by Jessie Keane
Annie let herself into the Surrey place. There was no sign of Ruthie’s minder. She looked around at the great dark barn of a hallway and the big sweep of the staircase and heard only silence.
Christ, the place was huge. She thought of Ruthie living here, all alone. She must be going out of her head.
‘Ruthie!’ Annie called.
There was no answer.
She went through to the drawing room; empty, the fire unlit. She wandered through the whole ground floor, checked the kitchens, calling Ruthie’s name with increasing exasperation. Then she traipsed up the stairs and repeated the exercise, feeling more anxious with every step she took.
‘Ruthie! Where the hell are you?’
She pushed open three bedroom doors and found only emptiness beyond. She opened the fourth, and there was Ruthie, slumped fully dressed across the bed, boxes and clothes scattered around her. The nearly empty voddy bottle and the glass were there too.
‘Oh Jesus – Ruthie!’
Annie hurried to her side, her innards twisting with guilt as she saw Ruthie lying there drunk – drunk because she was miserable, and why was she miserable? Because of what she had done to her.
‘Oh, Ruthie, no,’ she moaned, snatching up Ruthie’s cold hand. ‘No, don’t do this …’
And then she saw the pill bottles. Lots of them.
The clients were leaving like rats from a sinking ship. Not that Dolly blamed them. Pat Delaney was insulting everyone, laughing at their elderly gents, asking the Guards why they had to pay for it, couldn’t they get a woman to look at them, or did they just shag their precious horses?
‘You mouthy Irish bastard,’ snarled one, and Dolly had to step in quick.
‘Ah, you think you’d like a bit of me, do you, you poncy toy soldier?’ mocked Pat, downing tablets as he spoke.
‘Let’s all calm down,’ said Dolly, wondering where the fuck Chris was when you needed him. ‘Let’s all have a drink together and be friends, okay?’
‘I’m not drinking with him,’ said the Guard, shrugging into his shirt and stuffing it into his trousers. And he left.
‘You’re driving my clients away, Mr Delaney,’ said Dolly mildly.
‘Like I give a feck,’ said Pat. He reeled off to the toilet and came back again. ‘Another drink over here, poof-features,’ he said to Brian as he fell back on to the sofa in the rapidly emptying front room.
Dolly nodded to Brian. Best to give the sod all the drink he wanted, she thought. The sooner he passed out cold, the better. Then she’d just get some of Redmond’s boys to carry him out and take him home. No good waiting for Chris to put in an appearance. Chris was no fool. Rather than get into a ruck with Pat and make a vicious and powerful enemy, he was keeping out of it. Dolly couldn’t blame him for that. But all the Guards were gone now. It was starting to get dark outside, and the extra girls were making going-home noises. Brian was packing up too. Soon there would be just her and Ellie and Aretha and Darren alone with Pat Delaney, and that wasn’t a cheering thought.
‘Come on, Ruthie. Don’t arse about, you’re scaring me.’
Annie was patting her sister’s cheek whilst feeling the sickness rise in her own stomach. She was sweating all over, the fear squeezing her in a tight vice-like grip. Jesus, she’d slit her own wrists if the stupid cow was dead. She felt Ruthie’s scrawny neck and thank God, there was a pulse. She was breathing. She was alive. Her eyes flickered open.
‘Oh thank fuck for that,’ gasped Annie, and hauled her sister into a sitting position.
Ruthie moaned. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back.
‘No, Ruthie. Come on.’
Fuck, this was bad, really bad. She’d known Ruthie was unhappy, but she had no idea she was low enough to try and finish it. Annie felt her guts twist with guilt. This was all her fault. What had she been thinking of, getting involved with Max? And poor Ruthie had been closer to Mum than she herself had ever been, she must have been feeling the loss of Connie so much more than her. Annie should have been here for her, she should have made sure she was all right.
Ah, but you felt too guilty even to look your sister in the eye, didn’t you? mocked a voice in her head. If there was damage done, you didn’t want to see it, did you?
Which was true enough.
Annie ran down the stairs to the kitchen. She put the kettle on to boil, then she flung open cupboards and found the salt. She ran water into a glass tumbler, spooned salt into it, and raced back up the stairs. Ruthie was still lying there, her eyes open and gazing glassily at the ceiling. Annie hauled her up again. Ruthie moaned and muttered in protest.
