Walking back into the empty house in Soho Square, Franny headed for the shower. She bagged up the clothes she’d been wearing in a black bin liner, knowing that she needed to get rid of them as soon as possible along with the suitcase of Bree’s belongings, which was still in the back of her car. There were a number of rubbish dumps just outside London, so getting rid of the stuff would not only be easy, but also totally under the radar.
As she stepped into the steaming shower, the water pounded down on Franny. She could feel the burn of the water on her chest. The sting against her skin, the pain of it scorching her body. She closed her eyes and sank to the floor, burying her head into her knees as she began to wail. As the water continued to buffet down, she scrunched her eyes tightly, desperate to shake the image of Bree’s dead, staring eyes, and of little Mia.
‘Fran?’
Franny looked up, brushing her wet hair away from her face. She gave a small smile as she looked at Alfie.
‘Hey, Franny, what’s wrong, darlin’?’ Alfie, looking worried, stared at Franny. She couldn’t really remember a time when he’d seen her cry like this.
Uncomfortable with her own emotions, Franny shrugged. ‘You caught me feeling sorry for myself.’
Passing her a large, fluffy white bath towel, Alfie wrapped it around her as she turned off the water, stepping out onto the black marble floor. ‘You look tired, Fran. You need to sleep. It won’t help anything if you make yourself ill. Driving around Richmond isn’t going to do you any favours either.’
Franny was puzzled. ‘Richmond?’
It was Alfie’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Yeah, you said you drove there.’
‘Oh God, yeah, sorry, I’m not thinking straight. I can’t even remember what I was doing five minutes ago. I’m all over the place.’
‘And you still haven’t heard about Mia?’
Tightly Franny shook her head.
‘What’s that?’ Alfie pointed to the black bin liner in the corner.
Sounding as casual as she could, Franny wrapped her long hair up in a bun before pulling on a clean, grey cashmere tracksuit. ‘Just some clothes I’m throwing out. I was trying to keep myself busy by doing a bit of a tidy-up.’
As Alfie looked at Franny, he couldn’t quite help but think she seemed different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something strange, something distant about her, though perhaps that was only to be expected after what happened with her friend’s baby.
From thinking about Mia, Alfie’s thoughts then shifted to Shannon, to Charlie, to what he had said about Bree’s baby. He wasn’t going to tell Franny what had happened to Charlie, after all he had promised her he’d leave well enough alone and the last thing he wanted was to add on any more stress. It certainly didn’t look like she could handle it.
But not saying anything about Charlie didn’t mean that it wasn’t bugging him, eating away at the back of his head. How did Shannon know about Bree? And why would Charlie say to ask Franny about Bree’s baby when there was no baby? Maybe he’d been talking about her daughter, Molly. But why would he call Molly, who was almost seven, a baby?
Though he supposed Charlie had always been a headfuck. He’d always got off on playing games with people’s minds, and maybe saying what he had done was just part of his amusement, knowing that it would wind him up … upset him, and it wasn’t hard to work out how he’d found out about it.
After all it wasn’t just Vaughn and Franny who knew about Bree’s miscarriage. His ex-wife – who still had a lot of contacts in Soho – knew about it, and so did his friend, Lola Harding, and as much as he told them on countless occasions not to make him and his affairs the centre of their gossip, they had mouths like the Mersey Tunnel – big and wide – and they just couldn’t seem to help themselves. Though even taking all that into account, it was strange, because something still didn’t feel right in his gut, and over the years following his gut was what had kept him alive and on top for all this time.
Sighing and following Franny down the stairs into the kitchen, Alfie poured himself a drink of orange juice, still thinking about Shannon and Charlie.
‘You’re a bit quiet. Are you okay, Alf? Listen, I’m sorry if I’ve worried you recently and I know what I did about the letters was so wrong. We can talk about it if you like, if that will help?’
Alfie shook his head, not wanting to go there. ‘I’m fine, but I did want to ask you what you know about Shannon.’
Franny held a fixed smile on her face. ‘Who’s Shannon?’
‘Remember that girl in the club?’
Franny laughed, though her laughter seemed too loud in the large, newly fitted kitchen.
‘We have so many girls in the club, Alf, or rather we did. I wouldn’t remember all their names, sorry.’
Alfie nodded, watching Franny’s reaction. Watching the way her eyes darted around, watching the way she played with her hands, something she only really did when she was nervous. So maybe he wouldn’t push it with her quite yet, but maybe what he would do was go and pay Charlie Eton another visit. Take him some grapes and a magazine, and who knows what he might find out?
The ringing of Alfie’s phone broke up his thoughts. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered it.
‘Hello?’
Nodding and making humming sounds, he listened intently before clicking off the phone.
‘Who was that, Alf?’
Lighting a cigarette, Alfie matter-of-factly said, ‘The fire investigation team. Apparently they’ve found a body.’
Trying to keep her voice even, Franny feigned shock. Her heart began to race. Being here when they found Vaughn’s body was never supposed to be part of the plan. She’d imagined she’d be in Norway, safely away from Soho, and the sooner she was able to make a run for it, the better. Everything felt like it was closing in. ‘Oh my God, that’s terrible. Do they know who it is yet? Have they done any identification?’
‘No, I think that will take weeks.’
‘What else did they say?’
Alfie shrugged. ‘They didn’t, they said they’d let us know when they had any more news.’
The silence between them felt like an enormous weight to Franny as she stood looking at Alfie. Her discomfort was only met by her phone ringing. She glanced towards where it was lying on the side, wanting desperately to take the call but unable to. It was from Ma.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it? It could be about Mia.’
Hoping it was just her paranoia that Alfie was looking at her oddly, Franny waved away the suggestion. ‘No, I recognise the number. It’s just one of the girls who worked at the club, no doubt wanting to know if she’ll still be getting paid. Cheeky cow, doesn’t she realise, no work, no money … Anyway, I’m starving – what do you say to going to get a Chinese for us?’
‘Yeah, of course. I’ll get the usual, shall I?’
‘Great … And, Alf, thank you.’
Grabbing his wallet from the side, Alfie smiled. ‘No problem … and I love you, Fran, I really do.’
Franny gave a small nod. Sounding strangled, she said, ‘I love you too, Alf.’
Pulling up his jacket collar, Alfie shivered as he headed towards Chinatown, which was only ten minutes’ walk from their house. His phone beeped, and he looked at the screen, thinking it was probably Franny changing her mind about crispy duck, though it simply read: