Dirty Game

by Jessie Keane

  She had started biting her nails, something she hadn’t done since Dad left home. She was off her grub too, and that wasn’t like her. She’d be as thin as Ruthie soon, and then where the hell would she be?

  She was considering taking up smoking fags, if only to relieve the tension. Out of the question to have a drink. She’d sipped some champagne at the exhibition, but she hadn’t really enjoyed the taste. For her, drink was forever linked to her mother and memories of an endlessly miserable childhood. Connie lying on the sofa crying in self-pity, sodden with booze and bellowing orders, Annie or Ruthie having to go to the door to see the rent man, the baker, the milkman, and tell them Mum was out, to call back later, scared of what the tradesmen would say but scared of her even more. They were even frightened to go to school, because they never knew what they would come home to. Would they find her dead on the lounge floor, having choked on her own vomit? Or find an ambulance outside with Connie about to be whisked off to hospital?

  Annie shuddered. Enough of all this. She put the brush down. At least her hair was straight now. She touched up her make-up, checked her black dress was clean, her pearls straight, her shoes gleaming. Showtime, she thought, and stood up and went downstairs to play hostess at yet another party.

  Funny how used to all this she was getting. She was no longer shocked by naked arses, exposed breasts or rampant hard-ons. She oversaw it all with the calm discretion of a ringmaster. A leather-clad Aretha passed her at the top of the stairs, leading a blindfolded man dressed only in Y-fronts by a chain around his neck.

  ‘One step more,’ Aretha lied, because there were two steps and the man went sprawling on to the landing carpet. ‘Stupid clumsy boy!’ Aretha snapped, yanking the chain. The man groaned enjoyably and crawled along the landing into Aretha’s room. Annie paused at the top of the stairs, shaking her head as she watched. There was music and laughter drifting out from the front room. She looked down into the hallway. Chris was there in his usual spot, and there was a bulky, sandy-haired man bending over him, whispering. Chris nodded, and something changed hands between them. Annie got a shock when the man turned and she saw that it was Pat Delaney. What the fuck was he doing here?

  ‘Hello, Mr Delaney,’ she said when she reached the downstairs hall. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Oh, I’m spiffing,’ said Pat nastily.

  Annie’s smile tightened. ‘Enjoying the party?’ she asked.

  ‘I told you once before, I wouldn’t touch any of these tarts with someone else’s, let alone my own,’ said Pat with a sneer.

  Then why are you here, you arsehole? she thought. She looked at Chris, but he was looking shifty. Not like Chris.

  ‘Of course, if you were to offer me a shag, I might reconsider,’ said Pat, wrapping his arm crushingly around Annie’s shoulders.

  Annie nailed her smile in place and gently but firmly detached herself. God, he was disgusting. Was he drunk? She couldn’t smell booze on his breath, which was sour and unpleasant but not alcohol-induced. His eyes looked weird, his pupils were huge.

  Chris was looking concerned and Annie could understand why. He didn’t want to get into a ruck protecting Annie from one of the Delaneys; it was a clear conflict of interests.

  ‘I told you, Mr Delaney,’ said Annie. ‘I’m a manager, not a worker.’

  ‘Ah, all women are whores at heart,’ said Pat. He winked at Chris. ‘I’ll catch you later, Chrissie boy,’ he said, and lurched out the door.

  There was a tense pause. Then Annie said: ‘What’s he on, Chris?’

  Chris shrugged and his eyes slid away from hers.

  ‘I won’t have any rubbish in this house,’ said Annie, but Chris did not respond. Annie went on into the front room, where Ellie and Darren were hard at work. She fixed her smile back on. Brian handed her the usual orange juice, but her mind was still on Pat Delaney, wondering what the fuck he really wanted.

  29

  Kieron phoned the following week. Now the exhibition was over, she’d expected not to hear from him again. After all, he’d been adamant that their relationship was strictly business. He was the artist, she was the model, and now their work was done.

  ‘So how are you, Annie girl?’ he asked.

  Annie thought his voice sounded odd. Sort of different.

  ‘I’m fine and dandy. And you?’

  ‘Ah, fine.’

  Silence.

