The Anita Waller Collection

by Anita Waller

  Kenny felt good. That was the second time he’d used that manoeuvre to tip over a car, and this effort was more spectacular than the previous one. Clarkson couldn’t have escaped death with this one; shame about the rest of his family, but now the kids’ names could die alongside him. Grausohn would write that avenue off. He’d try to find some another way of getting his money back.

  He drove the car into the car repair shop, and the mechanic strolled over to him. ‘Kenny.’

  ‘Ross.’

  ‘What you done this time, then?’ The mechanic bent down to inspect the front wing.

  ‘Hit a lamp post.’

  ‘Two lamp posts in two days, then,’ Ross observed drily.

  ‘I could do with a replacement. What we got in?’ Kenny looked around, hoping for another automatic.

  ‘Depends,’ Ross drawled. ‘You going for a hat trick of lamp posts? If you are, you can have that little Fiesta in the corner.’

  Kenny wasn’t sure if he was joking. He hoped he was. ‘What about the Jag? Is that good to go?’ He knew Tommy had been in some sort of trouble with it, but that had been a couple of weeks earlier.

  ‘It is, but you’re not taking it.’ Ross fished some keys out of his pocket and threw them towards Kenny. ‘Take the Audi, and I don’t want a scratch on it when you bring it back. Understood?’

  Kenny flinched. ‘As if. Thanks, Ross.’

  Kenny walked over to the Audi and climbed into the driver’s seat. It was while he was adjusting the seat and the mirrors that he heard his phone ping. It was a message from Katie, saying that a woman he’d dated some years earlier was trying to find him and had contacted her via Facebook. She’d passed his email address on to her. Was that okay?

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he growled. What now? Katie was obviously determined to find him a woman, and a few years earlier, when he wasn’t sure himself, that might have worked, but not now, not now he’d got Billy.

  Who is she?

  Messenger thing said Cecily Ann.

  Thanks very much, Katie. Can’t remember her.

  Wait for email, dickhead. Then you might.

  He switched off his phone, glaring at it. He threw it onto the seat at the side of him and edged out of the garage. Ross held up a finger as if to remind him of no damage to the car, and Kenny pulled out, heading for home. He had no intentions of telling Grausohn what he’d done, just be there to commiserate that he’d lost a valuable resource in Carl Clarkson. He was the only one who knew who the kids were.

  He pulled the Audi onto the drive, and Billy came out to greet him. He kissed him and then looked at the car.

  ‘Wasn’t that a Mondeo earlier?’

  ‘It was, slight mishap with a lamp post, so now, it’s an Audi.’

  ‘Just like magic,’ Billy mused. ‘You must have a very understanding boss, is all I can say.’

  ‘Fancy eating out? Or have you cooked?’

  ‘We can go out if you want,’ Billy said. It occurred to him that his love looked a little frazzled, and a nice meal at the Chequers or somewhere might sort him out. Maybe the lamp post had been a bigger obstacle than Kenny was letting on.

  ‘I’ll have a shower first.’ Kenny entered the hall, dropped his phone onto the antique console table after re-activating it, and climbed the stairs.

  ‘Want your back washing?’ Billy called after him.

  ‘Thought you’d never ask.’ Kenny grinned. ‘That’ll do me a power of good.’

  Billy followed him upstairs, and a few seconds later, the shower was running.

  Neither of them heard the ping as the phone received an email from cecilyann2008@inbox.co.uk.

  Chapter 13

  Daryl had broken his clavicle. He didn’t know if he was lucky to have got away with only that injury, or unlucky that he had any injuries at all. It didn’t hurt so much now that his arm was in a sling and they’d given him some medication, but it was uncomfortable. He couldn’t rest properly, because it triggered the pain.

  And then, to make matters worse, his father arrived. He felt Heather stiffen, and then, she leaned across to him. ‘Your dad’s here, sweetheart, I can see him at the nurses’ station. I’ll control him, don’t worry.’

  Daryl gave a slight nod and then instantly regretted it. It sent a shooting pain down his arm.

  Carl walked through the door and looked around. ‘Private room, eh?’

