Anyone Who Had a Heart (23 page)

Eventually she stripped down to a G-string but that came off too.

There were hoots and catcalls, though not from Tony. He’d seen it all before, but what he hadn’t been prepared for was Ella being so engrossed in what was happening.

When the club crowd applauded, she joined them, smacking her hands together like a pair of cymbals.

Face shining with delight, Ella faced Tony. ‘That was fantastic!’

He tried not to show his surprise. ‘Not as good as you, darling.’

She batted her eyes sheepishly and flicked her fingers at his chest in mock rebuke. ‘A private performance. Just for you and no one else, Tony.’

Her flattery made him swell with pride. Since he’d first started paying her rent, the attraction between them had intensified. Ella was no longer pregnant. Mrs Smith or whatever her real name had been had seen to that and luckily she hadn’t seem to suffer too many ill effects from her ordeal. She seemed happier
now
than when he’d first met her and he couldn’t help but hope that it was his influence on her. Tony also couldn’t help comparing her to Babs. Babs had been a sexy bird when she was younger, but now … Christ, she was fast going to seed. Much as he loved his kids he was becoming more and more reluctant to the thought of going home to the noisy, messy council house. He told himself that she had the home she wanted and he paid all the bills. What more could he do? She should be satisfied with that.

His attention was suddenly diverted to an elegant woman with olive skin and dark eyes that flashed in his direction. She smiled at him and gave him a little wave. For a moment it seemed that she might come over. Then her eyes settled on Ella. She winked at him, as though she completely understood what he was up to.

Ella had noticed. ‘Do you know her?’

Frowning, he shook his head. ‘No.’ But he did. She was Victor’s girlfriend. He didn’t want to introduce Ella to her. Though he loved Ella he knew there were people who wouldn’t understand the attraction – black and white. And his boss was one of them. One day people might think differently about things, but not now. Not yet!

‘Let’s go.’

Ella looked surprised, seeing as they hadn’t long arrived, but he wasn’t giving excuses. Ali, Victor’s
girlfriend
had arrived. That meant Victor wouldn’t be far behind. The Pussy Cat Club was where married people met people they were not married to. He didn’t want Victor to see him with Ella and know how she was now paying her rent on time. He didn’t want that. She was his secret and he wanted to keep it that way.

‘I must be nuts,’ he muttered to himself as they regained the street and the falling drizzle.

‘It’s only rain,’ said Ella.

‘Yeah. Sure.’

She wasn’t to know that he hadn’t been referring to that. London had a buzz and it had Ella. Sheerness and the Isle of Sheppey was a different world, a world through which he passed but no longer stayed.

TONY BROOKS PEERED
around the door of the sewing room. Marcie and the girls were packing up following a busy day of cutting and sewing and poring over new designs with Mrs Camilleri. Marcie spotted him.

‘Hello, stranger. Where were you at the weekend?’

‘Busy, darling.’

He slid into the room and parked himself on a work table while she packed up what was left to pack up.

She eyed him sidelong while slamming a sewing machine lid shut.

‘A lot of people missed you.’

The comment was meant to make him feel guilty and judging by his flickering eyelids, that’s exactly how he was feeling.

‘Well,’ he said shrugging his shoulders and thrusting his hands in his pockets. ‘You know how it is. When old Victor shouts that he wants something done, then I’ve got to jump to it. Know what I mean?’

Marcie stopped what she was doing. Placing one hand on her hip, she narrowed her eyes and looked at him.

‘Is there anything you want to say?’

He took on the same old vacant look that she’d experienced all her life. Her dear old dad wouldn’t admit to anything, but there again he didn’t need to. It was there in his eyes – a tower of guilt some twenty feet high.

‘I don’t know what you mean, darling.’

Without taking her eyes off him, Marcie picked up the three pairs of scissors left on top of the next sewing machine along. She liked to leave the sewing room tidy.

‘Babs thinks you’ve got another woman.’

‘What?’ The word was long drawn out and the expression was believable enough. But Marcie knew her father well enough not to be fooled.

‘Have you got somebody, Dad?’

