An Old Score

by Edie Baylis

  Easy – never...

  Jonah knew he would blow eventually. The massive hanging billboard, along with the diamond table centrepieces and shitty banners had lit the fuse well and good, but there had still been a small chance of making it to the end of the evening, but that hadn’t happened. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, out came the cake. A covered monstrosity, he’d guessed it would be bad, but had underestimated just quite how bad.

  A four-foot diamond-shaped cake with ‘Jonah and Lena 4Eva’ emblazoned on the side in glittering stones had done it. But it hadn’t just been a diamond-shaped cake. Oh no, it had been a pink diamond-shaped cake.

  Feeling like his jaw might snap clean in two, he honestly didn’t know how he’d stopped himself from pushing Lena’s face deep inside the sponge of the fucking cake and suffocating her.

  The words Gwen whispered as he’d headed past her, his hand tightly gripped on Lena’s arm had been the only thing that had saved him from really losing it. The words, ‘don’t be too hard on her - remember yourself’, repeated in his mind as he’d wrapped his hands around Lena’s neck and what had stopped him from finishing her. Because he’d wanted to. Christ, he’d wanted to.

  That and remembering she was carrying his child had smacked him between the temples, stopping him in his tracks. Oh, she’d bleated out all of the expected apologies amid the tears – proclaiming she had no idea, but she had every fucking idea why. She’d picked the one theme guaranteed to insult him more than anything in the fucking world.

  Realising the dancing girl was still talking, Jonah chugged down his glass of champagne and turning on his legendary smile like a light, managed to continue the small talk, making out that he was as happy as Larry. If only they knew.

  As for Lena... she was a master of deceit. Half an hour after he’d left her sobbing in Gwen’s office, she’d reappeared, looking not at all ruffled – such was her ability to turn on the charm. Despite him having roared at her and wrapping his hands around her throat, she looked unperturbed, her ruined makeup now as perfect as it had been at the start of the evening. Her regeneration complete, she’d flitted around the room, mingling, flirting and laughing and he’d wanted to punch her beautiful face.

  Grabbing two fresh flutes of champagne, he handed the dancer a glass, watching her blush at his close proximity, but when an arm suddenly snaked around his waist, he tensed. He knew who it was and the urge to rip those taloned hands away and cast Lena to the floor was strong.

  ‘Hello darling,’ Lena purred, before looking the dancing girl up and down, not bothering to hide her disdain. ‘Janice, you’re too late to get your claws into this one. Jonah’s all mine...’ Smiling maliciously, she wiggled her oversized diamond ring in the girl’s face. ‘My man only has eyes for me.’

  The girl turned scarlet. ‘I-I wasn’t... We were just...’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Lena slithered in front of Jonah, pressing her lips against his.

  Jonah cringed at Lena’s rudeness towards the girl and fought the need to scrape the residue of her sticky lip gloss from his mouth. Pulling her to one side, he kept his smile as the dancer scuttled away, thoroughly mortified. ‘You nasty bitch,’ he hissed from the corner of his mouth.

  Lena beamed. ‘I was only joking to cheer myself up after your dreadful behaviour. I’m putting your actions down to you being overstressed, but don’t ruin the night any more than you have already, Jonah. I’ve put a lot of effort into this.’

  Jonah needed to change the subject before he publicly throttled her. ‘Have you seen Gwen?’

  Lena pursed her inflated lips and wobbled slightly on her sky high heels. ‘No. Should I have?’ she lied.

  ‘How many have you had?’

  ‘Only one,’ Lena traced her fingers along Jonah’s jaw.

  Removing Lena’s hand from his face, Jonah saw Nero making his way over, his expression not one that he liked the look of. ‘I need to speak to Nero.’ Untangling himself, he made himself peck her on the cheek.

  ‘Keith’s just had a call on the burner from that stoner. The girl’s out and Adams is on her own,’ Nero muttered as Jonah approached.

  ‘What? Tonight? Are you sure? When?’ Jonah felt his adrenalin pulse and glanced at his watch. It was almost 9 o’clock and it would take at least an hour to reach Maidenhead. Probably longer getting through London with the Saturday night traffic.

