The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane

      ‘I’m not drinking with him,’ said the Guard, shrugging into his shirt and stuffing it into his trousers. And he left.

      ‘You’re driving my clients away, Mr Delaney,’ said Dolly mildly.

      ‘Like I give a feck,’ said Pat. He reeled off to the toilet and came back again. ‘Another drink over here, poof-features,’ he said to Brian as he fell back on to the sofa in the rapidly emptying front room.

      Dolly nodded to Brian. Best to give the sod all the drink he wanted, she thought. The sooner he passed out cold, the better. Then she’d just get some of Redmond’s boys to carry him out and take him home. No good waiting for Chris to put in an appearance. Chris was no fool. Rather than get into a ruck with Pat and make a vicious and powerful enemy, he was keeping out of it. Dolly couldn’t blame him for that. But all the Guards were gone now. It was starting to get dark outside, and the extra girls were making going-home noises. Brian was packing up too. Soon there would be just her and Ellie and Aretha and Darren alone with Pat Delaney, and that wasn’t a cheering thought.

      ‘Come on, Ruthie. Don’t arse about, you’re scaring me.’

      Annie was patting her sister’s cheek whilst feeling the sickness rise in her own stomach. She was sweating all over, the fear squeezing her in a tight vice-like grip. Jesus, she’d slit her own wrists if the stupid cow was dead. She felt Ruthie’s scrawny neck and thank God, there was a pulse. She was breathing. She was alive. Her eyes flickered open.

      ‘Oh thank fuck for that,’ gasped Annie, and hauled her sister into a sitting position.

      Ruthie moaned. Her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back.

      ‘No, Ruthie. Come on.’

      Fuck, this was bad, really bad. She’d known Ruthie was unhappy, but she had no idea she was low enough to try and finish it. Annie felt her guts twist with guilt. This was all her fault. What had she been thinking of, getting involved with Max? And poor Ruthie had been closer to Mum than she herself had ever been, she must have been feeling the loss of Connie so much more than her. Annie should have been here for her, she should have made sure she was all right.

      Ah, but you felt too guilty even to look your sister in the eye, didn’t you? mocked a voice in her head. If there was damage done, you didn’t want to see it, did you?

      Which was true enough.

      Annie ran down the stairs to the kitchen. She put the kettle on to boil, then she flung open cupboards and found the salt. She ran water into a glass tumbler, spooned salt into it, and raced back up the stairs. Ruthie was still lying there, her eyes open and gazing glassily at the ceiling. Annie hauled her up again. Ruthie moaned and muttered in protest.

      ‘Come on Ruthie. Drink up,’ said Annie, and held the glass to her sister’s lips.

      It must have tasted foul. Ruthie’s face screwed up and she started to gag. Annie held her nose. Water sputtered on to the counterpane and all down the front of Ruthie’s dress, but a lot went down her throat. Ruthie pushed weakly against Annie as she made her down every drop of the vile-tasting liquid.

      ‘Oh you … you bitch …’ gasped Ruthie, and then she started to retch.

      ‘That’s it,’ said Annie. ‘Let’s get it up,’ she said, patting Ruthie’s back. Her shoulder-blades were like knives poking through her skin.

      I did that to her, thought Annie.

      ‘You bitch,’ groaned Ruthie again, and began to heave.

      Vomit splattered out over the carpet.

      ‘That’s it,’ said Annie, as the smell and the mess erupted out of her.

      Ruthie heaved again, and more came.

      ‘God, I hate you, you bitch, you bloody whore,’ whimpered Ruthie as drool hung from her lips.

      Annie put a hand on Ruthie’s brow. She was sweaty and white, but hopefully she’d got whatever she’d taken out of her system.

      Ruthie spat and wiped a shaking hand across her mouth. She looked at Annie, focused on her for the first time. ‘You utter cow,’ she said.

      Annie went back downstairs and made strong coffee. She found cloths and a bowl and filled it with sudsy water. Then she took the whole lot back upstairs.

      Ruthie was perched on the edge of the bed now, looked disgustedly at the floor. Annie handed her a mug of strong black coffee.

      ‘Drink,’ she ordered.

      ‘I bet you’re bloody enjoying yourself,’ accused Ruthie, wet-eyed and shaking. She clasped the mug of coffee.

      ‘Drink it up or I’ll hold your nose and pour it down you,’ said Annie, getting to work on cleaning up the mess.

      ‘Cow.’

      By the time Annie had disposed of all the stuff Ruthie had sicked up, Ruthie was halfway through the coffee. Annie stood up.

      ‘Come on now, on your feet.’

      ‘Oh, just leave, will you? I didn’t ask you to come here,’ said Ruthie weakly.

      ‘I said on your feet,’ said Annie, and grabbed the mug and put it aside. She pulled Ruthie up with an arm around her waist and walked her up and down beside the bed, with Ruthie all the while pouring curses in her ear.

      ‘Call me a whore, call me what you like, just keep walking,’ said Annie.

      Ruthie staggered at first. Annie had to use all her strength to hold her up. But after a few steps Ruthie seemed to regain her equilibrium, and that was when the cursing really kicked in. When Ruthie could stand alone, Annie let go and poured out more coffee and thrust it at her sister.

      ‘I hate you, Annie Bailey,’ said Ruthie.

      ‘Hate away,’ said Annie. ‘Drink the bloody coffee and tell me what the fuck you were trying to do. Were you trying to kill yourself?’

      ‘Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you,’ said Ruthie. ‘Me out of the way and you left with Max.’

      ‘I told you. It’s over, me and Max. Drink that fucking coffee or I mean it, I’ll force it down you.’

      Ruthie pulled a face but drank the coffee.

      ‘It’s over,’ reiterated Annie.

      ‘Sure it is,’ mocked Ruthie. ‘It’ll never be over, you and him. I’ve seen the way he reacts to the sight of you. I saw it at poor Eddie’s funeral. Oh yes, I saw you. It’ll only be over when they shovel him into the ground, don’t you know that?’

      ‘Don’t say that.’

      ‘Ah, you don’t like the thought of that?’ Ruthie crowed. ‘And you said it was over? Tell me another.’

      ‘You know, I think you were nicer when you were spark out on the bed,’ said Annie. ‘You finished that coffee?’

      ‘There.’ Ruthie presented the empty mug like a triumphant child. ‘Pleased now, you bossy bitch?’

      Annie went to the window and opened it, letting in an icy wind to blow away the stink. She gathered up the remaining pill and vodka bottles then put the empty mug on the tray with the sodden cloths and the bowl.

      ‘Get yourself washed and changed,’ said Annie. ‘I’m going to clear this lot away. I’ll see you down in the drawing room. Get a move on.’

      Annie was almost surprised when half an hour later Ruthie appeared in a clean dress, with her face washed and her hair neatly combed. She looked pale, but okay.

      Annie sat on the couch and Ruthie sat opposite. Annie saw Ruthie’s eyes go to the drinks cabinet, but she didn’t get herself a drink or offer Annie one.

      ‘Why’d you do it, Ruthie?’ asked Annie urgently.