TRAPPED (17 page)

‘I expected you to care.’

Maggie went back into her bedroom and sat on her bed feeling deflated from the conversation she’d had with Nicky. She’d been so angry with him but instead of ripping his head off as she’d planned, he’d ripped her heart out.

She threw herself backwards onto the bed and listened to her father ranting at her mother downstairs. Part of her wanted to go and sort it out, the other part of her wanted to bury her head under her pillow.

She felt exhausted by the last few days and more than anything she felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness. She wanted Harley with her and the ache of not having her made her catch her breath sometimes.

Everyone saw her as a strong woman; invincible even. Maggie, the one who stood up to her father; Maggie, the one who never cried as the fist was brought down on her mouth; Maggie, the one who’ll take the fall and the one who would pick up the pieces, both literally and metaphorically. But they never thought of her as Maggie, the one who sometimes needed someone.

She sat up and wiped away the tears which had run into her ears. She was feeling sorry for herself. Tears never did anything apart from wet pillows and block noses.

Looking at her phone she saw there was a text from Johnny asking her to call him. There was nothing more to say. She’d made up her mind what she was going to do about Harley. There was simply no other choice and now all she wanted was for Johnny to leave her alone.

They’d been crazy to get married. Crazy to think things could’ve ever had a happy ever after. Happy endings weren’t part of the Donaldsons’ make-up.

‘Marry me, Maggie?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Marry me, Maggie.’

‘I … I … we can’t.’

‘Do you love me?’

‘Yes, but …’

‘Then say you’ll marry me and we’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.’

She stared at him and then a smile spread across her face. It was mirrored by Johnny’s, who held his grin as his eyes flicked over Maggie’s face to pre-empt her answer.

‘So what do you say then?’

‘I say you’re off your head, Johnny Taylor. Certifiable.’

‘Perhaps I am but that don’t stop me wanting you to be my wife.’

‘No Johnny, it’s a bad idea.’

‘When did a bad idea ever stop you doing what you wanted?’

‘If someone finds out …’

Johnny stopped grinning and looked serious. He lowered his voice as he put his hand gently under her chin, lifting Maggie’s head up towards his.

‘I won’t ever let anyone hurt you, Maggie. You got to trust me on that. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the long term babe, but I swear to you I’ll put my life on the line rather than let anyone hurt you again.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What don’t you know?’

‘It’s just …’

‘Just what?’

Maggie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Okay.’

Johnny turned his ear to her mouth, smiling broadly.

‘Say that again.’

Maggie laughed and spoke loudly, drawing stares.

‘I said okay. You’re crazy Johnny Taylor but yes; yes I’ll marry you.’

As Maggie pulled on her coat, she wondered if the danger had added to the attraction. Had they really been in love? Soulmates forever but destined to be apart. Maybe it was simpler than that. Maybe it was just that Johnny had always been kind to her, respectful. Two elements which were hugely missing in her life. Or perhaps, she’d imagined Johnny would save her from her life – when no one else could.

Walking down the stairs she glanced into the kitchen and saw her mother sitting at the table, surrounded by broken pots and a swollen lip. Maggie paused, about to go in and check on her mother, then realised she couldn’t do it.

Today Maggie couldn’t face wiping the blood off her mum’s chin, nor could she face pressing cotton wool on her mother’s lip to stop the swelling, hoping it wouldn’t sting. Hardest of all, she couldn’t face trying to prevent her mother’s salty tears pouring into the wound which would never heal.

Closing her eyes for a split second, Maggie braced herself then walked out of the house into the fresh air, knowing there’d always be a tomorrow and a tomorrow and a tomorrow when she’d have the chance to nurse her broken mother.

Frankie Taylor couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t eat and he certainly didn’t want to look at his wife over the breakfast table this morning. So much of him wanted to think that what Lorna had seen was an innocent mistake.

Gypsy had presumed he’d been watching the poker game but he’d been waiting for her to go out. He’d been on to her after he’d read the ambiguous text on her phone which simply read
, ‘Eight thirty tonight.’

The moment she’d gone, he’d sent Lorna to follow her and she’d sped off like a whippet dog with a rocket up its arse.

