Jessie Keane: Ruthless

When Rory came in that evening, his navy-blue overalls dirty and his hands caked black from being under engines all day, she was waiting for him.

‘He’ll have to go,’ she said, straight out.

‘What?’ Rory was dipping his fingers into the Swarfega tin at the sink.

‘Rufus. That old bat Simmonds says she’s seen the box-room light on every night, she knows someone’s in there. And he’s been smoking in the garden. She’s seen someone puffing up smoke out there. I had to tell her it was you. Thank God for the high fences. If she knows something’s going on, then others do too.’

Rory looked at her in concern. ‘You didn’t tell her anything…?’

‘I told her we were decorating the room as a nursery, and that I was cramping and had to go.’

‘Well then.’

‘Well nothing. You know what she’s like. Next thing she’ll have baked a cake and she’ll be banging on the door, wanting to see for herself who’s in here.’

‘You’re fretting over nothing.’

‘If Don Callaghan finds out we’re hiding him here, he’ll kill us both. And our baby.’

‘But he don’t know. And he won’t.’

‘If he-’

‘He won’t. He can’t. All we have to do is hold our nerve, OK?’

Rory went off upstairs to see how the invalid was doing, leaving Megan on the sofa with the news blaring on the radio. But she wasn’t taking in a single word as she clutched her arms around her swollen abdomen, shielding the child within.

London, 1983

‘Good trip?’ asked Annie as Layla, brown as a berry, piled into the hallway wafting Hawaiian Tropic and dropping bags and suitcases on to the floor.

Layla was seventeen now, and just back from Christmas in Barbados with Max. Annie had spent Christmas pretty much alone. As usual.

‘It was OK,’ said Layla, looking at her mother with no appearance of affection. ‘Um, the taxi…?’

Annie forced a smile and went out and paid the driver. Then she returned to find Rosa, their housekeeper, gabbling happily in Spanish and enfolding Layla in a welcome-home hug. She knew she didn’t dare do the same. Layla would only push her away.

Rosa hurried off to the kitchen and silence settled between mother and daughter.

‘All spent out then?’ said Annie.

Layla shrugged. ‘Just a few Barbadian dollars and a couple of cents left,’ she said.

‘So! How’s your dad?’ asked Annie, although it hurt.

‘He’s fine,’ said Layla, her face a blank mask as she stared at Annie.

‘You had a good time?’ Annie was still smiling, smiling so hard her cheeks were starting to ache. Layla looked tanned and fit. Her hair was scrunched back in a ponytail, and she was wearing old frayed jeans and a white T-shirt. She looked pretty – and totally hostile.

‘Yeah. It’s fabulous out there.’ Layla gazed around at the marbled hall, the chandeliers, as if this, her mother’s home, was a dosshouse by comparison.

‘Great tan,’ said Annie, longing to hug her.

‘Mm.’ Layla glanced towards the stairs. ‘Well, think I’ll go on up…’

‘Sure! Of course.’ Annie stood there, still smiling that brilliant artificial smile, as Layla grabbed her bag and trudged up the stairs.

Annie turned and walked across to the study. She went inside and shut the door, the smile dropping from her face. She closed her eyes and groaned. Then she went over to the desk, picked up the phone and dialled a number she knew off by heart.

‘Hello,’ said the female voice at the other end. Bowie was singing ‘Let’s Dance’ very loudly in the background. ‘Hold on, let me just put the wood in the hole…’

‘Doll?’ There was a pause while Dolly shut the door.

‘OK, right.’ Bowie was muted now. ‘That’s better. Annie? How’s it going?’

‘Layla’s home.’

‘How is she?’

‘Fine.’

‘How’s her dad?’

‘Also fine, I suppose.’ Annie drew in a shuddering breath. ‘It’s no good, is it, Doll. This is how it’s going to be, from here until eternity. She hates me.’

‘I told you. She don’t hate you, not really. She’s pissed off with you, that’s all.’

‘She’s seventeen. She’s not a child any more. She ought to be able to understand things a bit better now, but she sodding well refuses to. It’s not bloody fair. He was the one who acted like an idiot, and I get all the grief.’

‘Tea at the Ritz on Thursday, don’t forget. Our usual. Ellie’s tagging along.’

Dolly and Ellie had become her personal team of cheerleaders since the divorce. Every time she’d stumbled, they picked her up again. She loved them both, very much.

Annie heaved a sigh. ‘Yeah. That’ll be nice.’

There was a tap at the door as Annie put the phone down. Layla opened the door, poked her head around it.

‘I’m going out,’ she said.

But you only just got in formed itself in Annie’s brain. She bit back the words. Forced a smile.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Dinner’s at eight… you need some money?’

‘Yeah.’

Yeah, of course you do, thought Annie. That’s all I am to you, the Bank of Mum. She opened the top drawer of the desk, pulled out a bundle of fivers, then stood up and went over to the door.

‘Thanks,’ said Layla, pocketing the cash.

‘See you at eight,’ said Annie, thinking, Other daughters kiss their mothers goodbye. Other daughters hug their mums and buy them little gifts and go shopping with them. Not mine.

Layla withdrew, closing the door.

Annie tried to console herself, but Layla’s return and the realization that things hadn’t changed, the fear that they would never change, made her feel depressed. It was a new year, another fucking year, and the same old scenario.

She told herself firmly that it was fine, they would meet up later; Rosa had cooked something special and they would have a chance to chat then. But Annie could feel desperation taking hold. Three years on from the divorce, and still she was getting the cold shoulder. She had, somehow, to reconnect with Layla, and starting tonight, she promised herself she was going to try harder.

But she never got the chance.

Layla didn’t come home until gone ten, so Annie had to eat dinner alone.

Ireland, 1973

Months had passed and Megan’s baby was due to drop. Rather than settling her, the imminent arrival of their first child was making her more edgy.

‘It’s the feckin’ hormones,’ said Rory, sitting on the side of Rufus’s bed upstairs. He grinned. ‘She’s a head case. Can’t think of anything but babies, nursery curtains and nappies.’

‘Not bad things to be thinking about,’ said Rufus with a sigh. He’d never had a serious woman in his life. He’d had a boyhood crush on his cousin Orla, ferocious in its intensity. He could still remember the way he’d felt about her. But they’d lost touch over the years.

He was feeling better now, almost recovered. A little weak, his left arm stiff, but he was well enough to get up during the day, retiring early to bed. Since Megan had marked his card, he’d been careful not to step outside in the garden, high fences or no.

He was lying low. He knew his presence made Megan nervous. And Rory too, if he was honest. If Big Don discovered him here, they would all suffer. He thought of Pikey, the poor little fool, dying in that horrible way before he’d gotten the chance to grow older and wiser. It tormented him.

‘I want to see a priest,’ he said. ‘Light a candle for Pikey. Make my confession.’