by Roberta Kray
‘If there was anything to tell, I would.’
‘Why do you always do this?’ he said, jumping to his feet and starting to pace restlessly around the room. ‘I’m not a kid any more. You don’t need to protect me. I’ve got a right to know if someone’s gunning for me. I’ve got a bloody right.’
‘Why?’ she answered curtly. ‘So you can go and do something stupid like you usually do? I’ve got it under control, okay? Don’t start interfering.’
‘Interfering? You’re the one who bloody interferes in everything.’
‘Just stay away from her. You’ll only make it worse.’
As he walked back and forth, Adam raked his fingers through his hair. ‘Worse? I thought you said there wasn’t a problem and now —’
‘There won’t be a goddamn problem if you just leave it alone.’ Lena stubbed out her cigarette and gave a sigh. ‘I’ve had enough of sorting out your mistakes. You fuck up again and you’re on your own.’
He stopped dead in the centre of the room, knowing exactly what she was referring to. The blood rushed to his cheeks. ‘And did I ever ask you? Did I? You’re the one who —’
‘Who what?’
There was a sharp, nasty silence while the two of them glared at each other. Adam felt his stomach lurch, the bile rising into his mouth. Whenever he thought about Bo Vale, he felt sick inside. ‘You know what. It was only money, for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t worth killing for.’
‘My money,’ Lena said coldly. ‘Anyway, it’s done with. Let’s not go over it again.’ She rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirt.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I promised Delia I’d pop round.’
Adam’s lip curled. Delia Shields – someone else he couldn’t stand. A prissy, uptight spinster who always looked down her nose at him. As if she was anything special. He didn’t understand why his mother kept in contact with the stupid cow. ‘And that’s more important than this, is it?’
‘There’s nothing left to say, Adam. I think we’ve covered all the bases, haven’t we?’
‘You might have, but I’m just getting started.’
‘Well, would you mind saving it for another day?’ She glanced deliberately at her watch. ‘I don’t want to be late.’
‘Don’t let me keep you, then,’ he said resentfully.
‘I won’t.’
Adam watched as she swept out of the room in her usual haughty fashion, like some catwalk model past her sell-by date. Seconds later, he heard the front door close. ‘Fuck you,’ he muttered, making a hissing noise through his teeth.
He went through to the hallway and waited until he heard the smooth swish of the lift going down before returning to the living room. And then he started searching for the Yeats file. He wanted to take another look at it. Perhaps there was something that he’d missed first time round.
It wasn’t on the table or in the bureau. He checked the kitchen drawers, but there was nothing there except cutlery and tea towels and loose bits of string. Shit, perhaps she had put it in the safe. He went back into the living room and stared at the landscape on the wall. There was no point in even swinging the picture back – he didn’t have a clue what the combination was.
He was going to give up, but on a whim wandered through to her bedroom. His nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of perfume. The room was opulent, the walls painted in dark cream and gold, the curtains a heavy brocade. Like a tart’s boudoir, he thought. The bedding was a rich shade of red. A fancy chandelier with teardrop crystals hung from the ceiling.
He went over to the dressing table and pulled out the top drawer, full of knickers and bras and silk negligees. Tentatively, he prodded at them with his fingers. There was something faintly disgusting about touching his mother’s underwear. It made him wince, his insides curling up.
Suddenly, he thought of Bo and his perfect brown skin. He remembered being in the flat on the Mansfield estate. He remembered with a sharp stab to his heart the first time he’d ever kissed him, ever really touched him, running his hands across the planes of his stomach, the feel of his lips, the whispered words, the gentle caresses.
Pain and anger swelled up in his chest. He flinched as if hearing the door flung open again, as if seeing Greta’s face full of fury. He saw her look of shock and disgust, her eyes taking in everything, forgiving nothing. And from the second she walked in on them, there was no way back.
