by Nigel May
* * *
Dolly was not the only woman who wanted a one-to-one with Amy. Lily was determined to track down her former employer too.
She needed Amy. She was her passport to Riley, even if she was probably the last person Amy ever wanted to see again. If he was still shuffling his rather impressive body around Planet Earth then Lily needed to find him. If he was alive he’d never get back with Amy. Not now, she knew too much. His secret criminal career, the fact that he’d been shagging Lily ... It was all too much for a poor, foolish naïve woman like Amy Hart.
No, Riley would want somebody strong and independent, a real ball-breaker of a female – somebody just like Lily. What was it he’d once said to her when they’d been shagging in his office? That she fucked like she lived her life – hard and fast and loud. Just how he liked it. Yeah, Lily would always remember that. She was hard. Called a spade a spade. She lived life in the fast lane, and she was as vocal in life as she was in the bedroom, not afraid of confrontation. That’s why Riley liked her, that’s why he furnished her with gifts. Like the time he’d bought her the most incredible Irregular Choice shoes. What was it he’d said?
‘Amy would never wear a pair like these. They’re real fuck-me shoes. Such a turn on.’
‘And you know you can fuck me in them any time you like, boss,’ said Lily, slipping off her own shoes to try them on. They were exquisite. Vintage style with a designer modern edge. The kind of shoes that could only be worn by a true individual. The cream floral textured fabric looked like it had been dipped in glitter and glazed to perfection. Lily loved them. They were unique, stylish, kooky and a total talking point. The one thing they weren’t was boring. To Lily, they were the perfect gift. They symbolised her. And to Riley, seeing Lily wearing them with nothing else but her nipple ring as he drove his cock into her as they shagged on his office desk was sheer perfection too.
‘Fuck me harder, Riley. Show me who’s boss,’ she suggested as he withdrew his cock to its very tip before thrusting it back into her on the edge of the desk.
‘Fuck, Lily, I love it when you talk dirty,’ he cried, holding her shoe-clad feet in his hands as he cannoned into her. Three strokes later he could hold his orgasm no more and they climaxed together.
Yes, what Lily Rich had to say, both in the sack and out of it was always worth saying, and what she needed to say to Amy was that Riley, if he was alive, was hers. And nobody else’s. She may have had her heart broken once, but Lily was not going to have it happen again.
As Lily left the Rich family home to head to Amy’s hotel, fuelled by another fat line of cocaine she’d just chopped out on her bedroom dressing table, she was feeling good about herself. Feeling one step closer to Riley, wherever he was.
49
Now, 2015
* * *
Grant was worried about Amy’s disappearance. After the note she’d left him that morning at the hotel, he’d expected her to be back by now. She’d been gone hours. Where was she? He’d tried ringing her but her mobile had headed straight to voicemail.
Not knowing was driving him insane. With the people she was dealing with anything could have happened. There was so much violence. He needed to do something. But what ...? All he could think of was to go after her.
He could try Dirty Cash, or head back to Eruption. Maybe she’d gone there to question a pissed-up Genevieve, who was doubtless still wallowing in her own misery. No, any kind of action was better than nothing when his mind was working overtime. Sitting at the hotel trying to learn lines for his next season of Ward 44 was not working. His brain was elsewhere, frazzled, his concentration as frenzied as the wings of a hummingbird in flight.
Looking from his hotel window down at the street below, the remnants of snow still visible on the pavements, Grant scanned around and knew that he had to act. Pulling on his coat and a woollen hat to cover his face – he’d been recognised by lots of the hotel staff and customers and now was not the time he wanted to stop for autograph hunters – an apprehensive Grant headed out of his room, down to the lobby and out into the frost-bound air.
Grant kept his head down and walked along the street. He had reached no further than fifty yards from the hotel when he slammed, full pelt, into Amy. The force of their collision knocked her backwards, almost causing her to tumble.
‘Oh my God, where have you been? I’ve been going out of my mind with worry.’ His words, apparently a mixture of relief and annoyance, shot from his lips.
‘Ease it, mister!’ said Amy, steadying herself from where their bodies had clashed. Grant put his arms around her to help her regain her balance. ‘I told you I needed to clear my head. I went to see my parents’ graves and then, well, I went for a walk around. I needed to try and formulate some kind of perspective on all this. About trying to find Riley.’
‘I’m just glad you’re all right. I just thought that something might have happened to you, what with the circles you’re mixing in.’ He pulled her close and hugged her. Amy let herself rest against him for a moment longer than maybe she should have.
‘I’m okay ... honest. If there’s anything positive that’s actually coming out of all of this shit then it’s the fact that I’m toughening up more than I ever felt possible.’ Her voice seemed weaker than the actual words. Grant wasn’t convinced she meant it. ‘I’ll be challenging the toughest crims in Manchester by the time Christmas arrives,’ she said, attempting a feeble joke.
Amy attempted to move away from Grant’s embrace, but the force of his arms wouldn’t let her. Any kind of intimacy with another man after Riley still felt alien to Amy, but the warmth of Grant’s body against hers was a welcome one.
‘Don’t you two look cosy? Researching a romantic role are you, Grant?’ The voice belonged to Lily. The sound of her voice made the actor unleash his grip. Amy could feel her face colour with embarrassment as if she’d been caught out and an ocean of anger at seeing the woman who had been getting her end away with her husband rose to the surface.
‘Hello, Lily ... what the hell do you want?’ said Amy. It was all she could think of to say. Just looking at Lily still flashed brain-branding, painful images of her and Riley together.
‘I need to see you, Amy. Alone, if possible.’ She stared at Grant, hoping that he would understand her request for a little privacy. He didn’t reply.
‘Cat got your tongue, Grant?’ said Lily. ‘I need some privacy with Amy.’
Amy looked up at Grant too, wondering why he hadn’t replied. The look on his face portrayed that something was wrong. Very wrong. It unnerved her. ‘What is it, Grant?’ His gaze focused straight behind both her and Lily.
‘I don’t believe it,’ he stammered. ‘Look ...’ He pointed across to the other side of the street. Lily and Amy both followed the direction of his gesture. Both of their faces fell as they realised that standing there across the road was Riley. He was wrapped up against the weather, his body covered in a heavy overcoat and, like Grant, a hat pulled down over his forehead, but all three of them were as sure as they could be about his identity. It was Riley.
'It's Riley,' exhaled Grant, confirming their thoughts.
Amy could feel her legs buckle underneath her. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach but she was determined to seize the moment. After everything Riley had put her through over the last six months and now given what she knew about his sordid little affairs with Lily and Genevieve, she was certainly going to have her say. A maelstrom of hurt, fear, bitterness and confusion exploded within her. Riley wasn’t dead. Finally it had been proven. He was there, no more than a road’s width away from her. She tried to focus on his face, to see if a trace of a smile was visible, a symbol of elation at seeing her again. It was hard to keep him in sight, the traffic on the busy road between them consistently blocking her view.
‘Fucking hell, he is alive,’ said Lily, her mind racing at the vision before her. ‘It is him, isn’t it ...?
‘I’d know that face anywhere,’ stated Grant.
‘It’s him ... What the hell does he think he’s doing? He owes you an explanation.’
Grant had no sooner finished his sentence than he started to run in Riley’s direction. It wasn’t easy, the road between Riley and the trio was busy. Cars screeched a halt as Grant ran out into the street, narrowly avoiding running him down. He turned to shout at Amy and Lily. ‘Stay here, I’m going to get him ...’
As he did so, the figure on the far side of the street started to run, away from the group. From the pace he sprinted off at, it was obvious he didn’t want to be caught.
Grant weaved his way across the road. Watching him go, Amy began to scream. It was uncontrollable, a feeling of hopelessness gripping her. Why would Riley venture so close and then turn tail and run away from her? Why would he do that to her, to the woman he said he still loved? It was time for Amy to seize the moment. She began to shout. ‘Riley Hart, you fucking come back here, you lowlife. You are not leaving me again. You’ve put me through enough shit once, you are not doing it for a second time. Come and give me some answers you bastard, tell me why you’ve made me suffer. Come back …’ Her voice trailed away as she watched Riley run off. He wasn’t even man enough to answer her screams. She saw red, but her anger turned to misery in a heartbeat.
Amy began to cry, unable to contain her tears, as she watched Grant chase after Riley. A clash of emotions clamoured through her head. Was she pleased to finally see him, to know that he was alive? The thought that he hadn’t been blown away so horrifically in The Kitty Kat was a welcome one, but immediately questions about who had died, who she had cremated, how she had been deceived and why Riley was running away from her now that he was so close, detonated in her thoughts. Was it seeing Lily there too? Or Grant? The three of them together?
The figure disappeared into a small side street, turning as he did so to see Grant advancing towards him. Within a couple of seconds both men were out of vision.
‘Sod this, he can’t get away,’ said a determined Lily. ‘Not again. You stay here, I’ll help catch him.’ Lily ran out into the road. A couple of seconds later, she too had disappeared from sight, leaving Amy feeling useless and alone. She could feel a tightening in her chest, her heart beating wildly within her frame. It was as if somebody was squeezing their hands around her heart, draining life from it. More fear gripped her. Finally she had her answer but somehow she felt hollow. She attempted to breathe deeply and rhythmically, to stem the frantic beating inside her.
It must have been five minutes or so before she seemed able to regain any normality in her breathing. The choking on her heart seemed to ease. She was wiping away her tears as a frantic and hysterical Lily came back into view from the small street on the other side of the road. She signalled to Amy and shouted across the traffic.
It sounded like ‘Jesus, come quick ... I think he’s dying.’ Amy had a job to hear exactly what Lily was saying above the noise of the cars rushing by. Finally forcing herself into action, as both Grant and Lily had done before her, she dashed out into the road to join Lily on the other side.
Lily grabbed her hand and pulled her into the side street. ‘Come quick ... before it’s too late.’ The street was almost deserted, just a few people milling around. They watched, confused, as the two women ran past them. Turning to the right, Lily guided Amy into an even smaller avenue, really no more than an alleyway, off the side street. There were thousands of tiny streets just like this dotted all across inner Manchester, all of them virtually identical, with plastic rubbish skips and metal fire escapes lining both sides. But this one housed a horrific addition. Lying at the far end of it was a body, face down, crumpled against the ground.
As they approached, Amy could see a slim trickle of blood running out from underneath it, trickling across the road’s surface. A bloodied knife lay alongside the figure. They recognised the body. It was Grant, and he’d been stabbed. Amy turned to Lily. She could feel her lip tremble as she asked the question. ‘Is he dead?’
50
Then, 2004
* * *
Death was never easy to deal with. The finality of it never became any easier. Riley Hart had already had to watch his poor mother, Bianca, die in a hospital bed, a victim of a dreaded cancer, and now he was sitting by his father’s bedside watching the life slowly ebb from his hero.
Cazwell Hart – a man who had challenged the meanest of men and won, delivered the cruellest of blows and survived and administered the harshest of punishments and always come out on top. But now here he was, in front of his only son and his faithful colleague, Tommy Hearn, being delivered the cruellest blow of all. His own body, once a mass of muscle and male strength, was failing him. A series of strokes had gripped Cazwell over the past twelve months, taking away his force and, in his final days, his dignity too. No longer could he rule those he wished to with an iron fist. His brain, his brawn and his bravado had all fallen by the wayside.
The shell before him was not the man that Riley Hart had always looked up to. That man had died weeks ago. But on the family doctor’s instructions, he and Tommy had gathered at Cazwell’s bedside to witness his final moments. The light in Cazwell’s eyes, one that had once shone so bright, was fading fast.
Cazwell raised his head to look at his son. A line of drool hung from his mouth. For the past week or so, Cazwell’s head had hung permanently down, as if his neck could no longer hold it in place. A nurse was there round the clock to feed Cazwell, to clean him and attend to his needs. Tommy himself had taken turns to help the man who, as far as he was concerned, had given him his life, his dreams, his ambitions. There had been talk of placing Cazwell in a home. Tommy and a young Riley wouldn’t allow it. The once proud and mighty lion would never be caged anywhere other than his own jungle.
As Riley looked at his father, for a millisecond there was a spark of recognition behind his eyes. Was Cazwell trying to tell him something? Where had the strength come from to look directly at his son for the final time? Cazwell moved his head to look at Tommy. Again, an understanding. Confirmation of what Cazwell had instructed Tommy when he had first been confined to what was to be his death bed. Tommy nodded as he stared into the soul of his boss. Everything would be okay, business as usual, he would make sure of that. Cazwell could die with that knowledge.
Cazwell swung his head round to face his son again. The line of drool that hung from his mouth broke off and fell onto the silk pyjamas he was wearing. There would be nothing less than the best for a man of his greatness. Tommy had made sure of that.
Riley could feel the corners of his eyes pricking with tears as he watched his father take his final breath. As Cazwell Hart, king of the streets, shut his eyes one last time and drifted into eternal slumber, Riley smiled. Not because he was happy, but because he wanted to let his dad know that, just as Tommy had promised, everything was going to be all right.
It wasn’t until Riley had left the room that he allowed the tears to come. When they did, for the longest time, he thought they would never cease.
51
Now, 2015
* * *
Jemima Hearn’s car was found the next morning. It would have remained underwater for days, maybe longer, had items from inside the Aston Martin not floated to the surface, allowed to escape from their icy, watery grave through the open windows. When a mass of receipts, classical CD covers and a selection of flyers for the Dirty Cash Casino had been found floating like a flotilla of litter on the lake’s surface by an early morning dog walker, the alarm was raised. When such a collection gathered in what was normally a tranquil and litter free area, the police were informed. The flyers led them to Tommy, who admitted that he’d been about to call them as his wife and one of his cars had been missing overnight. Within ninety minutes the car had been towed from the murky depths of the lake and the grisly discovery of Jemima’s body, still belted into the front seat, had been made.
Tommy had wept uncontrollably when he’d been informed of Jemima’s death. His mind, unable to comprehend
why his wife would end up at the bottom of the lake, immediately assumed that foul play had been involved. If you lived by the sword, it was likely that those you loved and those around you could die by the sword too. It was a life lesson he’d seen learnt many times in his years alongside Cazwell and subsequently, Riley.
But the police begged to differ. There were no signs of foul play. No stab wounds or bullets or traces of struggle. Nothing that Tommy had expected. He had enemies and maybe revenge was being served to him with his wife’s death. But no. It was Jemima who was enacting her revenge. Her revenge for every moment that she’d felt like no more than a plus one, her revenge for those moments Tommy didn’t even seem to know she was alive. Her revenge for those moments when maybe he had forgotten that he loved her.
The discovery of the photo in her coat pocket proved that. Through the miracle of a zipped waterproof winter coat pocket and an ink that managed to somehow stay legible, the words were decipherable. The words on the back of them would live on, branded on Tommy’s mind until the day he went to meet his maker too. ‘Winston, the only man who truly made me happy. Forever yours, Jemima x.’ 'Only' underlined.
The ultimate payback from beyond the grave. Jemima had been in love with another man. A man who had worked alongside Tommy and Riley for the longest time. A man whom Tommy had never considered anything more than a yes-man, someone of little significance to the life he was such a part of. But for as long as Tommy Hearn lived, Winston Curtis would always be the man who had managed to make his wife feel like a woman again.
It’s said that the life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, and Tommy’s memories of Jemima would always be discoloured with the thought that he had been unable to make her happy in her final days. That he had failed as both a husband and perhaps as a man. Maybe he should have shown his love a little more after all.
