Chapter 51
Carmen didn’t cry or yell or throw heavy objects at Rennie. What would be the point? He was Rennie Todd, always had been. It was a wonder this hadn’t happened before.
If anything, she should be glad it had happened, serving as a salutary reminder of how Rennie led his life. Finding out now was almost unbearable, but finding out in six months’ time, when she would have been that much more deeply involved with him, would be infinitely worse.
‘She means nothing to me!’ Rennie was raking his fingers through his hair, scarcely able to believe this was happening. ‘The baby might not even be mine!’
‘But you slept with her,’ Carmen said wearily.
‘Well, yes, but—’
‘What about safe sex? Didn’t it even occur to you that something like this could happen?’
‘Of course it did. We used condoms. It can’t be my child, she’s just—’
‘Rennie, condoms can fail.’ Exasperated, Carmen banged her fist against the arm of the sofa. ‘This girl is pregnant and she says it’s yours.’
‘But it doesn’t have to change things between us,’ he pleaded.
‘It does.’ Carmen couldn’t look at him. ‘It already has. Because this is what you’re like. You sleep with girls like other people eat biscuits, just because they’re there.’
‘But that was eight months ago.’ Rennie’s voice rose. ‘I wouldn’t do it now! I love you.’
‘Sorry.’ As she shook her head, Carmen heard a key turn in the front door. ‘It would never work, Rennie. I was stupid to even think it might.’
‘Coooeee,’ Rose called out, signalling her return home and appearing moments later in the living-room doorway. Her eyes bright, she beamed at them. ‘Had a lovely evening, you two?’
Carmen rose to her feet. ‘You can tell her,’ she said to Rennie. ‘I’m going to bed.’
The double-page spread in the newspaper that had broken the story featured three photographs of Biba Keyes. The first was a reprint of an old Page 3 photo, the second a casual snap of her and Rennie carousing at the party they had attended in New York on the night they met. The third and largest was a demurely posed portrait of Biba, eight months pregnant and with her long blond hair tied back in a plait, tenderly cradling her vast bump whilst gazing with wistful eyes into the lens of the camera.
Rennie had already left the house for an emergency meeting with his manager and agent. Carmen, who had barely slept, wondered if this was Spike’s way of letting her know how stupid she’d been to even contemplate getting involved with someone as wildly unsuitable as his brother.
Biba Keyes had confided some pretty salacious details of her torrid, albeit brief, affair with Rennie. ‘We couldn’t get enough of each other,’ Carmen read, hunched over the paper and feeling sick. ‘He has the best body I’ve ever seen. And he seemed to like mine too! But it wasn’t just the sex, although that was mind-blowing enough. We really connected as people. I knew Rennie cared deeply for me. He promised we’d see each other again and I believed him, but he cruelly went back on his word. I was devastated. When he told me he loved me, I thought he meant it. Still, now that I’m having his baby, I hope Rennie will reconsider. I know we could have a fantastic life together. He’s the only man I’ve ever really loved and I know I could make him happy. I’ve even given up drinking and going out to parties for the sake of our baby, that’s how seriously I’m taking my responsibilities. You’re more likely to see me in Mothercare these days than the latest trendy clubs.’
Nancy put a cup of tea on the kitchen table in front of Carmen and gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘I’ve got to get to work. Will you be OK?’
‘Oh, I’ll live. Again. Third time unlucky and all that.’ Having swallowed a mouthful of hot tea, Carmen said drily, ‘I’m really getting the hang of it now.’
‘And I’m not far behind you. Catching up fast.’ Nancy pulled a face. ‘Fine pair we are.’
Carmen managed to smile, because Nancy was besotted with Connor and Connor was seeing Tabitha, and Nancy - thanks to the bonus Zac had given her - was beholden to Tabitha to the tune of, so far, twenty-three thousand handbags, with more orders pouring in by the day. It was actually funny in a tragic kind of way.
‘Go to work. I’ll be fine, really.’
Nancy gazed one last time at the photograph of Biba in her white Lycra top and hip-hugging pink jeans, displaying her distended belly with pride. ‘It might not be Rennie’s baby. We’ve only got her word for it.’
