The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

      ‘Shut yer mouth, my friend, or I’ll shut it for you,’ Donny said gently.

      The taxi driver held up both hands. ‘Hey, no offence, pal. I’m just the driver.’

      ‘Then drive,’ Donny suggested, and the taxi driver gunned the engine and roared away.

      ‘I already paid for that cab,’ came Celia’s voice from behind the veil. ‘Let me go, Annie. I shouldn’t have bloody come here.’

      Annie didn’t give a shit. She pushed back Celia’s veil.

      ‘Fuck me,’ said Dolly breathlessly. ‘Celia!’

      Celia looked miffed, but well all the same. Annie hadn’t known what to expect when she’d shoved the veil out of the way. Scars or something maybe. She didn’t know. But now she felt almost limp with relief. The button-bright brown eyes were the same, and the carefully made-up face. It was Celia. She looked a little older, more care-worn, like she’d had it hard. But she was okay.

      ‘For God’s sake, Celia, where have you been?’ demanded Annie. ‘What the hell were you thinking of running off like that and leaving nothing but a fucking note? We were thinking all sorts, we were bloody frantic with worry over you.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ mumbled Celia, eyes downcast.

      ‘Sorry? Is that all you’ve got to say? We were pulling our ruddy hair out and you say sorry?’ Annie grabbed Celia’s shoulders. ‘What’s been going on, Celia? Why’d you go like that?’

      Celia just shook her head.

      Annie looked at her aunt. Maybe she was being too hard on her. She must have had her reasons. She let go of her shoulders and reached for her hand. Celia stepped back, almost cringed away from her.

      ‘No, let me go …’ she started to say.

      Annie looked down. The ivory fag holder was missing. The ivory fag holder in the right hand. Annie stared and suddenly felt faint.

      ‘Jesus,’ she said.

      Celia had no right hand.

      ‘Don’t tell him you saw me here,’ said Celia. Her voice trembled.

      ‘Celia.’ Annie was staring at the space where Celia’s right hand should have been. She felt sick, dizzy. ‘Celia.’ It seemed to be all she could say. She couldn’t take in the horror of it.

      Dolly was standing there dumbstruck, white as a sheet, her hand covering her mouth as if she was about to spew her guts up, her eyes locked on the stump of Celia’s right wrist.

      ‘Celia …’ Annie swallowed convulsively and somehow managed to get a sensible word out. ‘What happened …?’

      ‘Promise me you won’t tell him,’ pleaded Celia.

      Annie shook her head, staring. You turned up for your mother’s funeral and found your long-lost aunt here minus her right hand. She couldn’t take it in.

      Donny was giving Celia the hard eye. Celia caught him staring and her expression transformed into one of total dread. She knew one of Max’s boys when she saw one.

      Annie got the message. She turned and said, ‘Donny, fuck off will you? Go and wait for me by the lych gate.’

      Donny hesitated. His eyes flicked to the cringing Celia once again.

      ‘Did you hear me?’ Annie snapped. ‘And listen up. You never saw a thing, Donny. Not a fucking thing. Okay? Or I tell Max you made a pass at me. Don’t think I won’t, I’m telling you I will. Do you believe me?’

      Donny said nothing. He nodded.

      ‘He’d have your arse on a spit if I said the word,’ said Annie. ‘So keep it buttoned – or else.’

      Donny stalked off and stood by the gate with a face like thunder.

      ‘Christ, that told him,’ said Dolly with a trembling voice.

      Annie looked at Dolly. Her colour was coming back now, but she still looked shaken. Annie knew what she was thinking. Who did this? And if they could do such a hideous thing to Celia, where did that leave any of Celia’s girls – and Celia’s niece?

      ‘You won’t tell him you saw me, will you?’ asked Celia. ‘I shouldn’t have come here. I know that. But she was my sister-in-law, the poor bitch, it was the least I could do. I didn’t think anyone would see me if I kept my distance. You won’t tell him, will you?’

      ‘I won’t tell him,’ said Annie. They both knew they were talking about Max. ‘Is he responsible for this?’ She nodded at Celia’s right arm.

      ‘He didn’t do it,’ said Celia.

      ‘Of course he didn’t. Max don’t have to do his own dirty work, unless he really wants to.’

      ‘They made me write the note at the kitchen table.’

      ‘Max’s boys,’ said Annie. Oh God no, she thought. Please no.

      ‘Of course she means Max’s bloody boys,’ said Dolly. ‘Who the hell else would she mean? I knew there was something bloody fishy going on.’

      ‘Then they blindfolded me. I thought I was a goner, straight up.’

      ‘Then what?’ asked Annie. She felt more than sick now – disgusted. Disbelieving.

      ‘They took me somewhere. A meat market.’ Connie drew a shuddering breath. ‘There was a bloke there … he cut off my hand.’

      ‘Jesus,’ said Dolly.

      ‘You won’t tell him you saw me, will you?’

      Fuck it, would Celia never stop saying that? ‘I won’t tell him.’

      ‘You’re all right, Celia,’ said Dolly, patting her shoulder. ‘We won’t breathe a word.’

      ‘He told me to keep away. I shouldn’t be here.’

      ‘You’re safe,’ said Annie. ‘Safe as houses.’ Not even she believed that.

      ‘Do you know what he said when he did it? The chap who cut off my hand?’

      Annie and Dolly shook their heads. Dolly looked as if she was about to be sick again now. Annie felt as if someone had hit her with a brick. She was stunned by what had happened to Celia, staggered by the implications of this act of brutality.

      ‘He said it was a little message,’ Celia sobbed. ‘From Max Carter.’

       37

      By three o’clock on the day they buried her mother, Annie had moved all of her stuff and herself out of the Park Street apartment and back into the Limehouse place.

      She left a note on the hall table of the apartment and her keys with an unhappy Donny.

      ‘Remember. You saw nothing.’

      Donny nodded.

      There was nothing else she could do. She didn’t want to even look at Max, far less crawl into bed with the bastard. All she could think about was Celia’s panic-stricken face as she hailed another taxi and vanished out of their lives once again.

      Celia had been too spooked to conduct a conversation. Annie asked if her dad ever got in touch with Celia, trying to keep her there for a moment or two longer. But Celia said a flat no. The last she’d heard of Annie’s dad, he was a milkman in Manitoba. He had his own life, and she was bloody lucky to still have hers, so she had to go. She wished them good luck. She didn’t even comment on how different Dolly looked, she was too eager to get away, back to safety. Annie could understand that. She watched her beloved aunt shoot away in the taxi and just knew that she’d never see her