Chapter 25
I’m hyperventilating, hunched up in the booth.
What do I do? I haven’t had a proper full-on panic attack for years, but I recognise the signs immediately.
My skin feels cold and sweaty. I wipe at my brow, gasping to control my breath.
I grab the sides of the table and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to control the inner turmoil.
‘You okay, Big Guy?’
My eyes snap open. It’s Big Sue.
‘Thank God!’ I cry, putting a hand to my chest to help get the words out. ‘It’s him. He’s back. He found me.’
Quick as lightning, Big Sue slides in beside me. ‘Who’s back? Luke?’
I shake my head. ‘Hank Junior.’
Her face drops. ‘What did he say? Did you tell him to cancel the job?’
‘Yes, but he said it’s too late.’ I panic. ‘What does that even mean?’
‘Tell me everything that happened.’
‘I think he’s angry that Liberty stood him up.
He said something like payment had already been made therefore there was no backing out of the deal.
’ The words are tumbling out of my dry mouth.
‘And he looked really mean. And he had two bodyguards. And he was standing with his legs too far apart and…’
‘Stick to the relevant details, babe. Did he mention’ – she lowers her voice – ‘Luke?’
I rack my brains. What did I say? What did he say? Where’s Cherry and her memory when you need her? ‘He just said it was too late to cancel.’
‘Does that mean too late because he’s already “taken care” of him?’
Fucking hell. Poor Luke.
‘Have you tried ringing him?’
I shake my head. ‘Ged said that Matteo told him he made sure Luke got away safely. He should be in the air by now. Oh God. What if there’s a killer on the plane?
We’ll not know if he ever made it until he lands.
And even then…’ I trail off, clenching and unclenching my fists at my sides to stop my mind spiralling with terror.
Big Sue’s thumbs are whizzing over her phone. ‘I’m messaging the group. We need an emergency meeting. Now.’
‘It’s no use. Everyone is off doing other things. I’m on my own for the birthday bash. It’s going to be a disaster. Nancy is going to kill us. Ged and Liam won’t step in because of Celine must-see Dion.’
‘Breathe, hun,’ she says softly, taking off her Barbie ponytail and rooting around in her bag. She pulls out a small hairbrush. ‘Can you quickly brush the tats out of that for me please?’
This is absolutely not the time for caring how we look.
‘Please. While I get the troops together. And try not to blame Celine. She’s had a tough few years, babe. Namaste and all that.’
‘Okay,’ I say, taking the wig and hairbrush from her.
I stare numbly at my phone, lying on the table in front of me, while I gently stroke tats out of her wig.
The rhythmic action is oddly soothing, and the shine on the white-blonde synthetic material is very satisfying.
Big Sue has messaged that the eagle has landed.
Code red. Usual rendezvous point. How is anyone supposed to know what the heck she means?
They’ll never reply anyway. Too busy living their best lives while I sit here frozen with panic, brushing a wig.
Ping. Big Mand is on her way.
Ping. Liberty is on her way.
Ping. Cherry is on her way.
I see dots travelling across the top of the chat. Tash is typing. Tash has stopped typing. Tash is typing again.
‘Not sure she’ll leave day-drinking in the run-up to a Celine Dion concert for this,’ I say.
Big Sue smirks, thumbing out a message at high speed. ‘She will.’
Ping. Tash is on her way.
What a sisterhood. A lump forms in my throat. And I’m part of it. I’m a stone’s throw away from getting a hashtag blessed tattoo.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ orders Big Sue, sliding out of the booth. ‘That panic attack of yours subsided yet?’
Gosh. It has.
‘I’ll take that back, thanks.’ Big Sue tips her head down and secures the wig neatly into place.
I half smile, handing over the brush. She’s so incredibly effective. She’s one of those people who gets the job done. Minimum fuss. If the world goes to shit, then Big Sue is who you’d want in charge. I check my phone to see what she wrote in the group chat:
Sisters before misters.
I blink slowly as we take a moment.
‘Sisters are like stars. We shine brightest when we love and support each other,’ Big Sue says, her voice soft as an angel, before she quickly clears her throat and recovers herself. ‘Capeesh?’
‘I absolutely capeesh. I capeesh totally.’ Emotions are getting the better of me. ‘I capeesh so much.’
‘You’re just spoiling it now, Big Guy.’
I stifle a giggle as she flits her head, indicating for me to follow. ‘Where’s the rendezvous point?’ I ask. ‘The love sign?’ Because I think I love Big Sue.
