Jessie Keane: Ruthless

‘Up to his neck. So if he shows his face…’

‘Consider it done.’

Maybe Max had already seen to this. Kath and Junior and Molls would no longer be welcome in this town. She’d tried her best for them, but look how she’d been repaid.

‘The police called, said the bloke who’d done it had been found.’

‘Yeah, shot dead,’ said Annie. ‘Seems he’d upset someone else, and they got to him.’

‘Is that so?’ Ellie’s eyes were like saucers in her plump, pretty face. ‘Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.’

‘The other girls OK? This must have been a horrible shock for them. Layla told me to ask after Destiny and China.’

‘China’s cleared out.’

‘What, gone?’

‘Back to the Philippines. I reckon what happened to Precious scared the crap out of her, and her daughter Tia’s not well. She might come back, but my feeling is she won’t.’

‘And what about Destiny?’

‘Jeez, that blew up in a big way. The husband wasn’t satisfied with beating the living daylights out of her – he started in on the kids too. That finally brought her to her senses – she’s moved them out of the family home and into a women’s refuge. She’s still showing up for work, but I don’t know for how long. He’s been turning up at the door here, making a nuisance of himself.’

Annie thought of her own heartache over Max – and Layla, mourning not only the loss of her friend but of Alberto too.

She heaved a sigh. ‘Ellie, do you sometimes think that men are just too much trouble?’

‘Hell yes.’ Chris passed by the open door, saw the two women sitting there, gave them a smile. ‘But not my Chris,’ she added.

Annie left her there, and took a taxi home to Holland Park. She needed to phone Ruthie, give her the all-clear.

Annie offered to go with her to the funeral, but Layla refused.

‘No, it’s OK. I can do this on my own.’

And she could. She took the train up to Durham, booked into a hotel overnight. Next morning she dressed carefully in her black power suit, added a chunky necklace, black courts, put her hair up in a neat French pleat. Checked herself in the mirror. Added pillar-box red lipstick, smoky black eye shadow and a lot of mascara. Checked herself again. Yes, she looked the business. Precious would be proud.

At ten thirty she took a taxi to the church. They were handing out black-edged booklets as she went in the door, with Amelia Westover picked out in silver on the front cover.

Amelia Westover!

Precious suited her so much better.

There were a lot of mourners, a lot of school friends by the look of it, university types, aged uncles and aunts. Settling herself in at the rear of the church, she saw Mr and Mrs Westover up at the front. Mrs Westover was in bits, and Mr Westover looked gaunt with grief.

Then the organ music changed tone, and the pall-bearers brought in a mahogany coffin laden with white lilies.

Precious is in there.

But she wasn’t. Precious was gone, out into the stars.

Layla felt tears choke her. She put her hand over her heart, did the heart-brain exercise the way Precious had taught her, and grew calmer.

Precious wasn’t in there.

She was gone, she was free.

Later, she shook hands with the Westovers. They seemed so devastated she almost started crying all over again.

‘Oh! It’s Layla, isn’t it,’ said Mrs Westover, looking at her with Precious’s heartbreakingly beautiful eyes.

‘I thought I’d come,’ she said.

‘We’re so glad you did, dear.’ Mrs Westover turned to a woman beside her – a sister, Layla thought, the same bone structure, the same stunning eyes. ‘This is Layla,’ she told her.

‘Did you know Amelia well?’ asked the woman, trying to smile.

‘No, not very well,’ said Layla, thinking of Precious, the Glamazon, the most fabulous creature she had ever clapped eyes on. ‘But she was my friend,’ she said with pride.

‘But you can’t let him go,’ said Layla.

She was back at home in Holland Park, in the study with Annie. And Max had just told them both that he was flying out to Barbados tonight. He was upstairs now, packing.

‘Layla, it’s his decision,’ said Annie. ‘Trouble’s over. He can do whatever he wants.’

Layla eyed her mother intensely. ‘Ask him to stay,’ she pleaded.

Annie sat back in her chair. Her heart felt bruised, the way he’d come right out with it: “I’m going. See you.” Bastard.

‘The funeral went off OK?’ she asked.

‘Don’t change the subject! Yes, it was fine. Bloody horrible, but a nice funeral. Please ask him to stay.’

‘No,’ said Annie. ‘I can’t. Now drop it.’

‘Are you going to at least get the door fixed before you leave?’ asked Annie.

She had wandered upstairs and was now leaning against the wall in the adjoining room to the master suite, watching Max fling things into his bag.

He paused, glancing over at the door still lying there on the carpet.

‘No,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Keep it there as a little reminder of me.’

I don’t need reminders, thought Annie. I’ll never forget you, not as long as I live.

But she couldn’t say it. She was obstinate, true, but he was the one who’d hurt her, not the other way around. All his pain had been whipped up out of his past experiences and his own fevered imagination. She’d done nothing wrong, had nothing to apologize for, all the blame was on him.

‘Did you sort out the Kath business? And Junior and Molls?’ she asked.

‘They’ve been told to fuck off, if that’s what you mean. And word is, they have.’

‘Good.’

Silence fell. He tossed in a shirt, the dark blue one the same colour as his eyes.

‘Well… I hope you have a good trip,’ she said.

‘Thanks.’ He looked at her. ‘I will.’

He’s not even going to kiss me goodbye, she thought.

Well, fuck him.

‘See you then,’ she said, and left the room before she broke down and cried.

When she woke next morning, he was gone.

New York, A month later…

Annie had put feelers out. As well as scouting for premises around Covent Garden in London, she was considering locations for another Annie’s club in New York. She was there now, with Layla, and right this instant she was standing in Times Square with Sonny Gilbert, her manager, looking up at the frontage of the club there.

‘Maybe the red’s a bit dated – what do you think? Time for a refurb?’ she asked him.

She’d been impressed with Max’s three clubs in London; they were classy.

Max.

No. She wasn’t going to think about him.

Sonny puffed out his cheeks. He was a tall thin man with a bald dome of a head, thick glasses and eyes that twinkled through them as he spoke. He folded his arms and gave it some thought.

‘Mm, dunno. I’m still liking the red.’

‘Maybe alter the italics on the lettering? What about Gothic?’

‘Nah, too Interview with a Vampire. You read that?’

‘No.’ Annie never had time to read. Layla loved books; she didn’t.

She thought of Layla, who’d said she was going shopping today. All in all, she thought that Layla was coping with her anguish over Alberto. She was covering it up well, anyway.

‘I thought maybe the background would be better dark blue, or burgundy?’ she suggested.

‘Hm. Not sure.’

Annie turned to Sonny in mild exasperation. He had this whole place running like a Swiss watch and he didn’t like changes. But fuck it, she was the owner.