An Old Score

by Edie Baylis

  JOE HADN’T HAD SUCH A GOOD TIME IN AGES. Lying face down on the green covering of the pool table, he laughed hysterically. His attempt to pot the black had resulted in him drunkenly following the cue, ending with him faceplanting.

  Dave bent over, leaning on his thighs in an attempt to control his mirth. Many pints and several joints had lifted both of their maudlin spirits, but they were now having difficulty in controlling themselves.

  ‘Oih!’ the barman yelled. ‘Get off the fucking pool table. You’d better not have ripped the felt!’

  Still laughing, Dave dragged Joe upright. ‘Come on, we’ll get chucked out at this rate.’

  Helping Joe to the edge of the table, Dave laughed again as Joe’s right leg folded as he stood up, resulting in him tipping half his pint down his T-shirt.

  Wiping the tears of laughter from his face, Joe staggered towards the toilets. ‘Gotta have me a leak before I piss myself,’ he shouted loudly.

  Ignoring the dirty looks from the barman, he bounced off the walls in his pursuit to reach the Gents. The miserable sod could glare all he liked, but if he knew what a shit couple of weeks him and Dave had had, then he wouldn’t begrudge them having a laugh.

  Opening the toilet door into his own face, Joe staggered inside, walking straight into another man trying to get out. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he muttered, weaving out of the way.

  Dear God, he was steaming. He had no idea how many pints he’d sunk, but it was way too many. He’d feel rough as fuck come the morning, but sod it, he needed this blow out. Swaying from side to side, he aimed at the urinal, hoping not too much piss was going on his trainers.

  At least Teagan wasn’t giving him any grief. Ok, so she wasn’t interested in going out for a drink, which was a better result than he could have hoped for. More importantly, she didn’t seem suspicious of him having anything to do with her missing keys.

  Joe frowned. She’d got a new fella by the sounds of it, poor bastard. Wonder how long it would take her to nag him to death or stalk him day and night? Yep, it was all good. Everything he wanted to be over, now was.

  Oh shit! He was supposed to call that nutter and let him know when Teagan was next out.

  Joe wobbled as he did his flies up. He’d got distracted with that quiz game Dave had been playing, then got involved with pool. Calling that psycho had, well... it had slipped his mind.

  Shit, shit, shit. Pulling the burner phone from his pocket, it slipped from his fingers onto the filthy floor underneath the urinals. ‘Christ!’ he muttered, swaying as he picked the phone up, wiping it down his jeans.

  Pressing the only contact on the phone – Alan, Joe tried to concentrate whilst the phone rang out. If the bloke couldn’t be arsed to answer, it was hardly his fault, was it?

  ‘Yeah?’

  Joe winced, barely able to hear the gravelly voice of the man over the deafening music. Where the hell was he? A fucking rave? ‘It’s Joe.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘The girl’s out. You said you wanna know when she’s gonna be out. Well, she’s out,’ Joe slurred.

  ‘What, now? Tonight?’ The gruff voice barked. ‘And you’ve only just thought to fucking tell me?’

  ‘I’ve only just found out,’ Joe lied.

  ‘And the old girl’s on her tod?’

  Joe paused. How did he know? Did Teagan say that? Did he even ask? He couldn’t remember. ‘Yeah, as far as I know.’

  The call clicked off and Joe stared at the phone, four copies of it swimming in front of his face. Shrugging, he stuffed it back into his pocket and made his way back to the bar, hoping Dave had the sense to get another round sorted in his absence.

  Forty Two

  AS MUCH AS SHE DIDN’T WANT TO, checking on Lena was the decent thing to do. Now Jonah had appeared back in the VIP suite – alone, Gwen knew she had to make sure Lena was ok. She’d seen Jonah’s face when the cake was wheeled out. The expression was only fleeting before he’d concealed it behind his trained mask, but she’d seen his fury if only for a split second.

  Shortly after the cake debacle and the accompanying photos, Jonah had disappeared, taking Lena with him. Gwen had whispered to him not to lose it, but she’d been watching him all night and could see his rising anger clear as day. Maybe she should have warned him about the cake?