  Heather remained in her seat; she wasn’t going to stand for this thug. ‘Mr Clarkson, the chairs are down the corridor.’

  He mumbled something under his breath and went out the door in search of two chairs.

  Aileen smiled at Daryl. ‘Hi. Is there anything you need, Daryl? Drinks, sweets, magazines?’

  He shook his head. ‘No thanks, Mrs Walmsley. I’m fine. Have you heard about my mum?’

  ‘I have, Daryl, and I’m so sorry. Your dad will be looking after you from now on.’

  ‘What?’ Daryl looked horror-stricken, and Heather stood.

  ‘That’s enough, Mrs Walmsley. Nothing has been decided about Daryl’s future, and I’m sure that when the time comes, the judge will consider Daryl’s feelings on the matter.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Aileen looked shocked at Daryl’s reaction. ‘I didn’t realise…’

  Carl arrived back with two stacking chairs, and the atmosphere lightened a little. He seemed genuinely interested in how his son was feeling, but Daryl responded with very few words. He clearly didn’t want this man anywhere near him, and after half an hour of strained conversation, Aileen suggested that they leave Daryl to get some sleep.

  Carl jumped up immediately, gathered the two chairs into one bundle and departed at speed down the corridor.

  Aileen leaned forward and kissed Daryl on the cheek. ‘I’m so sorry about your mum, love, she was a lovely lady. If you need anything, this is my number.’ She slipped a tiny piece of paper into his hand. ‘Anything at all.’

  ‘I’m sorry about Vinnie,’ Daryl whispered. ‘We’re the same now, aren’t we? Both lost important people.’

  ‘We are.’ She smiled. ‘But we’ll get through it. Together, if you want.’

  He smiled back at her, but by the time Aileen and his father had walked the length of the ward, his smile had turned to tears.

  Heather held him best she could, but all she could do was wait for the tears to stop. This little kid was broken, and she was damned if that father of his was going to make it worse.

  Billy and Kenny arrived at the pub and ordered a lemonade and a pint. The waiter handed them menus and went away to get their drinks. The atmosphere was peaceful, and Kenny thought how much he appreciated that, after the day he’d had. It had been strange working without Tommy, for a start.

  He wondered if the boss would promote somebody from the ranks or bring somebody new in. He hoped it would be someone from the ranks – Kenny had recruited most of them. He should start tomorrow drip-feeding a couple of names to Grausohn, see what the reaction was.

  The waiter handed the lemonade to Billy and the beer to Kenny, then stood patiently while they chose their meals, only to change both choices before making their final decisions.

  ‘Queers,’ he muttered as he walked away.

  ‘He won’t get a tip at the end.’ Billy grinned. The comment hadn’t been far under his breath, so he knew the waiter would hear.

  Billy leaned towards Kenny. ‘You want to talk about what’s wound you up?’

  ‘Nah, not really. Not yet, anyway. Maybe in a couple of days.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Billy said. ‘I’m here when you’re ready. You doing anything next Monday evening?’

  ‘I’ll check.’ He took his phone out of his pocket. ‘Have you got something planned for us?’

  ‘The cinema, so it’s nothing we have to do on Monday. I thought I’d try to pin you down.’

  Kenny looked at his screen and saw the email icon with a small 1 on it. He checked his appointments first; he was free Monday evening.

  ‘Then put it in your diary,’
Billy said. ‘But as I said, it’s moveable if something crops up.’

  Kenny loved the way Billy understood the complexities of his life. He could tell him anything without him being judgmental; he knew he would tell him about the little girl, and about the Clarkson family. He wasn’t ready to talk yet.

  He typed in cinema, then pressed the email icon.

  In retrospect, he should have waited. Possibly until the year 2026. Possibly until after his death.

  Cecily Ann was Cissie.

  Cissie, the girl he’d used as he’d tried to make decisions about his own sexuality. The girl who had made the decision for him by telling him she was pregnant. The girl who had shown him that he couldn’t spend the rest of his life married to a woman; it was unthinkable. And he had run. He had left Katie’s house, had found a small flat and hidden away for nearly a year, scared he would bump into the ever-expanding waistline that was Cissie Johnston.

