Widows

by Lynda La Plante

  Trudie woke and all she could see was a dark figure searching through the dressing table. Harry moved in an instant to the bedside and put his hand over her mouth. “It’s me, Harry,” he whispered, and she relaxed. She grabbed his arm and pulled it from her face. She could feel something wet round her mouth. As she switched the bedside light on, she saw the blood from Harry’s hand.

  “Quiet, keep it shut, don’t wake the kid,” he said, wiping his blood from her face.

  Trudie looked at Harry’s hands and saw the numerous cuts and blood. “Where have you been? I’ve been awake for hours waiting for you! What have you done?”

  Harry stood up. “Where’s the fifty quid she gave you?” Trudie opened her mouth to ask why, but Harry made a “cut it” gesture.

  “You didn’t find the money, did you?” she said, realization dawning. “And where’re Eddie and Bill?”

  Harry ignored her, picked up her purse and took out the fifty quid, plus what was left of her child benefit. He stuffed it into his pocket and then pulled out his bedside drawer. Taped to the underside was the false passport Bill had got for him. He stuffed it into his holdall and walked out of the bedroom.

  Trudie got out of bed and followed him. “Where are you going? Harry? Where are you going? You’re not leaving me, are you?”

  Harry shook his head, but Trudie ran to the door and positioned herself in front of it. “Are you going back to Dolly? Do you still love her, or is it for the money?”

  Harry stood face to face with Trudie and spat the words out. “Don’t even say her name. She’s gone . . . gone forever!”

  Trudie grabbed hold of him. “The money—what about the money?”

  Harry pushed her to one side and wrenched the door open. Trudie clung onto him tight.

  “I love you so much, Harry. Please stay. I need you here with me . . . I love you.”

  Harry held her tightly and pulled her head into his shoulder as she began to cry. He lifted her chin up and stared down into her eyes as he whispered. “I know, but I can’t stay. We went to the house. Neither Dolly nor the money was there. Then the police turned up and all hell let loose. Eddie and Bill got nicked and we both know there’s no way Eddie will keep his mouth shut once he’s been roughed up a bit in a cell. I have no choice. I have to go.”

  Trudie let out a howl and Harry covered her mouth with his hand.

  “I’ll be back for you, I promise, but I just got to make it on me own for a while.”

  He moved out onto the landing. Sobbing, Trudie held onto his coat, pulling him backward. Harry stopped, and jerked his hand backward to get her off him.

  “I won’t let you go; I won’t let you!” she said, weeping so hard she was shaking.

  Harry held her cheeks and squeezed them hard. “The kid—he’s mine isn’t he? Isn’t he?”

  Trudie winced as his grip tightened. “Of course he’s yours,” she said, looking into his hard and cruel eyes.

  “He’d better be; he’d better be mine! I’ll be back for you both.” He turned. Trudie’s grip on him was so tight that he had to jerk his hand sharply away and, as he did, he knocked her backward.

  He was off, running down the stairs as Trudie fell and cracked her head against the wall, but he didn’t look back. Trudie felt sick as she crawled to the banister.

  “Harry, you bastard!” she screamed as she hauled herself up and looked down the staircase. “You run to her—go on, RUN TO HER! She was the brains behind you all along and you never even knew it!” Slumping onto the stairs, she wept even harder.

  Mrs. Obebega came out of her flat below and looked up. “You all right, Mrs. Nunn? Mrs. Nunn, you OK?” she asked, coming up the stairs toward Trudie.

  Below them, they heard wood cracking and splintering as the front door was smashed in against the inside wall, and the sound of heavy boots running up the stairs.

  Detective Sergeant Fuller was leading the raid. Jimmy Nunn’s address had been barely legible on the blood-soaked scrap of paper Resnick had given him. Seeing Trudie on the floor, Fuller waved his warrant card at her and then ran past her. “Where is he? Tell me right now, where is he?” Fuller shouted over his shoulder.

  “He’s gone . . . he’s gone . . . now GET OUT!” Trudie screamed over and over again, becoming ever more hysterical.

