Nula was made up with her new house. She had a whale of a time decorating the place – not that she ever lifted a finger herself, of course. There were kitchen designers and architects and painters and decorators and plumbers all swarming around for months on end, refurbing the place to her exact specifications.
Nula no longer saw her drab parents or her overbearing brother, and in a way that suited her. She’d never been close to her dad and brother, but she did miss Mum. However, she realized that her poorly raised but very sweet mother was a bad fit for this progressive new life of hers. Painful as it was, she was going to have to cut the cord, slice through the ties binding her to that unsatisfactory past, so that she could fully enjoy the new. Yes, they’d all three come to her and Charlie’s wedding – Nula had invited them because it would have looked odd if she hadn’t – but there the association had ended.
These days Nula was in a different league. She’d found her Mr Right, or Mr Almost Right, anyway. Charlie was a bombastic noisy bastard, and he was plain exasperating most of the time, but he sure knew how to treat a girl.
Now it was party time! Nula became the go-to hostess for all the crims and their ladies. Terry and Jill, down there in the gatehouse at the bottom of the drive, never came to these shindigs.
Nula loved the fact that Jill’s place was so old compared to hers. They even had bats up in the loft of the gatehouse, which caused Nula no end of amusement. Jill might have the prize in the shape of Terry, but she didn’t have the grand house to live in, only a bat-infested ruin. Oh, Terry had summoned the decorators to pretty the place up, and he’d complained to the council about the vermin, but the council weren’t interested.
‘Up in the loft it stinks to high heaven. Like ammonia, you know?’ Terry told Charlie. ‘The droppings.’
‘Clear ’em out then,’ said Charlie.
‘I been told they’re pipistrelles.’
‘Fuck that. They’re vermin,’ said Charlie. ‘Just get rid.’
But Terry didn’t. Actually, he didn’t mind the bats like Jill did. He liked to stand out in the garden at night, watching them ducking and diving against the starlit sky.
Meanwhile, up at Charlie’s it was party central, and the parties were every bit as wild as Jill and Terry suspected they would be. Keys in the dish? It was such a laugh. And spin the bottle. Charlie told Terry that they had two-way mirrored walls in several of the rooms, so people could stand behind it and watch the gymnastics going on. It was fun. You never knew who you were going to wind up with, but it was agreed between Charlie and his wife that condoms would always be used at these events.
‘I don’t want some cheap tart showing up at the door claiming to be carrying your kid,’ said Nula.
‘And I don’t want you up the duff to another man,’ said Charlie.
‘You’d think Terry and Jill would enjoy this,’ said Nula, feeling an edge of irritation at what he’d said. Christ, this had all been Charlie’s idea anyway. She only took part because he wanted her to.
‘What, the parties?’
‘Yeah. It might spice things up a bit for them. Put some sparkle back in the bedroom.’ Despite all her best intentions, Nula was picturing herself having sex with Terry. She felt herself grow damp at the thought of it.
‘Nah,’ said Charlie. ‘Terry’s not the type for it. And neither’s Jill. She’s a lady, that one.’
Nula felt a deeper stab of annoyance at that. So Jill was a lady, was she? And what did that make her?
Not that it mattered. She calmed herself, looked around at all that she had, with Jill down at the bottom of the drive playing poor relation. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. Nula was content.
Money wasn’t a problem for Charlie, so now they had this party-central house, swish motors in the four-car garage, a brand-new set of double-D tits that she showed off in plunging empire-line gowns whenever they had a party – oh, and they had lots of those – and now she’d been to the doc and he’d confirmed that she was pregnant. When she broke the news to Charlie, he was so pleased he nearly cried.
‘You little beauty!’ he burst out, picking her up and twirling her round.
Nula had to laugh. His child-like enthusiasm was infectious.
‘We’ll need to get the nursery done up ready,’ she told him as he set her back down on her feet.
‘No problem, baby doll. You hum it, I’ll play it. Get the designers in. Whatever you want, no expense spared.’
Nula nearly purred with satisfaction. No longer was she Nula the loser, shunned at school with the other wannabees, a dull ugly girl from a dull ugly background. Now – at last – she was sought after. Tradespeople kowtowed to her, wanting her money. All Charlie’s mob and their wives and girlfriends stepped around her very, very carefully, because she was Charlie’s, and if you upset Charlie, you were going to be in the shit.
She understood that Charlie was in a dangerous game. But Charlie was smart; he had a strong sense of self-preservation. And of course Terry was always there, watching over him.
Nula had to sigh over that. Yeah, Terry was always there. Having Terry hovering in the background was like having a beautiful red fox fur or a huge box of Belgian chocolates right where you could see it, but always out of reach. She’d fallen in love or lust or some damned thing with Terry on that long-ago night when he’d – out of pity – asked her to dance. Now she had Charlie. Charlie was the bigger prize, she knew that, but . . . she still had that yen for Terry.
Maybe she could make him have a yen for her?
Unlikely. Terry wasn’t a player, and Jill was in the way. There was Charlie to consider, too, and Charlie wasn’t a man you wanted to upset, not ever. She knew his pride would be hurt if she managed to get Terry into bed. He’d lose it. Kill Terry, possibly kill her, too. She’d sounded Jill out, asking her if she ‘partook’, but Jill had just looked at her with blank dislike. The silly cow hadn’t even understood what Nula meant. Now Nula supposed all their fun evenings were going to have to be stopped, anyway. It was a relief, to be honest. She’d only ever done the parties to please Charlie. No way could she, pregnant with Charlie’s child, get up to those sort of tricks any more.
Yeah, Charlie was OK and she loved being Mrs Charlie Stone. He was over the moon at the baby news. But irritatingly she still had that itch for Terry.
Much as she wanted it to, it never seemed to go away.