by Martina Cole
‘I’ll marry you and you can do all that for me. But I warn you, I make a lot of washing.’
She laughed at his words. ‘Me and you married! Can you imagine that?’ Her laughter died as she realised that he could imagine that. Instinctively she placed a hand on his cheek. ‘Any woman would be glad to be taken care of by you, Richard. As I’ve always said, you’re . . .’
He finished the sentence for her. ‘I know, I’m a lovely man. I’ll have that put on me grave. “Here lies Richard Gates, he was a lovely man”.’
‘A very, very lovely man actually.’ She was kneeling on the sofa now. Leaning against him, she kissed him gently on the lips. She knew what he wanted from her, and such was her gratitude she was willing to grant him anything.
‘Love me, Richard. Love me however you want.’
He looked into her eyes. She was half drunk, but not drunk enough not to know what she was about.
As she dropped the towel from her body he saw her for the first time without clothes. He saw the pink tones of her skin, the softness of her rounded stomach, the fine line of her ribcage. His breathing was becoming heavier. He felt a film of sweat break out on his brow. He saw the pink slit between her legs as she lay back on the sofa and held out her arms to him.
He could smell her, and she smelt beautiful as he had always known she would.
The downy hair between her legs was honey-coloured, and he felt an urge to press his face against it, taste her, take her, as he had imagined himself doing so many times in his life. Instead he covered her with the towel and, gathering her to him, held her tightly, feeling the sting of tears as she held on to him just as tightly.
Her voice was small. ‘Don’t you want me?’
He closed his eyes. Oh, how he wanted her, how he had dreamed of her saying those very words to him. But he wanted her only when she wanted him also, and not from gratitude or because she wanted to confer a favour. As much as he was tempted to take her now, he knew he couldn’t. Knew that he would hate himself afterwards; that it would change their relationship.
He picked her up and carried her through to her bedroom. He plonked her down on the bed without ceremony and said: ‘Come on, girl, get a few zeds in. I’ll crash on the couch and wake you with a nice cuppa in the morning.’
She lay on the bed watching him, sorry now for what she had done. She looked so forlorn he felt a moment’s pity for her.
‘Look, Cathy, it’s not a case of not wanting you, darlin’, but if we got together I’d like it to be because we care for one another like adults, as man and woman. Not because you feel you owe me one, OK?’
She nodded sadly and he kissed her lightly on the cheek before leaving the room.
As she lay there she felt a strange urge to cry, because it suddenly dawned on her that she did want him as a woman; wanted him desperately. Not because she was grateful, but because he was a man whom she respected and cared about. Loved even.
Why had she never realised that before?
Now she had offended him, after all he had done for her. A big tear squeezed its way out of her eye and she wiped it away furiously. She had taken his love for granted all her life, and now she realised why she enjoyed being with him so much, why they were such good friends. Because, deep down, she wanted Richard Gates as much as he seemed to want her, and now she had ruined it.
She didn’t sleep that night even though she was tired out, emotionally and physically. Neither did Richard.
Both lay awake until dawn, aware that only a door separated them.
Chapter Forty-Five
Kitty was much better the next day, and the hospital said they were only going to keep her in a few days more for observation. She seemed to have no recollection of her ordeal and everyone agreed that until she remembered it, it might be wisest to leave her alone, not try and force the memories.
This suited Cathy down to the ground. The less said about the ordeal the better, as far as she was concerned.
Richard made sure that the police were kept informed, and that Kitty was left in peace. It seemed all the girl wanted to do was sleep. The doctors said to let her. She would find her own way to deal with what had happened.
Cathy held her daughter’s hand, a silent loving presence, which was all that Kitty really required. As long as her mother, Desrae or Richard was with her, she was happy. And for Cathy just to see her daughter fit and well was enough. Just to know that she was there, safe and secure.
After a long sleep Kitty awoke and smiled at her. ‘I’m a bit hungry now, Mum. Can I have something to eat?’
Cathy grinned. ‘Of course you can. All the girls are coming in later to say hello. That should give them all something to talk about in here, eh?’
