Dirty Game

by Jessie Keane

  ‘Yeah,’ said Deaf Derek, queer as a yellow duster with his earrings glinting in the light of the big revolving mirrored ball in the centre of the club. It winked like fairy dust over the dancers on the small dance floor, highlighted the boys in the four-piece band. It was late in the evening, everyone was feeling mellow and grabbing a last excuse to waltz up tight with their ladies. Jonjo was up on the floor hugging a curvaceous blonde in a bear grip. Max sat at his table alone, watching the dancers.

  ‘Is he slim?’ Eddie watched his own weight religiously, and dressed to flatter his elegant frame. His idea of a living nightmare was to find himself closeted with a fat, ugly old queen. Deaf Derek was sweating in the heat of the club. He wore a hearing aid, he’d been born deaf in one ear.

  ‘Slim. And young. He’s gorgeous,’ Derek told Eddie.

  ‘Well,’ said Eddie, ‘why not?’

  A taxi took them to an address in Limehouse. Eddie stumbled into the house with Deaf Derek, only vaguely seeing the clean, cosy, red-flocked hallway, a clock on the wall shaped like a guitar, a wooden plaque showing a bull and bullfighter, red cape whirling. They climbed the stairs, Derek first, Eddie giggling because Derek stumbled and nearly fell.

  ‘You’re pissed,’ laughed Eddie, but Derek was up ahead and a bit mutton so he didn’t respond. Up on the landing they were met by a pretty young man. Yes, he was slim. Almost skinny. But a lovely face, a shiny mop of blond hair, friendly blue eyes, nicely turned out.

  ‘How much for the night?’ asked Deaf Derek brusquely.

  ‘For you?’ The guy looked Derek up and down and sniffed. ‘You couldn’t afford me, darling.’

  ‘Not for me. For my mate Eddie.’ He pulled Eddie forward and suddenly Eddie wished he hadn’t agreed to this. He was wishing he’d just gone back to Queenie’s old place and crashed. He felt tired. And having to pay for it yet again felt demeaning. But the boy was smiling at him. And he was pretty.

  ‘To you,’ said the boy, smiling seductively into Eddie’s dazzled eyes, ‘twenty.’

  ‘Twenty?’ Deaf Derek echoed. ‘This ain’t fucking Mayfair, girly.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Eddie. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Darren,’ said the boy.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘No, really it’s Horace,’ said Darren with a laugh. ‘But I’ve been Darren since I was sixteen and left home.’

  Eddie turned to say that Derek could go now, but Derek was already halfway down the stairs. He was alone on the landing with a male tart.

  ‘Come on in,’ said Darren, and they went into his room. It was neat and clean as a new pin, which was what Eddie would have expected. There was a small sink in the corner. ‘Wash your dick, there’s a love. Towel’s on the rail.’

  Again Eddie felt that stab of mortified disgust at his own behaviour, but he was already excited. He was closeted with a beautiful queen and he couldn’t wait to get down to business. He went to the sink, pulled down his trousers and pants, and washed his genitals carefully. He dried himself on the towel, and when he turned around Darren was on the bed, naked.

  Eddie felt a crushing disappointment. He’d wanted to talk, to get to know Darren a bit before they got down to it. This felt so cold, so businesslike. He hated being a queer. He didn’t have to hide it away like some people did because he was a Carter, and no one poked fun at a Carter. But he missed the easy closeness that men and women could enjoy. You went out, saw a woman you fancied, took her home to meet Mum, and lived happily ever after – in theory anyway. But Eddie always had to struggle to get past the ‘are they or are they not queer?’ question, sometimes offending people without meaning to, and it slowed things down, ruined the mood.

  Sometimes he found it was easier being alone than going to the bother of finding a partner who wanted the same things out of life. Which was why he often resorted to paying for sex. Because it was a transaction – a bit of business, and that was all. Soulless, yes; but at least no hassle. He looked down, dismayed to feel his hard-on dissolving.

  ‘Don’t worry about that, deary,’ said Darren casually. He patted the bed. ‘Come and lie down here with me, I’ll give you a bit of a rub down and he’ll soon be in the mood.’