He was confused. He knew he couldn’t ever be with her again if she was seeing somebody else but at the same time he felt like Gypsy belonged to him.

Bottom line though was he loved her. Loved her with all his heart and wanted to give her a chance. A chance to come clean and explain what Lorna had seen was just a mistake. A chance to tell him there was no need for his heart to feel like someone was using it as a football. So he’d spoken to her as they lay in bed and instead of hearing what he was hoping for, it’d just made things worse. The lies had spilled out of her mouth.

‘When I was watching the poker Gypsy, where were you? I said to meself, my wife wouldn’t go out without telling me, my wife wouldn’t sneak about behind me back. Not Gypsy.’

Frankie’s eyes had bored into her and Gypsy had
swallowed hard.
‘Oh, nowhere. I didn’t want to disturb you. I saw we’d run out of milk, so I popped to the shop. Sorry Frank, next time I’ll say.’

She was lying. Staring right at him and lying. Lying her bleeding tits off.

‘We had milk though.’

‘Yeah, but not soya milk.’

‘Soya? When did you start to drink that crap?’

‘Oh I haven’t really, it was just something I saw in a magazine and I thought I’d try it …’

She’d trailed off and then he’d smiled at her but it’d been a tight smile, the sort of smile his mother gave him when she hadn’t wanted to admit she’d been shagging yet another faceless stranger.

Frankie sighed, staring down at his plate and deciding to probe his sister before Gypsy came down for breakfast. Desperate to find answers he could deal with.

‘Are you sure it was her?’

‘Bleeding hell, Frank, you saw the photos yourself.’

‘Yeah but I was thinking, it was hard to see her face properly. It could’ve been someone else; maybe she did just pop to the shop after all.’

Lorna snorted as she tucked into her fifth piece of bacon. ‘If you want to turn a blind eye to it Frank that’s down to you, but I wouldn’t stand for it – who knows how long it’s been going on for or how many others there’s been?’

‘Alright, Lorn. Christ, drive over a man when he’s been knocked over won’t you?’

‘I’m sorry, Frank. I’m just looking out for you.’

‘I know you are, and thank God I’ve got you, Lorn.’

They stopped talking as Gypsy came into the breakfast room. She smiled at Frankie and cut her eye at Lorna. Gypsy watched her husband push the eggs and bacon around his plate. It was unlike him not to eat his breakfast and even more unlike him not to talk. The one thing, apart from sex, Frankie loved to do was talk. And when he didn’t, there was usually something very wrong.

Gypsy had wondered if the incident with Max Donaldson had shaken him up more than he cared to admit. Her husband was a proud man and there was no way Frankie would ever admit he’d had a fright; there was more likelihood of him going on
Question Time
than him talk about his emotions.

She took a sip of her cappuccino and caught Lorna watching. Again she cut her eye at her and her sister-in-law smirked back. Gypsy had given up speaking to Frankie about Lorna; he’d refused to listen and seemed more determined to dig his heels in about it these last couple of days, oblivious to the fact that Lorna was trouble.

The woman seemed to be so welded into the family they’d need a frigging pneumatic drill to get her out. She was clearly up to something but Gypsy didn’t know what.

‘Are you busy today, Gypsy? I wondered if you wanted some company?’

Lorna’s suggestion had Gypsy spitting her coffee out all over Johnny who was leaning over her to reach for some more sausages. She stared at her sister-in-law before answering her in a monotone.

‘I’m not sure yet, Lorn, but whatever it is I’ll be fine for company, thanks all the same.’

‘I don’t get you, Gyps. There’s me sister reaching out to you and all you do is throw a wet rag back in her face.’

Gypsy looked at her husband incredulously. As a couple they’d never shamed or aired their dirty laundry in public, always waited until they were in private to let rip and sort their differences out. However, here was Frankie, knowing how she felt about his sister, embarrassing her and making Lorna smirk with delight again.

Gypsy was furious and spoke through gritted teeth, making sure Frankie knew exactly what she thought about his tactless comment.

‘It ain’t no rag, Frank. All I’m saying is, I’m fine on me own.’

‘Well what I’m seeing is you not making an effort. Lorna here is doing everything she can do to be nice.’

Open-mouthed, Gypsy looked at her husband, only for Lorna to pipe up first.

