by Martina Cole
He knew what it was all right, she was a goer in every way was Cynthia Tailor, and it was Cynthia Tailor he wanted under him. Not Cynthia Callahan. He wanted the woman she was now, not the girl he had bedded all those years ago. Her face that night it had happened had been a revelation to him; she was almost triumphant she had killed a man and she was determined not to let it affect her too much. He could see her forcing the terror out of her body, saw it being replaced by pride, and she had never looked lovelier to him than at that moment when she had conquered her fear. She had stared him in the eyes and it had been a challenge; she was daring him to turn away from her, and she knew, and he knew, he couldn’t. She had protected his most treasured possession, his wife, and she had seen to it that the person who had been a threat to them was no more.
Even Linford had been impressed and, though the clean-up operation had been long and laborious, they knew it could have been much worse. It had been a long night, but it had been a lucrative one. More than that, it had been a night that had given him an itch, a terrible itch that he knew he could only assuage by bedding his wife’s sister. Even though he knew it was a madness inside him, he couldn’t deny the strength of it. Every time he thought of her kneeling down and putting one right in Bryant’s ugly face he felt a tightening in his groin, and he knew that he would get no relief until he had her under him and crying out his name. It was madness but, like many a man before him, any caution was all but gone to the wind.
Jonny forced his mind back to the matter at hand and, looking straight at DI Jones, he said seriously, ‘So I am paying you a serious fucking wedge to be told sweet fuck-all? Bertie Warner could be hiding under this table for all you know, is that it?’
Jones sighed heavily, he knew he was on borrowed time. ‘That’s about the strength of it, yeah. As I say, unless he shows up somewhere . . .’ His voice trailed off, it sounded futile even to him.
‘Get this fucking muppet out of here.’
Jones didn’t need telling twice, he couldn’t wait to get out the door.
Linford was laughing as the man left the room shamefaced. ‘I hate bent Filth, worse than a fucking grass. They fuck up their own. Give me a straight copper and a fair nick every time.’
Jonny nodded his agreement, most of his associates felt the same.
‘How’s Celeste?’ Linford asked.
Jonny shrugged. ‘How’d you think? Scared, frightened, timid.’ Even he could hear the irritation in his own voice, and Linford raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment.
He knew Jonny blamed himself and a man would not forget that he, and he alone, was responsible for his wife’s condition. He had left her hanging in the wind, and that was something no man could live with easily. Of course, luckily, Cynthia had come up trumps. Linford found what she had done admirable but distasteful, if he was honest. A woman who could do that and not even feel remorse was not a woman to him. Jimmy Tailor was welcome to the hard-faced bitch; he wouldn’t want to lie beside her of a night – who knew what she was capable of if you fucked her off? No, thank you. He thought Jimmy should out her at the first available opportunity. After all, she wasn’t a wife who inspired love and affection, and she had the mothering skills of a fucking demented hyena. At least hyenas looked after their young; by all accounts Cynthia dumped hers at her mother’s for weeks at a time. Jimmy was a fucking cokehead, and that was because he had nothing to go home to. That pristine mausoleum was not a home, it was a show place. Linford had been there twice and each time he had felt as welcome as a sausage at a Bar Mitzvah. No, he didn’t envy poor Jimmy Tailor in the least.
Linford liked his women clean and uncomplicated; he also liked them living at a separate address so they never got too big for their boots. Once they started cleaning his drum up after a night of revelry they were out the door and gone from his life. He had too many things to do, places to see, and strangers to bed for one woman to do anything for him. He looked after any kids of his that arrived, and he saw that they were looked after very well, but there was no way he was tying himself to one woman. That, as far as he could see, was a mug’s game.
It was cut and dried to him; he saw, he conquered, and he came. Then he went home. Unlike Jonny, he liked to keep his life as uncomplicated as possible.
Chapter Thirty-Five
‘Come on, Celeste, have a bit of lunch – you’ll feel better for it.’
Celeste smiled gratefully, and dutifully ate her salad sandwich. She liked it at Cynthia’s house; it was clean, and it was orderly, and best of all she couldn’t smell the blood here. She couldn’t get that smell out of her nostrils and she couldn’t get the picture of Kevin Bryant out of her mind. The fact that her sister had killed him didn’t bother her one bit; she knew Cynthia had done it to save her life, and that she could brutally kill a man wasn’t something she thought about. Cynthia was her saviour and that was that.
Today, with her mum there too, and the kids squabbling on the kitchen floor, she felt the best she had felt since it had happened. Gabby got on to her lap and Celeste hugged the child to her tightly. She needed the warmth of these children to make her believe that life was normal once more, even though inside herself she knew it could never be normal again.
Jonny was looking for a new house for them because she refused to ever set foot in that other one again as long as she lived. She knew that Jonny was annoyed with her, not that he said anything of course, but she could feel his impatience with her. But she wasn’t like him, she couldn’t shrug this off as if it was an occupational hazard – it might be for him, but for her it was a nightmare he had brought on her and she didn’t know if she could ever forgive him. She hoped so, because she loved him with all her being. But his actions had caused this turmoil and upset, and she couldn’t quite get over that yet.
