Deadly Obsession (12 page)

‘Yeah, I know ... why was that? I would have thought you and Riley would have been mates. You are kind of similar ... I mean,
were
kind of ...' Amy's voice petered out, not knowing how to continue.

‘It all stemmed from our schooldays. When you're in the same year together and you meet someone who is just as good as you are at sports and academics and is popular with the teachers and even more so with the girls then it tends to grate slightly. I guess I was jealous.' Grant shrugged his shoulders and flashed a smile.

‘But you were what ... eleven years old when you first met? That's pretty mad to dislike someone at such a tender age.'

‘Hey. I'm an actor. Vanity is my middle name. I guess it started at an early age. Your husband was always a popular guy, especially with the ladies ... I needed to know I could beat him, compete with him.'

The mention of Riley's popularity with women pinched at Amy's skin. A vision of her husband and Lily together in bed scratched itself across her mind. As her one true love, even the thought of him with another woman brought a nasty taste to her mouth. For the briefest moment a thunderclap of emotion hurtled across Amy's mind. If Riley was alive then giving herself to Grant would be the ultimate revenge for his betrayal with Lily.

She let the thought disappear as soon as it had come, as if too wicked to contemplate. ‘I wouldn't have thought you'd have any trouble pulling.'

‘Let me tell you something. My mum and dad brought me up to believe that I would never amount to much. Even now, as a successful actor, they don't really give me any praise. It was the same at school. If I wasn't made captain of the rugby team, given the best marks for a project or first in line for a date at the school disco then I wasn't happy. I felt a failure. Dominant parents can do that to even the strongest of lads. I was determined to succeed in everything I did. I had to be number one so that my parents couldn't constantly say I'd failed. Anything less than top of the heap wasn't good enough for them, or for me. If life was to be bearable every time I went home then I had to be able to hold my head up high and be the best. Riley was the sodding thorn in my side.'

It was the first sign of vulnerability that Amy had seen in Grant. It was instantly endearing, despite the evident anger seething beneath the surface.

‘I would always try to work harder than any other classmate doing whatever it took to be number one. I studied for hours for tests, revised for weeks for exams just to make sure that I could do my best. It was the same with sports. I had to be the team captain, because vice-captain meant only one thing in my head and that was second best. It was like an addiction. For a while I was top dog. For the first two or three years of school I excelled in cricket, rugby, swimming ... you name it. The same with all of my school subjects. Then all of a sudden one name kept popping up and beating me to captain of such and such a team or top marks in one subject or another. It was always Riley Hart. It seems pathetic I know. I should have thrived on competition, but I didn't. I hated your husband throughout my entire school career and the feeling was pretty much mutual. He hated the occasions when I was number one and vice versa.'

‘And you've carried that all of your life. That's ridiculous,' scoffed Amy. ‘You and Riley didn't see each other for years after leaving school did you? Surely that rivalry was all behind you, just a boyish thing of the past.'

There was a moment's silence, Grant somehow searching for the right words. ‘Blokes are blokes. We let things fester and rot. I hadn't seen your husband for years before that night at the Kitty Kat and God knows that I wouldn't wish what happened on my worst enemy. Nobody deserves to die like that. I thought I was a goner that night too – bullets seemed to be flying everywhere, but I never liked Riley. I make no bones about it. I didn't want him to succeed when he left school and it pissed me off that he got everything passed on to him from his dad. He wanted me to fail too. Call it jealousy. My parents gave me nothing, still haven't. I've earned everything I have, had to overcome every obstacle. I don't think Riley had to fucking work for anything. I'm sorry if that's harsh but you came here for the truth, didn't you?'

Amy was keen to defend Riley – he was the man she'd married after all. Despite everything. ‘Yes, I did, but you can't choose your parents. It wasn't Riley's fault that his dad ran a successful business. No more than the fact that yours aren't as supportive as you'd like them to be. You've had the last laugh though, haven't you? You're the biggest thing on UK television. That's rubbing a rather large barrel of salt into the wounds if you ask me.'

‘I'll tell you something about your late husband, shall I Amy? He went out of his way to humiliate me many times and that's something that has scarred me for life.' Grant was shaking as he spoke. It was uncomfortable for Amy to watch.

'In our final term – we both must have been about seventeen – we were having an end of year ball. Great big thing – marquee, hog roast, New Orleans jazz band ... the works. It was going to be awesome. Every bloke wanted to be there with the fittest girl on his arm. I had my eyes on a girl called Lottie Webber. I had done for most of my final year. Captain of the netball team, best voice in the school choir, played opposite me in the school production of
Whistle Down The Wind
. There was a real spark between us. She was everything I saw in myself. She epitomised success. And she was drop dead gorgeous to boot. I wooed her, I took her out on dates, and I lost my virginity to her. She was the girl I definitely wanted to be with for that ball. Hell, she was the girl I wanted to be with, full stop.'

‘So what happened?' Amy had a feeling of foreboding that she knew where the story was headed.

