The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

and that wasn’t like her. She’d be as thin as Ruthie soon, and then where the hell would she be?

      She was considering taking up smoking fags, if only to relieve the tension. Out of the question to have a drink. She’d sipped some champagne at the exhibition, but she hadn’t really enjoyed the taste. For her, drink was forever linked to her mother and memories of an endlessly miserable childhood. Connie lying on the sofa crying in self-pity, sodden with booze and bellowing orders, Annie or Ruthie having to go to the door to see the rent man, the baker, the milkman, and tell them Mum was out, to call back later, scared of what the tradesmen would say but scared of her even more. They were even frightened to go to school, because they never knew what they would come home to. Would they find her dead on the lounge floor, having choked on her own vomit? Or find an ambulance outside with Connie about to be whisked off to hospital?

      Annie shuddered. Enough of all this. She put the brush down. At least her hair was straight now. She touched up her make-up, checked her black dress was clean, her pearls straight, her shoes gleaming. Showtime, she thought, and stood up and went downstairs to play hostess at yet another party.

      Funny how used to all this she was getting. She was no longer shocked by naked arses, exposed breasts or rampant hard-ons. She oversaw it all with the calm discretion of a ringmaster. A leather-clad Aretha passed her at the top of the stairs, leading a blindfolded man dressed only in Y-fronts by a chain around his neck.

      ‘One step more,’ Aretha lied, because there were two steps and the man went sprawling on to the landing carpet. ‘Stupid clumsy boy!’ Aretha snapped, yanking the chain. The man groaned enjoyably and crawled along the landing into Aretha’s room. Annie paused at the top of the stairs, shaking her head as she watched. There was music and laughter drifting out from the front room. She looked down into the hallway. Chris was there in his usual spot, and there was a bulky, sandy-haired man bending over him, whispering. Chris nodded, and something changed hands between them. Annie got a shock when the man turned and she saw that it was Pat Delaney. What the fuck was he doing here?

      ‘Hello, Mr Delaney,’ she said when she reached the downstairs hall. ‘How are you?’

      ‘Oh, I’m spiffing,’ said Pat nastily.

      Annie’s smile tightened. ‘Enjoying the party?’ she asked.

      ‘I told you once before, I wouldn’t touch any of these tarts with someone else’s, let alone my own,’ said Pat with a sneer.

      Then why are you here, you arsehole? she thought. She looked at Chris, but he was looking shifty. Not like Chris.

      ‘Of course, if you were to offer me a shag, I might reconsider,’ said Pat, wrapping his arm crushingly around Annie’s shoulders.

      Annie nailed her smile in place and gently but firmly detached herself. God, he was disgusting. Was he drunk? She couldn’t smell booze on his breath, which was sour and unpleasant but not alcohol-induced. His eyes looked weird, his pupils were huge.

      Chris was looking concerned and Annie could understand why. He didn’t want to get into a ruck protecting Annie from one of the Delaneys; it was a clear conflict of interests.

      ‘I told you, Mr Delaney,’ said Annie. ‘I’m a manager, not a worker.’

      ‘Ah, all women are whores at heart,’ said Pat. He winked at Chris. ‘I’ll catch you later, Chrissie boy,’ he said, and lurched out the door.

      There was a tense pause. Then Annie said: ‘What’s he on, Chris?’

      Chris shrugged and his eyes slid away from hers.

      ‘I won’t have any rubbish in this house,’ said Annie, but Chris did not respond. Annie went on into the front room, where Ellie and Darren were hard at work. She fixed her smile back on. Brian handed her the usual orange juice, but her mind was still on Pat Delaney, wondering what the fuck he really wanted.

       29

      Kieron phoned the following week. Now the exhibition was over, she’d expected not to hear from him again. After all, he’d been adamant that their relationship was strictly business. He was the artist, she was the model, and now their work was done.

      ‘So how are you, Annie girl?’ he asked.

      Annie thought his voice sounded odd. Sort of different.

      ‘I’m fine and dandy. And you?’

      ‘Ah, fine.’

      Silence.

      ‘The exhibition went well, didn’t it?’ said Annie.

      ‘Oh yes. I was pleased.’

      ‘Did you sell much?’

      ‘Every damned thing in the place.’

      ‘Including the nude?’ Annie wasn’t going to ask, but the words sort of popped out.

      ‘Yeah, including the nude.’ A long pause. ‘Actually, Max Carter bought it. There was a bit of a bidding war going on between him and some other chap. Toby’s been on cloud nine with it all. Put the price right up, so we did well.’

      ‘Good.’ Annie’s heart was thumping sickly in her chest. Fuck it, she couldn’t think about that. Not yet. ‘I’m pleased for you,’ she said.

      ‘Was he bothering you?’

      ‘Pardon?’

      ‘At the exhibition,’ said Kieron. ‘Only I saw the two of you talking, and you seemed a bit awkward. Was he hassling you, Annie? Was that it?’

      ‘No, he wasn’t hassling me,’ said Annie.

      ‘Only I know there was something between the two of you at one time, you told me about it, you remember?’

      God, why didn’t he just shut up?

      ‘I remember. But that was then and this is now, Kieron. That was a mistake. One best not repeated.’

      ‘Won’t it be?’

      ‘What?’ Annie stared at the phone. Chris was looking at her over the top of his paper. Jesus, she was blushing. She could feel herself getting hot.

      ‘Repeated,’ said Kieron.

      ‘No.’ She couldn’t go there again. God, no. Never. Poor bloody Ruthie, hadn’t she suffered enough? What would it do to her if all that started up again? Hadn’t it hurt her enough the first time?

      ‘Only I’m worried about you,’ said Kieron.

      ‘Well don’t be,’ snapped Annie. ‘I’m a big girl, Kieron. I’m not a bloody kid.’

      ‘Listen, it’s none of my business,’ said Kieron.

      ‘Too fucking right it isn’t.’

      ‘Whoa! Don’t bite my ruddy head off, I’m just concerned.’

      ‘Kieron, who asked you?’ said Annie, and slammed the phone down.

      ‘Trouble?’ asked Chris.

      ‘No. No trouble.’ And even if I had trouble, would I discuss it with you? Annie wondered. Since the last party when she had seen Pat and Chris in a huddle she had really started to worry about what was going down here. Was Chris selling drugs to her clients? Suppose the shit hit the fan one day and they had a raid. All right, it was unlikely. The Delaneys had plenty of tame coppers around here. But what if the unlikely happened? And what if they found drugs on the premises that she was in charge of?

      It was a shame. She had taken to Chris straight away, but this had soured her feelings about him. She’d been aware for a long time that she had to be careful what she said to Ellie because it would go straight back to the Delaneys. Now she had to watch Chris too.

      To cheer