course she was.
She felt a little woozy, sherry on an empty stomach was never a good idea. She knew she should cut back, but at the moment the booze was all she had. But did she really want to end up like her mother? Just look at Mum, the poor raddled old cow, that’s what the drink did to you. See and learn, see and learn, Ruthie.
Giggling to herself, she stepped into the hall. It was so small, compared with the big house. Andcosy. A real little home, with nice floral carpets on the floor and up the stairs. She wandered into the silent place, feeling like an intruder. She opened a door and found a proper lounge, nothing like that big barn of a room in the main house, where she had to sit on her own day after day, night after night. This lounge had a fireplace and a sofa and lots of ornaments, pictures of Max and Eddie and Jonjo as babes in arms, kids at the seaside, teenagers wearing boxing gloves, hard-eyed men lounging against big black cars. Over the fireplace was a larger portrait. Ruthie froze.
It was Queenie Carter. Queenie with her imperious expression, her hard little mouth, her sharp blue eyes, her white hair billowing out around her face like a cloud. Queenie seemed to stare back at her and ask what the fuck Ruthie was doing, wandering around inside her home without permission. Ruthie left, closing the door firmly behind her. Her heart was racing and she felt light-headed, almost sick. She knew she shouldn’t be in here, Max had said she could go anywhere but not into the annexe, and now she could see why.
This was not an annexe. This was a shrine to Queenie Carter.
‘What’s going on?’ said a voice behind her.
She turned. Max was there, he’d found her. But no, it was okay. She blinked and clutched a hand to her hammering chest. It was only the gardener.She’d forgotten this was his day to come and do the lawns, trim the shrubs.
‘Oh, it’s you, Mrs Carter,’ said the gardener. ‘I wondered what was going on. Sorry to make you jump like that. I haven’t seen anyone in the annexe since Mrs Carter died. Mr Carter’s mother, I mean.’
‘I know who you mean,’ said Ruthie, shoving past him and relocking the door. Suddenly she felt stone-cold sober. ‘She died, I didn’t. I’m still alive.’
But as she walked back to the main house, she wondered if that was really true.
12
‘Don’t I know you?’ asked Aretha, leaning her rangy black frame against Annie’s open door.
Annie was sprawled out on the bed flicking through a magazine. She wasn’t in the best of moods. She didn’t like being at Celia’s. All that bumping and grinding in the night, people coming and going at all hours. This morning, glad to get out of the place, she’d turned in for work as usual at the corner shop. Monday morning. Ruthie had been Mrs Max Carter for a month but for Annie it was just more of the same old shit.
But this Monday, things were different. Bert Tobey, the owner, looked uncomfortable as she started to shrug off her coat.
‘Better keep that on, Annie love,’ he said, his eyes avoiding hers. ‘Sorry, but your job’s gone.’
Annie stood there, half in and half out of her coat, and stared at him. ‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘We don’t need extra staff any more,’ Bert said. His big good-natured face looked unhappy. ‘Vi and me can manage on our own, we’ve decided. Sorry, but there it is.’
‘But I need this job,’ said Annie. ‘You’re happy with my work, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve had no complaints on that score,’ said Bert carefully.
‘Well then.’
‘Well nothing.’ Suddenly his eyes blazed with irritation. ‘I’ve told you, the job’s gone. You’re all paid up until last Saturday, so we’re square. Now piss off.’
Annie recoiled. Bert had never spoken to her like that before. Through the beaded curtain that led to the stock room she could see Vi, his wife, listening to what was going on. And then she understood and rage engulfed her.
‘Who are you telling
She felt a little woozy, sherry on an empty stomach was never a good idea. She knew she should cut back, but at the moment the booze was all she had. But did she really want to end up like her mother? Just look at Mum, the poor raddled old cow, that’s what the drink did to you. See and learn, see and learn, Ruthie.
Giggling to herself, she stepped into the hall. It was so small, compared with the big house. Andcosy. A real little home, with nice floral carpets on the floor and up the stairs. She wandered into the silent place, feeling like an intruder. She opened a door and found a proper lounge, nothing like that big barn of a room in the main house, where she had to sit on her own day after day, night after night. This lounge had a fireplace and a sofa and lots of ornaments, pictures of Max and Eddie and Jonjo as babes in arms, kids at the seaside, teenagers wearing boxing gloves, hard-eyed men lounging against big black cars. Over the fireplace was a larger portrait. Ruthie froze.
It was Queenie Carter. Queenie with her imperious expression, her hard little mouth, her sharp blue eyes, her white hair billowing out around her face like a cloud. Queenie seemed to stare back at her and ask what the fuck Ruthie was doing, wandering around inside her home without permission. Ruthie left, closing the door firmly behind her. Her heart was racing and she felt light-headed, almost sick. She knew she shouldn’t be in here, Max had said she could go anywhere but not into the annexe, and now she could see why.
This was not an annexe. This was a shrine to Queenie Carter.
‘What’s going on?’ said a voice behind her.
She turned. Max was there, he’d found her. But no, it was okay. She blinked and clutched a hand to her hammering chest. It was only the gardener.She’d forgotten this was his day to come and do the lawns, trim the shrubs.
‘Oh, it’s you, Mrs Carter,’ said the gardener. ‘I wondered what was going on. Sorry to make you jump like that. I haven’t seen anyone in the annexe since Mrs Carter died. Mr Carter’s mother, I mean.’
‘I know who you mean,’ said Ruthie, shoving past him and relocking the door. Suddenly she felt stone-cold sober. ‘She died, I didn’t. I’m still alive.’
But as she walked back to the main house, she wondered if that was really true.
12
‘Don’t I know you?’ asked Aretha, leaning her rangy black frame against Annie’s open door.
Annie was sprawled out on the bed flicking through a magazine. She wasn’t in the best of moods. She didn’t like being at Celia’s. All that bumping and grinding in the night, people coming and going at all hours. This morning, glad to get out of the place, she’d turned in for work as usual at the corner shop. Monday morning. Ruthie had been Mrs Max Carter for a month but for Annie it was just more of the same old shit.
But this Monday, things were different. Bert Tobey, the owner, looked uncomfortable as she started to shrug off her coat.
‘Better keep that on, Annie love,’ he said, his eyes avoiding hers. ‘Sorry, but your job’s gone.’
Annie stood there, half in and half out of her coat, and stared at him. ‘What do you mean, gone?’
‘We don’t need extra staff any more,’ Bert said. His big good-natured face looked unhappy. ‘Vi and me can manage on our own, we’ve decided. Sorry, but there it is.’
‘But I need this job,’ said Annie. ‘You’re happy with my work, aren’t you?’
‘I’ve had no complaints on that score,’ said Bert carefully.
‘Well then.’
‘Well nothing.’ Suddenly his eyes blazed with irritation. ‘I’ve told you, the job’s gone. You’re all paid up until last Saturday, so we’re square. Now piss off.’
Annie recoiled. Bert had never spoken to her like that before. Through the beaded curtain that led to the stock room she could see Vi, his wife, listening to what was going on. And then she understood and rage engulfed her.
‘Who are you telling
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