The Exciting Life, page 17
‘What are you talking about?’ Annie asked arrogantly. ‘I'm nothing to do with you.’
‘Oh how wrong you are,’ Iris laughed wanly. ‘You're my sister you stuck up bitch.’
‘Get out Iris,’ Patrick said. ‘I've had enough of your lies.’
‘How can you be my sister?’ Annie uttered. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Ask Norma,’ Iris said. ‘She'll tell you everything.’
‘That's it,’ Patrick said, grasping her arm and man-handling her out of the room. His grip on her arm was painful, and the more she tried to wriggle free, the tighter he gripped her.
‘Why have you chosen her?’ she cried. ‘Why don't you love me anymore?’
‘Because you're sick in the head. Why are you lying and saying you're Annie's sister?’
‘Because I am. Norma's our mother.’
Patrick ignored her and threw her into the revolving door, squeezing in behind her to make sure he pushed her out onto Regent Street.
‘Now get out, and if you ever come here or to Bruno's again I'll call the police.’
Iris stood up straight, composing herself and ignoring the stares of the people walking past. She wondered what she was going to do now. It felt as though her whole life was disintegrating around her. She didn't even have her handbag - she'd left it in the dressing room. But she dare not go back in. Patrick would call the police. Her legs ached too much to even think about walking all the way back to Streatham. She needed money and fast, and so walked all the way to Oxford Street, tears streaming down her face; hurt by the people who passed her but didn’t stop to ask her what was wrong.
She made it to Levine’s, a little pawn shop on Argyll Street, and took off the only thing of value she had – the gold locket she wore around her neck that an old madam called Bessie Kelly had given her when she was fifteen. Bessie had been the person to rescue her from Maurice, her mother’s pimp, and even though she put Iris to work in her brothel in Drury Lane. She always made sure only the young, nervous lads went to her, and if anyone ill-treated her they were banned for life. She was the nearest thing Iris had to a grandmother and it broke her heart to part with the present Bessie had given her for her sixteenth birthday.
Old Levine, the pawnbroker examined the locket several times before tutting and shaking his head.
‘It’s very dented,’ he said. ‘I can offer you eleven and six for it.’
‘Is that all? It’s twenty four carat.’
‘I can’t do you any more than that.’
With a sigh she agreed and signed the docket. Making up her mind that once Annie had paid her what she was owed in wages, she would go back and get it.
She left the shop and went onto Oxford Street and caught a taxi to take her back to Chelsea. When she got to Leo’s house, and he opened the door. Iris laughed to see he wasn’t even dressed and was wrapped up in his tatty dressing gown. It was so typical of Leo. But he smiled warmly on seeing her and that was something she could do with right now.
‘Hello my love,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d be at work.’
‘I’ve been sacked,’ she said, pushing past him into the flat. She entered the scruffy front room and went and stood by the fire, trying hard not to tread soot into the cream carpet.
‘Did you mean what you said yesterday?’ she asked.
‘Of course I did,’ he replied, lighting a cigarette with the ivory lighter that was carved into the shape of a naked woman. ‘We make a good team you and me.’
‘In that case I accept,’ she said. ‘As long as you promise me you’ll stick by me even if the baby’s Patrick’s.’
‘I don’t care if it’s Patrick’s, mine or the Count of Monte Christo,’ he said, shoving his fag in his mouth and coming over to her, and grasping her shoulders. ‘I’m rather keen on you Iris, and I think we should get married.’
‘So do I,’ she smiled. ‘We will be happy won’t we?’
‘Course we will Baby,’ he said, pulling her close to him. She could feel the heat of the cigarette above her hair and hoped ash wouldn’t fall onto her head. ‘We’ll have so much fun.’
Chapter Fourteen
Annie wanted to dismiss what Iris had said about them being sisters, and put it down to her bitterness over what she’d heard Patrick saying and so was doing it to get her own back. But it was eating away at her. Everything was so complicated at the moment. Patrick had suddenly declared his undying love, saying what a mistake he’d made in choosing Iris. On top of that she’d had to entertain her family, and now she had Iris with this absurd claim about them being sisters. Annie didn’t understand it. If Iris had said they shared the same father than it would be believable – Annie didn’t even remember her father. But it was Norma. How could Norma be their mother when her mother had been called Zena Brady, and what memories Annie did have, they were of an older woman and Norma would have been so young back then?
Her curiosity got the better of her, and that evening she pulled of a family dinner with Alice, Max, Miriam and Tawny, and instead took the chance to return Iris’s jacket and handbag to her, along with her wages. The bus journey from Central London to Streatham was long and it gave Annie the chance to think. Patrick’s visit had come like a bolt out of the blue. Relations between them had been strained since they spent that night together, and then all of a sudden he turned up, saying he was sick of Iris and wanted to make a go of it with Annie. It couldn’t have come at a worse time. She was engaged to Eddie. They had equal shares in the factory in Barking. She was also planning on telling him - any day soon - that she was pregnant. Already she was praying the baby wouldn’t come out with red hair - telling herself that if it did, she would have to play up the fact that she knew very little about her birth family, and put it down to it being a throw-back to some distant, ginger relative.
As she looked out of the window and the bus crossed Westminster Bridge, making its way over to grimy South London, Annie thought about her real family. Who were they? Who were these Bradys of Battersea and were any of them still there? It was ironic that Iris should come out with this today, as just lately - being pregnant - Annie had been thinking about her blood relatives. Her baby would be her only link to them. Of course it would never know about the Bradys. To ‘Baby Glass’ its family would be the Glasses, Holland’s and Tanners. Its great Aunt would be the glamorous Alicia Bloom, its cousins Max and Alana. Eddie had even hinted that he’d like Annie to convert to Judaism before they married. If she did that, the baby would be Jewish and she herself would have to adapt to a whole new way of living. But it was all too much to take in at the moment.
She’d found Iris’s address in a little notebook she kept in her handbag. Annie wasn’t very familiar with Streatham, and whilst it wasn’t exactly shabby. It was very working-class and pedestrian. The houses all looked the same on Iris’s street. It was hard to equate someone who craved glamour being content with such drab surroundings. She reached the tall, terraced house in which Iris lived, and rang the bell for flat C. She waited and listened to the dull thud of steps down the stairs.
The door opened and Iris stood there, that miserable and bitter expression on her face.
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘I’ve brought these for you,’ Annie said, holding out the jacket and handbag. ‘And I think we need to talk.’
‘Come in.’
Iris turned and walked up the stairs that was covered in tatty carpet. Annie followed behind, and by the time she got to the top, she was quite tired. Three flights of stairs certainly wouldn’t have exhausted her before she was pregnant. She was quite shocked when she noticed that Iris also had gone puce and was clinging onto a chair for support. Surely she wasn’t pregnant as well….
‘Do you want a drink?’ Iris asked.
‘A cup of tea would be nice.’
‘Sit down.’
Annie chose to sit in the armchair by the door – the settee on the other side of the room looked as though it had too many springs sticking out of it. Iris went off to the kitchen and as Annie looked around the shabby room, it reminded her of that horrible flat in Fulham. There were no family photos or anything that looked remotely valuable. This was a different side of Iris. A part of her that she liked to keep hidden. In truth, Annie knew very little about her. She’d just thought her another glamour puss on the make.
Iris returned with two cups of tea and sat on the settee. From the front room door, Annie could see into the little bedroom next to it, and saw there was an open suitcase on the bed.
‘You going somewhere?’ she asked.
‘I’m moving out,’ Iris said. ‘I’m moving in with my fiancé.’
‘What?’
Iris held out her left hand, and upon her ring finger was a rather old-fashioned emerald ring on a gold band. It looked too tight and was making her finger swell up.
‘Who on earth are you marrying?’ Annie asked.
‘He’s called Leo Andersson,’ Iris smiled smugly. ‘I’ve been seeing him for a while now.’
‘But you were seeing Patrick.’
‘Maybe I had to hedge my bets because Patrick always had his eye on the main prize. After all, Patrick wants to be a top film producer. Who better to chase after than the niece of Alicia Bloom? You’re rich and you’ve got connections. As you can see, I’m as poor as a church mouse.’
‘I’m not rich,’ Annie protested. ‘You know how much debt Mario left me in. I’ve ploughed all of my money into Holland’s. How am I rich?’
‘Your family’s rich. They’d never see you go without.’
‘Well according to you, my family are your family too.’
‘Don’t sound so unconvinced. I’ve known about you and Kenneth all my life.’
‘I don’t understand. Why on earth do you think you’re my sister?’
‘My real name is Iris Brady. My mother’s name when I was born was Norma Brady. Before she married Samuel Brady…’
‘My father…’
‘Yes, your father. Before she married him, she was called Norma Higgins. Daughter of Desmond Higgins. Niece of Alice Higgins. Or should I say Alicia Bloom.’
‘You’ve gone too far now,’ Annie laughed. ‘This is just getting silly.’
‘Go and speak to Norma tomorrow morning,’ Iris said excitedly, sitting forward. ‘Don’t you think it’s ironic? All those years you called Alice ‘Aunt’ and she really was, and you didn’t know it.’
‘But my mother’s dead. I have vague memories of her.’
‘An older woman called Zena Brady?’
‘Yes.’
‘She wasn’t your mother. Zena was the woman your father moved in after he kicked our mother out, when he found her in bed with another man.’
‘But Norma’s so young, and Kenneth’s twenty-seven.’
‘They married when Norma was sixteen and pregnant for Kenneth. When Samuel kicked her out, she was too ashamed to go home, so she went to live in a bedsit in Hammersmith. Stupid cow ended up on the game. Then she had me and that was my life. Moving from pillar to post with my whore of a mother. Being molested by the filthy punters she brought home, or else having to stand outside at one in the morning, ready to call up to her if the police were coming along. Then when I was thirteen, we were living in Cricklewood and she was involved with this pimp called Maurice. She started seeing another pimp behind his back and he came after her. She ran off and left me alone. Maurice didn’t care. He just got me to pay her debt off by whoring myself.’
‘Did you ever see her again?’
‘Not until she reappeared the other month. She saw me in the papers and thought she’d come and see what money she could get out of me. I’ve been trying to get rid of her. That was why Pat and I fell out. I tried to frame her for stealing money out of the club. I didn’t realise he’d given her the morning off.’
‘I’m still so confused. How did you know about me and Kenneth?’
‘Because she used to crow about you,’ Iris hissed spitefully. ‘It was always her little golden-haired Kenneth and her beautiful baby Annie. She went back to Battersea one day after the war and was told by an old neighbour that Zena had died and Kenneth and Annie had been adopted by a Sir and Lady Holland and were now living in Oxfordshire. Mum would get pissed and go on about you both. Imagining what a posh little pair you’d be by then. Nothing I ever did was good enough. I know if she could have swapped me for you two she would have.’
Iris paused to regain her composure and Annie felt the room around her start to swim. Only this time it wasn’t her pregnancy causing it - it was shock. Iris was so convincing it was hard to doubt her. And the strange thing was, she’d always felt akin to Norma – like she could talk to her about anything. Now she just felt horror. Who were these people….?
‘Did you come into my life deliberately?’ she uttered. ‘Did you do it on purpose?’
‘Of course I did. I got Arthur Hatfield to take me to Bruno’s that night. I wanted some of what you and Kenneth had. I’m your sister at the end of the day. Don’t I deserve some happiness?’
‘But you’ve gone out of your way to be nasty to me.’
‘I hate you. I always have. I hate both of you. But you more so. Kenneth is at least grateful for what he’s been given, but you swan around as though you were born to it. And you get it all handed to you on a plate. The handsome husband. The family. The hotel. Another handsome, rich fiancé. Finally, my boyfriend.’
‘You’ve been seeing someone else behind his back.’
