Dirty Game (9 page)

‘She left this for you,’ said Ellie. She gave Dolly a scathing look. ‘Dolly was going to rip it up.’

‘Grass,’ spat Dolly.

‘Open the thing, we’ve been dying to know what she says,’ said Aretha.

‘I was going to steam it open,’ confessed Darren.

‘What stopped you?’ asked Annie.

‘Ellie said she’d tell.’

Annie nodded. Ellie would always tell. Dolly would always be stroppy, and Darren would always be sweetly reasonable. As for Aretha … Annie thought she wanted watching. Aretha was the expert on supplying the needs of their kinkier clients, there was a dark side to her temperament. All these things she had learned. She tore open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. It said:

Annie read it twice, the breath catching in her throat, a thousand thoughts running through her head. Celia, gone. Celia who had taken her in and given her a home when the rest of the world had spat at her. It didn’t seem real somehow. And she didn’t want to even think about this place without her, it would be empty, soulless.

She passed the letter to Darren. He read it, and passed it to Aretha. She passed it to Ellie, then Dolly, who looked ready to explode.

‘I’m not taking fucking orders off you,’ she told Annie.

Annie felt bereft. She’d become so close to Celia, and her presence was going to be sorely missed. But she couldn’t blame her for putting some distance between herself and the Carters. Eddie sounded really bad, and what if the worst – God forbid – happened? Celia would be up shit creek, no doubt about it. Celia had done the wise thing. But Annie was going to miss her like a limb.

Annie took a deep, calming breath. All right, so Celia was gone and God knew for how long. But she owed her everything, and it was up to her to make sure that Celia could return to a going concern, not a washout.

‘You don’t have to take orders from me,’ said Annie.

Dolly looked at her. ‘I should bloody-well think not,’ she huffed.

‘You can fuck off out of here right now, if you want to.’

Dolly’s rosebud mouth fell open. Darren, Aretha and Ellie sat rigid with shock.

‘You
what
?’

Dolly stood up, knocking her chair over with a clatter.

‘Are you deaf as well as stupid?’ asked Annie, giving her a hard stare. ‘Celia’s put me in charge and I’m going to do the right thing by her. If that means losing your services, fair enough. Bugger off then. If you want to stay, you can put the kettle on and fucking-well button it, okay?’

 Ellie would always squeal. Annie knew it. So she wasn’t surprised when Pat Delaney called in person a few days later. Ellie was the Delaneys’ inside source, she knew it. She handed him the usual wad, and he pocketed it thoughtfully.

‘I hear there’s been trouble,’ he said, making himself comfortable at the table.

Annie nodded coolly. As powerfully as she had taken to Kieron on first sight, his older brother Pat repulsed her. He had a big leery face and was busy looking her over, but he was a Delaney. Although she didn’t want to, she had to give him some respect. Of course the Delaneys were supposed to make sure there was no trouble, although you wouldn’t know it judging by what had happened to Eddie and Darren.

‘There has,’ she agreed, sitting down opposite so he’d take his eyes off her legs for a minute. Darren and Ellie and Dolly were upstairs; Aretha was out. I’m in charge here now, she thought, and tried to remember it.

‘A client was attacked here,’ said Annie.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Pat, obviously not meaning it.

‘Yeah, it is,’ agreed Annie. ‘He was an important one.’

‘I heard that shirt-lifter Carter got slit,’ said Pat with a grin.

‘Celia didn’t want any trouble with the Carters. Neither do I, and she left me in charge.’

‘And you are … ?’

‘I’m Annie Bailey, Celia’s niece.’ Annie pushed Celia’s letter across the table to him. Her heart was thumping and her mouth was dry, but she kept up the cool front.

Pat read the note then looked up. ‘You think you can run this place?’ he asked, and his eyes said he found this funny.

‘I know I can. I’ve learned the ropes from Celia.’

‘I could put a manager in,’ said Pat.

‘Celia didn’t want that. She wanted me to take over.’

Pat eyed the girl carefully. Annie was a real beauty. And he was in a position of power here.

‘And you want to do that?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She didn’t
want
to. But she owed Celia big-time. Okay, she hadn’t seen herself running a knocking shop, but if that’s what she had to do, then fuck it, she’d do it.

‘Well, I don’t know if you’ll be suitable,’ said Pat with a smile. ‘So shut the door and come and give me a nice blow job, and I’ll consider it.’

