Ruby's Palace

by KERRY BARNES

  Celia had married Kenneth because she had fallen in love with the villain. Both brothers had a reputation as hard men in their younger days. Two major bank jobs later they had money and were sensible enough to make more by investing in the clubs. But they got greedy, which was the start of their downfall. Celia led Kenneth to believe she couldn’t have children but the plain truth was she wanted none. Maureen, however, had a son, but he was far from the apple of his father’s eye when he turned out to be ‘bent as a nine bob note’, as Nigel would say. As soon as he was of age, he moved to Brighton to run a coffee shop. So the four of them were in each other’s pockets, but that suited them. When the men didn’t come home some nights, the girls had each other. They knew, only too well, what their husbands were up to. It was part of the lifestyle. The clubs, in the early days, were not far off a knocking shop. A few Bacardis and the promise of a new dress and the men had their fun for the night. But each went home to his wife and his respectable four bedroom detached house with the double garage and the small pool in the back garden.

  Some nights, Celia sneaked out to see Johnnie. She used the same old story, ‘off to bingo’. That story lasted for ten years. Kenneth never questioned her. He never believed, for one minute, his Celia would have it away with a big bruising bouncer like Johnnie Lee. She had always been shy in the bedroom – nightdress on, and the lights off. He didn’t mind, though. If he wanted a freak in the bed, he paid for it. His little Celia was a tiny woman with sharp features and pretty heart-shaped lips, fashionable in the sixties. He loved her in his own way, but he had no clue what she was up to.

  *

  Johnnie had met Celia when he went to her house to meet Kenneth about a debt which had to be paid. Kenneth owed a lot of money because he kept losing at poker. It was rare for a doorman, like Johnnie, to knock on the door of a club owner but, as far as he was concerned, he worked for the Vincents and this was a different business. It was his own business. Celia was nursing a black eye at the time. Kenneth had lost the BMW, twenty grand, and his gold Rolex to the doorman and was therefore not in the best mood. When he rolled in at four in the morning, demanding a sausage sandwich, he was raging. Celia, still half asleep, cooked him a bacon one.

  She placed the sandwich in front of him, along with a cup of coffee, and smiled, hoping to go back to bed.

  After one bite, he realised the sausage was bacon, picked up the plate and aimed it at her. She ducked and it smashed his prize possession, a Royal Doulton china racehorse, which had pride of place on the mantelpiece.

  “Now, look what you have made me do, you useless fucking scarecrow!”

  Celia shook all over. She knew he’d strike her but before she could get away he grabbed her by the beehive and thumped her in the face. His chunky gold ring caught her hard on the cheekbone. She screamed in pain and anger, loud enough for the noise to carry outside, so he let go of her and stormed off upstairs. She didn’t go back to bed; the shock was too fierce and she couldn’t have slept with the pain.

  Kenneth got himself up and out the door by eight o’clock, not even bothering to say sorry – but then, he never did.

  When Johnnie knocked, around nine o’clock, Celia was still in her satin nightdress. She looked like the bride of Frankenstein, with her hair sticking out all over the place and a purple ring circling her eye.

  Johnnie, dressed in a navy blue Crombie coat, combed his hair back and splashed on expensive aftershave, ready to take what was owed. Celia got a shock as she opened the door. She had expected it to be Kenneth, since he had a habit of forgetting his keys and sure enough they were there on the table.

  He tilted his head. “Hello, you must be Celia.”

  She liked the sound of his voice and nodded.

  “May I come in? I think your husband is expecting me.”

  Celia, still upset over the fight that night, hadn’t listened to what Kenneth had said.

  “Well, you had better come in then.”

  Politely, Johnnie wiped his feet and took a seat in the living room.

  “Can I make you a drink? Coffee? Tea?” She tried to straighten her hair and hide her face.

  Johnnie walked with her to the kitchen and asked how she got the shiner. He hated to see women abused and he assumed Kenneth had done it. He had listened to the Nappers’ conversations during the poker games, slagging off women with no regards for them whatsoever. Johnnie was different. Strongly influenced by his mum’s strict moral code, he treated ladies as the fairer sex. Every Sunday, he popped in with flowers and the newspapers and shared a pot of tea.

