by Martina Cole
Evelyn stroked Kate’s face. ‘You ring that Patrick Kelly, you hear?’
‘Oh, Mum! Get yourselves through and send me a card from Singapore.’
‘It was him who paid for this, you know. I didn’t have any money at all. If I had done, I’d have spent it years ago. You know that. Did you know we’re going first class? He did this to try and help you when Lizzy was bad.’
Kate stared at her mother for a few seconds then Evelyn took Lizzy’s arm and they walked through to the departure lounge.
Kate’s head was whirling. Patrick had paid for the holiday.
It was the final humiliation. She had accused him of everything heinous under the sun and he had spent a fortune on airplane tickets and hotels for her mother and child.
Oh, the generosity of him. The concern for her. And she had taken what he had offered and thrown it back in his face.
She watched them till they were out of sight, then drove home to her empty house. As she put her key in the lock she felt it was mocking her.
At five fifty-five she poured herself the first drink. At seven she was in a drunken sleep.
Oprah Winfrey stared into the camera and smiled. Her studio audience was finishing its applause and the opening credits had been rolled.
‘Thank you.’ She looked around at her audience. ‘Five weeks ago in Windermere, Florida, a man attacked a prostitute. The woman, Ms Linette Du Bouverie, fought the man off, killing him. She left the scene of the crime because she was frightened of the consequences. She was later identified by a young man who worked at the hotel who had delivered a bottle of Jim Beam to the room. It turned out that Ms Du Bouverie had in fact killed a vicious serial killer from England. Tonight we hear from women who have killed the men who attacked them. Let us start by giving a big hand to Linette Du Bouverie.’
The audience went wild.
Linette walked out on to the stage and smiled. She was pretty and petite and looked like everybody’s next-door neighbour.
Elvis watched her smile at the camera and laughed out loud. That Linette was some bad dude.
Kate came home from work and made herself a coffee. In the month that Lizzy and her mother had been away, her routine had not changed at all. The empty house seemed to mock her and she put the radio on as she did every night to fill up the hollowness with sound. What she would not give to have Lizzy’s music blaring out now!
The phone rang and she picked it up. It was Amanda Dawkins.
‘Hello, love.’
‘I wondered if it was all right if me and Phil popped round tonight, Kate? We’ve got a great video and a bottle of wine.’
She smiled into the phone.
Amanda did this every so often, came around with her boyfriend as if she knew that Kate was lonely and needed a bit of company.
‘That would be lovely, Amanda, as long as you’re sure you haven’t got anything better to do?’
‘We’ll see you about half past eight.’
‘What’s the video?’
‘Beaches with Bette Midler.’
‘I bet Phil didn’t pick that one!’
‘You guessed exactly right! If he’d have chosen it, we would have watched Nightmare on Elm Street or Hallowe’en!’
‘See you later then.’
She had a sandwich and went upstairs for a bath.
Patrick Kelly glanced at the girl beside him. Leona had the biggest blue eyes he had ever seen in his life, and the biggest breasts. She faced him and smiled, displaying white teeth. ‘Would you like another glass of wine?’
‘Please.’
She had a little lisp that had sounded enchanting when he first met her. Now it was beginning to get on his nerves.
Leona was one of a series of women he had been dating since his break up with Kate. Patrick was hoping against hope that one of the bevy of lovelies would take his mind off her once and for all. He had hoped Leona would be the one to pull him out of himself.
He poured her a glass of white wine. It was cheap Liebfraumilch. There was no way he was going to give her expensive wine. She drank it down in two gulps. He watched her do it, leaving a thick red line on the rim of the glass.
‘How old are you, Leona?’
‘Twenty-one, why?’
‘I just wondered, that’s all.’
Kelly sipped his own wine and racked his brains for something to talk about.
Leona watched his troubled face. This was their third date and he hadn’t tried it on once. This was a novelty to Leona and she wasn’t sure if she was glad or not. He was a damn’ sight better looking than most of the men she dated.
She made a golden rule of going to places where the clientèle were men who were rich, getting on, and not too fussy. She was astute enough to know that with her looks and body she could have her pick of them.
She drove a brand new Golf Gti, had her own flat, bought and paid for, and relied heavily on men like Patrick Kelly to supplement her lifestyle. Leaving school with no qualifications, and nothing going for her except a pretty face and a double D bra size, she had quickly assessed her position and cashed in on her only assets.
So far, along with the flat and the car, they had taken her around the world.
She could like this Kelly, though. He was a good-looking man with an air about him that she liked. She was quite looking forward to getting into bed with him. He seemed very generous as well, which to Leona was the most important thing.
She watched him struggling to find something to talk about. ‘Tell me all about yourself, Patrick.’
She relaxed into her chair. Someone had told her once that the secret of keeping a man happy was to get him started on his favourite subject: himself. This had been proved correct over and over again; it kept them occupied for hours. Leaving Leona to think about her favourite subject: herself.
Patrick still struggled while he told her bits and pieces. He didn’t want to share any part of his personal business with her. He didn’t really want her there at all.
He couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to chat. He took the bull by the horns.
‘Want to come to bed?’
