The Choice

‘Where am I?’

With flushed cheeks, Jackie excitedly jumped to her feet. ‘Aah, it’s all right, babe. Your grandfarver’s gone to get some ’elp. He said to give you something.’

Tiffany’s long dark hair was matted, and her usually pretty, made-up eyes were smudged as if she’d been on the piss all night.

Jackie pulled open the drawers, like a frantic burglar, until she found the box of sleeping tablets. Pouring four in the palm of her hand, she shoved them under Tiffany’s nose.

‘Take these. You’ll feel so much better. Ya grandfarver said to take ’em. He’ll be back soon.’ Jackie tried to sound soft and motherly, but it really wasn’t in her nature. Still, she would give it her best shot.

‘Go on, babe. You’ve been through one ’ell of an ordeal. This’ll take the edge off.’

She gave the tablets to Tiffany and went over to the rotten, dirty sink where she grabbed a glass that had congealed milk at the bottom, swirled it under the tap, and then filled it with fresh water.

Tiffany was still slightly wobbly and didn’t notice the tiny milk particles floating on the top. She threw the tablets to the back of her throat, groggily took the glass, and swallowed the contents. The cold water seemed to help: it livened her up. Suddenly, her expression was different: cold and dark.

‘Who the fuck are you?’

Jackie stepped back and frowned. ‘Ya grandfarver asked for my help. He’s just popped out.’

Tiffany had a teenager’s attitude, but her level of violence was that of a grown mental maniac at times; it was a trait which made Torvic thoroughly proud.

‘What am I doing in this shithole? Fucking ’ell, don’t tell me that Pops has been banging a skank like you? Jesus!’

Seriously insulted, Jackie retorted, ‘Oi, ya cheeky little cow. If it weren’t for me, you would still be inside that room pissing in ya knickers.’

‘Oh, shut up. Who d’ya think you are?’

‘Me, love? More like who the fuck d’ya think you are! I rescued you, ya ungrateful bitch. I should’ve left you and ya grandfarver in the hands of Mike Regan and his lot.’

Jackie snatched the glass out of Tiffany’s hand and threw it in the sink, mumbling under her breath, ‘Ya fucking nasty cow.’

‘But I don’t get it. So who are you?’ Tiffany persisted, thoroughly disgusted with her surroundings.

Jackie turned around to find the girl with her nose in the air and wiping her hands down her trousers.

Leaning against the sink, Jackie curled her lip. ‘Ya Pops, or whatever the fuck he’s called, asked for my help. Now, if you ain’t happy sitting in my caravan, you can just as easily do one. There’s the fucking door.’

They locked eyes, each sussing the other out, until a sudden wave of tiredness gripped Tiffany. The visions of last night avalanched through her mind. It had been like seeing her dad and uncle thrown into a shark tank with buckled bars while a great white circled before them, ruthlessly devouring its prey. The fight had been relentless, harsh, cold, and – yes – very one-sided. She felt sick but swallowed hard to control the feeling of nausea.

Tiffany’s mind once again began to switch off as the shock was back with a vengeance, except, this time, it was laced with an overdose of the sleeping tablets that stopped her from fighting the state of unconsciousness. She nestled her head against the worn, threadbare sofa and closed her eyes before she was out for the count.

Jackie continued to stare until she was sure the girl was out of it. Then, quickly, she kneeled next to Tiffany, hooked her index finger just under the gold chain and eased it from under the girl’s top. It was a long, thick belcher chain with a gold horseshoe and three sizable diamonds set into it. Jackie’s eyes widened as she guessed the value. And the charm being a horseshoe as well was such a bonus, she could sell it on to most of the gypsies on the site. Carefully, she unclipped the clasp and slowly pulled it from the girl’s neck.

Tiffany was gently snoring.

As Jackie kneeled down on the floor, she carefully lifted the girl’s arm, twisting her wrist slightly to see the safety catch on the watch. Still, Tiffany didn’t move, and Jackie got to work, removing the gold watch while thinking of the perfect buyer. The watch slid off easily, and as Jackie held it close to her face, she could see the gold hallmark. Her grin cruised across her face until it revealed her stained teeth.