  Out of the blue, and so unlike her, Celia put her head in her hands and sobbed. Immediately, he went to her, placing his great, big arm around her shoulder. “Now then, girl, how about I make you a cuppa tea?” There was a small table and chairs in the kitchen where, most mornings, Celia read her newspaper. Johnnie guided her over to the table and sat her down before going to make them both some tea. Celia felt so comfortable considering there was a huge man – a stranger, in fact – in her kitchen, making them both a brew, even though she didn’t know him from Adam. But she liked the way he wiped the kitchen sides down when he’d finished pouring the tea. It was quite a picture: a big, burly bloke with a tea-cloth in his hand. “There you go, girl, get your laughing gear around that.” He winked.

  Celia giggled, much to Johnnie’s delight.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cry. You must think I’m a right silly old tart.”

  “Hey, it’s all right. I have big shoulders and you are not old or a tart. Silly, maybe.”

  Celia looked Johnnie up and down, not slyly, but for him to see she was having a good gawp. He laughed.

  “You look rather big all over,” she said, and then, before she’d had time to think, they were on their feet and kissing. She had not had any real affection from a man in years, and this six-foot-six monster of a fella, with a gentle nature, stood there in her kitchen, making her a cup of tea.

  He kissed her with passion. He was huge and, as he ran his hands over her satin nightdress, her legs wobbled.

  “Will Kenneth be home soon?” whispered Johnnie.

  “I don’t know, but he has left his door keys here so I’ll have to open the door to let him in,” she replied, insinuating that they could go further than a snog. With no more words spoken, he picked her up and carried her to the sofa. As he removed his coat and unzipped his trousers, she felt a sense of revenge – she was a rebel with a cause. Her inhibitions went out of the window as she dived on top of him and rode him like a cowgirl. The pain in her face had gone and she tingled all over. Johnnie was captivated by Celia. To him she was a little pixie with a need for passion and he wanted more of her. He liked her tiny body and her gentleness which turned to rough, brutal passion when she got excited. Under the messy hair and black eye he could see a little diamond and, for the first time in his life, he was attracted to a woman not for her big tits. In fact, Celia didn’t have big tits. He liked her because she was sweet and clean. Without the fucked-up hair and shiner, she was a looker.

  When they’d finished, Celia looked at the floor, utterly embarrassed. Never had she acted so brazenly, so out of character, and she felt ashamed until Johnnie helped her to her feet and told her she was special. She smiled graciously but concluded she had just been a quick lay.

  Before he walked away, he handed her a card with his number on it.

  “Right, my little nymph, call me. I’d love to see you again.” He kissed her and left.

  That was the start of their ten-year love affair.

  *

  The phone rang again. This time it was Nigel. “Put Ken on, we have a fucking problem!” Nigel was panicking.

  Celia didn’t question him. She just handed the phone to Ken.

  “The Vincents know it’s us. My mate Steve, from the boxing club, has just called. Word’s gone around that we have been after getting the club closed. Why you trusted Levi and Billy, you must have been mad. I could have told you they’d fuck it
up. Grasses, the fucking lot of ‘em!”

  Kenneth ran his fingers through his hair and beads of sweat appeared on his top lip.

  “Look, just get in the car and get over here. We will go straight to the airport, stay in a hotel there overnight, and fly off in the morning. I know those fucking Vincent cunts won’t let that one go.”

  Nigel was the quieter of the two brothers and always went along with Kenneth. Celia had listened to the conversation and was relieved that this information hadn’t come from her. The phone rang again and Celia picked it up. “Get out of the house, babe!” It was Johnnie. Her heart was in her mouth.

  “Who was that?” shouted Kenneth as he tried to shove the last pair of jeans into his suitcase.

  “Double glazing sales. Ken, I’ve run out of fags. Do you need any for your journey whilst I get myself some from the garage?”

  Kenneth was not listening to her as usual and didn’t even notice her disappear.