‘Come on Ruthie. Drink up,’ said Annie, and held the glass to her sister’s lips.
It must have tasted foul. Ruthie’s face screwed up and she started to gag. Annie held her nose. Water sputtered on to the counterpane and all down the front of Ruthie’s dress, but a lot went down her throat. Ruthie pushed weakly against Annie as she made her down every drop of the vile-tasting liquid.
‘Oh you … you bitch …’ gasped Ruthie, and then she started to retch.
‘That’s it,’ said Annie. ‘Let’s get it up,’ she said, patting Ruthie’s back. Her shoulder-blades were like knives poking through her skin.
I did that to her, thought Annie.
‘You bitch,’ groaned Ruthie again, and began to heave.
Vomit splattered out over the carpet.
‘That’s it,’ said Annie, as the smell and the mess erupted out of her.
Ruthie heaved again, and more came.
‘God, I hate you, you bitch, you bloody whore,’ whimpered Ruthie as drool hung from her lips.
Annie put a hand on Ruthie’s brow. She was sweaty and white, but hopefully she’d got whatever she’d taken out of her system.
Ruthie spat and wiped a shaking hand across her mouth. She looked at Annie, focused on her for the first time. ‘You utter cow,’ she said.
Annie went back downstairs and made strong coffee. She found cloths and a bowl and filled it with sudsy water. Then she took the whole lot back upstairs.
Ruthie was perched on the edge of the bed now, looked disgustedly at the floor. Annie handed her a mug of strong black coffee.
‘Drink,’ she ordered.
‘I bet you’re bloody enjoying yourself,’ accused Ruthie, wet-eyed and shaking. She clasped the mug of coffee.
‘Drink it up or I’ll hold your nose and pour it down you,’ said Annie, getting to work on cleaning up the mess.
‘Cow.’
By the time Annie had disposed of all the stuff Ruthie had sicked up, Ruthie was halfway through the coffee. Annie stood up.
‘Come on now, on your feet.’
‘Oh, just leave, will you? I didn’t ask you to come here,’ said Ruthie weakly.
‘I said on your feet,’ said Annie, and grabbed the mug and put it aside. She pulled Ruthie up with an arm around her waist and walked her up and down beside the bed, with Ruthie all the while pouring curses in her ear.
‘Call me a whore, call me what you like, just keep walking,’ said Annie.
Ruthie staggered at first. Annie had to use all her strength to hold her up. But after a few steps Ruthie seemed to regain her equilibrium, and that was when the cursing really kicked in. When Ruthie could stand alone, Annie let go and poured out more coffee and thrust it at her sister.
‘I hate you, Annie Bailey,’ said Ruthie.
‘Hate away,’ said Annie. ‘Drink the bloody coffee and tell me what the fuck you were trying to do. Were you trying to kill yourself?’
‘Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you,’ said Ruthie. ‘Me out of the way and you left with Max.’
‘I told you. It’s over, me and Max. Drink that fucking coffee or I mean it, I’ll force it down you.’
Ruthie pulled a face but drank the coffee.
‘It’s over,’ reiterated Annie.
‘Sure it is,’ mocked Ruthie. ‘It’ll never be over, you and him. I’ve seen the way he reacts to the
sight of you. I saw it at poor Eddie’s funeral. Oh yes, I saw you. It’ll only be over when they shovel him into the ground, don’t you know that?’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Ah, you don’t like the thought of that?’ Ruthie crowed. ‘And you said it was over? Tell me another.’
‘You know, I think you were nicer when you were spark out on the bed,’ said Annie. ‘You finished that coffee?’
‘There.’ Ruthie presented the empty mug like a triumphant child. ‘Pleased now, you bossy bitch?’
Annie went to the window and opened it, letting in an icy wind to blow away the stink. She gathered up the remaining pill and vodka bottles then put the empty mug on the tray with the sodden cloths and the bowl.
‘Get yourself washed and changed,’ said Annie. ‘I’m going to clear this lot away. I’ll see you down in the drawing room. Get a move on.’
Annie was almost surprised when half an hour later Ruthie appeared in a clean dress, with her face washed and her hair neatly combed. She looked pale, but okay.
