Billy had lots of notebooks. For years they had all been packed away safely in his bedroom in an old suitcase. They told all about the Carters and their boys and Annie and parlours and money-laundering through the clubs and billiard halls – and of getting rid of Mad Pat Delaney’s dead body in a covert clean-up operation.
When the doorbell rang a couple of days later, Billy was in the wasteland they called their back garden, sitting on the bench in the sun. Uncle Ted let the four coppers in, and Mum looked surly as she ushered them through to see Billy.
‘Hello again Billy lad,’ said the head copper.
‘Hello,’ said Billy. He’d been expecting them. They’d been watching him for a long time, he knew that. Things had started to get a bit hairy, Max had warned him to be careful. That was why he’d done what he’d done – and not a minute too soon, by the look of it.
‘They’ve got a warrant to search the house,’ said Mum, all a-quiver with moral outrage. ‘What you been up to, you little runt?’
‘Nothing, Mum,’ said Billy.
‘We’ll start upstairs. If you will show us to Billy’s room, Mrs Black, we’ll get this over with as soon as possible.’
Billy sat there peacefully and listened through the open back door as the coppers went thundering up the stairs to his room. He let out a sigh and sat back in the low autumn sun, his deerstalker shielding his eyes from its glare as he gazed off down the garden towards the little metal incinerator Uncle Ted used to burn the garden rubbish in. A faint curl of smoke rose from its chimney, but the fire was out now. He had already checked that all his notebooks were burned to nothing. All that time and effort, gone into dust and ashes.
He thought of Max and Annie, together. They were going away, leaving Jonjo in charge. He wouldn’t work for Jonjo.
As the coppers thumped about upstairs in his room, he felt a new peace seep over him. Life would go on for now, without them. He would manage. And one day – who knew? – perhaps one day he might see his beautiful Annie again.
Epilogue
When Annie walked into the Limehouse parlour one sunny morning it was just like she’d never been away. Chris let her in with a smile, she strode along the hall and there in the kitchen, seated around the table, were Dolly, Darren and Aretha. It was cosy in here, and Dolly was pouring tea. No Ellie raiding the biscuit tin for once.
Aretha stood up and gave Annie a brisk high-five. ‘How you doin’, girlfriend?’
‘I’m good, Aretha.’ Annie looked at Ellie’s empty seat.
‘I had to get rid of that treacherous little tart, she was doing my head in,’ sniffed Dolly. ‘How the hell are you, Annie love?’
‘Blooming,’ said Annie with a grin, taking off her coat and sitting down. ‘How’s tricks?’
‘Busy,’ said Dolly with satisfaction.
‘Glad to hear it. Hey, I’ve got some news for you.’ ‘Come on then,’ said Darren, scooting his chair closer to hers, his eyes alight with interest. ‘Out with it then.’
‘I’m up the duff,’ said Annie.
A whoop went up around the table.
‘For God’s sake!’ smiled Dolly.
‘You pleased?’ asked Aretha.
‘Who’s the daddy then?’ demanded Darren.
‘Who do you think?’ asked Annie, giving his arm a thump.
‘Is it all working out then, you and him?’ asked Dolly, pushing a full mug towards her.
Annie picked it up, absorbing its warmth, smelling the fragrant tea. She cupped her hands around it and took a moment to consider. She looked around at her three very best friends in all the world.
‘Yeah,’ she said at last. ‘It’s taken a while, but I think we’re getting there.’
‘Girl, it sounds like you are doin’ just
Yeah, Aretha was right. Everything in Annie’s world was very fine indeed. She was in love with Max Carter and that love was returned. She was carrying his child. She felt peaceful now about what had happened with her and Ruthie. All that was gone. And she was going straight.
Whatever came next, Annie knew that she could face it head-on, no worries.
None at all.
Acknowledgments
A small battalion of people helped me along the way, in particular Louise Marley, Trisha Ashley and Anne Bennett, all great friends and fellow writers. Thanks too to Lynne and Steve for the monitor and for being such lovely neighbours, and to Judith my agent and Wayne Brookes my lovely editor. Several books were of great help to me, notably Paul Bailey’s
About the Author
DIRTY GAME
The youngest of eight children by a wealthy, chauffeur-driven father and a gipsy mother, Jessie Keane’s story is one of idyllic early years, then from teenage onwards of struggle against the odds. Family tragedy, bankruptcy and mixing with a bad crowd all filled her life.
After 20 years of trying her first novel
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Copyright © Jessie Keane 2008
