Jessie Keane - Ruthless

‘Right.’

Precious was staring at Layla’s face.

‘What?’ demanded Layla.

‘You seem mad at me. Why are you mad at me?’ asked Precious. This was a feature of the girl, and one of the reasons Layla had taken to her. She had this disarming, completely in-your-face and open honesty – she was so unlike Layla herself, who bottled everything up inside.

‘I’m not mad at you,’ said Layla.

‘Well, you seem to be.’

‘It’s just…’ started Layla.

‘Yes?’ prompted Precious. ‘Just what? Is there a problem with me fancying your brother…?’

Layla jumped to her feet. ‘He’s not my fucking brother!’ she yelped.

‘Oh.’ Precious sat up, her eyes fastened on Layla’s face. She swung her legs to the floor. ‘Oh dear. I think I’ve got it.’

‘You’ve got what ?’

‘You fancy him yourself.’

‘That’s…’ Layla swiped a hand over her scraped-back hair. ‘That’s complete and utter bullshit .’

‘Is it?’

Layla’s face seemed to collapse in on itself. ‘Oh Christ… no it’s not. Oh damn it, I’m such a mess…’

‘No you’re not.’

Layla started pacing around the room. ‘It’s totally ridiculous. How could I be so stupid as to develop a crush on him? It’s insane .’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite as strongly as that,’ said Precious, smiling slightly. ‘How long have you felt this way about him?’

Layla looked at Precious uncertainly. She’d never shared this with anyone. But she liked Precious. They’d formed a bond from the instant they’d met. And… yes, she trusted her. Precious wouldn’t blab, she knew it.

‘Oh shit, just about forever,’ she said, exhaling sharply. ‘Since I was ten years old, I think. It was so bad I was embarrassed to be anywhere near him – I was relieved to be at school in England. And whenever he came over, I did the vanishing act.’ Layla looked at Precious. ‘Pathetic, yes?’

Precious shrugged. ‘You can’t legislate for how you feel. And as you so rightly say – he’s not your brother.’

‘Oh no.’ Layla was shaking her head, wagging her finger in Precious’s face. ‘No, I can see what you’re doing. You’re doing me, aren’t you? All this psychology stuff, all this counselling hoo-ha – you’re trying it out on me.’

Precious didn’t seem to be listening. She had a look of excitement on her face. Her eyes were moving over Layla assessingly.

‘He sees you – and he sees his sister ,’ she said.

‘Well, obviously.’

‘He doesn’t see you as a fanciable woman. Well, it would be a bit of a push,’ said Precious.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing.’

‘No, come on. What?’ she demanded.

‘I wonder why you feel the need to play down your looks so much, that’s all,’ shrugged Precious.

‘Look, just bugger off, will you?’ said Layla through gritted teeth. Who the fuck did this girl think she was, to say that? ‘ Bugger off. Go and shake your arse in someone’s face, that’s what you’re best at.’

Precious stood up. Though Layla was trembling with fury, Precious seemed unperturbed. ‘Attack as the best form of defence,’ she said, smiling.

‘Fuck off!’ yelled Layla.

Precious hadn’t long gone when Layla heard the phone ringing in the office down the hall. Ellie picked up, and Layla heard her own name mentioned. She went out into the corridor, listening. Ellie was saying: ‘No, no, far too poorly to come to the phone… Well, of course it’s an inconvenience for you, and she feels terrible about letting you down, but what can she do?… A major audit?… Well, you know what a conscientious girl Layla is, she wouldn’t ever want to let you down, but she’s so ill… Yes, OK, I’ll see she gets the message.’

Ellie put the phone down, looked at Layla. ‘Sounds like your boss is a right prick!’

‘Was it Etchingham?’ Layla could feel her heart pounding.

‘Yeah, that’s the one: Graham Etchingham. Your mum must have given him this number,’ said Ellie. ‘Cold-blooded fucker.’

‘That’s my head of department. What exactly did he say?’

‘He wants a doctor’s certificate by tomorrow.’ Ellie shrugged. ‘Don’t worry about it – your dad could get you ten if you wanted. Whew – talk about a short fuse!’

Layla chewed her lip. ‘I’m going to lose my job,’ she moaned.

‘No you’re not,’ said Ellie, getting up to give her a hug. Layla was such a worrier: Ellie wished she’d toughen up, grow a bit of a ruthless streak like her mother. Fuck Etchingham. He was a tiny parasite on the arse-end of the Earth, nothing for a Carter woman to trouble herself over. Why couldn’t Layla see that?

‘Yes, I am ,’ Layla insisted, pulling free of Ellie’s embrace. ‘Because no one knows how long this is going to go on for, do they? I’ve been off three days – three days! – and already Etchingham’s spitting blood.’

‘Well, there’s nothing we can do about it, is there?’ said Ellie. ‘We just have to sit tight until this resolves itself.’

Layla had her doubts that this would ever resolve itself. Ellie didn’t know the whole story, the full awfulness of what had happened. All Ellie knew was that Annie had a bit of trouble. No one had told her that Layla had killed a woman, shot her dead. Layla shuddered anew to think of it. Couldn’t believe it, even now. She had a terrifying sense of things hurtling beyond her control, and she hated that. She craved normality, neat rows of figures to add up and make sense of.

She craved her job.

‘The police are sniffing around,’ said Annie next morning.

They were in the drawing room, Max on one sofa, she on another. Only a few feet apart, but it seemed like a mile. She didn’t want to talk to him. But all this shit was happening, and Layla was clearly at risk. They were her parents. They had to communicate, even if it was a pain in the arse.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said Max.

‘Meaning?’ she asked.

He stretched lazily in his chair. Annie kept her eyes on his face.

‘Meaning you’re sitting on a pile of Mafia money here, aren’t you.’

Annie felt her jaw clench. ‘This house is mine,’ she said.

‘Yeah, but it was Constantine Barolli’s. Before he cashed in his chips.’

‘What are you driving at, exactly?’

‘The Bill don’t ever rest over Mafia millions. They’ll never let it go.’

Annie thought of standing in the graveyard with Alberto, of the things he’d told her. That he might be forced to make a break for it any time now. She knew Max was right about the cops and their attitude to people profiting from organized crime.

‘And besides, there are other things,’ said Max.

Annie took a calming breath. ‘Can we not talk in riddles please?’

Max shrugged. ‘If I say it straight, you’ll kick off.’

‘Try me.’

‘Come on. You know what people are saying. Same thing they’ve always said.’

‘No. I don’t. Humour me.’

‘OK. They’re saying you’re his mistress. And that you only have to let out one little squeak and he’s over here, hanging out the back of you.’

Annie’s eyes were like chips of ice. ‘Alberto’s my stepson,’ she snapped.

Her heart was pounding hard against her ribs. She felt sick. This was what had broken up their marriage. This was the whole source of all their bitter arguments. Max had never accepted that her relationship with Alberto was an innocent one.