Kitty’s eyes twinkled at the thought of the nurses’ and doctors’ faces when the ‘girls’ arrived. Knowing them, they’d all be in full drag, trying to outdo one another as usual. Then she thought of Michaela and her eyes clouded over.
‘Why did Michaela come and get me, Mum?’
Cathy was nonplussed for a few seconds. ‘No one knows yet, darling.’
Kitty looked at the bedcover. She was picking at it nervously with her fingers. ‘I don’t want to see him, Mum.’
With those words, Cathy realised that her daughter remembered more than she was letting on. But she would play the game. Kitty was like her mother.
‘Don’t worry, baby,’ Cathy reassured her. ‘Everything is fine now, and nothing bad will ever happen to you again. That’s a promise, OK?’
Kitty tried to smile. ‘I love you, Mum. I really love you.’
Cathy gathered her into her arms and they cried together. They were still sitting like this when Desrae turned up with all the girls from the club. They swept into the room like a gaggle of exotic birds, all lip-liner and false eyelashes. Baskets of flowers and fruit were placed on the bed, magazines and chocolates were put into the small locker and a rather gaudy lime-green bedjacket ceremoniously placed around Kitty’s shoulders.
As they all fussed over her, kissed her and remarked on how beautiful she was, Desrae whispered to Cathy: ‘Susan P’s outside. Get yourself home for a few hours.’
Cathy nodded. After taking her leave of everyone, she left the hospital and climbed gratefully into Susan’s car.
When they were stuck in traffic, Susan P finally spoke. ‘How is she?’
‘She remembers more than she’s letting on, Sue, but she seems to be coping OK.’
Susan P rolled down the window of her Lotus and shouted out to a passing jay walker: ‘You on a fucking death wish or what?’ Without waiting for an answer she went on to Cathy: ‘Eddie Durrant wants to know when we’re going to keep our side of the bargain?’
Cathy leant back against the leather seat and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. ‘It’ll have to be done soon, won’t it? What’s the score with Michaela?’
Susan shrugged. ‘Disposed of this morning. His body will be washed up in a few years off the Essex Marshes. He’s history.’
Cathy lit a cigarette and stared out at the passing traffic. ‘I was good to him, you know. Helped him out many times.’
‘Look, there’s plenty of Michaelas around,’ her friend said. ‘Think of the girls I employ. They have the best clients, the best of everything, and still they try and turn tricks behind me back. It’s human nature. They don’t think of what we’ve had to do to get where we are. It’s a case of: “Well, you’re all right. You’ve got plenty of spondulicks. What’s the matter with me creaming a little extra off the top?” Cunts, the lot of them.’
Susan honked her horn as they pulled into Dean Street; a cab was blocking the road. Two men emerged, the worse for wear, and made their way into the Groucho Club. One was a big TV producer and Susan P smiled and waved at him.
‘One of me best customers, him. Likes women to walk up and down his back in needle-sharp high heels. A right nut. Still, he ain’t no trouble and that’s always a touch, eh?’
Cathy couldn’t help but
laugh. Then: ‘You’ve been marvellous through all this. I can’t thank you enough, Susan.’
The older woman slapped her on the leg. ‘Oh, leave it out. Don’t come over all mushy, I can’t take that. We’re mates, and mates help each other out.’
‘Thanks all the same, I really did appreciate it. And as for Michaela - thanks for that and all.’
Susan glanced at her. ‘Don’t thank me. It was Fate who got rid of her, love, the same as Fate’s getting rid of Campbell. It’s arranged. All we have to do is wait. He’s going to cut his wrists in jail. At least, that’s what I think is going to happen. It’s more a case of when, and only Richard can tell us that. Hopefully then we’ll see the back of Eddie Durrant.’
‘What’s happening with all the other people at the party?’ Cathy’s voice was bitter.
Susan P grinned. ‘Quite a catch! The lesbo estate agent has made a full statement. There was also a High Court judge, a plasterer from Bow, and a couple of people from the Foreign Office. What a lovely thought, eh? How these fuckers find each other, I don’t know. Still, birds of a feather and all that.’
