‘I can’t cope with this on my own,’ said Ruthie, tears in her eyes.
Annie slowly sat back down. ‘No more arguments,’ she said.
Ruthie shook her head frantically. ‘No. No more arguments, I promise.’
‘Or I walk,’ said Annie, feeling sick at heart.
So they sat there together, in silence, and waited for Connie to die.
* * *
At half past eleven that night, Annie said good-night to Donny and quietly let herself into the Park Street apartment. Max’s keys were in the dish; he was back. She switched on a table lamp, then went to the open bedroom door and looked in. Max had fallen asleep with the bedside light still burning. His chest rose and fell smoothly with the rhythm of his breathing. Annie softly crossed the room and turned off the light. Then she went back into the sitting room and sat down, knowing that she couldn’t get into bed with him tonight, not after spending time with Ruthie, not after watching their mother quietly fade away.
She sank her head into her hands. Jesus, what a day. She stank of disinfectant, she realized. Disinfectant and death. Her mother had slipped so quietly into that final sleep, the nurse checking her pulse, shaking her head, then walking away to let them say their goodbyes.
She had been more choked by it all than she had expected. Ruthie had sobbed and wailed inconsolably, but Annie had been unable to cry, although she had felt waves of misery engulf her. All she had been able to do was hold Ruthie tight, stroke her arms and kiss her hair.
It was a measure of Ruthie’s distress that she had allowed this. And to Annie it had been painfully poignant, reminding her how long it had been since she had enjoyed this close contact with the sister she still – despite everything – loved so much.
So no, there was no way she could sleep with Max tonight.
Although she loved him.
Adored him.
She lay back against the couch and thought about Max. God knows it was easier than thinking about poor bloody Ruthie. Max who so enthralled her, who shared her life here in this apartment. This felt like reality, what they shared here, not the harsh, threatening outside world. They were at it like rabbits most of the time, they had christened every part of this place – this couch, the floor, the bath, everywhere. The sexual pull between them was so strong, so overpowering. Everything there was to do, they had done it together. Nothing was off-limits. And they were close.
But still he was Ruthie’s husband and he should have been with Ruthie, she knew 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.
‘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
‘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 cortege. 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
