Dirty Game (18 page)

‘I can’t cope with this on my own,’ said Ruthie, tears in her eyes.

Annie slowly sat back down. ‘No more arguments,’ she said.

Ruthie shook her head frantically. ‘No. No more arguments, I promise.’

‘Or I walk,’ said Annie, feeling sick at heart.

So they sat there together, in silence, and waited for Connie to die.

At half past eleven that night, Annie said good-night to Donny and quietly let herself into the Park Street apartment. Max’s keys were in the dish; he was back. She switched on a table lamp, then went to the open bedroom door and looked in. Max had fallen asleep with the bedside light still burning. His chest rose and fell smoothly with the rhythm of his breathing. Annie softly crossed the room and turned off the light. Then she went back into the sitting room and sat down, knowing that she couldn’t get into bed with him tonight, not after spending time with Ruthie, not after watching their mother quietly fade away.

She sank her head into her hands. Jesus, what a day. She stank of disinfectant, she realized. Disinfectant and death. Her mother had slipped so quietly into that final sleep, the nurse checking her pulse, shaking her head, then walking away to let them say their goodbyes.

She had been more choked by it all than she had expected. Ruthie had sobbed and wailed inconsolably, but Annie had been unable to cry, although she had felt waves of misery engulf her. All she had been able to do was hold Ruthie tight, stroke her arms and kiss her hair.

It was a measure of Ruthie’s distress that she had allowed this. And to Annie it had been painfully poignant, reminding her how long it had
been since she had enjoyed this close contact with the sister she still – despite everything – loved so much.

So no, there was no way she could sleep with Max tonight.

Although she loved him.

Adored him.

She lay back against the couch and thought about Max. God knows it was easier than thinking about poor bloody Ruthie. Max who so enthralled her, who shared her life here in this apartment. This felt like reality, what they shared here, not the harsh, threatening outside world. They were at it like rabbits most of the time, they had christened every part of this place – this couch, the floor, the bath, everywhere. The sexual pull between them was so strong, so overpowering. Everything there was to do, they had done it together. Nothing was off-limits. And they were close.
Really
close.

But still he was Ruthie’s husband and he should have been with Ruthie, she knew that, comforting her, waiting in her bed. Not in Annie’s.

‘How’d it go?’ asked Max from the bedroom doorway.

Annie glanced around, startled. He was running a hand through his dark hair, pulling on his robe, yawning. So bloody casual.

She felt anger rise. ‘Oh fine. My mother, and
incidentally your wife’s mother too, died about an hour ago.’

Max came and sat down beside her. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ Annie looked daggers at him. ‘For not being there for Ruthie? For my loss? What?’

‘Both,’ said Max. ‘I know how bad I felt when my mum died.’

That wasn’t at all the same. Annie knew that Max had idolized Queenie and mourned her passing with genuine grief. Ruthie had been horribly cut up to lose Connie, but for Annie it was different. Of course she was sad at her mother’s death, but most of all she was glad that Connie’s suffering was over.

Annie took a breath, shut her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said, opening them and looking at him. ‘I just feel so bad about Ruthie. At least she had Mum before. Now what’s she got, the poor little cow? I’m worried about her.’

Max nodded. ‘I’m selling the Surrey place. That’s why I’ve been busy these past few days,’ he said.

Annie stared at him in surprise. ‘Why?’

‘Ruthie hates the fucking place.
I
hate the fucking place too. I think it’s jinxed. Everything bad that’s happened, it’s happened there. Mum going like she did. And poor bloody Eddie. I’ll be glad to see the back of it.’

‘But what about Ruthie? Where will she go?’

Every time she saw her sister, it seemed to get
worse. The guilt, the worry, the anxiety. It was eating at her more and more. The thoughts she’d had in the hospital about Connie declining after their dad left kept niggling away at her. Now she saw a parallel with Ruthie and Max. If Max abandoned Ruthie, what would become of her? Would she have the strength to carry on? Oh, they would still be married, Max would never contemplate divorce. But they would live completely separate lives. Shit, they already did.

‘Ruthie can move into Mum’s old place in Bow.’

Annie thought about that. She knew this was a huge concession on Max’s part. Queenie’s place was sacrosanct. To live in it was, to him, an honour. She just hoped Ruthie saw it the same way.

‘Don’t give up on her, Max,’ said Annie tiredly. ‘I really am worried about her.’

‘What, you mean the drinking?’

‘Oh. You know about that.’

‘Bloody sure I know about that. You’d be amazed what I know, Annie. It pays to keep your ear to the ground.’

Now what did
that
mean? Watch out, I’ve got my eye on you?

‘She needs a bit of support,’ said Annie.

‘Like her mother?’ asked Max. ‘Sweetheart, you could have propped Connie Bailey up with iron staves and she would still have keeled over.’

