Dolly’s stare burned into Linda’s soul, a strange mix of anger and disappointment. “You stood on that beach, looked me right in the eye and told me you were seeing no one.”
“It was none of your business,” Linda bit back, lighting a cigarette. As she sucked hard on the cigarette, she wished she’d never bothered calling Dolly at all. Why the hell was she more bothered about Carlos than Jimmy Nunn?
“Why do you think I asked about him?” Dolly said. “You think I want to know about your dirty sex life, or do you think maybe I’m trying to protect you? Protect all of us.”
The smile slipped from Linda’s face. She knew she was about to be put in her place and, once again, she hadn’t seen it coming. She stared at Dolly, waiting for the big hit.
“Carlos works for Arnie Fisher,” Dolly said. “Your lover boy, Linda, is a little queen; a poof hopping from your bed straight into Arnie’s. Apart from servicing Arnie Fisher as his bum boy, Carlos also services all of his dodgy motors. He’s as bent as they come . . . in more ways than one.”
Linda was numbed into silence. The name Arnie Fisher rang round her head. The thought that he was having sex with Carlos made her feel physically sick. Her mouth dried up and she didn’t notice her burning cigarette dropping ash on the table. Dolly fed another piece of biscuit to Wolf, giving Linda time to absorb what she’d just said.
Eventually, Linda’s brain caught up. She attempted a smile and drew on her cigarette. “I don’t believe a word you’re saying.” But although she hated Dolly sometimes, Linda knew that she’d never lied. Ever.
“Boxer Davies told me,” said Dolly. “Before someone made mincemeat out of him. So when I asked you about Carlos at the beach and you said you weren’t seeing him anymore, I knew you were lying. I chose not to say anything cos we had a heavy day ahead and I thought you might wise up of your own accord . . . but no. You just race from one stupid decision to another, don’t you?” The short pause Dolly left before continuing was excruciating for Linda. “What car were you sitting in when you were outside Jimmy Nunn’s flat?” Dolly was going in for the kill. Tears welled up in Linda’s eyes. “Were you sitting in your own car by any chance? The car Carlos helped you repair? The car he’s seen parked outside your flat, and outside your place of work, and outside this cafe that you called me to so the whole world can see us together? Was it that car, Linda?”
Linda wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. But still Dolly didn’t let up, even as the tears rolled down Linda’s face.
“You’ve been a stupid little tart, but it stops right now, you hear me? I’m the boss for a bloody good reason. Now, before I tell you what you’re going to do next, I’m going to ask you a question. I’ve already asked it once and this time you’ll answer. Did you tell Carlos anything about what we’re up to?”
“I swear I haven’t. Not a word. On my life, Dolly . . .” And Dolly knew this was true.
“You’re going to get rid of him, Linda.” Dolly said.
For a second, Linda thought Dolly looked and sounded like a mafia boss ordering a hit. “How do you mean?” she asked in a pathetic, croaky voice.
Dolly wanted to get hold of her by the scruff of the neck and knock some sense into her. “Well, I ain’t on about concrete boots, if that’s what’s going through your stupid brain. He’s the Fishers’ wheels man, right? He must have a garage full of hot cars.”
Linda’s mouth dropped open. “You want me to shop him to the Old Bill?”
“One phone call, Linda. Get them to raid his place. Today.” Dolly stood up and tucked Wolf under her arm. “And don’t you ever lie to me again.” Dolly turned and started to walk away, but paused and looked back at Linda, sitting with her head down, staring at the cigarette ash floating in the cold espresso in front of her. She looked totally defeated. Dolly still didn’t feel sorry for Linda, but she did need her to get her act together and get rid of Carlos. “Thanks for Jimmy Nunn’s address,” she said. “I’ll look into it.”
Linda sat alone at the table. On the other side of the cafe, the Greek and three swarthy builders were eyeing her up. She felt disgusting. Stupid and disgusting. It had taken less than five minutes for Dolly to turn one of Linda’s proudest moments into one of her most shameful. She fucking hated Dolly Rawlins! She was a horrible, horrible woman. Horrible for not having a heart, and for crushing Linda’s in one conversation. She hadn’t needed to use terms like “bum boy,” Linda thought; she did it because she was a sad, old, hateful witch of a woman.