With the watch and necklace in her hand, she looked around her caravan. For the first time in such a long time, she saw it for what it really was – a tin shell, filled with bleak belongings, reminding her of who she now was and where she had come from. The mould on the walls was from when she’d been too drunk to worry about the condensation. The ripped, stained sofas and faded curtains had once been immaculate and admired by the other gypsies. In fact, the women on the site used to marvel at her caravan, even drool over it, wishing they had the same. Yet now she was left with fuck all – just a filthy, rotten, and stinking mess. Holding the solid gold pieces in her hand, admiring their clean, classy quality, only served to emphasize just how disgusting her place and her belongings actually were.

After slipping the chain over her neck and fastening the flash gold watch to her wrist, Jackie’s eyes flicked to Tiffany sprawled out on the sofa. The girl’s hair, although somewhat matted, still shone like the wings of a blackbird. Her skin was smooth and fresh and everything about the young woman looked clean and untouched. At one time, she’d been the same, before having Ricky and messing with her face and her body. It was before she believed the grass was greener on the other side. Slumping down into the only armchair, she suddenly felt sick from an eerie feeling of reality. What the hell was she doing, and, more importantly, why had she done all those terrible things? And what had she been looking for? Everything around her now didn’t depict a better life, that was for sure. The drink, the drugs, and even selling herself to anyone, literally anyone, was for what? Nothing, that was what.

She reached across the small coffee table that was piled high with shit: ashtrays, court summonses, her decree absolute, empty bottles of vodka, and dirty glasses. Everything in this room was a reflection on how she had conducted her life. The ripped stomach and sore throats from too much drinking, the sour milk to ease the burning, the endless smoking, and the charge sheets for the number of times she’d been arrested for theft – all were testament to a life that had been to live for the moment.

Snatching the cigarettes, she sparked up the end of one and inhaled deeply, as she peered over at the girl once more. Tiffany certainly reminded her of her former self. Her eyes returned to the table, and she stared at the envelope containing the money that Torvic had given her. She pondered over how he’d been so sure she would have it in her to rescue him. Maybe he was well informed on how much she hated Zara and Mike, but did she really hate them? Zara maybe, but Mike, she wasn’t so sure. He’d left her with nothing after she’d signed the divorce papers, but she’d stolen a lot of money from him in the past.

As if someone had turned a light on, she felt a sudden overwhelming sense of loyalty – to Mike. She placed the remains of the partially lit cigarette on the ashtray and gripped the envelope containing the money. Her heart was beating fast, mainly through fear, but it was laced with excitement. With her thoughts so fixed on getting away and running to Mike – to the only man who had cared for her, even if it had been many years ago – she didn’t bother to check to see if Tiffany was okay. She opened the door, and through force of habit, she locked it behind her. Since she had nothing on her mind now except how she would wangle this situation in her favour, she knew she needed to think of a way that would look as though she’d planned to help Mike.

Over the years, the decking around her caravan had sunk into the ground, and she jolted her back as she slipped on the wooden surface that was wet from a recent heavy rainstorm. Holding in her urge to curse, she straightened herself and headed for the car park while looking around for curtain twitchers or nosey bastards as she called her neighbours. A few yards away, on a small gravel area, was where the gypsy residents parked their vehicles. One of them, the tattiest, was Tatum’s. She knew he was still inside Maidstone Prison. He’d always kept his keys just inside the driver’s wheel. It was a habit of his. She hoped the car would start after a year of standing idle. Glancing around one more time, she crouched down onto the ground and felt around the tyre. Sure enough, the keys were there. Quietly, she unlocked the car.

After she climbed in, she put the key in the ignition and listened to the noisy exhaust; it was just another reminder that this car had once been the envy of the site. But now, it was an old rust bucket, and, what was worse, it didn’t even belong to her anymore. She’d sold it to Tatum. All she had to her name was the car that Torvic had shot off in and her poxy caravan. Still, Tatum’s car was her only way of escaping the madness with Torvic and perhaps into the open arms of Mike, although she would have to work on that part.

The car jolted and shuddered as it warmed up, the engine backfired, and then she tore away, across the gravel towards a gap in the hedge that led to the narrow lane.

