearing his throat, Haqib tried again. ‘She’ – he jerked his thumb towards Charlie – ‘confiscated it.’
‘You what?’ Nikki looked at her eldest daughter who was all sulky indignation and ‘I told you so’.
‘What? So, you thought I’d buy Es? I’m not a loser, you know!’
Nikki grinned and scooped the bags up. Charlie wasn’t a loser. Definitely not. Nearing the sofa, she leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter’s top-knot head. ‘No, you’re not.’ She leaned over further and cuffed Haqib’s head. ‘You, on the other hand, will be, if you don’t stop with the damn drugs. Now I’ve got to bail you out, yet again. Not good enough, Haqib – not fucking good enough.’
She could just about put up with the weed that was rife on the estate – turn a blind eye and all that – but this? Once this shit got a grip on the estate it’d spread like wildfire bringing with it crime and violence and despair. She’d seen it all before on other Bradford estates and she was buggered if she’d allow it on hers. But what was she to do about Haqib? She was tempted to turn the little scrote in – let him see what it would be like – but deep down she knew she couldn’t do that to her family or to this runt of a boy.
Haqib rubbed his head. ‘I don’t take them, Auntie. It’s just …’ He sighed.
Charlie broke in. ‘What he’s trying to say is that Deano’s back.’
A talon curled its way round Nikki’s heart and squeezed, hard and sudden. If Deano was back, then that meant his drug lord boss Franco was too … and he was an evil sod. ‘I’ll deal with this.’ She hung the bag back over her wrist and chucked the remote control at Haqib, making sure it whacked his head. ‘Don’t be late for school, you two.’
When she re-entered the kitchen, Anika handed her a mug of steaming coffee. ‘Weed? Again?’
Nikki sighed. Anika took a pragmatic approach to her son’s weed consumption. Personally, Nikki would rather he didn’t smoke the stuff, but then she knew how many alternatives there were out there, so she let it pass. She could tell her sister the truth, but what purpose