up in the flat with her three-year-old son, Jimmy Junior, her baby Mo—and Layla. Layla saw Annie coming up the stairs and threw herself at her mother’s legs. She clung on like a small, dark-haired limpet.
Annie scooped Layla up into her arms and smiled into her daughter’s face, although she felt annoyed with Kath because the door had been open, the stairs were a danger, the workmen had been down there with masonry and shit flying in all directions; the kids could get hurt here.
‘You didn’t have to come over, I’d have come to you,’ she said to Kath, who was cuddling her grizzling baby against her vast bosom.
‘Ah, they were getting bored and Layla kept asking for you and I needed some stuff from the shop, so I thought, why not?’ said Kath.
‘How’s she been?’ asked Annie.
Kath shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘A pain in the arse,’ she said, but her grin said otherwise.
Annie kissed Layla’s silky dark hair—so like her own—and inhaled the sweet scent of her daughter.
‘You been a good girl for your Auntie Kath?’ she asked Layla.
‘Yeah!’ said Layla.
‘Is that the truth?’
‘Yeah!’
‘What about you, little Jim?’ asked Annie of Kath’s little boy, who was at the table, his sandy head bent over his paper and crayons. ‘Been good?’
Jimmy gave her a tired smile and rubbed his eyes.
‘He’s ready for his nap,’ said Kath. ‘They’re all getting overtired.’
‘Can Layla stay with you tonight, Kath? I’ve got to go out late on business.’
‘Sure,’ said Kath with a sigh.
She didn’t ask what business. After years of being married to Jimmy Bond, who had once been Max Carter’s number one man, she knew better. But Jimmy Bond was history now, and Kath didn’t seem sorry. In fact, there was a new spring in her step. Jimmy had knocked seven kinds of shit out of her, and she didn’t have to put up with that any more. She was still a train wreck, though; still messy, still untidy.
Annie noticed that Layla had started to cling on tighter to her. She drew back and smiled into the little girl’s eyes—eyes that were the same colour as her own: a dark, dense green. ‘I’ll collect you after breakfast tomorrow, okay? That’s a promise.’
‘You promise, Mummy?’
‘On my life,’ said Annie, hating the anxiety in Layla’s eyes. ‘Uncle Tony’s going to drive you over to Auntie Kath’s with her right now, okay?’
This seemed to reassure Layla, and she nodded and allowed herself to be ushered out the door along with little Jim, baby Mo and a mountain of childcare products and colouring books, plus her overnight pyjamas and Bluey, her new fluffy toy bunny.
At last they were gone. Annie sat in the flat and turned on the TV to catch the news. The Manson trial was still going on in the States, the army had used rubber bullets for the first time in Belfast, and a plane had crashed in Peru, killing all ninetynine people on board. Her attention sharpened as the guy started saying that another escort girl had been found dead, this time in London’s West End, and that the girl’s husband was now helping police with their enquires into this and two earlier killings.
So they still hadn’t formally charged Chris yet. Maybe Jerry Peters had convinced them of Chris’s innocence, and maybe not. They might not have charged him, but neither had they released him. It was too soon to open the bubbly and start dancing on the frigging tables, that was for sure.
There was a different girl on reception when Annie got back to the Vista Hotel just after midnight. ‘Pippa’, the girl’s badge announced. Pippa had a mountain of dark hair on her tiny bird-like head, pale clear skin and blue laughing eyes; her purple fitted jacket and skirt suited her colouring. The place looked deserted, apart from this little bright beacon sitting behind the reception desk.
‘I need to speak to Ray Thompson, your concierge,’ said Annie, surprised to see this dainty little thing here and
Annie scooped Layla up into her arms and smiled into her daughter’s face, although she felt annoyed with Kath because the door had been open, the stairs were a danger, the workmen had been down there with masonry and shit flying in all directions; the kids could get hurt here.
‘You didn’t have to come over, I’d have come to you,’ she said to Kath, who was cuddling her grizzling baby against her vast bosom.
‘Ah, they were getting bored and Layla kept asking for you and I needed some stuff from the shop, so I thought, why not?’ said Kath.
‘How’s she been?’ asked Annie.
Kath shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘A pain in the arse,’ she said, but her grin said otherwise.
Annie kissed Layla’s silky dark hair—so like her own—and inhaled the sweet scent of her daughter.
‘You been a good girl for your Auntie Kath?’ she asked Layla.
‘Yeah!’ said Layla.
‘Is that the truth?’
‘Yeah!’
‘What about you, little Jim?’ asked Annie of Kath’s little boy, who was at the table, his sandy head bent over his paper and crayons. ‘Been good?’
Jimmy gave her a tired smile and rubbed his eyes.
‘He’s ready for his nap,’ said Kath. ‘They’re all getting overtired.’
‘Can Layla stay with you tonight, Kath? I’ve got to go out late on business.’
‘Sure,’ said Kath with a sigh.
She didn’t ask what business. After years of being married to Jimmy Bond, who had once been Max Carter’s number one man, she knew better. But Jimmy Bond was history now, and Kath didn’t seem sorry. In fact, there was a new spring in her step. Jimmy had knocked seven kinds of shit out of her, and she didn’t have to put up with that any more. She was still a train wreck, though; still messy, still untidy.
Annie noticed that Layla had started to cling on tighter to her. She drew back and smiled into the little girl’s eyes—eyes that were the same colour as her own: a dark, dense green. ‘I’ll collect you after breakfast tomorrow, okay? That’s a promise.’
‘You promise, Mummy?’
‘On my life,’ said Annie, hating the anxiety in Layla’s eyes. ‘Uncle Tony’s going to drive you over to Auntie Kath’s with her right now, okay?’
This seemed to reassure Layla, and she nodded and allowed herself to be ushered out the door along with little Jim, baby Mo and a mountain of childcare products and colouring books, plus her overnight pyjamas and Bluey, her new fluffy toy bunny.
At last they were gone. Annie sat in the flat and turned on the TV to catch the news. The Manson trial was still going on in the States, the army had used rubber bullets for the first time in Belfast, and a plane had crashed in Peru, killing all ninetynine people on board. Her attention sharpened as the guy started saying that another escort girl had been found dead, this time in London’s West End, and that the girl’s husband was now helping police with their enquires into this and two earlier killings.
So they still hadn’t formally charged Chris yet. Maybe Jerry Peters had convinced them of Chris’s innocence, and maybe not. They might not have charged him, but neither had they released him. It was too soon to open the bubbly and start dancing on the frigging tables, that was for sure.
There was a different girl on reception when Annie got back to the Vista Hotel just after midnight. ‘Pippa’, the girl’s badge announced. Pippa had a mountain of dark hair on her tiny bird-like head, pale clear skin and blue laughing eyes; her purple fitted jacket and skirt suited her colouring. The place looked deserted, apart from this little bright beacon sitting behind the reception desk.
‘I need to speak to Ray Thompson, your concierge,’ said Annie, surprised to see this dainty little thing here and
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