She's Out

by Lynda La Plante

  Dolly was shown into the Governor’s office. She was freaking out: being in the visitors’ section was bad enough, but this was terrifying. All she wanted to do was leave.

  Mrs. Ellis had tea brought in and Dolly sipped from her cup, unable to meet Mrs. Ellis’s eyes.

  “Do you have a job?”

  “Not easy at my age but I’ve got a few things I’m working on.”

  “I know about your application to the social services. Dolly, to run an institution requires training and people with qualifications.”

  “It was just a home, Mrs. Ellis. This place is an institution. But it doesn’t matter now, I was rejected, they didn’t think me suitable, and if you don’t mind I don’t want to discuss it further.”

  “If you need any help in the future . . .”

  “I won’t, thank you.”

  “You know, Dolly, it isn’t wise to keep up some of the friendships you make inside. It’s much better to make a clean break.”

  Dolly put the cup and saucer back on the desk. “Thank you, and thank you for the tea, but I’ve got to go.”

  Mrs. Ellis stood and put out her hand, but Dolly was already at the door.

  “Will we be seeing you again?” she asked, still trying to be pleasant.

  “No, I won’t come back. Goodbye.”

  Mrs. Ellis sat back in her chair. Dolly had looked well, but there was a brittle quality to her every move, and she had not smiled once. An unpleasant woman, Mrs. Ellis mused, but then her attention was drawn to other matters and Dolly Rawlins was forgotten.

  The ambulance rushed Angela to hospital. Julia accompanied her all the way to the emergency department but, once she’d been wheeled in, there was nothing more she could do. By the time Julia returned to the manor, Gloria had got over her shock at finding Angela half-dead on the floor, and sympathy had been replaced by anger. “She could have got us all arrested,” she was telling Connie.

  “She’s only eighteen,” Julia snapped.

  “Yeah, so was I when I first went down but I still never grassed anyone. She’s got no morals, coming here, playing us for idiots.”

  “The way we all tried to play Dolly?”

  “No, we fucking didn’t,” Gloria spat.

  “Yes, we did,” Connie said.

  “Well, it’s all going to change soon, isn’t it?” Julia said quietly.

  “What you mean?”

  Julia sat down. “We think she’s planning a robbery.”

  Gloria gasped. “I knew it—I fucking knew it. Soon as those shotguns went missing I said to Ester, I said to her, ‘She’s got something going down,’ and I was right.”

  Connie shifted her weight to the other foot. “I wish to God I’d never come here. I never done anything illegal in my entire life.” Gloria snorted. “I haven’t! I’m not like you, Gloria. We all know what you are.”

  “Oh yeah, what am I? You tell me that.”

  Ester had come in, unnoticed, and answered, “A loud, brassy tart. So what’s all the aggro?”

  “Where’ve you been?” Gloria asked.

  Ester took off her coat and chucked it over a chair. “Talking to that half-wit Raymond Dewey. Dolly wants to know the times of the mail train.”

  Gloria’s jaw dropped and she drew a chair close. “Is she gonna hit the security wagon, then?”

  Julia crossed to the back door. “If she does, it’s madness. According to Norma they have the place sewn up. The local police come out in force, cut off the lanes. There’s no main access, we’d never get a vehicle near, never mind one that’d carry anything away.” She pushed at the broken door and sighed. “This is crazy, you know, even discussing it.”

  Ester looked at her. “No harm in it, though, is there? Unless you’d prefer to talk about Norma. Do you want to talk about Norma?” Ester repeated the name with a posh, nasal twang. Julia pursed her lips. “Oh, have I hit a sore point? Don’t want to talk about Noooorma, do we?”

  “No, I don’t. And stop being childish.”

  “I’m not being childish. It’s you that’s got all uptight. All I’m doing is making conversation about Norma.”

  Julia glared, then half smiled. “Jealous?”

  “Who, me? Jealous? Of what? Norma? Oh please, do me a favor. I wouldn’t touch anyone with that arse.”

  Julia opened the door. “You don’t have to, but it’s quite tight, actually.” Ester’s face twisted in fury. “She has a very good seat, as they say in riding circles.”

