by Jessie Keane
‘What do you think of Benedict?’ he asked her.
‘Who?’ She squinted at him.
‘Benedict. Come on.’
‘Why does he have to be called Benedict?’ asked Aysha. ‘It’s a bit affected, don’t you think? Why not plain Ben?’
Connor shrugged. ‘He likes Benedict. And come to that, it suits him.’
‘He’s a bit up himself. Dresses like a fashion plate. In a scrapyard, I ask you. And he’s a neat freak. You seen his desk? All the pencils in line. Pitiful.’
‘Benedict’s OK. He just likes things orderly. He’s been great in the business, he got all the licences straight, gets the ads word-perfect in the trade mags, he even sorted out how to isolate the precious metals from the catalytic converters. He says you ignore him.’
Aysha shrugged. So what? She’d noticed how attractive Benedict was, of course she had, she wasn’t a nun. But God! Did she really want to start all that again?
‘You’re not . . .’ Connor started, then hesitated.
‘What?’
‘You’re not still hung up on that berk Joey, are you?’
Aysha’s lips grew thin. ‘I don’t give a fuck about Joey Minghella.’
That was true. Granted, Joey was the most beautiful man she had ever seen and she had loved him, wanted him. But all that had come to an end when she’d seen his true colours.
‘Well thank God for that,’ said Connor.
Shauna came in, wiping her hands on a tea towel, her face like thunder. ‘You two going to give me a hand out here?’ she snapped, and turned on her heel and walked back into the kitchen.
They exchanged a look, stood up and followed.
115
‘I’m happy you’re back,’ said Claire, snuggling in against Josh as they lay in bed together.
‘Me too,’ said Josh.
He’d come through the door and instantly they were kissing, caressing each other, hungry for love, desperate for it after their too-long separation. They fell on to the floor in the hall in a tangle of arms and legs, laughing, kissing, tugging each other’s clothes off until finally Josh could thrust his cock into her warm, waiting body and know he was truly home again.
Afterwards, they went into the bedroom and fell into bed and hugged each other.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ said Claire. ‘I was so sorry about your daughter’s baby. That was awful.’
‘She’s a tough girl,’ said Josh, thinking that once that hadn’t been true. Now, it was. Aysha seemed to have grown a hard shell over the hurt of the miscarriage and the disaster that was her brief marriage to Joey Minghella.
‘It must have been horrible for all of you. How did her husband take it?’
Josh filled Claire in on the story about Joey, the gardening job and his two pals getting banged up on a charge of manslaughter. He told her about Joey grassing them up, and the families baying for Joey’s blood.
‘So he legged it. Aysha tried to stop him going, and he shoved her arse-backwards down the stairs and that’s how she lost the baby,’ Josh told her.
Claire hitched herself up and settled on Josh’s chest, looking into his eyes. ‘He sounds like a complete bastard,’ she said.
‘He’s a worthless son of a bitch. We all tried to tell her. We all warned her off. She wouldn’t listen.’
‘Strange, the people we fall in love with.’
‘Yeah,’ said Josh as their eyes met. ‘Very strange.’
She was smoothing her hands over his big muscular chest, sending ripples of pleasure through him.
‘I don’t want to go back there,’ he sighed. ‘Christ, I never want to go back there! I want to stay here, with you.’
‘I know,’ she said.
Claire sighed too. He was married to that despicable whore, they had a family. She still sometimes felt a sense of shame at what she was doing, making hot and almost demented love with a married man. All the trauma of that long-ago rape was forgotten when she was with Josh. Now, he came through the door and right away she couldn’t wait to feel his naked skin against hers, to marvel at his hard, lean boxer’s body, to get him inside her. She loved him.
‘Get this one fight out of the way, then I’ll do it. OK?’ said Josh. ‘I’ll start divorce proceedings.’
Claire’s hands stopped moving. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ Josh’s light-grey eyes were serious as they stared into hers. ‘It might get messy,’ he warned.
‘I know.’
