by Jessie Keane
‘Who is it? Life insurance or something?’ Dad had been worth a packet. They all knew that.
‘I asked. She wouldn’t say.’ Aysha sat down at the kitchen table and started rummaging through his mail, the cheeky mare. Connor swooped in and gathered it all up, took it over to the worktop. ‘How does she seem?’ he asked, getting out another cup, slopping coffee into it.
‘I dunno. You know what she’s like. If there’s one thing Mum loves, it’s a crisis so she can do her “woe-is-me” act. Oh shit.’ Aysha put her hands over her eyes. ‘That sounds cruel. But you know what a drama queen she is.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
‘She seemed to be livening up a bit though.’
‘Well, thank fuck for that,’ said Connor.
‘It’s hit her like a sack of shit, all this with Dad,’ said Aysha, looking mournful. ‘You know that old saying? There’s always one that kisses, and one that turns away? That was them, I think. She kissed, and he turned away. I’ve thought for years that there was something wrong between them. Something off. There was always tension in the house, didn’t you feel that?’
‘I don’t know.’ Connor shrugged. He’d thought Aysha was ignorant of the cracks in their parents’ marriage. Clearly, she wasn’t. ‘I suppose you get used to it. It becomes what’s normal. That feeling of always being on a knife edge.’
‘So you did feel it. You’re not dead from the neck up after all,’ she said, and even raised a smile.
‘I’ve been worried about you, Sis. Benedict’s been worried about you too,’ said Connor.
‘Oh really.’
Connor shrugged. ‘He likes you.’
‘I know that.’ I like him too. Too much. Aysha sipped her coffee. ‘He’s all right, I suppose.’
‘Ah-ha!’ said Connor.
Aysha gave him a small, sad remnant of her usual cheeky grin. ‘Don’t get excited! Just pour some more coffee and shut up, OK?’
Aysha stayed for an hour, drinking too much coffee. Then she stood up. ‘Christ, Connor, I feel wrecked. I’m going home, have a shower, get cleaned up. I’ll catch you later.’
But when Aysha got back to her own flat, her refuge from the madness of the world, she had a shock: her husband Joey Minghella was there, sitting on the front step, waiting for her.
128
Some days after Josh died – how many? She didn’t know – Claire got up, was spoon-fed soup, and really wished that Suki would fuck off and just let her be.
But Suki remained.
‘We’ll go walk in the park today,’ she said, dressing Claire in jeans and a top.
‘No,’ said Claire.
‘Yeah, we will.’
Claire was unresponsive but Suki’s will was strong. They went for a walk in the park. Snow was falling, light as kisses. The sun shone but the air was frigid. Kids played. Life was going on even if Josh was dead. When they got back to the apartment, Claire went back to the wardrobe again, opened the door, and felt panicky as she inhaled the faint but slowly vanishing scent of him. He was going from her, her long-lost and re-found Romany love, the king of the gypsy fighters. She should have been his queen, but life had played cruel tricks on both of them. And this time, he would never be coming back.
‘All right. Get rid of his clothes,’ she said, heartbroken, and closed the door.
129
Lesley Deveney stood in the sitting room of Shauna’s place and thought, Wowser, look at this! Shauna was just as she remembered: hard-looking, with piled-up and dyed black hair. She had darkly outlined and very penetrating eyes that seemed to skewer you. She was expensively dressed – and this place looked like it was worth a fortune.
Shauna sat down opposite and said: ‘All right, what’ve you got then?’
Lesley laid her briefcase on the Italianate glass and marble coffee table between them and unlocked it. She took out a large envelope and handed it to Shauna.
‘I was sorry to hear about your loss, Mrs Flynn,’ she said.
Shauna said nothing. She flipped the contents of the envelope out on to the table. There were seven eight-by-ten black-and-white photographs in total, and in each one . . .
She took in a gasping breath. ‘Oh Christ,’ she moaned, putting a hand to her mouth.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Flynn,’ said Lesley, meaning it. She didn’t like this woman, but it was a horrible blow, all the same, this on top of her bereavement, and she did feel sympathy for her.