‘It doesn’t matter whether it is or not,’ said Carmen. ‘It’s been a wake-up call for me. I must have been mad to even think we could be happy together.’
The letterbox clattered, signalling the arrival of the post. Nancy brought the handful of letters into the kitchen and left for work. Sorting dispiritedly through them, Carmen left the ones that were obviously bills and opened a cream, manila envelope franked with the logo of Pariah Records, the company Red Lizard had been signed to prior to Spike’s death. Fans sometimes still wrote to her (and sometimes, more worryingly, to Spike) and the record company forwarded the letters every couple of weeks.
But this wasn’t a fan letter. Feeling hot and ashamed, Carmen read the opening lines.
Dear Carmen,
You obviously didn’t remember me, but I eventually remembered why you seemed so familiar the other week when we met at the shelter. I told you I would! My name is Russell Taylor, but I was always known as Big Russ when I worked as a roadie for Red Lizard. Ring any bells now? Maybe not, we were only the crew shifting equipment in the background, after all. But I wanted to write and let you know that I did know you. My wife Josie, God rest her soul, was always very fond of you too. We both thought you were a lovely girl, and maybe the fact that you are now working in a shelter proves this.
Carmen stopped and took a deep breath. She had pretended not to remember Big Russ for her own selfish ends. She’d betrayed him, refused to acknowledge him. What a Judas. She wasn’t nice at all.
Anyway, the other reason for this letter is to say thank you for what you did. You’ll be glad to hear I caught the train from Paddington (this time!) and made it down to Penzance in one piece. My brother gave me a bit of an earful when I rang him from the station, but eventually came to pick me up.
The other good news is that I have realised you were right. All I’ve been doing is making my life harder to bear. I haven’t had a drink since leaving London and have been to daily AA meetings since then. I know it’s early days but I really think I can do this, thanks to you being so kind to me and making me see sense. When I get a job down here, I’ll send back the money you gave me and that’s a promise, but maybe you could give me your address otherwise those thieving bastards at Pariah Records might not bother to pass it on.
Well, that’s about it. Spike was a good lad and I know you must miss him a lot. Are you still in touch with Rennie these days? Always up to mischief, that boy, but he had a big heart. I hope you are getting on with your own life. You deserve to be happy.
Thanks again for everything.
All the best, Big Russ.
Carmen finished reading and put the letter down on the kitchen table. Burying her face in her hands, she burst into tears.
How could Doreen be gone?
Mia, her heart beginning to race, double-checked that the gate leading into Fitzallen Square’s garden was still shut. This made no sense; a dog didn’t simply vanish into thin air. Doreen couldn’t have been beamed up by aliens. She had to be here somewhere.
Bloody hell, she’d only offered to give Doreen her afternoon walk out of the goodness her heart because Zac and Nancy were still rushed off their feet at the shop. If anything happened to the little dog, Zac would have her guts for garters.
Her guts, not Doreen’s.
‘Doreen!’ Fear drove her voice up a couple of octaves. Dropping into a crouching run - dimly aware that she now looked like Groucho Marx - Mia began peering under bushes. She prayed that Doreen was playing an ill-timed game of hide and seek. ‘Doreen, this isn’t funny, come back here this minute! Doreeeen . . .’
‘Oh my God, where is she? What have you done with her?’ The moment Zac saw the look of anguish on Mia’s face he knew something terrible had happened. The dressmaking shears clattered from his fingers and three metres of chartreuse duchesse satin slithered to the floor. ‘What’s happened to Doreen?’
Mia blurted out, ‘I’m so sorry,’ and stood there gasping for breath, evidently having raced all the way back to the shop.
Feeling himself go white, Zac said through numb lips, ‘Is . . . is she d-dead?’
‘She just disappeared.’ Mia spread her arms helplessly, at a loss to explain. ‘We were in the square, I let her off her lead for a run-about, she trotted off behind that kind of clump of bushes next to the ash trees, and the next thing I knew, she’d gone!’
‘You left the gate open.’