His jowls wobbled as he shook his head. ‘Noooo! Of course not.’

Marcie didn’t believe him. Her father’s face was like a map and if you hit the right place at the right time the wrinkles lessened or increased depending on whether he was lying or not.

Marcie decided he was lying. Folding her arms, she eyed him accusingly. ‘Dad, I don’t like Babs. I think you know that, don’t you? But I do love the boys and little Annie. You love the boys too. I know you do. And Annie’s a little sweetie.’

‘Blimey! You sound like my old mother!’

‘Good.’

He went all soft featured. ‘My kids are everything to me,’ he protested. ‘Everything in the world.’

‘Then listen to this,’ she said, raising her voice and stabbing his chest – her father’s chest – with a newly manicured fingernail. ‘The boys were upset that you didn’t come home. Archie asked me if you loved him any more and if parents forget what kids look like once they’re grown up. And before long Annie won’t know who you are if she doesn’t get to see more of you.’

She fully realised that Archie hadn’t said the bit about parents forgetting what kids look like, but the words had slid easily off her tongue. It seemed the right thing to say, the thing that would elicit the right response or action. A little white lie never hurt anyone.

‘Your sons love you,’ she added, her face as stern as some of the teachers she’d known in her school-days.

His brows knitted as he thought things through and shuffled from side to side in brown suede shoes.

He sighed in exasperation. ‘OK. I’ll go home this weekend.’ He didn’t sound over enthusiastic, but she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Are you coming with me?’

She paused before answering. ‘I don’t know.’

He looked as surprised as she was. Roberto had told her he couldn’t see her during the week but only
at
the weekend. Up until now she’d looked forward to going home every weekend. The weeks had seemed too long and the weekends not long enough. It would be the first weekend she’d missed going home to see Joanna, but she couldn’t help it. Her heart was in the grip of a man who intrigued her. He was so fashionable, so colourful, so outrageous. Just this once, she said to herself.

Roberto, however, was surly following their visit to the Isle of Sheppey. Although the feeling was faint so far, Marcie began to have reservations about their relationship. Roberto had placed her on a high pedestal and she knew it was inevitable that she would fall off.

She was brushing her hair when the words seemed to come whispering into her ear. Looking over her shoulder proved that there was no one there.

Don’t go with him
.

Her unease vanished when he arrived to take her for a drive in the country. ‘It’s Saturday morning and before you tell me you have work to do, I’ve already got permission from the governor – I mean my mother,’ he added with a winning smile.

All reservations about their relationship melted away. You were just tired, she told herself.

Her mood brightened, her eyes sparkling. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To the country,’ he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. ‘We’ll find a little country pub. Have a ploughman’s lunch. Cheese, fresh bread and lashings of butter and all washed down with a pint of bitter. How does that sound to you?’

‘Good. Very good.’

Dressed as casually as he knew how – light-blue jeans, white cotton shirt and shaggy sheepskin waistcoat, he stood with head cocked, finger on chin and eyes looking skywards. ‘Let’s call it a mystery trip shall we?’

Marcie laughed. Mystery trips were what old folk went on, piling onto coaches starting their journey in Sheerness and ending up at a pub in Minster. She knew Roberto’s mystery trip wouldn’t be like that. It would be exciting, just as he was exciting.

‘Wonderful,’ she squealed clapping her hands together. ‘Oh my God! What shall I wear?’

‘Come as you are.’ His eyes scraped her from head to toe. She was wearing ice-blue jeans and a black polo-neck sweater – casual wear – and black ankle boots with elastic inserts to make pulling them on that much easier.

The Maserati roared out of London heading south.

‘Is this the Brighton Road?’ she asked, her throat full of laughter as she considered how lucky she was to have him.

‘Do you want it to be the Brighton Road?’

‘Yes. Why not?’

He didn’t confirm one way or the other – not that it mattered that much. The sun was shining and Roberto was back to being his old self. He was pampering her and it made her feel good.

‘Are you going home again next weekend?’

It was the question she was dreading. She was torn and rightly so.

‘I’d like to.’

‘I would prefer you not to. I would like to take you away to a hotel.’

