by Jessie Keane
‘I’m Josh Flynn, Aysha’s father. Her husband isn’t here. Is she OK? Can we see her?’
‘Is the baby all right?’ asked Shauna, coming to her feet.
‘Come into my office,’ said the doctor, and Josh, Shauna and Connor trailed after her into a poky little room with a depressing view of a dark central courtyard.
The doctor moved behind the desk and sat down, indicating that they should sit, too. None of them did. Josh’s mouth was dry as he said: ‘Is Aysha all right?’
‘She has some nasty bruising.’
‘And the baby?’ asked Connor.
The doctor pursed her lips. ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid we couldn’t save it.’
Aysha was propped up in bed in the middle of a busy ward with several other women, looking almost as pale as the thin hospital pillows. When she saw Shauna and Josh, she started to cry.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she sobbed, and Shauna hugged her tightly.
‘There’ll be other babies,’ said Shauna. That fucker Minghella.
‘No! No there won’t.’ Aysha pulled back from her mother’s embrace. She grabbed her father’s hand, squeezed it. Connor came to the other side of the bed and kissed his sister’s cheek.
‘Where is Joey?’ asked Connor, thinking that when he got hold of that git he was going to pull his guts out. He should be here, with his wife.
‘He ran off,’ gulped Aysha, rubbing her eyes with a tissue. ‘He fingered his mates for that job with the old woman who died. Their families are out to get him, so he said he had to go. I tried to stop him. Told him he had responsibilities, now he was going to be a father.’
‘Aysha,’ said Shauna, her eyes dark with concern. ‘Don’t . . .’
‘You want the truth? I was in his way, so he pushed me down those stairs and killed his own baby. He could have killed me too, but he didn’t care about that. All he was thinking about was running away, saving his own skin.’
‘We’ll find him,’ said Connor.
‘No,’ said Aysha, casting a desperate, tear-sodden glance at him. ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t want him back. I hate him. He murdered my baby and he as good as murdered that poor old woman too. I don’t want him anywhere near me. Not now, not ever.’
111
‘I can’t come home yet,’ said Josh quietly on the phone as he sat in his study back at the house. And saying it made him realize all the more where his heart truly lay now. That was home, New York, with Claire and her daughter. This was just a remnant of a life. But it was one he couldn’t abandon yet, much as he wanted to. He might not have planted the seed that grew into Aysha, but he was all the father she had, and she needed him.
‘Is Aysha all right?’ asked Claire.
‘She fell down the stairs.’ He couldn’t bring himself to say that tosser Joey had pushed her. It was too painful to talk about. A grandchild, a new life full of promise, smashed and dead. ‘She miscarried.’
‘God, I’m sorry.’
‘So you can see why I can’t come back yet. Soon. Not yet.’
Claire was silent for a moment.
‘Claire?’
‘Is this the way it’s always going to be for us?’ she asked in a small voice.
‘No. It isn’t. As soon as I can, I’m going to do it. Get the divorce rolling. I can’t go on like this much longer. I want to be there, with you, but I’m tied here. Once I can get a divorce through, things will get easier. The kids are grown, they’ll understand. I expect it’ll be a rough ride for a while, but they’ll come round.’
‘I can’t lose you again,’ said Claire.
‘Don’t say that. You never will. I’m coming back, just as soon as I can. I told you. When I have this sorted, we’ll be together and nothing is going to stand in the way of that, I promise you. On my life.’
‘The new place is beautiful,’ said Claire wistfully.
‘I can’t wait to see it again. And you.’
‘I love you, Josh.’
‘I love you too,’ he said, and hung up.
Claire stood alone in their lovely apartment, where the sun flooded in and lit the whole place. Slowly, she replaced the phone on its cradle and looked around at her new home. Hers and Josh’s. Suki’s too, whenever she wanted. Only Josh wasn’t here, with her. He was thousands of miles away, with his family. With that awful bitch Shauna who had hurt her in so many ways. And maybe this time the pull of his kids would be too strong. Maybe this time, he wouldn’t come home to her. She sat down on the couch, bathed in warm sunlight, her heart as heavy as lead, and wept.
112
Something changed in Aysha when she lost the baby. Within a couple of weeks she was back on her feet, but now she looked at the world with hostile eyes.
Josh and Connor went over to the Minghella house to try and find out what had happened with Joey. Old man Minghella looked like he’d done ten rounds with Sugar Ray Robinson, he was so cut and bruised. He had nothing to tell them except that Joey was gone and he didn’t know where.
‘I ought to beat the shit out of you,’ said Josh, dragging the smelly useless old cunt off the couch and staring into his eyes from inches away.
‘Don’t, don’t!’ Frank shouted, trembling. ‘They already done it, them bastards. Don’t hit me no more. I told them and I’m tellin’ you. I don’t know where he went.’
‘I want to divorce him,’ Aysha told Shauna one day in the kitchen.
‘You can’t,’ said Shauna. ‘If we don’t know where he is or what he’s up to, how is that possible?’
Aysha’s eyes hardened and her mouth was set in a grim line.
‘Then I’ll change my name by deed poll. I don’t want to be a Minghella any more. I’m going to change my name back to Flynn.’
And that’s what Aysha did. Once again she was Aysha Flynn, but an Aysha Flynn who was marked by life. The carefree and in love Aysha Flynn was gone. Now she was a blank-faced woman who eyed the world with dislike.
She caught Connor in the yard office one day. His mate Benedict was in there too, but she ignored him. Men! She detested them now. ‘Connor, I’m going mad with nothing to do. Give me a job in the office sorting the paperwork or something, I don’t care what.’
‘Jesus. All right then,’ said Connor.
Anything to keep her happy. And it would be good to have her here in the yard where he could keep an eye on her. Aysha wasn’t herself. More and more, she was reminding him of Mum – and not in a good way. Mum was a control freak and she could be scary. Her rages were legend and she bore grudges like, forever. When she got hopping mad and she stared at you with those dark, rock-hard gypsy eyes, you knew you were in deep, deep shit. Aysha was starting to get that same look, and he didn’t like it.
‘This is nice,’ said Shauna to Josh one evening as they sat together watching telly.
‘What?’ Josh had been gazing at the screen and not seeing it. Thinking of Claire. Wondering how long before he could get back to her.
‘This. You and me here, together.’ Shauna looked at him. She could see he was distracted, maybe a bit bored. Josh was a man of action; slumped on a sofa wasn’t him, not at all. ‘You’ve not used our gym lately.’
‘Yeah, I have.’
What was she, his keeper? He had the gym in the basement here, but he preferred to go to the local public one because it got him out of the house and away from her. And on his way out yesterday, he’d passed a messy old pickup truck parked at the end of the road. Sitting in the cab was a big bloke with a scruffy beard. He looked sort of familiar. Jesus! Was that Jeb Cleaver?
Well, let the bastard have her. They deserved each other.
Josh still liked to train. It helped him relax, clear his mind. Helped lift some of the stress he was under right now. Sometimes his chest felt unbearably tight, he was so strung out. Worried about Aysha. Hating Shauna. Fretful over Claire, who he knew was missing him badly. Unable to see her, speak to her properly. It was all getting to him and he wanted to be gone.
‘Any fights lined up? Bubb
a Pole might have something for you.’
‘Too much going on at the moment for that.’ Truthfully, Josh felt that if he started fighting here again then Shauna would take it to mean that he was staying. And he wasn’t. He absolutely bloody wasn’t. He would probably get back in the ring again soon – he always did, fighting was his life – but for now he felt too scrambled to seek out fights, here or across the pond. Aysha was just getting back on her feet again with Connor’s help, and Josh felt that within a couple of weeks he might be able to make a break for it.
He looked at his wife. She was watching him with bright-eyed interest, a fake smile on her face. She was still a handsome woman, Shauna. Kept herself smart, svelte. Went to dance classes with her stuck-up mates who actually looked down their noses at her, probably still laughed at her behind her back, called her pikey and gyppo. Not that she gave a fuck.
Shauna still had a little of that dark-skinned and flashing-eyed gypsy thing going on. Lots of men still gave her the eye. But Josh knew her secrets now. She was a cold, hard, merciless bitch. Josh wished that she would run off with one of the men who admired her – with Jeb Cleaver, for instance, or any bastard – and make all this easy for him. But she wouldn’t, of course. Once Shauna had you and the lifestyle you could provide for her, that was you done for. You were hers.
If she knew what I was up to, she’d fucking kill me, he thought. That sent a chill up his spine. Set him thinking about the meals she cooked him. Shauna was a terrific cook, most gypsy women were. He always enjoyed the famous Shauna Flynn Full English, bacon and mushrooms and stuff – mushrooms could kill you, couldn’t they? Deathcaps could, for sure.
And Claire. Christ, Shauna must never find out about Claire. He worried about having told Trace, but he was just going to have to trust her and Pally to keep their gobs shut. They had to.
Shauna gave him a smile and turned her attention back to the TV show.
Josh was still watching her, thinking of her shooting the two older Cleaver brothers dead.
Of Philippa Houghton, drowned.
Claire’s dog Blue, killed. Shauna had been there, watching that.
And Claire. Raped and terrified, running for her life, her family threatened.
It was hell now, being in the same house as Shauna. At night he slept side by side with her, and thought that if she knew, if she knew, then there would be ructions. And what if he talked in his sleep? Said Claire’s name out loud?
One night he woke up and found himself face to face with Shauna in the moonlight, and her dark eyes were wide open. She was awake, and she was watching him. It was such a shock to see her right there in front of him that he almost shrieked like a girl. Somehow he stopped himself. He got up, fetched a drink of water.
‘You’re restless, honey,’ she said when he came back to bed.
‘Yeah, bit of indigestion,’ he said, lying down again, turning his back on her.
He hadn’t touched her in years, and if she made overtures to him, he always turned away. He tried to get back to sleep again, but he couldn’t. His chest was tight as a drum. His heart was racing.
Christ, I have got to get out of here.
113
‘What do you think?’ asked Claire, leading Suki and her friend Vicky through the new apartment, room by room. The large sitting room was sunlit, glorious with its fabulous Park view; there were two bedrooms, a super-sized bed in each; a dressing room with ample allocated space for shoes and bags; a bathroom with a bath easily big enough for two.
‘It’s like the bridal suite in a five-star hotel,’ said Vicky. ‘It’s fantastic.’
Suki thought so, too. No thrift-shop finds in here, no vintage. It was all modern, classy, brand new. ‘It’s lovely, Mom.’
‘So where’s Josh?’ asked Vicky.
‘Business. England.’
‘Shame. He coming back soon?’
‘Very soon, yeah.’
‘Is he paying for this? This is big bucks,’ said Vicky.
‘It’s in my name,’ said Claire, feeling put out. Vicky might be Suki’s best friend, but she could be abrasive; and money was her god.
‘Even better. Then if things get a little tired and he moves on, you keep the gold mine.’
The thought of Josh ‘moving on’ made Claire want to cry. Already she missed him like a limb. ‘Is that how it is? With you and Spiro?’ she asked, her voice cold.
‘Hey, no offence! Spiro’s paying my rent right now. Buying me things. This dress. This bag, that’s a Chanel.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Suki, who didn’t really care about bags. Or dresses. She knew Claire didn’t either. What Claire wanted was Josh here, with her. That was all. Cuddles and commitment. Suki envied her mother that. She herself had no boyfriend, no one she cared about like Claire cared about Josh. There’d been a few casual dates of course, but nothing serious.
Vicky flicked a perfectly manicured nail at the gold double C on the black quilted leather of the bag. She looked at Claire. ‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Sure,’ said Claire. ‘Have a seat.’
They all three sat down on the couch.
‘It’s occurred to me . . .’ Vicky paused. ‘Look, don’t shoot the messenger, Claire, but hasn’t it occurred to you that he might be married? All this running back to England looks sort of suspicious and I—’
‘He is married,’ said Claire. ‘You mean Spiro hasn’t told you? I’m sure he knows.’
‘You’re kidding me.’
‘Sadly, no.’
‘Well fuck me.’
‘He’s going to divorce her, first chance he gets,’ Suki chipped in, feeling defensive of her mother.
