Widows

by Lynda La Plante

  Boxer fell to his knees as soon as the cold night air hit him. Eddie looked down the alley and saw the headlamps of a car blink once. All he had to do now was get Baldy out of the way.

  “Let’s get to the strip joints, eh?” Eddie said, pretending to be drunk. “You fancy a tits ’n’ arse club, Boxer? I’m paying. You too, mate . . .” Eddie turned to Baldy and patted his pockets. “Shit, I’ve left me wallet on the bar. Do us a favor,” he said to Baldy. “Nip inside and get me wallet while I get him up off the floor.” Baldy, thinking he was on to a free night of fit young women and free beer, eagerly toddled off back inside the club.

  The instant Baldy was out of sight, Eddie walked off at speed in the opposite direction of the car. Boxer staggered to his feet, held onto a bin and moaned, “Wait for me, Eddie, wait for me!”

  The car tooted its horn once. Boxer turned and looked, peering down the alley to see if it was someone he knew. Suddenly the headlights came on full beam and Boxer swayed as he put his hand up to shade his eyes. Then the headlights went out, the engine roared and the car accelerated up the alley, knocking bins and rubbish into the air. Boxer, still dazzled by the bright light, couldn’t see anything clearly, only hear the engine approaching fast—but his drunken brain wouldn’t engage his legs. The car slammed into him, sending him spiraling into the air, up and over the car and onto the ground with a sickly thud. Bits of paper, empty bottles, rain-sodden boxes and other rubbish swirled around him as he tried to move, tried to get up, tried to get to safety.

  The car screeched to a halt at the end of the alley. Looking in the rearview mirror, the driver saw Boxer roll onto all fours. “Tough old sod,” he muttered to himself as he slammed the car into reverse and drove over Boxer not once, but twice more, crashing his rear bumper against the alley wall in the process. As the car slowly left the alley, the damaged back lights blinked on and off.

  Boxer lay among the shit and rubbish, broken and bleeding. His breathing was sharp and shallow as his lungs desperately tried to fill with air. He could see the bright lights of the street just up ahead, but no one could see him in the darkness of the alley. Partly protected from the excruciating pain by the huge amount of alcohol in his body, he managed to crawl a few feet toward the lights, before collapsing into unconsciousness among a pile of rubbish. He would have been just visible from the street if anyone had cared to look—but even if someone had caught a glimpse of an arm sticking out from behind the bins, they would have just taken him for a drunk and ignored him.

  Baldy staggered out of the club and into the alley. “Your wallet’s not in—” But the alley was deserted. “Bang goes my night,” he moaned as he went back into the club. “I hope they get the clap.”

  Chapter 15

  Dolly was in the convent kitchen peeling potatoes for lunch. Her normal routine was to serve dinner to the children, but she’d decided to get in early today and help out. She was filled with so much energy that she had to release it somehow.

  As Dolly had pulled into the grounds at around 7 a.m., it occurred to her that Bella would probably only now be getting in from her job. She worked so hard, probably for very little, and yet she was one of the strongest people Dolly had met. Linda was no doubt probably still in bed—she never listened to Dolly’s advice. Now, as for Shirley . . . Dolly smiled. Shirley was starting to come round to her way of thinking.

  After helping the children to make their beds, Dolly had gone to the nursery to help feed the babies. As she entered the room, she’d been stunned breathless at the sight of a baby boy lying in the cot she had donated from her own nursery. She knew that her things were here and was delighted that they were being used, but she still found it very upsetting. One of the nuns had handed Dolly a bottle of warm milk and then, without a word, left the room.

  Dolly had walked slowly toward her son’s cot and looked down at the unwanted child using it now. The nametag on the cot read, “Ben.”

  “Hello, Ben,” Dolly had whispered, and the baby stretched and opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. They looked at each other for a few moments, sizing each other up and deciding that they’d no doubt get on. Dolly’s heart had jumped between two distinct feelings: sorrow at how anyone could not want Ben, and pride at knowing that she’d have been an amazing mum. Dolly had fed many babies at the convent since the loss of her own son, but this was the first time she’d leaned down into the very cot bought by Harry all those years ago and lifted out a perfect, beautiful baby boy. He lay content in her arms and, in that moment, all of Dolly’s feelings of loss connected to the past—her own and Ben’s—disappeared, and she focused only on the here and now. “I’m Dolly,” she’d said testing the milk’s temperature on her wrist, “and I’m going to give you your breakfast.”

