by Liza Cody
He looked at the photo long and hard. I let him look because he had to see why it mattered.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll be very, very careful. I understand.’
‘You don’t,’ I said. ‘And it doesn’t matter. I just want you to believe me.’ Which was true.
‘I do believe you,’ he said. ‘But I still want you to go back to the kitchen. I can’t think with you looming over me. You’ll put me off. I might have to lie a little, you see.’
‘Lie a lot,’ I said, feeling a bit better. ‘Lie your head off. You have my blessing.’
‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘But go and finish your tea.’
So I went, and I thought about him lying to a bunch of solicitors on the telephone. For me. It almost made him a pal. And I looked at the photo and I thought of all the times I’d lied for Simone and she’d lied for me. There’s a bond between people who lie for each other.
The funny thing was that people believed Simone when she lied, but they hardly ever believed me even when I told the truest truth.
Dave de Lysle said he believed me. And I believed him when he said that. But it doesn’t do to believe too much, especially from blokes. So I went and put my ear to the door.
Good big houses have good thick doors. I had my ears out on stalks trying to catch what he was saying but I couldn’t, and I remembered how I couldn’t earwig him and his long-necked lady friend having a fight. Thick doors are a big disappointment. In Ma’s flat I’d have heard every word. In Ma’s flat they’d have heard every word three doors along. It’s like everything else – secrets cost money.
He took his time.
Actually I don’t know why I say that. He didn’t take his time – he took mine. I mean, who was doing the waiting? Me. That’s who. I’m glad I’ve acquired a relaxed mental attitude – otherwise I might’ve started breaking his blue and white china, he took so long. Which would have been a pity because it was nice china and it reminded me of blue eyes.
But he came back after a while. He came back frowning and tapping his teeth with a pencil. He came back with a piece of paper in his hand, but he didn’t give it to me.
‘Well?’ I said. ‘What happened?’
‘You’ll go through the floor if you jump around like that,’ he said. ‘Sit down. Please. I’ve got something for you but I don’t think you’ll like it.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘What? Spit it out.’
‘It isn’t much. Are you going to sit down and listen quietly?’
I sat down, and he said, ‘You wanted Simone’s family address …’
‘What d’you mean, “family”?’ I said. ‘I’m Simone’s family.’
‘All right, all right,’ he said. ‘Please sit down.’
‘Foster family,’ I said. ‘Get it right.’
‘Eva,’ he said. ‘Take a deep breath. Listen calmly. Simone was adopted. She’s Simone Redman now.’
‘No she ain’t,’ I said. ‘She’s Simone Wylie, just like me. She’d never change her name.’
‘She was adopted, Eva,’ he said. ‘Please sit down.’
I sat down with a bump. ‘They lied to you, those lawyers,’ I said.
He said, ‘I don’t think so, Eva.’
‘They lied,’ I said. ‘And I’ll prove it to you.’
‘How?’
‘Did you get an address off them?’
He held up a piece of paper.
‘Well, come on then,’ I said.
‘Where?’
‘Where it says on that bit of paper,’ I told him. ‘We’ll go there and I’ll prove it to you. My sister would never let herself get adopted and she’d never in a million years change her name.’
‘Perhaps she didn’t have much say in the matter.’
‘No!’
‘You’re upset, Eva,’ he said. ‘I do understand. But shouting and jumping up and down won’t help.’
‘I’m not upset,’ I said. ‘Those cat-piddle lawyers lied to you and you believed them. I can prove it to you. Come on.’
I snatched the paper out of his hand. But the light had gone funny and I couldn’t read what he’d written.
‘What’s it say here?’ I asked. ‘Your writing’s all straggly.’
He handed me a tea towel.
‘Blow your nose,’ he said. ‘I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.’
‘You can stuff your tea,’ I said. ‘I’m going to see Simone. I’ve waited long enough.’
‘You can’t just march in there unannounced.’
‘When did they pass that law through Parliament?’
‘Eva,’ he said, ‘Eva, have you asked yourself why, in all these years, Simone has never come to find you?’
‘What are you saying?’ I said. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m not saying anything, Eva. I’m only asking.’
‘What other lies they been telling you?’ I asked. ‘It’s nothing but lies.’
Because, quite suddenly, I remembered something. I remembered something about the time I usually don’t remember. I remembered something about the time I went to Braintree in Essex to rescue Simone from the Redmans. The time they wouldn’t let me see her.
I remember I went there and it was a Saturday. Mr Redman was at home. He opened the door to me. Mrs Redman came from somewhere in the house and stood beside him. They didn’t want me to come in. They said Simone was at her ballet lesson. And it was lies, all lies. Simone and me wouldn’t touch anything soppy like ballet with a ten foot pole.
They didn’t want me inside their house. But I was only a little kid of eleven or so, and I hadn’t met Harsh yet, so I hadn’t acquired a relaxed mental attitude. I pushed past them and I ran to the bottom of the stairs calling Simone’s name. Because I knew they were telling me lies about the ballet lessons and everything.
I would have run up the stairs, but Mr Redman caught me and pulled me back. He said something. Something about how Simone had a new life now and a fresh start and how I mustn’t upset her.
Me! Upset Simone! He was lying to me and I was so angry I started kicking and punching him. And I remember him fighting me and yelling at his wife to call the police.
Well, the polizei came. But not before I’d given Mr Redman a very hard time. Because, even then, I knew a bit about fighting. I remember he had a bloody nose and mouth, and all the little china whatsits in the hall and living-room had got broken. I don’t remember actually breaking them, but there was glass and china all over the floor. And Mrs Redman had a nasty gash on one of her knees. And her face was all red and swollen up.
