The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

that, comforting her, waiting in her bed. Not in Annie’s.

      ‘How’d it go?’ asked Max from the bedroom doorway.

      Annie glanced around, startled. He was running a hand through his dark hair, pulling on his robe, yawning. So bloody casual.

      She felt anger rise. ‘Oh fine. My mother, and incidentally your wife’s mother too, died about an hour ago.’

      Max came and sat down beside her. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘What for?’ Annie looked daggers at him. ‘For not being there for Ruthie? For my loss? What?’

      ‘Both,’ said Max. ‘I know how bad I felt when my mum died.’

      That wasn’t at all the same. Annie knew that Max had idolized Queenie and mourned her passing with genuine grief. Ruthie had been horribly cut up to lose Connie, but for Annie it was different. Of course she was sad at her mother’s death, but most of all she was glad that Connie’s suffering was over.

      Annie took a breath, shut her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she said, opening them and looking at him. ‘I just feel so bad about Ruthie. At least she had Mum before. Now what’s she got, the poor little cow? I’m worried about her.’

      Max nodded. ‘I’m selling the Surrey place. That’s why I’ve been busy these past few days,’ he said.

      Annie stared at him in surprise. ‘Why?’

      ‘Ruthie hates the fucking place. I hate the fucking place too. I think it’s jinxed. Everything bad that’s happened, it’s happened there. Mum going like she did. And poor bloody Eddie. I’ll be glad to see the back of it.’

      ‘But what about Ruthie? Where will she go?’

      Every time she saw her sister, it seemed to get worse. The guilt, the worry, the anxiety. It was eating at her more and more. The thoughts she’d had in the hospital about Connie declining after their dad left kept niggling away at her. Now she saw a parallel with Ruthie and Max. If Max abandoned Ruthie, what would become of her? Would she have the strength to carry on? Oh, they would still be married, Max would never contemplate divorce. But they would live completely separate lives. Shit, they already did.

      ‘Ruthie can move into Mum’s old place in Bow.’

      Annie thought about that. She knew this was a huge concession on Max’s part. Queenie’s place was sacrosanct. To live in it was, to him, an honour. She just hoped Ruthie saw it the same way.

      ‘Don’t give up on her, Max,’ said Annie tiredly. ‘I really am worried about her.’

      ‘What, you mean the drinking?’

      ‘Oh. You know about that.’

      ‘Bloody sure I know about that. You’d be amazed what I know, Annie. It pays to keep your ear to the ground.’

      Now what did that mean? Watch out, I’ve got my eye on you?

      ‘She needs a bit of support,’ said Annie.

      ‘Like her mother?’ asked Max. ‘Sweetheart, you could have propped Connie Bailey up with iron staves and she would still have keeled over.’

      ‘I know. But as a favour to me, Max? Be nice to Ruthie.’

      They locked eyes.

      ‘I’ll be nice,’ said Max. ‘I promise.’

       36

      Another fucking funeral, thought Annie. She ought to feel sadder. This was her mother being planted in the ground. Sooner or later she might begin to feel some sort of real loss instead of relief – but she doubted it.

      ‘Thanks for coming with me, Dolly love,’ she said to the woman sitting beside her in the back of the black Jaguar Mk X. Donny was up front as usual, sitting silently behind the wheel. Max was, of course, with Ruthie. Some of Connie’s friends would be here, although times had been hard for Connie and friends had been few. But all Max’s boys and their families would turn out. This was Max Carter’s mother-in-law, after all. One of the family and to be shown the appropriate level of respect. Jonjo was there, so were Jimmy and Kath and her mother, Maureen.

      Annie sat and watched them all walk past and disappear into the church with the funeral cortège. The coffin was draped in pink flowers. Pink had been Connie’s favourite colour. It was Ruthie’s, too. She’d seen Ruthie, arm in arm with Max, following behind the coffin. That was where Annie should be too, but that would be pushing it too far. She’d already decided she would wait until everyone else was inside the church, then follow on and just sit quietly at the back.

      ‘It was good of you to keep me company,’ she said to Dolly.

      ‘That’s okay.’ Dolly pulled a face. ‘I know what it’s like when you don’t get on with your mum and dad. You hate them but you love them too, ain’t that right? I cried buckets when my old dad died, the rotten bastard. You feel guilty because you hate them, and you hate yourself because you love them.’

      Annie looked at Dolly with a new warmth. Dolly was respectably dressed today in a neat navy dress and matching coat. Her hair was styled in an urchin cut and the colour had been toned down – less brass, more honey. Dolly looked a treat, and Annie was proud of her. She’d backed a winner in Dolly, she was sure. Whatever Dolly had previously lacked in polish, she more than made up for in spirit.

      ‘We ought to go in,’ said Annie, not wanting to.

      ‘It’ll be okay,’ said Dolly. ‘These things are never as bad as you think they’re going to be. People behave themselves at funerals. Max Carter won’t have anyone kicking off, trust me.’

      ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ said Annie. She took a breath. ‘Right, let’s go.’

      They got out of the car. It was a bright, sunny day, which seemed wrong somehow. At Eddie’s funeral there had been spatters of rain and an icy wind, which had suited the occasion better.

      ‘Let’s get this over with,’ said Annie with distaste, then she spotted the woman standing out by the lych gate. She felt a twinge of annoyance. She wanted everyone inside before she went in. What was the hold up? Then she froze. She grabbed Dolly’s arm and stared intently. ‘Hey, Doll. Don’t that look like Celia out by the gate?’

      Dolly turned, and looked. The woman had a black veil over her face, but there was something about her dress and demeanour that shouted Celia.

      ‘Yeah, it is. I think it’s Celia.’ Dolly started waving. ‘Hey, Celia,’ she shouted.

      Fuck it, thought Annie as the woman turned and hurried away. Trust Dolly to open her yap and scare her off.

      ‘Come on,’ she said, and hurried after the woman. She heard Donny lumbering out of the car and slamming the door, the heavy tread of his size twelves on the gravel behind her as she legged it towards the lych gate. She wasn’t ever supposed to rush off without Donny, she knew that. But fuck it, this was Celia. Well, she hoped it was.

      When they reached the gate the woman was already some distance away, walking fast towards a waiting taxi.

      ‘Fuck, she’s getting away,’ said Annie, and kicked off her courts and ran. The woman had the back door of the taxi open and was climbing inside when Annie barrelled into her and grabbed her and held on tight.

      ‘Hey!’ said the taxi driver. ‘You gettin’ in, or you havin’ a friggin’ dance?’

      Dolly came hobbling up clutching Annie’s shoes. Donny arrived right on her heels, panting.

      ‘Jesus, I didn’t realize we were havin’ a fuckin’ tea party here,’ said the taxi driver.

      ‘Hold on,’ said Annie. ‘Celia?’

      The