Annie left the hospital, hailed a cab and made her way back to the hotel in Kensington, ignoring the odd looks from the driver as he took in her mud-spattered clothing. As she paid him from the back of the taxi, the usual red-uniformed hotel doorman opened the cab door for her, his smile freezing for an instant when he saw the state she was in; then it was back in place. Stupidly, he asked if she’d had a good day. But it was his job to be pleasant to the guests, she knew that, even in the face of disaster.
‘Fine,’ she smiled, and walked into reception, pausing there to talk to the familiar receptionist, who also did a double-take as she saw the yellow mud stains on Annie’s clothing.
‘Any messages for me?’ Annie asked, still smiling but in anguish. She wanted to lie down, really quickly, because her middle was throbbing hard and she felt sick. She clutched at the reception desk to hold herself upright.
‘Oh! Are you all right? We were told you’d been admitted to hospital. We were worried about you.’
‘I’m fine. Messages?’
‘Messages?’ The girl behind the desk looked puzzled.
‘Yeah, for me.’
‘No, but . . . you were checked out over an hour ago.’
‘What?’ Annie stared at her blankly.
The girl nodded, referred to her list, then looked up again.
‘He took your things . . .’
‘Who did?’
‘Yes, it’s right here – he checked you out, said you’d been called away on business, and he paid the bill for your stay. I’m so sorry, haven’t you seen him . . . ?’
‘Who?’
‘Well . . . Mr Carter, of course. It was Mr Carter.’
Annie wandered out of the hotel and away down the street in a daze. Max is here. And he knows. Everyone knows. Then Jackie Tulliver ambled up.
‘There you are,’ he said, wafting alcohol fumes all over her. He wagged a finger at her. ‘You want to keep me informed, you don’t want to just go wandering off like that. Where you been?’ Jackie’s eyes went up and down her body. ‘And what the fuck? You been in a mud-wrestling contest? What’s all this?’
Annie ignored him; she kept walking.
‘Only, you know, for back-up purposes. It’s always useful, having someone keeping watch.’
Annie kept walking.
Jackie skipped along beside her, his dirty-denim-clad legs struggling to keep pace.
‘You don’t tell me what’s occurring, how am I to know? You been in a fight? You want to take it easy, let me take the strain—’
Annie stopped walking and spun round so suddenly that Jackie almost bowled into her. She grabbed the front of his moth-eaten denim jacket and shook him, hard. Then she stopped. It hurt like fuck, shaking him. And he wasn’t worth the effort, or the pain.
‘Listen,’ she spat out, eyes mad and cold with rage, ‘you fucking lowlife son of a bitch! Let you take the strain? Last time I needed your back-up, you were too busy trying to find an off-licence to give a fuck where I was and what was happening to me. When I was being hijacked by two thugs, where were you? Oh yeah – I saw you, on your way to the offy. So don’t give me any of your ruddy smarm, you little tosser – and don’t give me any of that bullshit about backup. You’re fucking useless, and you just proved it.’
‘Hey! No need to get abusive,’ said Jackie, dusting down the front of his jacket like she’d ruined the line or something.
‘You heard anything about Max being back in town?’ she demanded.
‘What? No.’
He was telling the truth, of course. Jackie Tulliver, who had once known everything that was happening on these streets, now knew nothing because no one included him. After all, what was the point? He really was useless.
‘I don’t know why you’re bein’ mean to me when all I’m doin’ is tryin’ to help you,’ he whined.
‘Shut. Up.’
‘Well, I don’t think there’s any call for that,’ he sulked.
‘What, for telling the truth?’ Annie glared at him. She rummaged in her coat pocket, found a fiver and flung it on to the pavement. ‘There’s what you’re after, right? Some cash to buy the next lot of booze. Well, there it is. Use it and stay the fuck out of my face.’