by Martina Cole
He would be like a modern day Robin Hood while she would come out of it as the bitter mistress who had been dumped and was trying to get her own back.
Between them, Kelly, Flowers and Caitlin had her right where they wanted her. But the worst of it was that, for all Patrick had done and was going to do, she still wanted him.
Chapter Thirty-One
Edith was worried - about what she was not really sure. Since George’s weird reaction to Natalie, she had felt a shiver of apprehension go through her every time they were together. It was nonsense, of course. George was her closest living relative. Her child was like his child.
She shrugged. He had just been overcome, that was all. The flight, the excitement, they had taken their toll.
Today, at lunch, he seemed a bit more relaxed. Edith watched him as he stared across the table at her daughter. It seemed to her, though, that he stared at Natalie for too long. She had to force herself to look away from George and concentrate on Joss when he was talking.
George, like herself, had obviously noticed Natalie’s startling resemblance to their mother. Over the years it had distressed her too, so she could guess how he was feeling. But inside Natalie was the antithesis of their mother. She was kind, considerate, caring; she had a lot of friends, real friends, that bore evidence to this. She was a beautiful person inside and out. And if the talks they had had were to be believed, she was still a virgin.
No, Natalie had none of her grandmother’s licentiousness. A deeply religious girl, she lived a good, clean, wholesome life. They would never have to worry about Natalie.
Unaware of the stir she was creating, Natalie was listening to her father telling one of his long boring golf stories. She was a good daughter who laughed in all the right places and Joss loved her for this alone. His son on the other hand looked bored, as did George and Edith. He brought the story to a premature ending and concentrated on his steak.
George still watched Natalie closely, unaware that Edith was watching him.
Every movement the girl made was his mother’s, even the way she brushed her hair from her face. Her shoulders in the lightweight dress were his mother’s. They looked too fragile to hold up the enormous breasts.
George cut into his steak so hard he scraped his knife across the plate, causing more than one set of teeth to be set on edge.
‘How long are you staying, Uncle George?’ Joss Junior was not really interested but felt the question was expected from him.
‘For a couple of weeks. If I like it I might sell up and move out here. I have nothing at home any more.’
Edith’s heart immediately went out to him. Poor George. No wonder he was acting so strangely. Elaine leaving him must have been a bitter blow.
‘Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, until you find a place of your own.’
George smiled at her gratefully and Joss Senior chewed harder on his steak.
Edith’s brother troubled him. He was too damn’ meek and mild. His eyes went to his son and he swallowed hard. He had often wondered who the boy took after; now he knew. Try as he might he could not really love his only son. There was something disturbing about him. He felt the same about George Markham. But he was Edith’s brother, her closest family, and he would accommodate him.
There was something funny about Edith’s family. About the set up. The mother had been as mad as a hatter, the other children like scared mice. The eldest, Joseph, had seemed to him more like his mother’s lover than her son. From the bits and pieces that Edith had let drop over the years he knew they’d all had a terrible upbringing. He remembered when he had gone to tell Nancy Markham he was marrying Edith. Her malice as she’d told him about her daughter’s illegitimate child had shocked him.
She was sick in the head, Nancy Markham. No wonder the children all turned out weird. Except for Edith. She had been the sweetest girl he had ever known, and even though over the years he had systematically cheated on her with everyone and anyone, he still loved her. He still thought of her as that same sweet girl he married. But Edith had a distaste for sex, touching, even kissing. Oh, she had tried to hide it, but he knew. You always know when your attentions are welcome and when they’re not. But she was a damn’ fine wife and mother and that was the main thing.
Natalie watched her uncle eating and smiled at him. She had heard stories about her Uncle George all her life. He was her mother’s closest living relative. She knew her grandmother was alive. They heard from her only occasionally, and after a communication her mother was always jumpy for a few weeks.
Her greeny-blue eyes surveyed the room around her. She loved this house. She loved being inside it with her family. One day, when she met the right man, she would own a house just like it and she’d fill it with children and laughter. She smiled to herself at the thought.
