47
Limehouse, 1963
Dolly would never forget the day Annie Bailey showed up on Celia’s doorstep. It was not long after Tory got himself shot to death, and the rumours were rife. Max Carter, Max Carter, that’s what everyone was saying. Max Carter did it. He was guilty as sin. And then there were other rumours, even more shocking ones; Max Carter had got married the day after Tory Delaney’s death, but on the night that Tory had been killed Max Carter had also bedded his soon-to-be bride’s sister. Somehow, this had become known to the Bailey family – and the shit had hit the fan big-style.
‘Christ, that bloke’s been busy,’ was Darren’s opinion, shared with all the girls at the kitchen table. He made a fanning gesture with his hand. ‘I’ve seen him, you know. This Max Carter person. Hot as hell, that one. Shame he’s straight. That man is gorgeous.’
‘Do you think it’s true? That he did all that?’ asked Dolly, fascinated.
Darren shrugged. ‘Who knows? Could be. He don’t give a shit for anyone, that man. He’s been shoving the Delaney boys for months now and I reckon it’s about time they shoved back. And the girl? This Annie Bailey sort? He’d do that without a moment’s thought.’
And then, this exotic-looking girl arrived – Celia’s niece, by all accounts – and Celia Bailey took her in. Despite all her worries about Sarah and Dad and the changing situation with the Delaneys, Dolly glimpsed Annie and thought, Just look at her. Talk about Lady Muck.
Dolly herself was no beauty, and when she saw beauty in others she resented it. Annie was dark-haired, tall, with bone structure any girl would kill for and a stately, upright way of carrying herself. She had fabulous dark green eyes and a great body, shown off by a brief white PVC mini-mac and white kinky boots.
‘That’s her,’ Aretha said to Dolly and Darren, as Celia led Annie up the stairs.
‘Who?’ They looked at her in confusion.
‘Jeez, keep up will you? That’s her.’ Aretha leaned in so that Celia shouldn’t hear them gossiping away down in the hall. ‘That’s Annie Bailey, that’s Ruthie Carter’s sister, that’s the one who was fucking Max Carter the night before he married Ruthie, the night they also say he killed Tory Delaney. Christ, don’t you know anything? Her mum threw her out when she found out about it, and Celia’s taken her in. Bet that went down well with dear old Mum, don’t you?’
‘She’s a working girl then?’ asked Darren, eyes like saucers.
‘Nah, Celia’s her aunt, her father’s sister. I don’t suppose anyone else would have her after what she did.’
‘This Annie’s sister took it bad then?’ said Ellie.
‘Bad?’ Aretha gave a guffaw of laughter. ‘Ruthie Bailey told their mum straight off, I heard, and the mother went crazy and kicked Annie Bailey’s high-toned arse straight out on to the street. They ain’t got a clue she’s come here. Celia and the mother don’t talk, haven’t for years. Word is, Ruthie Bailey – no, Ruthie Carter - is taking to drink just like the mother, she’s that upset about it all.’
In the days that followed, Dolly watched Annie. She carried herself like a queen. Which of course she wasn’t. Dolly knew that. She was no better than any of the workers here, she was a tart, surely? No, she was worse than that. She’d fucked her brother-in-law, betrayed her sister. She was the lowest of the low.
One evening, Dolly went up to the room where Annie was hiding out, keeping out of everyone’s way.
Guilty as sin, thought Dolly as she went up the stairs. Ellie’s Dansette was playing Cliff Richard, and Darren and Ellie were in there, singing along, both of them out of tune like a couple of cats howling on a roof; they couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. They were all at a loose end tonight except Aretha, who was banging away with a client like a good ’un. It was raining; that always put the punters off.
Dolly was about to go and join Ellie and Darren when she saw Annie heading into her room.
‘I know you,’ said Dolly, pausing there. ‘Word is, you fucked your sister’s bridegroom the night before the wedding.’
Annie hesitated. After a moment she said in a low husky voice: ‘Whatever the “word” is, I’ve got nothing to say about it.’
‘Oh, go on,’ crowed Dolly. ‘I could do with a laugh.’
‘Fuck off,’ said Annie Bailey.
‘I’m only taking an interest.’
‘Who asked you to?’
Dolly’s smile dropped from her face. She moved in closer. ‘I could tell you the things I’ve heard,’ she said.
‘Such as?’
‘They say your sister’s on the bottle. Took it all bad.’
Annie’s face remained blank. ‘Says who?’
‘Says everyone. You know, you ought to be nicer to me,’ said Dolly. ‘I could get word to your sister that you’re living in a knocking shop. How would that go down? You wouldn’t be so fancy then, would you, with her thinking you were making your living flat on your back.’
Annie slapped her, hard. Dolly stood for a moment, shocked, transfixed by the nerve of this cunt, then she launched herself at Annie, flinging the door wide and knocking the taller woman back on to the bed, clawing at her hair. Annie hit her again, even harder, and Dolly let out a screech of surprise, trying to get her nails hooked into Annie’s face.
Annie grabbed Dolly’s wrists and pushed her back, and then there were shouts and Darren and Ellie were there, yanking Dolly off. Dolly was shrieking and spitting, but between them they managed to drag her out of Annie’s room and back on to the landing.
‘You’ll be sorry you did that,’ screamed Dolly.
‘What the hell’s going on out here?’ asked Aretha, joining the gathering on the landing wearing a very small white towel.
‘They were fighting,’ said Darren, both shocked and excited.
‘Well, pack it in,’ hissed Aretha. ‘I’ve got a solid-gold punter in there and he’s getting nervous. He thought the sodding Old Bill were out here raiding the place.’
Darren tossed his blond head and took a step back. Through the half-open door he glimpsed a man tied face-down to Aretha’s bed. There was a whip on the floor. The man’s naked buttocks were striped with pink lines.
‘Nice arse,’ said Darren.
‘Get your thieving eyes off it,’ advised Aretha, stalking back into her room. ‘Keep it down, OK?’
‘Come on, girls,’ said Ellie with an encouraging smile at Dolly and Annie. ‘Shake hands and make up, all right?’
Dolly took aim and spat neatly at Annie’s feet.
‘You’ll be fucking sorry,’ Dolly promised, and she went off to her room, slamming the door behind her.
48
As Dolly saw it, there was nothing else she could do. Forget Her Royal Highness Annie Bailey coming in here queening it over all the mere mortals, that was nothing. It soured Dolly’s mood, but her mood was sour anyway, after what she’d been through and what she’d seen.
Dad and Sarah, walking down the street.