Widows

Dolly watched Boxer as he bagged her last few broken Capodimonte figures. The damage wasn’t as bad as she had originally thought, and it was mostly downstairs. Once everything was cleared, her sofa was probably reparable and she’d no doubt be able to scrub the carpet clean from the mud and grass stains that had been trampled in from her back garden. It was the intrusion that hurt her the most. The police, the Fishers, they each seemed to think that they could treat her with such disdain and get away with it.

Upstairs, the beds were stripped and the third wash load was already on. As she began to collect the strewn clothes from the floor, Boxer appeared in the doorway.

‘Found anything?’ he asked, his usual big stupid grin on his face. He was acting like her best friend, as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn’t responsible for all of this mess in the first place.

‘Let me salvage what I can first, eh, Boxer? I can’t see the forest for the trees right now.’

‘Sorry, Dolly.’

‘As we get things tidied, we’ll search every nook and cranny — don’t you worry.’ She gave him a reassuring smile and Boxer lumbered back downstairs. Her smile disappeared as soon as Boxer was gone. Dolly knew he’d be useless at the tidying and cleaning, but she also knew that she needed to keep him sweet. She had a plan and Boxer would be a big part of it.

Linda was down at the yard well before the auction had even started. Flicking through the brochure, she paced along the rows of cars for sale, inspecting one after the other, unsure what she was looking for. She knew bits and bobs about cars: what a good engine looked and sounded like, what safety checks to do on a new buy, and how to hotwire one. Joe had taught her a thing or two about what goes on under the bonnet of a car — and on the back seat.

Eventually she decided she liked a used red Ford Capri and she began chatting up the dealer. He was very helpful and obviously thought she was a sexy little thing and definitely up for it, giggling at his bad jokes and letting him put his arm around her. He agreed to take a look at the engine for her; Linda rubbed her body against him and smiled. She was so busy getting the lowdown on the Capri, she failed to notice Arnie Fisher arrive in a silver Jag.

Arnie, carrying a leather briefcase, bustled his way through the maze of cars toward the auction room. He stopped when he saw Carlos leaning on the bonnet of a Rolls-Royce he was there to bid on. Arnie straightened his silk tie. ‘A real nice looker,’ he whispered and winked.

Carlos liked it when Arnie was obvious with his affections; it made him feel special, and a man like Arnie didn’t consider many people in his life to be special at all.

Carlos was wearing a nice suit. The boy’s learning fast, thought Arnie, assessing him with his ice-blue eyes. Arnie didn’t go for rough trade; he liked his boys neat, tidy and with a bit of class — although Carlos had a bit of the animal in him as well. He noted that perhaps Carlos had on too many gold necklaces. He’d speak to him about that later, when they were alone.

Carlos started enthusing about the low-mileage Roller, one of the best he’d seen. All it needed was the odd touch-up and an engine tune to make it perfect. Carlos lifted the bonnet and leaned into the engine. Arnie hadn’t the foggiest about engines, but he followed suit, so he could press his body against Carlos. He noted that Carlos had made an effort to clean his nails; yes, the boy was going to go places. He was getting very fond of him.

Arnie handed over the briefcase and patted Carlos on the cheek. ‘There’s enough in there to buy the Roller.’

‘How high do you want me to go?’

‘It’s all sorted, Carlos, darlin’. It’ll not go higher than the reserve price. They know I want it. There won’t be no other bidders.’

Arnie was right: the auction on the Roller was done and dusted in a flash. Carlos bid, bought, paid in cash, and they were on their way for a slap-up lunch in less than thirty minutes.

Linda, with the aid of the over-amorous dealer, got a good price on the Capri. As she counted out the cash, he moved in with a sleazy grin. His arm slipped beneath Linda’s coat. She gave him an icy glare.

‘Piss off or I’ll start screaming,’ she hissed.

He got the message loud and clear. As she walked away with the keys to her new car, she heard him muttering: ‘Soddin’ bitch!’