Shauna stared aghast at the prints. In each one of them, walking among crowds of tourists and New Yorkers, she could see the tall figure of Josh arm-in-arm with a pretty blonde woman in a mid-toned coat, boots and jeans. They were smiling at each other, and in one of them Josh was bending a little and kissing the bitch on the lips.
Shauna’s breath caught for a second time.
That looks like . . .
‘But . . . that can’t be . . .’ she started.
‘What is it?’ asked Lesley, alarmed by Shauna’s sudden stillness.
Fuck! Shauna couldn’t speak. She sat there and stared, shaken and disbelieving. Her mouth felt dry as ashes and her heart was beating hard against her ribs. It was true. All her suspicions, all her feelings, she’d been right all along. He’d been having an affair. But it was worse than that. It was a thousand times worse. Because . . . that was her, the Milo bitch. She looked again, wondering if she was going mad, if she was imagining Claire Milo’s face – but she wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t. Claire was older, sure. But it was her. Somehow – Christ, how? – Josh had been reunited with the cow.
No, she thought, it can’t be.
Claire Milo had hardly aged at all. The years had been good to her.
‘But . . . I know her,’ she said.
‘You do?’ Lesley was surprised.
‘From a long time back.’ Shauna was still staring at the photo of her husband, her husband, kissing Claire Milo. The Cleaver boys had killed the dog and had a real fuck-fest of a time with Claire, and she had run. Of course she had. And now it was obvious she’d run far: to New York.
Josh had been over there so much. Had seemed so happy to go. And this was why. How long had this been going on, her husband and that fucking no-mark Milo bitch, laughing at her behind her back?
‘Can I get you something, Mrs Flynn? Water or anything?’ Lesley asked in concern.
Shauna was shaking her head, over and over. All right, she had suspected. But here it was, proven. Her husband had cheated on her. And he’d done it with Claire Milo, who should have been gone.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, dazed, shocked beyond belief.
‘Well, I’ll leave those with you for now. You know where I am if you want to get in touch.’ Lesley stood up. ‘Once again, Mrs Flynn – I’m sorry. I’ll see myself out.’
Shauna sat there, barely noticing her going, staring at the evidence of her husband’s betrayal.
Josh looked so happy in these shots.
So carefree.
Because he wasn’t with me.
Because he was with her.
She was still sitting there looking at the photos when Connor came back.
‘What’s this?’ Connor asked, coming into the sitting room, looking at the shots over his mother’s shoulder. Then he focused. ‘What the hell . . . ?’ He came around the couch, sat down beside Shauna, picked up first one print, then the next, then the next. Then . . .
‘What the fuck?’ he asked, staring at the picture in which Josh was kissing the unknown woman, who was very pretty in a non-tarty way – a smallish pale blonde, with big eyes and a broad smiling mouth.
‘I was having your dad followed in New York,’ said Shauna.
Connor stared at her face. Her expression was blank, closed-off.
‘He was having an affair over there. With her. It’s someone from his past. He knew her years ago. I know her, that bitch.’ Shauna almost spat out the last word. ‘I thought he was up to something and I hired a private detective to find out.’
‘Christ.’
Connor looked again at the prints. ‘I can’t believe it.’
‘Believe it. There’s the proof.’
Fury was gnawing at Shauna. How did Claire fucking Milo have the gall to go near Josh again? Josh was hers. Hadn’t she learned her fucking lesson? No. She hadn’t. Shauna gathered up the prints, stuffed them back in the envelope.
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Connor.
Shauna thought about that. Josh was gone, out of her reach. The Milo clan weren’t, though. And that little cow . . . ‘I want to know where she’s living, what she does. What sort of low-life whore goes around stealing another woman’s husband!’
130
The fates had been unkind to Claire Milo. All that time apart from Josh, and now he had been snatched away.
‘We should have grown old together,’ she cried to Suki. ‘This shouldn’t have happened.’
‘I know,’ said Suki, thinking that it was beyond sad.