  God, he’d noticed. How embarrassing. Rigid with self-consciousness, Eddie stripped off his clothes and clutched the towel in front of himself as he went to the bed. He laid down.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Darren with breezy professionalism. ‘Face down now. I’ll do you a nice back rub with some lavender and baby oil.’

  It was a long time since he’d been touched. Under Darren’s skilful hands Eddie relaxed. He hadn’t realized quite how tense he’d been, but Darren had the hands of an angel. Eddie closed his eyes and drifted away, and the first he knew something was wrong was when there were heavy footsteps on the stairs and the sound of the door crashing back on its hinges.

  He heard Darren say: ‘Who the hell are you?’ and then there was the sound of a blow being struck and Darren screamed. Eddie tried to scramble up, but a heavy hand caught his arm and twisted it up behind his back. He felt his shoulder pop out of its socket and shrieked with pain.

  ‘Just stay right where you are, fairy,’ snarled a voice in his ear, ‘or I’ll break your other cunting arm, got that?’

  Eddie felt cold pointed steel touch his anus. ‘I heard you like it up the arse, shit-stabber,’ said the voice over Darren’s sobs. Then there was agony. An agony so severe that Eddie couldn’t even cry out. The knife went in deep, then was jerked brutally out. Hot liquid gushed over Eddie’s thighs. Blood. His blood. Sickness and horror welled in his throat. Oh Jesus please stop, he thought, but he couldn’t say it, his words were stuck at his lips.

  ‘Say hello to Max for me,’ said the voice by his ear, and then the knifeman was thundering back down the stairs and out.

  He felt himself slipping away. He knew he was losing a lot of blood and tried to ask Darren for help. Then he heard a voice. Female and concerned.

  Alerted by Darren’s scream, Annie had run out of her room to see what the hell was going on.

  ‘Darren, what’s been … oh Jesus,’ said Annie. She saw Darren naked and clutching his bleeding face, crouched on the floor. And on the bed … someone covered in blood. Drenched in it.

  ‘Get Celia,’ moaned Darren.

  ‘She’s out,’ said Annie, feeling suddenly sick and giddy. She took a deep breath, steadied herself. She grabbed a towel. ‘Darren, get up here. Come on. Press this to the wound, hard as you can. I’ll phone for an ambulance.’

  ‘It’s Eddie Carter, Max Carter’s brother,’ wailed Darren.

  ‘What?’ Annie stared in disbelief.

  ‘He’s one of the Carters.’ Darren crawled over to the bed and pressed the towel to Eddie’s bleeding anus.

  ‘Stay there with him,’ said Annie. ‘And get some trousers on, Darren, for Christ’s sake.’

  Heart thundering, she went downstairs to the phone in the hall. She called for an ambulance. Then she thought about Eddie’s family. Max. Jonjo. Ruthie. She ought to let them know. Bracing herself, she phoned her mother’s number and was relieved to find Connie in.

  ‘What the fuck do you want?’ asked Connie.

  ‘Don’t put the phone down,’ said Annie quickly. ‘It’s an emergency. Eddie’s been hurt at Celia’s place. I’ve called for an ambulance. You’ll have to tell Ruthie and Max.’

  Annie put the phone down and tottered into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and flopped at the table, head in hands. She was shaking with shock. When the front door opened she jumped, ready to run. Someone had walked right in here and hurt Eddie Carter badly. They might come back and do for the rest of them. Maybe whoever it was hated whores. Maybe they would mistake her for a whore and cut her about like that poor bastard upstairs.

  She watched the kitchen door open, not daring to even breathe, waiting for God knew what horror to come and envelop her.

  But it was Celia.

  Annie’s breath escaped in a rush. ‘Oh God,’ sh
e gasped.

  ‘What’s happening, Annie?’ asked Celia, staring at Annie’s ashen face. ‘You look like shit.’

  Annie told her.

  Celia sat down. ‘Did anyone see who did it?’

  ‘No. Nobody.’

  ‘Who knows about this?’

  ‘I phoned for an ambulance. And I phoned Mum, so that she could let Max know.’

  All the life went out of Celia’s eyes. She looked blankly down at her manicured hands.

  ‘You let Max Carter know that his brother came to harm while he was in my house?’ she echoed quietly.