Annie’s heart nearly stopped in her chest. She’d been afraid of this. But she kept her voice steady and her gaze direct. ‘I’m not a working girl, Mr Delaney. Like my Aunt Celia I run the show, I don’t perform in it.’

They locked eyes.

‘Ellie or Dolly would be pleased to oblige. On the house, of course.’

Pat smiled and stood up. ‘No thanks, girly. I wouldn’t touch any of the scuzzy old whores in this cathouse. We’ll leave it at that for now. But if you fuck up, watch out.’

‘Understood,’ said Annie, feeling nauseous as he passed her chair and left the room. She didn’t relax until she heard the front door close behind him. Then she slumped on to the table, head in hands.

‘How is he?’ asked Max from the shadows as Ruthie came out of Eddie’s room, pulling the door gently closed behind her.

Ruthie put a hand to her chest. ‘Not good,’ she said. Funny how her husband always made her jump. They should be easy with each other, like any other married couple, but they tiptoed around one another like strangers. Eight months they’d been married, and they barely knew each other.

Max stepped forward so that she could see his face.

‘The nurse is just changing the dressings,’ she told him.

‘He’s had the best care,’ said Max.

‘I don’t know. I think he should be in hospital.’ Ruthie looked at Max. She knew Max had pet doctors, the very best, who owed him or were afraid of him. So Eddie had received the best possible care.
But his condition didn’t seem to be improving. His wounds hadn’t healed. The nurse and now the doctors were looking nervous and talking about possible blood poisoning. The knife could have been dirty, but then Eddie had been stabbed in the dirtiest possible place. Faecal matter could have added to the risk of infection, that was what the doctors had told them, looking at her with nervous eyes. She’d shaken their hands, wet with fear of what would happen if they failed to get Eddie Carter well again.

‘He’s staying here, at home,’ said Max.

‘Max …’

‘I don’t want to hear any more about it.’

‘He’s unconscious. Feverish.’

‘That’ll pass. He’s a tough little bastard.’

‘I hope so.’

‘For fuck’s sake, go and pour us both a brandy, will you?’ Max was irritated with her. She’d lost what little looks she’d had. She was skinny, her hipbones stuck out and her tits were gone. Her hair looked like straw. Her face was thin, like she’d been sucking bloody lemons. Her clothes had cost him a fortune, but she looked like shit in them. On the rare – almost non-existent – occasions that he attempted to fuck her, she reacted like he was a filthy rapist fresh from the sewers. There was no sign of a kid on the way. And now she was nagging him about Eddie, trying to get him to send him to some fucking clinical hell-hole to die.

‘You ought to go in and see him in a minute,’ said Ruthie.

‘I will, when she’s finished in there.’ In fact, he hated going into his brother’s sickroom now. The stench in there was horrible – the smell of mortal sickness. But he had a duty to Eddie. He had to go through it, because Eddie was going through it. Jonjo was no fucking use. If anyone was sick, Jonjo was nowhere to be seen. He just kept ranting about getting the bastard who’d done Eddie, and he’d given Deaf Derek the pasting of his life for taking Eddie to the parlour where it had happened. All of which was no use anyway. Ruthie was right. Eddie was in a very bad way.

They went downstairs to the drawing room and drank brandy. Max hadn’t the heart for Mozart at the moment. Only the
Requiem
would be appropriate anyway.

‘Gordon said he saw you in the annexe last week,’ said Max, sitting down heavily on the sofa.

Ruthie started guiltily. ‘I just had a look in,’ she said, hugging herself in front of the fire.

‘Don’t.’

‘What do you mean, “don’t”? I had a look inside. It’s a lovely little place, I could decorate it out and make some use of it.’

‘Decorate this house,’ said Max flatly, downing the brandy. ‘Leave that one alone.’

‘What, leave it as a shrine to the sainted
Queenie?’ Ruthie snapped, smarting from his rebuke.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ Max lobbed his glass at the fireplace. It shattered loudly, and spatters of brandy made the fire crackle and roar. ‘Don’t give me bloody earache, Ruthie, don’t you think I’ve got enough to be going on with? My brother’s upstairs at death’s door, and you want to cunting-well redecorate?’

Ruthie went pale. ‘I’m just saying.’