  With the potatoes peeled, cut and boiling in a huge pan of water, Dolly fried up the mince and vegetables, thickening it with Bisto gravy granules before putting the lot into a large oven tray. She then mashed the potatoes, layered them on top of the mince and put everything into the oven to finish and crisp.

  Dolly grated an entire block of cheese as she looked out of the window at the children playing in the garden. Beyond the garden fence, an unmarked police car with two bored-looking surveillance officers inside watched the convent. “Keep watching, boys,” Dolly whispered to herself as she grated the cheese. “Cos I’m gonna do this . . . and I’m gonna do it right under Resnick’s nose.”

  When Dolly finally left the convent after lunch, she drove to Knightsbridge and parked in the customer car park at Harrods. Entering the building through the main doors, she walked through various departments before stopping to try on a hat. While she turned this way and that, she looked in the mirror to see how close the officer tailing her was. She calculated she just had time to make it out of the corner door, onto the busy street and then down into the tube station before he’d be able to figure out exactly which way she went.

  Once in the station, she bought a newspaper and then crossed to the ticket office and bought a return ticket to Leicester Square. She watched the reflections of people behind her in the ticket kiosk glass, but couldn’t see the officer who had been following her in Harrods, although she was still wary. Any one of the sea of unknown faces could be another plain-clothes waiting to pick up her tail.

  After getting off the train, Dolly zigzagged her way to the bank, changing direction numerous times along the way to be absolutely certain that she wasn’t still being followed. She had stopped outside the Army and Navy Store on the Strand and done some window-shopping, but was more interested in the reflections than the goods. Once she was sure she was safe, she headed to the bank. She needed to check out the ledgers to see if Bill Grant was ever mentioned and she also needed some more money for the girls.

  Shirley’s mum Audrey was frozen stiff; her feet were numb and even her fur-lined boots didn’t help in this weather. She stamped her feet and blew into her mitten-gloved hands. The bitter cold had made for poor trade so far today and she’d not sold a thing since ten o’clock. Audrey could murder a coffee, but didn’t like to keep drinking as it made her want to pee, which meant asking “Mushroom Features” on the next stall to take care of hers. That meant ten pence for him, and then she’d have a hard time explaining to the greengrocer why the takings were low against the produce sold.

  She tried occupying herself with people-watching and soon spotted Tony Fisher pull up in a flash-looking motor. She knew Tony of old—his mother and her mother had worked together down Covent Garden Market, before it was all cleared out and moved to Nine Elms. Last Audrey heard, Tony’s mum had a job cleaning for a big firm at the Aldwych.

  She watched Tony get out the car—handsome bloke, she thought, well dressed, and the cashmere coat he had on his back must have set him back a few hundred quid. She shrugged. His poor old mother was cleaning offices and there he was, parading round like some model out of a fashion mag! She shook her head and straightened her stack of paper bags.

  When she looked up a
gain, Tony was walking directly toward her. She hid her fear and smiled at him. He nodded. Cheeky bugger’s going to demand a free apple or something most likely, thought Audrey. Although she’d known Tony all his life, she wasn’t under any illusion that this afforded her any favors; she knew his reputation. She nervously touched her woolly hat and noticed Mushroom Features flicking glances at Tony and then quickly back at her.

  “You got a problem?” Tony asked him, pleasantly enough, and the squirt instantly turned his back on them. Audrey noticed that every other stall holder close by also took one look at Tony and then avoided eye contact. They knew trouble when they saw it.

  “Apples look nice, Audrey,” Tony said with a beaming smile. He had been a cheeky lad when he was younger, but now there was menace to him and he was hard to read. Audrey polished and bagged an apple for him and vainly hoped that it really was all he wanted. Right now, Audrey was wishing she’d had much, much more coffee and had gone to the loo, leaving Mushroom Features to deal with Tony.

  He bit into the apple and seemed pleased enough. Audrey breathed a small sigh of relief. But she knew Tony wasn’t just here for one apple.