Sometimes in the weeks after Josh’s death she had truly thought that her mother was going crazy. She had seemed either dazed or hysterical, one or the other. Weight dropped off her; she had no interest in food, the New Year festivities, she had no interest in anything, it seemed. The club ran on, thanks to Donna’s good management, but Claire didn’t go there as she used to, chat to the clients, help out behind the bar.
‘These things take time,’ Donna told Suki when she expressed her worries to her. ‘Just be there for her. Support her. Claire’s a strong woman. She’ll pull round.’
But Suki was starting to wonder if that was going to happen. She’d heard of people dying of a broken heart, and was starting to fear that’s what was in store for her mother. Sometimes people just lost the will to go on.
I can’t lose her, thought Suki in desperation.
‘Come on, let’s go out,’ she said one morning.
‘You go,’ said Claire.
‘No, we’ll both go. Come on. Get your shoes on.’
‘Oh Christ,’ said Claire, groping for her shoes but wanting nothing more than to crawl back into bed, to be left alone. Josh was gone, what the hell use was anything else to her?
‘Don’t give me that,’ said Suki. ‘You think Josh would want you like this? He’d expect you to be strong, fearless, just like he was.’
‘You don’t know a damned thing about Josh,’ Claire burst out, hurling her shoes at her daughter. ‘How dare you tell me what he would want? He’s . . .’ Claire started crying. She shook with tears.
Suki dashed over and held her tight. ‘Hush,’ she said, crying too. ‘We’re going to get through this. Together, OK? We’ve lost him, but we still have each other and we have to hold on to that. All right?’
Claire was nodding. ‘Yeah,’ she said wearily. ‘All right.’
Then a letter arrived from England.
131
Shauna met up with Jeb Cleaver in their usual spot – the sad-looking country pub that never had many patrons. Over the years, they’d met there many times. Jeb got the drinks in and then they sat at a corner table well away from the handful of other lunchtime drinkers, and Shauna ploughed straight in.
‘You let me down,’ she said with barely repressed fury. He was well overdue a bollocking, and she was in just the mood to give it.
‘What?’ Jeb stared at her.
‘This.’ She threw the envelope containing the prints down on to the beer-stained table.
Jeb picked up the envelope, shook out the prints. Looked at them.
‘That’s Josh Flynn. And that . . .’ He squinted at the print. ‘Do I know her?’
‘You bloody ought to, since you had your cock stuck up her last time you met.’
‘What?’
‘Although I grant you it was a long time ago. That’s Claire Milo. Remember her? Remember what we did that night? You were supposed to have seen her off once and for all. And now what do I find? My husband was in New York, kissing her in the fucking street.’
‘Holy shit,’ Jeb said, staring at the woman’s face. He nodded slowly. ‘Yeah. That’s her, all right.’ He looked up at Shauna and grinned. ‘So hubby’s been playing away, yeah? Bet that’s bit you up the arse.’
Shauna gave him a freezing look.
‘Hubby’s dead,’ she said.
‘He . . . you what?’
‘He died during a fight in New York. I thought he was up to something more over there, and I had him followed. The detective took these shots of him and the Milo bitch before he died.’
‘So, you want me to shake up her old dad, Pally? Eva’s gone, but there’s still him,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And the sister, Trace.’
Shauna considered it. But no: it was Claire herself she wanted to see suffer. She found she didn’t care about the others any more.
‘No. What’s the fucking point?’ she said.
‘Well ain’t this a day for surprises.’ Jeb downed his pint in one long swallow. ‘You not bothering to kick someone’s arse, given the chance? Amazing, I call that. Another?’ he asked, pointing to her untouched gin and tonic.
Shauna shook her head and he went off to the bar. When he came back, he was smiling.
‘What?’ demanded Shauna.
‘So what I’m thinking is this: he’s gone. Forget all this business with the Milo cunt, she don’t matter any more. What matters is, there’s nothing standing between you and me now, is there. Nothing at all.’
‘You what?’ Shauna was staring at him.
‘It’s a goer, ain’t it? You, me? What do you say?’
Shauna picked up her gin and tonic and flung it in his face. Then she stood and hurried out of the pub while he spluttered and swore behind her. She got out her car keys. Jeb caught up with her and dragged her to a halt with a rough hand on her arm.