‘I didn’t leave the gate open! I closed it!’ Mia’s lower lip began to wobble. ‘And I looked for her and looked for her, because I thought maybe she was hiding from me or had fallen down a rabbit hole, or had a heart attack or something, but she wasn’t anywhere. Then I . . .’
‘Then you what?’ Zac demanded as she faltered.
‘Oh God, it’s probably nothing, but I checked outside the gardens and at the far end - you know, the corner by Amber Road - I found clumps of fresh mud on top of the railings, like you’d get if someone had climbed over them. But that’s stupid, because who would want to take Doreen? I mean, I know she’s a sweet little thing and all, but nobody would actually set out to steal her.’ Mia’s voice faded away as she saw the look of utter disbelief on Zac’s face. Quivering, she pleaded, ‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they? It’s not as if she’s valuable.’
Nancy arrived back from a five-minute trip to the post office to find the shop in uproar. Zac was pacing around the workroom yelling into the phone and Mia was sitting on a spindly pink and silver chair sobbing noisily. There was a spilled cup of coffee on the floor, and over in the corner the fax machine was churning out fresh orders for handbags from the hottest designer in town.
‘Well, you’re a big help. Thanks for nothing!’ bellowed Zac, slamming down the phone.
‘What’s happened?’ The hairs on the back of Nancy’s neck prickled in alarm.
‘Doreen’s been kidnapped.’ Zac was shaking. ‘Some bastard’s taken her and the police say they can’t do anything because we didn’t see them do it. A missing dog is presumed to have strayed. Oh God, I can’t believe this is happening.’
Nancy went to put her arms round Mia, who was in a terrible state.
‘No, don’t.’ Mia pulled away, distraught. ‘I can’t bear it.’ Bursting into even noisier sobs she wailed, ‘It’s all my fault.’
Zac’s mobile phone rang an hour later. He snatched it up.
‘Yeah, hi, have you lost your dog?’
The tag that dangled from Doreen’s collar was engraved with her name and Zac’s number. Despite his misgivings, Zac’s hopes rose. ‘Yes, yes I have! You’ve found her?’
‘Yeah. Wandering across the King’s Road. Nearly got mown down before I rescued her,’ said the youngish-sounding male voice. ‘Is her name really Doreen?’
Tears sprang into Zac’s eyes. ‘It is.’
‘Funny name for a dog.’
‘Is she OK?’
‘Hey, calm down, she’s just fine and dandy. So you’d like her back then, would you?’
‘I can come and get her,’ Zac blurted out. ‘Where are you? I’ll come now.’
‘Whoa, hold your horses.’ The caller sounded amused. ‘Steady on there. Before that happens, I wondered if you’d considered a reward at all.’
Zac’s heart sank. ‘Sorry?’
‘You know, mate. To show us how grateful you are to be getting your dog back. Just as a token of appreciation, kind of thing. Unless you’re not really bothered about seeing Doreen again.’
Zac said flatly, ‘How much?’
‘Five grand.’
‘What?’
‘Fine.’ The caller’s tone was dismissive. ‘Suit yourself.’
The line went dead.
‘Oh God.’ Sinking into a chair, Zac clutched his forehead and moaned, ‘I’ve killed her.’
Nancy grabbed the phone, dialled 1471, scribbled down the number and pressed 3. The phone was picked up on the fifteenth ring.
‘Hey, don’t be a cheapskate,’ the same male caller chided as Zac snatched the phone back from Nancy. ‘Five grand isn’t that much, is it? Compared with a furry little paw through the post.’
‘I’ll pay it.’ Zac was so agitated he could barely speak.
‘Good, good. That’s what we like to hear. Now, I’ll give you a ring later to fix a time and a place. Used notes please, in a Boots carrier bag. And if you’re thinking of contacting the police, well, I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not a good idea if you want to see little Doreen again.’ He chuckled. ‘Woof woof.’
‘Right.’ Zac nodded, feeling sick at the thought of Doreen at the mercy of this lunatic.
‘Okey dokey. Bye for now. I’ll let you tootle off down to the bank,’ the man said cheerfully. ‘Pick up that cash!’