Playing Dead

by Jessie Keane

  Max stood up. Steve came forward and hugged him hard. Then Gary. Then Jackie. Then all the other boys. For a while the room was full of shouts and laughs and general excitement, then they all settled down and Max told them what had happened to him.

  They listened attentively.

  ‘Shit a brick. We thought you were brown bread for sure. When we offed Jimmy we thought that was the last of you, too,’ said Gary.

  ‘Your old lady took over for a while,’ said Steve.

  ‘She’s a tough girl,’ said Jackie.

  ‘Yeah.’ Max sat back in his chair and they thought they had never seen him look better, fitter. ‘That was before she pissed off with the Barolli boss.’

  The room was silent.

  Then Steve said: ‘Dolly Farrell said she’s back in town. Got some trouble over there in the States.’

  ‘She’s got some fucking trouble here too,’ said Max, frowning. ‘What d’you mean, Dolly said that? She wouldn’t grass up her mate – they’re tight together. And that whore-house is on the Delaney patch.’

  ‘Ah yeah,’ said Steve. ‘About that . . .’ And he explained all that had happened, and that Dolly’s establishment now paid protection – as did the rest of Limehouse – to the Carters, not the Delaneys.

  Silence again.

  ‘So . . . you want us to bring her in?’ asked Steve.

  Max shook his head slowly. ‘No. I’ll catch up with her when I’m ready. Tell me more about Jimmy.’

  Jimmy had been Max’s right-hand man; he still couldn’t believe what they were telling him about Jim. But Jimmy was gone, and Steve and Gary had taken over the running of the firm.

  ‘Fill me in on the business. How’s everything going?’

  ‘Pretty fair,’ said Gary. ‘We got a lot of security work going now, right out to Essex. Christ! You wouldn’t know, I suppose, but back in April there was a big police raid. Didn’t touch us, but a few faces went down. The Bill grabbed a shit-load of arms from around the East End.’

  ‘None of ours copped it?’ asked Max.

  ‘Nah. See, we’re legit, more or less. All the arcades, shops and restaurants are coughing up on time, no problems.’

  ‘Billy still doing the milk run?’ asked Max. The milk run was gang slang for collecting the protection money.

  Gary broke the news about Billy.

  ‘Fuck,’ breathed Max, taking it all in.

  He’d lost Jonjo, Jimmy, and even poor bloody Billy. He’d been laid up in a hospital bed with busted ankles and his head shot in all directions, not even knowing who the hell he was, while his ever-loving wife, who should have been prostrated with grief at his loss, had been busy doing a bunk with his daughter and committing bigamy with a Mafia Don. Making him look like yesterday’s news; like a fucking fool. He was spitting mad about it all; too mad to trust himself to be within a mile of her just yet.

  ‘What about the clubs?’ he asked.

  ‘Paying good,’ said Jackie. ‘Mrs Carter turned ’em around, put that Dolly woman in charge . . .’ His voice tailed away.

  And then fucked off for pastures new, Max finished in his head.

  ‘We can bring her in if you want. Just say the word,’ Steve reminded him delicately. He couldn’t imagine how Max must be feeling. But he knew that if he’d been declared dead he’d want his old lady to be so grief-stricken that she’d chuck herself into the hole after him, at the very least – not just fuck off with some other man.

  But Max shook his head again.

  ‘Or the kid? We seen your kid with a blonde woman, a nanny; they’ve been out walking near the Barolli place in Holland Park.’

  ‘Nah. I’ll sort this out myself. In my own time.’

  Chapter 42

  ‘That man’s still loitering around in the park, with his collar turned up’, said Gerda. ‘I saw him, watching from a distance. But when Nico went to have a word, he vanished.’

  Now why should anyone be watching Gerda and Layla in the park? Annie wondered. Of course, someone had already told the Carter boys that she was back. She sat in Constantine’s study and phoned her sister Ruthie, who had a place over in Richmond; then she called Dolly.

  ‘Have you told the Carters that I’m back?’ she demanded.