‘Only because I’m second best to Patrick. It’s always been you. See, trouble is, Pat may have been to public school and have money. But he’s like me, he’s from the gutter and he’s always been convinced he’s too good for you. Whereas I know I’m not good enough for him. Leo’s like me – carefree and without morals.’
‘How can you hate me that much?’ Annie uttered. ‘It wasn’t my fault Nesta and Michael took me in. I was five years old.’
‘Because you’ve been like a spectre in my life. I’d hear Mum at night when she’d come home pissed, after selling herself, lying in bed, wailing. Begging God to bring her back her Kenneth and Annie. Never any prayers for me. She never did anything to make my life more bearable.’
‘And I’m sorry about that, but it’s still not our fault.’
‘How can you be so arrogant? Even Kenneth has no time for you. He thinks you’re a spoilt brat. I get on quite well with Kenneth as it happens.’ She smiled smugly. ‘We have a mutual enemy.’
‘Kenneth isn’t my enemy,’ Annie sighed. ‘He just doesn’t understand me. He’ll always take my side at the end of the day.’
‘Why do you think he lent me the money to invest in Ralf’s company? It was to have a dig at you. He’s still angry with you for not signing the hotel over to him. He would have done good with it. Kenneth would have made it into flats for people with nowhere to live. Not a fancy salon selling horrible shoes.’
‘Modelling my horrible shoes has kept this roof over your head for the past few months hasn’t it?’ Annie cried. She felt so wounded by it all. She didn’t know what to believe or what to do or anything. If Iris had intended to make her suffer then she’d fulfilled her brief.
‘Well I don’t need you any more. I’ve got a business and a wealthy husband to be.’
‘Leo Andersson…’ Annie uttered, the penny suddenly dropping. ‘Kenneth’s friend?’
‘Yes. We met through Kenneth.’
‘Well that’s all very cosy isn’t it?’ said Annie, and to her consternation, she started to cry. She stood up and had to steady her shaking legs. ‘I want you at Bruno’s tomorrow morning at ten. We’re going to talk to Norma.’
‘Be my guest,’ Iris said arrogantly. ‘She’ll only tell you lies.’
‘Maybe so. But I think she’ll be more honest with me than you ever have.’
Annie walked out, holding on tightly to the banister as she walked down the stairs. Her head spinning. Iris's story was fantastical, but the bit that jarred with Annie was that she knew Alice's real name. There had never been any sort of biography written about her. Even Annie only knew scant details, like she'd been born in Battersea, her real name was Higgins, and like Nesta she'd survived the sinking of the Titanic - that was how she'd got to New York and became a star. She never really liked talking about her life prior to going to America. Annie couldn't deny that people had always commented on how similar they were. But everyone had put it down to coincidence. She wished this had all come out earlier, she could have asked Nesta when she went to see her the other week.
Somehow, she stumbled onto the main road and found a phone box. As usual it had that horrible aroma of urine and cigarettes, but she had to stifle her nausea and get on with the matter in hand.
She called Kenneth's home and was a little shocked when a very young-sounding man picked up the phone.
‘Can I speak to Kenneth Holland please?’ she asked, wondering if she had the wrong number.
‘One minute.’
He put the phone down on the side and Annie heard him call Kenneth. She wondered who he was. Kenneth rarely had visitors and when he did, it was unlikely he'd let them answer his phone.
‘Who was that?’ she asked when he finally picked it up.
‘That? Oh it was just Billy. He’s helping out at the Tanner Beresford offices for a while. I’ve put him up.’
‘I see. Well, could you come to Bruno’s tomorrow morning at ten o’clock? It’s very important.’
‘What is it?’ he snapped. ‘I’m busy.’
‘Please. Just do this one thing for me Kenneth. I don’t ask much of you.’
‘Alright. Well don’t keep me for too long, I’ve got meetings.’
Annie had no desire to make conversation with her brother and put the phone down. She then put another penny in the slot and dialled Alice’s house in Belgravia where she stayed when she was in town. It was picked up by Jenny, her aunt’s personal assistant, and Annie hoped she was in.
‘Could I speak to Aunt Alice please?’ Annie asked.