  Tenants were coming out their flats as uniformed police entered and swarmed the building. Back on the top landing, Fuller hauled Trudie up from the floor by her dressing gown as the uniformed officers stomped into the flat. One of them kicked open the bedroom door and woke the baby, who began to howl.

  Fuller held Trudie by the arm and pulled her toward her front door. “Where’s Jimmy? You’d better tell me where he is, Mrs. Nunn, or I swear I’ll nick you as well.”

  Trudie could hear herself laughing, a crazy sound. Like a needle stuck on a record, she just kept repeating: “I don’t know anything, I don’t know anything, I don’t know anything.”

  Chapter 41

  The queues at passport control in Rio airport were long. Dolly and Shirley stood in different lines and at no time so much as glanced at each other. The waiting had made some passengers irritable and tetchy, but when they complained, the Brazilian immigration officers delayed even further.

  Dolly and Shirley made their separate ways to luggage collection, where some passengers were already wheeling and heaving their cases toward the customs control. The air conditioning made the vast room cold, the muzak was a repetitive heavy drumbeat Samba and, combined with the excited chatter of Brazilian passengers and a long flight, the whole experience was exhausting.

  Shirley could just see Dolly’s blonde head above the group of passengers who pushed and shoved their way toward the luggage carousel. At the only exit was a row of trestle tables with a customs officer standing at either end and a further two officers standing by the exit doors. They were all armed and were watching the passengers like hawks. Shirley could feel the sweat begin to trickle down her forehead as she fought her way toward the carousel.

  As she waited for her suitcases, Shirley glanced over to the trestle table, where a line of passengers was waiting to go through. Her heart lurched: every passenger’s case was being searched. Articles of clothing were strewn out across the whole length of the tables as passengers and customs officers argued loudly. Shirley pushed closer to Dolly and eventually squeezed in behind her. She whispered in Dolly’s ear, her voice hardly audible above the din.

  “They’re searching everyone. Don’t do it.”

  Dolly didn’t turn round. “You know what to do—now get away from me.”

  Up came one of their red suitcases, but they couldn’t see if it was the one with the red tag or blue tag. As they watched and waited for the case to get closer a hand came forward and dragged it off the carousel. Dolly was about to have a go, when Shirley kicked her foot.

  Charles, rucksack on back, smiled at Shirley. “Your case I believe? Do you want me to carry it for you?”

  “No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ve got to wait for me other one anyway.”

  He pressed closer toward her, his BO smelling much worse after the long flight. “I don’t mind waiting with you . . . I wondered if maybe we could have dinner, do some sightseeing or just stay in together?”

  Shirley had to get rid of him. She turned on him and spoke softly but plainly. “No way . . . just piss off!”

  Charles wasn’t expecting such a sudden rejection and, taking a step back, trod on a fat woman’s foot. She squealed and pushed him hard; he started to fall backward and as he turned to regain his balance, his rucksack hit another woman, who swore at him in Portuguese. Apologizing to everyone around him, he skulked off with his head held low.

  Shirley turned to tell Dolly to leave the case. She wasn’t there, but the case was. Shirley couldn’t bring herself to pick it up; but then she noticed it was the case with the blue tag. While everyone was looking at Charles, Dolly had lifted the other red case off the carousel, swapped it with the money case and casually walke
d off.

  Shirley’s mouth was dry, and her hands sweated. When she looked over to see Dolly in the queue by the trestle tables, the money case by her side, Shirley thought she’d faint. Dolly seemed so calm as she inched closer to the customs officer, kicking the money case along as she moved. Figuring that, as Dolly hadn’t lifted the money case up yet, she wasn’t next to be searched, Shirley turned back to the carousel to see if she could get her case—but it had just gone past her for the second time!

  Charles’s rucksack was on the trestle table next to Dolly. Two officers were dealing with him, going over every nook and cranny of his clothing looking for drugs, before they decided to take him off for a strip search.

  A customs officer pointed at Dolly and then her case. Trying hard not to show how heavy it was, she lifted it onto the table and laid it on its side, then quickly placed her small holdall on top and rested her hands on it. The officer stared at her, held his hand out and snapped his fingers.