  ‘About twenty minutes ago.’ Nero nodded towards Lena. ‘I couldn’t get your attention and I didn’t want to make anything obvious.’

  ‘And the stoner’s sure the girl is out?’

  Nero shrugged. ‘Keith said he’s as pissed as a rat and could barely work out what the cunt said, so your guess is as good as mine. But he seemed to think so, yes,’

  ‘Fuck,’ Jonah spat. ‘We’d best get on the road.’

  ‘But what about the party? What ab...’

  ‘What about it? Tell Keith to bring the car round. We need to move on this, even if it turns out the old thief isn’t alone. We’ll spec it out when we get there, but it’s worth a punt.’ Jonah looked at his watch again. ‘It might be the only chance we get for a good while and I’m sick of fucking waiting.’

  DULCIE’S HIGH-PITCHED LAUGHTER hurt Helen’s ears. It left a ringing sound to match the all over buzzing coursing through her body. The Fats Domino record was sticking, the same line going over and over for half an hour. She was going to scream. She would scream and scream and scream and then she was going to kill the old witch.

  ‘Did you not hear me? I said, you’ve always been a disappointment. You were then and you are now.’

  Moving to the bureau, Helen yanked the writing flap down and began rooting through the contents. She’d heard what her mother had said, of course she had, but she was ignoring it. She’d decided to crack on with searching in full view because she had little left to lose and time was running out. She’d been through the entire sideboard, as well as several drawers in the sitting room and achieved nothing, apart from the consistent vitriol spewing from her mother’s spiteful mouth.

  ‘Look all you like. You won’t find anything. You’ll never find anything. I know exactly what you’re looking for – I don’t know how you found out and I don’t really care, but I’ll never let you get your hands on what you’re after. They’re not for you - they’re Robert’s.’

  Unable to take it any longer, Helen span around. ‘Oh, yes, Robert. The Golden Boy. Well, of course, it would be Robert – your favourite.’

  ‘You’ve always been a jealous, nasty little cow.’ Dulcie spat. ‘Unlike Robert.’

  Helen’s eyes narrowed. It was too late – the old bitch could just shut up. ‘The child of the man you preferred, right?’ She got deep satisfaction watching her mother pale. ‘Yes, I know all about that too. You didn’t expect that, did you?’

  Moving closer, Helen refrained from scratching her mother’s eyes out. She’d save that until later if needs be. ‘You owe me, so tell me where the diamonds are, mother. The ones you were given by your lover, Michael Pointer.’

  Wobbling at hearing Michael’s name, Dulcie quickly pulled herself together, masking the shock of Helen’s unexpected words. She lowered herself into the armchair next to the little table with the drawer holding her treasured and only picture of the man she’d loved. ‘I owe you nothing.’

  Helen shrugged as she sifted through the bureau, her confidence returning. ‘Oh, but you do. You’ve lied to me all my life, but say what you like - no one will believe you because you’re crazy.’ She smiled maniacally. ‘And guess what? Next week you’re off to an apartment. One in a home for people like you – for mad people.’

  Helen grinned. She could still do this – she knew she could. Despite the nagging worry of what might stem from James’ demise, she was confident she could deal with that without it adversely affecting her. There was no proof she’d had any hand in it. Besides, she’d been here and had proof of that.

  Dulcie laughed. ‘You think I didn’t weigh you up a long
time ago? Oh, Helen, you’re so predictable, I almost feel sorry for you. You really think I’d be so stupid to take those ‘vitamins’? I just let you and everyone else believe I was taking them and acted accordingly. Let’s face it, I’m a damn fine actress. That’s why I was so good at The Feathers and at just about everything else I’ve ever done.’

  Helen was shell-shocked. She hadn’t been taking those pills? She’d put it on? But, why...? Why would she want to do that?

  Her brow furrowed as the truth dawned. Her mother had been playing her. Been making out she had no idea when she knew all along.

  A sneer slid across Dulcie’s face. ‘Yes, that’s right. I can see by your expression you’re getting the gist. I wanted everyone to believe I was mad because I knew it would give you the confidence to play into my hands and show your true colours. You’re a greedy, selfish, deluded person – just like your imbecile father.’