Unless…
She would keep quiet, Bo said, so long as they paid her. If they didn’t, she would let the whole of Kellston know about it. If they didn’t, she would take his kid away and never let him see the boy again. That’s what she was like – cruel and vengeful, the bitch from hell. But money, a few quid, a few thousand, would shut her up. Bo had begged, pleaded with him. How could he refuse? And anyway, he hadn’t wanted his private business broadcast to the world.
Blackmail – that’s what his mother had called it. Well, he’d had to get the cash from somewhere and she’d quickly figured out who’d been thieving from her. It hadn’t taken her long to get the truth out of him either. Her face loomed into his mind, her eyes flashing, her disgust and contempt as overwhelming as Greta’s. Only, his mother didn’t give a damn about his sexuality; she was just bothered about the money and the damage to her reputation if anyone found out.
‘No one blackmails this family. No one. You sort it out, you hear me? It stops right now. And you’re paying back every bloody penny.’
Except in the end she had been the one who had sorted it. Brutally. Finally. She had been the one to make sure that Bo and Greta never spoke of the incident again. Adam closed his eyes as he thought of Bo floating in the Thames, his face blown off, the breath extinguished from his beautiful body. He would never forgive her for that. She had killed the only man he had ever really loved.
Adam blinked open his eyes and slammed shut the drawer. He’d lost interest in the file now. What did it matter? He knew enough. Already he loathed and despised Maddie Layne. She reminded him too much of Greta, with her long dark hair and her wide eyes. Another woman who wanted to hurt him, to cause him damage. He was sick of the whole damn lot of them.
Needing some air, he went back to the living room, opened the French windows and stepped out on to the roof terrace. The rain was pelting down now, flying against the concrete in long, fast arrows. A rumble of thunder rolled through the air. He lifted his face to the sky and let the rain wash over it.
What was his mother doing at this very moment? She was probably discussing the Maddie Layne business with Delia Shields. That dried-up old spinster knew more about what was going on than he did. And how was that right? He thumped his fist against his thigh. It was time to find out the bloody truth – one way or another.
34
Delia Shields couldn’t sit still. She got up from the sofa again and began tidying things that didn’t need tidying. Her little two-up two-down house was a modest affair – nothing like Lena’s fancy apartment, with its panoramic views – but she was still proud of it. She wanted it to look its best for when her friend arrived.
She glanced at the clock. Ten past six. Lena was ten minutes late already. Perhaps she wasn’t coming. Her heart sank at the thought. She’d been looking forward to the visit all day. Over the years the amount of time they spent together had grown increasingly smaller but, to her at least, increasingly precious. Every word, every gesture was stored up in her mind to be taken out later and examined at length.
As she ran her hand along the smooth surface of the mantelpiece, her eyes alighted on the wedding ring. She reached out intending to touch it, but didn’t complete the action. She felt suddenly afraid, as if the gold might burn the flesh from her fingertips. The ring was a symbol of death and despair. She cursed Eli Glass for having found it, for having brought it back to her.
Delia, hearing the sound of a car, went over to the window and pulled aside the net curtain. Yes, finally, it was her. Quickly she dropped the curtain, not wanting Lena to think that
she’d been watching out for her. It was important to maintain the little dignity she had left in the relationship. What she usually got from Lena Bell – Lena Gissing – were scraps, hurried coffees, meetings often cut short by important phone calls, but perhaps today would be different.
There was the sharp click of footsteps coming up the path, followed by the light ding-dong of the bell. Delia made herself count to ten before she went to the hall and opened the door. She hated looking too keen, too eager. It made her feel as desperate as she had been as a schoolgirl to bask in Lena’s glory.
‘Hello. Come in. It’s good to see you again.’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Lena said, closing and shaking her umbrella. ‘Family problems. I never seem to get a minute to myself these days.’
Delia took the wet brolly – the rain was bucketing down now – and led her through to the kitchen, where the coffee had already percolated and was ready to drink. She opened the umbrella again and left it to dry in the corner of the room.
‘Isn’t that bad luck?’ Lena asked. ‘That’s what my mum always used to say.’
Delia smiled. ‘I hope not. We’ve had enough of that recently.’ She poured the coffee into two china cups and placed them on the tray alongside a plate of chocolate biscuits, two smaller side plates, a bowl of sugar, a jug of milk and a couple of silver teaspoons. ‘Let’s go through to the living room, shall we? It’s more comfortable there.’
Lena sat down on the green cord sofa and gave a cursory glance around the room before settling her gaze on Delia again. She watched as milk and sugar were added to the cups. ‘It’s ages since I was last here. How long is it? Must be about a year.’
Delia could have told her that it was getting on for two, but didn’t want her to think she was counting. ‘Well, you’re welcome anytime.’ She passed a cup over. ‘So, nothing too disastrous, I hope?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You said there were family problems.’
Lena pulled a face. ‘Oh, that. Yeah, just Adam giving me grief again. He’s got wind of this whole grave thing and won’t leave it alone. He’s like a dog with a bone, yapping away in my ear all the time.’
Privately, Delia believed that Adam Vasser was as psychopathic as his father. She’d disliked and distrusted him even when he’d been a child, and now, as an adult, he was a thousand times more dangerous. ‘Does he know about Cato coming out of jail?’
‘Not yet. Maybe he won’t have to.’
‘And if he comes back to Kellston?’
Lena drank some of her coffee. ‘Why would he do that? He’d have to have a death wish.’
‘But Adam knows about Maddie Layne, about the flowers on the grave? What if he talks to her? What if —’
‘Then I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’ Lena looked around the room again. ‘Where is the damn ring, anyway? It’s like a bloody boomerang. Just when I think I’ve got rid of it…’
Delia stood up and fetched the gold band from the mantelpiece. ‘Here,’ she said, quickly passing it over. ‘What are you going to do with it?’
Lena held the ring in her hand, her face looking weary suddenly. ‘Find a bin to throw it in, or the bottom of a river. Someplace, anyway, where I won’t have to set eyes on it again.’ She prodded it, nudging it across her palm. ‘The trouble with Jay Cato is that he never lets things drop. Even after all these years…’
‘He was crazy then and he’s crazy now.’
Lena dropped the ring into the back pocket of her handbag. ‘Probably.’
‘So how’s Tony?’ asked Delia, not the slightest bit interested but wanting to get the subject off Jay Cato.
‘Same as always: fat, stupid, lazy. But I suppose I’m stuck with him.’
Delia had never figured out why, when she could have had her pick of men, Lena had chosen Tony Gissing. He was an ugly brute, a villain without a single redeeming feature. It had been the shock, perhaps, of Brendan Vasser’s murder. And then the subsequent conviction of Cato for the killing. Had she turned to someone who could protect her, who could keep her safe?
Lena leaned her head back against the sofa and gave a sigh.
Delia frowned. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Not really,’ said Lena, sitting upright again. ‘He sent me a letter, you know, a year or so after he got sent down. Cato, I mean.’
‘You never said. Is he allowed to do that, write to you? I’d have thought —’
‘He didn’t send it from the jail. He got someone who was being released to post it for him.’
‘Still protesting his innocence, I suppose? Was that it? Was that what he wanted to say?’
‘No, not exactly.’
Delia had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘What, then?’
Lena fixed her blue eyes on her, her gaze oddly cool. ‘He said he’d worked it out, who it must have been. He said he was sure.’
‘The murderer?’
‘No,’ Lena said. ‘Not that. The letter wasn’t about that.’
‘Oh?’
‘He said it was your fault, that you’d done it. That you were the reason it had all gone wrong.’
Startled, Delia shifted forward, the cup clattering against the saucer in her lap. ‘What? I-I don’t understand,’ she stammered. ‘What did he mean? How could…? It wasn’t anything to do with me. He was the one who —’
‘I didn’t believe him, of course. He’s a liar. Everyone knows that. Always has been, always will be.’
Delia’s lips had gone dry, and she could feel the colour rising into her cheeks, a hot flush making her face burn. ‘Why would I…? I wouldn’t…’ But her throat had grown tight and she could barely squeeze out the words.
‘Of course you wouldn’t. Why would you want to hurt me like that?’
Delia glanced away, unable to bear Lena’s piercing gaze. It was as though she was staring right into her soul. And suddenly, as if the burden she had been carrying around for so many years was too much to bear, she felt a desperate need to confess. It was welling up inside, a surging volcano about to erupt. ‘He was never good enough for you,’ she blurted out. ‘I did you a favour.’
Lena’s voice was low and incredulous. ‘A favour? A fuckin’ favour? Is that what you call it?’
‘He was a murderer! That’s the kind of man he was. He killed your husband.’
‘You know nothing,’ Lena hissed. ‘Nothing at all.’ Her hands, clenched into two fists, lay on her thighs. Her knuckles were white. ‘You!’ she spat out as if she could still barely believe it.
Delia hadn’t wanted it to come out like this. She shouldn’t have said anything. It had been a mistake. She should have kept her mouth shut. But maybe that nugget of doubt had been in Lena’s mind for a long time, ever since she’d received the letter from Cato. And now that it was out, there was no point in holding back. ‘Someone had to stop you. Can’t you see? He was no good. It was never going to work.’
Lena pulled in her breath in an audible gasp. ‘And the alternative was better?’
Delia opened her mouth and smartly shut it again. She could see the expression on Lena’s face, a hard, cold rage that sent a shiver through her.
‘Well?’ Lena pressed.
Delia gave a small shake of her head.
Lena glared at her for a few seconds more before snatching up her bag, getting to her feet and walking out of the room.
Delia hurried after her. ‘What are you doing? Where are you going? We need to talk, Lena. You can’t just leave like this.’
Lena flung open the front door and stepped out on to the path. She turned and said, ‘Leave me alone. I have nothing to say to you, nothing at all.’
‘Lena!’
But already she was through the gate and getting into the car. Delia might have run after her if she hadn’t noticed Mrs Kent peering out of the window from the house opposite. She hesitated and in that moment the chance was lost. The MG roared into life and disappeared down the road.
Delia’s heart was
hammering as she went back inside the house and closed the door. What had she done? Lena would never forgive her. There was no going back from here. If only she had been able to explain properly. Maybe when Lena calmed down, when she… But already she knew that it was hopeless.
Automatically, she gathered up the cups and took them through to the kitchen. She ran the hot water and half filled the bowl. As she washed up, her regrets were pierced by a feeling of resentment. How come it was always about Lena? Everything was about Lena Bell, Lena Vasser, Lena Gissing. When had Lena ever stopped for one single second and thought about her?
Delia slammed a cup down on the draining board, hitting it with such force that the fine porcelain shattered in her hands. She felt the tears rise to her eyes. It had been one of her mother’s cups, part of a set that she’d kept intact for the past twenty years. And now… now suddenly everything felt broken. Leaning against the sink, she gripped the cool, smooth metal and gulped down the sobs.
35
Maddie was eating pasta with a creamy mushroom sauce, but she could have been chewing on cardboard for all the notice she was taking of it. Her thoughts were elsewhere, her mind still on the visit with Cato. What he had told her continued to spin round in her head. And even now, hours later, she wasn’t sure how much of it was true.
‘You should have called me,’ Rick said. ‘I’d have taken you over to Thornley Heath.’
‘You’ve done enough. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do with your Saturdays than play chauffeur. Anyway, it’s not that hard to get to.’
Rick twisted the long strands of spaghetti expertly round his fork. He raised the fork to his lips but paused before putting the food into his mouth. ‘So what do you think? You reckon he could be right about this blackmail scam?’
‘Hard to tell. He seemed convincing enough. The story’s credible, but…’
‘But?’
Maddie toyed with the pasta, shifting it around in the bowl. Slowly she raised her eyes to him again. ‘I suppose I just don’t want to believe it about Greta. That she could have done something like that.’