‘Too obvious,’ she says as we scurry through the casino and into the shopping mall.
We pass by all the boutiques, the shops selling oversized sweets, cookies, milkshakes.
We pass the designer clothes shop that Hank Junior took us to in order to gallantly get Liberty out of her wet things.
We come to an abrupt halt. ‘We’re here.’
My eyes dart about. ‘Here? The bridge?’
‘How do you think we all caught you sneaking off to get married?’ She points to the gondolas floating underneath, the gondoliers singing to their passengers, their voices carrying over the water to the crowds gathering to watch.
‘Don’t you read all the messages? Or were you too busy getting married?
’ She nods down to the water. There are several white and gold wedding gondolas floating nearby.
The scene gives me a wistful pang of longing.
‘How does it feel?’ she says. Big Sue’s face has taken on a slight glow of embarrassment.
‘To be married?’
She nods.
‘To be honest, I have no idea. We haven’t yet had the chance to…’
‘You haven’t consummated the marriage?’ she says, sounding shocked.
‘Well… there have been a series of pressing issues to contend with since… you know. And he has got a lifelong dream hanging in the balance. Which Birdie is threatening to ruin. It’s been a lot.’
‘Sorry,’ she says, her hand landing heavily on my shoulder. ‘Sorry you didn’t get your special day.’
I stare down at the glistening water. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be real anyway.’
‘But your feelings are real, aren’t they?’
‘They are.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Don’t worry, Big Guy. We’ll get this “situation” sorted and then we’ll put things right with you and mister lover lover.’
I put my hands in prayer, smiling. ‘Please don’t. I promise you; I can handle it.’
The Dollz have a horrendous track record when it comes to interfering with my love life.
Thumping footsteps on the bridge alert us to the arrival of Big Mand. She reaches us and immediately bends double, catching her breath.
‘Where have you been?’ I ask.
Her head jerks up, her eyes connecting with Big Sue’s. ‘Nowhere,’ they say in unison.
I suppress a tiny smirk. ‘Okaaaay.’ I won’t pry, but they are being very, very cute.
Next to arrive is Liberty. She is holding Cherry upright.
Cherry’s chin has flopped down onto her chest. ‘It’s okay, she’s just a bit tipsy.
Nothing a strong coffee won’t fix.’ Liberty props Cherry against the bridge railing and we watch her slide slowly down to the floor.
Legs akimbo, head slumped on her shoulder, red hair splayed across her face. Not what I’d call battle ready.
‘We’re here!’ yells Tash. Sister Kevin is clamped to her. My heart sinks. I hope she’s not pissed as well.
‘Where have you been?’ I ask as they approach. Every single casino serving free booze from here to the Mojave Desert?
‘Nowhere,’ they say in unison. They are out of breath and clearly agitated. Sister Kevin’s cheeks colour.
My eyes dart to Big Sue, who immediately inspects her nails.
What are they all hiding? I make a mental note to quiz them later.
After all, I did spot them all hiding from each other in the wedding department at Macy’s.
But at the moment, all my brain can think about is Hank Junior and what to do about him.
I’m pinning my hopes on Tash having a sensible pharmaceutical solution to the Cherry situation.
Maybe we can hook her up to one of these vitamin drips that seem to be everywhere.
Tash drops down to check on Cherry. ‘Nothing a good strong coffee won’t fix,’ she says, echoing Liberty, as she straightens back up.
She seems sober as a judge to me, if not overly confident in the powers of caffeine.
‘I know just the place,’ says Ged from behind me. He and Liam hold up takeaway coffees, their pupils the size of dinner plates. ‘Turbo Charge Cannonball Coffee. It’s amazing.’
‘We’ve been awake for nearly thirty-six hours,’ says Liam, twitching. One of his eyes is independently straying to the left. ‘I’m incredibly focused right now. And we’re so full of energy. I might never sleep again.’
‘Perfect,’ says Liberty, stooping to grab one of Cherry’s arms. I bend down to help.
‘We need a plan,’ I say. Even now that the Dollz are all here, this birthday performance is going to suck big time. Nobody will have their head in the game because of Hank Junior looming over us. I really hope Eddie is some kind of geriatric who won’t notice.
‘Agreed,’ says Liberty, sounding too quiet. She makes eye contact with me as we hunch down over Cherry’s limp body. I notice the dark circles beneath her eyes and her pale complexion. ‘I’m sorry I caused all of this, Connie. I really am.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ I’m quick to say. ‘How were you supposed to know Hank Junior was a mobster?’
