Reeling, Nula went home. Gary on the door told her that Jill Barton was in the living room, wanting to see her.
‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Nula.
Her brain literally spun. Pregnant? A visit from sickly-sweet Jill was the last thing she wanted right now. When she’d had Milly, that consultant had told her she could have no more kids, it was too risky. This one said, with the proper care, there should be no problem.
Now she had Jill pitching up at the door. It would be to do some committee thing for the parish council. Jill was always doing some daft cake-baking thing, or ferrying oldies to hospital, trying to get in tight with the locals. Christ, didn’t she know what they were, what they all were, Charlie’s mob? Of course none of the locals had the faintest clue about it, but it was drug money that gave Charlie Stone and his entourage this swish country lifestyle. How would the vicar and his coven of WI harpies react if they knew that?
Sighing, Nula went into the sitting room. Jill was there, standing by the window, sunlight streaming in on her silky blonde hair. It made Nula sick to think how she had to work at looking good, while this cow threw on a baggy old jumper and jeans, dragged a comb through her hair, and somehow always managed to look stunning.
‘What can I do for you, Jill?’ asked Nula, tossing her bag onto the couch. ‘Only I’m pretty busy.’
‘Busy doing what? Filing your nails? Having your hair done? You cow! I know about you trying it on with my Terry!’
Oh Christ.
That knocked Nula back. So Terry had told her! And what if he told Charlie? Oh, he’d been OK with the parties back in the day, with her doing it with all and sundry. But this was Terry, his mate since the cradle, his best pal. Nula knew damned well that Charlie would kill her if he heard about this.
She felt her heartbeat quicken. Shit! She was going to have to front this out, there was nothing else she could do. She swallowed. Her mouth was dry, a pulse beating hard in her temples.
‘Oh, he told you,’ she said, as casually as she could.
Jill crossed the room fast. She came and stood right in front of Nula, glaring into her eyes.
‘For Christ’s sake,’ said Jill in a low angry voice. ‘Haven’t you got enough, Nula? Here you are, sitting on top of the pile with Charlie bloody Stone, and you’re still not satisfied! You want my husband too?’
Nula felt a lurch of sickness but she forced a mocking smile onto her face.
‘Only on loan, dearie,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want him for keeps.’
Jill’s hand connected with Nula’s face in a resounding slap. Crack!
Nula raised a hand to her throbbing cheek as Jill bore down on her, wagging a finger right in her face.
‘You cow,’ spat Jill. ‘You keep your thieving hands to yourself. Terry’s mine. You got that? Mine.’
‘Look,’ said Nula, holding up her hands in a ‘peace’ gesture. ‘It’s old news, I promise you. I was a bit drunk at the time and it clashed with my medication. There was nothing to it. Nothing at all.’
Jill stepped back. Her eyes were still flinty with rage. ‘What, both times? You think I’m stupid? You fucking Stones! You want it all, don’t you? You want everything.’
‘Meaning?’ asked Nula, getting sick of this.
‘You got the morals of alley cats, the pair of you,’ said Jill.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Nula was turning away.
Jill grabbed her arm, turned her back to face her. ‘There’s something you ought to know about. Then maybe you wouldn’t be Lady Muck any more, so up yourself. Maybe you’d remember what you’re married to. What he is.’
‘Really? So what is he then?’
‘He’s a fucking rapist.’