by Jessie Keane
She’d wanted Claire gone, and Claire was gone. She’d dated Jeb Cleaver. They’d been lovers and she probably still saw that low-life cunt.
All this time he’d spent with Shauna, but did he know her at all?
She’d decided he was going to be hers, he knew that. And when he’d told her way back in the seventies after the Matty O’Connor fight that it was finished with him and Claire, she had seemed . . . what? . . . surprised? Wrong-footed? It was so long ago, but he could still remember the oddness of her reaction. And that was because she’d already seen to Claire.
I’ll be yours, Jeb, only do this one thing for me . . .
Josh could almost hear Shauna saying that, her honeyed words concealing the bitter lake of bile floating underneath them. He looked out at clouds stained pink with the light of the dying sun. He sipped his coffee and looked out at the beauty of the world and was glad to be away from her, glad to be going back where he truly belonged, with Claire.
When he reached his hotel and unpacked, there was another note in his bag from Shauna.
I love you, Josh. Hurry back.
He crumpled the note, an expression of disgust on his face, and tossed it into the bin.
98
Josh went straight to Sylvester’s to see Claire. All the girls were in, working hard in their saucy corseted costumes. Spiro and Nikos Constantinou were in too, at their usual table by the stage. No act on yet, just the sound system on and Cher hollering ‘Believe’. The Greek boys stood up and grinned when he appeared. They greeted him like an old friend, slapping him on the back, calling for champagne to celebrate.
‘Where you been? Yassou, Josh. We’ve missed you,’ said Spiro.
‘Yamas,’ said Nikos, and they all clinked glasses and drank.
‘In England. Daughter’s wedding. Had a few fights. Time goes. You know how it is,’ said Josh, sitting down, glancing over at the bar, looking for blonde hair and that sweet smile. He drank their champagne and they said they could have some more fights coming up soon, was he interested?
‘Of course,’ he said, although he wasn’t, not really.
More and more he was getting tired of the fight game. The poundings he took were telling on his body; he didn’t recover so fast from them these days. He liked the fitness regime and he kept to that, although it was punishing. But fighting now? Maybe he’d lost his edge. His ribs had been broken and strapped up over and over. His knuckles were scarred. His nose was crooked, broken long ago by a pile-driving right-hander.
Maybe he’d finally had enough. Everything had changed since the old days. He had money to burn, he had offshore accounts in fake names – the Greeks had told him how it was all done – and he had cash tied up in property and shares, also under false identities, quite a few that Shauna didn’t know about, so sod Shauna and her grasping ways. If what he allowed her to know about wasn’t enough for her, then she could go fuck herself.
He drank, and listened without interest to the female act who came on to the stage to enthusiastic applause. All the time, he was looking for Claire or even Suki. But neither seemed to be here. Later in the evening, he went up to the bar and he saw another girl, a tall brunette, that he’d once before seen Suki chatting with.
‘I’m Vicky, sir,’ she said, smiling. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Remember me? Josh Flynn? You seen Suki?’ he asked.
Her eyes took on a guarded look. ‘Who?’
‘Suki. Pretty blonde. Is she coming in tonight?’
‘I can’t discuss that with you, sir. Club rules. If there’s anything I can get you . . . ?’
‘Yeah, you can tell me if the owner is in. Claire Milo.’ What was Vicky playing at? Of course she recognized him, he’d been in and out of the club many times with Claire and Suki.
‘Sorry, sir. I don’t think she is.’
‘Saw you talking to Vick,’ said Spiro when he went back to the table.
‘She’s a lovely girl. But I was looking for Suki, or for Claire, the owner.’
‘Look – she’s right over there.’
Josh turned in his seat, and there Claire was, just coming down the stairs from the offices. He felt his heart falter in his chest as she stopped at the bottom of the stairs and talked to Vicky. Then she looked over to where he was sitting and her eyes met his. The smile died on her lips and she turned away.
Josh went over there, caught her arm.
‘Let go of me,’ said Claire.
‘Claire, for fuck’s sake.’
‘I thought I could cope with this but I can’t. You going back there again, back to her.’
