Jacqui Rose 2 Book Bundle

It sounded like the footsteps were getting closer, nearer, and any moment she was going to feel a hand grab her by the shoulder. Imagination or not, Gypsy began to run.

She stumbled along the alley, putting her hand against the damp brick wall to hold her balance and stop herself from tottering over in the high shoes. Drips of sweat ran down her back and the sound of Regent Street seemed further away than ever. The tears began to run down her face, misting her eyes and making it harder for her to see ahead as the rain poured down.

She couldn’t hear anything apart from the sound of the steps behind her, loud and exaggerated. Gypsy saw the end of the alleyway and to the left of it was a stone flight of stairs. If she could get to them she’d be safe. She started to pick up her pace which was a mistake; her ankle bent to the side and she began to topple over. Reaching out in front of her to try to stop herself from falling, Gypsy’s hand touched a stack of disused crates. The moment she touched them they clattered to the floor, blocking her way. As she scrambled over them she felt a pull on her leg and instinctively let out a scream before realising her tights were snagged on the crates. Not caring if she tore them or not Gypsy pulled her leg away and braved a glance around.

There was someone there. She was certain of it. She thought she saw the figure in the shadows not moving but watching. She let out another scream as she began to run, running for all her might to the stone stairs, desperate to get away from whatever lurked in the darkness.

With one big effort, Gypsy reached the stairs, breathing hard from fear and from exertion. At the top of them she saw a throng of people and knowing she was safe now, she looked back.

The alleyway was empty apart from the fallen crates. Had she just been silly? Had it been just the sound of the rain and the darkness of the stormy sky playing tricks with her, bringing back distant memories? She’d been so sure there’d been someone there; someone who was ready to hurt her.

She looked down at her torn tights and saw her leg was bleeding slightly. She hadn’t even noticed anything cutting into her, though it was beginning to sting now.

She didn’t need a mirror to know she looked a mess. Half-heartedly she brushed herself down as the rain continued to soak into her clothes, drenching her expensive bleached blonde hair. Letting out a loud sigh she made her way up the rest of the stairs wishing she could tell Frankie about the fright she’d had, but wishing more that she was back home curled up in front of the television watching poker.

She walked towards Park Crescent, limping slightly from the cut on her leg and the shoes which were beautiful but certainly impractical. She looked at the address and realised she was standing outside the right place.

It had a large black imposing front door and white coliseum pillars either side, with a small gold plaque on the wall, simply saying, Clinic. Taking a deep breath, Gypsy pressed the buzzer and waited to be let in.

Frankie Taylor stood naked apart from a pair of paper pants and a white towelling hair turban. He had his arms stretched out and his legs spread wide as the Chinese woman spray-tanned him in his private tanning room at the top of his house in Berkeley Square.

‘Well?’

‘Well I saw her. I followed her all the way there, it was like a scene from Starsky and Hutch, thought me bleeding heart was going to jump out of me frigging chest. I’m telling you Frank, my ticker ain’t what …’

Frankie put his hand up in the air as he turned around to get his back sprayed. He interrupted his sister, annoyed and certainly not in the mood for her to recount any tales of her ill health. ‘Turn it in Lorn, bleeding hell. Just cut to the frigging chase and tell me what you saw,’ he said forcefully.

Lorna looked at her brother, feigning sympathy on her round face as he stepped out of the spray booth wrapping his dressing gown around himself.

‘It was just like you feared, Frankie. It was like all yer nightmares had come at once.’

Frankie banged his hand on the handmade walnut dresser, giving the Chinese lady who was packing away her things a fright. He wanted straight facts, not an Elizabethan tragedy played out in front of him.

‘Fuck me Lorna, are you trying to torture me? What did you see?’

‘Well I hate to be the one to tell you, Frank. You know me, I always want to see a man happy with his wife, but yer old girl’s playing away. I saw her with me own eyes. Up close and bleeding personal with some fella. Any closer, and the friction between them would’ve started a bleedin’ fire. They were that entwined anyone passing would’ve thought they were a pair of conjoined twins.’

Lorna paused, before adding slyly, ‘And he was younger than you. Much younger.’