  ‘Celia, I had to.’

  Celia nodded. ‘I’m a dead woman,’ she said.

  16

  When Annie pitched up at her mother’s door a week later, Connie tried to shut it in her face, but Annie was quick and shoved her foot in the gap. She pushed hard, forcing her mother out of the way, and strode in.

  ‘You’re not welcome here,’ snarled Connie.

  Annie was looking around her with distaste. She hadn’t been back to this place in months. The room stank of booze and cabbage and urine, there was dust everywhere and the carpets were stained. It was the middle of the day and Connie was still in her dressing gown. It was obvious that without Ruthie’s sobering influence, Connie was sinking further into her dependency on booze.

  Annie looked at her mother. Her eyes were puffy, her skin yellower than ever. There was a fag in her hand, as usual, and a vodka bottle not far away, if Annie was any judge.

  ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to roll out the red carpet,’ said Annie. ‘I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Connie took a deep drag, squinting her pale eyes against the smoke.

  ‘You’ve been putting the phone down every time I’ve called. So now I’m asking you straight. How’s Eddie?’

  ‘Eddie Carter’s none of your fucking business.’

  ‘No, you’re wrong. Celia is worried sick, that makes it my business.’

  ‘Talk about like taking to like,’ Connie sneered. ‘She’s a tart and so are you.’

  Annie gritted her teeth. ‘Just tell me about Eddie, you rotten old cow!’

  In her worst nightmares Annie often revisited that awful night. Eddie bleeding like a stuck pig, Darren hysterical, Celia catatonic with shock.

  But a calmness had settled over her and somehow she had taken charge. Called the ambulance, got them organized. But the minute she’d phoned Connie, other things had started to happen. Before the ambulance arrived, Gary and Steve, two of Max’s boys, had come and taken Eddie away, bundled him into the back of a car. She would never forget Eddie’s white, tortured face. The ambulance men had arrived six minutes later and so Darren took advantage of the facilities.

  ‘They told us two casualties,’ said the men, eyeing the bloodied empty bed with suspicion.

  ‘My mate legged it,’ said Darren, holding a towel to his battered face. ‘We had a fight, it was nothing.’

  ‘Come on then,’ said one of the men. ‘Let’s get you seen to.’

  ‘What the fuck did you have to go and tell Connie for?’ Celia asked when they’d gone. She still sat at the kitchen table, her hands shaking, her face blank.

  ‘They had to know. They’re his family.’

  ‘He was targeted in my house.’

  ‘Darren said there was another man with him. Man with a deaf aid.’

  ‘One of his own?’

  ‘Seems so.’

  ‘I hope for his sake he’s a long way away by now,’ said Celia. ‘That’s what I should do. Just take off.’

  ‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’

  ‘It happened in my house.’

  ‘Don’t keep saying that!’

  ‘Not saying it won’t make it go away. I’m responsible. Me. No one else. Just me.’

  After that night things had gone ominously quiet and Celia had seemed to shrink into herself, become smaller somehow.

  So here she was, Annie thought bitterly. Back at her dear old mum’s. Who was being a bitch – as usual.

  ‘Coming round here pretending you give a shit,’ she was yelling. ‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’

  And maybe that was justified. Annie knew she should have called before, seen how her mother was getting on. She knew she should have contacted Ruthie long before now, too, and begged her forgiveness – grovelled if necessary – but every time she felt the impulse to get in touch the guilt kicked in and she just couldn’t face it.

  ‘Is he okay, that’s all I’m asking.’

  ‘Oh, he’s okay. Half dead, but doing just fine. She must let some scum in there, for a thing like that to happen. But what am I saying? Of course she does, the cheap whore. She let you in.’

  Annie raised her hand to hit her mother as hard as she could. She wanted to wipe that pathetic, malicious smile off that drunken, shrivelled face. But she held back.

  ‘Go on – hit me. Is that what that whore teaches you in that place?’

  Annie swallowed her anger and ignored Connie’s taunts.

  ‘Is he recovered?’ She let her arm drop.

  ‘He’s dying, you silly cow,’ spat Connie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing more to say to you.’ She grabbed Annie’s arm and started bundling her back out the door.

  ‘And Ruthie?’

