‘What’s going on?’ bleated Jackie. ‘I thought you wanted—’
Annie wasn’t even listening. She shot off inside the club, blundering past the removals men, almost running past Pete the barman, and then she hared across the club floor and up the stairs, nearly knocking over another bloke coming down with another full box of Dolly’s belongings. She barged into the flat and stared around in disbelief.
They’d stripped it. The rug with Dolly’s blood on it was gone, and all her little ornaments. Everything. From the bedroom next door she could hear men laughing, a radio playing Whitney Houston, who was blasting out ‘One Moment in Time’ as they disassembled Dolly’s bed, cleaned out her bedroom, trampled on her memory.
In the middle of the sitting room stood Caroline, Gary’s latest squeeze. She saw Annie there and her mouth formed a cat’s-bum pout of dislike.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ demanded Annie.
‘What does it look like?’
Annie felt like she’d had a gutful. She barrelled forward and grabbed the front of Caroline’s dress. Caroline let out a squawk of surprise. Annie’s eyes bored into hers from inches away.
‘It looks like you’re taking the piss,’ said Annie. ‘That’s what it looks like. This is Dolly’s home, you silly tart.’
‘What did you call me?’
‘You heard. Would you jump into her grave this fast, you cow?’
‘You’d better let go of me,’ said Caroline, writhing against Annie’s grip as Jackie walked into the room.
‘Hey! Ladies, no need to get rough now . . .’ he started, waving his hands around. It was the most animated Annie had seen him since she got back, and that angered her all the more, that he was defending this stupid bint who thought she could swan in here and turn Dolly’s memory to ashes in the blink of an eye.
‘Shut your trap, Jackie,’ Annie shot back at him over her shoulder. She gave Caroline a shake. ‘And you! Explain yourself.’
‘Explain what?’ spat out Caroline. ‘Gary said I was going to take over here, and that’s what I’m damned well doing, OK? I’m just cleaning out all this old crap.’
‘Old crap?’ Annie’s eyes glinted with rage. ‘You cheeky little pisser! This is Dolly’s place.’
‘This was her place,’ corrected Caroline. ‘The Bill have said they’ve got all they need in here, and we can clear it out. I’ve got the decorators coming in tomorrow, got to get shot of all this fucking pink tat first.’
Suddenly the rage drained out of Annie like someone had released a valve. Dolly was dead, and actually? This bitch was right. Things were moving on. But to think of this prancing little clown in here running the show, riding roughshod over all that Dolly had so painstakingly built up, it stuck in her gullet to even think of that. But what could she do? Precisely nothing.
‘You say Gary gave you the word on this?’ asked Annie coldly.
‘Damned right. And he got his orders straight from your old man.’
‘What?’ Annie stared at her. ‘Max has been in touch with Gary? Since Dolly got shot? When?’
‘Couple of damned days ago. Gary filled him in on what happened, and asked if I could step in. Mr Carter said yes. You going to let go of this dress? You’re creasing the fabric.’
‘I’ll crease your fucking fabric in a minute,’ snapped Annie. ‘You never heard of the word “respect”? Dolly’s only just cold, and you’re in here already. It’s not right.’
‘It is right, your damned husband says it’s OK and he owns the place. So what the hell you’re beefing about, I really don’t know. Take it up with him.’
I wish I damned well could, thought Annie. Her head was reeling. Max had phoned Gary, and if that was the case maybe he’d also called the Prospect villa. She’d check that when she got back to the hotel. With a disdainful flick of the wrist she released Caroline, who staggered back a pace.
‘You’re fucking berserk, you are,’ said Caroline, brushing down the front of her dress. ‘Gary always said you were, and he’s right. Having marriage troubles, he said. You and Mr Carter. And meeting you? I’m not surprised.’
Marriage troubles? Since when had Max and her been having marriage troubles? This was the first she’d heard of it.
Jesus, Max, what’s going on with you? Where the hell are you?
‘Life goes on, you know,’ said Caroline, brushing past her and past Jackie, and going to the door of the flat.
‘Yeah.’ Annie turned and gave Jackie a bleak look. ‘Just not for Dolly.’
Caroline kept on walking. Annie could see she didn’t give a shit. Life had just bounced her a big result; she’d caught herself a nightclub manager and now she was going to step into Dolly’s shoes and have the running of the Palermo. Probably she’d get Tony and the Jag to queen it around town in too. No wonder she was so made up with it all.
Sickened, Annie stood there as Caroline vanished back downstairs. Jackie looked at the floor.
‘It’s fucking sad,’ he said. ‘About Dolly.’
‘Yeah,’ said Annie, thinking that she’d like to kick Gary Tooley’s balls up around his ears somewhere. ‘Ain’t it just. Come on, let’s go see this fucking contact of yours.’