  Slipping down the staff corridor off the rear of the VIP suite, Gwen guessed Jonah could only have taken Lena to either her office or his. And she suspected it was hers. Pushing open the door she saw Lena busy texting. ‘Lena?’

  As Lena turned, black rivulets of mascara down her cheeks, Gwen’s heart sank. ‘Come now, don’t upset yourself. You can fix your makeup.’

  Lena eyed Gwen malevolently. Putting her mobile down, she started cutting a fat line of cocaine on the desk.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Gwen yelled, all concern for Lena going out of the window. ‘You can’t do that! You know how Jonah feels about that on the premises. I came to check you were alright, but I can see I needn’t have bothered.’

  After running a rolled-up twenty pound note along the line, Lena sniffed hard, then expertly wiped all traces of residue from under her nose. ‘I’m perfectly fine. Jonah just wanted a word, that’s all.’

  It had been more than a word. The minute he’d told her he needed to talk, she’d thought his resolve to wait until later before ripping her clothes off had failed him, but this was quashed the second they’d got around the corner and he’d dragged her into the office by her hair.

  She wouldn’t lie and say she hadn’t panicked. He’d been mad – like really mad. And he’d scared her. His eyes had been feral as he’d gripped her around the throat. Lena swallowed uncomfortably, her neck still raw from Jonah’s hands. Maybe she had pushed things a little too far?

  People might think she had the IQ of a Pond Skater, but how wrong were they? They could think what they liked, but all that mattered was marrying him. Once she’d done that, then the world was her oyster, but she needed to get him down the damn aisle first.

  Luckily, she still had the baby pawn to use, so turning on the tears, she’d apologised profusely, pretending she hadn’t meant to upset him, but it was only when she’d screamed to think of the baby had he released his grip.

  She’d allowed her actions on planning the party run away with her. She should have been more careful. But as far as Gwen sticking her nose in, pretending she cared; pretending to come and see if she was ok? Yeah, right... The old bat was trying to set her up.

  ‘Lena? Did you hear what I said?’ Gwen snapped, her sympathy having well and truly dissolved. ‘You’re not to do that here.’

  ‘I think you’ll find I can do what I like! This...’ Lena waved her arm around the office. ‘...will soon be my domain.’

  Gwen couldn’t help but quietly chuckle – a short, yet sarcastic laugh. This girl had a screw loose. ‘Is that so?’

  After inspecting her nostrils again for good measure, Lena closed her compact case. Gwen Vella had no idea she was screwed. Finished.

  Remaining silent with nothing but the trace of a sneer as a response, Lena savoured the moment for as long as possible. See how long it took to rile the oh, so perfect Gwen. She perched on the edge of the desk; one stiletto dangling from the end of her foot as she crossed her long legs.

  Gwen sighed. ‘I don’t know what you’re playing at, young lady, but it won’t wash. You’re causing problems for everyone, ructions with the girls and this theme for the party? Well...’

  ‘The girls?’ Lena tapped a false nail on the desk in a steady rhythm. ‘Oh yes, the girls. You mean, me separating the wheat from the chaff? You mean, me wanting to get this side of the club running like clockwork, rather than the shabby way you run it? The way you’ve been allowed to run it because you think being here so long gives you the right to do a shit job?’

  Despite lighting a slow-burning fuse, Gwen refused to rise to the bait. She wouldn’t give the silly tart the satisfaction. ‘If I’d been doing such a bad job, The F
eathers wouldn’t be as successful as it has been the past thirty years!’

  Lena casually picked at one of her long talons, inspecting the varnish for any chips. ‘If believing that makes you feel better, sweetie, that’s fine. If you’re happy to keep your job based on pity and inherited loyalty, then your self-respect is more lacking than I thought,’ she jibed, her eyes sparkling with malice. ‘Aw, bless you. Has no one ever had the heart to tell you that you couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery? All of the girls can’t wait for you to bugger off to pastures new or, by the looks of you, an old folks’ gaff.’

  She laughed shrilly, her mouth forming a scarlet gash, her white veneers glinting brightly in the light from the desk lamp. ‘Jonah’s too polite to say, but he tells me all the time. Not an evening goes past without him moaning about something else you’ve fucked up. And as for the party theme – how was I to know?’