  Julia was out of the door, shutting it behind her, before Ester could reply, and smiling to herself. Ester’s jealousy was proof that she cared.

  Dolly parked outside Ashley Brent’s electrical shop. She squinted at the meter and shook her head with disgust: twenty pence for ten minutes—it was a disgrace! She walked to the boarded-up door of the shop, rang the bell and waited. Eventually she heard a voice from behind the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “Dolly Rawlins.”

  There was a cackle of laughter and the sound of electronic bolts being drawn back before the door opened. Ashley Brent stood in the center of his shop floor, arms wide, his glasses stuck on top of his bald head. “As I live and die. So you’re out then, gel. Give us a hug. You’re looking good, sweetheart. How long you been out, then?”

  “Oh, just a few months. Takes a bit of getting used to, especially those ruddy parking meters.”

  “Don’t tell me. I mean, in the old days you could find a broken one, use it for the day. Now they tow you away if it’s busted, tow you if you’re a minute over, tow you for any possible excuse. What they don’t do is tow the fuckers that block off the traffic. I’m telling you, everything nowadays is geared to get the punter, Doll. You’re screwed in this country if you got a legit business, taxed, VAT . . . It’s like we got the Gestapo after us for ten quid rates due but then you hear of blokes coining it on social. Makes you sick.”

  Ashley was a man who had verbal diarrhea and it was always the same: he hated the Conservatives, hated the Liberals, the Labour Party, the blacks, the Jews. In fact, Ashley was a man who lived on his own venom and it was rumored that, when he went down for a short spell, his cell-mate had asked to be moved because Ashley even talked in his sleep. He offered tea, then more verbals about the council estate across the road and, lastly, his thankless bastard kids. Dolly looked over the equipment in the little shop, while pretending to listen.

  Ashley was an electronics genius and ran a business loosely labeled as security devices and trade equipment. In fact, he sold bugs, receivers, transmitters and microphones. You name it, Ashley had it in his well-stocked shop and workroom. He ran a strictly cash business for those wanting certain items and kept no record of their purchase.

  Dolly spent three hours with him and left with a briefcase and a small carrier bag. He had taken time to show her how to handle the equipment. It was mostly quite simple but a few items were more complicated. He was patient and gave good advice, but never asked what the items would be used for. Whatever else Ashley was, he was totally trustworthy. But you paid for that. Dolly gave him ten thousand pounds cash.

  Susan Withey opened the door.

  Dolly smiled sweetly. “Hello, I’m Mrs. Rawlins.”

  Susan hesitated. “Mike’s not here.”

  “Ah, pity. Well, could I come in? I want to talk to you.”

  “I don’t think so, actually.”

  “I do. It’s about Angela, your husband’s little girlfriend.” Susan stepped back and Dolly pushed past her. “Oh, this is very nice. You do the decorating yourself, did you?”

  Susan shut the door and followed Dolly into the sitting room.

  It was after seven and they were all still waiting for Dolly, not sure whether to start supper without her, and wondering what she’d been doing all afternoon.

  “There’s a car coming up the drive now,” Gloria said, “but it’s not Dolly. Looks like a flash Mercedes or somethin’.”

  Ester ran into the hall and looked through the broken stai
ned glass in the front door. She raced back.

  “Get rid of them. They’ll want me. You tell them I don’t live here anymore. Get rid of them, Gloria.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because you’re so good at it.” Ester shot into the kitchen, pushing Julia back just as the doorbell rang.

  Gloria opened the front door. Standing there was a swarthy, handsome-ish man, with dark heavy-lidded eyes, a slightly hooked nose and thick oiled-back hair.

  “Yeah?”

  “Ester here?”

  “Ester who?”

  “Freeman.”

  “No. Sorry.”

  Gloria tried to shut the door but he kicked it open. “Hey! What you doing?” Gloria shrieked.

  “I want to speak to Ester.”

  “She don’t live here, well, not anymore. She sold this house.”

  Gloria was lifted off her feet and hurled against the wall. She screamed as he gripped her face between his hands and pushed her head hard into the wall three times until she was too stunned to scream any more. She just stared wide-eyed.

