Jessie Keane - Black Widow

‘Christ, I never thought you’d turn out to be so domestic,’ said Kath, who was now sitting down at the table with the baby rooting away at her breast under her T-shirt. The toddler had stopped whining and was squatting in the far corner on the floor, slapping watercolours on to a sheet of paper.

‘This place is disgusting,’ said Annie.

Just as well Kath’s mother Maureen-Annie’s aunt and her mother Connie’s sister-had passed over. She had been faultlessly neat about her person and her house. To see her daughter living like this would be a bitter disappointment to her.

‘Listen, don’t you come around here telling me what to do,’ said Kath. ‘You might be able to boss Jimmy around because he’s scared of Max bloody Carter, but it don’t wash with me.’

So Jimmy had been as good as his word; he hadn’t told Kath what had happened to Max. Annie breathed a sigh of relief.

‘What’s your name?’ Annie asked the toddler, who was now swooshing his paintbrush around in a glass of water. He didn’t answer, just got back to his paints.

That noise , thought Annie.

‘That’s Jimmy Junior,’ said Kath with a hint of pride. ‘Looks like his dad, don’t he?’

The toddler had Jimmy’s pale brown hair and vivid blue eyes, it was true. Lucky kid, he looked nothing like Kath at all.

‘And this one?’

‘This is Maureen, named after Mum,’ said Kath with a glimmer of tears. ‘Mum passed away last July, and I had Little Mo in August. It seemed fitting to call her after Mum.’

‘Yeah. She’s lovely,’ said Annie.

Dolly had told her all about that. Annie had heard the news of Maureen’s death with real sadness and had phoned Kath immediately. Kath had put the phone down on her, so she sent flowers, feeling that she should do more, but knowing that her efforts would not be appreciated. Annie was looking at Jimmy Junior, painting. He dunked his brush in the water again, swooshed it around. Again, the noise. The familiar noise.

The baby had blue eyes and silky light-brown hair too. Lucky baby. Kath fished her out from under the voluminous T-shirt and put the baby on her shoulder to burp her. Mo let out a massive burp and a fart for good measure. Annie’s eyes met Kath’s, and for a moment Kath was almost smiling at her; then she remembered herself and her face straightened out again.

‘So what did you come here for? Really?’ Kath demanded irritably.

‘I wondered how you were.’

‘As you can see, I’m bloody fine.’

Yeah sure , thought Annie. Everything running just like clockwork, I don’t think.

‘You look like you been in the wars,’ Kath said, her eyes on Annie’s face.

‘Fell down the stairs,’ said Annie.

‘You and Max split up, is that what’s really happened?’

Annie tensed. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Jimmy said you were taking over here and that Jonjo and Max were staying out in the Costas for a bit.’ Kath shrugged. ‘It just don’t seem to fit together, that’s all. I know Jonjo and what he’s like with women, and he’s been running the show here-well, mostly Jimmy has really. Seems unlike Max, that’s all. Handing over the reins like he has. Especially to a woman.’

‘Max is still in overall charge,’ said Annie, wishing this were true. ‘He wants me here running things for a while. The clubs, for instance. Things have got sloppy.’

‘Christ, I bet you’re in your element,’ sniffed Kath. ‘You always were a bossy cow, giving orders left, right, and centre, snatching your sister’s husband.’ She looked at Annie with a stern eye. ‘Oh yeah, I don’t forget. Some of us got long memories.’

‘Ruthie and I parted on good terms,’ said Annie.

‘Like fuck.’ Kath snorted. ‘She gave up and left the scene, that’s all, because she’s a nice woman and you’re not. It’s all about sex with you, Annie Bailey. You wanted Max Carter in bed, and nothing was going to stop you getting him between your legs.’

Annie stood up and put her coat on. ‘Has Ruthie been in touch with you?’ she asked Kath. She’d been daft to come here. What had she honestly expected, except abuse?

‘Sure she has,’ said Kath smugly.

Mo was starting up again with the howling. Not to be left out, Jimmy Junior was joining in.

‘Can I have her address?’

‘No you fucking well can’t.’

‘Her telephone number then?’

‘No. Now bugger off out of my house, Annie Carter.’

What else did I expect but this? Annie wondered. She thought of Jimmy, always neatly turned out, taking pride in his appearance-and the walking shit-heap that was Kath. What would a man like Jimmy do, confronted with this house, this woman, day by day?

She thought she knew.

Annie left and climbed back into the Jag. Tony looked at her in the mirror.

‘Palermo, Tony. Please.’ She sat back and wearily closed her eyes.

Danny had a look of terrible violence about him and it frightened Vita. She had seen him like this before; there was no reasoning with him.

‘Well, what did she say?’ asked Vita, trying to calm him down.

They were in the kitchen of a shabby two-up two-down on the south coast of England and it was not like Majorca in any way. It was fucking cold for one thing, no central heating, no nothing, and she was shivering the whole time. Venture outside and the wind knocked you flat. The rain was vicious. Waves spumed over the nearby front. All she could do was peer out at grey skies and tossing seas from the upstairs window while she tried to distract herself with her painting-by-numbers.

Not that she was much distracted by it. Not when Danny was like this.

She watched him rifling in a drawer, looking for… oh shit …he pulled out a knife.

‘She’s not taking this seriously. Can you believe that bitch is trying to pretend she can’t raise that much money? Christ, Max Carter owns half the East End. No, I’ve got to send her something. Something to convince her I mean business.’

He had that demented look in his eye again.

Vita could feel the bile rising in her stomach, the fear squeezing her guts. She knew Danny had a dark side. Look at what he’d done to the Majorcan couple. Even as a kid he’d been crazy. At eight years old he had strangled his pet rabbit, killed it, and laughed when she ran off crying.

Phil Fibbert, sitting at the kitchen table, was sipping tea and watching all this going on. His eye caught Vita’s. She gave him a look that said: Listen, can’t you do something? Help me out here? Calm him down?

Phil carried on placidly sipping his tea and buried his head in the paper he was pretending to read. He had already decided that Danny Byrne was mad as a box of frogs. And there was no way he was going to try reasoning with him when he had a fucking great knife in his hand.

‘What you going to do?’ Vita asked Danny.

‘Send the bitch a little souvenir,’ he said, and went to the cellar door. He threw it open, flicked on the light at the top of the stairs, and hurried off down to where Layla passed her drugged-up days on a little put-you-up folding bed.

Phil looked up and his eyes met Vita’s again.

Then he went back to the paper, and his tea.

Shuddering, Vita left the room. She edged past the open cellar door and went back upstairs. She didn’t want to hear or see what was happening.

Arnie McFay had been having a good night down at his local snooker hall: he was on a roll and feeling fine. Out with his mates. Having a laugh and a few pints. Everything was good. Stripping off his black leather bomber jacket with ARNIE picked out in studs on the back, he prepared to win a few frames and then the game, pocket the dosh, and roll on home to the old lady.