  Gwen’s expression didn’t waver. Lena was lying. She and the girls – apart from this one – always had a huge amount of respect for one another. And Jonah – well, Jonah was anything but too polite. He’d have said a long time ago if he was displeased with how she ran things. Furthermore, everyone knew about the history with the diamonds. ‘What’s your game?’

  Lena arched her brows. ‘Game? What makes you think there’s a game? Not everyone is so manipulative to play games, Gwen. All I’m saying is that I think it’s about time you let fresh blood take over from your antiquated ways. You should suggest it to Jonah.’

  This time Gwen really did laugh. ‘You want me to suggest to Jonah that you should have my job?’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Stay out of things, Lena. You’ve caused enough problems with the girls and the party and now you’re trying to mess with me?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Jonah may have not got around to speaking to you about it, but I will.’

  Lena smiled sweetly. Gwen would expect her to shout and scream. Normally she would, but this was different. This time she had the upper hand. ‘Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. Jonah did tell me to keep out of things.’ She looked towards the ceiling in mock distress. ‘Right upset me, it did. I couldn’t understand why he would say that to me. ME – his fiancée. Apparently I was upsetting everyone. Oh wait... not everyone – just to the tune of two fat birds and some old has-been, which would be... ooh, let’s think... you...?’

  Gwen frowned despite not wanting to visibly react. Still playing her hand, the stupid girl? She didn’t believe Jonah had spoken to her for a minute. He had so much on his mind lately, what with Dulcie Adams coming out of the woodwork, but that was ok – she had no problem giving Lena what for. She had no intention of falling for her bullshit either.

  Gwen changed her frown into a smile and made a point of closing the dance rota book. ‘Regardless of your misplaced delusions of grandeur, even you’re not so thick to think if Jonah told you not to interfere, you’d defy him and do so anyway. You’re talking out of your arse, girl and you know it. You’re pushing your luck with him in general.’

  Lena’s laugh resounded loudly in the small room. ‘Oh no, that’s where you’re wrong.’

  Gwen sighed loudly. She’d had enough of this. ‘That’s enough of this stupidness. Fuck off back to your party. This time you’re lucky – I won’t mention our conversation to Jonah, but pull anything like this again and I will.’

  Standing up, Lena folded her arms across her inflated chest and sidled closer. ‘Being as you’ve decided it’s the right time to retire from the industry, don’t forget to suggest to Jonah that he should think about letting me take over from where you’re leaving off.’

  Gwen stared at Lena. ‘Oh for God’s sake. Really? Come on, I’ll humour you. Pray tell me why I would do that?’

  With a wide smile, Lena helped herself to the large bottle of vodka on the side, taking her time to fill a crystal glass. Thanks, Uncle Ron!

  Taking a long swig, she placed both hands on the desk and stared directly into Gwen’s eyes. ‘Because if you don’t, then I’ll tell Jonah all about what you and his father did behind his beloved mother’s back.’

  Forty Three

  ‘ALL I’VE DONE is make you a second cup of tea,’ Helen said, her hands still shaking as she poured herself a gin from her mother’s cabinet. She might have known the old cow had a stash of drinks in here, but at least there was no sign of Robert, so that was something.

  Knocking the drink back in one, having been unable to find a mixer, she ignored the sour taste of the gin. She just wanted to turn down the speeding in her head. She glanced at her mother, barely able to look at the woman whose fault all of this was. Every single thing that had gone wrong in her life was Dulcie Adams’ fault.

  Helen’s rage bubbled again. Three tablets she’d given her since she’d arrived and there was no sign of her becoming tired. She’d take matters into her own hands if something didn’t happen soon because there was no time to waste.

  Dulcie’s eyes bored into the back of her daughter’s head. ‘You’re very jumpy. Is there something wrong?’

  Helen gritted her teeth. Yes, there were lots of things that were wrong. Was it any wonder?

  ‘And you don’t look like you usually do. Have you changed your makeup or hair?’

  Helen self-consciously touched her face. ‘I’m just tired.’ Tired of you, so shut up and go to sleep. Just go away and let me do what I need to do. ‘Are you not drinking that tea?’

  ‘I might do later,’ Dulcie smiled, her eyes glittering mischievously. ‘Why are you so adamant I should drink it?’

