Three Kings

Constance rolled up her left sleeve. It had been almost fifty years, but the scars still hadn’t disappeared. They’d turned a silvery white, as if spider webs had been carved in her flesh, but they were still deep, the skin puckering around them. She held her arm out where he could see it. He let out a low whistle and reached to touch her, but she shrank away. The memory of what had created those scars, a terrible phantom pain, flared.

‘See, Ronnie’s ace was in his touch,’ she continued, rolling her sleeve back down quickly, fastening the button at the cuff. ‘If he thought about it, he could slice someone open all razor-like.’ It made her stomach flip again just to talk about it. She tried to make it sound matter-of-fact, but her voice betrayed her.

‘You might have told me that Ronnie Kray had taken it upon himself to carve you up,’ Bobbin said, reaching out to take her hand. She pulled it away. ‘There was no reason not to tell me. You can tell me anything.’

She cocked her head to one side, considering him. She knew him so well, yet she couldn’t be certain how he would react. There was only one thing to do and it was to get across this heavy ground as lightly as possible.

‘Bobbin, I killed Ronnie Kray. Well, Glory and I did.’

He stared at her, shocked. Well, what did you expect? she thought. Silence stretched out between them. It felt as if she was looking at him from the wrong end of a telescope.

‘But … Reggie Kray went to prison for killing Ronnie,’ he said at last. She stopped feeling as if he was moving away from her. At least he was still talking.

‘I know,’ she replied with a sigh of relief. ‘It wasn’t an easy thing to sort out.’

His face scrunched up. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘How did it happen?’

‘I was trying to get away from them and Glory was trying to help me.’ The memories of killing Ronnie rose up with terrible freshness.

‘Ronnie found us. He tried to kill us. Sliced Glory’s flowers clean off. Tried to cut me up again.’ She remembered Glory’s slippery blood on the floor smelling like copper mixed with the scent of her shorn flowers.

Constance pulled her shears out of her pocket. They were her special ones. ‘I used these,’ she said, holding them out flat on her palm.

He gazed at them as if they were going to bite, then he looked back up at her. ‘Why do ya still have those?’

The shears teetered and she closed her hand around them and then slid them back into her pocket. ‘Because … because I didn’t want to forget. Didn’t want to take anything for granted.’

‘You were just about a girl, how could you cover up something like that?’ he asked, frowning. ‘How did it get pinned on Reggie?’

This was where it was going to get tricky. She knew she had to tell him, but she was loath to. Maybe if he just had part of it now – the worst part – maybe the other … that could be put off.

‘It was Mick who helped us,’ she replied smoothly. ‘See, he and Glory, well, they’d always been sweet on one another …’

Bobbin waved his hand. ‘Yes, yes, everyone knew about that.’

She laughed. Bobbin had never been one for scandals.

‘Mick knew a lot of people. A lot of people who were interested in him … like MI7.’

Bobbin burst out laughing. ‘Mick Jagger? In MI7? Were they completely daft?’

‘It was a different time, Bobbin. They were trying to recruit people. Mick was famous. They wanted a sort of counter-culture face while they were recruiting.’

‘Seriously?’ Wonder bloomed on his face. ‘Mick Jagger.’ He shook his head. ‘Well, we all know he isn’t part of MI7 … unless … Is he? No, and how would you know anyway?’ He chuckled.

‘I called Mick after Glory and I, well, after. Glory was hurt badly. I thought he could get us out of the country. The Stones were going on tour … He called MI7 to make a deal with them. They would help cover up the murder, help us get out of the country and he would join them.’

‘Well, obviously, that didn’t happen.’ Bobbin looked perplexed. He rubbed his palms on his trousers and left little rips from his needle protrusions.

‘We worked things out with them and I got to stay here and Glory went on to the States with Mick.’

‘And you got to stay …’ His tone was thoughtful.

She smiled. He was taking it remarkably well.

‘And then you started making clothes for Her Majesty. Do I have the right of it?’

‘Yes!’

‘And you were working for MI7 then, weren’t you?’ he asked. ‘Making clothes … For MI7.’

‘Yes.’ She wasn’t sure what he was getting at.

‘MI7 is for aces. They let Mick get away because they had you . That was the deal you made.’ She recoiled from the expression on his face.

‘I … I … It was the only thing to do! Glory got to be safe. She had Mick to take care of her. Reg went to jail. And all because I went to work for them.’

‘So, you’re an ace, then.’ He said it with a flat voice.

‘Yes,’ she replied shakily. ‘My clothes …’

He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I should have known. Should’ve realized. You making her clothes all the time. Henry wanting you to make his clothes. Being so intent on it. Must be an awfully powerful ace.’

‘No,’ she said softly, shaking her head.

‘Don’t lie to me,’ he snapped back. ‘You been lying enough.’

‘I haven’t been lying! I couldn’t tell anyone!’ That he would think she’d been lying to him wounded her.

‘You’re an ace . Working a shop full of jokers. Working with me for forty years and ya never told me. Never told me we were alike. Both of us infected. And working for MI7 …’ He shook his head. When he looked at her again, it was with disgust.

‘What exactly would you have had me do?’ she asked. She tried to keep the pleading out of her voice. She had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. She’d saved all of them and protected the Queen for decades. He had no right to judge her.

‘You had forty years to tell me the truth!’ he yelled. ‘I thought I knew you!’

‘Well, I’ve told you now.’ It sounded weak even to her ears.

‘Because you had to.’ It was an accusation.

‘No,’ she said, reaching out to him. He recoiled. ‘Because I wanted to. Because …’

‘I don’t care,’ he said, suddenly weary, slumping in his chair. ‘You hid yourself from me. You pretended to be something you’re not. I don’t know who you are. I’m not certain I want to know you.’

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ she said defensively. ‘I’m me. You know me.’

‘No, Constance, I don’t. You’ve killed a man – one that needed killing – but even so. And you’ve been working for MI7, as dirty an organization as there is. And you’re an ace. How pathetic you must have thought I was with my needled hands and piebald face.’

She jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hip. ‘I’ve never thought ya were anything other than a fine man, Bobbin, and well you know it.’

He looked up at her and shook his head slowly. ‘No,’ he said, with a hitch in his voice that was almost worse than when he was angry. ‘If ya had thought I was a fine man, ya woulda told me.’

It felt as if she’d been hit in the chest with a rounders ball. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her voice high and jittery. She took a step towards him, but he backed away. The pain in her chest grew. She wondered if she was having a heart attack.

‘Bobbin,’ she said, her voice cracking now. ‘Bobbin …’

But he’d already spun on his heel and was striding out of the door far faster than his usual gait. A cold burst of wind blew through the door as it swung shut.