  *

  His brother’s car pulled into the drive as he dragged his luggage down the stairs. He could hear the motor running. When he opened the front door, it wasn’t his brother he saw first but four meat-heads. On the drive lay a crumpled body, covered in blood, with deep wounds to his head. He gasped when he realised who the bloody mess was. Holding his arms in front of his face, he pleaded for his life. Johnnie was first through the door with the crowbar, aiming to take a few chunks out of old Kenneth Napper’s head. He hated the vile man with a passion. All those bruises Celia had suffered. He would make sure he’d never be fit enough to hurt her ever again. The first thump was the bar hitting Kenneth’s shoulder. Kenneth felt it crack as he put his hands up to protect himself. Johnnie raised the bar again and smashed it across Napper’s knuckles. The blood sprayed and made a nasty mess of the cream carpets.

  Kenneth pleaded for his life whilst the others watched, laughing.

  Johnnie had no intention of killing the brothers, but he was going to leave them in a fucking sorry state. The claw on the crow on the bar tore at Kenneth’s face but his hands were so badly broken he couldn’t hold them up to protect himself. The final hit was a hard crack to the shin, sending shivers up the spines of the other bouncers. They heard the bone break and the scream which came from the back of Kenneth’s throat.

  “Now then, boys, no more silly ideas regarding the clubs, ‘cos if I hear even a fucking whisper you have been up to no good, I will have to finish you off!” threatened Johnnie, who was towering over Kenneth. The victim looked as though he had just been in a car crash. The other men picked up Nigel and dropped him inside the house before they shut the door and left.

  Celia had parked her car just across the road and waited for the men to leave.

  She lit up a cigarette and calmly smoked it before she went in.

  Shocked by the mess on the carpet, and the blood up the walls, she should have screamed in horror or ran to her husband’s side, but she didn’t.

  Kenneth was trying to drag himself to the phone whilst Nigel lay unconscious. Celia silently walked over to her mobile and called an ambulance. She helped her husband to the couch but left Nigel on the floor, sickened by the blood stains on the carpet and now on the light beige furniture. Her husband was in agony and not fully aware that his wife was behaving strangely. The phone rang again. It was Johnnie. “Are you all right? I’m sorry about the mess,” he said calmly.

  “That’s all right, babe.” She hung up and turned to her husband, who could now focus better.

  “Who was that?” he whispered, trying to get his breath. Like a robot, she replied. “Just a double glazing salesman.”

  Kenneth stared at his wife and he realised at that moment she knew.

  The paramedics arrived. They strapped Nigel onto a stretcher and rushed him inside the ambulance. One paramedic suggested calling the police but Kenneth said no – they had fallen off the roof. It was no one’s fault. Celia remained seated whilst the second lot of paramedics helped Kenneth into a wheelchair. The tears on his face were nothing compared to the broken bones hidden under his clothes. Through the agonising pain, he still focused on his wife and the eerie feeling which now gripped him. Did she set this up?

  “Mrs Napper, would you like to sit in with your husband or follow in the car?” asked the paramedic.

  Kenneth glared at his wife as she shook her head.

  As soon as they were gone, she poured carpet cleaner over the hallway and up the stairs. She scrubbed away with an old-fashioned scrubbing brush. She tried to think about the times when Kenneth had made her happy – but the problem was, he hadn’t! It was so sad, she could only think of one time, and that was when he’d proposed in front of everyone with a big, flash diamond ring. He was half-cut, of course. He announced to the club she was the love of his life and he would make an honest woman of her. A tear rolled down her face. Later, she discovered her ex-boyfriend had come back into town and had made enquiries about where she was. As soon as Kenneth had got wind, he beat the boy up, and then he’d proposed himself. That story came out when he’d had too much to drink, laughing in front of a room full of their friends. Celia, gutted that their engagement was merely bravado, had left the party in floods of tears and ended up on antidepressants for the next twenty years. Popping pills saw her through the heartache and his long-term affair with a stupid, blonde tart which had kept him out all hours. Not that she’d really cared about that, it was the constant abuse that had left a bitter taste in her mouth. If he had treated her kindly, by buying her special presents like the gold heart necklace he’d given to his mistress, she wouldn’t have minded so much. She’d sussed it out early on, as he never threw away the receipts for the five-star hotel rooms, the little souvenir spa days, or the fur coats and diamonds. Okay, so now she lived in the big house, drove a nice car, and had holidays abroad, but when she thought about it, there had never been any special gifts for her. She’d never owned a diamond. Even the engagement ring he’d bought was a chunk of cubic zirconia. It was all for show. She recalled the sense of euphoria at the size of it when he’d planted the ring on her finger, to the gasps and cheers of the crowd. But when she’d had the ring made smaller, and the jeweller informed her that it was not a diamond at all, her heart had sunk. She soon gathered he was full of shit. However, she still went ahead with the wedding, thinking he would change, only to find, twenty years on, he was still a horrible wanker.

