by Emmy Ellis
Debbie caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror behind the bar and smiled at her reflection. She’d gone and visited the salon earlier, getting her hair done like she wanted. A million quid, that was what she felt like, and it had given her a boost. She couldn’t wait for Cardigan to see it.
Shirley appeared in the mirror, a hand on each of the double doors where she’d pushed them open. Her short red skirt was making friends with her knickers, and a black crop top exposed her toned belly. Hair in messy bun—Debbie knew how it got in the way when you bent over to give a punter a blow job—she’d done her face up nice, and if you didn’t know she’d been cut, from here it looked like her skin was scar-free.
She walked towards Debbie, and a man reached out to slap her arse.
“That’s a fiver,” Shirley said, stopping with her hand out.
“It was just a tap, Shirl.”
“I don’t give a toss. Money.”
He fished his wallet out and removed a tenner. “Here.” Then he slapped her bum again.
She snatched the cash and stuffed it in her handbag, trotting up to Debbie and taking a perch. “Did you bloody see that?”
“Yep.”
“Cheeky bastard. Well, that taught him. He won’t do it anymore if he has to fork out for it. Lemonade, Lisa, please.”
“He’s the sort who thinks he can touch just because of what you do for a living.” Debbie would have a word with him later, tell him to watch himself or she’d get shirty.
“Exactly that.”
“What did you want to talk about?” Debbie drank some Coke.
“Hang on. Let me get my drink first, then we can go in the parlour. This needs to be said in private.”
Shit, she’s really going to leave. “All right.”
They sat quietly until Lisa brought the lemonade over, and Debbie told her to put it on her tab. They had forty minutes before the shift started, so plenty of time to chat. She led the way, pushing past a couple of blokes chatting outside the men’s, then into the corridor. She unlocked the parlour door, her tummy going over about what was to come. She’d try to persuade her friend to stick around but wouldn’t push it if Shirley was adamant.
In the reception area, they sank onto a sofa each.
“Come on then, out with it.” Debbie cradled her Coke. If she smoked, she have a fag she was that nervous.
“Something happened last night when I left here.”
A pinch of guilt nipped Debbie at feeling relieved. Then worry overtook it. “What?”
“I was walking home, and you know by the cemetery?”
“Yeah…”
“Someone dragged me inside the tree tunnel.”
Debbie’s guts contracted. “Did they hurt you?”
Shirley shook her head. “No, thank God. Well, not like you mean. I got scuffed heels where he’d carted me along.”
“Fuck your shoes. I’ll buy you a new pair.”
“Not those heels, you silly tart. My actual feet.”
“Ow.”
“Yeah, they’re a bit sore. Walking here tonight, let’s just say I hobbled, then when I came in, I gritted my teeth and made out nothing was wrong.”
“So what happened?”
Shirley sipped some lemonade, probably to stall. She’d done this when Debbie had grilled her after she’d been cut. Got all cagey, staring at the ceiling like she was doing now. “He wanted to say sorry.”
Debbie shot forward, her drink nearly spilling. “Oh, fucking hell. Vinny.”
“Yep.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing. I was too worried about what he’d do. Anyway, he said if he says sorry, that makes it okay until next time.”
“I knew he was a fucking abuser.”
“He wants me to ask you if he can come back here.”
“I bet he bloody does, and the answer’s no.”
“Good. He gives me the creeps.” Shirley shivered.
“Want me to get hold of Cardigan?”
“Nah, I’ll wait and see if Vinny bugs me again.”
“Best he doesn’t drag you anywhere again, otherwise The Brothers will go after him. You know what they’re like about that sort of thing.”
With the plan settled, they nattered about the storm and how it’d taken them both ages to get to sleep. Debbie wondered whether Shirley had stayed awake for another reason altogether. Like seeing Vinny again in the dark tree tunnel.
It was enough to invite insomnia in for a place to stay.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rebecca’s mobile rang as soon as they stepped into their hallway.
“I have to take this, Gracie.” She walked into the lounge and shut the door. “Hello?”
“It’s Jonathan. Sorry to bother you so late. Can we meet tomorrow?”
“Yes, I go to mass in the morning, but other than that…”
“Where?”
“My church. It’s the one down by the large park near where we live.” She gave her address.
They arranged a time. Rebecca cut the call and slid her phone in her bag. She was meeting him straight after church, in the graveyard behind the big clock tower. She’d make Leona out to be so hideous he’d want to get away from her fast.
She went into the kitchen.
Gracie was spooning sugar and cocoa into their large mugs. “Who was that on the phone at this time of night?”
“Just someone who wants to know more about the charity. I said I’d meet him after mass. No need for you to go so early, I know you’ve had a tiring week.”
Please don’t insist on coming.
Gracie smiled. “Good, because I’ll probably give church a miss altogether.”
Rebecca sighed inwardly. The mission was a go.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I tell you, I fair shit myself when I got that note, but having just rung her, she seemed all sweetness and light, like she’s been all evening,” Jonathan said.
