‘At least they got him, they’ve charged him with my baby girl’s murder,’ Louella said when she’d calmed down a bit.
Annie looked at Dolly, who looked away. She knew Dolly’s take on this; Chris was guilty. End of story.
Annie looked next at Ellie, whose mouth had opened to protest. She shook her head and Ellie’s mouth shut like a clamp. The police might have charged Chris but, like Ellie, Annie was convinced they had the wrong man. But this was not the time to start in on that again, not with Louella here.
‘They’ve released her body,’ said Louella.
‘Oh,’ said Annie, and drank tea, trying to warm up the film of ice that seemed to have formed over her heart. She thought of her friend Aretha lying dead because some pervert had taken it into his head to kill her.
‘She’s in the Chapel of Rest.’
‘Have you been to see her?’ asked Dolly after a beat.
The big black woman shook her head.
‘I wanted to. Couldn’t face it alone. I just couldn’t,’ she moaned.
‘We’ll come with you,’ said Annie. ‘Pay our respects. If you want to go?’
Louella looked at Annie, then at Dolly. She’d cursed them both a few minutes ago, called them bad people. Her dark eyes were full of hurt and suspicion. But she nodded cautiously.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘All right. I’d appreciate that.’
Annie made a mental note to kick Deaf Derek’s stupid arse up between his shoulder blades next time she clapped eyes on him.
Chapter 19
First it had been the uppers: they had made Mira feel so much better, had blurred the edges of her pain, lifted her, repaired her shattered spirit even though they ruined her appetite. She’d lost weight. She could feel her ribs sticking out. She felt self-conscious about that.
Then the downers, the wonderful downers, had made her sleep without dreaming; she hated to dream, her dreams were nightmares, technicolour, hideous: she was pleased to be free of them at last. But for every plus there had to be a minus. She awoke every morning feeling vile, hung over, and when she looked in the bathroom mirror she saw that her skin had lost all its youthful bloom and that her hair was dull. No amount of pamper treatments and visits to the salon seemed to make it any different, either.
‘Try some of this,’ Redmond said one evening when they were laid out on the couch watching television, and put a line of white powder on to the glass top of the coffee table. He rolled up a ten-pound note and handed it to her and said: ‘Just sniff it in. It’s amazing.’
She was in a happy mood. She’d taken her tablets and they’d drunk a full bottle of champagne between them; she felt good. She felt good because she refused to think about anything, and the pills made it so much easier not to think. The sex between them, for instance. It had become increasingly experimental, veering into sadomasochism, stuff she didn’t like, stuff that frightened her, and she wouldn’t think about that, she refused to think about it, how it turned Redmond on when he hurt her, she just took her pills and felt good.
She took the little rolled note from him, leaned forward, inhaled the powder.
Suddenly, Mira felt like God.
Nothing was beyond her. Everything was possible. She looked in wonderment around the room, and saw that every colour was brighter, crisper; that he was more beautiful than ever, his hair like flames, the sheen on his white skin like alabaster, his eyes the brilliant pale green of fresh limes.
‘Oh…oh shit…’ she murmured, staring around her with eyes new born.
He was smiling benevolently. ‘You like that, darling?’ he said, and trailed a hand down her bare arm.
It was ecstasy; she shivered and half closed her eyes, it felt so good.
Redmond leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue playing with hers. She felt hotly aroused in an instant, as if she was going to come right then and there. She leaned into his kiss; he unzipped himself, and pushed her head down; he was so beautiful, she kissed his rigid cock rising from its nest of red pubic hair and then did what he so loved her to do, and then she paused and looked up at his face, his exquisite, wonderful face, as handsome as an angel’s, and he was holding a square of what looked like soft rubber over his nose and mouth, the material flattening out on his face as he struggled to breathe against it.
‘Keep doing it,’ he said, his voice muffled, gasping. He closed his eyes. His erection was huge now. Feeling drunk, feeling ecstatic, feeling high, Mira turned her attention back to his straining cock and did what whores did best.
‘It’s just a dental dam,’ he said later as they lay entwined in bed. ‘It makes it…more enjoyable. It enhances my orgasm. You should try it.’
Redmond had already had his hands around Mira’s neck during sex. He had already beaten her. The thought of him holding a square of rubber over her nose and mouth while they copulated did not excite her. But that thrilling white powder was still coursing through her veins, making her reckless, invincible.
‘Do it then,’ she said, and he did.
It was frightening, and arousing. He was right.
They did it often, after that.
He never touched the white powder, but she did. She began to look forward to it. She started to look for it, to ask for it. It made her feel so good. Her weight kept going down and her appetite vanished. Her hair grew lank and her skin was dull and erupted in sores and spots. But she kept asking for the powder, and he said if she did what he wanted, let him put the dental dam over her nose and mouth while they fucked, let him have his hands around her throat while they did it, let him call her Bitch and Whore and slap her a little, just a little, then he would keep the supply coming.
‘Anything,’ she said, and led him to the bedroom, and did it just as he wanted it, the dental dam over her nose and mouth, his cock pumping hard inside her—he never lost his erection when they did it this way— and his hands clasping her throat, harder and harder as he got close to orgasm, harder and harder until he came, and she passed out.
‘Darling?’ He was tapping her cheek when she came round, wondering where she was, what had happened to her. ‘Jesus, that was fucking wonderful,’ said Redmond, falling back on to the bed and putting the rubber over his nose and mouth to see how soon he could get erect again.
It was then that Mira knew she had to get out of this, no matter what he’d threatened to do if she ran out on him—because if she didn’t then she knew that he was going to go too far, and kill her anyway.
And so one day Mira packed up everything she owned and left Redmond. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew she had to get away from him before it was too late. She had some uppers in her bag, and a few downers, and a little nose candy too, although that was giving her a few problems, a few little nosebleeds, but she had enough to keep her going for a few days.
Finally she booked into a little B & B in Soho—several took one look at her and turned her away—not giving her own name, because she knew he would try to find her. If he found her then she was dead, and although she was low, tired and confused, she did not want to die.
But then she ran out of uppers, and then the downers were all used up, and soon the nose candy too, because she seemed to need more and more of it just to achieve the same effect. The owner of the B & B wasn’t too fussy, but when he found her convulsing and throwing up in the hallway, he drew the line.
‘Get your stuff and get out,’ he said, his face twisted with disgust. ‘Filthy junkie.’