  The blood didn’t want to leave the shag pile, no matter how hard she scrubbed. Celia thought about all the happy times she’d had with Johnnie and, of course, there were plenty. She threw away the scrubbing brush and stared around the room. This, for a life of fucking misery and, to think, she had thought deep down she must always have loved him and he must have loved her. Now, seeing him lying there, she just could not feel anything for this sorry state of a husband of hers. Even with the pain etched all over his face, she still couldn’t raise any feelings of warmth and love for him.

  In fact, she had no feelings for him whatsoever. Half her life she had been stealing moments to be with her lover. To his credit, he’d put up with it for ten years and now, looking around the house and its luxuries, she realised she should have sacrificed it all to have had ten happy years. She would not waste another day.

  Pulling the loft ladder from the hatch, she retrieved her set of suitcases and spent a few hours packing, ensuring she only took what was hers. The phone was ringing, and she guessed it was Kenneth, but she couldn’t be bothered to answer it. She had always rushed to be by his side, to help out when he needed her, dragging herself out of bed when he rolled in, in the early hours of the morning, just to make him a cup of tea or a sandwich. But not this time.

  The jewellery box on the dressing table held only costume pieces from high street shops and two gem rings which were her mother’s. She peered inside. The emptiness of the old wooden box upset her and the tears trickled down her face. Johnnie had bought her gifts. But she could never keep them at her home just in case Kenneth found them. Her life wit
h Kenneth was as empty and fake as that old jewellery box. Her heart ached, not for Kenneth, but herself. She looked down at her deformed finger, where he had battered her so badly one night, stamping all over her body. It was all because she couldn’t give him a child. She remembered it so well. Fifteen years ago, he came home in a stinking mood and glared at her, demanding to know why she couldn’t get pregnant. She’d had enough and told him to fuck off and make one with his tart if he wanted one so badly. That was the worst thing she could have said because he ran at her, gripping her face in his hands and lifting her in the air, screaming like a man possessed. He said, “If she had my kid, I would leave you right now, you ugly cunt. Don’t ever talk to me like that again. I wish her child was mine, then I wouldn’t have to put up with your fucking moaning and constant sulking.” With that he threw her to the ground and literally stamped all over her, crushing two fingers and her ankle. The bruises took months to go but the mental scars stayed forever. So, when Johnnie came into her life, she never felt guilty, not once. It was funny, because after that beating Kenneth stopped seeing the skinny blonde bird. She guessed the girl must have moved on or dumped him.

  She dialled Johnnie’s number from her secret mobile phone.

  “’Ello, babes, are you okay?” His voice was so gentle when he spoke to her.

  “Johnnie, I’ve packed me bags and I’m leaving him. Can you come and get me?”

  Johnnie’s heart pounded. He had loved this woman for years. Now, finally, he could have her all to himself.

  “I’m on my way, babes.”

  He spun his car around and headed to her house. They bundled the luggage in the boot, looking up and down the street, ensuring the neighbours weren’t curtain twitching, and left.

  Johnnie’s flat was small but tidy. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen and a fair sized lounge. Celia had been there twice a week for ten years but had never stayed late or overnight. She plonked the smaller suitcases down and Johnnie carried the bigger ones into the spare room.