NANCY’S clarity of tone surprised her.
Three
pairs of eyes darted her way as though surprised by Nancy’s presence. The splodges
of Chagall and De kooning fell into a swirl. Her feet were slipping. Nancy
grappled at the window sill behind to steady herself. ‘Don’t tell them.’
Vince’s
voice emerged splintered and low. ‘Nancy…’
‘Mr.
Jonas, please don’t tell them.’ Nancy’s vision blurred over. Her ribcage had
become a corset, squeezing into her stomach.
Next
to Blakemore, Amy’s bun bobbed. The whites of her eyes glimmered against her
eyeballs. A stuttering wail emerged from deep within her gut. ‘Oh…Oh my God! It…it’s her isn’t it? It’s her!’
Henry’s
blurred figure darted into the room. Sunlight and shadow oscillated.
‘Oh,
my God!’ A deeper timbre now. Amy’s folded into herself. Nancy’ blinked her
vision clear to see Amy had collapsed onto the couch.
Blakemore’s
brows had flattened to a straight line, all animation drained from his face.
Vince stood abreast, a head taller, his eyes steady upon her.
Amy
drew her face from the heels of her hands. ‘But…I don’t understand, Vince!’ she
sounded pissed, as though Vince had cheated on her. A shadow of Sheila emerged
from her contorted mouth and smudged lipstick. ‘You said…you said…’
‘I
know what I said,’ Vince grunted without moving
‘Then
we gotta keep this quiet,’ she wavered. ‘A token gesture of gratitude, some
money. I mean it’s heroic and everythin’ but we’ve gotta get rid of her, make
her disappear. If…if she doesn’t comply, we could go the litigation route, y’
know, sue. What if she’d cut you in the wrong place? With her background and
everythin’, you could have ended up permanently maimed…’
‘Bill,’
Vince cut in. ‘Please take Amy out of the room while I speak with Nancy in
private. And take Henry with you.’
Blakemore’s
deep-set eyes did a cursive appraisal of Nancy. ‘With respect, Vince, in these
situations, you need a witness and I…’
‘Then
respect my wishes, Mr. Blakemore.’ Vince did not take his eyes from Nancy.
The
tightening sensation pulsed up to her throat. Nancy’s fingers slipped.
Blakemore retreated; figures shifted and voices muttered before the room fell
still. Nancy saw a tabloid shot of Sheila, her face twisted in a grin and
regaling from her scooter. She saw a tabloid shot of Croyd, the good doctor and
the midwife who had dosed up the patients, the brick square that was the Weston
Hill Care Centre, her exes, the grotty little terrace in Glebe Hollow, Bex,
Alexis, Cora and Danny Wheeler set against the Hatchet Inn. Bex had always been
right about her. Nancy was just a jumped-up cow who was ashamed of her past.
But when it came down to it, Nancy didn’t much care about the rest of them. It
was Sheila she was ashamed of. It was all about Sheila.
Nancy’s
voice choked out. ‘Did you ever tell Leon that he couldn’t sing?’ Behind a film
of tears, Vince’s face was indistinct. ‘You kept me waiting in the limo,’ she
sniffed. ‘…so I went into the restaurant and I overheard you and Leon trading
bets about me in the toilets. You had no idea what you were betting on. You
would have lost all those bottle tops.’
Vince
didn’t move. ‘I…I’m sorry.’
‘You
can make it up to me. Don’t go public about what I did. Promise me it won’t
leave this room.’
Vince’s
silence told her she didn’t have to explain.
Nancy
wiped her tears onto the back of her hand.
‘Nancy.’
She
blinked the tears away. The room came clear around her.
‘Nancy.’
Something
in his tone unsettled her. She met a pair of unwavering eyes.
