Warhol's Prophecy Read online

  Hailey slid a hand across his chest, running her fingers across his flesh.

  ‘Did she have bad dreams?’ she asked.

  Rob sighed.

  ‘Not now, Hailey. Please.’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘Sometimes. Does it matter?’

  ‘And did you comfort her like this?’

  ‘Why is it so important for you to know?’

  ‘I want everything clear in my own mind. I need to know.’

  ‘We’ve been over these things so many times before. Why torture yourself by coming back to it again and again? It’s over: I told you that. Christ, I can’t even remember half of what happened between us.’

  ‘Was she good in bed? You must remember that.’

  He rolled onto his side to face her, kissing her gently on the forehead.

  ‘How many times, Hailey?’ he said evenly. ‘How many times do I have to tell you before you’ve heard enough?’

  ‘Was she good?’ Hailey persisted.

  ‘I’m not an expert.’

  ‘Did she do things I wouldn’t? Did she dress up for you? Did she act out your little fantasies?’

  ‘She didn’t do anything that you haven’t done.’

  ‘Did she come when you fucked her?’

  He drew in a weary breath.

  ‘Tell me, Rob,’ Hailey insisted.

  ‘Yes,’ he said flatly. ‘You’ve asked me that before and I’ve told you before.’

  ‘Did you go down on her?’

  ‘Jesus Christ, let it go, Hailey. Please.’ There was a hint of irritation creeping into his tone, but she ignored it.

  ‘Tell me,’ she implored.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I bet she enjoyed that, didn’t she? Mind you, she’s probably had plenty of other blokes do it to her before. I bet she’s slept with loads of men. I wonder if the others were married too.’

  He gritted his teeth and pulled her closer to him.

  Hailey looked into his eyes. Her own were clouded with tears.

  ‘Why did you do it, Rob?’ she whispered. ‘You knew how much I loved you. I would have gone to the ends of the earth for you. Why did you want to hurt me?’

  ‘I didn’t want to hurt you.’ He stroked her hair. ‘Go back to sleep,’ he soothed.

  Hailey gripped him firmly by one wrist, sliding his hand down her flat belly towards her tightly curled mound of pubic hair. She parted her thighs and pushed his index finger between her moist lips, allowing him to feel the slippery warmth there. Then she raised his compliant hand to his face and pushed his index finger between his lips, allowing him to taste her.

  With her other hand she enveloped his stiffening penis and squeezed gently, kneading the flesh and muscle.

  ‘Not now, babe,’ he said softly. ‘It’s late.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have refused her, would you?’ she said, rolling away from him.

  Rob opened his mouth to speak, but then merely shifted onto his side, his back to her.

  Within moments she heard his low breathing again. Low, even breathing.

  Contented?

  Hailey lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. A single tear rolled from one eye.

  It was a long time before she slept again.

  Retribution

  THE AIR INSIDE the recreation room was thick with cigarette smoke.

  It was a large room that could comfortably house more than a hundred men at a time. And on this particular evening it seemed to David Layton that even more bodies were crammed into it.

  That was fine with him. More men, more noise, more cover.

  ‘Dave.’

  He heard his name, but didn’t react.

  ‘Oi, Layton.’

  Still he didn’t respond. Merely sat there, his eyes scanning the room and its occupants.

  There were more than a dozen tables set up throughout the room, groups of men huddled around them: talking, playing cards, or other games the prison provided.

  Two men were attempting to play chess with six of the pieces missing. Scraps of rubbish had been used to replace them. A balled-up piece of chewing-gum foil had just taken a bishop, and was moving in to put a matchbox in check.

  A heated game of dominoes was in progress at another table; the men gathered around it were shouting enthusiastically as it progressed.

  On the far side of the room stood a small television.

  Several rows of plastic chairs had been set up in front of it, and a number of men sat watching the flickering screen.

  Layton could see that one of those men was Peter Morton. Early twenties, tall, almost gangling. He had, Layton noted, large ears that stuck out almost at right angles to his head.