* * *

The cigarette rolled away from the overfilled ashtray and landed on the pile of court summonses and police charge sheets, causing the gentle flame, that, within seconds, climbed to great heights. The book on the table that Jackie had wanted to read, one of several from her dated collection, caught alight and fuelled the fire that was now threatening to engulf everything in its way. Tumbling to the floor, the book fell apart, and the flames licked the pages, resulting in them floating towards the low ceiling and catching alight the spiderwebs and trapped dust. The fire instantly latched on to the peeling ceiling wallpaper. Like a circle of fire, ready for a circus act, the fierce flames rose and grew in intensity, filling the room with deadly smoke and devouring everything in their path.

Tiffany coughed and tried to breathe, but as her eyes opened to the horror, panic set in. In desperation, she gasped for oxygen, but all that filled her burning lungs were toxic fumes. With her T-shirt now covering her mouth, she scrambled along the floor towards the door, but as she tried to turn the handle and push her way out, she found her only exit was locked. With the smoke now burning her eyes and her throat, she tried frantically again, but it was no use. She bashed and banged and clawed at the door, desperate to get away from the smoke, the heat, and the naked flames. But it was impossible: the harder she tried, the harder it was to breathe. On all fours, she coughed and struggled, the smoke and the flames consuming any oxygen in her body and the heat blistering her skin. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t escape. She knew she was about to die.

* * *

The car choked and spluttered, causing Jackie to curse. Boom!

‘Fuck! What was that?’

Jackie slammed on the brakes. The sound was behind her, yet it was so loud, she could feel the vibration. In her rear-view mirror, she could see the red flames just visible above the hedgerows. Perhaps the lads had burned out another car. Maybe she should get them to take her old banger away and burn it out for the insurance money when Torvic brought it back. Then she remembered she didn’t have insurance anyway.

Just as she approached the end of the lane to turn right, she saw a flash-looking motor; it was heading towards her, and as soon as it was close enough, she recognized the driver. It was Torvic. Her heart rate increased, and her palms instantly became wet, making gripping the steering wheel so much harder. She couldn’t hang around though; she needed to get away. Torvic wasn’t like Mike. He had no scruples, and she’d got the sense that he could easily get rid of her. And did he really intend to pay her the rest of the money? She thought not. She also wondered if she would ever see her car again.

As Torvic slowed down to turn left, she shot out and put her foot down. The force of the turn made her swerve, yet she wasn’t going to stop now. She had to get away. As soon as she’d straightened the car, she looked again in the mirror, and her heart rate slowed down. With a deep breath, she sighed. He’d obviously gone straight to the caravan. Perhaps he hadn’t recognized her in Tatum’s car. For after all, it was dark.

* * *

The sound of a fire engine from the distance suddenly had Torvic feeling unusually on edge. Then he saw the flames towering above the bushes, and his heart was in his mouth. The dreaded thought that the woman speeding away from the site might have been Jackie charged through his mind. If that was her, why was she leaving? He’d given her precise instructions to look after his granddaughter. Putting his foot down, he left a trail of dust behind him. As soon as he reached the gravel car parking area and saw the caravan ablaze, his head felt like it was on fire. His breathing increased, and panic gripped him hard around the throat. He rushed from the car and ran towards the towering inferno, where he was met by two men.

‘Slow down, mate. That thing could explode,’ said one of them, grabbing Torvic’s arm.

Torvic tried to shrug the man off. ‘My granddaughter might be inside that fucking caravan!’

The old man, dressed in just his jeans and a black vest, let him go, but as soon as Torvic tried to get near the caravan, the intensity of the heat forced him back. With his hands over his eyes, he tried again, but it was no use. The structure was a ball of flames. No one would have survived in there. His granddaughter, if she was inside, would be a fragile bunch of charred bones.

‘Noooo!’ he screamed, at the top of his voice.

But his desperate cries of pain were drowned out by the fire engine’s sirens. The two older men dragged the helpless, crumpled man away from the heat.

Two firemen were making their way to the blaze with a hose and pushing people aside. A well-built firefighter approached Torvic and helped him to his feet.

‘Is this your caravan, sir?’

With his face covered in beads of sweat and his hairline singed, Torvic shook his head.

‘No, but I think my granddaughter is in there. Please …’

The firefighter looked back at the red glowing ball, and suddenly, like a sardine can, the walls peeled back, revealing nothing standing of any recognizable shape. Torvic felt his legs buckle and allowed the man to lower him gently to the ground.