  ‘Course I bloody well have,’ said Dolly. ‘What you think I am, barking mad? I’m sitting here running a Carter club. Ellie’s paying them for protection. We’re both up to our necks in Carter business – of course we had to tell them you’re back, with Max Carter showing up alive instead of dead as toast.’

  Annie still couldn’t believe that was true. She thought of the man, trailing Gerda and Layla. It made her deeply uneasy, even if Nico was with them wherever they went now. Maybe a Carter foot soldier, maybe not. She thought of how she had nearly lost Layla once before, how Layla still bore the scars of that ordeal. She couldn’t let that happen again. No way.

  ‘Fuck’s sake, did you really have to tell them?’ she asked.

  ‘You know I did. That’s how it works, Annie. You know the score.’

  Yeah, she did. In the days when the Delaney family had been running Limehouse, Dolly had answered to them, tipping them off to anything happening on their turf. Now she answered to the Carters: it was a simple fact of life.

  ‘What the hell are you going to do?’ asked Dolly.

  Annie had no idea. If it was true that Max was still alive, they would have to talk. But so far she hadn’t even encountered him. She thought of Ellie’s kitchen door, knocked in – Ellie claimed – by Max in a rage when he had heard she’d left for the States with Constantine. Had it been Max, her Max, who had done that? She couldn’t believe it. She had to see him to know that it was, and so far she hadn’t. She was chasing ghosts, demons and dead men around town, and finding no evidence of their existence at all.

  ‘I don’t know what I’m going to do, Doll,’ said Annie with a heavy sigh. ‘If everything you and Ellie have told me is true—’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then the ball’s in his court. If he wants to find me, he can. Meanwhile, I . . . I just have to try and get over what’s been happening.’

  That man trailing Layla and Gerda. If Max was as mad about what she’d done as she imagined he would be, might he not have Layla snatched and brought to him? She thought he might do that, to spite her.

  The idea made her go cold with fear.

  The notion of him being somewhere here in London, somewhere close by, with his men watching her movements, was weird beyond belief. But he could do it. She knew he could. He could take Layla, declaring her an unfit mother out of revenge for her having defected to the Barolli camp. And how would she ever get her daughter back then?

  While Gerda and Layla went off upstairs to play, Annie called Nico into the study. They sat down on opposite sides of the desk and Annie got straight to the point.

  ‘I’m worried about this man in the park,’ she said.

  Nico sat back and stared at her face. ‘You got any ideas who it might be?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nico, I’ve been hearing some really strange things.’

  ‘What things?’

  Annie dragged her hands through her hair. ‘My friends are saying that my first husband ain’t dead. That he’s alive and he’s in London.’

  Nico’s eyes widened. ‘No way.’

  ‘They’re saying it’s true. They’re also saying that he’s furious with me for clearing off with Constantine. And . . . I think maybe the man in the park is one of the Carter boys. And maybe Max thinks Layla would be better off with him, and he’s planning to snatch her away from me.’

  ‘We can’t let that happen,’ said Nico.

  Thank God for Nico. He understood instantly where she was coming from; he was a clever man with a quick brain. Also, he was her last link – her only link – to Constantine. Just having him around was a comfort.

  ‘We won’t,’ said Annie. ‘Nico, I’ve spoken to my sister. She’s got room for Gerda and Layla for a while, until all this is sorted
out. I want you to take them over there.’

  Annie’s heart ached even as she said it. Once again, she had to be separated from Layla because being with her, being near her, could be putting Layla at risk. And yet, who would care for Layla better than Max? He wasn’t a danger to Layla; he had doted on his little girl.

  Maybe she was being overcautious.

  Or maybe the follower in the park wasn’t one of Max’s boys at all?

  But then – who else could it be?

  If it was Max behind this, then she wouldn’t give up her daughter without a fight. She was determined on that. All right, he was seeing her marriage to Constantine as a betrayal. But it wasn’t. For God’s sake, her only crime had been to believe that her husband was dead, to mourn him bitterly and then to fall in love again. What had he expected – that she would withdraw from life altogether simply because he was no longer a part of it?

  If she had sinned at all – and she didn’t believe she had – then she had been roundly punished anyway. Constantine was dead now. Max might have come back, like Lazarus rising from the tomb, but Constantine would not. Constantine was lost to her forever.