  He was sitting undisturbed, watching the television, puffing contentedly on a roll-up, occasionally leaning to one side to mutter something to the man sitting next to him.

  Layton reached down and touched the hilt of the blade that he had earlier stuck in his boot. It was hidden by the blue prison overalls he wore.

  ‘Are you going to show those fucking cards, or what?’ a voice close to Layton said.

  Finally he looked up, as if stirred from his musings by the tone of the voice.

  There was a powerfully built black youth sitting opposite him, gesturing towards the cards he held.

  ‘Sorry, Midnight,’ said Layton, ‘I was miles away.’

  Paul Doolan glanced at his cellmate, then over at Morton, perhaps able to understand his companion’s distraction.

  ‘Seventeen,’ said Layton, laying his cards on the table.

  ‘Gutted,’ chuckled Midnight, snatching at the cards. ‘I pay nineteens.’

  The other men around the table added a chorus of groans.

  ‘That’s two hundred thousand you owe me,’ said Midnight, scribbling something down on the pad next to him. He prepared to deal again.

  ‘Fuck it,’ said Layton. ‘I’ve had enough.’ He got to his feet, watched by his companions. ‘I think I’ll watch some telly.’

  Paul Doolan nodded slowly and inspected his cards as they were dealt.

  Layton wandered through the recreation room, past the other tables. Past the three uniformed warders gathered close to the door to watch the inmates. Two other guards paced unhurriedly back and forth from one end of the room to the other. One, an older man with grey hair and a pitted complexion, was standing close to the pool table in the far corner of the room, watching the game under way.

  Layton fixed his eyes on the back of Peter Morton’s head and sat down in the row of plastic seats behind him, crossing his legs.

  He could feel the knife pressing against his ankle.

  Paul Doolan glanced across at his cellmate, and saw that he had taken up his chosen position.

  It was then that he overturned the table.

  Cards, chairs and men all overbalanced. The cards flying into the air, men and chairs tumbling like building bricks.

  ‘Fucking cheat,’ shouted Doolan at the top of his voice, lunging at Midnight, who raised his hands into a boxer’s stance.

  All hell broke loose.

  All eyes had turned towards the noisy eruption.

  Peter Morton spun round in his chair to see what had caused the disruption.

  For fleeting seconds he and Layton locked stares, and Morton briefly wondered why this man was staring at him so intently.

  He didn’t even see the knife.

  Layton struck quickly and expertly.

  The first blow caught Morton across the left cheek and laid it open to the bone. A gout of blood spurted from the wound, almost spattering Layton.

  He lashed out again with the knife, this time catching his prey on the nose.

  The tip was sliced off effortlessly by the razor-sharp blade, and an even more violent eruption of crimson spouted from this fresh wound.

  By this time Morton was screaming, but his shrieks of pain were drowned by the din still coming from the other side of the recreation room.

  The third cut severed most of Morton’s r
ight ear, slicing through flesh and cartilage easily. The lump of flesh fell to the floor and lay there in the puddles of blood that had already formed.

  Morton kept trying to escape, but he only managed to fall backwards over the plastic chairs.

  Layton was on him again in a second.

  As Morton lifted a hand to protect his face from the slashing metal, the razor-sharp weapon sheared through the tip of his right middle finger. It cut effortlessly through the pad of his finger and the nail, driving as deep as the first knuckle.

  Layton drew the blade swiftly across the stricken man’s right cheek, then grabbed his bottom lip and hacked it off with one savage swipe.

  The bulging, scarlet tissue fell to the floor and lay there like a bloodied, fleshy slug.

  ‘Next time it’ll be your fucking balls,’ snarled Layton and walked away, dropping the knife on the floor, kicking it across the room.

  Morton was still screaming, gurgling as blood ran down his throat.

  He lay alone, writhing in agony, clutching his face, surrounded by overturned chairs. The floor splattered with his blood and pieces of his ravaged face.

  Layton looked back impassively at the disfigured, howling man.