Until then she had her job and her dogs. It was Natalie who had named the Dobermans. She had read Dante’s Inferno and it had made a great impression on her. Dobermans to her were devil dogs. But she loved them, as she loved all animals.
George watched his niece. When she had smiled at him then he had been convinced that it was his mother sitting opposite him. George felt the strangeness that came over him at times. As if he was hand in hand with reality one minute and left out, floating in limbo, the next. The room had taken on smoky edges. Nothing looked solid any more. His mind was filled with thoughts, crowded with them as if they didn’t have enough room to manoeuvre. Flickering pictures entered this brimming morass. He saw Geraldine O’Leary with her long beautiful hair lying beneath him. He saw Mandy Kelly and he saw Elaine. They all drifted in and out of his mind, and after every vision this girl was before him. He felt an urge to take his steak knife and push it through her throat. Let the blood bubble from the wound, strangling his mother’s voice.
He could hear her now: ‘Who’s Mummy’s little soldier, Georgie?’
He could smell the sheets on the bed, scented with Lux flakes. He could hear the dreadful ack-ack of the anti-aircraft fire. The bombs were going to land on their house but Mother made them stay in bed while she drank tea and smoked. He could feel the ache in his bowels and the red rawness of his rectum where the tubing had been forced past his sphincter. Sweat was pouring from his brow. He could feel it running on to the pillows with his frightened tears. Why didn’t she come? Why didn’t she comfort him? He was Mummy’s little soldier, wasn’t he?
‘George . . . George. Joss is talking to you, dear.’
He was dragged back to the present and looked around the table, bewildered.
‘Are you feeling all right, George?’ Edith’s voice was concerned.
Joss Junior glanced at his watch. ‘I really have to go soon, Mother, if I’m to catch my plane.’
Edith was immediately concerned. George took the opportunity to try and pull himself together.
‘Natalie’s company gave her the week to see her uncle. I wish yours had done the same.’
Joss Junior smiled. ‘Well, Ma, I’m doing an important job. They can’t afford to let me have too much time off.’
Edith was gratified to hear this.
‘Your father and I will run you to the airport. Finish your meal.’
Natalie stretched in her chair, pushing her long tapering fingers through her hair in a completely feminine gesture. Edith and Joss Senior watched her with pride. George watched her with hatred. Joss Junior took no notice of her whatsoever.
‘Do you want to drive to the airport with us, George?’
‘No. I think I’ll just relax, Edith. I feel so tired.’
‘Do you want me to stay here with Uncle George?’ Natalie’s voice was concerned.
‘No. You leave your uncle, let him have a rest, Natalie. Come with us and see your brother off at the airport.’
For some reason, Edith did not want George and her daughter left alone.
George smiled at them as he waved them off a little later. Then, climbing into his car, he made his way to the Orange Bloss
om Trail.
Duane Portillo watched the little family climbing into the large Lincoln Continental. A few minutes later he followed George Markham out towards the Orange Blossom Trail.
Linette Du Bouverie was what was known on the trail as an ‘ornery’ whore. She was petite and a natural redhead. But she sure was ‘ornery’. She was known as the loudest, most foul-mouthed and argumentative woman on the Trail. Her vicious mouth was hated by other whores, pimps and police, in that order. She was a heroin addict and needed her daily fixes desperately. Linette would take a man on for a measly five dollars if necessary.
Today she was banging on the door of the little one-roomed apartment of Elvis Carmody.
Elvis was a pusher of uncertain creed. He had black wiry hair and the reddish skin colour of a Mexican. His mother, a hooker, used to joke that he was her Heinz 57. She never knew who fathered him. Elvis had built himself a business of sorts. He supplied heroin, crack, dope, uppers, downers . . . anything, in fact, that he could lay his hands on. He opened the apartment door to Linette and whistled at her through his teeth.
‘You look terrible, baby!’
She walked into the room on her high heels. She was having trouble focusing properly in the dim light. Somewhere in the room she heard the rustle of bedclothes and, peering through the dimness, made out the shape and face of a little Puerto Rican hooker named Marigold. She swore under her breath. If Elvis had just had some ass he was not going to come across to her and give her a little bit on account.
