Jessie Keane - Ruthless

Precious ran off out of the room and returned minutes later clutching a textbook and a large wad of paperwork.

‘What’s this?’ asked Layla, turning the textbook around so that she could read the title.

‘ Clinical Psychology ?’ she read in surprise.

‘I’m studying for my finals, and supporting myself with the dancing,’ said Precious. ‘I’ve covered bereavement counselling, now I’m doing stress management.’

‘My God,’ said Layla, laughing. ‘You’re full of surprises.’

‘I’m doing couple counselling next.’ Precious pulled a face. ‘Maybe Destiny could benefit.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘D’you think she does this for fun?’ Precious got up and gently closed the door. She lowered her voice. ‘She’s got three kids to support. She was stinking rich once, you know. Her husband was a banker, but he lost his job.’

‘That’s tough,’ said Layla. A lot of City jobs had gone down the drain since Black Monday, the previous October. It had hit the market like a tornado, and the fallout had dragged on and on. Fearing for her own job, she could well understand the trauma Destiny’s husband had gone through.

‘It gets tougher,’ said Precious. ‘He was full of it at first. Men are, aren’t they. Their loss, he said. Firms were crying out for his sort of expertise. He’d farm himself out to small companies, give them guidance for shares or a fee.’

‘Sounds a good plan.’

‘Yeah, but meanwhile they’re living off their savings, and he insists on carrying on as if he’s still pulling in a fortune in basic plus a hundred grand in bonuses.’

‘Ah.’ Through her accountancy work, Layla had come across this sort of thing all too often. A previously wealthy, powerful man’s inability to accept a lesser reality. It usually led one way: to the bankruptcy court.

‘It seems even he started to wake up in the end. He said they’d sell the house. And the live-in housekeeper-nanny would have to go. And the gym memberships. Destiny agreed to it all. But when she said she’d get a job, he flew into a rage, so she dropped it. He’d handle it, he told her. He’d always managed their money, did she think he was incapable of looking after his family or something? Only the house didn’t fetch nearly as much as they’d expected, and his business didn’t go well, and the rental on their new flat was forever being hiked up by the landlord. But whenever Destiny voiced her concerns, her old man would go into a strop, so in the end she just kept quiet.’

‘Didn’t he take any financial advice?’ asked Layla.

‘Oh, are you kidding? He thought he was Paul Getty, he could turn shit into gold. What would he want advice for? After a while the moods dipped even further and he started to sink into depression, lying on the couch all day staring at the TV. Then Destiny got a call from the landlord telling her he hadn’t been paid in months.’

‘Jesus!’

‘So Destiny pulled the kids out of their private schools and put them into local comprehensive. Hubby went crazy, of course. But by this time Destiny’d had a gutful. She said she was going to get a job. She’d been a secretary when they first met – she was his second wife, the trophy wife, the beautiful younger one – and she said she could do that job again. He freaked and accused her of only wanting to get into an office so that she could embark on an affair. Still, she started applying, going for interviews, only she couldn’t land a secretarial job, and the bills were mounting, so she ended up here.’

‘And does he know …?’

‘Don’t be silly.’ Precious heaved a heartfelt sigh. ‘She’s covering the bills, but playing it down as much as she can, telling him she’s waitressing. Because the pay’s so good, she’s been salting a bit of fuck-you money away on the side.’

‘Huh?’

‘Fuck-you money. Haven’t you heard that expression?’

‘No.’

‘It’s for when she decides enough is enough, and she bails.’

‘Will she bail?’

‘Hard to say. She still loves him, but if she’s got any sense, she’ll get out of it. Her life’s a nightmare, the poor cow. He barely even talks to her these days, and she’s starting to suspect he’s being unfaithful. Well, he cheated on his first wife, why wouldn’t he do it to his second?’ Precious shook her head. ‘Me, I’m never getting married. Not ever. I like to steer my own ship. I don’t need some gormless, arrogant git to start grabbing the controls.’

‘So you’re going to be a psychologist,’ smiled Layla.

‘Got it in one. As soon as I qualify, I’m out of here.’

‘Yeah, as if I haven’t heard that a million times before,’ said Ellie, putting her head around the door.

‘It’s true,’ said Precious, unfazed.

‘We’ll see,’ Ellie smiled. She turned to Layla. ‘You got a visitor, Layla. Your brother’s here.’

Layla stepped out into the hall. It seemed to be packed full of tall, hard-eyed men. One of them turned around and gave her a dazzling smile. Layla felt the blood rush to her face at the shock of seeing him here. She was blushing, for God’s sake. And she looked a mess. Old jeans and a tatty T-shirt and her hair pulled back and… damn it, some things never changed. He had only to smile at her and she was ready to roll over and die.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she said.

‘And hello to you too,’ said Alberto.

‘He’s not my brother,’ Layla blurted out to Ellie, who was standing there with Chris, the pair of them all expectant and deferential, as if royalty had pitched up at their door. Which she supposed it had, sort of.

‘Oh?’ Ellie looked uncomfortable. She knew who Alberto was. She had known his father Constantine through her connection to Annie. And she couldn’t understand why Layla was acting so bad-tempered.

Why the hell did I say that? Layla wondered in anguish. She was hotly aware of all eyes on her, of Precious pushing into the doorway behind her and ogling Alberto with great interest.

‘Well, that’s correct. I’m not your brother,’ said Alberto, stepping smoothly forward. ‘Not technically .’ His eyes were resting on Layla’s face. ‘But I’ve always thought of you as my sweet, prickly little English sister.’

Precious cleared her throat. Layla saw Alberto’s eyes slip from her to Precious, and felt her guts clench up.

‘Aren’t you going to introduce us, Layla?’ said Precious, smiling, already extending her beautifully manicured hand towards Alberto.

‘Sure.’ Layla folded her arms, her face like thunder. ‘Alberto, this is Precious. Precious, Alberto.’

‘Who is definitely not Layla’s brother, right?’ said Precious, all smiles. ‘And American, is that right too?’

‘That’s right,’ said Alberto, taking Precious’s hand. ‘Hi, Precious.’

Then he turned to Layla. ‘Now come here and gimme a hug, Layla. And in answer to your question, your mother asked me to come. That’s what I’m doing here.’

‘Oh. Dear. God,’ said Precious, stretched out on Layla’s bed an hour later and staring wistfully at the ceiling.

Alberto had departed, taking his entourage with him. And Precious had said there was not a single doubt about it: she was in love.

‘What?’ snapped Layla, sitting on the stool by the dressing table.

‘Oh, come on. That man is fabulous .’ She turned her head and stared at Layla. ‘And he’s not your brother? Really?’

‘Of course he’s not my brother. Not in any way, shape, or form. His father married my mother. We’re in no way related.’