have believed I’d need something else, something more than the beautiful games I’d learnt to play in that place.
Masque had a lot to bloody answer for.
***
Chapter One
Sophie
“Have you heard the news?” Christine leant over my desk, armed with tenant files for the anti-social behaviour briefing at midday. Her grey hair was up tight in its trademark bun, glasses perched on her nose in her usual display of tenant-liaison efficiency.
I hadn’t heard any news, not that my ears were particularly open for it. I’d been glued to my phone the remainder of the weekend, checking out profiles on Edgeplay, the dating network for kinky freaks like me. The handset was now on my lap under the desk, while I compulsively checked for new messages.
“What news?”
“You really haven’t heard? Crikey! It’s about your patch as well.”
“My patch?”
She tutted condescendingly. “Well, you are the estate manager of the East Veil block, aren’t you?”
“Last time I checked.”
“You’d think someone would have thought to tell you, then, wouldn’t you? There’s no communication round here these days, it’s all about email, email, email, no damn given for talking.”
“What’s the news on East Veil? Someone thrown a fridge from their balcony again? A car-jacking? Piss in the communal hallway? More graffiti?”
“You need to take this estate more seriously, Sophie, it’s not like Haygrove. East Veil has a damned sight more problems than a bit of urine in the corridors.”
“I know, I know,” I said. “Sorry. Let’s start again. What’s happened in East Veil?”
Her face took on the utmost sincerity, like war itself had broken out amidst the tower blocks. “Callum Jackson – he was released this weekend.”
Now she had my attention. “I thought he was inside another six months?”
“Good behaviour, apparently. If you can believe that.”
If what rumour said about Callum Jackson was even half-true then no, I wouldn’t have believed it. He was red-flagged on our system, a troublesome tenant of the most ferocious variety. Except he wasn’t really a tenant, not officially. He’d been raised on East Veil by a mother well known to our housing association. She’d had two children taken into care since Callum, but social services had come too late on the scene for him. By all accounts he was unpredictable, violent and virtually feral. Hannah Jackson, mother of the year, had thrown her son onto the streets several years back—I’d read about it in the East Veil block file once I’d been assigned the estate—and since then he’d coasted around the place, bedding down in the garage block, or the maintenance huts, or even in vacant properties if you didn’t get them boarded up in time.
Callum Jackson had been arrested for assault, theft and vandalism more times than the files could keep track of, and finally they’d sent him down last year. A twelve month stint the management had bemoaned wasn’t in any way long enough, and yet seemingly he was out again, on the loose and on my newly-assigned patch. Great.
My email pinged, and Christine cranked her neck around without any consideration for confidentiality.
From: Central Hub
Subject: Hannah Jackson, 57 East Veil.
Talk about timely.
“See,” Christine said. “What did I tell you? It’ll be kicking off already, you mark my words.”
“Weren’t you on your way somewhere?” I asked, trying my best to maintain a civil tone.
“Meeting preparation,” she said. “Someone needs to make sure these things run smoothly.”
“I’ll see you midday, then, thanks for the heads- up.”
She hovered. “You be careful with those Jacksons, Miss Harding. They’re not to be trusted. None of them. They’re trouble. No, they’re more than trouble, they’re downright dangerous.”
“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
I waited until she was long out of view before I opened the email.
Ms Jackson called today. She would like an urgent visit pertaining to additional security. She advised that if we don’t respond and anything should happen to her property or possessions she will seek compensation via Lawyers-R-US - she’s seen them on the TV. Please respond.
I’d only had the pleasure of meeting Hannah Jackson once since becoming estate manager, and that was for chasing down some rent arrears on behalf of the income recovery team. She’d seemed to know more about the system than I did, exceptionally clued up on exactly what benefits she was and wasn’t entitled to. I doubted she would be bluffing about the compensation threat, she’d bleat about unfair treatment to anyone who would listen, and those idiot firms advertising on daytime TV would be more than happy to hear her out. They love a case