  Job done.

  10

  SHE DIDN’T HEAR the phone at first.

  Hailey pushed a second load of clothes into the washing machine, stood up and listened, trying to pick out the ringing above the sound of the radio.

  At first she wasn’t even sure it was the phone.

  Another couple of rings and she crossed to it, lifting the receiver, then reaching across to lower the radio volume.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, wiping one palm on her jeans.

  There was a second of silence at the other end, then a voice she didn’t recognize.

  ‘Is that Mrs Gibson?’ the voice wanted to know.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘I hope it’s the right Mrs Gibson.’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘You probably don’t remember me,’ the voice said hesitantly. ‘You had a lot on your mind and . . . I, well, my name’s Walker. Adam Walker. Your little girl got lost yesterday and I was the one who . . .’

  ‘You found her,’ Hailey said, grinning now. ‘Mr Walker, if I’d forgotten your name, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Adam,’ he insisted. ‘Please call me Adam.’

  ‘Adam.’

  ‘How is Becky?’

  Hailey was a little taken aback.

  ‘She’s fine, thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Look, if I’ve called at the wrong time . . . if I’m disturbing you . . .’ He allowed the sentence to trail off.

  ‘No. I’m sorry if I sound a bit vague. You just caught me by surprise, that’s all.’

  ‘I got your number from directory enquiries, I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘It’s just that Becky told me your address yesterday and I remembered it, so I rang them and they gave me your number.’

  ‘You must have a good memory.’

  ‘If that’s a compliment, I’ll take it.’ She heard him chuckle. ‘She’s a beautiful girl. You’re very lucky. I’m just glad I could help.’

  ‘You’ll never know how grateful I am, Mr Walker.’

  ‘Adam. I think I can guess how grateful.’

  ‘No you can’t, believe me. Not unless you’ve got kids of your own.’

  There was a second’s silence.

  ‘I haven’t,’ he told her. ‘I had a nephew about the same age as Becky. He died in an accident a couple of years ago. Hit-and-run driver.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘We were very close. That’s how I can imagine what you were going through. He was lost when it happened. He wandered away from my sister in a crowded street. Stepped straight into the road. A little like Becky. I’m just glad I could do something this time.’ His tone suddenly lightened. ‘Anyway, I didn’t call to tell you my life story, Mrs Gibson.’

  ‘Hailey,’ she insisted.

  He repeated it.

  ‘Becky’s here if you’d like to speak to her,’ Hailey told him.

  What the hell are you doing?

  ‘I don’t want to disturb her,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure she’d like to talk to you. She seemed quite taken with you.’

  You feel sorry for him, don’t you?

  ‘If it’s no bother, I’d like to,’ Walker said.

  Hailey told him to hang on a minute, then she returned with her daughter from the sitting room, where Becky had been watching cartoons, and handed her the receiver.

  Hailey saw the delight on Becky’s face as she spoke to Walker, watching her nod and giggle as he chatted.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Becky said, and Hailey could only wonder at the question he’d asked.

  ‘I hope so,’ she continued, still mesmerized by that invisible voice.

  Finally she said her goodbyes, handed the receiver back to Hailey, and disappeared back into the sitting room.

  ‘You did make an impression, didn’t you?’ said Hailey, smiling again.

  ‘I aim to please,’ Walker replied.

  ‘Look, if you want to call again, then feel free,’ she said.

  Oh, come on, get a grip.

  ‘I won’t bother you again. I just wanted to make sure you were both OK,’ Walker told her. ‘I hope it didn’t upset your husband too much either.’

  ‘I might not be married,’ she said, chuckling. ‘I could be a single parent. Do I look married?’

  Are you flirting with him now?

  ‘I saw your wedding ring,’ he told her.

  ‘Divorcee?’ she offered.

  It was Walker’s turn to laugh.

  Hailey thought what a wonderfully infectious sound it was.

  ‘I’ll leave you in peace now,’ he said, evidently still amused. ‘I’m glad everything is all right.’