  It seemed she, too, had left the area, because he had never heard from her again. He had always assumed she aborted the kid, but the email gave the lie to that supposition.

  The kid had grown up into one smart cookie, a little girl called Ella, now nine years old and dead.

  He read most of the email, then leaned over and retched.

  ‘Toilets,’ Billy whispered. ‘Now.’

  Kenny pushed his chair back and almost ran for the gents’ toilets. He thrust the phone at Billy as he passed him, and Billy picked it up.

  He stared at the email, read it through once, then re-read it.

  Dear Kenny,

  I have some sad news to tell you. Our daughter, Ella, has died in a road accident. A car hit the scooter she was riding, and she died instantly. The car didn’t stop. It is now in the hands of the police, of course, but I wanted you to know because she was your child too. I know you didn’t want to know her, but the truth is, I didn’t abort her as you suggested, I continued with the pregnancy, and I have brought her up single-handedly. She was my life. I am bereft now she has gone, she was a beautiful star.

  I can’t do anything about a funeral until I get permission from the police, but I will let you know, in case you want to pay final respects to her. If you had met her, you would have loved her. Everybody did. I am attaching her latest school photograph so that you can see for yourself this beautiful child we made together.

  Cissie x

  Billy clicked on the attachment and stared at the face smiling up at him. He didn’t think Kenny had got as far as looking at it, and the writer of the email was certainly right – she was a beautiful child.

  Now, he understood the retching – Kenny hadn’t known of this child, and suddenly, it had been thrust upon him in the most brutal fashion; this is your awesomely stunning child, but she’s dead.

  Billy turned around in his seat, searching for the man he loved utterly and completely. He had to support him.

  The waiter meandered through the tables, bearing two plates, but Billy didn’t think they would be eating. He thanked the homophobic employee, noted his name was Paul for the Trip Advisor rating and review and stared once again at the picture.

  It had seemed like an extreme reaction; perhaps Billy should check Kenny was okay. Billy pushed back his chair and then saw Kenny staggering out of the gents.

  He stood as Kenny drew near. ‘What do you want to do?’ he whispered.

  ‘Eat. Our meals are here, aren’t they?’ He sounded strung out. ‘Let’s have our bloody meal and go home. You read it?’

  Billy nodded. ‘And saw the picture.’

  ‘What?’ Kenny grabbed for the phone. ‘Oh my God. No…’

  The last time he’d seen that face it had been smashed against the windscreen of the car being driven by Tommy.

  He switched off the phone and put it back into his pocket. He needed thinking time; an adjustment period to come to terms with being a dad. With losing his daughter. With Cissie’s email.

  They ate without speaking, declined a dessert and paid the bill with no gratuities added.

  The journey home, with Billy driving, was also in silence. Billy knew his man; he needed to process things before discussing anything. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to this than he knew, but he also knew Kenny would eventually talk. It was a massive part of their relationship, their honesty with each other.

  Billy pulled onto the drive, and Kenny jumped out, leaving Billy to follow him. He went straight upstairs, and Billy sighed and went through to the kitchen. This issue was obviously going to be a hard one to sort; he hadn’t seen Kenny like this for a long time.

  He switched on the kettle, then switched it off again, opting for a whisky instead. He drank it slowly, then followed Kenny upstairs.

  He was sitting on the edge of the bed, deep in thought.

  ‘Want to talk?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Kenny’s voice was hollow.

  ‘Okay. Want anything? Whisky? Tea?’

  Kenny simply shook his head.

  ‘Right. I’m going to watch a bit of telly. If you need anything, come and find me.’ Billy bent down and kissed Kenny’s head.

  There was no reaction.

  Billy left the bedroom knowing he was going to have to ride this one out until Kenny couldn’t bottle it up any longer.

  ‘You need to leave here tomorrow. Have you still got your key for Megan’s house?’

  Carl nodded. ‘It’s my damned house as well, you know.’