  Annie had to ask the question, much as she really didn’t want to. She was on the step trying to take in what Connie had said about Eddie. If it was true – and why would Connie lie? – Max must be devastated. And when she thought of Max, she thought also of Ruthie. Ruthie must be in the thick of it all, the poor cow.

  But Connie didn’t answer.

  The door slammed shut. Annie heard the bolt go across.

  ‘What about Ruthie?’ she asked the closed door. She kicked it once, hard. ‘What about poor bloody Ruthie?’ she repeated hopelessly.

  She shouldn’t have come. She’d wrecked everything, why couldn’t she just accept that and leave it alone? Hating herself, she turned and walked away.

  When she got back to Celia’s Kieron was there, sitting at the kitchen table talking to Ellie. He looked up as she came in, his eyes laughing.

  ‘You forgot, didn’t you,’ he said to Annie.

  Annie stood dumbstruck. ‘What?’

  Ellie got up and left the room, smiling at Annie in passing and mouthing: ‘He’s gorgeous.’

  ‘You said you were going to sit for me today, at my place. Eleven o’clock. I phoned when you didn’t show up, but Ellie said you’d gone out. I thought I’d come over and wait.’

  ‘Oh.’ God, how had she forgotten? Her mind was whirling. And Celia had always stressed that she should keep the Delaneys sweet. What a fool she was. ‘I’m sorry. I completely forgot.’

  ‘Not very flattering,’ said Kieron.

  ‘Sorry,’ Annie said again.

  Kieron looked at her as she sat down. He said: ‘I’m not like the rest of them, you know.’

  ‘The rest of who?’

  ‘The Delaneys. I’m not part of that world.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘So there’s no need to be walking on eggshells trying not to upset me. I won’t take offence. There’ll be no nasty comebacks. Just say if you’ve changed your mind about the sitting.’

  ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, good.’

  ‘I’ve just got a lot on my mind, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll try to help with that,’ smiled Kieron. ‘You can talk while you sit.’

  ‘Talk to a Delaney about Carter trouble? I don’t think so,’ said Annie.

  ‘I told you. I’m not into all that. I’m like a priest, I hear confessions. And the confessional is confidential.’

  Annie found herself looking at him properly for the first time. Ellie was right, he was easy on the eye – and so friendly. He stood up. He was tall and gangly, with big bony hands. His jacket was tweed with leather elbow patches. There was a long, unra
velling, purple scarf around his neck.

  ‘You’re staring,’ he said.

  ‘Sorry.’ Annie stood up, flushing.

  ‘You think you like the cut of me, do you?’

  Annie had to smile too now. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘When I’m ready.’

  ‘I was jealous of my sister, Ruthie,’ Annie said as she sat in Kieron’s flat. It was way up in the top of a house in Shepherd’s Bush, with cold north light streaming through big windows. It was piled high with canvases and stank of paint and linseed and turps. There was a bed and a little kitchenette in one corner, and a Bobby Darin LP was playing on the turntable on the floor. There was a one- bar electric fire at Annie’s feet. It was a workplace rather than a home, but it was kept well.

  ‘Keep the fuck still, won’t you?’ said Kieron lightly, busy sketching away. ‘Why? Is she prettier than you?’ He stood back from the canvas and looked her over. ‘That’s hard to believe, at the risk of getting you a big head.’

  ‘She’s not prettier than me,’ said Annie.

  ‘What then?’

  Annie shrugged. ‘Dad left. I was a daddy’s girl. Mum loved Ruthie, not me. I reminded her of Dad.’

  ‘Ah, that must be the handsome side of the family.’ Kieron was back at the sketching.

  ‘Are all your family as stunning as your sister Orla?’

  ‘Redmond is, they’re twins after all. But we’re not talking about my family, remember.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. Keep still, you.’

  ‘For how long, exactly?’ Annie was squirming on the stool. She couldn’t feel her lower half at all any more, she’d been on this damned stool for an hour. She was cold, despite being wrapped up in cardigan and skirt. ‘And we’re talking about the Carters, let me remind you. My sister’s one of them now.’

  ‘And happy to be so, I would imagine. Living the high life and enjoying it.’

  ‘I’ve heard different.’

  ‘She’s unhappy?’