  “Nice and sweet,” Tony said, “just like your Shirley.” Audrey’s smile disappeared in a split second. “Where’s she living these days?”

  Audrey knew full well that the likes of Tony Fisher don’t turn up out of the blue for a friendly chat; they want something, and it’s usually something you don’t want to give. The thought of him wanting something from Shirley sent a shiver down her spine.

  “I haven’t seen her since her Terry’s funeral. Last she told me was she was going to Spain to do some modeling,” Audrey said unconvincingly. Shirley was suddenly very flush with cash; had her baby got herself involved with the Fishers?

  Tony gripped the edge of the stall. “I asked you where she’s living.”

  “She moves around a lot. Stays with friends—you know how it is.”

  With one shove of his strong arm, Tony shook the stall so that the loosest fruit rolled off into the gutter that ran the length of the market.

  “Please don’t do that, Tony.”

  “Next shove it all goes over, and what for, eh, Aud? I just want to talk to her, that’s all.”

  “Leave her alone, eh? She’s been through so much . . .”

  Tony noticed Audrey looking over his shoulder as she tailed off, before she gave a slight shake of her head.

  “Hi Mum, you seen that waste of space Greg about? That duff motor he got me is playing up again and I—” As Shirley clocked Tony, the rest of her sentence stuck in her throat and the color drained from her face.

  “Hello, Shirley, how was Spain?” Tony turned slowly and stared at her forehead with a menacing smile.

  Audrey quickly jumped in. “I was just tellin’ Tony you’d been in Spain doing some modeling. He was askin’ where you was.”

  Tony looked Shirley up and down, stopping to gawp at her tits. “You’re looking lovely, Shirl.”

  “Thank you,” Shirley stuttered. She had no idea how to deal with the likes of Tony Fisher.

  “I was hoping we could go for a little chat. We’ll go to yours; it’ll be quiet there.”

  Audrey jumped in again. “I’ll give you something to take back with you,” she said, desperately trying to keep calm as she wrapped some carrots and handed them to Shirley, “She’s back with me at the moment, aren’t you, Shirl? There you go, you take those back with you. We can have them with tea. I won’t be far behind you. Not far behind you at all.” Audrey knew that she couldn’t stop Tony from leaving the market with her daughter, but hoped beyond hope that if they went back to her house then Greg would still be there with his stupid mates.

  “What do you want to talk to me about?” Shirley asked, nervously screwing the paper round the carrots till it ripped.

  Tony grabbed her by the arm. “Let’s go. We can talk at your mum’s.” He led Shirley toward his car, gripping her elbow so hard she was unable to resist.

  Shirley glanced back at Audrey, who mouthed that she’d follow, but neither knew if she’d be able to follow quickly enough. The second Tony’s car pulled out of sight, Audrey threw her money belt at Mushroom Features and ran as fast as she could toward the pub, where she hoped to get a lift back to her flat. If there was no one who could help her, she’d run the whole way, fueled by the fear of what that bastard might do to her little girl.

  Tony had to lift his feet high off the floor in Audrey’s kitchen to step his way through dirty laundry and rubbish bags. The ironing board was laden with creased clothes, the kitchen table still had dirty breakfast things on it, and a week’s worth of dirty dishes were stacked in the sink and all over the draining board. It was disgusting.

  “You in, Greg?” Shirley shouted, but there was no reply. “I want a word with you about that car! Come down if you’re in!”

  Tony took off his cashmere coat, folded it and placed it on the ironing board. “Just us,” he whispered menacingly. He pulled two chairs out from the kitchen table, sat down in one and pointed at the other. “Sit down with me.”

  Shirley was shaking. She wasn’t clever like Linda; she was scared and knew she was showing it. “I’ll make us a coffee,” she said. Anything to keep her distance from Tony.

  Tony had fancied Shirley ever since he first saw her five years ago, when she was still a teenager. Why she’d married that muttonhead Terry, he’d never know. Terry had brought her down the club to a private party once; Shirley must only have been about sixteen or seventeen at the time, but she was well stacked even then, fresh-looking and ripe for the taking. Tony crossed his legs and eased his crotch. He was turning himself on thinking about what he’d like to do to her.

