The Annie Carter Series Books 1–4. Jessie Keane
Celia nodded and shook Kieron’s hand.
Annie knew that if you were a Delaney you could be whatever the fuck you wanted to be. Everyone knew that. So he wanted to call himself a painter? Delaney contacts would ensure exhibitions and plentiful sales. Who, after all, was likely to turn the man away? Annie looked at him with jaded eyes. The gangs ran these streets and she’d already had a brush with the Carters, she didn’t want to get into conversation with another lot.
‘This is Annie,’ said Celia, not elaborating further.
Annie shook Kieron’s hand. Actually he was good-looking. Blond floppy hair and a long thoughtful face, brown eyes that seemed on the point of laughter. His hands were long, but strong. His grip was dry.
‘Hello,’ she said.
‘Hello.’ Kieron was staring at Annie and thinking how gorgeous she was. That long dark hair, those depthless dark green eyes, that delicious figure. His mouth was dry with sudden excitement. ‘Have you ever had your portrait painted?’
Annie laughed.
Celia nudged her sharply.
Annie stopped laughing. ‘Oh. Sorry. Are you being serious?’
‘Deadly,’ said Kieron, then, thinking that this might worry her, he added: ‘Very serious.’
‘No. I’m not into all that. Standing on pedestals and stuff.’ Annie wrinkled her nose.
‘Ah, you’re like me,’ said Orla. ‘You like to keep on the move.’
‘I’d pay the going rate,’ said Kieron.
Annie’s interest was perked. She had no job. Celia was being kind and letting her stay for nothing, putting aside all Annie’s protestations, saying that she was family and to say no more about it. But she felt bad, like she was sponging off her. Some money coming in would be very welcome.
‘What is the going rate?’ asked Annie awkwardly.
‘Five pounds.’
‘Oh.’ Well, it was something. ‘Well that would be okay, a fiver for the whole thing.’
‘No. That’s five pounds an hour,’ Kieron corrected her.
‘An hour?’ Annie echoed in disbelief. ‘That’s a bloody fortune. Sorry,’ she added to Orla, blushing because she had sworn in front of the sainted Delaneys.
‘It’s all right,’ said Orla. ‘Celia has our number. Perhaps you’ll give Kieron a phone call soon?’
‘I will,’ said Annie, although she felt unsure.
‘If you want to,’ said Kieron, looking a warning at Orla. ‘If you don’t, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Well … maybe in a little while,’ she stalled.
‘Sure,’ said Kieron. ‘Whenever. Just call, if you want.’
‘Are you sure he’s one of the Delaneys?’ Annie asked Celia as they stood and watched Orla and Kieron walk away across the store. ‘He doesn’t act like one.’
‘No, that’s true,’ said Celia. ‘But don’t upset him, Annie love. The Delaneys look after us. Don’t ever forget that. Tread carefully.’
Celia had succeeded in cheering Annie up. They were drenched in a dozen different perfumes and clutching bags full of clothes and shoes, all paid for by Celia. They were exhausted but happy.
‘Pay me back when you start earning, if it bothers you,’ Celia had said when Annie protested that she couldn’t pay Celia back yet. ‘But if an aunt can’t buy her niece a thing or two, it’s a pretty poor do.’
When they got back home Annie did a double-take when she saw Billy sitting at the kitchen table. This was Delaney turf, after all.
‘Billy! What you doing round here?’ she blurted out.
‘Oh, so you know Billy as well?’ asked Celia.
‘Of course I know Billy. Everyone on the Carter patch knows him.’
‘No one takes any notice of Billy coming here,’ said Celia. She smiled at him. ‘And he comes here every week for tea and biccies, don’t you, pet?’
Annie put down her bags feeling suddenly anxious. The poor loon would find himself filleted like a kipper if he wasn’t careful, wandering about down here.
‘What about the Delaneys?’ she asked.
‘They don’t bother Billy,’ said Celia, her gaze pointed as she looked at Annie. ‘I cleared it with Redmond Delaney, and none of his boys are going to argue with him. I lived next door to Billy’s mum years ago, he nearly grew up in my house and he’s been visiting ever since. We’re old pals – ain’t that right, Billy?’
Billy nodded shyly. He had coloured up at sight of Annie.
But Annie was still worried. Would Billy tell Max where she was? She didn’t know what went on in that funny brain of his. She knew Max had been good to him, and he was probably loyal to Max before all else, which could put her at risk.
‘Put the kettle on, Dolly, will you?’ Celia said, collapsing into a chair and kicking off her heels. Groaning with relief, she rubbed at her feet. ‘God, that’s bliss. We must have walked fucking miles.’
Dolly was one of Celia’s girls. She was a small, curvy and ill-tempered blonde who now slapped the kettle on the stove and slammed the doors open to get the tea caddy and the cups.
‘Four cups, Doll,’ said Celia, seeing that Dolly had only got out three. ‘Billy’s stopping for tea, and Annie’s parched, and you’ll join us, won’t you?’
Billy, his bulging briefcase perched on his lap, his raincoat buttoned to the neck, was scribbling in his notebook with a black Biro. He often did this. Annie had peeked once or twice, interested to see what he was writing. But all she ever saw was a dense, dark scrawl across the paper, meaning nothing. The poor sod wasn’t right in the head.
Dolly put four brimming mugs of tea on the kitchen table.
‘Biscuits?’ asked Celia, and the biscuit barrel was slapped down in front of her. ‘Thanks, Doll,’ said Celia, pulling out her cigarette holder and lighting up. ‘Everything been quiet here?’ she asked as she took her first luxurious pull.
‘Dead as a morgue,’ sniffed Dolly. ‘Aretha’s got a client in, but me and Ellie and Darren are at a loose end.’
They could hear Ellie’s Dansette playing Andy Williams through the ceiling. Darren would be in there with her, having a girly chat. Annie thought Darren was sweet. She never thought she’d take to a shirt-lifter, but Darren was more like a girl than most girls she knew. And some of the male clients – particularly those who’d had a rough time with Nanny and learned bad habits at expensive boarding schools – preferred a pretty boy to a girl any day of the week, so he did good business.
‘It’ll pick up this evening,’ said Celia confidently. ‘Have a biscuit, Billy,’ she said.
‘I’m going on up,’ said Dolly, and took her tea upstairs.
‘So how are you, Billy love?’ asked Celia.
‘I’m v-very well,’ said Billy, and fell silent again.
Talk about witty banter, thought Annie. Poor bastard. Maybe he wouldn’t tell Max she was here. She thought – she hoped – that Billy liked her enough to keep quiet. And maybe Max didn’t care about her whereabouts any more. The thought was somehow not as cheering as it should have been. It might have been a quick fuck to Max, but she’d had real feelings for him.