‘Well
don’t
fucking-well say.’ Max jumped to his feet and grabbed her arms and shook her. Her brandy glass dropped with a splatter on to the carpeted floor. ‘Leave the fucking annexe alone. Keep out of there. Make yourself busy. Other women do. Why not you?’

‘Maybe because other women are happy with their husbands,’ flung Ruthie.

‘Jesus, not this again.’

‘Maybe because their husbands don’t
fuck
their bride’s
sister
on the night before their
wedding
,’ shrieked Ruthie.

‘Um.’ The nurse tapped awkwardly on the half- open door. She had coloured up on walking into the middle of a row. She radiated agitation. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr and Mrs Carter. I think we should have the doctor over, quickly.’

Max was halfway up the stairs before she had even finished speaking. He burst into Eddie’s room
and ran over to the bed. Eddie was tossing about on the pillows. His face was flushed, he was wet through with sweat. His eyes were open and he saw Max there. God, thought Max with revulsion – the stink in here.

‘Max,’ croaked Eddie.

‘I don’t think he should be speaking too much,’ said the nurse, wringing her hands. ‘He’s very weak.’

‘Phone the doctor, Ruthie,’ said Max, dismissing her. Ruthie left the room. ‘Give us a moment,’ said Max to the nurse.

‘I don’t think I should …’

‘Fuck off out of it,’ said Max fiercely.

The nurse went.

‘I’ve been thinking about things, Max,’ said Eddie.

‘What things?’ asked Max, holding Eddie’s hand in both of his.

‘I think the Delaneys done me because of Tory Delaney dying like he did,’ said Eddie.

‘No, Eddie. That’s not true.’

‘Yes it is. It’s poetic bloody justice.’

Max stared at the wreckage of his brother, his hair slick with grease and sweat, his skin erupting. The weight falling off him. The stench.

‘That night I buried the gun for you … did you do it? Did you shoot Tory Delaney? Everyone thinks you did.’

Max took a breath. ‘No,’ he said.

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not lying, you berk. Why would I lie to you?’

‘You let me think you shot Tory Delaney, because of Mum,’ panted Eddie.

‘Maybe I did. But as God’s my witness, on Mum’s grave, I didn’t shoot Tory Delaney.’

‘Then who the fuck did?’

‘He had a lot of enemies.’

‘Yeah, mostly you.’

‘I didn’t do it, Eddie. I’ll tell you what I did, shall I?’

‘I know you fired the gun. I took it out and smelled it. It had been fired.’

‘You remember there was a break-in in the annexe, and Mum was there and her heart gave out with the fright of it.’

‘I’ll never forget it.’

‘Well I found the ones who did it. They were two nobodies from the sticks, the Bowes brothers. They’d been paid by the Delaneys.’

‘They confessed?’

‘Yes, Bruv. Before they died.’ Max’s eyes blazed with the memory. ‘I traced their uncle who ran the pub where they drank. My boy down at Smithfield made the uncle talk, and he fingered his nephews. Not that he had many fucking fingers left at the end of it. So the night Tory Delaney died, the night
before I married Ruthie, I was busy. I was conducting a bit of business with the Bowes scum.’

‘You shot them?’ gasped Eddie.

Max nodded.

Eddie gave a weird little laugh. ‘Then … oh fuck me, this is almost funny … I’m dying for nothing.’

‘You’re not dying,’ said Max. ‘Put that right out of your head.’

‘Sure.’ Eddie gave a faint smile and lay back. Max stared at Eddie’s face and felt the tightness in his throat, the ache in his belly. He’d never cried in his life, but seeing Eddie like this really hurt him. If this was the Delaneys, he’d rip their fucking heads off one by one.

Then suddenly pus was coming out of Eddie, out of every orifice it seemed. Pouring from his nose, ears, mouth, even – Jesus – from his eyes. Max sprang off the bed with a cry of disgust and roared for the nurse to come. She did, and shooed him away. Ruthie stood in the doorway biting her knuckle to stop herself from screaming at the sight before her. Eddie was convulsing, it seemed to go on for hours but it was seconds, just seconds. Then he was still. The nurse was pounding at his chest, but it was too late for that, Max knew it was too late for anything.

Eddie was dead.

 ‘I’ve decided to open up the front room,’ said Annie to the girls and Darren as they sat with her around the kitchen table. She’d been at Celia’s place for nearly nine months now, and it was starting to feel like home, like
her
place.

