Black Widow

by Jessie Keane

  Annie sat there and the jumble in her brain was as bad as Dolly’s, only with more anguish added on.

  I could be the only Carter left, she thought. Max. Jonjo. Both gone. And maybe Layla too.

  Sick despair washed over her again. She just couldn’t take any of this in. Not yet. She had to gather herself first, if she could. Then, she’d see.

  7

  ‘Your little friend’s gone,’ said a disembodied female voice.

  Annie shot up in the bed, heart hammering, horrors erupting in her brain. She was in a strange bed, in a strange room. A blonde woman was at the window, yanking back the curtains so that Annie winced at the brightness of the new day. A double bay window. A nice room, prettily furnished. The woman with the bubble perm placed a mug of tea on the side table.

  Dolly.

  Annie clutched her head in her hands as it all came back to her. And with the grim memories came guilt and intense self-hatred. She had slept, deeply and dreamlessly, while her husband lay dead in a rocky gully far away and her daughter was God knew where, in the hands of people who could do her serious harm.

  ‘You were worn out,’ said Dolly, sitting down on the side of the bed and staring at her friend with concern. ‘I came up last night to see if you wanted anything to eat, and you were spark out. So I let you sleep. This is my room, you remember?’

  All Annie knew was that she had fallen on to the bed and literally passed out.

  ‘God, I’m sorry. Where did you sleep?’

  ‘Don’t be a silly mare, Annie, there’s always a spare bed in a place like this. You can have this room for the time being, no worries.’

  ‘You should have woken me up. Have there been any phone calls? Has anyone asked to speak to me?’

  Dolly shook her head.

  ‘There must have been!’ Annie burst out in fury.

  Dolly kept staring at her. ‘Nobody’s called. I would have fetched you. But they didn’t.’

  ‘Sorry,’ mumbled Annie. ‘Didn’t mean to shout the odds, Doll’

  ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘She’s fucked off then?’

  ‘Jean, yeah.’

  ‘Jeanette.’

  ‘Who the hell is she? Not your sort, I’d have thought.’

  ‘One of Jonjo’s blondes.’

  ‘Ah. Drink your tea.’

  Annie took up the mug with shaking hands and sipped it. The tea was strong, bracing.

  ‘You going to tell me what’s been going on?’ asked Dolly.

  ‘Nothing’s been going on,’ said Annie.

  Dolly smiled dryly. ‘Like fuck,’ she said. ‘You looked like a ghost when you pitched up here. And you sounded in bits on the phone. You’re shaking like a sodding old man now. So what’s happened?’

  Annie looked straight at Dolly. ‘Something horrible, Doll. And now they’ve got my baby girl.’

  ‘Layla?’ All trace of the smile was gone. ‘Fucking hell, Annie—who, for the love of God?’

  ‘I don’t know who,’ said Annie. ‘They’re going to contact me here. That’s all I know.’

  ‘Do they want money?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Annie tried another sip of the tea but this time it wouldn’t get past the lump in her throat. She put the mug aside.

  ‘Have you got it?’

  Annie shrugged. Anxiety gnawed at her. This was taking her right back to the time when she had been kicked out of home and left to fend for herself. Potless, homeless, abandoned, disgraced, and on the run from the Carter clan. She felt as lost, as hopeless now as she did then. She didn’t know squat about Max’s financial affairs. There had always been plenty of money, and he had been generous with it, but where it had come from and where he kept it was a mystery to her. She had no money of her own; she’d never needed it while Max was there. But now Max was gone.

  ‘And where is Max?’ asked Dolly after a pause.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Annie painfully.

  ‘What the fuck do you mean, you don’t know? He’s your flaming husband, of course you know where he is.’

  ‘He disappeared, Doll. These people phoned me and said they’d killed him.’

  Dolly recoiled in shock. ‘Jesus, no.’

  Annie nodded dumbly. She looked spent, Dolly thought, as if all this had drained the life from her. Dark shadows under her eyes. Her lips parched and cracked. Her skin sallow. This wasn’t the polished, controlled woman she knew. This was a beaten stranger. Dolly wondered how she would cope with such a bucketload of grief, though. Her kid snatched, her husband topped…that was enough to finish anyone, even the strongest.