Gabby seemed to sense her auntie’s upset and she snuggled into her like she was trying to take it on herself. Celeste hugged her little body as if it was a life raft. James Junior watched them silently, and Celeste felt the tears prick once more, at the innocence of these children. The same innocence she had once possessed, and now it was gone from her. She had seen death in its rawest form, and it had blighted her life.
Crying silently, she didn’t see the look that was exchanged between her mother and sister. She didn’t understand that they thought it was time she let it go and sorted herself out. Celeste had never been strong like them, and that was why she couldn’t forget the sight of Kevin Bryant with half his head gone, the blood seeping out of his body and making a heart shape on the concrete floor. For the thousandth time, she wondered what his wife and children were going through, and how they would ever come to terms with his disappearance. Four little children and a wife. Everyone said Kevin Bryant’s wife was a nice girl. Why was it always the nice girls who had their hearts broken?
Gabby was trying to wipe her auntie’s eyes, as she felt herself being lifted off her lap. It was obvious her nana was going to take them back to her house, but Gabby wanted to stay here. So did James Junior, who was beginning to kick up his usual fuss. For once though her mum was being nice to him and wasn’t shouting at him. In fact, her mum was being nice to everyone and they were calling Cynthia a ‘Brahma’, and she knew that the way they said it meant it was something good. But Gabby allowed her nana to put her coat on, and take her and her sobbing brother back to her house. After all, she was a kid and she had to do what she was told.
Whether she wanted to or not.
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘Come on, Celeste, you have to at least look at the new house.’ Jonny’s voice was gentle but there was a steely undertone that wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. He had stopped the cajoling weeks ago, and he was getting more and more aggravated by the day. But Celeste, as weak as she was in many ways, was adamant about this one thing. She would not leave her sister’s house for anything. She had not stepped across the door since she had entered it that night, the night Bryant had been taken out.
Jimmy Tailor was heart-so
rry for his sister-in-law, but he knew it would be futile to interfere. Also, in a selfish way, he wanted her gone from his home. It had been nearly three months now, and he wanted his wife back, though he never thought he would ever be saying that.
‘You go, Cynthia,’ said Celeste. ‘You go and then come back and tell me about it.’
Cynthia looked at her husband and shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter what I think, love, it’s what you think that matters.’
‘No, you go, Cynth. I’ll wait here with the kids, and Jimmy, Jimmy will stay here with me, won’t you?’ She didn’t want to be alone.
Cynthia walked out into her hallway and Jonny followed her. ‘If I go with you, we can come back and tell her how lovely it is, and then I can get her to come with me tomorrow, I’m sure of it.’
Jonny looked into her eyes and knew, as she did, that if they went to the house together they wouldn’t be doing much looking at it, not at first anyway. He felt the excitement in his groin and wondered at how such a change could come over a man.
‘If you think so.’ His voice was noncommittal; no one listening to them would ever guess at the turmoil inside him.
Cynthia was elated, she knew he was prepared for what was going to happen. ‘I’ll go and freshen up, get my coat.’
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
Thirty minutes later they were naked, they were sweating and they were both aware that no one else would ever fulfil the strange need that they both shared.
‘Tell me, tell me what it was like to kill him, Cynth.’
As she bit into his shoulders and spewed her filth into his ears, Jonny Parker felt, for the first time in years, that he was well and truly, finally home. That he was betraying his wife, the so-called love of his life, didn’t bother him one iota. Every time he looked at Cynthia’s full breasts and long legs, he saw her kneeling down beside Kevin Bryant and taking him out once and for all. There was no woman on this earth who could compete with that, and they both knew it. They were a match made in hell, and the knowledge only made them desire each other more.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘It’s lovely, Celeste, I bet you’re glad you came home, aren’t you?’ There was genuine warmth in Cynthia’s voice and it wasn’t lost on anyone in the room. Even Jack Callahan was beginning to warm to this strange daughter of his. Jonny and Celeste’s house was like a mansion and, where normally that would eat at Cynthia like a cancer, she seemed to be genuinely pleased at her sister’s good fortune.
‘’Course I am, Cynth.’ It was forced and everyone ignored that fact.
Cynthia was like a different person, everyone remarked on it. She was almost playful with the kids, and she was always in a good mood, even Jimmy didn’t get the tail end of her tongue as often as he had before. She seemed happier than anyone had ever seen her, and it made their lives so much easier. She still left the kids with her mother for weeks on end, but these days she was happy to have them around during the daytime. She had started taking a Cordon Bleu cookery course, and Jimmy was eating better than ever. She never questioned his late hours any more. She saw him off to work with a cheery wave and a big smile. It was as if she was born again, and this time God had given her a heart. Celeste loved her with a passion and Cynthia seemed to reciprocate those feelings.
But Cynthia lived for the stolen time with Jonny Parker.
That her killing Bryant had appealed to him so strongly was a real eye-opener. If she had known that, she would have gone on a fucking killing spree a long time ago! Kevin Bryant’s death didn’t bother her, it wasn’t an issue where Cynthia Tailor was concerned. It had got her the one thing she wanted more than anything in her life, Jonny, so she saw it as a good thing – nothing to lose sleep over. She enjoyed telling Jonny all about it; it turned her on as much as it did him. She relived it over and over again, and she didn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.