Annie sat on the couch and Ruthie sat opposite. Annie saw Ruthie’s eyes go to the drinks cabinet, but she didn’t get herself a drink or offer Annie one.
‘Why’d you do it, Ruthie?’ asked Annie urgently. ‘Were you trying to top yourself?’
Ruthie dropped her head into her hands. Suddenly she looked haggard and ten years older than she actually was. ‘I was just trying to get some sleep last night, that’s all. I don’t sleep well. I took some pills of Eddie’s, then I wondered if I had taken enough to make me sleep so I took a few more, and I drank a bit, then I don’t remember anything else until you started slapping me about this morning. I wasn’t trying to top myself, I really wasn’t. But I hate this place, it’s so lonely. Since Eddie’s gone it’s got even worse. There’s no one here to talk to and I’m forever in the shadow of the sainted Queenie. Max is never here. When he is, he never talks to me.’
Max hated drunks, Annie knew that. To see his own wife smashed out of her face every day would drive him up the wall. But she couldn’t get over the fact that it was Max and herself who had done this to Ruthie. Would she have become a bloody drunk if Max was a better husband, and if she had been a better sister to the poor cow? Annie doubted it.
‘Ruthie,’ said Annie carefully, ‘there must still be something between you?’
For a moment Ruthie’s eyes showed only raw pain.
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘We don’t have sex. We don’t even talk.’
And I shouldn’t feel happy about that, thought Annie. But she did and she hated herself for still feeling that tug of attraction to such a bastard. Now here was her chance to make amends for the hurt she had inflicted on the sister she loved, and she was determined to take it.
‘Ruthie … I promise you it’s all over. I never wanted this to happen. Let me help you, please.’
Ruthie stared at her with hostile eyes.
‘What, are you going to show me your whoring tricks? Show me what you and my bloody husband have been up to?’
‘No! I didn’t mean that and you know it.’
‘Well I don’t need any help from a whore like you, Annie.’
Annie jumped to her feet and stood there glaring down at Ruthie. ‘Stop calling me that!’
‘What? Whore? Why not? It’s what you are, after all.’ Ruthie stood up too and stood nose to nose with her sister. ‘Whore!’
Annie slapped her hard across the face.
Ruthie reeled back and fell on to the couch, clutching at her cheek.
‘Oh God.’ Annie was instantly contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry.’
‘Just get out,’ said Ruthie, her eyes full of tears. ‘Get out!’
Annie’s shoulders slumped. ‘All right. I’ll go. You know, you’ll only get so many chances with me, Ruthie. I can’t just go on and on apologizing for ever. It wasn’t my idea to come here anyway, it was Max who sent me. He was worried because you weren’t answering the phone to Kath.’
Ruthie stiffened.
‘I thought you said it was over, you lying cow,’ said Ruthie.
‘It is.’ Annie threw her arms wide in frustration. God, she just couldn’t seem to get through to Ruthie, no matter how hard she tried.
‘What, having cosy little chats about me? When did he talk to you, when you were tucked up in bed together, was that it? Just get out of my house!’
43
It was dark by the time Annie got back to Limehouse, and the instant she walked in she knew there was trouble. Dolly was hovering in the front-room doorway looking fraught. Chris was missing. Aretha was leaning against the stairwell with a taut expression on her face. Darren, standing beside her, was chewing a hangnail, his eyes darting to and fro. Ellie was sitting halfway up the stairs.
The place was quiet. No music, no clink of glasses. No clients. Except Pat Delaney, Annie noted through the open doorway, sitting in the front room alone and clearly drunk. He raised his glass to her.
‘Trouble?’ she asked Dolly.
‘Not yet.’
‘What, has he been on the uppers again?’
‘Yeah. Bold as brass. He’s been popping Dexedrine tablets like Smarties.’
‘Where’s Chris?’
‘Somewhere well away from here,’ said Dolly unhappily. ‘He’s no fool. He don’t want to get into a fight with Pat. One of the clients nearly floored the bastard, but I stepped in.’
‘Given him plenty to drink?’
‘Yeah. He must have a lead-lined belly to take all that whisky and still be conscious.’
They looked gloomily in at Pat, who was still swigging it back. He raised his glass to them again. Both Annie and Dolly pasted smiles on their faces, which dropped the instant they turned away.