‘I didn’t go for her, I went for Aysha. God, are you jealous?’ Josh laughed at that. ‘You don’t need to be. Don’t be stupid.’
‘No? Well, she clicks her fingers and you run back there like a fucking lapdog,’ snapped Claire. ‘I hate her! God, Josh, will you leave me alone? You’re making me crazy! I don’t even recognize myself any more.’
‘Claire . . .’
‘No!’ she shouted. Heads turned. Claire took a breath and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Leave me alone. OK?’
99
Josh was in despair. Claire was hopping mad at him. She hadn’t even given him a chance to break the news about Eva’s death. He had never seen his sweet-natured Claire lose it like that. He was feeling the pressure, and now he realized that Claire was feeling it too, badly. But he’d done as she asked: he’d withdrawn, left her alone, hoping she’d cool off, hoping this wasn’t going to be the end of things between them.
Miserably he moped about the sidewalks, strolled in Central Park, where the leaves were turning russet and gold, and starting to fall. He went down the gym and trained, but for the first time in his life he didn’t feel like making the effort. What was his life, really? It was a pitiful lie, a half-life caught between two continents. And if Claire gave up on him, he was well and truly fucked.
One afternoon he took lunch in a diner and walked back to his hotel. Went up to his suite and lay on the bed. The bolster down the centre seemed to mock him. Nah, she wasn’t coming back. He’d blown it. He picked the bolster up and lobbed it across the room.
‘Fucking thing,’ he shouted, and then there was a knock at the door.
‘Ah, sod it,’ he moaned, rolling to his feet and going to the door, expecting housekeeping wanting to tidy the room.
Claire was standing there, her face set with determination.
They stared at each other and then Claire said: ‘Well? Are you going to ask me in?’
Josh stood back from the door. Claire walked in and he closed it and stood there leaning against it.
‘I’m glad to see you,’ he said after a long pause. She was here. She still looked mad enough to spit, but she was at least here.
Claire turned and looked him dead in the eye. ‘All right, let’s get this out in the open,’ she said. ‘I am jealous. It cuts me to the bone every time you go back there. It hurts me so much I can barely stand it. Because it’s to her. And she destroyed my life. Do you understand that? She ruined everything for me, and it’s a miracle I ever got back on track again, a fucking miracle. But now what do I find? That the one person who caused me so much pain still has power over me. Because she has you.’
Josh was staring at her, open-mouthed. ‘Christ, Claire—’
Claire held up a hand. ‘Don’t give me all that old bollocks about you staying for the kids. The kids are adults now. So what’s really going on here? Are you enjoying the thrill of it, having two women on the go? Is that it?’
‘Claire . . .’
‘If it is, just tell me. She robbed me of a normal life, Josh. I hate her guts. And how you can stand to be in the same house as her is beyond—’
‘I’m getting a divorce,’ said Josh.
Claire stopped talking. Looked at him.
‘You heard right,’ said Josh. ‘I’ve had it with her. I’ve seen Aysha married, that was all I wanted to do. Now I can draw a line under it, and get out.’
&
nbsp; ‘Am I supposed to believe that?’ said Claire. She was walking around the suite now, agitated. She went into the bedroom, saw the bolster on the floor. ‘And this bastard thing,’ she said, and kicked it.
Josh started to smile.
‘Don’t fucking laugh at me,’ she warned.
Josh looked at her; small, dainty, gorgeous. He loved her so much, even when she was in a rage. ‘Or what? You’re going to sort me out, are you?’
‘Yes! As a matter of fact, I bloody am,’ she said, and threw off her coat. Then she unbuttoned her blouse, pushed down her skirt, stepped out of it. Kicked off her shoes. She looked at him fiercely. ‘I am going to do this. I am not going to let that cowing bitch win even though she’s not even here. I won’t have it.’
Josh stared in amazement as Claire undid her bra and threw it on the floor. She stepped out of her panties, and chucked them aside too. Then, stark naked, she lay down on the bed.
‘So come on then,’ she said. ‘Get over here, Josh Flynn, before I lose my nerve.’