Frankie had heard enough. It was as if his heart was being twisted and shredded into tiny pieces. He felt his chest tightening and a pain so sharp behind his eyes he had to clench his fist from stopping himself from crying out. His mouth had gone dry and he reached over for his glass of whiskey, but his hand was shaking so much he didn’t know if he could hold it.

‘And where was this?’

‘Up near Park Crescent. She went into one of them big buildings. Didn’t see which one, but an hour later I saw her coming out. She looked a bit upset and he gave a hug before she jumped in a taxi. But I’ve never seen a hug like that before. Like I say, any closer …’

‘Alright, alright I get it Lorn, but you could be mistaken, it could be innocent.’

‘Yeah like the acid bath murderer was.’

Frankie got annoyed.

‘You’re not helping, Lorn.’

‘What do you want me to say?’

‘I dunno, but there must be another explanation.’

‘Here, look, if you don’t believe me. Take a look at this.’

Lorna proceeded to go into her Chloé oversized bag. A moment later she brought out a tiny digital camera and thrust it under Frankie’s nose.

‘What do you …’

‘Just look at them, Frankie.’

With a furrowed brow, Frankie Taylor started to scroll through pictures of his wife and a man he’d never seen before in what he’d only describe as a passionate embrace. Lorna had certainly been thorough in the task he’d set her. He didn’t know whether to be angry with her or not. But then why would he be? She’d only done what he’d asked her to do. And it showed she cared. He continued to stare at the photos as Lorna spoke to him.

‘Okay Frank, let’s just say it was an innocent hug. We’ll go with the Disney version if it makes you feel better. But what you should ask yourself is; what was she doing there in the first place? If it was so bleeding innocent, why didn’t she tell you where she was going? Ask her and see what she says. If she doesn’t tell you the truth, then you know she’s up to something.’

Frankie listened hard to his sister and then nodded.

‘Get out now, Lorn. I want to be on my own. I need to think.’

‘Whatever you say, Frankie.’

‘And Lorn?’

‘Yes, Frankie?’

‘Thank you.’

Lorna closed the door behind her leaving her brother with his head in his hands. As she leant on the closed door a wide grin spread over her face. Tonight she’d come a little closer to getting rid of Gypsy and when she had, she, Lorna Taylor, would get exactly what she deserved.

Gypsy sat in her dressing room and sighed. She felt emotionally drained. It’d been a difficult night. First from the fright she’d had, though she could see now she’d overreacted and let her imagination get carried away. And then of course there was the clinic.

She’d got upset when they’d explained things to her and she’d broken down in tears, so much so, one of the staff – a young very flamboyant gay man – had walked her out and helped her hail a taxi. He’d been lovely and had given her a big hug and she’d held onto it, needing every ounce of his concern. When she’d arrived home, she’d popped her head round the door to see Frankie still watching the poker. She’d only spoken to him later to let him know the spray tan lady had arrived but she hadn’t bothered saying anything else. After all, what he didn’t know about couldn’t hurt him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#ulink_7482882f-2c76-5941-8b0f-a66f83cfb56f)

It was getting late now and Johnny Taylor eyed the grey tower block up and down for a fourth time. It was a shithole. Nobody needed to tell him that. He hadn’t even seen inside but in his gut he knew. Knew he wouldn’t make his worst enemy have a piss in the place where he’d put his daughter.

A group of kids tumbled out of the block of flats leaving the steel door open. Their beltless jeans hung almost to their knees, showing off designer underwear and youthful taut stomachs. They stopped pushing and joking with one another when they saw Johnny, nodding their heads in respect for one of Soho’s upcoming faces, turning up their own swagger as they did so.

Inside, Johnny decided to walk up the concrete stairwell rather than risk going into the lift which had shit smeared all over the sides. Gina’s flat was on the sixteenth floor. He could’ve easily bounded up the flight of stairs but he chose to walk slowly, taking in the filth, the graffiti walls, the used syringes and general rubbish strewn along the corridors.

He could feel the anger increasing with every flight of stairs he walked up. The fury ran through his body but he wasn’t entirely sure if he was more upset about Harley or the money he’d dished out. He knew it was a terrible thing to think. It should’ve been all about his daughter but the fact that he kept thinking about the money worried him.

He hated the thought he might be a bad father. He’d been given everything in the world; love, money, and apart from the situation with Maggie, he’d had the freedom to enjoy his life as he wished.