‘He’s a horrible, fat, Irish turd,’ said Darren with a shudder.
‘Just keep pouring the drink down him,’ advised Annie. ‘I’m off upstairs to clean up, okay?’
They nodded. Annie stepped past Ellie and at last reached the sanctuary of her room. She felt drained. Seeing Ruthie again had done nothing for her self-esteem. Too much had happened, too much time had gone by for her to even begin to set things straight again. She had to just keep away from Max. That was a start. And she had to keep trying with Ruthie. No matter how many knock-backs she got, she just had to keep slogging away; whether she would admit it or not, Ruthie needed her. And Annie still loved her. She was her blood, her kin. She meant the world to her.
Nice to be Catholic like the Delaneys, thought Annie. Nice to go to a priest and be absolved from sin. To confess, do penance, to have the whole thing over and done. Protestants – even lapsed ones like her and her family – didn’t have that luxury.
She kicked off her shoes with a sigh and unzipped her dress, then froze. There were shouts and heavy footfalls on the stairs. She hardly had time to turn before the door banged wide open. The picture behind the door fell from the wall and the glass shattered. Pat Delaney was there, a bull-like presence in the doorway, swaying and leering.
‘So here we are, Annie Bailey!’ he said jovially, although his eyes glittered with malice. ‘Not very polite, is it, to come in and not say a proper hello to a Delaney boy.’
Annie held her dress together and looked at him. ‘Hello, Mr Delaney,’ she said. ‘Now please leave my room.’
‘Eeewww! Hoity-toity, aren’t we, Annie Bailey?’ Pat mocked. ‘Not so stuck up around the Carter boys now, are you?’
Annie saw Dolly, Darren and Aretha pile up into the doorway, their faces anxious. Ellie appeared too, half-hiding behind Darren.
‘I asked you to leave, Mr Delaney,’ said Annie. Her heart was beating out a sickening tattoo. ‘Let’s all go downstairs and have a drink, yes?’
‘No,’ said Pat, lurching forward. Annie stepped sharply back. Fuck Chris, clearing off like that – looking after number one, the selfish bastard.
Dolly stepped up behind Pat. ‘I think Annie’s right,’ she said firmly. ‘We’ll all g
o downstairs together and have some fun, how about it, Mr Delaney?’
She placed a hand on Pat’s arm. Pat shook it off, spun around and slapped her hard across the face. She flew backward, knocking into Darren, who caught her with a shout of dismay and put her back on her feet. Dolly touched a shaking hand to her mouth and it came away bloody.
‘Get away from me, you filthy tart,’ said Pat. ‘I’m not interested in your scuzzy arse, it’s this one I want to have a go at. Max Carter’s own personal whore. And good at it too, I’m told.’
‘Hey, you don’t come in here treatin’ people like that,’ said Aretha as she cradled Dolly.
Pat put his face up close to hers. ‘You want to do something about it, girl? You tired of having limbs or something? You want to end up like the other one, without anything to scratch your black arse with?’
Annie blinked. Surely he wasn’t talking about Celia? But there wasn’t time for thinking. He was coming at her again, ignoring the others crowding into the doorway. Dolly winced and spat out a tooth.
‘Come here to Daddy, darlin’,’ he oozed. ‘Let’s see what makes you so special.’
‘Get out,’ said Annie, backing away. She’d had enough.
‘You won’t be saying that when I’m in,’ laughed Pat.
To her horror he started fiddling with his fly. He lunged at her, grabbing the front of her dress and pulling hard. It came away, ripping loudly in the stunned silence. Annie staggered and fell to her knees, then Pat was clawing at her, bruising her arms, snatching at her breasts. Then Darren jumped on to his back, and Pat reeled sideways under the weight.
‘Go on, Darren,’ yelled Aretha.
Pat fell against the wall, dislodging more pictures. Annie was aware that she was kneeling in debris, blood on the floor, she’d cut her knee. She felt deathly cold and her head was humming. She was afraid she might faint. Christ knew what would happen then.
But Darren was out of his depth. Pat rammed back against the wall, trapping him with his greater weight against the solid surface. Darren screamed and fell away whilst Pat turned on him as he lay on the floor, a foot raised ready to kick. Suddenly Aretha piled in and caught Pat a double-fisted blow on the chin.