The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

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      ‘Oh Christ, not you again. I’ve been wondering when you’d show up to gloat.’

      What a welcome. Annie stood on the doorstep and wished she was somewhere, anywhere, else.

      She looked at her mother through the fug that was seeping out of the half-open front door. God, what a pesthole this whole place was. Funny how when she’d been living around here she’d never noticed the litter in the streets or the dog mess on the pavements, or how scraped and battered Connie’s front door was, or how Connie never cleaned her front step or got the window sills painted, or how the new nets Connie had splashed out on for Ruthie’s wedding were now coffee-coloured and caked rigid with dirt.

      ‘I haven’t shown up to gloat, Mum,’ said Annie flatly. ‘I’ve shown up to see Ruthie.’

      Or at least this had been her intention when she’d got up and dressed this morning. Her stomach had been churning with nerves ever since. It had been so long since she’d seen her sister. She’d had that brief glimpse at Eddie’s funeral, but that hadn’t helped; Ruthie had been as changed and as remote as a total stranger.

      ‘She don’t want to see you. I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to ask.’

      Annie held on to her temper. When she looked at Connie she felt a sort of sad contempt. Connie was as scruffy as this shit-tip of a rented house. God knows how she kept up the payments. Annie didn’t even want to think about that. Maybe Ruthie pitched in to help? Annie didn’t suppose Connie was up to working any more. Her mother was more to be pitied than hated.

      ‘Why don’t we let her decide that?’ said Annie. ‘Is she in?’

      ‘Yes, she’s in,’ said Ruthie, stepping into the doorway beside Connie.

      Annie looked at her sister and was suddenly struck dumb. No, this wasn’t the Ruthie she had known all her young life. This was a cool, sophisticated woman with pain-filled eyes. Pain that she had caused. Annie swallowed and licked her dry lips.

      ‘Hello, Ruthie,’ she said.

      ‘Hello Annie. Well, aren’t you coming in?’

      ‘You don’t have to see her if you don’t want to,’ said Connie, looking at Annie with open dislike.

      ‘What good would that do?’ asked Ruthie. ‘Let her in, for God’s sake, Mum.’

      They went through to the kitchen. There were plates piled high in the sink and on the draining board. The lino was scuffed and sticky underfoot. The stove looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned for a month. Annie sat down at the kitchen table, looking carefully at the chair before she did so. Ruthie sat too, and smiled grimly as she saw Annie’s mouth thin with disgust at their surroundings. Jesus, thought Annie, she lived in a flipping knocking shop but she would never stomach this sort of mess around her! Surely, even if Connie was too drunk or bone-idle to clear up, Ruthie could shift herself and do it?

      But this wasn’t the Ruthie of old. She had to keep reminding herself of that. This Ruthie didn’t do housework. This Ruthie had sleekly dressed hair and polished nails. This Ruthie wore a smart two-piece suit not dissimilar to the one Annie wore. Fuck it, they looked like two flamingos perched on a muck-heap in here! The thought was amusing, but Annie didn’t share it. Ruthie wouldn’t see the joke. Ruthie’s face – so much thinner than it used to be – was set in grim lines. She didn’t look like she’d laughed in a long, long time. And that’s my fault, thought Annie. She felt shrivelled inside with the guilt of it.

      ‘Don’t think you’re getting a fucking cup of tea,’ snorted Connie, hovering threateningly over Annie, scattering venom and fag ash and drink fumes. ‘What did you think I’d do, roll out the bloody red carpet for a cheap little whore like you?’

      ‘Mum,’ said Ruthie loudly.

      ‘Well, she’s got a fucking nerve, showing up here. Hasn’t she done enough damage?’

      ‘Just give us a few minutes, will you Mum?’ asked Ruthie coolly.

      Connie withdrew, leaving the kitchen door open into the hallway. Ruthie got up and shut it. She sat back down and looked at Annie.

      ‘So,’ she said. ‘What is it you’ve come for, Annie?’

      ‘I’ve come to see how you are.’

      Ruthie looked at her blankly. ‘You’ve come to see how I am,’ she echoed. Then she laughed. ‘I’ll tell you how I am, shall I Annie? I’m surviving. That’s all.’

      ‘Ruthie, I’m sorry.’

      Ruthie nodded. ‘You should be.’

      ‘I wish you were happy, Ruthie. I really do.’

      ‘Well I’m not.’ Ruthie’s eyes were hard. ‘Let me tell you about my life, Annie. I spend a lot of time sitting alone in that mausoleum in Surrey now that poor little Eddie’s gone. If I go out to get my hair done or to go shopping I have to take my minder with me. The stockbrokers’ wives with their little Pony Club kids and their twinsets and pearls don’t like my accent or my dodgy connections and they shun me. I don’t see my husband very often, he’s a busy man, but when I do we’re at each other’s throats. Mum’s in bits on her own but Max won’t let her come and stay with us because she might mess up Queenie’s rugs or leave drink stains on the tables. So I came back to the Smoke. I go out to the shops here, but still I’ve got to take my minder with me. The shopkeepers all serve me first, before all the other women. I go straight to the front of the queue, even if I don’t want to. I have to apologize for that, but the other women say, oh don’t worry, we’re not in a rush. But they stare at me and they hate me and they envy me. They’re afraid of me. Or rather they’re afraid of Max. That’s my life, Annie. That’s my life.’

      Suddenly there were tears in Ruthie’s eyes. Instinctively Annie put out a comforting hand, but Ruthie snatched hers away.

      ‘Don’t you dare pity me,’ she said.

      ‘I don’t,’ lied Annie.

      ‘I’d rather be me than you,’ sniffed Ruthie, her expression one of disgust. ‘Running a massage parlour! For God’s sake, whatever possessed you to get sucked into all that?’

      ‘Mum threw me out,’ Annie reminded her. ‘Where the hell else could I have gone? And Celia always liked me.’

      ‘And now she’s left you in charge?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You ought to be careful,’ said Ruthie. ‘You’ll get all sorts banging on your door.’

      Don’t I know it, thought Annie. But the parlour had been her lifeline. She was busy expanding it. Fuck it, she was proud of the work she’d done there. It had been running at a quarter of its full capacity under Celia. Under Annie’s rule, it was thriving.

      ‘I’m always careful,’ said Annie. ‘So … are you and Max still together, Ruthie?’

      Ruthie СКАЧАТЬ