  ‘I’ll talk to Gerda and Layla, get some stuff packed,’ said Annie, pushing her chair back and standing up.

  ‘You’re sure about this?’ asked Nico, his brows drawn together in a ferocious frown.

  ‘I’m not sure about anything,’ said Annie. ‘But I know that Layla will be fine with Ruthie. All this . . . I can’t have her here, in the middle of it all. It’s not fair.’

  ‘Maybe all she needs is to be close to you,’ said Nico.

  ‘No.’ Annie shook her head firmly. ‘That’s not an option. I want her somewhere safe, so I want you to take her and Gerda over there this afternoon.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that be the first place he’d look for her? With your sister?’

  ‘With our history?’ Annie raised a grim smile. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘You think he’s gonna cut up rough? Really?’

  Annie put her fists on the desk and gave it some thought.

  ‘Max Carter? Oh yeah. I think so.’

  When Gerda and Layla had gone with Nico that afternoon, Annie phoned Kath, her cousin.

  ‘Holy fuck, this is all so interesting,’ Kath said the minute Annie said hello. Annie could picture her beaming smile all down the line. If Annie was getting shit, Kath was always pleased about it. The kids – little Jim and Molly – were shouting and wailing in the background as usual. Annie could imagine the scene round at Kath’s. Unwashed crocks in the sink, dirty floors, kiddies’ toys strewn everywhere, and Kath sitting, hugely fat, in the middle of it all in a mucky T-shirt and elastic-waisted skirt, puffing on a scraggy roll-up and laughing her arse off at Annie’s woes.

  ‘What’s interesting?’ asked Annie.

  ‘What I been hearing. They’re saying Max Carter ain’t dead; that he’s back here and he’s gunning for you.’

  ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘Fuck me, girl, you’re in big trouble now. I mean, let’s face it, he was barely cold before you were getting the old pork sword off that fancy Mafia bloke. Gawd, I should think any man would want to lynch his wife if she did that.’

  ‘And how are you, Kath?’ asked Annie, gritting her teeth to choke back the angry words that wanted to come out of her mouth.

  ‘Bloody marvellous. Kids are a nightmare, as always. Really cheered me up, hearing that Lady Muck’s got troubles too.’ Kath was actually laughing now.

  ‘Kath.’

  ‘Hm?’

  ‘You’re a cow, you know that?’

  But Kath only laughed.

  Annie slammed the phone down. That bitch.

  Her stomach was clenched up in a knot of unease. Layla was out of the way now; it was safer, far safer, that she should be with Ruthie. But already, Annie missed her so much. She felt weak tears prickle behind her eyes as she sat there alone and painfully bereft in the big grand house.

  The show had to go on – didn’t it? Broken and devastated though she might be, she had to keep going, keep things normal if she could – and then maybe, one day, they would start to feel normal again too.

  Tonight, she was going to pay Dolly another visit, get a proper look at how the club was running when it was open and packed with punters. Maybe on the way there she’d stop off at Queenie’s and see if Max was there. She doubted he would be. She thought that this was all one long nightmare, and that at any moment she’d wake up, and Constantine would be there with her, saying hey, what’s up? Think you’ve been dreaming.

  But Constantine was dead, truly dead.

  Not like Max, who had just been playing at it.

  He’s gunning for you, she thought. Kath’s words. Well, Layla was out of the way now. So just bring it on, she thought. She’d done nothing wrong. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

  But would he believe that? She didn’t think so.

  Chapter 43

  Max wasn’t at Queenie’s when she called in there that evening. She still had a key, so she opened the front door and walked around the echoing, musty-smelling rooms. Nothing much in there except a few sticks of tatty Utility furniture and the big table upstairs where the boys met. There was a faint odour of cigar smoke hanging in the air. Jackie Tulliver, she thought.

  She left the old terraced house and got back into the hire car, with Nico sitting there patiently at the wheel.

  ‘Let’s go on over to the club,’ she said wearily.

  Nico steered the car out into the traffic. ‘I wanted to talk to you about Layla,’ he said.

  ‘Oh God, Nico, not now,’ said Annie. Her head was pounding; she felt exhausted. Layla was safe with Ruthie; she didn’t need to know any more than that. She couldn’t take any more than that.

  He shrugged and drove on in silence.

  When they got there, Nico parked up in a side street, grumbling about right-hand-drive cars and tiny roads not fit for purpose as he manoeuvred the car into a space. They got out and walked the short distance to the club, its bass back-beat keeping time with their footsteps. Punters were swarming into the club as they approached.

  Annie paused and looked at the red neon sign over the scarlet-painted doors. Annie’s. If Max was really and truly back, really alive, what would he make of that? He had known this as the Palermo Lounge. Right now, the workmen were over at the old Blue Parrot, gutting it, tearing that old sign down too, replacing it with another one of these, the red neon Annie’s.

  ‘Hi, Paul,’ she said to the doorman, and he nodded as she passed inside with Nico trailing behind.

  ‘Knock Three Times’ was blasting out of the massive sound system as they went down the stairs and into the main body of the club. There were gyrating bodies out on the circular glass dance floor, the strobes beneath it flashing up yellow, orange, red, blue. On the tiny up-lit podiums the go-go girls danced and twirled in their fringed white bikinis and white boots.

  ‘Jeez, the noise in here . . .’ complained Nico, leaning close to Annie’s ear to make himself heard.

  Annie cast an appraising eye over the club’s dimly lit interior. Chocolate-brown banquettes lined the walls; cosy little spaces where people could chat, eat their chicken or scampi in a basket, drink, watch the dancers.

  Annie went over to the bar with the duplicate neon-red ‘Annie’s’ sign glowing warmly above it. Dolly was behind the bar, complaining to the barman about there being no mixers as per bloody usual, then she turned and saw Annie and her face fell.

  ‘Pleased to see me?’ asked Annie with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘Daft bat, I’m always pleased to see you,’ said Dolly, coming to the bar and leaning over so she could make herself heard. ‘But . . . fuck it, he’s here, Annie love. He’s bloody here, over there in the corner.’

  Annie felt as if all the blood had left her head and shot straight down to her feet. She swayed for an instant and Nico caught her arm.

  ‘You okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Did you hear
that?’ Annie asked him.

  ‘Yeah. I heard.’

  Annie peered among the crush of bodies, but she couldn’t see anything. She felt the blood singing in her ears and wondered if she was about to pass out cold. She gulped down a breath. It steadied her a little. But she could feel herself shaking, literally shaking. Because . . . he could really be here. Max Carter, the man she had loved so passionately once; the man she had won, lost and mourned; the man she had thought she would happily spend the rest of her life with.

  But it hadn’t worked out like that.

  ‘I’m going over there,’ she said through lips that felt numb with shock. ‘I’m going to talk to him.’

  Nico still had hold of her arm. ‘Is that the smart thing to do? Bearing in mind what everyone’s told you about how he took the news of you and the Boss?’

  ‘I don’t give a shit whether it’s smart or not, I’ve got to know if it’s true. I’ve got to know if it’s really him.’

  She pulled her arm away. Nico stared at her face. ‘You want me to come over there with you?’

  Annie shook her head: no.

  Aware of Dolly standing there tensely behind the bar watching her, aware of Nico’s worried expression as she moved away across the room, still Annie felt that she was in some sort of awful twisted dream as she pushed through the fug of cigarette smoke and the crush of bodies.

  Would she get there and see Constantine there, not Max; Constantine charred and grinning at her, lolling dead and incinerated on the banquette?

  Oh God, please let me wake up now, she thought, aware of her heart thudding away in her chest, of the unsteadiness of her legs, of the sick tension in the pit of her stomach.

  She pushed on through the punters, their laughter grating on her ears, their curious looks at this demented-looking dark-haired woman glancing off her like darts off a rhino’s hide. Yeah, this was a dream. She would just go on and on walking, trying to find him, and she would never get there. She would wake up, and the dream would be over.

  Then the crowds seemed to part at last, and she stopped walking. She was looking at a banquette with a group of people sitting around it. There were half-full glasses on the table, the remnants of a meal. Baskets and red napkins, knives and forks.