Dream On (50 page)

Ginny, her eyes wide with fury, sank her teeth deep into his hand. He dropped the knife and she snatched it up and stuck it straight into the side of his neck.

The next thing Ginny knew, she was standing looking down at Ted, who was stretched out on the landing with his head twisted round like a broken doll and his eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Billy took her by the shoulders, rolled Ted out of the way with his foot and eased her towards the stairs. ‘Go up to the flat. I'll be up in a minute.'

As soon as he saw her close the flat door behind her, Billy ran back down to the second floor and grabbed the telephone from behind the bar. ‘Yeah, Johnno, I know it's hard, but I need you here. I need someone I can trust.' He pulled out his cigarette case. ‘I need you to clear something up for me. Right away.' He flicked his lighter and inhaled deeply. ‘Yeah. That's right. It's some rubbish. I want it out of Ginny's way. It's not too bulky but you might wanna bring one of the chaps with you. Someone we both like, if you see what I mean. I'll get straight on the blower to Leila. She'll get someone round yours to mind the kids.'

As Johnno put the phone down he rubbed his hands over his unshaven face. This was all he needed. He'd promised Chrissie faithfully he'd stay with the kids while she was in the hospital. And after all the rucks they'd had lately she'd said this was his last chance. He was just about fed up being at everyone's beck and call. He earned good money but he never had the chance to bloody spend any of it. And if Chrissie knew that her nippers had been minded by one of Leila's toms she'd kill him stone dead. But he couldn't say no to Billy. He'd just have to get it done as quick as he could and get back home before the kids woke up and saw that it wasn't their daddy who was looking after them.

‘Are you all right, girl?'

Ginny nodded, her hand was trembling so badly she could hardly hold her cigarette.

‘I'll make you a cup o' tea, yeah?'

‘But how about—'

‘Don't worry. Someone's sorting it out.'

Billy went into the kitchen and made the tea. When he brought it through to the sitting-room Ginny's shoulders were heaving as she wept silently into her hands. He put the tray down and knelt beside her. ‘Don't cry, girl, it's gonna be all right.'

As she dropped her hands to look at him, Billy winced at the sight of the bloody gash across her cheek. ‘That slag did that, didn't he?'

She turned her head away. ‘What am I gonna do, Bill? This is all such a mess. There's a little girl asleep in there and—'

‘Who is she, this kid?'

‘Her mother was the person I used to think was my best friend. She's not around any more, so I took her in.'

‘How about the father?'

She lifted her chin and looked into his eyes. ‘I just killed him.'

The next evening Ginny was in too much of a state to go downstairs to the club, but Billy insisted they should open as usual, keep everything as normal as possible – he would see to things, make sure everything was all right, while she got some rest. There were a few eyebrows raised amongst the staff when Billy emerged from the flat upstairs, but they all knew better than to ask any awkward questions.

It was nearly half past nine and Ginny, her nerves twanging like badly tuned harp strings, had just been in to check on Susan yet again, when there was an urgent knocking on the flat door.

As she carefully closed Susan's door, Ginny's stomach was turning back flips and she ran through all the possibilities of who it might be. She had to remember what Billy had said about keeping up a calm appearance. She managed to call lightly, ‘Okay, I'm coming,' and walked unsteadily out to the door that she had double-locked and chained for the first time since she had moved in.

She didn't know whether to be relieved or even more worried when she saw that her visitor was Leila. What did she want? They'd not said a word to one another since the night Shirley had been killed.

‘I'd like to talk to you, Ginny,' Leila said very formally. ‘May I come in?'

Ginny stepped back and ushered her through into the sitting-room. ‘Course. But I'd appreciate you keeping your voice down. As I'm sure you've heard, I've got a little girl living with me now.'

Leila draped herself across the sofa and allowed her fox furs to fall from her shoulders. ‘That's not the only thing I've heard.'

‘No?' Ginny automatically covered the gash on her face with her hand. Surely Leila hadn't found out about last night. Her other hand shook as she offered Leila the cigarette box from the coffee table.

Leila took her time lighting and inhaling, then with her eyes fixed on Ginny's she said, ‘You know what people are like. How they talk.'

Ginny said nothing.

‘Billy stayed here last night, didn't he?'