Leona shrugged.
‘OK.’
She followed him up the stairs, pricing everything she saw on the way.
He was rich all right.
Phil studied Kate and Amanda as they watched the film. He smiled to himself. Women loved nothing more in a film than a good death. It amazed him. He had sat through Terms of Endearment and Who Will Love My Children?. Both films Amanda had loved while he had hated them. Deathbed scenes weren’t his favourite subject. He would much rather be watching Predator, there was plenty of death in that, but it was not slow and lingering enough for Amanda. Or Kate for that matter. Women liked a good bout of cancer or someone coughing up a lung. That appealed to them.
He cracked open another lager and poured out more wine for the two women. Kate and Amanda had a box of Kleenex on the settee between them and every so often a little hiccough could be heard.
Kate gazed at the screen and sniffed. She loved a good weepy, and it was nice to cry in company. Bette Midler was on the beach with her best friend’s daughter, trying to make friends with her before her mother died.
She sipped her wine and wiped her eyes again. She felt so lonely. So very, very lonely.
She got up from the settee and went out to the kitchen. She had made some sandwiches earlier and now took the cling film off them and brought them into the lounge.
Phil, his bright copper-coloured hair shining in the light from the television screen, grinned at her as he took the plate and started to eat.
Kate hoped they wouldn’t stay too late tonight. She liked to go to bed and read for a while until she dropped off. Amanda had really come up trumps for her since the Grantley Ripper inquiry, and Kate appreciated that. But sometimes you can be lonely even when you’re in a crowd, and that was just how Kate was feeling. For the first time ever she had more than enough time to devote to herself and every second of it
was a form of torture.
She knew what was wrong with her, and knew who could cure it. But she could not bring herself to dial his number or go to his house.
Patrick was lying on his bed naked, smoking a cigarette. Leona was still undressing. He noticed she was hanging her clothes in his wardrobe and grinned ruefully to himself. She obviously thought she was set for a good few months. He watched her as she turned to face him with her incredible breasts, a half smile on her face, waiting for the effect they always had on men.
Especially older men.
Patrick took one look at her and his heart sank down to his boots.
What was he trying to prove?
Like the others he had had in recent weeks, Leona did nothing for him whatsoever. He saw her mouth twitch with disappointment and felt a moment’s sympathy for her.
She walked timidly towards him. ‘Don’t you like me?’ Her voice was small.
‘Of course I like you, you’re beautiful.’
She pouted prettily and rubbed his flaccid penis. ‘Leona wants to play!’
Patrick sighed. What he wouldn’t give for a pack of cards or a draughts board!
She pulled his foreskin back, slowly and expertly, and Patrick felt the first stirrings inside him. He closed his eyes. When he felt the wet heat of her mouth enveloping him he groaned.
Leona sucked away as if her life depended on it. For the first time ever she had to take the initiative, and she didn’t like it at all. One look at her boobs generally had them champing at the bit. She felt him stiffening in her mouth and fought down the urge to heave.
Leona hated oral sex. She usually saved it for when the man was getting tired of her. It normally gave her the edge then.
Her dark blond hair fell over her face and she cupped his testicles as gently as possible. Then, satisfied he was hard enough, she climbed on top.
She was as dry as a bone, but nevertheless forced him inside her. As she moved up and down, her breasts brushing against his chest, Patrick opened his eyes.
Instead of long, silky dark hair there was thick blond hair. Instead of Kate’s small pointed breasts with their cherry red nipples there was an enormous pair, hanging over his face. Instead of dark brown eyes looking into his there was a pair of startled-looking blue ones.
Patrick Kelly lost his erection in record time.
Leona felt him deflate inside her and leapt off him in temper. How dare he? After all she had done!
She sat on the side of the bed, her arms crossed over her breasts and a frown on her pretty face.
‘I’m sorry, love, I’m tired that’s all.’
Leona glared at him. One thing Leona was sure of: her body was the best thing this creep had ever seen in his life. He must be a homosexual or something. She shuddered, wishing now she’d made him use a Durex.
She looked at him through slitted eyes.
‘Are you a poofta, Mr Kelly?’
Patrick stared at the girl as the words penetrated. Then, to the amazement of both of them, he began to laugh. He laughed so loudly that Willy, who was in the library downstairs enjoying a brandy while he read the racing paper, looked up at the ceiling, pleased that Patrick was having such a good time.
He laughed so much that big fat tears rolled down his face.
As far as Leona was concerned, enough was enough. She dressed herself as quickly as possible. Standing over the bed, her dignity back now, along with her clothes, she poked a perfectly manicured fingernail into his chest.
‘I’ve heard about men like you. You should come out into the open. It’s not a crime any more. They call it coming out of the wardrobe. I’ll bill you for my time in the morning.’
With that she went down the stairs to call a cab.
Patrick lay against the pillows. He could still smell her perfume.
He began to laugh again at her words. Then, abruptly, he stopped laughing.
In reality, she could have been his Mandy. Mandy had had a lot more savvy, he knew that, but she was the same age. What would he have thought if he had found out his daughter was sleeping with a man over twenty years her senior? And not for love either, but for a few quid and a good time.