  ‘The exhibition went well, didn’t it?’ said Annie.

  ‘Oh yes. I was pleased.’

  ‘Did you sell much?’

  ‘Every damned thing in the place.’

  ‘Including the nude?’ Annie wasn’t going to ask, but the words sort of popped out.

  ‘Yeah, including the nude.’ A long pause. ‘Actually, Max Carter bought it. There was a bit of a bidding war going on between him and some other chap. Toby’s been on cloud nine with it all. Put the price right up, so we did well.’

  ‘Good.’ Annie’s heart was thumping sickly in her chest. Fuck it, she couldn’t think about that. Not yet. ‘I’m pleased for you,’ she said.

  ‘Was he bothering you?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘At the exhibition,’ said Kieron. ‘Only I saw the two of you talking, and you seemed a bit awkward. Was he hassling you, Annie? Was that it?’

  ‘No, he wasn’t hassling me,’ said Annie.

  ‘Only I know there was something between the two of you at one time, you told me about it, you remember?’

  God, why didn’t he just shut up?

  ‘I remember. But that was then and this is now, Kieron. That was a mistake. One best not repeated.’

  ‘Won’t it be?’

  ‘What?’ Annie stared at the phone. Chris was looking at her over the top of his paper. Jesus, she was blushing. She could feel herself getting hot.

  ‘Repeated,’ said Kieron.

  ‘No.’ She couldn’t go there again. God, no. Never. Poor bloody Ruthie, hadn’t she suffered enough? What would it do to her if all that started up again? Hadn’t it hurt her enough the first time?

  ‘Only I’m worried about you,’ said Kieron.

  ‘Well don’t be,’ snapped Annie. ‘I’m a big girl, Kieron. I’m not a bloody kid.’

  ‘Listen, it’s none of my business,’ said Kieron.

  ‘Too fucking right it isn’t.’

  ‘Whoa! Don’t bite my ruddy head off, I’m just concerned.’

  ‘Kieron, who asked you?’ said Annie, and slammed the phone down.

  ‘Trouble?’ asked Chris.

  ‘No. No trouble.’ And even if I had trouble, would I discuss it with you? Annie wondered. Since the last party when she had seen Pat and Chris in a huddle she had really started to worry about what was going down here. Was Chris selling drugs to her clients? Suppose the shit hit the fan one day and they had a raid. All right, it was unlikely. The Delaneys had plenty of tame coppers around here. But what if the unlikely happened? And what if they found drugs on the premises that she was in charge of?

  It was a shame. She had taken to Chris straight away, but this had soured her feelings about him. She’d been aware for a long time that she had to be careful what she said to Ellie because it would go straight back to the Delaneys. Now she had to watch Chris too.

  To cheer herself up she went up West and cleared out the shops. It helped, but only a little. Her mind was in a mess and it didn’t help to come back and find a long black car and a driver outside her place. Her heart rate picked up to a gallop. It was him. It was Max.

  But it wasn’t. She went past Chris into the kitchen and found Ruthie sitting at the kitchen table.

  ‘Fuck, you gave me a turn,’ said Annie, dropping her bags and clutching at her chest.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ruthie coolly. ‘The man on the door said you should be back soon, so I thought I’d wait.’

  Annie nodded. Christ, she felt bewildered. Her brain seemed to be in a fog. She took a hold of herself and put on her smile.

  ‘Tea?’ she offered brightly.


  ‘No, give me something stronger,’ ordered Ruthie.

  Annie looked at her sister. It wasn’t like Ruthie to boss people about. And it was two in the afternoon, and she wanted a drink? Ruthie might be beautifully turned out, but she looked even skinnier than when Annie had last seen her at Mum’s. She might not be eating, but she was obviously drinking.

  ‘Bit early, don’t you think?’

  ‘No, I don’t think,’ said Ruthie. ‘Get me a sherry or something.’

  Annie bit her lip and got down a bottle of Amontillado from the store cupboard. She put out a schooner and filled it. Ruthie, to her dismay, threw half of it back in an instant. Annie’s heart seemed to freeze in her chest. This is my doing, she thought, I did this to my own sister.

  ‘So, is this a social call?’ asked Annie as she busied herself putting on the kettle.