Her right hand found the gold necklace and the pendant of Sagittarius the archer that Carlos had given her. He’d made her close her eyes as he slipped it over her head, kissed her gently and settled it into the hollow of her neck. She loved it. She loved him. They’d made love, standing, watching each other in the mirror. In the morning, Carlos had left before she woke, leaving a note saying he’d see her after work. But now all she could see in her mind’s eye was Carlos kissing Arnie with those same luscious Italian lips.
That bitch, that twisted bitch! The pain Linda felt was unbearable. She tried to expunge the image of Arnie and Carlos from her head but she couldn’t. She twisted the necklace until the gold chain snapped. A small trickle of blood ran down her neck where the archer’s bow had cut her skin, and she wept.
Chapter 22
Dolly checked the address Linda had given her. She was parked in a street of squalid, run-down houses. She spotted a kid gliding down the pavement on a skateboard and, lowering the window, yelled at him to come over.
“D’you know who lives at number thirty-nine?” she asked.
The kid looked over to the house then back to Dolly. He shook his head.
“Don’t have a clue, missus. Why you askin’?”
Dolly got out of her Merc, “I’m visiting an old friend.”
“Then you should know more about them than me, shouldn’t ya?” the kid replied with a cheeky grin on his face.
Dolly looked around. The Merc was a big prize in a street like this. “Look after my motor and I’ll give you three quid,” she said to the kid.
The boy’s eyes lit up. “I’ll do it for a fiver,” he said.
Dolly smiled. She liked this kid. They shook hands and Dolly headed toward Jimmy Nunn’s place.
The house had been split into four flats and the front door was on the latch. It was even worse on the inside than she imagined: the hallway full of flyers, black plastic rubbish bags, broken milk bottles, free newspapers and used takeaway cartons. The hall light switch didn’t work and she saw there was no bulb in the dangling light socket. Using her lighter to help her see her way, she moved on up the stairs. By the time she’d reached the second landing, the smell wasn’t so bad. She stopped, held her lighter near the door and saw the number four. As she knocked a baby began to howl. She waited, knocked again and the baby howled louder.
“Who is it?”
Dolly knocked again.
The door inched open and a young woman peered through the gap. “I ain’t interested in buying nothing.”
She started to close the door, but Dolly was faster.
“Mind if I have a chat, love? That’s all I want,” Dolly asked, pushing past her into a small, cheaply furnished room. She lit a cigarette. The young girl’s perfume was cloying. “I’m looking for Jimmy Nunn. Is he in?”
The girl said nothing; she clearly had no clue who Dolly was.
“I’m Mrs. Harry Rawlins,” said Dolly, blowing smoke through tight lips. “Your husband worked for mine. And your name is . . . ?”
“Trudie,” said the girl reluctantly. The name of Harry Rawlins had certainly meant something to her. “I ain’t seen Jimmy in months. Said he had some business, walked out and I ain’t seen him since.”
Dolly was taking in every inch of the room: the baby clothes on the heater, the untidy, shoddy furniture, but most of all, Trudie. The girl was beautiful in a cheap, tarty way: good figure, sexy, lovely blonde hair, heavy pouting mouth and big, innocent, wide eyes. She�
�d be easy to get information from, thought Dolly. All she had to do was be nice. She offered Trudie one of her cigarettes, but she shook her head.
“I don’t smoke,” she said.
So the overflowing ashtray on the armchair next to Trudie had been filled by someone else. The sex bomb might not smoke, Dolly thought to herself, but someone else here does . . . As Trudie stood with her baby in her arms, Dolly stood with Wolf in hers. Putting Wolf down, Dolly sat carefully on Trudie’s scraggy sofa and lit herself another cigarette. Wolf jumped up on the armchair, sniffing and scrabbling about down the side of the seat cushion. In his frenzy, he knocked the ashtray onto the floor.
“Get down!” Dolly scolded and he did as he was told, sitting by her feet, wagging his tail. She made no effort to pick up the ashtray or the scattered dog ends. It wouldn’t have made any real difference to the state of the room. She got the photograph out of her handbag. “Is this Jimmy?”
Trudie looked at the photo of Jimmy and Terry standing together and nodded. “He owes you money, does he?”
