Ruthless - [13]

‘Hello,’ said the female voice at the other end. Bowie was singing ‘Let’s Dance’ very loudly in the background. ‘Hold on, let me just put the wood in the hole…’

‘Doll?’ There was a pause while Dolly shut the door.

‘OK, right.’ Bowie was muted now. ‘That’s better. Annie? How’s it going?’

‘Layla’s home.’

‘How is she?’

‘Fine.’

‘How’s her dad?’

‘Also fine, I suppose.’ Annie drew in a shuddering breath. ‘It’s no good, is it, Doll. This is how it’s going to be, from here until eternity. She hates me.’

‘I told you. She don’t hate you, not really. She’s pissed off with you, that’s all.’

‘She’s seventeen. She’s not a child any more. She ought to be able to understand things a bit better now, but she sodding well refuses to. It’s not bloody fair. He was the one who acted like an idiot, and I get all the grief.’

‘Tea at the Ritz on Thursday, don’t forget. Our usual. Ellie’s tagging along.’

Dolly and Ellie had become her personal team of cheerleaders since the divorce. Every time she’d stumbled, they picked her up again. She loved them both, very much.

Annie heaved a sigh. ‘Yeah. That’ll be nice.’

There was a tap at the door as Annie put the phone down. Layla opened the door, poked her head around it.

‘I’m going out,’ she said.

But you only just got in formed itself in Annie’s brain. She bit back the words. Forced a smile.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Dinner’s at eight… you need some money?’

‘Yeah.’

Yeah, of course you do, thought Annie. That’s all I am to you, the Bank of Mum. She opened the top drawer of the desk, pulled out a bundle of fivers, then stood up and went over to the door.

‘Thanks,’ said Layla, pocketing the cash.

‘See you at eight,’ said Annie, thinking, Other daughters kiss their mothers goodbye. Other daughters hug their mums and buy them little gifts and go shopping with them. Not mine.

Layla withdrew, closing the door.

Annie tried to console herself, but Layla’s return and the realization that things hadn’t changed, the fear that they would never change, made her feel depressed. It was a new year, another fucking year, and the same old scenario.

She told herself firmly that it was fine, they would meet up later; Rosa had cooked something special and they would have a chance to chat then. But Annie could feel desperation taking hold. Three years on from the divorce, and still she was getting the cold shoulder. She had, somehow, to reconnect with Layla, and starting tonight, she promised herself she was going to try harder.

But she never got the chance.

Layla didn’t come home until gone ten, so Annie had to eat dinner alone.

13

Ireland, 1973

Months had passed and Megan’s baby was due to drop. Rather than settling her, the imminent arrival of their first child was making her more edgy.

‘It’s the feckin’ hormones,’ said Rory, sitting on the side of Rufus’s bed upstairs. He grinned. ‘She’s a head case. Can’t think of anything but babies, nursery curtains and nappies.’

‘Not bad things to be thinking about,’ said Rufus with a sigh. He’d never had a serious woman in his life. He’d had a boyhood crush on his cousin Orla, ferocious in its intensity. He could still remember the way he’d felt about her. But they’d lost touch over the years.

He was feeling better now, almost recovered. A little weak, his left arm stiff, but he was well enough to get up during the day, retiring early to bed. Since Megan had marked his card, he’d been careful not to step outside in the garden, high fences or no.

He was lying low. He knew his presence made Megan nervous. And Rory too, if he was honest. If Big Don discovered him here, they would all suffer. He thought of Pikey, the poor little fool, dying in that horrible way before he’d gotten the chance to grow older and wiser. It tormented him.

‘I want to see a priest,’ he said. ‘Light a candle for Pikey. Make my confession.’

‘You can’t,’ said Rory, his face draining of colour at the thought of it. He was all too aware of Don’s reputation. Rufus had screwed over a man who would never forget, never forgive. He reckoned Don would hunt Rufus until his dying day. He couldn’t tell Rufus that, and he wondered if Rufus knew it. He was acting as if he didn’t. Or as if he didn’t care. But Rory had a pregnant wife, he had Megan. He had to stop this. ‘The neighbours are going berserk with curiosity as it is, wondering who we’ve got in here. You daren’t go out.’

‘Still, I’d like to.’ Rufus felt uneasy at what had happened. He felt responsible for Pikey’s unhappy end, and killing Pardew had been a sin after all. He knew it was stupid, but he’d always been the same. He was Catholic, even if he was a crook. He needed to make his peace with God.

‘We’ll see, OK?’ Rory said quickly. ‘See how you feel in a week or so. Then, if we can, we’ll sort something out.’

Rory went off downstairs, clutching his head as he entered the front room. ‘Shit,’ he said forcefully.

‘What is it?’ Megan glanced up from the sofa.

Rory looked at his wife. She was still pretty, huge with the child though she was. His sweet Megan. He felt a surge of love for her, felt the need to protect her.