  Helen’s rage spiked. What she had was better and it wasn’t going to stop her. Nothing would stop her from getting her hands on what she was owed. ‘My father... funny you should mention him. I’m surprised you can remember. Oh, yes – you’d hardly be likely to forget, being as you went to great pains to arrange his murder. Car accident, my arse. You and your lover, Robert’s father, arranged it, didn’t you? Just admit it!’

  Dulcie shrugged. ‘And so what? You can’t prove it. No one can.’

  Helen refused to let her mother’s admission bother her. She knew it was true, but it still grated to hear her admit it with such little care. Rise above it, Helen. ‘I wonder what Golden Boy will think when I tell him that his father killed mine? I wonder how he’ll feel about being lied to all his life too? I wonder how he’ll take it knowing his mother is a manipulative old tart as well as a thief!’

  Dulcie laughed once again. ‘Robert doesn’t believe anything you say. And...,’ she casually played with a string of beads, ‘he won’t allow you to put me in a home.’

  It was Helen’s turn to smile. She dropped down on to her haunches in front of Dulcie. ‘Actually, it was his idea...’ She giggled at the look of horror washing across her mother’s face. ‘Robert bought the apartment for you. He bought it himself.’

  She watched her mother’s face with growing satisfaction. ‘Sinking in, is it? I have many witnesses as to your lunacy. So so many – all of whom who will truthfully say you’re barking mad and demented as hell.’

  Helen moved closer. ‘Tell me where the diamonds are, you lying old slut – the ones your lover stole and the ones you’ve been hiding ever since. If you’re really lucky I’ll tell you who else is after you too.’

  Folding her arms, Dulcie shook her head. ‘They’re mine and mine alone. And eventually they’ll be Robert’s, not yours. Never yours.’

  Helen sneered. ‘I think you must be confused again, mother. Why don’t you sing Blueberry Hill to yourself and have a little dance around whilst I go and have a good look upstairs.’

  Forty Four

  ROBERT STARED AT HIS COMPUTER SCREEN, unable to concentrate. He’d got a massive amount of work to finish but he just couldn’t get his head into gear. Getting up from his desk, he finished what was left of his coffee and decided to make another one. He walked towards the kitchen, glancing at the items of post he’d walked past earlier.

  Bending down, he scooped two envelopes from the floor and moved into the kitchen to flick the kettle on.

  Plonking himself down at the kitchen table, he thought he might as well concentrate on something else, short of that bloody coding, for five minutes. Having a break might, with any luck, unstick his brain and give him the impetus to dream up a fresh way of addressing the problem flagged up in the computer script. He hoped so anyway because he’d got to get the program fixed in time for a big rollout of a system upgrade. He’d be up all night at this rate.

  Tearing open the first envelope, Robert flicked through the contents. Information from the solicitor including copies of the land registry and all the associated bumph for the purchase of that apartment. His eyes scanned the accompanying letter, seeing the completion was confirmed for next week. He smiled to himself. Helen had been pleased to hear that when she’d phoned earlier. The solicitor had already called to tell him the news, but he liked to have things in writing too. It was sad with how things had developed, but at least his mother would be properly looked after by specialists soon.

  Shoving the solicitor’s paperwork back in the envelope, Robert picked up the second letter – a large, thick one. He almost threw it back down on the table, thinking it looked like one of those stupid catalogues about Tupperware and thermal vests, but something made him open it.

  Tearing open the brown envelope, he pulled out a sheaf of paper. Frowning, he scanned the note. From James? What was Helen’s husband writing to him for?

  Irritation bubbling, he glanced over the letter uninterestedly. ‘I tried to call you several times... No answer... Hope you receive this... I had no choice... Didn’t know what else to do...’

  Robert frowned, his eyes running down the typed words and fear jangled. Frantically moving to the next page, he read a print out of something from the internet, followed by a copy of remortgage documents and bank transfer requests.

  Robert’s heart raced. Was this for real? It couldn’t be possible, could it?