‘I know. But as a favour to me, Max? Be nice to Ruthie.’

They locked eyes.

‘I’ll be nice,’ said Max. ‘I promise.’

Another fucking funeral, thought Annie. She ought to feel sadder. This was her mother being planted in the ground. Sooner or later she might begin to feel some sort of real loss instead of relief – but she doubted it.

‘Thanks for coming with me, Dolly love,’ she said to the woman sitting beside her in the back of the black Jaguar Mk X. Donny was up front as usual, sitting silently behind the wheel. Max was, of course, with Ruthie. Some of Connie’s friends would be here, although times had been hard for Connie and friends had been few. But all Max’s boys and their families would turn out. This was Max Carter’s mother-in-law, after all. One of the family and to be shown the appropriate level of respect. Jonjo was there, so were Jimmy and Kath and her mother, Maureen.

Annie sat and watched them all walk past and
disappear into the church with the funeral cortège. The coffin was draped in pink flowers. Pink had been Connie’s favourite colour. It was Ruthie’s, too. She’d seen Ruthie, arm in arm with Max, following behind the coffin. That was where Annie should be too, but that would be pushing it too far. She’d already decided she would wait until everyone else was inside the church, then follow on and just sit quietly at the back.

‘It was good of you to keep me company,’ she said to Dolly.

‘That’s okay.’ Dolly pulled a face. ‘I know what it’s like when you don’t get on with your mum and dad. You hate them but you love them too, ain’t that right? I cried buckets when my old dad died, the rotten bastard. You feel guilty because you hate them, and you hate yourself because you love them.’

Annie looked at Dolly with a new warmth. Dolly was respectably dressed today in a neat navy dress and matching coat. Her hair was styled in an urchin cut and the colour had been toned down – less brass, more honey. Dolly looked a treat, and Annie was proud of her. She’d backed a winner in Dolly, she was sure. Whatever Dolly had previously lacked in polish, she more than made up for in spirit.

‘We ought to go in,’ said Annie, not wanting to.

‘It’ll be okay,’ said Dolly. ‘These things are never
as bad as you think they’re going to be. People behave themselves at funerals. Max Carter won’t have anyone kicking off, trust me.’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Annie. She took a breath. ‘Right, let’s go.’

They got out of the car. It was a bright, sunny day, which seemed wrong somehow. At Eddie’s funeral there had been spatters of rain and an icy wind, which had suited the occasion better.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Annie with distaste, then she spotted the woman standing out by the lych gate. She felt a twinge of annoyance. She wanted everyone inside before she went in. What was the hold up? Then she froze. She grabbed Dolly’s arm and stared intently. ‘Hey, Doll. Don’t that look like Celia out by the gate?’

Dolly turned, and looked. The woman had a black veil over her face, but there was something about her dress and demeanour that shouted
Celia
.

‘Yeah, it is. I think it’s Celia.’ Dolly started waving. ‘Hey, Celia,’ she shouted.

Fuck it
, thought Annie as the woman turned and hurried away. Trust Dolly to open her yap and scare her off.

‘Come on,’ she said, and hurried after the woman. She heard Donny lumbering out of the car and slamming the door, the heavy tread of his size twelves on the gravel behind her as she legged it towards the lych gate. She wasn’t ever supposed to
rush off without Donny, she knew that. But fuck it, this was
Celia
. Well, she hoped it was.

When they reached the gate the woman was already some distance away, walking fast towards a waiting taxi.

‘Fuck, she’s getting away,’ said Annie, and kicked off her courts and ran. The woman had the back door of the taxi open and was climbing inside when Annie barrelled into her and grabbed her and held on tight.

‘Hey!’ said the taxi driver. ‘You gettin’ in, or you havin’ a friggin’ dance?’

Dolly came hobbling up clutching Annie’s shoes. Donny arrived right on her heels, panting.

‘Jesus, I didn’t realize we were havin’ a fuckin’ tea party here,’ said the taxi driver.

‘Hold on,’ said Annie. ‘Celia?’

The woman got back out of the taxi.

‘
Now
what the fuck?’ roared the taxi driver. ‘Make your bloody mind up love, in or fucking out?’

Donny leaned into the front passenger window. The taxi driver leaned away from him.

‘Shut yer mouth, my friend, or I’ll shut it for you,’ Donny said gently.

The taxi driver held up both hands. ‘Hey, no offence, pal. I’m just the driver.’

‘Then drive,’ Donny suggested, and the taxi driver gunned the engine and roared away.

‘I already paid for that cab,’ came Celia’s voice from behind the veil. ‘Let me go, Annie. I shouldn’t have bloody come here.’

Annie didn’t give a shit. She pushed back Celia’s veil.

‘Fuck me,’ said Dolly breathlessly. ‘Celia!’