They pulled up outside Cathy’s flat. ‘Durrant’s in there. I’ll dump the car and be with you in about fifteen minutes, OK? Richard’s up there as well. He’ll know more by now, I hope.’
Eddie Durrant was installed in Cathy’s lounge with a large Scotch and a Cuban cigar. Cathy was amazed once more by how good-looking and presentable he was. Gates was quiet as usual. Waiting until he had something to say before he spoke.
Cathy was glad of Eddie Durrant’s presence because she was still embarrassed about the events of the night before. She smiled at her visitors.
‘How’s your daughter?’ asked Eddie.
Cathy went over to Durrant and held out her hand to him. As he shook it she answered him. ‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Good. That’s good to hear. Children are precious.’
‘They certainly are. Can I get you a refill?’
‘A coffee would be great, but first I think you should hear what Mr Gates has to say.’
Richard spoke very quietly, but his words struck a chill.
‘Campbell won’t make a statement. He’s convinced the other people will be too scared to give evidence against him. We have decided that he is to be taken out in custody. That’s difficult, but not impossible. He dies tomorrow. The others will be scapegoats. They’ll all be done. The boy, Johnny, is willing to testify, and we’re hoping Kitty will be deemed too traumatised to appear in court. We’ll have her statement read out.
‘We’ve got enough to keep us all very busy and in fact Campbell’s “suicide” will only compound his guilt in the eyes of the jury. Plus we can dress it all up pretty much how we like once he’s out of the way. So, Mr Durrant, that’s that.’
The big black man nodded, pleased as punch with the new developments. ‘You’re my kind of policeman, Mr Gates. Justice is very rarely served in these cases, as you know. I suppose the High Court judge will get off lightly?’ His voice was mocking and Richard ignored him.
The phone rang. Cathy walked through to the kitchen to answer it. It was Eamonn, and as she heard his voice she realised she had not thought of him once in the previous twenty-four hours. She didn’t answer immediately, and Eamonn, thinking they had a bad connection, said loudly: ‘Is everything all right? I’ve tried to ring a few times but there was no answer.’
She saw the flashing light on the answerphone; it was true. She gave him a quick summary of all that had happened. When she’d finished, he said, ‘Is she OK?’
Cathy nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her.
‘Will you be all right for next weekend then? I’ve missed you, Cathy, really missed you, darlin’.’
She felt a faint irritation as he spoke. ‘Did you hear what I just said, Eamonn? My daughter, my only child, was taken by a paedophile and nearly raped - gang raped - and you honestly think I’ll be OK to dump her and come to New York this weekend? Are you really that stupid?’
Eamonn went quiet at the end of the phone. ‘I’ll ring you at the weekend, Cathy,’ he said finally. ‘I can tell you’re not yourself. You know I don’t mean to be selfi—’
She interrupted him loudly, forgetting she had company in the next room.
‘Oh, bollocks, Eamonn! You’ve always been a selfish bastard, always will be and all. If the boot was on the other foot then I’d have been on the first plane to New York in case you needed me. But that’s not your style, is it? You don’t like people to be complicated, do you? Everything has to be nice and trouble-free, doesn’t it? Well, you’ll see me when you see me and not before! My daughter, our daughter, needs me, and I’ll see she’s taken care of.’
‘I think you’re being a bit hard here, Cathy. I’m not the enemy . . .’
‘No, you’re not, I am dealing with my enemies but thanks for the offer to help - it’s much appreciated. Even if you haven’t actually made it yet!’
‘Cathy, please darlin’, listen to me.’ His voice was all solicitude and calculated charm. ‘If you need me, I’m here. I just thought you might like a break. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cross. I’ll get the next plane, charter a jet, anything to fucking well make you happy. OK?’
‘That won’t be necessary, I still have a few loose ends to tie up here. I’ll be in touch soon.’
Eamonn knew he was being dismissed and it annoyed him. Swallowing down his anger he said sweetly: ‘I love you, baby, remember that.’