  Shirley was shaking uncontrollably, her hand trembling as she opened the fridge door to get the milk. Tony watched her bend her lovely head and sniff at the bottle.

  She made a face. “It’ll have to be black,” she said nervously as she flicked the kettle on.

  Tony said nothing, just watched her. Every movement she made was sexy; the more flustered she got, the sexier she looked and the more it turned him on.

  Shirley had to squeeze past him to get the coffee. As she did, he suddenly grabbed her and pulled her down onto his lap. She sat stiff-backed as he leaned forward and sniffed her neck. It smelt like fresh lemons. He touched the clear fresh skin and she shivered with fear as he moved his fingers up and down. Tony began to undo her shirt buttons.

  “You must know how gorgeous you are. Do you like what you do to men?”

  “No,” Shirley stammered. “I don’t know . . . I don’t do anything on purpose.” She tried to stop him by pushing his groping hands away but he grabbed her hard round the wrist and, with his other hand, undid another button. He let go of her wrist and was about to put his hand inside her shirt when Shirley jumped up off his knee and went for the coffee.

  Tony laughed as he watched her trying to spoon out the granules, pour the boiling water and button up her shirt all at the same time. Her hands were shaking. He lit a cigarette and moved over to stand close behind her, squeezing against her body as he took the kettle out of her hands and poured the boiling water into the cup. Shirley tried to move away from him, but he placed his free arm around her waist and trapped her. “Shall we have that chat now?” he asked.

  “If you like,” Shirley said in a very small voice.

  “You know anything about Harry Rawlins’s ledgers?”

  Shirley shook her head.

  “Terry ever mention them?” Tony continued.

  “Nothing, I don’t know anything about them. I mean, I dunno even what they are.”

  Tony drew on his cigarette and held it in his mouth, one arm still loose around her waist. The smoke stung her eyes, as it always did, but she was so terrified she hardly noticed.

  Tony’s arm tightened round her hip, pulling her close to his body. He pushed his groin against her backside and she could feel how excited he was by the power he had over her. He wa
s going to rape her, she was sure. He put the kettle down and pulled her shirt forward, roughly slipping his hand inside to cup her breast.

  “Lovely,” he whispered, breathing cigarette smoke all over her.

  “What do you want?” Shirley tried not to tremble but it was no good.

  “All in good time,” Tony replied as he continued to fondle her. “Very nice. Firm but soft, all at the same time.” Shirley’s trembling was putting him off. “Relax, will you? I ain’t gonna hurt you. I just want to know about those ledgers, darlin’, that’s all.”

  “I don’t know—”

  Before Shirley could finish, Tony had pinned her arms against her side, taken his cigarette from his mouth and held it so close to her breast she could feel the heat.

  “Oh, God, no. Please don’t!” Shirley screamed.

  “You still doing the beauty circuits, are you? I bet they don’t touch you with a barge pole if you’ve got the slightest blemish, do they? Sanctimonious bastards. I’d still touch every inch of you though, Shirl, don’t you worry about that. Now tell me where those ledgers are.”

  “I don’t know, Tony, I swear I don’t.”

  As Tony moved the cigarette closer to her perfect skin, Shirley swiped at his hand and knocked his cigarette to the floor. “Bitch!” he screamed, and hit her hard across the mouth with the back of his hand. She crumpled in a heap onto the floor. Her lip was cracked and a thin trickle of blood oozed out, poppy-red against her ashen skin. Tony gripped her by the hair, unzipped his trousers and began to force her head toward his crotch.

  Greg had never been one for good timing, but for once he got it exactly right. The door to the kitchen swung open to reveal him in his punk leather gear and ear studs, his hair dyed pink and yellow. Behind him were his mates, Arch, with his Mohawk haircut and leopard-print T-shirt, and Fruity Tooty, who had a shaved head and thick black eye make-up, and was dressed in a full-length black leather trench coat. The three of them looked like characters out of a B-list horror movie. At first, as Tony Fisher quickly zipped up his fly, Greg thought he had caught his sister in a compromising position. He was about to walk out in embarrassment when he clocked Shirley’s terrified and bleeding face. He had no option but to stand his ground. “You all right, sis?” he asked, scared out of his wits. He knew Tony Fisher and his reputation.