Josh went over to the bed and looked down at her. He thought he had never seen anything half so beautiful. She was quivering with anxiety. On the nights they’d spent together so far, she had been decorously attired in nightdresses. He’d never seen her fully naked before. She was so lovely and he didn’t want to hurt her. ‘You’re sure? Really?’ he said.
She nodded.
Slowly Josh undressed. When he was naked too, he got on to the bed beside her, kissed her shoulder. Claire moaned and turned to him, curling in against him. He kissed her mouth then trailed hot kisses down over her collarbone to her breasts, taking each hard nipple into his mouth, not hurrying. He knew he couldn’t rush this, he daren’t. Then on and on, down over her belly to the golden triangle of her bush, parting the opening with his fingers and then letting his tongue probe there until he could sense her relaxing, could feel her fingers twining into his hair and hear her gasping breaths growing quicker.
‘Oh God, oh Josh,’ she groaned, opening herself up to him. ‘Don’t stop, please don’t stop . . .’
He didn’t stop until he felt her shudder, felt the strong pulses of her orgasm go quivering through her entire body, heard her unstoppable cries. Then he moved between her legs and eased his erect cock into her, so gently, feeling her warm wetness and steadying himself, thinking that he had to make this last, this was heaven. He felt an instant’s resistance when she stiffened and might have pushed him away, but he stayed there inside her, filling her but not hurting her, and she relaxed again.
‘I love you,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘I’ve always loved you and I always will.’
Her eyes opened and stared into his. A tear slipped from her eye. ‘We’ve lost so much time,’ she whispered.
‘We’re here now,’ he said, and moved in her, feeling that this was blissful, this was all that he wanted in life now; making love, proper love, to this woman. ‘My beautiful brave girl,’ he said, brushing her tears away.
Claire held him tight as his movements grew faster, and when Josh came in her, letting out a triumphant shout, it felt right, like this was what always should have happened and now, finally, their lives were coming good. They were together again.
100
‘Dad ought to be giving it up by now. Don’t you think?’ said Aysha.
Mrs Aysha Minghella was sitting on the edge of her father’s desk in his study, one long leg swinging back and forth, her expression troubled.
Connor Flynn, seated behind the desk, looked up at his little sister, thinking that the suntan suited her and noting how huge the bulge of the kid – his niece or nephew – was. She looked ready to drop, but apparently that wasn’t due to happen until around Christmas. All of which should have, would have delighted him, if only she hadn’t hooked herself up to that Adonis-like prawn Joey.
‘Give it up? Nah. Not very likely to happen,’ he said.
Aysha’s dark eyes bored into Connor’s. ‘Why not? It makes sense.’
‘Dad don’t see it that way. You know what he’s like. He loves the ring. And, be fair, he can still punch the crap out of men half his age.’
‘It’s a shame he has to spend so much time away from home.’
‘Well, he does a lot of business over in the States with the Greek lot.’
‘Mum never goes with him.’
‘So what are you saying, he shouldn’t take the best-paying jobs around, should turn the American lot down flat?’ Aysha fell silent. Connor looked up at her. His sister was like a dog with a bone on this subject. ‘He’s got to do it, Aysha,’ said Connor. ‘Mum’s OK with it, so why aren’t you?’
Aysha didn’t think that Mum was OK with it. Talking to Shauna this morning, she’d got the distinct impression that the rift she had always felt between her parents had long since become a huge yawning chasm.
‘I just worry, that’s all. He’s not young any more.’
‘He’s not old, either.’
Aysha looked at Connor in exasperation. He was so sensible, so reasonable, so bloody rational. The grown-up one who calmed things down, took the long view, never freaked out over their father getting pounded to hell in the ring. She swung her feet to the floor, stood up, stretched. Her spine crackled with tension.
‘How’s married life then?’ asked Connor.
‘Peachy,’ said Aysha, and smiled.
She loved Joey, even if their honeymoon had been a bit of a washout. She’d been suffering from morning sickness and feeling unwell and unattractively bloated, and she had to admit to herself that he hadn’t been very sympathetic. He’d complained, said it was his frigging honeymoon, and if a bloke couldn’t fuck his wife then, when could he? He had joked that maybe she was frigid. That had cut her to the quick. She certainly hadn’t ever enjoyed sex very much. So maybe he was right; maybe she was.
The honeymoon had opened her eyes, just a bit. But then all men were selfish bastards when it came to getting their end away, weren’t they? The accusation of frigidity hurt her. And some of his habits were annoying. She wished, for instance, that he would close the bathroom door whenever he took a shit instead of leaving it wide open. She wished he wouldn’t spit on the pavement when he was out with her, and maybe take her to a decent restaurant now and again instead of a procession of skanky old two-for-one-deal pubs.
But then, he was a rough diamond, she told herself, and what else could you expect from him when he’d been dragged up by fat, idle old Frank Minghella? She would work on Joey’s bad habits. Things would get better.
She wished he’d start to shift himself a bit more, actually do something now that they had a baby coming, maybe stop the clubbing at the weekends. But you couldn’t change people overnight. It was nice that Mum had cleared a space for them to move in here, at home. Joey didn’t have much money – none of his family did, apart from what they got off the dole and the few under-the-counter jobs they managed to pin down – so it would have been hard for them to get a place otherwise. Now, they didn’t have to worry. They lived here. She wished Connor would push something Joey’s way – let him help out in the yard, which was turning into a gold mine, maybe – but she knew Connor didn’t like Joey. Maybe Connor would mellow, in time. She hoped so. After all, Joey was her husband now.
‘And the kid?’ Connor indicated the bump. ‘All OK?’
‘Absolutely fine,’ said Aysha. ‘Everything’s fine.’
101
Joey Minghella was cock of the walk; he was happy. He had a beautiful wife, a sprog on the way, he lived in a fucking great house and the Flynns could no longer look down their noses at him because he was now one of them.
‘So how about a job now I’m your brother-in-law?’ he said to Connor one day as they stood in the kitchen.
‘What sort of a job?’ Connor asked. He hated the little tit, but this was Aysha’s husband.
‘Deliveries. This and that. Like I used to do for you. Or anything. I don’t mind.’
Connor eyed Joey with dislike. The busi
ness was doing well and the work was almost entirely legitimate these days. He was expanding, too – in the process of buying up another yard, with Benedict’s help. They’d splashed out on new signage, new lorries. Things were on the up. But the thought of Joey hanging around at work as well as around the house was a pain in the arse. Connor could never forget that Joey was far from reliable. He liked the drugs too much, he was too hair-trigger in temperament. And – worst of all – he had fucked Connor’s sister and got her railroaded into marriage.
‘Aysha would like it,’ said Joey with an angelic smile.
‘Fuck what Aysha would like,’ said Connor. ‘Get work if you want, but you won’t get it with me – clear?’
Joey was fuming at the way Connor dismissed him. He hadn’t expected things to pan out like this, or he would never have bothered marrying Aysha, he’d have just legged it. The pay-off was supposed to be loads of dosh from work shoved his way, a nice big pile of it to stash away for his own personal use, buy plenty of E, hire a prossie or two because for sure Aysha wasn’t up for it; his wife had turned out to be a chilly bitch. But that wasn’t happening.
‘I’m part of the family now,’ he moaned to his dad when he went back to the estate to visit. Dad had his feet up in front of the TV as usual, watching the racing. ‘And the fuckers are treating me like dirt.’
‘Ah, don’t worry about it,’ said Dad through a blue fug of cigarette smoke. ‘They’ll get used to the idea.’ He glanced up at his son, who was pacing around the grubby carpet. ‘Get Aysha to put the screws on, that’ll do the trick.’
‘Tried that. She’s had a go. No result. That Connor? He’s an obstinate sod. He won’t let bygones be bygones,’ said Joey moodily. A job in the yard would have been good; there would have been plenty of chances to pocket stock and sell it on at a good profit.
‘One of the blokes down the club said there was something going,’ said Dad.
Joey looked at his father. When he wasn’t draped over the sofa, drinking beer and smoking fags, Dad sometimes frequented the local working men’s club – which was a laugh, because Dad had never done a stroke of work in his entire life.