‘I love you too, Eamonn.’ Putting down the phone, she realised it was true, she did still love him - but not as much as she had once thought.
As she turned to the door, she saw Richard standing there and realised he had heard only the last part of the conversation. She knew that instinctively and it hurt her because he was worth fifty Eamonns.
His eyes accused her, and for a split second she felt an urge to scream out all her frustration. Instead, she smiled warmly at him.
‘I’m just making the coffee.’
He smiled back. ‘Take your time, there’s no hurry. How’s Eamonn these days?’
Suddenly Cathy felt annoyed with them both. All she had on her plate, all she had to cope with, and the two men in her life were both giving her grief.
‘He’s great, thanks,’ she said sarcastically. ‘Coming over at the weekend to hold my hand and fuck the arse off me. You know Eamonn - always there when you need him. I don’t bleedin’ think.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone with me, Cathy. I ain’t the enemy, love.’
She sighed, all the fight leaving her. He had used the same word as Eamonn. Maybe all men were secretly enemies of women? It was a thought anyway.
‘Oh, fuck off and all, you. I ain’t in the mood.’
Richard walked away from her, and she heard the front door slam a few seconds later. Tearing through the flat, she followed him out on to the street. It was busy with the evening traffic and the influx of nightly visitors.
‘Richard, please wait!’ Her voice was high. She caught up with him on the corner of Greek Street. ‘Please, Richard, forgive me. Please, I’m sorry. I was upset, just upset. I didn’t mean it, I swear I didn’t mean it.’
He looked down at her. He knew she was telling him the truth but it had hurt. After everything that had passed between them, it had really hurt.
She clung to him, and the passers-by watched them with interest, the little blonde and the big bald-headed man.
Slipping his arms around her, he held her to him tightly. ‘All right, Cathy. Relax, girl, calm down. You’re forgiven, OK? Now please stop crying, darlin’, come on. All friends have a few tear ups, it’s only natural.’
He walked her back to the flat, all the time comforting her. When they got inside Eddie Durrant had tactfully disappeared. He held her again as she cried, repeating over and over again: ‘I’m sorry. Please believe me, I’m sorry.’
Eventually he looked into her face and said gently, ‘Look, Cathy, you’ve had a rough
time of it. I understand that. Now let’s have a coffee, eh? I want to visit Kitty and I want something to eat. So let’s get back to normal.’
She nodded. Even with red eyes and a running nose she was still incredibly beautiful to him. No matter what she looked like, he would always see his Cathy. That was how he would always think of her.
Why he would always love her.
Trevale Campbell was pleased with himself. He had not made a statement and had refused even to talk when they had questioned him. He was confident he would soon be released because the other people involved would cut their own throats before they tied him in with all that had happened. He had made sure that his reputation as a hard man, a maniac, would serve him in good stead in just such circumstances as these.
As he lay on his bunk, planning his revenge against everyone, the cell door opened. He sat up, a wide smile on his face as he saw two burly policemen enter.
‘Can I go? Have you finally realised you’re holding an innocent man, you fucking cretins?’ He was all arrogance and bravado.
They shut the cell door behind them. When he was knocked to the ground by the bigger of the two men, he assumed they were going to try for a forced confession. Well, he hoped they marked him good. It would all be in his favour - he might even sue the fuckers. He smiled at the thought and chuckled loudly.
‘Kick the fuck out of me, boys, I want you to. I’m inviting you to.’ The smile left his face when he saw the Stanley knife blade. He tried to get up, but was held down in a vice-like grip.
‘Good night, Mr Campbell.’
The razor-sharp blade was swiped across each wrist and then across his throat for good measure. Then the men let go of him and walked quickly from the cell. He lay there, blood pumping out of him, hearing their laughter from beyond the door.
Pulling himself to his feet, he staggered to the metal grille. It was closed. He looked around the cell. It was dirty, covered in graffiti. The smell from the toilet was overpowering. Suddenly Trevale Campbell realised he was going to die here. In this squalid little cell. Alone.