‘Celia never used that room,’ said Dolly, tapping fag ash into an ashtray and taking another deep drag. ‘She kept it for best.’

Trust Dolly to put forward reasons why not. ‘I know that,’ said Annie. ‘But I’ve had an idea. I’m going to do it up and throw monthly parties in there.’

‘Parties?’ Darren looked blank. His shiners were almost gone now, Annie saw. He was back to his good-looking self, ready to work again.

‘Parties for the discerning clientele,’ said Annie. She’d been awake half the night thinking this through. ‘We’ll charge a fee on the door. A steep
one, to keep out the riff-raff and the youngsters, they’re always trouble. We’ve got plenty of established clients, we don’t even need to advertise, they’ll pass it on word of mouth.’

‘You’d have to watch the parking outside,’ said Ellie, pouring more tea and diving into the biscuit tin again. ‘Celia always worried about that. She was very careful not to upset the neighbours.’

‘We’ll tell our clients to park around the surrounding streets. They usually do anyway when they come here, they don’t want to draw attention to themselves any more than we do. Go easy on those biscuits, Ellie, you’re getting an arse on you.’

Ellie blushed and put the biscuit back.

‘I don’t see why we can’t just carry on as before,’ said Dolly, smirking at Ellie. ‘It worked for Celia, why go changing things around?’

‘When Celia comes back …’ began Annie.

‘You mean
if
, girl,’ said Aretha.

‘
When
Celia comes back she’s going to find this place humming along like a fucking Rolls-Royce.’ Annie looked around at her little gang of workers. ‘We still offer the massages and the personal services, should our clients require them.’

Dolly smirked at Darren now. ‘Bad luck, Darren, you’ve got to keep putting postcards in the post-office window. That ugly bloke in there fancies you something rotten.’

‘In his
dreams
,’ sniffed Darren.

‘Just don’t bend down to pick up your paper,’ said Dolly.

‘Last time he asked me to go into the back room with him,’ said Darren with a shudder. ‘Said he needed a hand lifting some heavy boxes.’

‘Whatever he was thinking of lifting, I don’t think it was boxes, honey,’ said Aretha with a big grin.

‘Aretha will put the ads in, she’ll be safe enough,’ said Annie. ‘I’ve reworded them a bit. How’s this? French polishing carried out with discretion and skill. And the phone number. And this one with the flute lessons, we’ll put one of those in too.’

The assembled company looked at the cards and nodded begrudging approval. Everyone on the street knew that French polishing indicated chargeable sexual favours, and that flute lessons were blowjobs.

‘We’ll have themed parties,’ said Annie. ‘Lay on booze and food, music on the radiogram, it’ll be good. Any questions?’

She waited for the protests to come. Who are you to give orders? What makes you think you can just take charge here? But, much to her surprise, nobody said a word. She couldn’t quite believe it.

And what if she’d got it wrong? What if the party idea was no good?

They’d laugh their bollocks off at her and she knew it.

The phone was ringing in the hallway. ‘Okay then, that’s all for now,’ she said, and went out into the hall.

Annie watched them go upstairs and then snatched up the phone. ‘Hello?’

‘Tell me you’d consider a nude sitting. Just one,’ said Kieron.

‘No.’

‘Heartless cow. I’ve an exhibition in two months and it needs a centrepiece, and that centrepiece has to be you in all your glory, how about it?’

‘No.’

‘I told you, the money’s good.’

‘I don’t need the money, Kieron, I’ve got another job.’

‘Then do it as a favour to a pal. Come
on
, Annie. It’ll be the ruin of the exhibition without it. Am I to tell Redmond or Pat that you aren’t co-operating with my requests, is that it?’

Annie’s good-natured smile vanished. ‘That isn’t funny, Kieron.’

‘Sorry. Forgive me, but you’re talking to a desperate man. Come on. You’ll be safe. I’ve no desire to jump on your lovely bones.’

Why not?
Annie wondered, feeling affronted. She knew he was speaking the truth. He wouldn’t abuse the situation. She wondered if she’d mind
if he did. She hadn’t even thought about sex since that one night with Max. Ah, not true, she’d thought about sex with Max over and over again.

‘I’d be embarrassed,’ said Annie.