“Perhaps you haven’t got anything to worry about.” Sonny held his hand out. “Let me have a butcher’s at the note.”
Jonathan handed it over and waited while he read it.
“There you are, look. It says: I don’t wish to alarm you. You’re just getting worried about nothing.”
“I suppose. Anyway, I’ll find out soon enough. I’m seeing her first thing in the morning. Meet me down here at lunchtime, about twelve, and I’ll tell you what’s going on.”
“Right. One more for the road?”
“Go on then.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Leona was propped up in bed, sniffling into her lace-edged handkerchief, her eyes watering and her nose sore. She’d wiped it so many times she’d chafed the skin.
She’d wanted to go to the theatre this evening, not to watch the acts but to see Rebecca again. What a shocker it would’ve been for Rebecca to see her, plain Leona, on the arm of a younger man. But instead she was stuck in bed, left to her own devices while her husband went out and enjoyed himself. He’d said he was taking that friend of his, Sonny.
More than a little sorry for herself, she picked up her magazine, but the words merged into one another, and she could hardly concentrate. Her thoughts wandered, and she ruminated over the past couple of weeks.
The wedding itself had gone by without a hitch, except for Jonathan’s guests, who were loud. A short weekend break served as a honeymoon. That had been stilted and uncomfortable to say the least, and she sensed he knew he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. They’d hardly spoken, except for polite conversation and common courtesy. The hotel receptionist had looked at them strangely when they’d arrived. She’d handed over two sets of keys for their separate rooms.
As they’d walked away from the desk, she’d muttered, “No wonder they’ve got two rooms. Who’d want to get in bed with that?”
Leona wasn’t stupid. The woman had referred to her, and it had hurt.
The move into the new house hadn’t been so bad. Her father had bought all the furniture for them, and
it’d been delivered while they’d been away. Leona just took her personal possessions and clothes, and Jonathan arrived with a suitcase, its contents unknown.
She hardly saw him. He was a sullen and moody man. She let him out and about, though. Her father’s men would keep a close eye on him. He went to work and came home, often going out with that Sonny, coming home around eleven. With a grunt of goodnight, he went to his room, and the next day began and ended exactly the same way.
Weekends weren’t much different, so she could say she’d got what she’d asked for really. A marriage in name only. She was still niggled, though. She’d envisaged candlelit meals, chats over coffee, some sort of warmth and togetherness. Just because they weren’t having sex, didn’t mean they couldn’t forge some sort of bond. It just seemed to her he wanted nothing but to honour his promise to her father.
Sighing, she got up and went down to the kitchen, intending to make herself a hot drink to help relax her. Milk in the pan, she jumped at the sound of the front door opening then closing. The kitchen door swung open, and in breezed Jonathan, who for once didn’t scowl at her.
“Couldn’t you sleep?” he asked.
“No.” Leona sniffed. A bit of sympathy wouldn’t go amiss.
“Oh, well, make your milk, and maybe you’ll feel better.”
It couldn’t have been alcohol that had made him in such a good mood. He rarely had more than three pints—her father had said so after asking Jack at The Eagle.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” She added a sniffle at the end of her sentence to elicit some kind of caring response.
“Yeah, we had a great time. The host let us share her box, said she knew you from years ago.”
“You shared a box with Rebecca Lynchwood?” Leona’s sniffles and sneezes were forgotten.
“Yeah, she seems quite a nice woman—”
“You don’t know her. She’s the one who stole my William away from me. Did she say anything else about me?”
“No, only that she knew you, that’s all. What are you getting in such a fix about?”
“I’m not. How did you come to be talking about me?” She whittled her handkerchief.
“She said she’d seen our wedding announcement in the paper. Anyway, I’m off to bed. I’m out early in the morning.”
“On a Sunday? May I ask where you’re going?”
“You can ask, but I’m not telling you.” He left the kitchen.
Leona seethed in his wake.
That Rebecca always gets the better of me. Why does everything I plan go wrong? And why is he in such a good mood? I bet he’s got a thing for Rebecca.
With those thoughts in mind, she splashed the milk into her cup, added some sugar, and made her way to bed. She walked past Jonathan’s room. He sang, which only served to confirm her suspicions. Rebecca had succeeded in taking something away from her. Again.
She went to her room, livid. Jonathan’s rudeness returned to taunt her. How dare he say she could ask where he was going but he didn’t have to tell her.
“The youth of today,” she muttered.
That brought her up short. She was getting old.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jonathan waited behind the church at half eight. The day would heat up in no time, and the dew would soon evaporate, leaving the grass dry enough to walk on without getting the toes of his shoes wet.
He couldn’t go anywhere without thinking he was being followed. The uneasiness, together with the hairs rising on the back of his neck, convinced him that people had been told to keep an eye out and report back. All he did was go to the pub with Sonny most nights. There were no women involved.
Until now.
Gracie had him feeling happy and sad at the same time. Happy he had something to look forward to, and sad she only served to show him what Leona was really like: old, his jailer from now until whenever he set himself free.
