Читать книгу The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4 - Jessie Keane - Страница 50

At ten on the dot on Friday morning one of Max’s boys pulled up outside the house. Annie had been watching from the window, waiting. She hadn’t slept a wink all night. As she lay awake in bed she started to think, what if Ruthie wasn’t just arsing about drinking herself into a stupor? What if she was in trouble and needed help? Maybe she should have gone down there last night, or maybe she was just panicking over nothing.

God, she wasn’t looking forward to this.

Ruthie hated her, and it hurt like fuck.

At lunchtime Dolly put one of her favourites on the radiogram in the front room. Brian the barman was lining up bottles and polishing glasses, setting out the food the girls had prepared this morning. Dolly hummed and twirled along to Andy Williams. Smiling, she looked around; the whole room gleamed, the food looked good. Brian poured her a voddy and black, she liked that. Everything was going well.

She was happy. She was in control.

‘Hey, babe, got one of those for me?’ asked Aretha, coming in wearing black PVC thigh boots and a white plastic bikini.

Brian poured her a shot.

‘Everything ready?’ Aretha asked Dolly.

‘Yep.’

‘What crap’s that you’ve got playing? Girl, ain’t you heard of the Stones? This stuff is just gone, Dolly.’

‘It’s a classic, Aretha.’

And then the bell rang, and they were on.

It was a good party. There were a few gentlemen from the Horse Guards, nice, fit, muscular men who had been recommended by friends and family. Dolly’s was the place to be for fun. Experienced men loved the diversity of the girls here. Young innocents were brought here by their fond papas to be properly introduced to the arts of love.

Ellie set to work with two of the Guards upstairs. Darren had one of his regular politicians, and Aretha was doling out severe punishment to a High Court judge. Two of the new girls were going at it like good ’uns with a couple of the older clients in the front room – the stairs were difficult for them, poor old sods – while Dolly circulated and made sure everyone was happy. Chris was on duty at the door. Brian was mixing drinks and keeping a deadpan face on him, as ordered. Annie had cleared off somewhere, Dolly didn’t know where. Everything was fine – until Pat Delaney showed up.

Dolly didn’t like Pat Delaney. She wondered if anyone did. He was a creep. Annie reckoned he’d been passing stuff around at a couple of the parties. She’d told Redmond about it, apparently, but Redmond hadn’t brought Pat into line. If Redmond couldn’t do it, they sure as fuck couldn’t. You didn’t cross a Delaney. It would be madness.

So she greeted him politely while he sneered at her and glared at Chris.

‘It’s the new Queen of Tarts,’ he said with a laugh. ‘Where’s the old one then? Busy upstairs, is she?’

‘If you mean Annie, she’s out,’ said Dolly.

‘Shame,’ said Pat. He was swaying on his feet and sweating. His eyes looked odd. He was high as a kite, Dolly realized with a sinking feeling. ‘I like a high-class cunt like her.’

Suppressing an expression of disgust, Dolly guided him into the front room, throwing a look back at Chris. Watch him, she mouthed. Chris nodded.

‘What can we get you to drink, Mr Delaney?’ asked Brian.

‘You a poof? You look like one,’ said Pat.

Brian flushed brick red.

‘Mr Delaney likes whisky,’ said Dolly quickly, and Brian poured him a Bell’s.

Pat reeled away with his drink and collapsed on to the sofa, nearly landing on one of the girls and a frail old gent.

‘Watch it!’ complained the girl.

‘Fuck off out of the way, you filthy whore,’ said Pat icily.

The girl took one look in Pat’s eyes and scrabbled up, dragging her old gentleman with her, his trousers still at half-mast. They fell to his ankles and he clawed at them, embarrassed. Pat let out a shout of laughter.

‘Everything okay?’ asked Darren, coming down the stairs with his client and seeing Dolly’s face as she stood in the front-room doorway.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. And then she noticed that Chris wasn’t in his seat any more.

Annie let herself into the Surrey place. There was no sign of Ruthie’s minder. She looked around at the great dark barn of a hallway and the big sweep of the staircase and heard only silence.

Christ, the place was huge. She thought of Ruthie living here, all alone. She must be going out of her head.

‘Ruthie!’ Annie called.

There was no answer.

She went through to the drawing room; empty, the fire unlit. She wandered through the whole ground floor, checked the kitchens, calling Ruthie’s name with increasing exasperation. Then she traipsed up the stairs and repeated the exercise, feeling more anxious with every step she took.

‘Ruthie! Where the hell are you?’

She pushed open three bedroom doors and found only emptiness beyond. She opened the fourth, and there was Ruthie, slumped fully dressed across the bed, boxes and clothes scattered around her. The nearly empty voddy bottle and the glass were there too.

‘Oh Jesus – Ruthie!’

Annie hurried to her side, her innards twisting with guilt as she saw Ruthie lying there drunk – drunk because she was miserable, and why was she miserable? Because of what she had done to her.

‘Oh, Ruthie, no,’ she moaned, snatching up Ruthie’s cold hand. ‘No, don’t do this …’

And then she saw the pill bottles. Lots of them.