‘But it will be worth it. And I’ll keep you out of it, don’t worry about that. Totally. I’ll just say irreconcilable differences. You won’t be mentioned or known about. OK?’
Claire nodded and dropped a kiss on to his chest, feeling both excited and scared. Shauna would kick and scream against a divorce; Claire knew it. Possession was Shauna’s middle name; she wouldn’t let go of Josh easily.
‘Claire.’ He couldn’t put this off any longer. He had to tell her now.
‘Hm?’
‘I have some sad news for you. I’m sorry,’ said Josh.
‘Oh? What is it?’ Claire’s eyes were anxious.
‘I’m sorry, honey. Your mum . . . she passed.’
Claire stared at him. Suddenly she gave a sob. ‘All these years,’ she gasped out. ‘I missed her. I wanted to tell her where I was, that I was OK. But I was scared, Josh. I was scared of Shauna and scared of them. Of what they might do. And now it’s too late. She’s gone.’
‘I know.’ He cuddled her. ‘Shh, baby. And listen – I told your dad and Trace that I’d seen you and that you were fine. I didn’t tell them where you were, nothing like that. But after Pally lost Eva, it seemed only fair to give him some comfort.’
Claire looked at him. ‘You broke your promise.’
‘I know I did. And I’m sorry.’
Claire lay down, holding him tight. ‘I’m still scared of her. Of Shauna. I shouldn’t be. I’m a grown woman now. But when someone does something like that to you . . .’
‘Yeah. I know.’
‘It haunted me, Josh. For a long, long time.’
‘I know. But, honey, I’m here to protect you now. You’re safe. I’m going to get the divorce done and then I am never, ever going to leave you again.’
116
Aysha found that working in the scrapyard was no more exciting than the dental depot or the travel agency, but Connor and Benedict found her administrative experience helpful and it was soon agreed that she should become a director of the company like them, which pleased her.
This cold November morning, the blokes out in the yard whistled when she drove in and parked up. As usual, she ignored them, passing by the piles of old motors, the crane with its motor roaring and the huge crusher, then past the line of big steel containers and the dumpsters. She went over to the Portakabin that served as the office, tried the door. No one in yet. Breath pluming out in the frosty air, she rummaged in her handbag for the spare, ignoring the catcalls and lewd suggestions still coming her way, then unlocked the door and went in.
It looked like nothing, this little place, but it was neat inside. Everything tidy, with a small electric heater to warm the place up on cool days. She flicked it on to high. Then she went to her desk, took off her coat, hung it up, put the coffee on to percolate. She sat down and saw that the dopey office junior they’d hired last week and would probably fire next week had left the adverts that should have gone out yesterday in the in-tray, undone.
Aysha stood up, went to the filing cabinet: it was locked. Her irritation with the world in general exploded then. She threw her arms in the air and yelled: ‘Christ alive! Who do I have to fuck to get anything done around here?’
‘Me,’ said a male voice behind her. ‘If you absolutely insist.’
Aysha whirled round, a hand to her chest. Connor’s mate Benedict was standing there in the open doorway.
‘Shit! You startled me,’ she said.
Benedict smiled and closed the door. ‘Problems?’
‘Adv
erts haven’t gone out. Last night was the deadline.’
He went over to his desk. Hung up his coat, sat down. ‘I’ll phone them, see what I can do.’
Aysha was embarrassed that he’d seen her outburst. She could feel her face going an unflattering shade of red so she busied herself with the coffee while Benedict talked to the editor on the phone. He was a charmer on the phone; she’d heard him in action, forming close relationships with trucking companies, car dealers and other yards. Even when regular punters off the street came in looking for spares, he was helpful, pointing them in the right direction when they were searching for engines, alternators, power-steering pumps or even just a second-hand headlight.
Finally, he replaced the handset and looked at her.
‘Sorted,’ he said. ‘We’re late, but there was a bit of wriggle room, so the ad’s in.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, putting a mug of coffee on his desk and hurrying back to her own. ‘The filing cabinet’s locked.’
‘Always is, overnight.’ Benedict held up a key.