Was that it? Was that all she knew? ‘He's downstairs now, if that's what you mean,' said Ginny warily. ‘I didn't feel too well today and he said he'd keep an eye on things.'

‘I can see from that cut on your face that something's wrong.'

‘That's nothing to do with Billy.'

‘I didn't think it was.' Leila pinned on her professional smile. ‘And it's no concern of mine. But you don't have to lie to me, Ginny. And before you ask, no he doesn't know I'm up here, I slipped past him. Regular little spy, aren't I?'

‘Leila, I don't know—'

‘Look, darling, it's no secret that Billy and I haven't exactly been what they call an item for quite a while now. But when he's just messing around with different girls – Belle one week, Sylvia another – I know I still have a chance.' She tapped the ashes from her cigarette and studied the little grey mound in the chromium ashtray as though it were an item of great fascination, then she raised her eyes and laughed mirthlessly. ‘I'm having a bit of trouble saying this, sweetie. Bit embarrassing, if you know what I mean. You see, until you came along I was always the one Billy came back to. The trouble is, he likes you, Ginny, he likes you a lot.'

Ginny's head was thumping. She really didn't need this. Not now. She stood up. ‘Leila. Please, I—'

‘Just hear me out.' Now Leila was on her feet too. ‘All I want to say is, it's up to you what happens next. You're the one with all the cards. But if you don't really want him, then please tell him, Ginny.' Leila looked away. ‘You can't imagine how much I hate being reduced to this.'

‘Sit down, Leila,' Ginny said wearily. ‘I'll get us a drink.'

She went over to the cocktail cabinet and lifted the lid; the mechanical opening bars of ‘Secret Love' came plinking out, as loud in Ginny's head as a round of church bells. ‘Bugger! I forgot.' She snapped down the lid and paused, listening for any sound of Susan stirring. ‘I'll go in the kitchen and get us—'

‘I'd rather you stayed here,' said a man's voice.

Ginny and Leila both twisted round to see a youngish man standing behind the sofa.

Shit! She must have forgotten to lock the door when she'd let Leila in.

‘Remember me?' he asked.

She shook her head.

‘Try,' he persisted.

She really didn't remember him and she was too preoccupied with trying to remember all the other things that Billy had told her she should do – apart from locking the door and not letting anyone into the flat – to bother playing guessing games with some punter who'd somehow found his way upstairs. She just knew he was about to beg her for a loan so he could play
just one more game
of chemmy, or to have an extension on his bar tab. She'd heard it all before.

‘Look, if you—' she began, but then she saw the two policemen blocking the doorway behind him and a sickening realisation flooded over her.

Of course she remembered him. He was a copper. He was Detective Sergeant Chisholm, the cocky young plain-clothes officer who'd raided the club; the one who had threatened all sorts – until Billy had got Doug Millson round to sort him out.

‘Leila,' she said calmly, ‘would you mind going down and telling Billy, please.'

Leila went to stand up, but Chisholm shook his head. ‘You'd only be wasting your time, Miss Harvey,' he said, using Leila's name as though they were old acquaintances. ‘Saunders knows I'm up here. Two DCs are keeping him company downstairs and I don't think he should be disturbed. He wanted to have a word with DI Millson on the phone. But I told him, like I told you, he'd only be wasting his time.' He sighed contentedly. ‘There's no wriggling out of it this time you see, Mrs Martin. We've got everything we need. It's as simple as that.'

Ginny's mouth was so dry she could barely speak. ‘What d'you want?' she croaked.

‘Well, I'm not here for a cut of the gambling, or for free drinks, or even a free fuck for that matter. I leave that sort of thing to my older colleagues. I'm here to tell you that the body of Ted Martin, your husband, was found washed up in the tide on the Essex marshes earlier today. And from the rocks in his pockets it seemed that someone was trying to conceal it. Not very well, as it happened. Rather a rushed job I'd say. Or maybe an amateur's attempt.'

Leila's eyes widened just a fraction, but she didn't utter a word.

‘We found something else in his pocket,' Chisholm continued, digging inside his jacket and pulling out a clear cellophane envelope. ‘This.'

Ginny wouldn't look at it, whatever it was. She shook her head. ‘I've been separated from my husband for years.'