Vicky gave a sharp sigh. ‘Christ! That old line.’
‘It’s the truth,’ said Claire.
‘I hope you’re right.’
‘I am.’ Claire swallowed hard. ‘He’s having troubles back there right now. His daughter’s lost a baby and his wife needs him there.’
‘How long’s he been there?’
‘About a month.’ Or more . . .
‘But, Claire . . . you need him here.’
‘Look,’ snapped Suki. ‘She knows that. But she can’t put pressure on him, not now. He’s having enough of that at home.’
‘This wife . . .’
‘Shauna,’ said Claire, hating even to say the name.
‘He still got time for her?’
‘He hates her. He wants the marriage done,’ said Suki.
Vicky looked at Claire. ‘Is that the truth? Or just a line he’s spun you?’
‘No. It’s the truth, Vick. It really is,’ said Claire.
‘Well, we got to get him back here then,’ said Vicky.
‘Oh yeah. Easy.’ Claire sighed. She felt like she was losing the fight; that Shauna was winning.
‘Girl – when you got influence, you have to learn to use it,’ said Vicky with a smug smile.
Vicky had a word with Spiro that day, and Spiro made a few calls. Then in the evening, he rang Josh.
‘How are you, Josh?’ he asked.
‘Fine. You?’
‘Fine, fine. My friend, have I got a fight for you! It’s all lined up, you got to come! Next weekend. Big prize money. What do you think?’
It was a get-out clause and Josh felt bad but he grabbed it. He told Shauna that night, and the kids the next day. He slipped an old mate from the pub a tenner and called Claire from the mate’s house. He was getting paranoid about Shauna maybe listening in to his calls if he made them from home.
‘I’m coming back on Tuesday,’ said Josh, and he grinned as Claire whooped with delight.
‘I can’t wait!’ she said, laughing. ‘Oh Josh, I’ve missed you so much.’
‘I missed you too. Tuesday. My flight leaves Heathrow at eight thirty in the morning, and I’ll be at JFK at eleven-o-five.’
Josh put the phone down. She was still laughing for joy, and he was grinning like a schoolboy.
114
Dad was gone ag
ain, and Mum was in a foul mood. All as normal, thought Connor. He dropped Dad at the airport to catch his flight then came back to the family home. Mum was in the kitchen, knocking the fuck out of some steaks with a tenderizing mallet. Aysha was in the sitting room. He opted for the sitting room. Mum’s bad moods were as infectious as rabies, and he didn’t want to get too close.
‘She’s gutted he’s gone away,’ said Aysha, putting her magazine aside when Connor came in.
Thump!
The steak was getting a right battering out there. Connor sat down beside his sister.
‘Maybe she clings on to him too hard, you thought of that?’ said Connor.
‘He can’t seem to get away fast enough, that’s for sure,’ said Aysha. She looked at Connor. ‘D’you think they’re in trouble? Their marriage, I mean?’
‘What makes you say that?’ He’d thought it for years. To him, his parents had always been a mismatch – Shauna so fierce, climbing ever upward on the social scale, and Josh the gentle giant who – it was obvious – yearned for the simpler days of his youth. Josh, it seemed to Connor, had always been true to his roots, even when Mum had been stuffing him into a dinner jacket and hawking him around at society bashes.
‘I dunno. Just a feeling I suppose.’
‘Women’s intuition?’ He smirked, thinking fondly of the times Josh had sat him down as a boy and as a teenager, telling him tales of the old gypsy settlement, the church in the dell, the Cleaver pig farm up the road. Sometimes Josh had used the old Romany words to him, and spoken in the language of Cant. Yeah, Dad was a real genuine Romany rye – a true gypsy gentleman.
‘Don’t knock it. I am a woman.’
Connor nodded. She certainly was. He’d never tell her, but since parting company with Joey Minghella – and losing the baby – his little sister had turned into a hard-faced knockout, she’d developed a style all her own. She usually wore black. Her dark hair was cut into a severe chin-length bob. Scarlet lipstick, black mascara. High heels. No longer a girl, that was for sure. A woman. Every time she was in the office, his mate Benedict nearly had a seizure.