  Jumping up, he raced back to his desk, knocking the mouse to bring the computer back to life. Opening a new Google tab, Robert furiously entered bits of information from James’ notes. He had to see for himself.

  Returning several pages of results, his eyes scanned up and down the words on the screen in record time. It was true... These drugs – these drugs that James reckoned were in the garage and the ones Helen was swapping out for vitamins, could cause those side effects when combined.

  He scrolled his mouse down the pages of text: ‘anticholinergics... block the effect of the brain chemical, acetylcholine... Temazepam... Fluoxetine... combination... confusion... memory disturbances... agitation... delirium... altered cognitive function...’

  Sweat beaded on Robert’s forehead. ‘... acts on neurotransmitters... levels deplete naturally with age... medication can accelerate deterioration and effects... mimics dementia...’

  Mimics dementia...?

  Robert put his head in his hands and pulled his shaking fingers through his hair. The bitch. The fucking bitch. She’d done this.

  Helen had set this up. Helen.

  Robert jumped to his feet. He would go there now. He wanted to see this stash in James’ garage for himself before he’d believe it. If James was correct in his suspicions and Helen really had done this, then he’d wring her neck with his bare hands.

  And then he was going to go and get his mother. He’d take her to hospital and get them to flush all of that shit out of her system. He’d sort this. He could sort this.

  Grabbing his car keys, Robert’s face was red with rage. Helen would pay for this. How could she do this? How could she systematically poison their mother and make out she was going insane. And for the money? Holy Mother of God, this couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t.

  Helen would go to prison for this if it were true. He’d make sure of it. That’s if he didn’t kill her first.

  Slamming the door to his flat, Robert rushed to his car.

  NERO’S FOOT WAS PRESSED TO THE FLOOR as the car raced up the M40. They’d made good time and he desperately hoped they didn’t get a tug. He glanced in the rear view mirror at Jonah, his face set like stone, patiently loading his Glock. Even more reason not to get pulled over.

  Sensing Nero’s interest, Keith looked over his shoulder at his boss in the back seat and felt hopeful. Saul would feel better about things if Jonah finished off the bitch who’d helped ruin Jacky. ‘What’s the plan then, boss?’

  Jonah glanced up, his eyes cold, impatient to get to Maidenhead. His concentration fully honed onto how he would do this had thankfully paled the events of tonight’s engagement party debacle to the back of his mind – the part
reserved for irrelevant matters.

  He would be finishing this tonight.

  Warm, fizzing blood pumped in his veins in anticipation of finally closing the door on this chapter of his life which had caused so much stress and upheaval and get the answers he’d waited so long for and retrieve what was his father’s.

  ‘I’ll let myself into the house.’ Jonah tapped his inside pocket where the keys to Footlights were safely secured. ‘Then I’ll confront Adams. Finally, I’ll be lifting my stuff back.’

  Keith’s irritation bristled. He was still planning to talk to the old bitch? Saul wanted vengeance not conversation and wouldn’t be happy if Jonah let the thieving cunt walk, regardless of whether he retrieved the goods or not. His arm brushed against the gun concealed in his waistband. He’d promised Saul he’d take the old bag out himself if Jonah didn’t.

  ‘You planning on using that?’ Keith nodded to the gun in Jonah’s hand.

  Jonah placed his Glock back in his inside pocket and smiled coldly. ‘Planning on it, no.’ But he would if he had to.

  ‘HELEN?’ Robert banged on the front door. ‘Helen! Open the door. I know you’re in there.’

  He glanced around, not caring if any of the neighbours were watching. It was doubtful because the nearest was a few hundred yards away. Besides, he didn’t give a toss. He had to have it out with Helen and if what James had said was right, get his mother to the hospital.

  ‘Helen? James?’ Robert thumped on the door yet again. The lights were on - one in the front sitting room and one in a bedroom – he’d seen that from the drive. James’ car was here too, but Helen’s wasn’t – unless it was in the garage?

  Peering through the letterbox, Robert could see all the way down to the kitchen and the light in there also on. He squinted to the left, noticing the door to the garage from the house was open. Maybe they were in there?