  ‘I really appreciate you calling, Adam. And I mean it: you can ring again anytime. I’m sure Becky would like to speak to you.’

  ‘Just Becky?’ he mused.

  Hailey felt her cheeks colour.

  You’re behaving like some stupid teenager.

  ‘Take care, Hailey,’ he said.

  ‘And you,’ she murmured.

  ‘See you.’

  And he was gone.

  Hailey hung up, still smiling at the phone, then turned up the radio again.

  Once more the room was filled with music.

  11

  ‘HAILEY, I DIDN’T plan this,’ said Rob, almost apologetically. ‘I only found out this afternoon.’

  ‘Do you have to go?’ she demanded.

  ‘It’s a very important trade fair, and it’s only for two days,’ he told her. ‘If it’s any consolation, I’m not too overjoyed about it myself. It is Manchester, after all. I mean, no one spends two days in fucking Manchester unless they have to, do they?’

  ‘Why can’t Frank go?’

  ‘Someone has to run the business, and Frank’s better in the office. He hates this kind of thing.’

  She watched as he dropped socks, underpants and T-shirts into his small suitcase. His suits he folded carefully, placing them in position before resting some shirts on top of them.

  ‘You always were better at socializing, weren’t you, Rob?’ she said, a slight edge to her voice.

  He looked at her for a moment, then continued packing.

  ‘It’s got to be done. I’ve got to go. That’s all there is to it,’ Rob told her.

  ‘And what if I don’t want you to go?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Hailey. Don’t be bloody ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘OK,’ he snapped irritably. ‘I won’t go. I’ll stay in the office. Sod the trade fair. To hell with all the contacts I can make. Fuck the extra business I could get for the firm. Happy now?’

  She watched him struggling to fold a shirt, and stepped in front of him to complete the task.

  ‘This is for our benefit,
not just mine,’ he reminded her. ‘If I can get some extra business, then it means more work, and more work means more money. More money means we all live better. You, me, and especially Becky.’

  ‘I don’t need a lecture in economics, Rob. That’s not the problem.’

  ‘Then what is, for Christ’s sake?’

  ‘This will be the first time you’ve been away from home since your

  (affair. Go on say it. It’s only a word)

  little game with that slag. I assume she arranged it all, this trip, seeing as she’s your secretary. Did she book your hotel, too?’

  ‘Don’t start, Hailey. You know bloody well she did. It’s her job.’

  ‘And what kind of room did she book? A double? Just in case she fancies nipping up to see you while you’re there?’

  ‘Look, if you think that’s going to happen, then ring the office while I’m gone and talk to her. Talk to Frank. Get him to tell you where she is. Ring me. Ring the fucking hotel: it’s the Piccadilly. I’ll leave you the number. I’ll call you every night. You can get the manager to check on me if you like, make sure I haven’t got any women in my room.’ He glared at her. ‘Do whatever you have to do, Hailey. I’ve got to go to this fucking show, and that’s all there is to it.’

  ‘Well, it’ll give you some peace and quiet for a couple of days, won’t it? Two days of not having to answer my questions.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll have some more when I get back.’

  ‘Did she say she wished she was coming with you?’

  He merely shook his head wearily.

  ‘Where else did you take her? London? Reading? Leeds? God, that was romantic, wasn’t it? Manchester not classy enough for her?’

  He dropped the last of his things into the suitcase and snapped it shut.

  ‘I’ll call tonight and speak to Becky before she goes to bed,’ he said quietly.

  Hailey nodded.

  ‘I just want you to see my side of this, Rob,’ she told him.

  He held her gaze for a moment. ‘I’ll call you before I go to bed tonight,’ he said. ‘The fair doesn’t start until the morning.’

  ‘What will you do tonight?’

  He shrugged. ‘Have a meal in the hotel. Go to the pictures. What do you do in Manchester when you’re on your own?’ He smiled wanly.

  ‘As long as you are alone,’ she insisted.