screaming. Annie, alone in a wasteland, no one there except her and a feeling of impending doom. All those bloody dreams.
Feeling tired and edgy she washed, dressed in Dolly’s black shift dress again, brushed out her hair, dabbed a bit of Dolly’s rouge on her cheeks and on her lips and still looked like death—not that it mattered.
She stepped out of the bedroom and on to the landing. Loud voices and laughter drifted up from the front room. Ross was sitting down there in the hall in the corner by the door that Chris had always occupied when she was last here.
Friday. Of course. Lunch party day. Noises from the other bedrooms, someone moaning, someone crying out yes, yes, yes. Music, too. Fleetwood Mac playing ‘Albatross’, fading into older stuff from days gone by—smoky, bluesy ‘Mad about the Boy’, Etta James’s voice dripping with passion.
Annie stood there at the top of the stairs and let it wash over her.
That song said everything she had ever felt about Max. Stupid to have been drawn to him—her sister’s husband. Knowing he was dangerous. Knowing he was off limits. Knowing she could not resist his piratical charm, his strength, his masculine allure.
God, I’ve got to snap out of this , thought Annie.
‘What the hell are you looking at?’
Annie looked up. Una, with her white-blonde crew-cut and her pallid blue eyes was standing in the doorway opposite. She was in black leather today. There was a whip in her hand. As Annie watched, a droplet of blood fell from the end of the whip and hit the landing carpet. The droplet expanded, spreading in the thick pile. The door behind Una was ajar and Annie could see a naked man in there, tied to a chair, his shoulders striped red, his head drooping.
A dominatrix didn’t get paid, Annie remembered. She was awarded a ‘tribute’ from the punter when he left. The punter wanted to be abused, debased, humiliated—and the dominatrix happily pandered to his vice, and was amply rewarded for doing so.
‘I’m not looking at anything,’ said Annie truthfully. Fuck it, if the punters wanted to be whipped and if Una got her kicks that way, what did she care?
‘Good. You want to keep it that way, babes, or you’ll be sorry.’
‘Right.’
‘Only I don’t like your attitude.’
Annie looked at her. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said.
‘You see? There it is again.’ Una came in close. She smelled of sweat and cheap perfume and her eyes were glittery with excitement, ready for a fight. ‘Your mouth says all the right words, but your eyes say fuck you. You got a real attitude problem, babes, and I don’t like it.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Annie, and turned toward the stairs.
Or she started to. She vaguely saw Una’s booted foot come out, but it was too late to step back. She felt herself start to fall, snatched at the banister, but too late. She went head over heels all the way down to the bottom and ended up at Ross’s feet with all the wind knocked out of her. She looked back up the stairs as Dolly and Ellie came running to her aid, and there was Una, smirking down at her.
Everything hurt. She’d bumped her head, there was blood coming from a cut above her right eyebrow, her left arm felt wrenched where she’d tried to stop herself falling.
‘Fuck it, Annie, what’s going on?’ asked Dolly, hauling her back to her feet.
Annie looked up at Una, still standing there, gloating.
‘Nothing,’ she said to Dolly. ‘I just tripped, that’s all. Careless of me.’
Una’s smile broadened. She turned and strolled away, back to her room.
17
It was late afternoon when the call came. The phone had been ringing all day, and every time Annie had tensed, bracing herself for the next horror. All through the long day, she had been in the kitchen, waiting. Wishing she smoked, wishing she drank.
Listening to the revelry of the party going on in the front room, the thumping of feet going up and down the stairs, the laughter, the noises of hot
Feeling tired and edgy she washed, dressed in Dolly’s black shift dress again, brushed out her hair, dabbed a bit of Dolly’s rouge on her cheeks and on her lips and still looked like death—not that it mattered.
She stepped out of the bedroom and on to the landing. Loud voices and laughter drifted up from the front room. Ross was sitting down there in the hall in the corner by the door that Chris had always occupied when she was last here.
Friday. Of course. Lunch party day. Noises from the other bedrooms, someone moaning, someone crying out yes, yes, yes. Music, too. Fleetwood Mac playing ‘Albatross’, fading into older stuff from days gone by—smoky, bluesy ‘Mad about the Boy’, Etta James’s voice dripping with passion.
Annie stood there at the top of the stairs and let it wash over her.
That song said everything she had ever felt about Max. Stupid to have been drawn to him—her sister’s husband. Knowing he was dangerous. Knowing he was off limits. Knowing she could not resist his piratical charm, his strength, his masculine allure.
God, I’ve got to snap out of this , thought Annie.
‘What the hell are you looking at?’
Annie looked up. Una, with her white-blonde crew-cut and her pallid blue eyes was standing in the doorway opposite. She was in black leather today. There was a whip in her hand. As Annie watched, a droplet of blood fell from the end of the whip and hit the landing carpet. The droplet expanded, spreading in the thick pile. The door behind Una was ajar and Annie could see a naked man in there, tied to a chair, his shoulders striped red, his head drooping.
A dominatrix didn’t get paid, Annie remembered. She was awarded a ‘tribute’ from the punter when he left. The punter wanted to be abused, debased, humiliated—and the dominatrix happily pandered to his vice, and was amply rewarded for doing so.
‘I’m not looking at anything,’ said Annie truthfully. Fuck it, if the punters wanted to be whipped and if Una got her kicks that way, what did she care?
‘Good. You want to keep it that way, babes, or you’ll be sorry.’
‘Right.’
‘Only I don’t like your attitude.’
Annie looked at her. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ she said.
‘You see? There it is again.’ Una came in close. She smelled of sweat and cheap perfume and her eyes were glittery with excitement, ready for a fight. ‘Your mouth says all the right words, but your eyes say fuck you. You got a real attitude problem, babes, and I don’t like it.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Annie, and turned toward the stairs.
Or she started to. She vaguely saw Una’s booted foot come out, but it was too late to step back. She felt herself start to fall, snatched at the banister, but too late. She went head over heels all the way down to the bottom and ended up at Ross’s feet with all the wind knocked out of her. She looked back up the stairs as Dolly and Ellie came running to her aid, and there was Una, smirking down at her.
Everything hurt. She’d bumped her head, there was blood coming from a cut above her right eyebrow, her left arm felt wrenched where she’d tried to stop herself falling.
‘Fuck it, Annie, what’s going on?’ asked Dolly, hauling her back to her feet.
Annie looked up at Una, still standing there, gloating.
‘Nothing,’ she said to Dolly. ‘I just tripped, that’s all. Careless of me.’
Una’s smile broadened. She turned and strolled away, back to her room.
17
It was late afternoon when the call came. The phone had been ringing all day, and every time Annie had tensed, bracing herself for the next horror. All through the long day, she had been in the kitchen, waiting. Wishing she smoked, wishing she drank.
Listening to the revelry of the party going on in the front room, the thumping of feet going up and down the stairs, the laughter, the noises of hot
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