He could hardly believe he’d only met Gracie last night, having got on so well with her. He felt like he’d known her for years instead of hours. What a shame she couldn’t be his properly, what with Leona in the shadows.
He imagined all their future furtive meetings, going places where they wouldn’t be seen by Cardigan or one of his watchmen. How would he explain to her, should she want to go somewhere on The Cardigan Estate, that he’d rather not, without sounding odd or suspicious? Would Rebecca help him out with that? Her note had made it clear she didn’t mind the idea of him seeing her daughter, even though she knew he was married. Only time would tell on that score. He’d have to talk to her about that.
Sitting on the bench provided for mourners, he looked down at the path and wondered again what she wanted to talk about regarding Leona. He suspected he’d hear a different story to Leona’s. What was the feud between them really about? Whose story would he believe? He hardly knew either woman.
He yawned and put his hand up to cover his mouth. Rebecca came towards him. Immaculately dressed in a long beige coat, the ends of her pretty cream shawl flapped in the breeze as she drew level with him.
“Good morning. Shall we walk?” she asked.
He got up and greeted her warmly then strode beside her down the path leading to the vast cemetery. She seemed to know where she was going, and after walking in silence for a short while, they came to a halt by the graveside of William Lynchwood.
She stared down at the headstone. “I loved him with all my heart, you know. Still do. I wish every day that things could have turned out differently, but every morning I wake up and it’s all the same. I’m alone, and he’s still dead. Life’s unfair, and I never want Gracie to have to go through what I have. You like her, don’t you?”
Jonathan cleared his throat. “Yeah. I want you to know that once I can get out of my marriage, I’ll be able to be with her properly.”
“How did you get yourself into that situation? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”
Jonathan took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do any good to lie, especially when he wanted to form a permanent relationship with her daughter. He’d tell her the lot, all about Cardigan and the card game, whether she thought it distasteful that he was a gambling man or not.
After his tale, Rebecca shook her head. “I can guess what the deal was, but go on, tell me.”
Her sympathetic manner put him at ease, and in the quiet surroundings he was able to carry on.
Once he’d finished, she said, “Leona isn’t the nicest woman, is she.”
“The way she puts on that posh accent of hers really gets on my wick.” He paused and ground his teeth in anger. “The wedding was all right. I was able to get drunk and blot it all out, but since then I’ve hardly been able to look at her. I’m bound to her for God knows how long, and it makes me sick to my stomach.” He rubbed his face with both hands.
“You don’t plan to stay with her, do you?”
Jonathan wanted to laugh. “Even before I met Gracie last night, I wanted to get rid of Leona. Cardigan orders my beer now, and it’s fine while he’s doing that. I can keep afloat and have plenty of cash to spare, but once I leave Leona, he’ll withdraw the orders. I signed something to that effect. I need to build up custom elsewhere, but I tell you, whoever I approach just doesn’t want to know.”
“Cardigan might have something to do with that. If he wants you to stay with his daughter, of course he’ll put off any other customers.”
“It’s just one of those things. Everyone gets to hear that you’re going downhill, and they go to someone else. I reckon I need to branch out a bit, tout for business farther afield.”
Rebecca nodded and stared at the grass. “Look, let me tell you the reasons why I don’t mind you seeing my daughter. You can’t let Leona come between you. I will say, for the record, that if Gracie ever finds out you’re married, I’ll deny all knowledge of it to protect our relationship. Is that clear?”
“Yeah, I can understand that. I wouldn’t expect you to do anything else. I don’t want her to find out I’ve ever b
een married until it’s all over and I’m free.”
“That would be best.” She went on to tell him of her past. “So you can imagine my surprise when I saw your announcement in the paper. I imagined you to be just as old as she is. When your friend introduced you at the theatre… I thought you must have married her for Cardigan’s protection. I had no idea it could be something like this.”
“Me seeing Gracie would give you some sort of satisfaction then, especially if it came to something and we stayed together?”
“Yes, I have my own interests at heart on that score, but ultimately my daughter’s welfare is my main objective, so if you make her unhappy, I’ll have something to say about it.”
“As you have every right to. It’s just a matter of sorting out this Leona business.”
“It’ll all come out in the wash, you’ll see.”
“Got something up your sleeve?”
“I might have. Would you like to come back to our house? We can tell Gracie I bumped into you on the way home.”
“I was going to ring her once I’d left you anyway.”
“Well, that saves you having to, doesn’t it?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gracie had been on edge all morning. She’d finally fallen asleep around three a.m. and woke again at nine. Getting dressed and going down for breakfast, she’d waited for her phone to ring.
She sat at the kitchen table in a daydream, finding it hard to believe she’d met a man the night before—and she hadn’t even been looking for him.
Her last boyfriend had been all sweetness and light when they were in company, and angry and selfish while they were alone. She’d ended their relationship in a crowded pub—he wouldn’t make a scene in public. He’d called her for days afterwards, nice at first, and then the phone calls got nasty, until she threatened him with the police. The calls stopped, and she’d seen him out on a few occasions with her friends from the office. He hadn’t approached her or acted like he knew her in any way.