‘Well, the one thing I didn't have at school was money. My parents didn't give me much in the way of pocket money so I couldn't wine and dine Lottie as she deserved. We had nights out underage drinking down the pub and we'd hang out in town but I wanted to give her more. She said she didn't mind. We planned our outfits for the ball. I borrowed a suit, Lottie bought a fancy dress – not the one she really wanted, that was way too expensive, but nice nevertheless. Everything was good. I was ready to be cock of the walk for our end of year bash.

‘Then it happened. I turned up at Lottie's house to pick her up and her folks tell me she's not there. The front room looked like a fucking florists, bunches of roses everywhere, but no sign of Lottie. Her mum told me she'd be at the ball. Too fucking right she was.' There was more than a sliver of anger creeping into Grant's voice now. Amy could only sit and listen to the inevitable conclusion.

‘I rock up at the ball, all dressed up in my borrowed finery and there she is, hanging off Riley's arm, in the dress that she'd really wanted. She couldn't even look me in the eye, but I knew what had happened. Riley had bought her with fancy flowers and the dress. I wasn't wrong. He strolls over like the big I-Am and just grins. The most idiotic, supercilious grin I'd ever seen. He didn't even really like her – he dumped her after the ball. He just wanted to beat me, to take something away from me and to stick two fingers up. I hated him ... hated him with a passion. He'd made me look a fool and that's the one thing I can't bear. My parents had made me feel like that far too often and I swore nobody else would. Riley did, so yeah, I hated him ... he was pathetic.'

‘Enough to kill him?' The words had tumbled from Amy's lips before she'd had a chance to consider them. If she could have swallowed them back then she would have.

‘Is that what you've come here to ask me? You think I might have killed your precious husband? I hated the man at school but look who's doing all right now ... despite everything.' There was a swagger in Grant's voice as he spluttered the sentence, his tone rising with his anger. ‘You honestly think I'm capable of that. For fuck's sake, Amy ...'

Amy tried to backtrack with an apology. ‘No, it's not that, it's just that some things have happened and ...' but her words were drowned out by the scraping of Grant's chair as he pushed it away from the table and stood up.

‘Just forget it ... your husband's dead, but it was fuck all to do with me, all right! He was the bane of my life in my teenage years but I've grown up since then. I'm the one on the front of the magazines, no thanks to him. I'm the one with Hollywood knocking at my door. So screw you, Amy Hart ...'

Grant stormed from the restaurant leaving an awkward Amy sitting there alone, a roomful of eyes upon her.

D
olly Townsend was sitting
in a back room at the escort agency she worked for busy talking to one of the girls who had just signed onto the agency's books. The girl, a wispy slip of a thing fresh out of school reminded Dolly of herself nearly two decades ago, full of dreams, aspirations and hopes about the future.

But at the age of thirty-five Dolly was rapidly learning that her once perfectly rounded breasts, cellulite-free thighs and peachy pert butt cheeks were not exactly as rounded, cellulite-free and peachy as they once had been. Not that Dolly was bitter, far from it, she loved her life, but something was missing ...

'I've always thought of my body as a building. One that's a multi-storey. This bit up here ...' Dolly pointed to her head. 'That's the office. That's where all of my thinking and calculating gets done. My brain takes care of all the financial business. But down here ...' She was now pointing between her legs. 'This bit is the nightclub built for fun in the basement. This is where the action happens, and it's up to me who I bring to my club if you get my drift. Always remember that you're the boss. You act as your own bouncer.'

She crossed her legs, both of them still incredibly defined and shapely. 'When I was a new kid like you, I thought life on my back would get me everything I wanted too, darling. I thought I'd be as rich and famous as Cindy Crawford or Linda Evangelista ...' The girl stared blankly at Dolly from underneath her poker-straight fringe, her ignorance of the names glaringly apparent.

'I dreamed of meeting a good man, one to take care of me and keep me on the straight and narrow. Act as landlord to my
building
if you like, to treat me good. Sadly, life doesn't always give you want you want.' She sucked on her cigarette as she talked. If there was one thing Dolly loved doing it was sharing her knowledge and experience with the younger girls. It made her feel good about the fact she sold her body for cash. 'This game can be a good one. Just don't expect it to give you everything you want overnight and always remember that you're the one in control, despite what some of the blokes you meet with might think. You are number one. It's the most important lesson I can give you, that is. Some of the blokes you meet are right arses, they think they can treat you like a piece of shit, but always remember they can't. They're the ones paying, you're the one earning. Prostitution may be a bed of depravity, and it's certainly not always a bed of roses, but it can see you good if you let it. You understand?'

'What's depravity mean?' asked the girl.

Oh dear, thought Dolly. Not the sharpest tool, but at least she was pretty. She'd do all right.

N
o
, Dolly was actually very proud of her longevity in her job. She'd been selling her money-maker since the age of sixteen. With no real qualifications to her name when she'd left school, she quickly learnt that in order to bring home the bacon she was going to have to use what God had physically given her below the neckline as opposed to above it. She had her brain, maybe not one that could balance equations and work out the logic of a split infinitive but her grey matter was sharp enough to know that her tight body and womanly curves were to be her path to a road of financial success.