‘What can I do for you, Linette?’ Already Elvis wanted rid of her.
‘I need a fix. I’ll pay you in about an hour, man, there’s nothing going down in the street just yet. Once it’s dark the place will be buzzing.’
Elvis lit a Marlboro and blew out the smoke noisily. ‘No way, baby, you still owe me twenty bucks from yesterday.’
Linette felt her famous temper rising. Going to the bed, she grabbed Marigold’s hair.
‘You’d give her some, though, wouldn’t you, you motherfucking creep? I’ll pay you the goddam’ money, but first I need me a little bit on account.’
Elvis walked to her and untangled her fingers from the girl’s hair. Marigold had not batted an eyelid.
Taking Linette by the scruff of her neck, he ran her to the doorway and threw her on to the dirty floor outside.
‘Why don’t you quit annoying people, Linette? If you didn’t have such a bad attitude, people might be more inclined to help you.’
He shut the door on her. Dragging herself up, she threw herself at the wood, kicking and pummelling the door. There were tears of frustration in her dark green eyes.
‘I’ll cut your motherfucking throat, you stinking creep!’
There was no answer from the room. Feeling sorry for herself, Linette walked from the building into the bright sunlight outside.
George saw a tiny, slim girl of about twenty-five lounging against a wall. Her red hair was catching the rays of the sun and she was dressed in a green suede hot pants suit. Her ample breasts practically spilled out of the material and he smiled at her. His secret smile that just showed his teeth.
Linette, knowing a punter when she saw one, smiled back. Her sweetest smile.
George opened the window of his car. Linette ambled over to him.
‘Hello there.’
George smiled again, wider this time. ‘Hello, dear.’
‘How would you like some company?’
‘Get in.’
Linette walked round and got inside the car. ‘Drive to the Lazy Q. We can get a room there, movies, anything you want.’
George was already on his way. Linette lit a cigarette and smiled to herself as they neared the motel. He knew where he was going so he wasn’t that green. She wondered how much she should hit him for. She could already feel the sweating that told her she needed a fix. And soon.
The man who gave them the key was now watching an episode of Married with Children. George wondered briefly if he ever left the TV set. Up in the room, Linette picked up the phone and ordered a bottle of bourbon. It would ease her nerves till she could score some smack.
While she waited for it to come she slipped off her clothes. George watched her, fascinated. It was as if she did not even realise he was there. She had not attempted to make conversation. He sat on the bed and took out some small change. Putting two fifty cents into the meter on the television, he turned the knob and a porno film flickered into life on the screen. Linette answered the door to the boy with the bourbon, naked except for her shoes. Linette never removed her shoes. Ever.
She looked at George. ‘I need ten dollars.’
He calmly peeled the money off a large roll and gave it to her. The young black boy watched her in total fascination as she swayed towards him in her high heels.
‘Here you are, boy. Take a good look. And when you get paid, child, you come and see Linette.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ This was said with every bit of manliness the fourteen year old could muster.
Linette shut the door and laughed. She cracked the top and drank the whisky from the bottle.
‘That’s a lot of money you got there, honey.’
George took off his clothes and folded them neatly on a chair.
‘How much do you want?’
She liked his meekness. ‘I charge sixty dollars, the best lay you’re ever gonna get.’
George handed three twenty-dollar bills to her.
He watched the film for a moment. It was of a woman, a dog and a large black man.
Linette sat beside him on the bed. Pushing her breasts against his arm she stroked his flaccid penis. She wanted this over with as quickly as possible.
‘Come on, baby, Linette ain’t got all night.’
George could smell her sweat. Her hair was lying across his arm and he could see her rosy nipples. Her hand on his penis had deep red-painted nails. She looked just like his mother. She even smelt like his mother. He pushed her hand away from him impatiently.
‘Don’t touch me like that.’
George’s voice was hard. Linette fell backwards with the force of his push.
‘Who the hell you think you’re pushing, you little shit!’ Her natural antagonism was surfacing.