The clients were leaving like rats from a sinking ship. Not that Dolly blamed them. Pat Delaney was insulting everyone, laughing at their elderly gents, asking the Guards why they had to pay for it, couldn’t they get a woman to look at them, or did they just shag their precious horses?

‘You mouthy Irish bastard,’ snarled one, and Dolly had to step in quick.

‘Ah, you think you’d like a bit of me, do you, you poncy toy soldier?’ mocked Pat, downing tablets as he spoke.

‘Let’s all calm down,’ said Dolly, wondering where the fuck Chris was when you needed him. ‘Let’s all have a drink together and be friends, okay?’

‘I’m not drinking with him,’ said the Guard, shrugging into his shirt and stuffing it into his trousers. And he left.

‘You’re driving my clients away, Mr Delaney,’ said Dolly mildly.

‘Like I give a feck,’ said Pat. He reeled off to the toilet and came back again. ‘Another drink over here, poof-features,’ he said to Brian as he fell back on to the sofa in the rapidly emptying front room.

Dolly nodded to Brian. Best to give the sod all the drink he wanted, she thought. The sooner he passed out cold, the better. Then she’d just get some of Redmond’s boys to carry him out and take him home. No good waiting for Chris to put in an appearance. Chris was no fool. Rather than get into a ruck with Pat and make a vicious and powerful enemy, he was keeping out of it. Dolly couldn’t blame him for that. But all the Guards were gone now. It was starting to get dark outside, and the extra girls were making going-home noises. Brian was packing up too. Soon there would be just her and Ellie and Aretha and Darren alone with Pat Delaney, and that wasn’t a cheering thought.

‘Come on, Ruthie. Don’t arse about, you’re scaring me.’

Annie was patting her sister’s cheek whilst feeling the sickness rise in her own stomach. She was sweating all over, the fear squeezing her in a tight vice-like grip. Jesus, she’d slit her own wrists if the stupid cow was dead. She felt Ruthie’s scrawny neck and thank God, there was a pulse. She was breathing. She was alive. Her eyes flickered open.

‘Oh thank fuck for that,’ gasped Annie, and hauled her sister into a sitting position.

Ruthie moaned. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back.

‘No, Ruthie. Come on.’

Fuck, this was bad, really bad. She’d known Ruthie was unhappy, but she had no idea she was low enough to try and finish it. Annie felt her guts twist with guilt. This was all her fault. What had she been thinking of, getting involved with Max? And poor Ruthie had been closer to Mum than she herself had ever been, she must have been feeling the loss of Connie so much more than her. Annie should have been here for her, she should have made sure she was all right.

Ah, but you felt too guilty even to look your sister in the eye, didn’t you? mocked a voice in her head. If there was damage done, you didn’t want to see it, did you?

Which was true enough.

Annie ran down the stairs to the kitchen. She put the kettle on to boil, then she flung open cupboards and found the salt. She ran water into a glass tumbler, spooned salt into it, and raced back up the stairs. Ruthie was still lying there, her eyes open and gazing glassily at the ceiling. Annie hauled her up again. Ruthie moaned and muttered in protest.

‘Come on Ruthie. Drink up,’ said Annie, and held the glass to her sister’s lips.

It must have tasted foul. Ruthie’s face screwed up and she started to gag. Annie held her nose. Water sputtered on to the counterpane and all down the front of Ruthie’s dress, but a lot went down her throat. Ruthie pushed weakly against Annie as she made her down every drop of the vile-tasting liquid.

‘Oh you … you bitch …’ gasped Ruthie, and then she started to retch.

‘That’s it,’ said Annie. ‘Let’s get it up,’ she said, patting Ruthie’s back. Her shoulder-blades were like knives poking through her skin.

I did that to her, thought Annie.

‘You bitch,’ groaned Ruthie again, and began to heave.

Vomit splattered out over the carpet.

‘That’s it,’ said Annie, as the smell and the mess erupted out of her.

Ruthie heaved again, and more came.

‘God, I hate you, you bitch, you bloody whore,’ whimpered Ruthie as drool hung from her lips.

Annie put a hand on Ruthie’s brow. She was sweaty and white, but hopefully she’d got whatever she’d taken out of her system.

Ruthie spat and wiped a shaking hand across her mouth. She looked at Annie, focused on her for the first time. ‘You utter cow,’ she said.

Annie went back downstairs and made strong coffee. She found cloths and a bowl and filled it with sudsy water. Then she took the whole lot back upstairs.

Ruthie was perched on the edge of the bed now, looked disgustedly at the floor. Annie handed her a mug of strong black coffee.

‘Drink,’ she ordered.

‘I bet you’re bloody enjoying yourself,’ accused Ruthie, wet-eyed and shaking. She clasped the mug of coffee.

‘Drink it up or I’ll hold your nose and pour it down you,’ said Annie, getting to work on cleaning up the mess.

‘Cow.’

By the time Annie had disposed of all the stuff Ruthie had sicked up, Ruthie was halfway through the coffee. Annie stood up.

‘Come on now, on your feet.’

‘Oh, just leave, will you? I didn’t ask you to come here,’ said Ruthie weakly.

‘I said on your feet,’ said Annie, and grabbed the mug and put it aside. She pulled Ruthie up with an arm around her waist and walked her up and down beside the bed, with Ruthie all the while pouring curses in her ear.

‘Call me a whore, call me what you like, just keep walking,’ said Annie.

Ruthie staggered at first. Annie had to use all her strength to hold her up. But after a few steps Ruthie seemed to regain her equilibrium, and that was when the cursing really kicked in. When Ruthie could stand alone, Annie let go and poured out more coffee and thrust it at her sister.

‘I hate you, Annie Bailey,’ said Ruthie.

‘Hate away,’ said Annie. ‘Drink the bloody coffee and tell me what the fuck you were trying to do. Were you trying to kill yourself?’

‘Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you,’ said Ruthie. ‘Me out of the way and you left with Max.’

‘I told you. It’s over, me and Max. Drink that fucking coffee or I mean it, I’ll force it down you.’

Ruthie pulled a face but drank the coffee.

‘It’s over,’ reiterated Annie.

‘Sure it is,’ mocked Ruthie. ‘It’ll never be over, you and him. I’ve seen the way he reacts to the sight of you. I saw it at poor Eddie’s funeral. Oh yes, I saw you. It’ll only be over when they shovel him into the ground, don’t you know that?’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘Ah, you don’t like the thought of that?’ Ruthie crowed. ‘And you said it was over? Tell me another.’

‘You know, I think you were nicer when you were spark out on the bed,’ said Annie. ‘You finished that coffee?’

‘There.’ Ruthie presented the empty mug like a triumphant child. ‘Pleased now, you bossy bitch?’

Annie went to the window and opened it, letting in an icy wind to blow away the stink. She gathered up the remaining pill and vodka bottles then put the empty mug on the tray with the sodden cloths and the bowl.

‘Get yourself washed and changed,’ said Annie. ‘I’m going to clear this lot away. I’ll see you down in the drawing room. Get a move on.’

Annie was almost surprised when half an hour later Ruthie appeared in a clean dress, with her face washed and her hair neatly combed. She looked pale, but okay.

Annie sat on the couch and Ruthie sat opposite. Annie saw Ruthie’s eyes go to the drinks cabinet, but she didn’t get herself a drink or offer Annie one.

‘Why’d you do it, Ruthie?’ asked Annie urgently. ‘Were you trying to top yourself?’

Ruthie dropped her head into her hands. Suddenly she looked haggard and ten years older than she actually was. ‘I was just trying to get some sleep last night, that’s all. I don’t sleep well. I took some pills of Eddie’s, then I wondered if I had taken enough to make me sleep so I took a few more, and I drank a bit, then I don’t remember anything else until you started slapping me about this morning. I wasn’t trying to top myself, I really wasn’t. But I hate this place, it’s so lonely. Since Eddie’s gone it’s got even worse. There’s no one here to talk to and I’m forever in the shadow of the sainted Queenie. Max is never here. When he is, he never talks to me.’

Max hated drunks, Annie knew that. To see his own wife smashed out of her face every day would drive him up the wall. But she couldn’t get over the fact that it was Max and herself who had done this to Ruthie. Would she have become a bloody drunk if Max was a better husband, and if she had been a better sister to the poor cow? Annie doubted it.

‘Ruthie,’ said Annie carefully, ‘there must still be something between you?’

For a moment Ruthie’s eyes showed only raw pain.

‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘We don’t have sex. We don’t even talk.’

And I shouldn’t feel happy about that, thought Annie. But she did and she hated herself for still feeling that tug of attraction to such a bastard. Now here was her chance to make amends for the hurt she had inflicted on the sister she loved, and she was determined to take it.

‘Ruthie … I promise you it’s all over. I never wanted this to happen. Let me help you, please.’

Ruthie stared at her with hostile eyes.

‘What, are you going to show me your whoring tricks? Show me what you and my bloody husband have been up to?’

‘No! I didn’t mean that and you know it.’

‘Well I don’t need any help from a whore like you, Annie.’

Annie jumped to her feet and stood there glaring down at Ruthie. ‘Stop calling me that!’

‘What? Whore? Why not? It’s what you are, after all.’ Ruthie stood up too and stood nose to nose with her sister. ‘Whore!’

Annie slapped her hard across the face.

Ruthie reeled back and fell on to the couch, clutching at her cheek.

‘Oh God.’ Annie was instantly contrite. ‘I didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry.’

‘Just get out,’ said Ruthie, her eyes full of tears. ‘Get out!’

Annie’s shoulders slumped. ‘All right. I’ll go. You know, you’ll only get so many chances with me, Ruthie. I can’t just go on and on apologizing for ever. It wasn’t my idea to come here anyway, it was Max who sent me. He was worried because you weren’t answering the phone to Kath.’

Ruthie stiffened.

‘I thought you said it was over, you lying cow,’ said Ruthie.

‘It is.’ Annie threw her arms wide in frustration. God, she just couldn’t seem to get through to Ruthie, no matter how hard she tried.

‘What, having cosy little chats about me? When did he talk to you, when you were tucked up in bed together, was that it? Just get out of my house!’