  “Passport.”

  She handed it over; he took a quick look and put it down beside him. “You’se have anythings to declares?” he asked in broken English.

  Dolly smiled sweetly and shook her head.

  “Any foods or plants wiz you?” he asked, still staring.

  “No, but I do have a duty free bottle of gin and some cigarettes in my holdall. Do you want to see them?”

  “Yes . . . Tell me why you are here? Business or holiday?” He seemed to be looking for any involuntary signs of nervousness.

  “Holiday,” Dolly replied calmly as she slowly unzipped her holdall. Her head was spinning like mad and she was controlling every nerve in her body to keep herself from showing any sign, any twitch, any flicker of emotion that might make the officer more suspicious than he already was. She didn’t have a clue what was going on behind her or where Shirley was, but she wished to God she’d hurry up and put whatever distraction plan she’d decided on into action.

  Shirley had now retrieved her cases and was standing in the queue waiting for customs. Looking over at Dolly, she saw the customs officer taking the booze and fags out of her holdall and then rummaging through the contents. He lifted the holdall off the case, handed it back to Dolly and started to turn the case round so the lock catches were facing him. Shirley knew it was now or never. She unzipped her handbag, put her hand inside and started screaming.

  “Help me! Oh, my God, help me! Someone’s stolen my passport!” She rummaged round her handbag, tipping it sideways so the contents fell to the ground. “It’s not here, it’s not here! I’ve been robbed. I’ve been robbed.”

  Everything came to a standstill and all eyes were on Shirley. The two officers at the exit door stepped forward to see what the rumpus was, the man behind Dolly threw up his arms in despair, then started shouting something in Portuguese and pointing at his wrist watch. The officer dealing with Dolly told him to be quiet, but he wouldn’t let it go and even Dolly knew what he meant when he called the officer idiota.

  The officer, now very angry, handed Dolly her passport, pushed her case to one side and signaled for her to get out of the way. He then turned to the man behind her and slammed his hand on the table.

  Dolly slid her suitcase off the table. It was over. All eyes were still on Shirley, further back in the queue, who was still screaming while on her knees, frantically looking through her strewn handbag contents. Dolly melted into the crowd and slowly walked through the automatic exit doors.

  It was not until the doors closed behind Dolly that Shirley waved her passport above her head, indicating she’d found it. The customs officers took her off to a room, with her suitcases, to speak to her. Now that Dolly had got through, Shirley didn’t feel nervous: she had nothing to hide or declare in either of her cases.

  Unbeknownst to Shirley, Charles was being spoken to in the next-door cubicle about the commotion he had caused by the luggage carousel. He was in tears as he explained that at Heathrow he’d helped a lady with an overweight case by saying it was his and then offered to carry it for her after landing in Rio. He had been hoping to get his leg over and was very disturbed by her sudden rejection.

  One of the officers who had spoken to Charles came in to join the two who were questioning Shirley. He spoke good enough English to report what Charles had said. “I’m ever so sorry,” Shirley said, with a little pout. “I didn’t have enough to pay the luggage excess, so I’m afraid I was a bit naughty. It was a silly thing to do and I am ever so sorry. It wasn’t my idea to lie though—that man said it was perfectly OK and no one would mind really. Was that wrong? Oh—” Shirley exclaimed, getting into full dumb-blonde mode—“do you think he had other ideas?”

  An officer told her to wait and he left the room. Shirley was now beginning to feel nervous, as she had thought that she’d be free to go by now. The officer returned a few minutes later, sat down opposite her at the table and glared into her wide blue eyes.

  “Why you tell the young man you do a shoot for a magazine in Rio?”

  “I lied,” she said, bowing her head to pretend she was ashamed, but also to hide her nerves. “I sort of fancied him and wanted to impress him and—”

  The officer banged the table, making Shirley jump. “Then why you tell him piss off when you land in Rio?”

  Shirley leaned forward confidentially. “Well, on the plane he was sitting next to me and I could smell how bad his body odor was. When he approached me in the luggage collection area it was awful! I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings, but I had to be honest.”

  The customs officers all burst out laughing.

  “He does smell bad!” said one of them. “Especially in a small interview room! Off you go, missy.” Opening the door for her, he ushered her out.

  Alice found Resnick in a side room off the main hospital ward. He made a surprisingly small figure on the high bed, motionless, hooked up to a drip, his face so puffy and bruised he was barely recognizable. As she went over to him, she noticed his false teeth lying in a saucer on the locker and had to suppress a sob. Drawing up a chair as close as she could to the bed, she settled down to wait.

  On her way to the hotel, Shirley looked out of the taxi window as Rio whizzed by, and thought of Terry. She had never known such an exhilarating feeling before. It was over, all over and she was free—free to do what she wanted, be what she wanted. She was rich. Very rich. She so wished that she could share this part of her life with the man she had loved. This was his dream too—well, maybe not Rio exactly, he was more of an East End boy—but being able to do anything they wanted. Shirley could hardly believe where she was and she certainly couldn’t believe how she’d got here. She couldn’t wait to see Linda and Bella again, she had so much to tell them.

  For the first couple of minutes, there were no words, just squeals of joy, laughter, lots of hugging and lots of tears. Shirley had never been held so tight: it was as if they never wanted to let her out of their sight again. Although she had pictured Linda and Bella having loads of fun by a heated pool, they had pictured her in a police interview room being leaned on by some unscrupulous copper. They were incredibly relieved to be back together.

  Hours later and the chatter was still in full flow, as was the champagne. The suite looked more like a Harrods’ sale room, with boxes of beautiful designer gowns and dresses everywhere. The three young women were like excited children racing around, whooping and dancing in the small hours, champagne corks popping.

  Next door, Dolly lay in the bath. She could hear the girls shouting and laughing and was glad they were happy. She had arrived about half an hour after Shirley, but her reception had been more reserved. Dolly wished she could evoke emotion, in herself and in others, but she’d always been so tightly wound she didn’t know how to express herself. I think they know how fabulous I think they are, she thought as she lit another cigarette and sipped on her champagne. They must know how proud I am of them? When Dolly had divvied up the £120,000 from her suitcase, the girls’ eyes had almost popped from their heads.


  Dolly looked at the cigarette between her wrinkled fingers. She’d been in the bath long enough for the water to be only just lukewarm now, but she didn’t care. As the tension seeped from every muscle in her body, she didn’t care about anything. Dolly closed her eyes.

  “Come on, Dolly!” Linda shouted from the living room.

  Dolly smiled. How she’d missed those dulcet tones. A cork popped and the girls shrieked as though it was the first of the day, even though it must have been the fourth. Touching the soft, fluffy soap suds, she was reminded of Wolf. She felt sick and then, as she tried to get up, she felt dizzy and slid back into the bath, the cigarette dropping from her fingers. As Dolly watched it disappear beneath the water, she wanted to cry. Her emotions were so close to the surface but they refused to come out. Whether her sadness was for Wolf, Harry or herself, she wasn’t certain—but, naked and alone, she felt so incredibly vulnerable.

  Nearly 6,000 miles away, holed up in his stinking lock-up with only the vicious Alsatian for company, Harry Rawlins felt equally vulnerable, but for very different reasons. He had never felt so powerless or so alone. He was a dead man: he couldn’t surface, he couldn’t touch the cash in any of his bank accounts, he couldn’t even go home. He’d have to leave the country, but he didn’t know how long he would have to wait before he could do that safely. Dolly . . . he clenched his fists at the thought of her. Years ago, he had wept with her for their stillborn son. He had betrayed her—but she had beaten him at his own treacherous game.

  But it wasn’t over, no, not by any means. No one beat Harry Rawlins.

  Shirley was in the bedroom looking at herself in the long mirror, wondering if she should have put on the blue dress. No, she thought, the silver one is perfect. She stepped back to admire her slender body. Boy, do I look good . . . In fact, more than good—I look absolutely beautiful.