The Choice. Kerry Barnes

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