  ‘I got fed up at Mum’s,’ said Ruthie, polishing off the rest of the glass while Annie watched out of the corner of her eye, appalled. ‘Kath’s away on holiday, I thought it was time I came and paid my dear little sister a visit.’

  Christ, she was already drunk. Her words were slurred. Ruthie held up her empty glass and tapped it.

  ‘No, you’ve had enough,’ said Annie firmly.

  Ruthie grabbed Annie’s arm with surprising strength. ‘I’m Mrs Max Carter,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.’

  Chris’s head came round the hall door. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Everything’s fine,’ said Ruthie with a giggle.

  ‘Yeah, it’s okay Chris,’ said Annie, wrenching her arm free. ‘Thanks. Make sure we’re not disturbed, will you?’

  Chris looked at them both and then withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.

  She sat down opposite Ruthie and looked at her.

  ‘You want to kill yourself?’ Annie asked. ‘Haven’t you seen enough of what drink does to somebody? Haven’t we both had years of it to know better?’

  Ruthie shrugged and reached for the bottle. Annie grabbed her wrist. Ruthie winced. Annie was fitter and stronger than this wreck her sister had become.

  ‘Ruthie,’ she said, letting go. ‘Whatever life’s thrown at you, don’t let it grind you down like this. Don’t chuck it all away.’

  Ruthie threw back her head and laughed. ‘Jesus, advice on life from the husband-stealer!’

  ‘All right, Ruthie. Listen. If you can’t get over it, if you hate him so much, why go on with it? Get a divorce.’

  ‘Oh no.’ Ruthie shook her head. It waggled like a rag on a stick. ‘What, and leave the way clear for little Annie? I don’t think so.’

  ‘You’re only hurting yourself, Ruthie. What good is that?’

  ‘I don’t care,’ said Ruthie, sloshing more sherry into her glass. ‘I don’t care about anything any more. I’m going back home tomorrow, back to Surrey. It’s nice in the country. If you ignore the peasants.’

  Ruthie roared with laughter, as if she had just said something extremely funny.

  Annie looked at her sister, nonplussed. She had never thought of Ruthie as weak, but now she clearly saw that she was.

  ‘I thought of having a baby,’ said Ruthie. ‘But you have to have sex to get babies. We don’t even sleep in the same bed any more.’

  This was more than Annie wanted to know. So their sex life was over. She should feel sad for her sister. Fuck it, she did feel sad for Ruthie, desperately sad. But a small, treacherous part of her was relieved.

  ‘You’re a young woman,’ said Annie, hating herself for how she felt.

  ‘Yeah, so I am.’ Ruthie nodded vigorously as she slurped back another belt. She swallowed and then looked Annie dead in the eye. ‘And you know what? I don’t care whether I live or not.’

  ‘Ruthie!’

  ‘It’s the truth. I don’t care any more. About anything. Because you’ve ruined my life.’

  Now Annie felt real anger take hold.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Ruthie!’ she burst out. ‘I’m sorry as hell, I’ve said it over and over again, how many more times do I have to say it? I won’t let you keep punishing me like this, it has to stop.’

  And then Ruthie just sat there and sobbed.

  30

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Bailey. I hope you’re well?’

  Thank God for Redmond Delaney and a sense of normality, thought Annie. Ever since the exhibition she had felt that she was losing her mind. Seeing Max had rattled her, seeing Ruthie so upset had rattled her even more. It was hard for her to keep on track, to keep everything running as it should, but somehow she was managing.

  Dig deep and stand alone, she thought. She had to carry on doing that however hard it might be.

  She had started making elaborate plans, frantically occupying her thoughts with business, trying to cope with her emotional disorder through diversion. When she heard that deep cool, Irish voice on the phone, it steadied her somehow. And now she had a face to put to the voice. Handsome, chilly Redmond Delaney. Twin to Orla and brother to sweet and scatty Kieron – not to mention that disgusting lout Pat.

  ‘I’m very well, Mr Delaney. And you?’

  ‘Perfectly fine, thank you. How is business?’

  ‘I’m going to expand,’ said Annie.