‘Sir, we’ll have a paramedic here soon!’

‘You what? Fucking hell, no one could have … Oh my God! No one would’ve survived that fire. What use is a fucking paramedic?’

A sad smile inched its way across the large firefighter’s face. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I meant for you.’

As Torvic looked up at the man, he glared with dark, menacing eyes, from which the firefighter recoiled in surprise. If looks could kill.

As fit as a man in his twenties, Torvic, now in his advanced years, still managed very easily to jump to his feet and lean into the firefighter’s personal space, and growl, ‘Just tell me if my granddaughter was in that fucking fire!’

The firefighter stepped away from the demonic eyes of the evil-looking gentleman. He’d been used to aiding desperate relatives who were helpless to save a loved one from a fire, but never in his career had the anger been aimed at him; he could almost taste the fury emanating from the man. Then he wondered if this was no ordinary citizen and he’d just walked into some dangerous feud, because, right now, the guy was saying someone would be held accountable.

‘I’ll talk with the other firefighters and the police.’ His manner changed, became more assertive, to demonstrate he was in charge. ‘What is your granddaughter’s name? And you think she could be inside?’

Torvic twisted his head. ‘Just fucking find out if there’s a body in there, will you?’ He stepped away and ran his hands down the back of his neck. His whole body shook with an overwhelming sense of grief mixed with rage – an intense feeling that he was hard-pressed to hold down. If his granddaughter was in that caravan, then he would take the Regans, the Lanigans, and that bitch Zara to the fire of hell and make them see what the Devil was really capable of.

It didn’t take long before the fire was out and for the occupants of every caravan to form a crowd, just to be nosey. None of them cared if that towering ball of fire was Jackie’s cremation; it would just be another month’s worth of gossip for them. The police arrived and pushed the crowd back; they tried to cordon off the area so that the special investigation unit could have access before the scene was tampered with. Normally, Torvic would have shielded his face and made a swift exit but not today. Today, he’d lost any concerns for his liberty; he had to know if Tiffany was in that fire.

The body of bustling firefighters and police suddenly stepped aside as four special fire investigators made their way through. The tall firefighter who had spoken with Torvic then talked to the police officers.

They nodded and made their way over to Torvic. Phil, the older one of the two, gently tapped his arm.

‘Sir, could you help us, here? The firefighter said you suspect a young woman was inside that caravan.’

As Torvic turned to face Phil, his eyes were red and angry. ‘Yes,’ he hissed, ‘my granddaughter. Now, I want to know if anyone can fucking tell me if she was in that fire!’

Like the firefighter, Phil was taken aback. ‘Er, sir, we are investigating that now. Please would you come with me? I do believe the ambulance is on its way. Let’s get you checked over and I’ll organize a cup of tea for you.’

Torvic frowned at the officer. ‘Tea? I don’t want fucking tea or checking over. I’m fine. Just talk to me when you know if there was a body in that caravan!’

The firefighters continued to spray the surrounding areas, soaking the neighbouring caravans, in case sparks led to the fire spreading. Jackie’s caravan was now a black skeleton. The gasps and mumblings from the crowd pricked Torvic’s ears.

He pushed his way through to look for himself. And, shockingly, there as clear as day were the charred remains of a body. The sight was sickening, and even the toughest of the gypsies had to turn away. One threw up on the spot. The police and the firefighters tried to push the crowd back, but they were reluctant to go until they’d seen the evidence for themselves. Two teenagers even pulled out their phones and started to film the devastation, zooming in on the burned body. No doubt that video would go viral.

Phil tried to urge the older man away. ‘Sir, come with me.’

‘Get ya fucking hands off me!’

‘Please, sir, we need to clear the area, to do our job, and to get you your answers. You said you think your granddaughter was inside. Are you sure?’

Torvic didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the horrific sight of the blackened, hairless body with the unrecognizable face. In his mind, he was trying to interpret the shape as anything other than a body, but it was so clearly the remains of one. A thought occurred to him that if it was his Tiffany, then he would see the heavy gold chain around her neck or the gold watch on her wrist, but there was nothing that resembled those, only blackened remains. Suddenly, he glared as a firefighter went up to the body, blocking his view. Torvic, though, wanted to have a closer look, but he was held back by another firefighter.

