‘Keep out of my business, Vaughn, you hear me?’
‘Not a chance. I’m going to bring you down, Franny.’
Franny barged past Vaughn, pushing down her anxiety and doing her best to ignore what he was saying.
‘I’m watching you, Franny Doyle. You hear me? I’m watching you!’
As Franny walked into the overheated basement club, her mood wasn’t helped when she saw Alfie slumped across the bar with one of the women who worked for them almost sitting on his knee. The minute she saw Franny, she blushed, tottering off quickly in her too high stilettos and shorter than short mini skirt muttering an apology under her breath.
Stony-faced, Franny sat on the Perspex bar stool next to Alfie as she looked around the club full of wealthy punters. Punters who were happy to flash their black Amex cards and pay well over the odds for the middle-of-the-road Champagne they served. And in return for their money, they got to wind down and chat freely to the pretty girls who worked there, away from their wives’ prying eyes.
Not that their girls were actual underage girls, not like Charlie Eton’s. That wasn’t even a possibility. To Franny, Charlie was the scum of the earth. She’d seen first-hand how young they were as well as seeing how badly he treated them, and in truth, it made her sick to her stomach. They were all vulnerable or runaway kids who saw Charlie and his club as an escape. Somewhere better than where they had come from. And Christ, that was the most depressing part of it all.
Franny had always been strict with the recruitment process. The youngest girl who worked for them at the moment had just turned twenty, and on account of it being almost impossible to know how old someone was just by looking at them, she always insisted on seeing the girls’ passports without exception.
The other thing she was strict on was making sure the girls understood from the get-go that the place wasn’t a knocking shop, or an escort business, nor did it have a room at the back for giving clients sneaky blow jobs.
All that was required of them was to look pretty, to be friendly, and to keep smiling, in addition to getting the punters to buy drinks. Lots of drinks. Obviously, what the girls did in their spare time with the clients wasn’t any of her business, but she warned them from the outset that if she heard them offering the clients sex, they’d be out on their ear before they could say the full works.
Membership for the club was in excess of ten thousand pounds a year, and so far, not only was the place doing very well, they also had a waiting list. The clients seemed to appreciate the air of discretion and sophistication, so having Alfie looking like he was about to vomit all over the expensive, plush black marble floor any minute was not a good look.
For the clients’ benefit, Franny kept a wide smile on her face whilst hissing a whisper. ‘For God’s sake, just sit up, Alf. You look a mess. This isn’t the time or the place.’ Half-cut, Alfie stared up at Franny. He winked at her. It always surprised him that even when she was angry she looked beautiful. In truth, she looked even more beautiful when she was annoyed, which didn’t mean to say she pissed him off any the less. In fact, it just added to his irritation.
‘Oh, that’s nice, ain’t it? No hello, no kiss, just straight in chewing me ear off.’
‘I wouldn’t have to if you carried yourself properly.’
Alfie shook his head. ‘Jesus, Fran, leave it out. All I’m doing is having a drink in my own club. No more, no less. It’s not a crime.’
Still holding her smile as she seethed, which she knew was more to do with her encounter with Vaughn, than Alfie, Franny snapped, ‘Like I say, you look a state, and you’re embarrassing yourself. Having the girls fall over you isn’t the way to run a place, not this kind of place anyway. And before you ask, Alf, I’m not jealous – far from it. This is about business and this business is supposed to be a classy joint. Now I get that something’s going on with you, but don’t bring that something to work.’
‘Cometh the ice maiden.’
‘Grow up, Alfie!’
With Franny’s arrival acting like a bucket of cold water, Alfie sat up, glaring, his blue eyes piercing from underneath his fringe of thick black hair. ‘Listen to me, if you only came down here to give me grief, why don’t you just turn your pretty backside around and go home. I can do without another lecture.’
Franny sighed, her voice softening as she touched his hand gently. ‘If you must know, I came here to see if you were all right. I was worried. You haven’t been yourself. Look what you did earlier. I just want to know what’s happening … Come on, talk to me, Alf.’
Alfie stayed silent for a moment before shrugging, trying to dispel his gnawing unease.
‘I’m fine. How many times do I have to tell you?’
‘Alf, it’s me you’re talking to. There’s something going on, I know there is. You’re distant. I can feel you pushing me away.’
Alfie looked at her evenly. ‘You think this is about Bree and you, don’t you?’
Franny bristled, her voice tight. ‘What … what are you talking about?’
Gently, Alfie took her hands. ‘I’m talking about you. You think I still miss her. That I’m still in love with her, don’t you?’
A flicker of relief crossed Franny’s face and more relaxed she said, ‘I don’t know – are you?’
‘No, and you know why?’ Franny shook her head but let Alfie continue to talk. ‘Because why would I want to waste my time on someone who didn’t love me back? I mean, she can’t have cared. She can’t have given a damn about me if she just dropped me the way she did. Going off like that without even a goodbye. I don’t know what I was thinking getting together with her in the first place.’
Seeming slightly distracted as if wanting to get on with what she had to do, Franny said, ‘You were hurt, Alfie. I understand. You thought I’d left you. It’s as simple as that.’
Alfie shook his head, genuine warmth and regret in his tone. ‘No, I was wrong, Fran. I’m surprised you don’t hate me. I put you through shit and hurt you badly, yet it’s not Bree sitting here, is it? It’s you … And I know this sounds bad, but it’s a good job that the pregnancy didn’t work out, otherwise if the baby had turned out to be mine, I’d have been lumbered with Bree for the rest of my life.’
‘Exactly, and I’m not holding any grudges, Alf. Bree is in the past now. She’s forgotten. What’s done is done. We don’t have to mention her again.’ Franny squeezed his hand and gave him a kiss on the cheek, indicating that the topic of conversation was now closed.
With the cocaine in his system making him flick from one mood to another, Alfie growled as he pulled away from Franny, snatching hold of the glass of whiskey on the rocks in front of him. He raised it.
‘Well let’s drink to that. Good riddance to her, that’s all I can say. I had a lucky escape from that bitch …’ Alfie paused, his demeanour once again changing as he thought about the letters. ‘But the point is, Fran, what’s going on with me, it isn’t about her. I’ve just got a lot on my mind. You know, making a go of this place, all the long hours, it catches up on a person. I’m not as young as I use to be.’
Seeing an opportunity, Franny stared at Alfie. ‘That’s why you should get away. Take a break. Go back to Spain. We could even open another club out there. You were happier when we were living out there. Think about it, Alf, it could work out great.’
‘You’re keen on getting rid of him all of a sudden. That’s all I seem to hear these days. If you ask me, it seems a bit odd.’
For the second time that evening, Franny