72
‘You idiot!’ the Cypriot yelled. ‘You go back. And this time you do it properly!’
Yeah, right. As if.
Lucy glared at him. There were times when stuff just didn’t go according to plan. This whole week had been like that. She was tempted to tell him about her little forays on the side, her relationships with other men, her scheme to leave his sorry arse and go it alone. But this wasn’t the right moment. She’d been biding her time for two years, learning the ropes, infiltrating his contacts. Soon, he’d be going the same way as her old man. The same way as— Lucy picked up her drink and slugged it back. She couldn’t bear to think about Mark in that house as the fire swept through it. It was never part of her plan that he should suffer. Or the child – she cringed – that beautiful, beautiful child. No, it was her: the leech draining his bank balance that she wanted to disappear. Maggie was the one deserved to fry.
Another slug of her drink.
Mark had been good to her. He was the only man who’d treated her with any respect. He was a good man too, as near to a perfect partner as she’d ever come across, the only man who had ever managed to make her feel—
Lucy shut her eyes as her father’s hands crept over her skin. Even from the grave he managed to make her feel dirty. What was she thinking? It would never have worked with Mark. Once he found out what she’d been up to, he’d have cut her loose. No point in crying about it now, was there? No one’s fault if people couldn’t stick to their bloody babysitting arrangements. And how was she to know that a better scenario would present itself that very same night? But it had . . .
The old gadgie had croaked by the time she reached the scene of the accident. Fortunately for Lucy, the old bird was still alive. Had plenty to say for herself too, letting slip her big secret, the one that would change her life.
Hadn’t it just.
Lucy recalled the moment when the silly old woman told her that she’d won the lottery. ‘Wow!’ she’d said. ‘How cool is that?’ She’d patted the woman’s bony hand, flashing her a winning smile before panic set in. ‘Ivy? Ivy?’ Lucy had tapped the old woman’s face, almost slapped it to bring her round. Don’t you fucking die on me. ‘You need to stay awake, love. Ivy?’
Ivy’s eyes strained to focus and then she was back.
‘That’s better . . . you feeling a bit more comfortable now?’
‘A little.’ She was being brave, fading fast.
A voice called out: ‘Need any help in there?’
Fuck! Out of the corner of her eye Lucy had seen the copper standing there in the pouring rain, his high-viz jacket on and built like a brick shithouse. With her heart banging in her chest, she had remained crouched over, pretended to work the steering column free, willing the bastard to move away from the car.
Breathe. Breathe, she’d told herself, whispering to the old girl. ‘We’ve got it covered here, haven’t we, Ivy? You’re a star, aren’t you, love?’
‘Nice of him to ask,’ Ivy managed in return.
‘You must be overjoyed with that win, eh? Planning anything? That’s if you don’t mind me asking . . .’ Lucy had tried to sound casual, allowed her voice to trail off. She’d waved a hand in front of her face as if dismissing some ridiculous notion, her thoughts on all that money. Cash that would go to waste on an old codger who’d most probably be dead in a year – a month, a week – if Lucy didn’t act. Unless. ‘Have you out of there in a jiffy, love.’
Ivy turned her head sideways. ‘What were you going to say, dear?’
‘Nothing . . .’
‘Please, you’ve been so kind.’
‘No, it’s daft . . .’ Ivy was about to let the matter drop, so Lucy added, ‘I was going to ask where the lucky shop is.’ She grinned, glancing at Ivy’s crushed leg. The bleeding was getting worse and worse. ‘Thought I might buy a ticket on my way off duty. You never know, I might get lucky too.’
‘They say lightning never strikes twice though, don’t they?’ Ivy said.
Lucy tried for a grin. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’
‘Well, it’s rubbish. There was a big win there not so long ago. The girl on the lottery counter told me so. You get yourself along there, dear. Tesco Extra at Kingston Park.’ Ivy glanced at her husband, who still hadn’t moved. ‘We play the same numbers every week and get one lucky dip. Neither of us smoke or drink and we don’t go out much nowadays. It’s a bit of fun really. We like checking the numbers as they’re drawn, don’t we, John?’ She reached for her husband’s hand. ‘Can you get him a blanket, dear? He’s cold.’
‘Course I can,’ Lucy said, reaching for her service torch.
It was a lucky dip, all right. Lucy grinned to herself. Just not Ivy’s.
‘You think this is a joke, eh?’ the Cypriot barked.
Lucy looked away. Did he really think he was still in control? She was worth a mint, had taken huge risks to get the money without his help. The only reason she’d told him about it was because she needed his help to filter it away quickly. No trace. No way back to us. Just as he’d taught her. And now she had no further use for him.
She didn’t answer: at least not in words.