She had never questioned that she was capable of great violence. Inside she had always known it; from a child she had been consumed by violent rages. When she was really angry she knew she was capable of almost anything, she knew she could easily stab someone if they thwarted her. She saw it as part of her strength and now she saw it as part of her allure. She looked like butter wouldn’t melt when, in reality, she was capable of carrying out serious harm.
That Jonny Parker loved that about her was the bonus, of course. She had always known they were meant to be together, she had made a big mistake once by letting him get away and she wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
The strangest thing of all was she realised she loved Celeste – really loved her. Now she wasn’t a rival any more, Cynthia could find it in her heart to pity her. With her big house and her endless supply of dosh, she now had the one thing Celeste really wanted. She had Jonny Parker, and she was not going to let him go.
She would kill him first.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Gabby watched in amazement as her mother laughed and joked with them all. She was like a new person, and it was wonderful.
Gabby had at last stopped wetting the bed, and stayed Sundays and Mondays at her mum and dad’s house. It was wonderful. They ate a lovely meal together then watched the telly. Sometimes her mum still got impatient with them, though never too much, even when James Junior was really naughty. She loved her school, and she was making friends and, all in all, life was good. Now she had Christmas to look forward to as well. Everyone was going to come to their house! Her grandad said it was unheard of, though somehow Gabby knew she mustn’t say that to anyone or it would cause trouble. There was a big tree up, and the mantelpiece was decorated with a huge piece of pretend holly. Her nana said it looked like a Victorian Christmas card, and her mother had liked that so it must have been a compliment. Never had Gabby looked forward to something in her life as much as she looked forward to this coming Christmas Day. The turkey was massive, the veg was all prepared, and her nana was going to bring the Christmas pudding. She had actually helped her mum ice the Christmas cake, and she and James Junior had been allowed to make a chocolate log. It was magical.
As Gabby lay there wondering at how lucky she was, her mother came into her bedroom and sat down on the side of her bed. This was something else she was beginning to like – her mother had started chatting to her like a real person, like the mummies in the books at school. She didn’t just tell her off all the time.
‘You comfortable, love?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She still knew enough to watch her Ps and Qs.
‘Looking forward to Christmas, I bet?’
She nodded, her face shining with happiness.
‘Well, remember that Santa only comes to good boys and girls.’
‘I will, Mummy, and I’ve been good. Sister Angela said I had been impressive, that was the word.’
Cynthia laughed then, a real laugh. ‘I remember her – tall, ugly old cow.’
Gabby grinned at this blasphemy. ‘She said I looked just like you at the same age.’ She had also said that her mother was a heart-scald if ever there was one, and that she had been nothing but trouble from the day she walked into the Sacred Heart School. But Gabby wisely kept that bit of the conversation to herself.
Cynthia looked down on her lovely daughter – she really was lovely, she was beautiful. ‘You’re a good kid, Gabs.’
This was another new thing, the shortening of her name to “Gabs”, this from her mother who always insisted everyone got their full title.
Gabby felt the tears sting her eyes then, it was not often her mother was this kind to her. ‘I try, Mummy.’
Cynthia smiled. ‘I know you do, mate. I know you do.’ She kissed her daughter’s brow then and, making sure the bed was tidy, she left the room, whispering, ‘Good night,’ softly before shutting the door behind her.
When Cynthia went into her front room, she sat down and sipped at her wine. They would both be off to sleep soon, she had made sure of that – she had crushed half a sleeping tablet into their h
ot milks. James was off out, overseeing the books in a club in Romford, and she had a small lamb casserole in the oven simmering away ready for when Jonny got here. She felt the pull of him already, hence the drugged children; nothing or no one would interfere with her time with him.
It was strange the way it had panned out. She felt a sorrow for Celeste that was so deep, and so sad it was almost tangible. She knew that Jonny could never leave her sister, and she was content with that for the moment. All she wanted was him, inside her, in her bed where she gave her husband a mercy fuck often enough to allay his suspicions. All she wanted was what she had. And that was tonight, because there was no way they would be able to get together over Christmas.
She had put on her new underwear, she had made her face up so it looked more exquisite than ever, and she had put on her old clothes, because there was nothing that turned him on more than ripping them off her as he walked through the door. She felt the thrill of him inside her once more and, settling herself in the comfortable armchair, she awaited his arrival.
Life didn’t get much better than this; a drink, a sit and the anticipation of a good fuck into the bargain. This was what she lived for, what kept her going. This was the stuff that dreams were made of.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jonny Parker was on his way to Cynthia’s with a bottle of Dom Pérignon, and a diamond pendant that she would dismiss as a knock-off from the market like she had everything else he had bought her. He felt the tug of her as he drove sedately through the London traffic.
He liked to savour the journey to her house – always her house, never Jimmy’s. He liked the knowledge that she would be waiting for him, would fuck him like an animal, and then feed him a wonderful supper and talk as if they were no more than good friends. She knew what a man wanted, a real man, and he felt sorry for Jimmy Tailor, who would never be enough for the woman who was his wife.