She shrugs. ‘I still feel guilty. And…’ She turns her wet, dull eyes to the gondolas peeking through the balustrade. ‘I really liked him, you know?’ A lone tear trickles down her cheek. ‘I’m always the bloody bridesmaid. Never the bride.’ She wipes the tear away with the back of her index finger.
I reach out to stroke her shoulder. ‘For what it’s worth, I think Hank Junior genuinely likes you. He seemed angry about your no-show but then really concerned when I told him you’d fainted and that’s why you didn’t turn up.’
‘Did he?’ she says, a shade brighter. ‘Such a shame.’
I smile sympathetically at her. ‘Shame he’s a hitman?’
‘Shame he didn’t give me his number. Can you remember which direction he went in?’
What? How desperate is this woman?
Liberty huffs out a small laugh. ‘Fuck’s sake, Connie. Your face! As if! My standards are low but not that low.’
Cherry takes that moment to zing back to life. ‘Jackpot! Put everything on red. Or black.’
We heave her back to standing and head off in search of this uber-powerful coffee. ‘Let’s all get some,’ says Big Sue. ‘It’ll turbocharge our tactical briefing.’
* * *
Twenty minutes later, we are staring bug-eyed at one another. With pupils the size of manhole covers, we attempt to put a plan together. My heart is pumping like a jackhammer at twice its normal speed.
‘Why is Tash twitching?’ barks Big Mand, making it sound like all one word.
‘Never mind her, what about Hank Junior?’ Liberty asks.
‘Never mind Hank Junior, what about our Birthday Bash performance?’ I ask. ‘We should really go and get ready for it.’
Blank expressions.
‘It’s on the schedule,’ I remind them, waving my phone. ‘The gig we are doing at the pool party, remember? The reason we are sitting here tactically meeting about it?’
All of a sudden, the floor, the neon lights flashing above the bar, acrylic nails and the diamanté stuck to them become objects of extreme interest.
‘The one we are contractually obliged to do as a favour for Nancy.’
Blank stares. Nobody can be bothered.
‘It should be fun,’ I say, trying to sound convincing. ‘And it’ll be much safer if we stick together and…’
‘And hide in plain sight,’ Big Mand finishes. ‘Good thinking, Big Guy.’
‘If it’s a pool party, should we go in swimming costumes?’ asks Big Sue.
‘Yes. Makes sense,’ agrees Cherry.
‘And did we bring swimming costumes?’ asks Big Sue.
‘No,’ says Cherry.
My poor credit card. It will have organised its own funeral, obituary and wake by now.
I cross my fingers, praying no one can be bothered to go and buy any. ‘What will we wear instead?’ asks Big Sue. Her extra-long legs must be hollow because she seems least affected by the caffeine.
‘I will make bikinis out of these,’ Cherry says, pointing to the round cardboard beer mats. She holds two up to her breasts with an air of incredulity, as though wondering why she has never before thought to do this.
I flick through the schedule on my phone and pretend she did not just say that. ‘There is a stage poolside, on the fourth floor, and we’re on at 4 p.m. We need to be suited and booted. It’s glorious sunshine so whatever we wear needs to be cool.’
‘We’ll do the pink Stetsons with our pink sequined bra tops. Grab whatever short skirt you have or hot pants or sarong in a bright colour and we’ll do the Barbie white sandals. We’ll keep the wigs on. End of.’ Tash purses her lips. ‘Agreed?’
We all nod obediently.
‘And if he’s not happy, one of us can do him a lap dance afterwards,’ she says.
Absolutely not happening.
‘As for Hank Junior,’ says Big Sue. ‘We’ll just have to wait until after the show to do a recon. Connie, you ring Luke as soon as he lands, okay? Make sure he’s alive.’
‘And if he isn’t?’
Gah! I immediately regret asking this. After some eye contact, we leave the question hanging in the air. Where it can stay. Forever.
We agree to meet in my room once we are all ready, to have a quick run-through before the pool party begins.
My phone pings. It is from Nancy. She has heard that we are too busy messing about, gambling, sightseeing, getting married, etc, and that is not what she is paying us to do. I read the rest of the text aloud. ‘Eddie from Talent Star is very well connected, do not cross him under any circumstances.’
‘Right, Libs. Looks like we’ll be needing to do our Hot Garbage routine on him,’ Tash says forcefully. ‘You take the lead. Let’s give this old fucker a flaming heart attack.’