  ‘You mustn’t tell anyone that Max is dead,’ said Annie. ‘I mean it, Doll. No one.’

  ‘You know I won’t. What about Jonjo?’ asked Dolly. ‘Jeanette was with you, so where’s Jonjo?’

  Annie swallowed and shook her head.

  Dolly was silent, gobsmacked.

  ‘Look, I tell you what,’ she said at last. ‘You get washed and dressed, then we’ll think again, okay?’

  Annie looked at her. Dolly was the best friend she had ever had, and she knew it. Annie was quite likely bringing trouble to her door, and many another would have turned her away, but not Dolly. She could almost have cried at Dolly’s kindness, but she held her emotions in tight check. Dolly would be embarrassed anyway by a display of emotion. She always had been. You’d never get hugs and kisses from Doll, but what you would get was firm support from a genuine ally.

  ‘Thanks, Dolly. Can I borrow something to wear? All I’ve got in the case is sandals and summer dresses and swimming cossies. Don’t ask me why I brought any of it back. I don’t think my head was right at the time.’

  ‘Help yourself. Anything you want. Oh, and Annie…’ Suddenly Dolly looked awkward and anxious. ‘I had to phone Redmond Delaney, tell him you’re here. Sorry. You’re a mate, but I can’t be seen to be disrespecting the Delaneys, not on their own turf. I didn’t want him just hearing about it from Ross, do you understand? I have to be careful.’

  Annie nodded. ‘Don’t give it another thought, Doll. I know you had to tell Redmond. That goes without saying.’

  And Redmond ain’t going to be very pleased about it, she thought.

  Dolly’s tense expression relaxed with relief.

  ‘We’d better get you some breakfast,’ she said. ‘You come down when you’re ready, Annie love. No rush. I’ll listen for the phone, don’t worry.’

  Dolly left the bedroom and closed the door softly behind her. She felt embarrassed at her own inability to help more. All hell was being set loose in the poor bint’s life, and she was telling her not to worry.

  ‘Doll!’

  At Annie’s call, she reopened the door and stuck her head around it.

  ‘Yes, Annie love?’

  ‘Does Billy Black still call in?’

  ‘Billy? Of course he does. Every week, regular. He hasn’t got many places to go where they’ll make him welcome, the poor bastard.’

  ‘When he calls, I want to speak to him.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dolly, and went off downstairs with a troubled mind to see to breakfast for the girls. As she passed the telephone in the hall, it jingled. She looked at it, picked it up, listened to the dial tone. Then she shrugged and put it back down.

  When Annie got downstairs, she found Dolly there eating toast and chatting to her ‘girls’. There was Darren, a slim blond young man wearing a flamboyant scarf and a yellow shirt, and to her surprise Ellie was there too, dark haired and still pretty, but porked up to double her usual size.

  All conversation stopped when Annie opened the door and stood there. She’d borrowed a plain black shift dress from Dolly’s wardrobe, some tights and some plain black courts. The shoes pinched, and the dress fitted where it touched, but she didn’t give a shit.

  ‘Gordon Bennett, if it ain’t Annie Bailey!’ said Darren, getting to his feet and coming round to give her a hug of welcome. Christ, he looked as thin as a ghost!

  ‘Carter,’ said Annie automatical
ly.

  ‘Gawd yes. I forgot you were playing with the big boys now.’ Darren rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. Camp as a row of pink tents, that was Darren, and she’d always loved his quirky ways.

  Annie pulled back and looked at him. He was more than slim—she felt his ribs when she hugged him. And he looked strained.

  ‘Hello Annie,’ said Ellie, coming forward for a hug. Annie gave a faint smile, suppressing her amazement at seeing Ellie back here. Dolly had once kicked Ellie out for her backstabbing habits, but here she was again, feet firmly under the table.

  Annie hugged her, trying not to think that Darren and Ellie looked like Jack Sprat and his wife, one skinny, one fat, like a comedy double act.

  ‘You’re both looking good,’ she lied.

  She pulled out a spare chair and sat down. She saw a look pass between Darren and Dolly, and Ellie bit her lip as if stifling something.

  ‘Have some toast,’ said Dolly, pushing a plate towards her. She poured tea from the pot into a spare mug, and added milk. ‘You look like you need a feed-up.’