‘Think of me like a doctor. I’m not eyeing you up, I’m painting you, for fuck’s sake. Ah, come on. Didn’t I show you the other day that you can trust me?’

Annie wasn’t so sure about that. He’d looked really riled up when she’d left the studio last time. But maybe he’d only been playing with her.

‘Kieron, I’m really busy. Maybe Pat’s told you I’m looking after Celia’s place for her?’

‘I don’t talk to Pat if I can help it,’ said Kieron. ‘You sure you know what you’re doing?’

There was real concern in his voice. When had anyone last shown concern for her? Annie tried to remember. Ruthie had. A stab of pain wrenched at her gut as she thought of Ruthie, always leaping to her defence. God, she’d been such a bitch to her, what had the poor cow done to deserve her for a sister? She hadn’t deserved Ruthie’s kindness. And she could do without Kieron’s. But he was a friend. And she thought she could trust him. After all, he was totally indifferent to her charms.

‘I’ll do it as a favour to you,’ she sighed.

‘What a great girl you are.’

‘Spare me the Irish bit. I want triple wages, not double.’

‘A great girl and a hard one,’ groaned Kieron.

‘You can afford it. You’re a Delaney.’

‘Deal then. Come on Wednesday and we’ll make a start.’

Annie said goodbye and put the phone down. It rang again. She picked up. ‘Hello?’

‘Eddie Carter’s dead,’ said a scratchy female voice.

‘Mum?’ Annie clutched the phone harder.

‘I thought you ought to know.’

Connie sounded sober for once. Then she began to cough, which sounded vile and seemed to get worse as the seconds slowly passed by. Annie felt cold inside. She still had the horrors when she thought about that night. The day after it had been like cleaning out an abattoir. The mattress had been too bloodstained to save and they’d had to burn the whole thing. Everyone had pitched in, scrubbing and polishing, to get Darren’s room straight again. Celia had bought a new mattress. Life had gone on. But not for Eddie.

‘Why would I want to know?’ asked Annie, swallowing hard.

‘Max said it happened at Celia’s place. Not that I’m surprised. That tart mixes with all sorts. Is it true she’s vanished?’

‘She’s on a break,’ said Annie, feeling more loyalty to her aunt than to her own bloody mother. Her head was spinning, a million things were buzzing around her brain.

‘My arse. She’s legged it, hasn’t she? There’s going to be trouble over this.’

‘When’s the funeral?’

‘Friday at twelve. They’re burying him next to Queenie.’

Annie put the phone down. Her mother was still talking but there was nothing else she wanted to hear. Max’s brother dead. Killed here, in this house. For once in her drink-sodden life, Connie was right. There was going to be trouble.

 Annie called Darren back down to the kitchen.

‘Eddie’s Carter’s dead,’ she said when she’d shut the door and was sure they wouldn’t be overheard.

Darren went white. He sat down quickly at the kitchen table. Annie sat too and waited for him to gather himself.

‘Did you see who did it, Darren?’

‘Would I say if I did?’ asked Darren.

‘It won’t go any further.’

They exchanged a long look. Finally Darren shook his head. ‘I wish I had. No, I don’t. What am I saying? If I’d seen the bastard’s face he’d have done me too.’ He ran his hands through his hair, leaving it stuck up on end. ‘No, I didn’t see anything. He was wearing a bowler – he had a scarf tied round his face. He was heavy-set, tallish. But more than that I couldn’t say. He just smashed me right on the nose and then carved up that poor
little git while I was half out of it on the floor. You know the rest. Honest, Annie, that’s all I know. I thought I was a goner. It was horrible.’

Annie patted his hand. She didn’t know what to say.

‘Will the police come?’ asked Darren anxiously.

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Annie. ‘No outsiders know he was attacked here, and Max Carter will keep it quiet at his end. He’ll have one of his tame doctors make out the death certificate, say Eddie died of natural causes, pay off any coppers if they get a sniff of anything iffy from the ambulance men, and that’ll be that.’

‘So we’re in the clear?’

Annie shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not. It was bugger-all to do with us, I just wish Celia could have realized that before she did her moonlight flit.’

‘Have you thought that maybe Celia didn’t go of her own free will?’ asked Darren.

‘Meaning?’

‘You know what I mean, Annie. Don’t come the innocent with me. They could have sat her down at this table and forced her to write that note, then taken her off and done God knows what to her.’