  “You tell Ester we need to speak to her, understand?”

  Gloria nodded as he slowly released her and then as if to make sure the message was understood he slapped her with the back of his hand and she fell to the floor. She didn’t try to get up until the front door closed behind him. Then she slowly staggered to her feet as Ester peered out of the kitchen.

  “Well, thanks a fuckin’ bundle for that,” said Gloria, touching her nose. “He whacked me into the wall, whacked me in the face and you friggin’ let him do it.”

  “Was it Hector?” Ester asked as she peered out of the broken window.

  “I dunno who it was—he was too busy whacking me to give me his fuckin’ name. Look what he done to me face.”

  Julia held Gloria’s face between her hands and pressed her nose. “It’s not broken.”

  “Oh, great, I should be grateful for that, should I?”

  They all jumped as a car tooted and Ester shrank into a corner. “Shit, are they back?”

  Connie went over to the door.

  “Don’t open it,” Ester hissed.

  “It’s Dolly,” Connie said. “She’s driven on round to the back yard.”

  “Don’t say anythin’ about this, Gloria,” Ester pleaded.

  “Well, she might just notice me nose is red and bleedin’ and me blouse torn,” Gloria retorted furiously.

  “Look, they want money. I haven’t got it so just cover for me—you know how she can get.”

  Dolly called out, and they all turned toward the door. They couldn’t believe their eyes.

  Kate and Mary were twins aged nine and Sheena was five. They all had bright curly red hair like their mother, round white faces with blue eyes, and were dressed in an odd assortment of charity-shop clothes. They were sullen-faced, as if they had been crying, and clung tightly to each other.

  “These are Kathleen’s kids. They’re moving in.” Dolly held up her hands. “Don’t anyone say anything. They’re here, there was nothing I could do about it, so let’s make the best of it. Can someone get a room or two ready? Do you want to sleep together?”

  The three little girls nodded in unison and clung even tighter together. “Right, let’s get your coats off. Connie, bring their cases in from the car and someone put some supper on and get a room aired . . .”

  Gloria turned away. “I’ll do it. I just fell down the stairs and hit me nose so I need to go and wash me face.”

  Mike charged in. Susan was sitting on the sofa, clutching a handkerchief.

  “Has she left?”

  “Yes. I went into the hall to call you and when I went back she just said she had to leave.”

  Mike paced up and down. “What did she want?”

  Susan stood up and slapped him hard. “She told me about you and that Angela. She’s pregnant, did you know that? That bloody tart you’ve been screwing is pregnant.”

  Mike closed his eyes and sank down onto the sofa.

  “Well? Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

  “What else did she want?”

  “Isn’t that bloody enough?”

  Mike leaned back. At first it was just sticky mud he’d felt round his ankles, then it felt like cement. Now it felt like someone had fitted him with a straitjacket. Susan waited but still he didn’t say a word. She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, and he stayed there, eyes closed, head back, trying to assimilate everything, sort it out in his head. What did Dolly Rawlins want? He never even gave Angela a thought—he was too concerned with himself.

  Beneath the coffee table, which was placed against the wall, was a 13-amp adaptor. A table-light plug was fixed into one but in the other socket was a plug, not connected to any electrical appliance. The switch was turned on. The plug was a transmitter, that Mike was even paying for. Not that he ever imagined anyone would be bugging him. But Dolly was. She had inserted the plug the moment Susan had left the room.

  “Neat, isn’t it?” Dolly said, as she showed the women the second 13-amp adaptor she’d bought. She then showed them two pens that were also transmitters, pens you could even use to write with. They stared like a group of kids at all the equipment: the tiny receivers, the black box and, lastly, the briefcase that would enable Dolly to open up three electronic channels and record anyone she had bugged.

  “What’s all this for?” Ester asked.

  “What do you think?” Dolly said, as she studied the leaflets.

  “You planning on bugging us?”

  “Don’t be stupid, Connie. I’m going to put these to good use.”

  Dolly glanced up at the ceiling as she heard a soft cry. She said to Gloria, “I thought you told me they were asleep.”

  “They were last time I looked in but it’s a strange house, Dolly, and, well, they’re scared.”