  Annie kept shtoom. If it had been just Darren and Dolly there, she might have spoken now about Layla and Max, but Ellie was sitting there with her ears flapping so it wasn’t a good idea. Ellie had always been totally in the pocket of the Delaneys, and this was their manor. There had never been any love lost between the Delaneys and the Carters. And now she was a Carter—maybe the only one left.

  Max.

  Layla.

  Her guts clenched with pain.

  Annie stifled her grief and fear and thought instead about the Delaneys. Redmond Delaney and his sister Orla had once been good to her. But she was convinced that all that came to an end the minute Max Carter put a wedding ring on her finger. So in front of Ellie she would keep it quiet. She looked down at her wedding ring now and felt the pain rising up again, nearly choking her.

  Max’s ring with its bright gold and its solid slab of lapis lazuli was still there on her thumb. It was loose. She’d have to be careful not to lose it. Better to put it on the gold chain Max had given her, along with the gold heart inscribed Love you forever, the one she always wore, the one she was wearing around her neck right now.

  She picked up a bit of soggy toast and gnawed at it. She had to eat. Couldn’t face the idea of food, but she had to eat. Had to stay strong. She was no use to Layla in a weakened state. She sipped her tea and forced down the toast, and Dolly nodded her approval.

  ‘I look like shit in that dress,’ said Dolly. ‘But on you, it’s good. I only keep it for funerals.’

  Annie’s eyes locked with Dolly’s as they both remembered when Annie had last seen Dolly wearing the dress. Connie’s funeral. Annie’s mum, dead of alcohol poisoning, being laid to rest.

  ‘Jesus,’ said Dolly, chastened. ‘Sorry, Annie. Me and me big gob.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Annie. ‘Where’s Aretha?’

  Aretha had been a star turn in Dolly’s whorehouse. A tall black girl with a damaged past, she had specialized in S & M, punishment chairs, whippings, tying naughty boys up and giving them the whacking they desired.

  ‘She left about a year back, maybe two—didn’t I say?’ said Dolly. She glanced at Ellie, who turned her full concentration on her breakfast. ‘Married Chris.’

  ‘Chris the bouncer?’ Annie’s jaw dropped. It was a match that stretched the imagination to its limits, big bald Chris and tall man-eater Aretha.

  But then Annie remembered Chris’s gentle ways with the ladies, and thought that maybe, after all her trials and tribulations, Aretha had finally found a man who deserved more than to be punished.

  She glanced across the table at Ellie. Ellie had had a crush on Chris, she knew. And even now it looked as if the mention of him hooking up with Aretha was causing her pain.

  ‘He’s got a job in security now, he’s a night guard at Heathrow,’ Dolly went on. ‘They got a place together, and Aretha still turns a few tricks from home to bring in the dosh.’

  Annie nodded. Of course, things moved on. It was a weird feeling to come back here, with everything feeling somehow the same but forever different. Sitting here felt unreal, like a dream. Or maybe a fucking nightmare. People had met, fallen in love, married…moved on. Changed. Her life had changed, too. For the worse. Her husband. Her daughter. Her life. All changed. All gone. The pain gripped her again and she put the toast down, afraid that she was going to throw up right here, right now.

  ‘Hey—that’s my chair,’ said a voice behind her.

  8

  Annie looked up. And up. The woman standing there glaring down at her was over six feet tall and looked like every punter’s idea of a dream dominatrix. She had white-blonde hair cut close to her head and weirdly pale, penetrating blue eyes. She had huge tits. She was dressed in a white PVC minidress with cutouts on either side of the waist and a buckle in the centre, teamed with white, thigh-high boots.

  She didn’t look friendly.

  Dolly said quickly: ‘Una, this is Annie. Annie—Una.’

  ‘Hi, Una,’ said Annie.

  ‘I said that’s my chair,’ said Una.

  Annie looked at her. Then she looked curiously at Dolly, who was suddenly faffing around the kitchen fetching another mug, clucking around the place like the Queen of Sheba had put in an appearance. Annie looked at Darren, who looked away. She looked at Ellie, who was watching as if something interesting was about to kick off.

  She looked again at Una.

  ‘There’s another chair right here,’ said Annie, indicating an empty one to her left.

  Dolly dropped the tea caddy; it hit the table with a clatter.

  ‘Tea, Una? Or coffee?’ she prattled.

  ‘Then you fucking well sit in it,’ said Una to Annie, ignoring Dolly.

  Annie looked at her. It was a long, appraising look. ‘Sure,’ she said, and moved along to the next seat.

  Darren and Ellie exchanged a glance.

  Una sat smugly down in the seat Annie had just vacated, sneering sideways at her as Dolly took her breakfast order.

  Annie sipped her tea while Dolly fussed around Una.

  Fuck it, thought Darren, that’s not the Annie Carter I know. He caught Ellie’s eye. She’s lost it, said Ellie’s look. Bloody hell. Who’d have thought?

  When breakfast was over, Dolly went off upstairs and Annie caught up with her in the bedroom.

  ‘Doll, can you phone my cousin Kath, tell her I need to see Jimmy Bond?’

  ‘Sure I can.’

  ‘But don’t phone from here. Go to the phone box, okay?’

  Dolly looked at her. ‘Our phone was making a funny noise this morning.’

  ‘What sort of noise?’ Annie froze. ‘A sort of jingling noise, do you mean?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s it.’

  ‘Doll, I think there could be a tap on your phone line. I think these people who’ve taken Layla tapped the line at the villa, and they might have done the same here.’

  Dolly’s mouth dropped open, then she closed it.

  ‘Fuck me,’ she said. ‘I’ll use the phone box.’

  9

  The next day, Billy Black arrived on the doorstep. Annie ushered him into the kitchen and closed the door behind them so that Ross, the hard-eyed young Delaney man on the door, couldn’t hear what was said. Ellie and Darren were upstairs with clients; Dolly was sorting the takings in the front room. When they had come face to face in the hall, Ross had given Annie a look that should have turned her to stone, but she ignored it. Una was out—no one knew where and no one dared ask, either, if Annie was any judge.

  ‘Your cousin Kath don’t like you,’ Dolly had said when she got back from making her calls yesterday.

  ‘So what else is new?’ sniffed Annie. Who gave a fuck? The kidnappers hadn’t called yet. That was Annie’s only concern.

  ‘I told her you wanted to speak with Jimmy, but she put the phone down on me. Twice. Said Annie Carter was nothing to her.’

  Good old Kath, thought Annie. St
upid and obstinate, as always. All right, Annie held her hands up. She’d done wrong, taking Max off her sister Ruthie. But all that was long gone and forgotten. Ruthie had forgiven her. So why not Kath?

  Because Kath likes family aggro, thought Annie. Always did, always will.

  She thought of Kath’s face—Kath had never been pretty, but she had these bright eyes that were endlessly curious, gleefully absorbing gossip, gathering grudges like a squirrel hoarding nuts. Kath loved a family ruck—or any ruck at all, come to that.

  ‘Did you tell her it was urgent?’

  ‘She didn’t give me the chance.’

  ‘Okay, Doll’

  But at least Billy was here.

  Billy hadn’t changed a bit. Same old raincoat hanging off his thin frame, same old hat on his head, same briefcase clutched against him like it was the bloody Crown Jewels. Same pale face with that vacant look. Same stammer.

  The word was that the cord had got wrapped around his neck when he was born, cutting off blood supply to his brain and rendering him…well, not simple exactly. But not the brightest nail in the toolbox, for sure. But Billy was devoted to Max. Max had trusted him to do certain undemanding jobs around the manor, and Billy had always had a soft spot for Annie.

  ‘How you been, Billy?’ asked Annie, setting a mug of tea in front of him as they sat down at the table.

  ‘F-fine,’ he said.

  ‘Still working for the firm?’

  ‘No.’ Billy hesitated, forming words. It took a while. ‘Not since Jonjo took over.’

  Annie nodded. ‘But you’re still Max’s boy, yes?’

  ‘I’ve always been one of Mr Carter’s boys,’ said Billy proudly.

  Annie knew this was going to be a shock to Billy, but she knew she could trust him to keep his trap shut. She took a breath.

  ‘Max is dead, Billy. And so is Jonjo.’

  Billy stared at her.

  ‘Dead?’ he repeated blankly.

  Annie nodded. She waited for a beat to let that sink in a little. Then she said: ‘This is just between you and me for now, Billy. You and me, okay? It mustn’t go any further.’