‘Just the two of us?’

So far he’d not progressed from kissing her good-night. Going away together so suddenly was a total surprise.

‘Of course just the two of us. Who else would be with us?’

Nervously she fingered the ring he’d given her. It weighed heavily on her finger just as her guilt weighed heavily on her mind.

‘This is a bit sudden,’ she said breathlessly. Despite her nervousness she managed a fleeting smile. ‘Why now?’

The road was clear. The countryside was a vibrant green.

His hands were firm on the wheel. A road clear of traffic gave him the chance to look at her. ‘I get the
impression
that there’s someone else in your life, someone you love more than me. Am I guessing right?’

‘Of course not! Whatever made you think that?’

She pretended that the passing scene – high hedges hiding the fields behind them – were in some way interesting. She didn’t want him to see the look on her face. She wasn’t that good at lying.

He shrugged. ‘You’re attractive. Perhaps I’m not passionate enough for you.’

‘Whatever made you think that?’

‘I only kiss you.’

‘I thought that …’

Her voice trailed off. She didn’t know what she thought. Yet again she’d got herself entangled with a man who she presumed respected her. Alan Taylor had been kind to her. She’d thought his attention fatherly. It had turned out to be far from the case.

‘Never mind what you thought!’

Marcie fell into silence. The nervousness she’d felt earlier was coming back big time. There was something about his manner that made her feel uneasy. He was sitting stiffly, the knuckles of his fists white with the intensity of his grip on the steering wheel. Silently he stared straight ahead as he drove.

After a few more miles he spoke to her. ‘Nice around here, don’t you think? A bit secluded perhaps. We could get out and make love in the grass. I think we will.’

He swerved the car into a narrow side lane. The high hedges gave way to leafy glades, copses intersected by wooden stiles and tumbling stone walls.

He finally stopped where the road widened into mud and gravel.

‘Roberto!’ She was suddenly scared.

The car stalled and Roberto grabbed her.

He showed none of the affection she’d been used to, heaving himself onto her, tearing at her clothes as his mouth sought her lips, her neck and the swell of her bosom.

‘Roberto –’

He clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes staring wildly into hers.

‘Silence! I don’t want you to say anything. Right?’

The hand across her mouth slowly loosened as she stared at him in round-eyed horror. Assuming she would remain silent, he removed his hand and kissed her hard and long. At the same time his hand travelled to her jeans, tearing at the brass stud at the waistband, then the zip, then forcing his hand down into her pants.

Suddenly he removed his lips from hers and she came up for air.

‘No! Roberto!’

The slap stung. She touched her cheek with her hand thinking he might have broken her jaw or at least a tooth.

‘Just shut the fuck up! Right?’

He held a warning finger in front of her face. His eyes were blazing.

Marcie was terrified. It was as though there was another being living inside him. Why had he changed?

He came round to her side of the car and dragged her out by her hair. She screamed.

‘You’re hurting me!’

‘Dirty bitch!’

He hit her again. The force of the blow sent her falling into the muddied ruts where other cars had stopped. He fell on top of her, pressing her into it.

He reached into the mud and smeared it over her face. She shrieked with fear, closed her eyes and spit dirt from her mouth.

‘Roberto! Stop!’

Muddy water seeped through her clothes the whole length of her body. Roberto tore her jumper out of her jeans and scooped her breasts out of her brassiere cups. He tore at her jeans that were now soaking and plastered with mud. Her bare flesh was now as filthy as her face.

Marcie bit her lip. She refused to cry. She would not scream. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening to her again.

Go outside yourself
.

Her eyes flickered open. There was no one else around. She hadn’t expected there to be.

Pretend you’re not here
.

She closed her eyes and ceased struggling. She had one thought above all others in her head: she mustn’t die. For Joanna’s sake, she must not die! She would do as the voice told her, lying there like a log, letting him have her body though her mind was elsewhere. Not responding. Not giving him anything.

Roberto rutted into her, his mouth sucking cruelly at her nipples and all the time he revelled at the fact that she was lying in the mud, filthy and getting filthier with every thrust of his body.