Torvic blinked and came out of his trance. His eyes diverted to the fire investigators who were kneeling down by what had once been the door. They were spraying something over the areas where the handle and the lock were. Then the penny dropped. He knew they were checking to see if the door was in the locked position. Torvic shrugged the man off him and then focused on the bright-red fire blanket that covered who he assumed was his granddaughter. Now the pieces suddenly fitted together. She had been at the door, frightened out of her life, and the fucking thing had been locked. Jackie had locked her in. He suddenly had a hopeful thought. Perhaps Tiffany had locked Jackie in. Yes, that must be it. Tiffany had locked her in.

As he turned to storm away, Phil clutched his arm again. ‘Sir, we need to ask you a few questions.’

Torvic shook his head, shrugged the officer off, and marched towards his car.

Just as Phil was about to call after the scary old guy, a big-bellied gypsy accosted him. He came so close, Phil could smell the garlic from his breath.

‘I know who was in that caravan. Her name’s Jackie Menaces. She probably got pissed and set the van alight, mate.’

Phil stepped back to get a clearer look at the man who was in his face. ‘Do you know the woman? Only …’ – he pointed to the wild man who was about to get into his car – ‘that gentleman wanted to know if it was his granddaughter in the caravan.’

Torvic stopped in his tracks and turned to face them.

The chubby traveller, with a toothless grin, shook his head. ‘Nah, it was Jackie. I saw her through the window earlier.’

‘Was anyone else with her?’ asked Phil.

‘Nah, I only saw her walking around in her caravan. She’s a pisshead. She likes a good drink, that one.’

‘Are you sure no one else was with her?’

The toothless gypsy nodded his head. ‘I tell ya, it was Jackie Menaces in that van. Ask me missus. She saw her an’ all. We were coming back from feeding the horses, and as we walked past her van, me ol’ gal, said, “Look at her. She’s got a glass of vodka in her hand already.”’

‘Are you positive it was Jackie Menaces, though?’

‘Cor, yeah. ’Course I’s sure. I ain’t blind. We all knows Jax. She’s the local slut.’

Phil frowned. ‘And how do you know it was vodka she was drinking?’

The gypsy laughed. ‘’Cos that’s what she always drinks – morning, noon, and night.’

‘And your name, sir?’

‘Jericho. Me missus is Mena. That’s her, over there.’

Phil nodded and gingerly stepped towards the large woman, who was clearly shaken up. Her face was pale, and her eyes were turned down at the sides, red-rimmed and glazed over.

‘Your husband said you saw Jackie Menaces in the caravan before the fire. Is that correct? And is there anything else you can remember?’

Mena swallowed hard and wiped the sweat from her top lip. ‘All I saw through Jackie’s window – she don’t have nets up, see – was her standing with a large glass tumbler in her hand. It was clear liquid. The gal never drinks water, so I guessed it was vodka.’ Her voice cracked. ‘She has a son, little Richard Menaces. Sorry, I mean Ricky Regan.’

Torvic had heard enough. The police were now busy taking notes, and so it was his call to leave.

Cora, Tatum’s wife, heard Mena talking to the policeman and decided to join in. She edged her way over and stood side by side with Mena. ‘Yeah, that’s right. The bitch told us the boy was called Richard Menaces, but it was all a pack o’ lies. The boy got released early from prison, probably living with his real farver, no doubt. He’s some geezer called Mike Regan.’

Phil pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. ‘Mike Regan, did you say?’

Cora nodded. ‘Yeah. He was in the nick an’ all. Me husband reckons he’s a bit of a gangster or summat.’

‘So, then, did this Mike Regan hold a grudge or …?’

With a smug smile on her face, Cora put in her two pennies’ worth. ‘She had loads of enemies, that skanky bitch. She was always conning people, selling gear … even her own arse. She lied about her boy, and from what me ol’ man says, Mike Regan thought his boy was dead until he met the kid in the nick.’

Phil smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you. Um …’

‘Cora. Me name’s Cora. I live in that van over there.’ She pointed to the caravan, two behind the remains of Jackie’s.

‘I’ll call by and get a statement from both of you, if you don’t mind.’