  Dolly hurried upstairs and along to the room set aside for the kids. She eased open the door and could see them lying huddled together. The twins were sleeping but little Sheena was mewing like a kitten. “What is it, darlin’?”

  “Dark,” came the whimpered reply.

  Dolly fetched her own bedside lamp, and covered it with a headscarf. “There, how’s that, then?” Sheena’s eyes were wide with fright. “Would you like me to read you a story?”

  The little girl nodded, so Dolly opened one of the cheap plastic suitcases and took out some dog-eared books.

  “Which one is your favorite?”

  “Three Little Piggies,” Sheena whispered.

  “Okay, Three Little Piggies it is. Oh, you’re all awake now, are you? Well, cuddle up and I’ll read you a story.”

  Dolly read until one by one they fell asleep. Even so, she went on until she’d finished the book then whispered, “No one will blow my house down, no big bad wolf. This is my house.”

  Downstairs, Gloria picked up a transmitter. “She’s obviously serious about it. This gear must have set her back a few quid.”

  They heard Dolly coming down and started to make conversation.

  “What time did Angela leave?” Dolly asked as she walked in.

  “She went out in style,” Gloria said, then told her what had happened, and Julia added that she had called the hospital and Angela was off the danger list. They were unsure, however, if the baby would be all right.

  Dolly sighed. “You go and see her tomorrow, Julia, take her a few things. Just check on her.”

  “You won’t get me bringin’ her in grapes; she deserves all she gets, the nasty little snitch,” Gloria said.

  Dolly yawned.

  Ester sat next to her. “So, you gonna tell us what all this gear is for?”

  “It’s the train, isn’t it?” Connie said.

  Dolly slowly got up. “Yes, it is.”

  “The mail train?” Ester asked, springing to her feet.

  “That’s right.”

  Julia was resting one foot on the fireguard. “You’ll never do it, Dolly. I spoke to Norma. She said the s
ecurity for the drops is really tight and there’s no access by road. You’d never get a truck or a car up there without the cops knowing. That’s why they chose this station: for its inaccessibility.”

  “We wouldn’t be doing it by car.” Dolly was on her way to the door.

  “On foot? How the hell could we carry big fat mailbags?”

  Dolly cocked her head to one side. “We wouldn’t carry them and we wouldn’t be going by car, or on foot.”

  Ester smirked. “Helicopter, is it?”

  Dolly opened the door. “We hit the train on horseback.” They fell about laughing. Gloria snorted like a braying donkey. Then they saw that Dolly wasn’t smiling. She looked from one to the other, her voice quiet, calm, without any emotion. “Julia gave me the idea, so from tomorrow we all start learning to ride. Every one of us. If we can’t do it, then we look for something else. There’s a local stable within half a mile of here. They’ve got eight horses. We’re all booked for the early-morning ride so I don’t know about you lot but I need to get some sleep. Goodnight.”

  She shut the door behind her.

  “I’ve never been on a horse,” Connie said lamely.

  “Me neither—well, nearest I got was a donkey ride on Brighton beach,” Gloria said.

  “It’s bullshit, isn’t it, Julia?” Ester said flatly. “She’s joking.”

  Julia prodded the fire with the poker. “I don’t think so. One, she’s laid out for all that equipment; two, she was up by the woods, checking out the station. I think she’s serious. That’s why she’s made Connie, me, even you, Ester, start checking it out.”

  Overhead, the chandelier creaked as Dolly paced the floor above them. Long shadows cast from the fire loomed large across the big dilapidated room. One after another they opened their mouths as if to say something but nothing came out. They were all thinking the same thing. Was Dolly serious? Was the robbery for real? But it was Julia who broke the silence, laughing softly. “She’s pulling our legs. Let’s have a drink.”

  Chapter 13

  Angela was lying curled on her side, a sodden piece of tissue in her hand. She had cried herself into exhaustion. She didn’t look up when the door opened, thinking it would be a nurse. She knew it couldn’t be her mother—she hadn’t called her. She felt so sick and sad; she had never meant to hurt the baby but now it was too late. She was no longer pregnant; she had miscarried early that morning.