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘The parties are going so well I’m going to have them three times a month. We can’t cope with the demand and we don’t want too many punters in here at any one time.’

  ‘That’s good news, Miss Bailey.’

  ‘Also, I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Quite a few of our clients are prosperous professionals, Mr Delaney. They need a place to go that’s close to the City – to Whitehall.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So in addition to this business, I’m also planning to rent an apartment – a nice one – perhaps in Mayfair?’

  ‘That will be expensive.’

  ‘Not if you chip in half the rent.’

  There was a short silence before he came back: ‘We’ll need to renegotiate my cut.’

  ‘That goes without saying,’ said Annie, who had already thought all this through.

  ‘By the very nature of the business, the rentals may have to be short-term. If you are not in our area other interests may come into play. Neighbours may have more influence. You will have to be cautious. And extremely discreet.’

  ‘Yes, I do realize that.’

  ‘Find a suitable property and we’ll talk again, Miss Bailey.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Delaney.’

  ‘Was there anything else?’

  Annie glanced over at Chris, sitting there like Buddha in the corner. Not the time or the place to tell Redmond about her suspicions regarding Pat, she thought. Maybe Redmond knew, anyway. Maybe Redmond didn’t care.

  ‘No, there’s nothing else.’

  ‘Goodbye then.’

  Ruthie was right, Annie thought. She was sitting on a powder keg. One dropped spark, and pow! A feeling of fatalism was coming over her. Sooner or later it was all going to erupt around her. But for now, she was alive. She was in charge. She was Madam Annie. The minute she put the phone down she shouted up the stairs for Ellie. A dark head appeared over the banister.

  ‘Get smartly dressed, Ellie,’ said Annie. Ellie knew that ‘smart’ meant ‘nothing tarty’. Ellie could look like a novice nun when she set her mind to it. Her ‘novice nun’ was in fact very popular with some of the clients, nearly as popular as her ‘schoolgirl’. Annie had every confidence in her ability to appear demure. ‘We’re going up West to do some business.’

  ‘Jesus H Christ in a sidecar,’ said Ellie two and a half hours later. Annie gave her a sharp nudge. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘But look at it, Annie. Just fucking-well look at this place.’

  Annie was looking. She was looking and she was wondering what it would be like to actually live here. It was a high-ceilinged, bright and incredibly big apartment set in a gorgeous block on the corner of Oxford Street and Park S
treet. Buck House was just up the road. So was the Ritz, just a step away in Piccadilly. The Houses of Parliament were close by too. It was a perfect place in a perfect location. There was a private balcony and even porterage.

  ‘Someone to carry your stuff up for you,’ said Annie when Ellie gave her a questioning look.

  There was a lift. There were two beautiful bathrooms. The apartment was furnished in luxurious gold and pale blue tones, offset by a warm, muted cream. It was the most exquisite, the most truly luscious place Annie had ever seen. It damn near brought tears to her eyes, it was so lovely.

  ‘So ladies – what do you think?’ asked the estate agent, emerging from one of the bathrooms and beaming from ear to ear.

  Christ, even the estate agents in this area looked prosperous, thought Annie. He had a healthy tan and lustrously styled hair. His suit looked like Savile Row, elegantly pinstriped and teamed with white shirt, gold cufflinks and discreet silk tie. You could have made your face up in the reflection off his shoes, she thought. The bastard looked rich. Fortunately, so did she. Or rather Anne Bailey did. Anne. Like the Princess, she had told him and smiled charmingly when she shook his hand. And so did her little sister for the day, whom she introduced with a flourish as Elisa.

  This was the third flat they had viewed. The first had taken her breath away, and she had been inclined to go for that one – but it was slightly further out than she really wanted, although it boasted stunning views over Green Park. Then the next. Dazzling, alluring. But a little dark with a lot of wood panelling. But this one. This was it.

  ‘We’ll take it,’ she said.

  They went back to his office and Annie wrote out a cheque for six months’ rent in advance. A staggering amount. But she’d been busy saving a large wodge of her considerable profits. She could, for the first time ever, afford to follow a whim.

  Chris drove them back to Limehouse stopping on the way, at Annie’s instruction, so that she could make a call from a phone box.