The polizei came. And I’m not sure how it happened but they got me so I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move an inch. I felt like a helpless little baby. Me!
And Mrs Redman said, ‘Take her away. Take her away. She’s mad. Insane. She’s violent. She always has been. My daughter must be protected from her.’
My daughter must be protected from her.
Can you imagine that?
The lies they told about me!
I was screaming at the polizei about the lies and about rescuing Simone. But they didn’t listen to me. They never do.
They carried me backwards out of the house.
But this is the part I remember now, which normally I don’t remember …
‘Eva!’ Dave de Lysle said. ‘Eva, what’s the matter?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘I was just thinking, that’s all.’
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ he said.
He brought me a glass tumbler with something in it.
‘Slowly,’ he said.
So I drank it slowly. It didn’t taste very nice but it warmed me up inside and I stopped shivering.
We sat there, all quiet. Him on his side of the table and me on mine with the big jar of biscuits in between.
‘Better?’ he said, after a bit.
‘I’m all right,’ I said. Except I was feeling tired. Which was funny because I hadn’t done any proper exercise since the fight.
‘You gave m
e quite a scare,’ he said. ‘I thought for a minute you were going to beat me up and throw me out of the window.’
‘Me?’ I said, surprised. ‘Hurt you? What you ever done to me?’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘But I thought you were angry.’
‘Me?’ I said. ‘Angry?’
‘About me advising you to think twice about going to see the Redmans.’
What a funny bloke. I wasn’t angry. I was once, but that was years ago.
‘I am thinking twice,’ I said. ‘And maybe you’re right.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Rushing off without thinking might do you more harm than good.’
‘You sound like Harsh,’ I said. Which surprised me because I’ve got a lot of respect for Harsh whereas Dave de Lysle is only an artist.
‘Take care when applying force,’ I said. Which is what Harsh always says. Harsh says, ‘Force applied without thought may harm only you.’
He’s talking about wrestling, in case you didn’t know. But, although it might sound like a load of crumble, I thought about it in connection to the Redmans.
Because the part I remembered about going to rescue Simone from the Redmans – the part I usually don’t remember – was about when I left.
The polizei were dragging me out backwards and I couldn’t move and I couldn’t run and I couldn’t save myself. And the last thing I saw as they dragged me out was Simone at the top of the stairs.
She was there.
I knew she was there all along. I knew the Redmans had been lying to me. I knew they’d locked her up so she couldn’t see me. But she got free and there she was at the top of the stairs. I was so happy to see her. She would explain. She would tell them, and they would believe her. People always believed Simone.
‘Simone!’ I said. ‘Tell them. Tell them.’
But she never got a chance to tell them because Mrs Redman rushed up the stairs. She said, ‘Never mind, darling. We’re here. You’re safe now.’ And she put her arms round Simone. It made me boil over. What right had she?
I expected Simone to push the poxy old cow down the stairs. But she never.
I couldn’t understand it.
And the worst thing was that Simone was wearing a frilly little dancing dress and soppy little dancing shoes. And they’d put her hair up in a daft little knot on the top of her head. They had turned her into a stranger.
And then Mr Redman slammed the door and that was that. I can’t remember what happened next.
This, then, was what I was thinking about.
You see, I’m not an angry little kid anymore. I am Eva Wylie, the London Lassassin. And next time I go to visit the Redmans I want them to respect me. Next time I go there I want to be Heavyweight Champion, and I want to have money in my pocket. Proper money, so that I can take Simone away properly.
I mean, we aren’t little kids on the run. Not now.
I’m grown up. And the next time I rescue Simone I want it to work. I want her to know I’m someone to look up to. Someone to respect. Someone who can take care of her family.
So I looked at Dave de Lysle sitting there in his big kitchen, like he was permanently one step behind as usual. And I thought he was a good place to start. Because of course I needed cash and those bastards had ripped off my stash. I needed to get my teeth fixed and I needed cash for Simone.
So I said, ‘You want me to pose for you now?’
‘Now?’ he said.
‘Now,’ I said.
‘All right,’ he said.
‘Proper money this time?’ I asked.
‘All right.’
‘In advance?’ I said.
‘If you want,’ he said.
There are some people just begging to be taken advantage of, aren’t there? And I’d be a fool not to, wouldn’t I?
A Note on the Author
Liza Cody grew up in London. She studied painting at the City and Guilds of London Art School and the Royal Academy School. She has worked as a painter, furniture-maker, photographer and graphic designer. Her first novel, Dupe, won the John Creasey Award for the best first crime novel of 1980 and was nominated for an Edgar Award in the USA. Under Contract was shortlisted for the Gold Dagger Award, and in 1992 she won the Crime Writers’ Association Silver Dagger Award for Bucket Nut. Liza Cody now lives in Somerset.
By the Same Author
THE ANNA LEE MYSTERIES
Dupe
Bad Company
Stalker
Head Case
Under Contract
Backhand
NOVELS
Rift
Praise for Bucket Nut
‘The author is just as at home with Eva’s rough and tumble world as she is with crime and mystery’
Today
‘Rueful, racy, quite irresistible’
Literary Review
‘She is unscrupulous, tactless and insensitive – and by the end of the book one loves her … Bucket Nut is unique’
Western Morning News
‘Exciting reading’
Books Magazine
‘A knockout book’
Evening Express, Aberdeen
‘Eva Wylie … irresistible in the hands of Liza Cody’
Sunday Mercury, Birmingham
First published by Chatto & Windus Ltd in 1992
Copyright © Liza Cody 1992
This electronic edition published in 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
The moral right of the author has been asserted
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
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eISBN 9781408837221
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