Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sheila Watson's heart pounded as she yanked back the corrugated iron sheet. She didn't know this part of town, had never set foot in a squat before and would never usually have ventured out alone so late at night. But Naomi's silent call had got her seriously rattled, hence her desperate mission to Portswood. This was a part of the city that had been slowly gentrifying, but there were still a few pockets of the suburb that harked back to the era when it was a haven for dropouts, criminals and junkies. The graffiti-daubed building in front of her was one such relic, a lifeless, sinister place, which promised only bad things. But Sheila had come this far – there could be no turning back now.

The front door to the old terraced house had disappeared long ago, replaced by a sheet of corrugated iron with a ‘No Entry' sign crudely spray-painted onto it. Ignoring this, Sheila tugged on the barrier, determined to get inside. As she did so, the metal scraped on the concrete, emitting a nasty screech that set Sheila's nerves jangling. She didn't know who, or what, lay inside, but she certainly didn't want to announce her presence. Still, the damage was already done, so with a final yank, she dragged the makeshift door open, revealing a dingy hallway beyond. Summoning her courage, Sheila stepped inside.

Immediately, her left foot gave way, plunging through a rotten floorboard. Shocked, Sheila gasped in pain, her ankle twisting sharply, even as splinters of wood drove into her flesh. Wincing, she extracted it gingerly, running her hand over her leg to inspect the damage. As she did so, she was shocked to see that her hand was shaking, fear and adrenaline pulsing through her. Perhaps she was more nervous, more frightened than she thought. Even so, she had to keep going, to see if she could find the one person on earth that she truly hated.

How Sheila rued the day that Naomi had ever set eyes on Darren Haines. Sheila understood the attraction, she'd been a teenager once, but had never imagined that her daughter would become so obsessed with him, that Naomi's infatuation would tear their family apart. But it had done so and quickly, Naomi leaving home after a particularly violent argument to come and live here , amidst the other dropouts and wasters, dossing down on an old mattress. God knows what went on in this place, what people got up to in order to fund their habits, but if Naomi was still here, Sheila intended to drag her home.

At first, Sheila had been furious with her daughter following her departure from the family home, then deeply worried, then eventually resigned to a long battle to win her back. But Naomi's call tonight had shattered Sheila's resolve, her patient determination replaced by visceral fear. She was sure it was Naomi on the other end of the phone, she could hear her breathing, could sense she was about to speak, but then the call had suddenly cut off. Why? What had happened to her? When Sheila had tried to ring back, her call went straight to voicemail. Instinct told Sheila that something terrible had happened, that Naomi was being attacked, perhaps even fighting for her life. Terrified, Sheila had thought about calling the police, but she had butted up against their disinterested intransigence many times before, so had headed here instead, Naomi's home from home for the last three months.

Limping forward, Sheila poked her head into the front room, making out a couple of sleeping figures stretched out on the floor.

‘Naomi, love, is that you?'

The figures stirred, but didn't respond. Peering more closely at them, Sheila could see that they were both large, male forms. She also clocked the discarded needles and scrumpled sheets of tin foil on the floor, so quickly moved on. There was no one present in the other ground-floor rooms, so grasping the banister, Sheila mounted the stairs. Immediately, pain seared up her left leg, her ankle protesting, but gripping the gnarled wood, she pressed on, finding her way to the first floor. Now she paused. There were three shadowy rooms off the main landing, all with their doors slightly ajar. Which one should she try? And what would she find inside?

Steeling herself, she laid her hand on the handle of the nearest bedroom and slowly, cautiously, pressed down.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?'

Startled, Sheila spun round to find Darren Haines advancing upon her.

‘You're not welcome,' he continued, crossing the landing to tower over her. ‘So get out.'

‘Where is she?' Sheila demanded, ignoring this intimidation.

‘I said GET OUT!' Haines bellowed, grabbing her arm and yanking her towards the stairs.

Instantly, Sheila jerked herself free of his grasp. She was no match for Darren physically, but she had more to lose. There was no way he was tossing her onto the street like a sack of potatoes.

‘I'm not leaving here without Naomi, so wherever she is, you go and get her.'

But the imposing junkie just shook his head, annoyed by her determination.

‘Naomi? Where are you, love? It's me …' Sheila called out, ignoring him.

To her surprise, Haines took a step backwards, folding his arms and breaking into a smile.

‘Naomi, please, where are you?' she persisted.

Now he started to laugh, cold and callous.

‘Shout and scream all you like. She's not here.'

What do you mean?' Sheila replied, suddenly alarmed.

‘I mean she's gone, vanished, vamoosed.'

‘But why? I don't understand.'

‘We're not together anymore.'

‘Since when?'

‘This afternoon. She was getting annoying, so I had to let her go.'

He cracked a huge smile, two gold teeth glinting at Sheila.

‘Where's she gone?'

‘Search me,' he shrugged.

‘You tell me where she is,' Sheila demanded, advancing on her burly adversary and gripping him by his collar. ‘I'm not leaving here until—'

‘How should I know?' Haines responded, cutting her off. ‘But odds on, she's probably flat on her back with some other fool. You know what she's like.'

Shocked, outraged, Sheila lashed out, her hand catching the unsuspecting junkie in the face, rocking his head back. He stumbled for a moment, surprised, then righted himself, feeling his left cheek where a thin line of blood bloomed, her ring having ripped his skin.

‘Don't you dare talk about my daughter like that, you piece of—'

Sheila didn't get to finish her sentence, a meaty hand coming from nowhere and connecting sharply with her cheek. Taken by surprise, the middle-aged mum staggered backwards, crashing into the crumbling wall. Winded, she tried to right herself, only to see Haines advancing towards her, a murderous rage in his eyes.

Now Sheila didn't hesitate, grabbing the banister and propelling herself down the rickety stairs. She half stumbled, half fell, her left ankle giving out as she landed heavily on the ground floor. Pain consumed her, but she swallowed down her agony and stumbled on, barrelling out the doorway and into the driving rain beyond.

Desperate, Sheila limped away as fast as she could, terrified that Haines would fall upon her, and it wasn't until she reached the end of the street that she dared to pause and look back. To her relief, Haines was nowhere to be seen, clearly having thought better of his pursuit. But as she stood there in the worsening deluge, battered, weary and scared, any sense of triumph swiftly evaporated. Yes, she had escaped a violent attack but she had failed to find her daughter. Her beloved Naomi was still out there somewhere, alone and adrift. What was happening to her? Why had she suddenly called home? Was she even still alive ?

Distraught, bereft, Sheila bellowed out her daughter's name, once, twice, three times. But there was no response, her anguished cry swallowed up by the darkness.