He closed his eyes and rubbed his fingers against them, trying to blot out the image of those breasts. He felt the loneliness as it welled up inside. He should have Kate beside him. But after what had happened between them? He knew that she had thought the worst of him and admitted to himself that he was glad now that Markham had died through another’s means. He was glad that he was not the cause of the man’s death.
He had hoped against hope that Kate would have rung him up when she heard the news and said she was sorry. Then they could have got back on their old footing. But nothing. Not a word. And being the kind of man he was, he had had too much pride to get in touch with her.
What she had said to him had hurt because it was true. She had sussed him out all right. It was only after he knew Markham was dead, when the euphoria had worn off, that he’d realised that revenge is not as sweet as you first imagine. It had come out in all the papers about the man’s terrible childhood. His sister in America had spilled the beans. Wanting to set the record straight, she said.
Kelly had read the stories and felt a funny kind of sorrow for the man. He was sick in the head. But he had already known that, hadn’t he? When he was planning to kill him.
He shifted uneasily in the bed. Kate had been right. The man had needed help. He wished that she was here beside him. He had wanted Kate beside him from the minute he had seen her. He admitted that to himself now.
What was it his old mum used to say?
‘God pays back debts without money.’
Well, both he and George Markham had more than paid the price.
Kate and Amanda looked at each other as the film ended and both started to laugh through their tears. Phil stood up and put on the overhead light.
‘You women amaze me. Imagine watching something that makes you sad!’
‘Oh, Phil! That was a lovely film.’
He walked out to the hall and was just at the bottom of the stairs, going up to the bathroom, when the phone rang. Without thinking, he picked it up.
‘Hello?’
The line was quiet and he spoke again.
‘Hello, who is this?’ He heard the noise as the connection was broken.
Kate came out to the hall.
‘Who’s that?’
Phil shrugged. ‘Wrong number.’ He carried on walking up the stairs to the bathroom and Kate went back to make some coffee.
Patrick Kelly lay in bed with the phone in one hand and his fingers on the receiver rest.
He was fuming. It hadn’t taken her long to get someone else!
He glanced at the clock. It was just after eleven fifteen. Probably interrupted their lovemaking. The snidey bitch! To think he had thrown out a perfectly good woman because of her. Because he was silly enough to fancy himself in love with her.
Well, that was the finish as far as he was concerned. That would teach him to think that he could ever replace Renée.
Face it, boy, he told himself, you’re on your Jack Jones and the sooner you realise that, the better.
Downstairs, Willy helped himself to another brandy. The girl had gone and Patrick had tried to use the phone. Willy had heard the bell as he’d picked it up, and then again as he’d put it down.
He shook his head sagely.
Patrick Kelly’s trouble was he didn’t know when he was well off. And he had been well off with that Burrows piece. Willy had liked her himself. She wasn’t that well stacked but she’d had class.
He sipped some more of his boss’s brandy and went back to reading his paper.
Kate was at work on a series of burglaries that had been happening over a two-year period. They all had the same MO. It was a lone man and he broke in while the woman was sleeping, sexually assaulting his victim before he trashed the bedroom, taking money and jewellery. It was the assaults that bothered her. He used the
burglary as a blind. He was working up to a full-scale rape, she would lay money on that.
The phone rang.
‘Burrows.’
‘Hello, Kate.’
She took the phone from her ear and stared into the mouthpiece before answering.
‘Is that you, Willy?’
‘Yes.’
The line went quiet.
‘Well, what can I do for you?’
‘I wondered if I could see you, like?’
‘What about?’
‘Well, I don’t like to talk about it over the phone. Can we meet, please?’
Kate licked dry lips.
‘Where do you want us to meet?’
‘How about the Cartella restaurant? Tonight at eight thirty?’
‘Is this something to do with Patrick?’
Willy swallowed deeply and she heard the sound over the phone.
‘Oh, no. He’d kill me if he thought I’d rung you up.’
Kate felt her heart sink down to her boots. So he didn’t even want her name mentioned. Well, she couldn’t blame him.
‘See you at eight thirty then.’ Before Kate could answer, the phone went dead.
Meet Willy for a meal? She pushed the thought from her mind and went back to the papers in front of her. She’d decide later what she was going to do.
Patrick walked into the drawing room and grinned.
‘Where you going, all poshed up?’
Willy had on a dinner jacket and smelt like a poke of devils.
‘I’ve got a date, actually.’
‘A what! You ain’t been out on a date for years.’
‘Well, there’s always a first time, ain’t there? I got meself a right classy bird for the evening.’
Patrick laughed out loud.
‘Good bleeding luck to you and all. How much is she rushing you?’
Willy looked annoyed.
‘If you don’t mind, Pat, just ’cos you spend most of your time with bimbos don’t mean we all have to. This is a very respectable woman. Got a good job and everything. In fact, if you saw her you’d fancy her.’
Patrick looked at him and smiled. Willy usually went out with women who made a Japanese Tosa look good. But he kept his own counsel.
‘Well, you use the Rolls, Willy, that’ll impress her.’