Crispin groaned and clutched his head.
“You assaulted him!” screamed Alison. “I’ll call the police.”
But the word
When they got outside, Alison noticed he looked white and shaken and there was a lump beginning to form on his forehead.
“I’d best get you back,” said Alison. “Are you sure you’re all right? I mean, I could call the police.” Fern Bay was probably on Hamish’s beat, thought Alison, and then remembered Hamish’s cruelty of the previous evening.
“No, no, I’ll be all right in a tick. That little bastard. Did you see the way he just put his cap back on and went back to his drink as if nothing had happened?”
“It’s because you’re English,” said Alison soothingly. “They don’t like the English and I don’t suppose they like being called peasants either.”
Maggie was waiting for them when they got back. She was holding a pile of typed manuscript.
“I’ve made some changes,” she said nastily to Alison, “so you better get in there and start typing.”
“Alison said you were writing a book. Are we all in it?” asked Peter Jenkins.
“Wait and see,” said Maggie with a husky laugh. The four men who were in the living room exchanged uneasy looks. Maggie rounded on Alison. “Well, stop standing there like a drip and get to work!”
“I’d like a word with you in private, Maggie, now!” said Peter.
“Very well. Come outside.”
Alison went into the study, feeling a little glow of warmth. Peter was going to give Maggie a telling off about her harsh treatment of her. The study window overlooked the garden. Alison longed to hear what Peter was saying. She pushed open the window and listened hard.
Peter’s well-modulated drawl reached her ears quite clearly.
“This advertising business of mine has been going through some hard tunes, Maggie,” she heard him say. “But I’ve got some new top clients and the money will be coming through soon. If you could see your way to lending me a few thousand, I can pay you back at the end of six months and at a good rate of interest, too.”
“So you want my money without having to marry me to get it?” said Maggie.
“Oh, love, come here and give me a kiss. If I thought I had a hope in hell of getting you, I wouldn’t have asked…”
Alison closed the window and sat down, feeling miserable. No one loved her; Hamish was fed up with her and Peter and Crispin were only making up to her because they thought she had an in with Maggie.
The study door opened and James Frame sidled in. “I say…” he began tentatively.
“If you’ve come to ask me to put in a word with Maggie, forget it!” said Alison bitterly. “She hates me and I hate her and I wish I were dead but I’d like to see her in her grave first!”
“Gosh, you are in a tizzy,” said James, smoothing down his patent leather hair with a nervous hand. “I only came to ask you…well, don’t you see, it’s that damn book that’s worrying me. Be a good chap and tell me if she’s got me in it.”
Alison looked at him with loathing. She hated them all. “You’re all in it,” she said spitefully, “and highly pornographic it is, too. Do be an angel and tell the rest, won’t you? I’m sick of being pestered and I’ve got work to do.”
The study door opened again and this time Maggie walked in. She stopped short at the sight of James. If Alison had listened at the window a little bit longer, she would have heard Peter defending her. That and the fact that her niece had been out driving with Crispin had put Maggie in a towering rage. The sight of James bending over Alison was the last straw.
“When you’ve finished typing that book,” said Maggie to Alison, “you can pack your things and leave.”
“But I’ve got nowhere to go,” said Alison weakly.
“Listen, Alison,” said Maggie, “you’ve got your health and strength so I suggest you stop sponging off me and start working for a living. That whey face of yours makes me sick. I expect you to be out by the end of the week.”
“Could I have a word with you, beautiful?” oiled James.
Maggie went in for one of her lightning changes of mood. “Of course,” she murmured seductively. “Come up to my bedroom.”
Alison sat, numb with misery, but somewhere at the bottom of her misery was a tiny feeling of relief. The door opened again and she heard Steel Ironside’s Liverpudlian accents. “Well, that’s that. She’s taken that gaming club creep up to her room. He’s probably getting his leg over right now.”
Alison sat, rigid and silent.
The pop singer began to pace up and down the room. He was wearing a black cotton shirt open to the waist, revealing a thick that of grey chest hair in which nestled a large gold medallion. “God, I could do with a bit of her money,” he said. “I know I’ve got a hit. But I need the money for a backing group and then the hire of a studio.”
Alison began to cry. She had been crying such a lot lately that the tears came easily, splashing onto the typewriter.
“Hey, what’s up, luv?” The pop singer sat down on a chair beside Alison and peered at her through his half- moon glasses.
“Maggie’s throwing me out at the end of the w-week,” hiccupped Alison.
“Haven’t you any place to go?”
Alison dumbly shook her head.
“Here. Give me a piece of paper. There’s these bods in a squat down in Liverpool who’ll take you in. Give them this note.”
“You’re very kind,” said Alison when she could, although she thought she would rather die than move in with a lot of Liverpudlian squatters who were probably all high on dope.
“Fact is, the four of us were talking about you this morning. Maggie’s gone on so much about her bad heart, in the event of her dying soon, we was saying it might be better for one of us to marry you and then divvy up the takings.”
“If Maggie died,” said Alison, “I would take the money, keep it, and throw you all out. I hate Maggie and I hate you.”
But he merely laughed and patted her head. “Maggie’s turned out a right bitch,” he said. “She’s enough to turn the milk. When I think what a smasher she was, warm and beautiful. Right bloody cow she is now. Don’t take it out on me. With any luck, she’ll drop dead. I’ll survive somehow.”
“I’m sorry if I was rotten to you,” said Alison, “but you all seem so mercenary. Not one of you seems to like Mag-gie.”
“It’s all very well to live in slums and eat baked beans when you’re young,” said Steel, half to himself, “but one day you wake up old and broke and the thought of going back and starting all over is scary. Know what I mean?”
“I’m going to have a cup of coffee,” said Alison, getting to her feet. “Coming?”
“Sure. Lead the way.”
Mrs. Todd was in the kitchen and looked anxiously at Alison’s tearstained face. “Whit’s the matter, bairnie?” she said.
Alison told her of Maggie’s throwing her out.
“Maybe she’s worried about something,” said Mrs. Todd. “Mrs. Baird’s a fine decent woman and – ”
“Decent!” Alison’s laugh was shrill. “I never told you, Mrs. Todd, but she was and still is a tart. You should read that book of hers.…”
“Don’t be saying nasty things about herself,” said Mrs. Todd soothingly.
“S’right, all the same,” said Steel, slouching around the kitchen with his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. “Real old whore is our Maggie.”
“I will not be having that language in my kitchen!” Mrs. Todd was quite pink with outrage. The pop singer grinned and strolled out.
“Don’t worry your head at the moment,” said Mrs. Todd. “I have a wee bit cottage in the village and I can put
