have to tell Ruthie and Max.’
Annie put the phone down and tottered into the kitchen. She pulled out a chair and flopped at the table, head in hands. She was shaking with shock. When the front door opened she jumped, ready to run. Someone had walked right in here and hurt Eddie Carter badly. They might come back and do for the rest of them. Maybe whoever it was hated whores. Maybe they would mistake her for a whore and cut her about like that poor bastard upstairs.
She watched the kitchen door open, not daring to even breathe, waiting for God knew what horror to come and envelop her.
But it was Celia.
Annie’s breath escaped in a rush. ‘Oh God,’ she gasped.
‘What’s happening, Annie?’ asked Celia, staring at Annie’s ashen face. ‘You look like shit.’
Annie told her.
Celia sat down. ‘Did anyone see who did it?’
‘No. Nobody.’
‘Who knows about this?’
‘I phoned for an ambulance. And I phoned Mum, so that she could let Max know.’
All the life went out of Celia’s eyes. She looked blankly down at her manicured hands.
‘You let Max Carter know that his brother came to harm while he was in my house?’ she echoed quietly.
‘Celia, I had to.’
Celia nodded. ‘I’m a dead woman,’ she said.
When Annie pitched up at her mother’s door a week later, Connie tried to shut it in her face, but Annie was quick and shoved her foot in the gap. She pushed hard, forcing her mother out of the way, and strode in.
‘You’re not welcome here,’ snarled Connie.
Annie was looking around her with distaste. She hadn’t been back to this place in months. The room stank of booze and cabbage and urine, there was dust everywhere and the carpets were stained. It was the middle of the day and Connie was still in her dressing gown. It was obvious that without Ruthie’s sobering influence, Connie was sinking further into her dependency on booze.
Annie looked at her mother. Her eyes were puffy, her skin yellower than ever. There was a fag in her hand, as usual, and a vodka bottle not far away, if Annie was any judge.
‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to roll out the red carpet,’ said Annie. ‘I just want to know what’s going on, that’s all.’
‘What do you mean?’ Connie took a deep drag, squinting her pale eyes against the smoke.
‘You’ve been putting the phone down every time I’ve called. So now I’m asking you straight. How’s Eddie?’
‘Eddie Carter’s none of your fucking business.’
‘No, you’re wrong. Celia is worried sick, that makes it my business.’
‘Talk about like taking to like,’ Connie sneered. ‘She’s a tart and so are you.’
Annie gritted her teeth. ‘Just tell me about Eddie, you rotten old cow!’
In her worst nightmares Annie often revisited that awful night. Eddie bleeding like a stuck pig, Darren hysterical, Celia catatonic with shock.
But a calmness had settled over her and somehow she had taken charge. Called the ambulance, got them organized. But the minute she’d phoned Connie, other things had started to happen. Before the ambulance arrived, Gary and Steve, two of Max’s boys, had come and taken Eddie away, bundled him into the back of a car. She would never forget Eddie’s white, tortured face. The ambulance men had arrived six minutes later and so Darren took advantage of the facilities.
‘They told us two casualties,’ said the men, eyeing the bloodied empty bed with suspicion.
‘My mate legged it,’ said Darren, holding a towel to his battered face. ‘We had a fight, it was nothing.’
‘Come on then,’ said one of the men. ‘Let’s get you seen to.’
‘What the fuck did you have to go and tell Connie for?’ Celia asked when they’d gone. She still sat at the kitchen table, her hands shaking, her face blank.
‘They had to know. They’re his family.’
‘He was targeted in my house.’
‘Darren said there was another man with him. Man with a deaf aid.’
‘One of his own?’
‘Seems so.’
‘I hope for his sake he’s a long way away by now,’ said Celia. ‘That’s what I should do. Just take off.’
‘You’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘It happened in my house.’
‘Don’t keep saying that!’
‘Not saying it won’t make it go away. I’m responsible. Me. No one else. Just me.’
After that night things had gone ominously quiet and Celia had seemed to shrink into herself, become smaller somehow.
So here she was, Annie thought bitterly. Back at her dear old mum’s. Who was being a bitch – as usual.
‘Coming round here pretending you give a shit,’ she was yelling. ‘Who do you think you’re kidding?’
And maybe that was justified. Annie knew she should have called before, seen how her mother was getting on. She knew she should have contacted Ruthie long before now, too, and begged her forgiveness – grovelled if necessary – but every time she felt the impulse to get in touch the guilt kicked in and she just couldn’t face it.
‘Is he okay, that’s all I’m asking.’
‘Oh, he’s okay. Half dead, but doing just fine. She must let some scum in there, for a thing like that to happen. But what am I saying? Of course she does, the cheap whore. She let you in.’
Annie raised her hand to hit her mother as hard as she could. She wanted to wipe that pathetic, malicious smile off that drunken, shrivelled face. But she held back.
‘Go on – hit me. Is that what that whore teaches you in that place?’
Annie swallowed her anger and ignored Connie’s taunts.
‘Is he recovered?’ She let her arm drop.
‘He’s dying, you silly cow,’ spat Connie.
‘What?’
‘I’ve
