Dirty Game by Jessie Keane Read Free Book Online Page B

was, still in the same large Edwardian semi. Still pretty – although slightly faded. Still with that same wry smile on her face, still wearing her neat two-piece suits, still with a fag in her hand. The fag was still stuck in an ivory holder, too.
    ‘Tarty bloody piece,’ Connie had always said of Celia with a sneer. ‘Poncing around all affected with that thing in her mouth, thinks she’s the fucking Empress of India.’
    But Annie had always liked her chic aunt.
    ‘I had nowhere else to go,’ said Annie.
    ‘She’s fucking mad at you,’ said Celia.
    ‘I did a stupid thing.’
    ‘We all do stupid things, Annie. She said I wasn’t to take you in under any circumstances.’
    ‘Oh.’ Annie’s shoulders dropped. Her feet were killing her, she was worn out; now Celia was going to turn her away.
    ‘She didn’t tell me why, though.’ Celia opened the door wider. ‘Come on in, then, and spill the beans. Put the wood in the hole after you.’
        
    ‘I slept with Max Carter,’ said Annie as they sat at the kitchen table. Celia’s dark, glittering eyes lit up.
    ‘You never did,’ she said breathlessly.
    ‘The night before the wedding.’ Annie sipped her tea. Nice and warm. The kitchen was cosy. She’d been frozen to the bone out there in the rain. This was lovely.
    Celia let out a plume of smoke. ‘Never!’
    ‘And I told Ruth I’d done it. On her wedding day.’
    Her aunt clicked her tongue in disbelief. ‘Fucking hell. What did you want to go and do that for?’
    ‘I told you it was stupid.’
    ‘You must have had a reason.’
    ‘Nothing that matters.’ Annie looked at Celia in anguish. ‘I loved him before Ruthie did. She gets everything! And I saw him first.’
    Celia stubbed out her cigarette. ‘This ain’t the bloody playground, Annie. You really in love with him?’
    ‘Can I have a fag, Auntie?’ Annie had never smoked in her life, but now seemed like a good time to start.
    ‘No you bloody can’t. It’s a disgusting habit, don’t ever start doing stuff like that. And don’t call me Auntie, it makes me feel a bloody hundred. Call me Celia, you’re old enough. Drink your tea. Were you careful, Annie?’
    Annie felt herself colouring up. She nodded.
    ‘Well thank God for that.’ Celia started tapping on the tabletop with her long, red-painted nails. Tart’s nails, Connie would call them. Annie thought they looked incredibly elegant. Her mother’s were stained yellow from nicotine, broken, ridged. Hideous. Celia was the same age as Connie, but she had looked after herself, that was obvious. Her dark hair was teased into a stylish bouffant. Her figure was still trim. Her tailored suit was a flattering powder-blue wool. It looked expensive. Annie remembered what else Connie had said about Celia, and wondered if it could be true.
    ‘So Connie knows all about it because Ruthie told her?’ asked Celia.
    Annie nodded.
    ‘And what about Max – does he know what you’ve done?’
    She nodded again.
    ‘Blood and sand,’ breathed Celia, and lit another cigarette from the packet of Player’s with an air of urgency. She stuck it in the holder, took a deep draw and regarded her niece with disfavour. ‘Have you spoken to him?’
    ‘Yeah, I did.’ It hurt Annie afresh to think of the words they’d exchanged in the back of his car.
    ‘Did you tell him you were coming here?’
    ‘No,’ said Annie.
    ‘Keep it that way. I don’t want to upset the Carters. What did he say to you?’
    ‘To get out of his sight and stay out,’ said Annie bleakly.
    ‘Well just make sure you do. It’s good that he doesn’t know you’re here, although how long we can keep it that way is anyone’s guess. Connie needn’t know, either, in case you were thinking of letting your mother know where you’ve got to.’
    ‘I wasn’t,’ said Annie bluntly. ‘She doesn’t care about me. Do you mean I can stay?’
    ‘Of course you bloody can. But here’s the house rules, Annie. You don’t go poking