Aysha got up, went over to his desk and snatched it out of his hand. Or tried to. Benedict hung on to it. She widened her eyes at him. What the fuck?
‘I’ve got a spare, if you want one,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and stood there tapping her foot in annoyance while he searched in the desk drawer and found it, handed it over.
She went back to her own desk, unlocked the filing cabinet and sat down. Glowered at Benedict. Smooth bastard. He smiled back, serenely.
117
Shauna had chewed it over in her mind until it drove her almost crazy. Sometimes, your gut told you things. You just felt that something was wrong. She might have moved on up, but she was still Romany, and her senses were sharp. She thought she was right about this.
She didn’t want to be right. She’d had Jeb watching Josh when he was over here, but he hadn’t seen a thing out of order. Nothing suspicious. Still the feeling persisted – that Josh was up to something. And so she was going to have to prove that she was wrong. Now, to do that, she was here at lunchtime in the middle of town, getting a professional involved.
Christmas was coming round again soon, there was tinsel draped over the till and out in the streets of London all the decorations were alight and glowing. But Shauna was full of gloom.
She was meeting up with Lesley Deveney in a busy coffee shop off the Strand, full of yummy mummies and their howling brats and gangway-filling double pushchairs. It was raining outside and all the windows were misted up. She arrived first, ordered a cappuccino and waited for a quarter of an hour. No sign of the bloke. A forty-plus woman came in, straight shoulder-length dark hair, a plainish face, intelligent down-slanted dark eyes with big bags underneath them. She was dressed in a black jacket, a crisp white shirt and skin-tight jeans. She walked over to Shauna’s table.
‘Excuse me, are you Mrs Flynn?’ she asked. ‘I’m Lesley Deveney.’
Shauna nodded. ‘I was expecting a man,’ she said.
‘I get that all the time. Trust me, I blend in better.’ Lesley was used to this sort of mix-up. But she was the best. Dickhead Dandridge, her business partner, never missed a chance to sideswipe her with a sexist remark – but that was because he knew she was a better detective than he would ever be.
‘Sit down,’ said Shauna, and held up a hand. The waitress came over. ‘What’ll you have?’
‘Whatever you’re having,’ said Lesley, taking a notebook and pen out of her large black leather tote bag.
‘Two cappuccinos,’ said Shauna, and the waitress hurried off.
‘Mrs Flynn, would you like to fill me in on the details?’ asked Lesley, taking off her jacket and draping it over the back of the chair. ‘Thanks,’ she said, as the waitress came back and put the coffees on the table.
Shauna waited a beat until the waitress departed, then she said: ‘I think my husband could be having an affair.’
Those bright dark eyes held Shauna’s. The pen hovered over the notebook. ‘Based on . . . ?’
‘Based on a feeling.’
‘Your husband’s name . . . ?’
‘Josh Flynn. He’s a bare-knuckle fighter.’
Lesley wrote that down. ‘You got a picture?’
Shauna did. She handed it over. Lesley stared at Josh.
‘Striking-looking guy,’ she said.
‘Yeah. He is.’
‘And . . . ?’
‘And what?’
‘And what makes you think he is having an affair?’
Shauna told her about all the trips to the States. That Josh had seemed moody and withdrawn when he was here, but he’d had a call saying there was a fight on in New York and he’d perked up, looked happier straight away. And he’d nearly run out the door to get to the airport.
‘And there’s fuck-all happening in the bedroom. I mean, nothing. Not for quite a while.’ Like, years.
‘Maybe it’s just the prospect of the fight that’s cheering him up,’ said Lesley, sipping her coffee, her eyes on the photo.
‘He could find fights here, in this country,’ returned Shauna. ‘But he don’t seem interested in doing that any more. He wants to be there.’
‘You think that’s it? An affair?’
‘I do think that, yes. And I want to know the details. All about it. Who the woman is. Everything,’ said Shauna. And then I’m going to kill the bitch.
‘New York? That’s going to cost.’
Shauna gave a tight smile. ‘You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a shit. I want to know everything about this cow who’s fucking my husband. And when I catch up with her, she’d just better fucking well watch herself.’
‘Where does he stay when he’s out there?’
‘Waldorf Astoria.’
‘And what then?’ Lesley was writing things down in shorthand.
‘What?’
Lesley shrugged. ‘If we find you’re right. Divorce proceedings?’
Shauna sipped her coffee and shook her head. She’d fought so hard and done so much to achieve her perfect family unit with Josh. ‘I dunno. If he comes to heel, maybe I’ll forget it. Forgive him. Take him back.’
Comes to heel. Like a dog, thought Lesley. She didn’t envy Josh Flynn right now. She certainly wouldn’t want to be in his shoes when the brown stuff started flying with wifey here. Lesley found she didn’t like Shauna at all; but she was paying. What else mattered?
‘I’ll head back to the office, get you a quote worked out,’ said Lesley, quickly draining her cup and standing up, gathering up notebook, pen and photo. She put on her jacket.
‘Soon. I want to get on with this,’ said Shauna.
‘I’ll be in touch today,’ said Lesley. ‘Without fail. Goodbye, Mrs Flynn.’
118
Everything was running like clockwork at the yard now and money was pouring in the door. Dividends were distributed lavishly from the auto parts trade and the scrap business and other income streams, so Aysha was able to buy herself a diamond-studded Rolex Oyster as a pre-Christmas present and to rent a small flat in Kensington.
‘That’s some watch,’ said Benedict when she came into the office and flashed the thing about. Connor wasn’t in.
‘You like it?’ Aysha twirled her wrist around so the diamonds caught the light.
‘I like it,’ said Benedict, coming around the desk and grabbing her hand, pulling her closer. He looked into her eyes. ‘I like you, too,’ he added.
Aysha hadn’t really even looked at a man since the disaster of her marriage to Joey Minghella. But Benedict? He was hard to ignore. He was big, solid. Not handsome, exactly – but he was a beautifully groomed hard man who could obviously handle himself, like Connor, like Dad. He dressed well, to impress. Always smelled nice. He had thick straight black hair and dark sexy eyes. But she’d done all this shit. One minute they were charming you into bed – and anyway she was useless at all that sex stuff – then they were taking you for granted. And next thing? They were
kicking you aside like you were rubbish.
‘Thanks,’ she said, and snatched her hand away. But her heart was beating a little faster, and she wished it wouldn’t. This was a bad idea. Mixing business with pleasure couldn’t be good.
‘Don’t you like me?’ He gave a lopsided smile. ‘Maybe just a little, uh?’
‘I don’t even know you.’
‘You’ve been careful about that,’ he said.
She had. From the outset she had thought that yes, he was a very attractive man, and she had a weakness for them. They were as seductive as chocolate, as addictive as crack, the ones who could pull women easily. So mostly she tried to avoid the office whenever she knew for sure Benedict would be there. In fact, she wouldn’t even have come in today at all, if she hadn’t been looking for Connor.
‘Benedict, listen – this is business,’ said Aysha. ‘You’ve got a possessive girlfriend who’d tear my guts out if she knew there was anything going on with you and me. So, it’s business only, my friend. Let’s just keep it that way.’
‘What, you mean Bev?’ Bev was a hard-eyed blonde who ran a couple of massage parlours; she’d been into the office a couple of times to see Benedict. ‘That party’s more or less over.’
‘Oh sure.’
‘It is. Because I’ve met someone else.’
‘Oh? Who?’
He gazed hard into her eyes. ‘You, you daft mare. So business only? That’s what you want? Really?’
‘I do.’
‘You’ve been married. To that tosser Joey, Connor told me the worst bits. Not his fault. He didn’t want to tell me, I prised it all out of him. Connor was in torment over the whole thing. He was concerned for you. Told me to be really careful what I said to you, that you were on a knife-edge.’
‘That’s all history,’ she said. ‘Marriage? Sod that. Never again.’
‘Bad, uh?’
The worst. ‘Pretty bad, yeah.’
‘Maybe next time will be better.’
