London had the buzz, and Joey liked
that, but this was still his home turf. The city could be chaotic, full of strangers, ethnic gangs and constant change. But Irish, Jew, Bangladeshi or Somali, down the generations they all became
English when they moved out to Essex.
Kaz stared blankly out of the window, pylons criss-crossed the landscape and she could see the flares on the oil refinery down by the river. Going home was not a prospect she relished; in fact
the whole notion of home was something she’d ring-fenced in her mind. It was off-limits, a place she refused to visit mentally or emotionally however much various therapists had pushed
her.
She was born in Bethnal Green nine months after the old man got out of jail and three months before her parents married. But she’d grown up in Essex. They started off in a council house in
Basildon, then as the old man’s business picked up their fortunes improved. Terry Phelps was obsessed with security, which in his line of work wasn’t unreasonable. He bought a piece of
land, a field really, out beyond Billericay and he got it dirt cheap because it had no planning permission and a semi-permanent travellers’ camp next door. Terry fixed the local planning
committee with a few bungs and saw off the pikeys with a JCB and a couple of sawn-off shotguns. Then he built his dream home.
As they pulled up in front of the electric, wrought-iron gates, Kaz turned to her brother. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘They’re expecting us. Can’t bottle now.’ Joey leant out of his window and pressed the intercom on the wall. ‘Anybody home?’
There was a muffled reply, which possibly included a squeal of excitement, and with a clank the gates swung open.
Joey drove into the compound. The property was surrounded on all sides by an eight-foot solid brick wall topped with decorative but lethal spikes. The house itself was an imposing mish-mash of
styles: a mock Tudor facade with a portico supported by Corinthian pillars. As the Range Rover pulled up, Kaz took it all in. The small leaded-light windows reflected the afternoon sun, making it
impossible to see inside. But in Kaz’s memory the interior was dismal, a place of shadows and unmentionable horrors.
Joey patted her knee and grinned. ‘Well, we’re here now.’
Kaz knew she’d been bullied, but it was hard to resist coming here without spoiling the mood of the day. Then the front door opened and there was Ellie Phelps beaming at them.
The last time Kaz had seen her mother was at Chelmsford Crown Court. As she’d been led into the dock, she’d glanced over at the public gallery and Ellie had been there, staring
straight ahead, eyes glassy and blank. Valium had been Ellie’s drug of choice for many years until Prozac came along, but she mixed it with a cocktail of gin, vodka, painkillers and anything
else that came to hand. Life with Terry was a rollercoaster, his temper unpredictable at best. So Ellie had found escape and solace in the only way available to her.
Kaz took a deep breath and got out of the car. Ellie was hugging her son. Then she turned to her daughter with a huge grin. She was fatter than Kaz remembered and rosy-cheeked, but there was
something else too. Kaz realized with a jolt that her mother had come alive. She was no longer the drugged-up zombie of Kaz’s teenage years. Before her was a plump, middle-aged matron in a
tight silk top. Her lipstick was shimmering pink, but behind it the smile was warm and the eyes had a definite twinkle.
Ellie flung her arms round Kaz and squeezed her tight. ‘Lovey, we was gonna come and meet you. Stretch limo, the works. Joey had it all planned.’
Her words tumbled out in a torrent. Kaz had never seen her mother so animated.
‘I’ve got your room all ready for you, we’ve had it completely redone. Pink – that was always yer favourite when you was little. I wanted to come and see you loads of
times, but y’know them places they give me
that, but this was still his home turf. The city could be chaotic, full of strangers, ethnic gangs and constant change. But Irish, Jew, Bangladeshi or Somali, down the generations they all became
English when they moved out to Essex.
Kaz stared blankly out of the window, pylons criss-crossed the landscape and she could see the flares on the oil refinery down by the river. Going home was not a prospect she relished; in fact
the whole notion of home was something she’d ring-fenced in her mind. It was off-limits, a place she refused to visit mentally or emotionally however much various therapists had pushed
her.
She was born in Bethnal Green nine months after the old man got out of jail and three months before her parents married. But she’d grown up in Essex. They started off in a council house in
Basildon, then as the old man’s business picked up their fortunes improved. Terry Phelps was obsessed with security, which in his line of work wasn’t unreasonable. He bought a piece of
land, a field really, out beyond Billericay and he got it dirt cheap because it had no planning permission and a semi-permanent travellers’ camp next door. Terry fixed the local planning
committee with a few bungs and saw off the pikeys with a JCB and a couple of sawn-off shotguns. Then he built his dream home.
As they pulled up in front of the electric, wrought-iron gates, Kaz turned to her brother. ‘I don’t know if I can do this.’
‘They’re expecting us. Can’t bottle now.’ Joey leant out of his window and pressed the intercom on the wall. ‘Anybody home?’
There was a muffled reply, which possibly included a squeal of excitement, and with a clank the gates swung open.
Joey drove into the compound. The property was surrounded on all sides by an eight-foot solid brick wall topped with decorative but lethal spikes. The house itself was an imposing mish-mash of
styles: a mock Tudor facade with a portico supported by Corinthian pillars. As the Range Rover pulled up, Kaz took it all in. The small leaded-light windows reflected the afternoon sun, making it
impossible to see inside. But in Kaz’s memory the interior was dismal, a place of shadows and unmentionable horrors.
Joey patted her knee and grinned. ‘Well, we’re here now.’
Kaz knew she’d been bullied, but it was hard to resist coming here without spoiling the mood of the day. Then the front door opened and there was Ellie Phelps beaming at them.
The last time Kaz had seen her mother was at Chelmsford Crown Court. As she’d been led into the dock, she’d glanced over at the public gallery and Ellie had been there, staring
straight ahead, eyes glassy and blank. Valium had been Ellie’s drug of choice for many years until Prozac came along, but she mixed it with a cocktail of gin, vodka, painkillers and anything
else that came to hand. Life with Terry was a rollercoaster, his temper unpredictable at best. So Ellie had found escape and solace in the only way available to her.
Kaz took a deep breath and got out of the car. Ellie was hugging her son. Then she turned to her daughter with a huge grin. She was fatter than Kaz remembered and rosy-cheeked, but there was
something else too. Kaz realized with a jolt that her mother had come alive. She was no longer the drugged-up zombie of Kaz’s teenage years. Before her was a plump, middle-aged matron in a
tight silk top. Her lipstick was shimmering pink, but behind it the smile was warm and the eyes had a definite twinkle.
Ellie flung her arms round Kaz and squeezed her tight. ‘Lovey, we was gonna come and meet you. Stretch limo, the works. Joey had it all planned.’
Her words tumbled out in a torrent. Kaz had never seen her mother so animated.
‘I’ve got your room all ready for you, we’ve had it completely redone. Pink – that was always yer favourite when you was little. I wanted to come and see you loads of
times, but y’know them places they give me
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