Black Widow. Jessie Keane

somewhere, she knew that; those bad people took him away. He would never have left her on her own.

      She expected Mummy to come and fetch her soon; she had been expecting this for what felt like hours now. Mummy was always watching her carefully, always. She whimpered in the dark, wanting her Mummy so badly.

      The men hadn’t talked to her. One of them had held something over her nose and that was when she’d started to get really, really sleepy. One of them was small, like a lady, but Layla wasn’t sure about that. They wore hoods over their heads and that was scary, like they weren’t really people at all.

      Layla so wanted someone to talk to. She would have talked to the lady, if she could, even though she had done this nasty thing to Layla. All her dolls and teddies were at home. Now she had no Mummy. No Daddy. Nothing except this horrible place.

      When they had dropped her in here and slammed the trap door shut on her, she had been half-awake and had groped her way around her small prison. She found all the walls were dirt: slimy with moisture in places, bone-dry in others. There had been a little daylight left then.

      But now it was night and she was cold.

      She was able to stand up, although the top of her head touched metal. Metal like waves, like an old tin roof on a hen house. There was a sort of bed in the dirt, so that she could lie down on a rough blanket they had put there for her. They had put a dish of water on the floor; she’d kicked it over by accident when she’d been trying to grope her away around in here. There was some bread too, but it was stale. Like she was an animal.

      Layla decided to pretend that she was an animal, someone’s pet. She ate the dry bread and licked the bowl clean of what remained of the water. Then she lay down and wrapped herself in the blanket.

      Daddy would come back soon. Mummy too. They would never leave her alone like this, with these strange people who didn’t speak and who covered their faces.

      She was an animal, curled up on her bed and waiting for her owners to come and collect her. She curled up in a ball, rocking herself, hands clasped around her knees. Suddenly, she was asleep.

       6

      ‘Fucking hellfire, it is you,’ said Dolly when she flung open the front door of her Limehouse knocking shop and found her old friend Annie Carter and an unknown blonde standing there. They looked like someone had kicked the shit out of both of them. ‘Come in, for God’s sake.’

      Annie stepped into the hall and looked around at a place that had at one time felt so familiar, but was now completely changed. The black, wrought-iron clock shaped like a guitar was gone, so was the wooden plaque with the matador and the bull. Now the decor was bang-up-to-the-minute. Now there was bright orange-patterned wallpaper, the wooden staircase was painted white, and a cane basket chair was suspended from a hook in the ceiling in the corner.

      Where Chris used to sit and greet the punters, thought Annie.

      There was no bouncer there now, but there was a folded newspaper on the chair and an empty mug on the floor beside it.

      ‘We’ve got a new boy on the door,’ said Dolly, seeing Annie’s look. ‘Ross. He’s off on an errand, but he’ll be back later.’

      Dolly’s eyes locked with Annie’s.

      And then I’ll have to tell him you’re here, said Dolly’s eyes.

      Annie nodded. Ross would be another Delaney boy, like Chris the old doorman had been. This was Delaney turf; Dolly paid them protection. The arrival of a prominent Carter family member on their patch couldn’t go unannounced.

      Annie felt as if she was moving through a dark, unspeakable dream. The familiar was gone, changed, lost forever.

      Max, she thought. Oh Christ—and Layla!

      She looked at Dolly. Dolly had changed too. Once the roughest of street working girls with an attitude to match, Dolly was every inch the madam-in-charge now, in a pink bouclé skirt suit and with her blonde hair immaculately cut and styled. Remembering the rough-edged brass that Dolly had once been, Annie felt even further disconnected from reality. Now Dolly was the embodiment of chic, just like Annie’s long-departed Aunt Celia, once the madam here, had been. Dolly even smelled good, of a fragrance Annie instantly identified as Guerlain’s Mitsouko.

      ‘You look like death warmed over,’ said Dolly, taking Annie’s suitcase and leading the way into the kitchen. ‘Come and have a cup of tea and tell me what the fuck’s happening. I couldn’t believe it when I got your call. And who the hell is this?’

      ‘This is Jeanette,’ said Annie as they went into the kitchen.

      Dolly put the suitcase down, out of the way. She looked at Jeanette.

      ‘She don’t say much,’ said Dolly.

      ‘We’ve had a bit of a rough time,’ said Annie.

      Dolly nodded.

      ‘Everything looks different.’ Annie peered around the kitchen. Her old table was gone. There was a smoked glass circular table in its place, and snazzy chairs to match, and a big descending taupe-coloured smoked glass light above it. Posh fitted units all around, with oatmeal doors and a wooden trim. Rush matting on the floor.

      ‘Well, it’s been a while,’ said Dolly, filling the kettle.

      She flicked the switch on and turned and looked at Annie, who was sinking down into a chair like an old woman. Jeanette sat down too. Jeanette looked the worst of the two, thought Dolly. Jeanette looked as if someone or something had scared the crap out of her, big time. Annie looked almost grey with exhaustion, but Annie was made of tough stuff. Annie would always bounce back…or would she? Looking at her now, Dolly wondered about that.

      ‘How’s business? Good?’ asked Annie, her head in her hands.

      ‘Good enough,’ said Dolly. She leaned back against the cream-coloured fake marble worktop and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘You going to tell me what happened? I couldn’t believe it when you called me.’

      ‘I couldn’t believe it either,’ said Annie.

      There had been only brief telephone calls, three or four a year, between the two of them since Annie had left, but they had remained friends.

      ‘Come on, Annie,’ said Dolly in sudden exasperation. ‘Spill the beans, will you?’

      Annie looked at the open door into the hallway. ‘Anyone else around?’ she asked.

      Dolly shook her head. ‘We’re alone. I made sure we would be, at least for now. So come on. Give.’

      Annie sighed and shook her head. ‘No, Doll, I’m knackered. I need a bath and a lie-down, then I can think about what’s going on.’

      Dolly nodded, but she was frowning. This was big trouble—she could smell it. She wasn’t exactly over the moon to have Annie Carter here. She didn’t want to make waves with the Delaneys. The feud between the Irish Delaneys and the Cockney Carter clans had been raging for years and was still going strong. The Delaney patch was an uncomfortable and maybe dangerous place for Annie Carter, wife of the boss of the Carter clan, to be, but then Annie knew that. The fact that she was here must mean that she had nowhere else to go.

      A friend’s a friend, thought Dolly. She couldn’t turn the poor bint away, now could she?

      Annie sat there and the jumble in her brain was as bad as Dolly’s, only with more anguish added on.

      I could be the only Carter left, she thought. Max. Jonjo. Both gone. And maybe Layla too.

      Sick despair washed over her again. She just couldn’t take any of this in. Not yet. She had to gather herself first, if she could. Then, she’d see.