‘Leave it, Frankie, if she don’t want to spend any time with me that’s fine. I’ll just sit in my room.’

Gypsy turned on Lorna, amazed at the cheek of the woman and feeling upset at being backed into a corner by both her and Frankie. ‘Firstly, sweetheart, it ain’t your room. Secondly, don’t play the martyr; I can see exactly what you’re doing.’

Lorna spoke in a slippery tone. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gypsy.’

‘Stop the flipping game playing. You’re more clued-up than Hercule Poirot.’

Frankie threw his plate across the newly decorated breakfast room, sending his sunny-side-up eggs, sunny-side-down.
They splattered all over the floor, with the Wedgewood plate following a second later. ‘This is my house and I’ll frigging say whose room it is. Lorna’s our guest, bleeding hell she’s family, so she’ll stay as long as she likes. If you don’t like it Gypsy; tough. Because there’s fuck all you can do.’

Frankie got up from the table and nodded for Johnny to follow him, who was more than happy to do so.

This was better than she could’ve imagined. Lorna held the letter in her hands and let out a loud laugh. She heard the sound of her laughter echoing round the hallway and relished every moment of it. She’d opened Gypsy’s letters, as she had been doing the past couple of days. There’d been nothing in them apart from drivel from shops and boutiques inviting Gypsy to see their latest collections.

When she’d opened the nondescript envelope she’d glanced over it quickly, expecting much of the same, but as she took in the words she’d had to reread it again, in case what she was seeing was a mistake. But there was no mistake. As the enormity of the situation sunk in, it felt to Lorna like she’d just won the lottery. She may as well wave goodbye to Gypsy now; get her bags and wish her bon bleeding voyage.

‘What have you got there?’

Gypsy’s voice cut through her laughter.

‘Nothing. Just my rubbish.’

Gypsy’s eyes narrowed. It looked like Lorna was up to something; the problem was though, Lorna
always
looked like she was up to something.

‘Whatever, Lorn, I’m popping out to get a paper.’

‘Well make the most of it.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Just make the most out of the beautiful morning. You never know when storm clouds might appear.’

Nicky grabbed his bag and headed down the stairs of the Donaldson house. It was still dark outside but that suited him; he didn’t want anyone seeing him.

The conversation he’d had with Maggie the other day had sat heavily on his mind. When she’d walked out of the room he knew he couldn’t be part of Gina trying to destroy his sister’s life. At the same time, he wasn’t stupid enough to hang around and wait for the line of people to catch up with him who’d be just as happy to get paid in his blood as they were the money he owed them.

He’d got himself into this mess and now he needed to get out of it, or rather he needed to run the fuck away from it. He wasn’t a hero. He certainly wasn’t going to start to be one now. The thought of leaving Soho had frightened him however and he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to go and leave everything he knew behind, even though it seemed he had no choice.

He’d never been on his own and as much as his family were hardly the Von Trapps, they were all he’d ever known. He’d never done anything for himself. Hell, he’d never even boiled a bleedin’ kettle and the more he’d thought about leaving, the more terrified he’d become. That was until he’d run into Saucers the other night. Then things had taken an unexpected turn.

He’d known Saucers before she’d started to work in the Taylor’s clubs, when she’d first moved to the area.

He’d first seen her knocking about in Soho just over four years ago, when he’d been eighteen. For a while she’d only acknowledged him with a smile or a wave as he walked past the street corner she was working on. Then one day she’d come up to him sporting a black eye, asking him if he knew where she could get a job.

She’d been fed up of working the streets and she didn’t want to have any run-ins with the pimps in Soho, but then she didn’t want a pimp either, making it impossible to avoid trouble. The black eye had been a warning from one of the regular pimps who hadn’t taken kindly to her working his turf without permission.

Nicky had liked Saucers straight away. She’d made him laugh with her grab-them-by-the-balls attitude to life. Even though she was only three years older than him, she seemed so more worldly wise.

She was well-read, which he’d found strange. Most of her childhood had been spent in care and she’d never really had an education. Yet in between turning tricks, she’d take herself down the library, to take out books which were so thick and dusty the only thing he thought they were good for were doorstops. Nicky had never met anyone who read books for no other reason than they loved to.