Dolly stood up, brushing down her skirt, and handed Trudie a phone number on a piece of paper. “If he should put in an appearance, tell him I’d like to talk to him. He can get me on this number. It’s Mrs. Rawlins,” she repeated.
“I got your name,” Trudie said.
What a naive and stupid girl, thought Dolly. Especially to get herself lumbered with a kid. A constantly whining kid. The smell of Trudie’s cheap heavy perfume hit her again. Perhaps that was what was making the baby cry? He was actually a sweet little thing, about six months old. Dolly patted his cheek lightly and Trudie, looking nervous, took a step back. As Dolly opened her handbag and took out five crisp ten-pound notes, Wolf jumped back up onto the armchair and started digging at the cushion again. Dolly ignored him.
“This is for the kid,” she told Trudie, handing her the fifty quid. “And when Jimmy makes contact with me, you’ll get a lot more.”
Trudie looked at Wolf digging at her armchair.
“Wolf!” Dolly shouted. “Get down!” She scooped him up in her arms. As she did so she noticed something glinting, stuck in the crevice between the cushion seat and arm of the chair. “I am sorry . . .” she said, pretending to ruffle the cushion. With her back to Trudie, she pulled out a gold Dunhill lighter, exactly like the one she’d bought all those years ago for—
Trudie’s voice seemed to come from somewhere a long way away. “If that’s your motor down there, Mrs. Rawlins, you’d better go and see to it.”
Dolly quickly dropped the lighter back down the side of the cushion. She desperately wanted to turn it over and see if the initials “HR” were engraved on the back. But Trudie’s voice came again . . .
“There’s loads of kids round it. It looks like you lost a wing mirror already.”
But Dolly had already gone. She didn’t look back for fear of what she might see.
Trudie watched from the window as Dolly ran across the road and clipped the ear of one of the kids standing by her car. Trudie grinned. “Tough old bird, ain’t she?” she said. The kitchen door opened a crack. “You’ll never guess what, love—she gave me fifty quid for our kid.”
Chapter 23
Linda was back in her arcade booth, clutching the necklace Carlos had given her. She’d fixed it—she thought Carlos would notice if she suddenly stopped wearing it. Dolly’s words went round and round her head. She still couldn’t make it make sense; she still couldn’t believe Carlos swung both ways, not the way he held her in his arms and made love to her. She looked up and her heart lurched. Carlos was striding toward her with a big smile. He was wearing a smart cream suit—silk by the look of it—and very expensive. Unable to look him in the eye, Linda began frantically re-counting change.
“What d’you think?” he asked, standing by the booth window, heavy cologne permeating the air around her.
Linda slowly raised her head. Carlos was pointing at his suit and smiling, his dark handsome face freshly shaved. She loved his beautiful dark eyes, but she couldn’t hold his gaze. Not now. She looked away. “You goin’ some place nice all dressed up like a dog’s dinner?” Her voice was shaky.
“Meeting some people for a business dinner,” he said airily. “Open the booth so I can give you a cuddle.”
Linda fumbled as she unlocked the door. Carlos put his hands round her waist, pulled her close and kissed her. She was tense and he could feel it.
“I got to get on.” She pulled away. Carlos held her, touched the pendant on her neck and a shiver ran through her.
“Looks good on ya and makes me proud you wear it. Maybe I can see you after my business dinner?”
“I’m on lates. I’ll be tired.”
Carlos leaned over, put out his hand and tilted her head toward him. “Something the matter? You seem a bit cold?”
Linda pulled her head away and began to twist the pendant nervously. “Nah. It’s just that I’m working till late. I’m so tired I just want to go home to bed and sleep.”
Carlos stepped back and looked at her, but she wouldn’t look him in the eye. He gave a slight shrug, and after a few seconds of silence, said, “Suit yourself.” Turning sharply, he walked toward the exit.
“Twelve,” Linda blurted out. “I’ll be finished at twelve.” She didn’t know what made her say it.
Carlos turned with a smile and a wink. “Back later!”
Linda waited a few seconds, biting her nails, and then yelled for Charlie. “Here,” she said, handing him the booth key once he’d ambled over. “I’ll be back in a minute.” Before Charlie could ask where she was going, Linda was out the door.
The white suit made Carlos easy to follow. Linda kept her distance on the opposite side of the street, and paused by shop doorways in case he turned around. She watched as he stopped and looked at his reflection in a shop window, patting his hair and straightening his tie before continuing down Wardour Street and entering a small French bistro.
The bistro had a mid-line red curtain across it. Standing on tiptoes, Linda could just see Carlos being led across the restaurant by a waiter. A blonde woman smiled and waved at him. Well, if he was doing the dirty on her, at least it was with a woman . . . But it was the waiter, not Carlos, that the blonde was waving at.
Carlos was ushered to a booth at the back of the restaurant, where he stood chatting to someone. Linda couldn’t see who it was, but she did see a hand reach out and squeeze Carlos’s backside. Then whoever it was leaned forward and kissed Carlos on the cheek. For a fraction of a second Linda saw the other man’s face clearly. It was enough. It was true. Dear God, it was true. Arnie Fisher and Carlos were lovers.
Linda’s head was spinning as she ran across Wardour Street without looking, causing a car to swerve and almost crash into a bus stop. She ran toward a telephone kiosk, went inside and scrabbled through her jeans pockets for some change before she remembered that 999 calls were free.
Later that night, Linda had sex with Carlos. She hadn’t wanted to, but she had to make him think nothing was wrong. Afterward, when she was satisfied he was asleep, she slid out of bed and paced round the room before sitting at her dressing table.
Carlos had only pretended to be asleep. He opened his eyes a fraction and watched her beautiful naked body as she sat staring at herself in the dressing table mirror, his pendant hanging between her breasts. She frowned, picked up a piece of cotton wool, squeezed some make-up remover on it and wiped her face. Something’s the matter with her, he thought. She’d been edgy at the arcade and the sex was not as wild and passionate as usual. As she got up from the dressing table and climbed back into bed, Carlos pretended to stir. Slipping his arm round her, he stroked her gently, rolled on top of her and they had sex again. After he finished, Linda turned away from him.
“What’s wrong?” whispered Carlos.
“Nothing,” said Linda. “I’m just exhausted.”
Carlos squeezed her again and kissed the back of her neck. He had never told her he loved her, b
ut he wanted to tell her now. He leaned up on his elbow and whispered her name, but she had fallen asleep. Gently, he moved a strand of hair from her face before turning over and going to sleep himself.
In the dark, Linda opened her eyes and stared at the curtains. She felt as if her heart was turning to stone. Could that arrogant cow Dolly be wrong? Maybe Carlos was stringing Arnie Fisher along for cash and didn’t actually sleep with him at all? But Linda knew she was just clutching at straws.
Carlos was up and dressed before Linda. He knelt on the bed and shook her awake. “Sorry. I’m late for work. I don’t suppose I could cadge a lift?” Relieved that was all he wanted, Linda got up.
She drove in silence, Carlos’s silk suit was crumpled, his tie flung on the dashboard and the overnight growth of stubble on his chin gave his face a swarthy look. He turned on the radio and rested his arm along the back of her seat. Linda felt pangs of guilt as she arrived at the top end of the U-shaped mews.
“Drop me here,” said Carlos. He got out and leaned back in the door across the passenger seat and kissed her on the cheek. “You OK?” he asked as he cupped her chin in his hand.
Linda nodded and then he was gone, whistling as he walked down the mews with his hands stuck in his pockets. Suddenly she noticed his tie on the dashboard. Leaving the engine running, she got out and chased after him. She didn’t want any evidence of him anywhere near her if he was going to be nicked.
Inside the garage, Johnny, the young apprentice, sat handcuffed between two uniformed officers while three detectives looked through the books and filing cabinets. As they heard Carlos’s whistle and his footsteps approaching, the officers tensed up and got themselves into position. Outside, Carlos fished in his pocket for the door keys . . .
“IT’S THE LAW, CARLOS!” Johnny shouted.
“Go, go go!” one of the officers in the garage shouted down the radio to his colleagues parked round the corner. In a split second, Carlos had turned and was racing toward the blind exit at the other end of the mews. The unmarked police car skidded round the corner, accelerating past Linda, who dropped the tie and ran back to her car.
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