‘Get the fuck off me,’ said Shauna, rounding on him in icy rage.
‘Too high and mighty for me, are you? That what you think?’ He was wet through with gin and his face was screwed up with anger.
Shauna wrenched herself free of his grip.
‘Just fuck off, will you, Jeb?’ she snarled. ‘You’ve let me down badly. You’ve screwed up. And I’m sick of seeing your ugly mug hanging around me. As for me cosying up to you now Josh is gone? The idea is laughable. So why don’t you just fuck off!’
She went to her car and got in while he stood there staring after her. She roared away and still Jeb stood there. Years, he’d been Shauna Flynn’s puppet, doing her dirty work, cleaning up her messes. And still she treated him like he was rubbish. Like he wasn’t good enough for her.
Well fuck it, he thought in fury. If she thought she could treat him this way then she was wrong. Josh Flynn might be gone, out of his reach, but she still had her kids, didn’t she.
Her precious kids.
132
‘What the fuck do you want? How d’you know where I live?’ Aysha demanded when she found Joey on the doorstep.
Joey was still the Byronic dark-haired charmer even if he was dishevelled, his clothes creased and dirty. Looked like he’d been hiding out somewhere, maybe on the streets. He pushed himself to his feet and gave her that same old smile, the one that said, Hey, you’ll forgive me because I’m so cute, you know it. It was the fail-safe Joey Minghella charm offensive smile, the one that always made her drop her drawers in the past even if she was a frigid bitch, according to him.
‘I followed you a couple of days ago, from your mum’s place,’ he said. ‘She still the same mardy old cow she always was? Jeez, what a ball-breaker that woman is.’ He gave her a pitiful look. ‘It’s the Christmas holidays, Aysh. Thought I’d come see you.’
Aysha couldn’t believe he’d have the gall to show up. All the local faces were out looking for him and so were the police. And yet here he was. Handsome as ever. And now it had no effect on her at all. Except that she was annoyed. No, she was enraged, because if there was one single thing she didn’t want on top of Dad dying, it was this – Joey fucking Minghella coming back.
‘Christmas i
s over. It’s the bloody New Year now, haven’t you noticed? I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ she said, and pushed the key in the lock and went inside, trying to slam the door closed behind her. But Joey pushed hard, and Aysha was forced back. He came in, gave her that same glinting smile.
‘I don’t want you in here,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Just fuck off, Joey. Get out.’
‘Jesus, is that any way to greet your husband?’ he said, coming in close to her, shoving her back against the wall. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face and it didn’t smell good.
‘You’re not my husband,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I am.’
‘Haven’t they caught up with you yet, you miserable useless fucker? Haven’t they gutted you like you deserve?’ she spat out.
Joey’s smile dropped. ‘Now that’s not nice.’
The door swung inwards. In his haste to get inside, Joey hadn’t properly closed it.
Benedict was standing there. ‘Aysha? What’s going on? You didn’t come in this morning, so I came over to see you’re OK.’
‘Nothing,’ she said, but she had never in her life felt so glad to see anybody.
Joey looked back over his shoulder. ‘Piss off, pal. Just shove off out of it. This is husband-and-wife stuff.’
Benedict was quiet for a beat. Then he said: ‘Like when you shoved her down the stairs so she lost your kid? You mean that sort of stuff?’
Joey spun away from Aysha with frightening speed and launched himself at Benedict, punching him hard in the jaw. Benedict reeled back against the wall. Aysha let out a yell of protest.
‘I told you,’ said Joey, wagging a finger in Benedict’s face. There was blood dripping down over Benedict’s pristine suit from a cut on his lip. ‘I told you, pal. Fuck off. Or you’ll be sorry.’
Joey turned back to Aysha, grabbing her upper arms. ‘And you, bitch, why you talking to me like—’
There was a sharp smack and Joey’s eyes turned up in his head. He slumped against Aysha, his grip loosening, then he crumpled to the floor at her feet. Aysha, shaking, her heart beating crazily, watched him fall and then looked at Benedict, who was standing there with a cosh in his hand.