Chisholm took a step forward. ‘I've just noticed your face, Mrs Martin. ‘How did you get that injury?'

‘I fell.'

‘Your husband had quite a reputation for smacking women around, didn't he?'

‘Did he? I don't know. I've not seen him for I can't remember how long. And—'

‘Do you recognise this, Mrs Martin?'

Chisholm held up the clear packet so that she had no choice but to look at it.

‘What' Ginny swallowed hard. ‘What is it?'

‘It's a business card. It was found tucked inside the torn lining of his jacket pocket. It's a bit soggy from the river water, of course, but it's quite obvious what it is if you look. It's your card, Mrs Martin.'

Ginny dropped down on to the sofa next to Leila, the taste of bile bitter in her throat.

‘I think we'd better continue this conversation down at the station, don't you, Mrs Martin.'

‘But there's a little girl—'

‘Don't worry, Ginny,' Leila said. ‘I'll look after her.'

‘Oh dear, oh dear, Chisholm, you have been a bit previous, haven't you?'

Chisholm was standing – standing! – stony-faced in front of DI Millson's desk, while Millson, and Saunders, and Saunders's fancy, over-priced West End brief sat looking at him as though he was something they'd just stepped in.

‘You've held Mrs Martin in custody all night, haven't you?'

‘Yes, sir. I—'

‘Keep your trap shut, Chisholm. If you listened a bit more you might learn something.'

Chisholm's jaw was rigid with anger. How dare that bent bastard Millson tell him what to do?

‘Mr Saunders here has been, let us say, keeping company with Mrs Martin and she had not been out of his sight for three whole days. Gentleman that he is, Mr Saunders would like this to be kept quiet, of course, to protect the lady's reputation.'

Billy Saunders grinned happily at the now puce-faced Chisholm. ‘If you wanna do a proper bit of detective work, son,' he beamed, ‘I can help you. Would you like that?'

Chisholm managed a brief nod. He wanted to smash the bastard's face in.

‘You take yourself down the docks. Anyone'll do. The Royal, the Albert . . . And talk to some of them fellers down there. The ones in the bonded warehouses all knew Ted Martin. They're the ones who reckon their stock keeps “disappearing”. They were business associates of his, you might say. I wonder if he owed any of them any money? You could ask 'em, couldn't you? But you'll have to watch yourself, son, they're hard men down there.'

Saunders leaned back in his seat and pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket. ‘Tell you what, when you've finished down there, you can try talking to some of the girls round Soho. Ask them about him. They'll be able to tell you all about his nasty little ways and what a no-good slag he was. There must be plenty of toms and their ponces who had the right needle with that piece o' shit.'

Chisholm stared determinedly in front of him. ‘Can I go now, sir?'

Saunders knew full well he was talking to Millson, but he couldn't resist. ‘Course you can, son,' Saunders said. ‘And mind how you go. Some of them brasses can be right hard nuts.'

As Chisholm left Millson's office, Saunders's laughter followed him like a bad smell.

‘Don't you say a single word,' Chisholm barked at an open-mouthed WPC who just happened to be walking past.

Within ten minutes, Billy had shown his appreciation to Millson with a bundle of used notes, had paid his brief for his very expensive time – which hadn't actually been required, but Saunders always liked to be prepared – and was now helping a deathly pale Ginny into the back of a cab.

He told the driver where to take them and slid the glass screen shut. ‘Are you all right, girl?'

She shook her head and stared down at the floor. ‘I can't take any more of this, Billy. I can't. I just don't know what to do. I wanted to tell them it was me. But I was so scared for Susan, I—'

Billy folded his arms around her and she buried her head in his shoulder.

‘Ssssh, girl, don't get all upset, I'm here now and I'm gonna look after you.'

GINNY LEANED BACK
in the blue-and-white-striped deckchair, stretched out her bare, tanned legs and pressed her toes into the soft, cool grass. Maybe, when your life was so good, it wasn't right to ask for more, but it wasn't as though she was asking for herself. And it wasn't as though she was asking for that much – just for Dilys to mention Susan in her letters. Then at least Ginny could show them to her. That would be something, some sort of contact with her mother. But no; not a word in any of them about anything other than how wonderfully Dilys was doing in America. It was as though her daughter had never existed.