‘You mean the Carter mob?’ said Annie.

‘Who the fuck else would I mean? Come on, admit it. It’s crossed my mind and I bet it’s crossed yours.’

He was right. But every time the suspicion of wrongdoing had entered her head, Annie had ruthlessly pushed it out again. She had to go on believing that Celia was somewhere sunning herself, safe and well.

‘Look, Darren,’ said Annie impatiently. ‘Fuck all this speculation. What good does it do us? We’ve got a place to run and it’s business as usual. We’re not going to have any more trouble, I’m going to get someone on the door from now on. No more open house.’

 There was a lot to get straight, and Annie was glad of the distraction. She threw the front parlour windows wide to get rid of the musty smell in there. Then she got everyone to help her clear up. The furnishings were okay, old but of good quality. There was a big table to put the food and drinks on, and in the radiogram she discovered a stash of Connie Francis and Ruby Murray LPs. She started priming their regulars with the news that there would be a monthly party on offer. She had already made up her mind that any excess food from the parties would be distributed among the neighbours, to keep them onside. Then Billy turned up unannounced at the kitchen table one day, scaring her half to death. She made a mental note to ring Redmond Delaney without delay and get some muscle sent
over for the door like she’d told Darren she would.

‘Hello, Billy love,’ she said, after she’d recovered herself. Fuck, why did he have to creep about like he did? Couldn’t he ring an effing bell or something?

‘Hello Annie,’ said Billy. His long face lit up at the sight of her. He sat there clutching his briefcase on his lap, his deerstalker pulled down over his eyes. Poor bastard, she thought. The word was that the cord had got wrapped around his neck when he was born and he’d been starved of oxygen. He couldn’t help being as he was, now could he?

So, despite the fact he’d given her a fright, she made him a cup of tea and plied him with biscuits. Celia had always made him welcome, and Annie was filling Celia’s shoes. She didn’t have Celia’s happy knack of chattering about nothing, however, so she soon made her excuses and was pleased to see him go. She got straight on the phone to Redmond. It was a call she’d been trying to avoid making, but Billy had done her a favour by making her see it was something she had to do.

‘Mr Delaney,’ she said respectfully. ‘I hope you’re well?’

Annie had heard Celia making calls like this, she knew the drill.

‘I’m very well,’ said Redmond. Cool as ice was Redmond. You wouldn’t find him in the parlours
taking advantage of the facilities. Annie wondered if he ever did it at all. He’d probably put on rubber gloves first.

Annie proceeded to tell him about the monthly parties and that things had become a little more rough than usual lately, could he spare a man for the door?

‘Permanently?’ asked Redmond. She could hear that sharp brain of his ticking over, weighing up how much this would cost.

‘If possible,’ said Annie.

‘Are you going to pay him out of your funds?’ asked Redmond.

Bugger. That hadn’t been at all what she’d had in mind.

‘I thought you might help me out with that,’ she said smoothly. ‘There was a very unpleasant incident here not long ago. We pay already to make sure things like that don’t happen.’

There was a silence. Perhaps she’d overstepped the mark, thought Annie. But what the hell, it was bloody true.

‘Sometimes,’ said Redmond, ‘unpleasant incidents are difficult to prevent.’

Annie swallowed. Talking to Redmond, even at a distance, was like staring into the eyes of a cobra. You felt hypnotized.

‘I need your help here,’ said Annie. If he had a better nature, then she was going to try to appeal
to it. ‘My Aunt Celia was always straight with you, wasn’t she? Paid up fair and square? Never gave you any trouble?’

‘That’s true,’ allowed Redmond.

‘I can’t afford to pay for a man on the door. You can. The takings will be well up from the monthly parties.’

‘You hope.’

‘They will.’

‘So you want us to stand the expense of the extra man.’

‘Yes, I do.’

Silence again. ‘No, take his wages out of the party profits. This isn’t a charitable institution.’

‘Mr Delaney.’

‘Yes, Miss Bailey?’

‘Seriously, I don’t want any more trouble here. You let us down before. Badly.’

This time the silence was deafening. Oh fuck, thought Annie.

‘I’ve got a man who’ll be good for the door,’ said Redmond at last. ‘I’ll send him over. But you pay his wages, Miss Bailey, not me.’

Well, thought Annie, you couldn’t win them all. She quickly dialled Kieron’s number.