No, Dolly didn't do badly at all. In fact she was one of the most respected girls on the books of the escort agency she worked for. No, who was she trying to kid? One of the most respected
women
. If a client wanted a versatile, seductive and elite experience with a
girl
then he would definitely be ordering the frothy young thing she'd just been talking to. Dolly had been there, done that, got the bruises, servicing more men than she cared to remember in her time. But she still had
it
, that was for sure ... her regulars told her so.

She was discreet, accommodating and would consider any sexual desire. Which was why at times she'd gained the bruises. Some clients could be a little heavy-handed, but those were the risks. If she'd wanted a safe life then Dolly would have led a simple existence as a shop assistant or a dinner lady like her elder sisters. Both three years older than her, but they looked thirty years her senior, stagnating in a sea of suburban hand-to-mouth existence with their two-point-four kids and husbands who lived to prop up the local bar and deliver a once-monthly shag. Welcome to Dullsville. That was definitely not for Dolly. She had always had ambition.

No, Dolly was happy with her lot ... well, she
had been
,
more or less. Maybe a little less lately if she was honest as she'd been feeling that maybe there was a little more to life than opening her legs. A lot more in fact. Other avenues to explore rather than just trying to be consistently sexy and pleasuring men for a handful of bank notes. Dolly thought that maybe it was about time she started to really use what God had given her above the neckline too. She knew she could be savvy. She wouldn't have survived so long without learning a few vital life-lessons along the way. Yes, it was time to ramp her life up a notch. She just needed to fathom out exactly how to do it ...

T
he ricochet
of the throbbing dance beat burst from the speakers as Amy and Laura writhed their bodies together on the dance floor to the feel-good lyrics of ‘When Love Takes Over' by David Guetta and Kelly Rowland. It was a joyous anthem about living life to the max and the two girls were determined to do just that. It was something that Amy had resolved to do ever since the cruel death of her parents two years before. If she'd learnt one lesson the year she'd buried her mum and dad it was that life was all too fleeting and could be taken away at any second. Life was to be celebrated. And on the dance floor of Decoupage, the girls' favourite Manchester nightspot, amongst a writhing mass of hot sweaty bodies, they were going to make sure that everybody could see just how much they wanted to celebrate.

It was a Saturday night and the girls had undertaken their usual weekend routine. Laura had driven from the Northern Quarter to Riley and Amy's house in Sale, where Riley had left them to go out to yet another business meeting. Even a weekend wasn't sacred in Riley's world. The girls had cracked open bottles of spirits to get the party started – gin and tonics and rum and cokes, making them tipsy as they applied their make-up and slipped into their skin-skimming jumpsuits and ordered a taxi to take them to Decoupage, one of Manchester's trendiest clubs. By the time the girls arrived, they would always be half-cut and fully revved up to hit the dance floor. It was Saturday night perfection and it was their time.

Despite missing Riley like crazy, Saturday night was often ladies night for the two women and Amy wouldn't have swapped the time she managed to spend with Laura for anything. They laughed, they loved and they lived. Their smiles were as bright as the laser-beams of light that shot around the club, turning the space into a riot of kaleidoscopic shades.

In between tunes the girls would head to the bar and order more drinks, the brightly coloured delights of Bacardi Breezers or fizzy apple cocktails fuelling them to sashay back onto the dance floor once more.

Laura was as keen to impress the men around her as ever. ‘Have you seen the DJ tonight? He is just delicious. Come on, we need to ramp up the sexy and dance in front of him right now. According to the posters he's a hot-shot American who's played some of New York's biggest clubs. He's doing a tour over here right now and knows people like Akon and Calvin Harris apparently. The man is a musical god and he shall be mine.'

It was true, when Laura had her sights set on a member of the opposite sex then there was nothing her poor unsuspecting prey could do to fend off her amorous Venus Flytrap ways. Not that any of them fought too hard to resist. She was a beautiful prize.

‘You are incorrigible,' teased Amy. ‘But come on then, let's sex it up on the dance floor. No man can say no to that. And for the record, do we know this DJ's name or not?'

‘Not!' deadpanned Laura. ‘And I don't care. If he's played NYC then he's big. Huger than big and I won't be satisfied until I'm rifling through his twelve inches in the DJ booth, okay!'

‘Fair enough' laughed Amy.

As ever, Laura was victorious. As she returned to Amy and Riley's house around midday on the Sunday wearing the same jumpsuit as the night before – it was the usual routine for Laura most Sundays after their girlie nights out – she sported a smile that stretched from one hooped earring to the other. She didn't have a care in the world.

Riley and Amy were sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. Amy's was black to try and fend off the clouding grogginess of her hangover.

‘Well ...?' enquired Amy.

‘His name is Blair Lonergan, he's as American as apple pie and just as tasty and he says we're welcome in the clubs of the Big Apple any time we might be Stateside,' beamed Laura.

‘And ...?' Amy knew she had to ask.

‘Yes we did, in his VIP dressing room at Decoupage. Let's just say I was granted Access All Areas and I repaid the compliment in the best way possible. And that he spun me right round like a record, baby … in every direction! The DJ one isn't the only box he can work incredibly well, put it that way! Now, I'm off for a shower.'

Riley and Amy could still hear Laura laughing raucously as the water started running.