Career of Evil

Their eyes locked: Alyssa’s a warm caramel brown, Robin’s a clear gray-blue. Robin was sure that Alyssa was going to refuse. Then the thick-lashed eyes widened suddenly and a strange flicker of excitement passed over Alyssa’s face, as though she had just experienced a pleasurable revelation. Without another word, Alyssa stepped backwards into the dimly lit hall and made a strangely extravagant flourish, pointing Robin inside.

Robin did not know why she felt a lurch of misgiving. Only the thought that the two little girls were in there pushed her over the threshold.

A minuscule hall opened onto the sitting room. A TV and a single sofa constituted the only furnishings. A table lamp sat on the floor. There were two photographs in cheap gilt frames hanging on the wall, one showing chubby Zahara, the toddler, who was wearing a turquoise dress with matching butterfly clips in her hair, the other of her big sister in a maroon school uniform. The sister was the image of her beautiful mother. The photographer had not managed to induce a smile.

Robin heard a lock being turned on the front door. She turned, her trainers screeching on the polished wood floor. Somewhere nearby a loud ping announced that a microwave had just finished its work.

“Mama!” said a shrill voice.

“Angel!” shouted Alyssa, walking into the room. “Get it out for her! All right,” she said, arms folded, “what d’you wanna tell me about Noel, then?”

Robin’s impression that Alyssa was gloating over some private piece of intelligence was reinforced by the nasty smirk that disfigured the lovely face. The ex-stripper stood with her arms crossed, so that her breasts were thrust up like the figurehead of a ship, the long ropes of hair hanging to her waist. She was taller than Robin by two inches.

“Alyssa, I work with Cormoran Strike. He’s a—”

“I know who he is,” said Alyssa slowly. The secret satisfaction she seemed to have gleaned from Robin’s appearance had suddenly gone. “He’s the bastard that give Noel epilepsy! Fucking hell! You’ve gone to him, have you? In it together, are you? Why didn’t you go to the pigs, you lying bitch, if he — really—”

She smacked Robin hard in the shoulder and before Robin could defend herself, began punching her with every subsequent word.

“—done — anything — TO — YOU!”

Alyssa was suddenly pummeling her wherever she could land a punch: Robin threw up her left arm to defend herself, trying to protect her right, and kicked out at Alyssa’s knee. Alyssa shrieked in pain and hopped backwards; from somewhere behind Robin the toddler screamed and her older sister came sliding into the room.

“Fucking bitch!” screamed Alyssa, “attacking me in front of my kids—”

And she launched herself at Robin, grabbing her hair and slamming her head into the curtainless window. Robin felt Angel, who was thin and wiry, trying to force the two women apart. Abandoning restraint, Robin managed to land a smack to Alyssa’s ear, causing her to gasp in pain and retreat. Robin seized Angel under the armpits, swung her out of the way, put her own head down and charged at Alyssa, knocking her backwards onto the sofa.

“Leave my mum — leave my mum alone!” shouted Angel, grabbing Robin’s injured forearm and yanking it so that Robin, too, yelled in pain. Zahara was screaming from the doorway, a sippy cup of hot milk held upside down in her hand.

“YOU’RE LIVING WITH A PEDOPHILE!” Robin roared over the racket as Alyssa tried to push herself back off the sofa to renew the fight.

Robin had imagined herself imparting the devastating news in a whisper and watching Alyssa crumble in shock. Not once had she visualized Alyssa looking up at her and snarling:

“Yeah, whatever. D’you think I don’t know who you are, you fucking bitch? Are you not happy ruining his fucking life—”

She launched herself at Robin again: the space was so small that Robin hit the wall again. Locked together they slid sideways into the TV, which toppled off its stand with an ominous crash. Robin felt the wound on her forearm twist and let out another shriek of pain.

“Mama! Mama!” wailed Zahara, while Angel seized the back of Robin’s jeans, hampering her ability to fend Alyssa off.

“Ask your daughters!” shouted Robin as fists and elbows flew and she tried to twist free of Angel’s stubborn grip. “Ask your daughters whether he’s—”

“Don’t you — dare — fucking — bring — my kids—”

“Ask them!”

“Lying fucking bitch — you and your fucking mother—”

“My mother?” said Robin, and with an almighty effort she elbowed Alyssa so hard in the midriff that the taller woman doubled over and collapsed onto the sofa again. “Angel, get off me!” Robin roared, wrenching the girl’s fingers off her jeans, sure that she had seconds before Alyssa returned to the attack. Zahara continued to wail from the doorway. “Who,” Robin panted, standing over Alyssa, “d’you think I am?”

“Very fucking funny!” gasped Alyssa, whom Robin had winded. “You’re fucking Brittany! Phoning him and persecuting him—”