  ‘Then, I suggest you go back to it. That little lad will need a home to go to, when they let him out of hospital. He’ll need to grieve for his mum, and he doesn’t need you being a dickhead. I saw the way he cringed away from you. Don’t let me see that again. We’ll talk about our relationship when I’ve seen how your relationship with your son pans out. Get it?’ Aileen’s face was set. She was angry, angry with his unfeeling attitude towards Daryl, and also his lack of care for the death of his wife. He was the most selfish man she’d ever met.

  She continued in the same flat tone of voice, the one her Vinnie had dreaded hearing. ‘And you’re on the settee tonight.’

  Carl nodded, almost afraid to say anything. She was magnificent when she was mad, and boy, was she mad.

  She went upstairs and returned carrying a blanket and a pillow. She handed them to him without speaking, picked up a book, climbed the stairs once more and went to bed.

  Carl lay on the sofa, deep in thought. It was okay Aileen saying he had to take care of Daryl, but she didn’t know his problems with Grausohn. He would have to come up with another name from the list to pacify him. One of the Brownlow kids? Janey Walker’s little lad? If he said the Brownlow three kids were involved, it would take the pressure off him, and Kenny and Tommy could grab any one of them.

  Tomorrow, he needed to speak to Kenny.

  The sky was overcast, with a promise of rain for later. Kenny stared out of the window; after an almost sleepless night, he still had no idea how to respond to Cissie’s email.

  The child Tommy had killed was the only child he would ever father, and he knew deep down he would have to go to the funeral.

  He moved across to the kitchen table, taking a notepad with him. He sat for several minutes, pen in hand, before he wrote.

  Dear Cissie,

  I am so sorry to hear of your daughter’s death. I had always assumed you had taken abortion as your option; if I had known you were keeping the baby, I would have supported you financially. I hope you realise that.

  If you send me your address,

  ‘Eight Darwin Close,’ he muttered.

  I’ll send you a cheque that will cover all funeral costs. Please let me know the details of the funeral, as I would like to pay my respects, if I am in Sheffield.

  ‘I’ll be in Timbuktu.’ There was no way he could face the funeral. Maybe.

  If you need anything in the meantime, please email me.

  With best wishes,

  Kenny

  He read it through one more time, pulled the laptop towards him and typed it in
. He stood to make a cup of coffee and went back to staring out of the window. A fine drizzle had arrived, matching exactly his mood.

  He sipped at the coffee, then switched on the kettle again as he heard Billy moving around upstairs. To function as a normal person for the rest of the day, Kenny had to start off with two mugs of coffee.

  Kenny heard him thud downstairs, the clatter of the letterbox as he removed the newspaper, and then, he felt his presence behind him. Billy calmed him simply by being there.

  Would Katie understand this relationship, this love? He doubted it, and he knew, one day, he would tell her. He could possibly lose his sister, but he wouldn’t give up Billy.

  He turned around, and Billy hugged him. ‘Have you replied?’

  ‘I’ve written it.’

  ‘You haven’t sent it?’

  ‘Not yet. I wanted you to see it first.’

  Kenny handed Billy his coffee and watched as he moved across to the laptop. He read through it quickly, then re-read it.

  ‘It’s good. Be prepared for rejection, though. She’ll probably tell you to stuff your cheque up your arse.’

  Kenny shrugged. ‘I know, but I had to offer, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did, and I admire you for that. I’m not convinced about going to the funeral, though. You want me to go with you?’

  Kenny shook his head. ‘No, you’re okay, I won’t be going. I thought it would make her feel better if I put that.’

  Billy smiled. ‘You’re all heart, Kenny, all heart.’

  ‘Should I send it, then?’

  ‘Yes, and do it now, before you change your mind. It must have taken guts on her part to contact you, and I bet she’s in a mess emotionally, so send it and get it over with.’

  Kenny thought for a moment. ‘Okay, click it.’

  Cissie heard the ping but chose to ignore it. She was half asleep on Sally’s spare bed, cuddling Mr Grumps, thinking about Ella. Cissie was in a temporarily good place and didn’t want the outside world of mobile phone pings to intrude.