Celia looked miffed, but well all the same. Annie hadn’t known what to expect when she’d shoved the veil out of the way. Scars or something maybe. She didn’t know. But now she felt almost limp with relief. The button-bright brown eyes were the same, and the carefully made-up face. It was Celia. She looked a little older, more care-worn, like she’d had it hard. But she was okay.

‘For God’s sake, Celia, where have you been?’ demanded Annie. ‘What the hell were you thinking of running off like that and leaving nothing but a fucking note? We were thinking all sorts, we were bloody frantic with worry over you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Celia, eyes downcast.

‘
Sorry?
Is that all you’ve got to say? We were pulling our ruddy hair out and you say
sorry
?’ Annie grabbed Celia’s shoulders. ‘What’s been going on, Celia? Why’d you go like that?’

Celia just shook her head.

Annie looked at her aunt. Maybe she was being too hard on her. She must have had her reasons. She let go of her shoulders and reached for her hand. Celia stepped back, almost cringed away from her.

‘No, let me go …’ she started to say.

Annie looked down. The ivory fag holder was missing. The ivory fag holder in the right hand. Annie stared and suddenly felt faint.

‘Jesus,’ she said.

Celia had no right hand.

‘Don’t tell him you saw me here,’ said Celia. Her voice trembled.

‘Celia.’ Annie was staring at the space where Celia’s right hand should have been. She felt sick, dizzy. ‘Celia.’ It seemed to be all she could say. She couldn’t take in the horror of it.

Dolly was standing there dumbstruck, white as a sheet, her hand covering her mouth as if she was about to spew her guts up, her eyes locked on the stump of Celia’s right wrist.

‘Celia …’ Annie swallowed convulsively and somehow managed to get a sensible word out. ‘What happened … ?’

‘Promise me you won’t tell him,’ pleaded Celia.

Annie shook her head, staring. You turned up for your mother’s funeral and found your long-lost aunt here minus her right hand. She couldn’t take it in.

Donny was giving Celia the hard eye. Celia caught him staring and her expression transformed into one of total dread. She knew one of Max’s boys when she saw one.

Annie got the message. She turned and said, ‘Donny, fuck off will you? Go and wait for me by the lych gate.’

Donny hesitated. His eyes flicked to the cringing Celia once again.

‘Did you hear me?’ Annie snapped. ‘And listen up. You never saw a thing, Donny. Not a fucking thing. Okay? Or I tell Max you made a pass at me. Don’t think I won’t, I’m telling you I will. Do you believe me?’

Donny said nothing. He nodded.

‘He’d have your arse on a spit if I said the word,’ said Annie. ‘So keep it buttoned – or else.’

Donny stalked off and stood by the gate with a face like thunder.

‘Christ, that told him,’ said Dolly with a trembling voice.

Annie looked at Dolly. Her colour was coming back now, but she still looked shaken. Annie knew what she was thinking. Who did this? And if they could do such a hideous thing to Celia, where did that leave any of Celia’s girls – and Celia’s niece?

‘You won’t tell him you saw me, will you?’ asked Celia. ‘I shouldn’t have come here. I know that. But she was my sister-in-law, the poor bitch, it was the least I could do. I didn’t think anyone would see me if I kept my distance. You won’t tell him, will you?’

‘I won’t tell him,’ said Annie. They both knew
they were talking about Max. ‘Is he responsible for this?’ She nodded at Celia’s right arm.

‘He didn’t do it,’ said Celia.

‘Of course he didn’t. Max don’t have to do his own dirty work, unless he really wants to.’

‘They made me write the note at the kitchen table.’

‘Max’s boys,’ said Annie.
Oh God no
, she thought.
Please no
.

‘Of course she means Max’s bloody boys,’ said Dolly. ‘Who the hell else would she mean? I
knew
there was something bloody fishy going on.’

‘Then they blindfolded me. I thought I was a goner, straight up.’

‘Then what?’ asked Annie. She felt more than sick now – disgusted. Disbelieving.

‘They took me somewhere. A meat market.’ Connie drew a shuddering breath. ‘There was a bloke there … he cut off my hand.’

‘Jesus,’ said Dolly.

‘You won’t tell him you saw me, will you?’

Fuck it, would Celia never stop saying that? ‘I won’t tell him.’

‘You’re all right, Celia,’ said Dolly, patting her shoulder. ‘We won’t breathe a word.’

‘He told me to keep away. I shouldn’t be here.’

‘You’re safe,’ said Annie. ‘Safe as houses.’ Not even she believed that.

‘Do you know what he said when he did it? The chap who cut off my hand?’

Annie and Dolly shook their heads. Dolly looked as if she was about to be sick again now. Annie felt as if someone had hit her with a brick. She was stunned by what had happened to Celia, staggered by the implications of this act of brutality.

‘He said it was a little message,’ Celia sobbed. ‘From Max Carter.’