  Helen forced air into her lungs but despite the large amount of air, her breathing was shallow and laboured, making her dizzy. She knew her mother was trying to antagonise her and it was working. She wasn’t in the frame of mind to keep a straight head – not after what had happened. Running late getting here had piled the stress on, not to mention the reason she was late. Damn James for messing up her carefully laid plans up. At least the girl and Heath Pointer had done as she’d said and gone out.

  ‘See! You’re jumpy. What’s going on, Helen?’ Dulcie pressed.

  Helen’s rage built higher. She couldn’t take this anymore.

  ‘Why are you pacing up and down?’ Dulcie’s voice held a tinge of mockery.

  Helen span around. ‘You should go to bed.’

  Dulcie raised an eyebrow. ‘Go to bed? Why would I want to do that? It’s only 8 o’clock.’

  Helen bit down so hard on her lip she tasted blood. ‘Because you’re tired. Right, I’m going to tidy up.’

  ‘What is there to tidy up?’ Uncrossing her legs, Dulcie stood up and walked over to the stereo. Flicking through the LPs, she placed one on the turntable.

  Cringing as the needle made a hideous scraping sound, Helen stared at her mother in disbelief. ‘What are you doing?’

  Dulcie smiled nastily. ‘I’m playing music. This is my house and you’re free to leave if you don’t want to listen to it.’

  Helen rolled her eyes, her jaw clenching and her fists balling. ‘I’m hardly going to leave you on your own.’

  Dulcie laughed loudly. ‘No, you wouldn’t want to do that. It would ruin all of your plans. So, what exactly are you looking for, Helen?’

  ‘I’m not looking for anything,’ Helen spluttered.

  Dulcie smiled. ‘Oh, I think that you are.’

  BACK AT THE PARTY, Jonah chatted to one of the dancing girls, her sweet unassuming nature distracting him from the rolling pent-up rage and the urge to walk out of his own club, away from this ‘wonderful’ engagement party and set fire to the damn place. Lena and her ridiculous ideas.

  Oh sure, he’d gritted his teeth about the ring. He’d also suffered Lena whining about clothes, nails, fucking hair extensions – whatever she spent her bastard time doing, as well as giving her free rein to do what she liked regarding the party – he’d just signed off the bill and turned the other cheek at the expense. It was worth every penny to give her something to concentrate on other that the weird penchant she’d developed for wanting
to be more involved with the club. He didn’t want her to be more involved. Correction – he didn’t want her there at all, but that was out of his hands now his baby was growing inside her.

  For that and that alone, he’d put up with her. Having a family of his own was top priority. Family, the club and levelling the score with what Pointer had done were the only things which mattered. And any child of his would be even more important. It was just Lena. The engagement party might have kept her out of his hair, but he hadn’t thought her so fucking stupid to have the theme of bastard diamonds.

  Everybody knew of his antagonism for that subject, thanks to Pointer and that Irish bastard, O’Hara, and Lena expected him to swallow it? What utter bullshit. Lena knew about the diamond heist – everybody did, so there was no other explanation, short of her wanting to wind him up. And she’d done that with bells on.

  Jonah scowled, his jaw hurting with the amount of time it had been clenched.

  He’d even put up with her inviting a host of non-entities to give her kudos. If she’d had it her way, they would have been the only people, apart from the press, here tonight. Luckily, Gwen had made sure the staff, the firm - people that really mattered, got an invite as well.

  Jonah had also swallowed the never-ending photographs Lena arranged to be taken at every possible opportunity. Photos when they arrived, photos posed with a growing selection of reality and TV ‘stars’, photos of him standing with Lena: ‘Can you look at each other adoringly?’, ‘Just one more next to the pile of diamonds on the table.’, ‘Can we have one with you presenting Lena with the engagement ring?’. On and on and fucking ON it had gone, his face cracking with the effort of having to pretend he wanted to be there, wanted to be with her, wanted to get fucking married...

  Jonah had also let Lena answer the trifling questions accompanying the photos; ‘When’s the wedding date?’. ‘Any patter of tiny feet on the horizon?’, ‘Mr Powell, when did you first realise you wanted to marry Miss Taylor?’