George faced her. She was standing now, the whiskey bottle still in her hand. Her legs were long and shapely in the green high heels. She took another long pull of the Jim Beam. George stood up and faced her.
She was just like his mother. Just like Natalie. They were all whores, every last one of them. Give themselves to anyone who had a couple of pounds. All women were the same. They were whores. Well, he knew what to do with whores, didn’t he? Hadn’t he shown them in Grantley? Grabbing her hair, he punched her in the face, putting all his weight behind the blow. He watched, a smile on his face, as Linette staggered backwards and fell against the wall. The blow had hit her in the mouth and she leant against the wall, her breasts heaving. She poked a little pink tongue out of her mouth and tasted the blood that was seeping from her lip. She watched warily as he walked towards her. He was naked and his stomach wobbled as he walked.
As he lifted his fist again Linette kicked out. George felt a stinging sensation and when he looked down he had a cut across his stomach.
Linette Du Bouverie kept a blade in the toe of each shoe, a trick she’d learned in prison.
That’s why Linette never took her shoes off. George watched the blood begin to run and looked at the woman in astonishment. He lurched at her, putting up his hands to seize her hair, and grabbed empty space.
Linette kicked out at him again. This time she caught his back. A long searing pain engulfed him. She had ripped the skin right across the kidney. It was a deep cut of half an inch. As he dropped to his knees Linette took another long pull of whiskey, then smashed the bottle against the chest of drawers by the bed. His back was bleeding profusely now.
Using all the strength that he could muster, George slammed his fist into her solar plexus. Linette double
d up as she tried to breathe. George pulled himself up to his feet; his hands were covered in blood.
On the screen, the black man, the woman and the dog careered around, impervious to what was going on.
‘You friggin’ creep, nobody hits me, nobody. Not you, not anyone.’ Her mouth was a twisted gash. This time the blade caught him across his thighs, the blood spurted out in crimson droplets, the skin opening slowly, as if shy about revealing the flesh beneath. George dropped to his knees once more, for the first time realising he was up against a will much stronger than his own. This woman was of the same calibre as his mother. Pulling his head back by his hair, Linette grinned at him as she brought the jagged edge of the Jim Beam bottle across his throat.
George dropped to the floor, his face turned towards the television. His last sight was of the woman grunting as the black man pushed his impossibly large member inside her, the little dog yapping as it ran around their bodies.
Linette sat on the bed, dropping the bottle on to the carpet. She placed a bloody hand on to her breast to stem the beating of her heart. Looking down at George, she drew her lips back from her teeth in disgust.
Linette had been physically and mentally abused all her short life. Her father had been the main offender, her brothers had followed his example. Her mother had turned a blind eye. When Linette had left home at fifteen, she had been thrust into a world where only her looks and her sex had been her saving graces. She had taken her first fix and turned her first trick within thirty-six hours of hitting the streets. Selling her body was all she could do. Allowing men a free licence with it was all she had ever known. But once she’d left home, Linette had always balked at being beaten. It was the thing she hated most. Sexually, she’d do anything for money. Anything. But a man or woman beating up on her was an admission of failure. If she could keep herself protected then she still had a certain amount of self respect. It was important to her. Her violent reputation had stood her in good stead over the last few years. A violent whore was not wanted by a pimp, a violent whore would not get robbed by another whore. The law of the streets was strength, and even though she was tiny, she was strong and she could look after herself. The man on the floor was nothing to Linette, he was a trick, a John, a means to an end. Without looking at him again she got up from the bed and went to the shower. She washed the blood from her body, then calmly got dressed, brushed her hair and repaired her make-up, feeling the slight swelling already around her eye. She took all George’s cash and traveller’s cheques. She left the credit cards; she’d quickly become a suspect if she tried to use them. Taking one last look at herself in the mirror, she left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Ten minutes later she was at Elvis’s, George’s eight hundred dollars assuring her of a very warm welcome. As she pushed the needle into her arm, she felt the first waves of euphoria rushing to her brain; she breathed in deeply and let the good feelings flow.
