‘Yes,’ replied Lily quietly.
‘No one in the rooms after eight.’
‘I know,’ said Lily. ‘You know Rita’s not there?’
‘Yeah, right,’ said Billy.
‘I think you’d better open the door,’ said Henry again.
However, to Rita’s relief, Billy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Rita waited until she heard the sounds of Billy’s television set. ‘I’m sorry about Billy,’ she said eventually.
The booming sounds of a comedy show reverberated through the walls. Henry’s eyes met hers.
‘You can do better Rita,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty
Billy called her babe.
‘Alright, babe,’ he’d say.
At one time Rita had liked Billy calling her babe. It had made her feel normal somehow; like her girlfriends. Mostly though, Rita felt odd and different, like the outsider looking in. There was always a convenient corner for someone like her; a place to blend into the wallpaper and to be forgotten; a place for the unworthy.
Often Billy would come uninvited to her room and Rita never liked to turn him away. What if he put her rent up or even worse, kicked her out. A gentleman waited to be asked. Henry would always wait to be asked, thought Rita.
One day he’d come to her room. She’d left work early feeling unwell. She prayed he would go away, but he continued to knock on the door until finally she had opened it.
‘I thought you weren’t going to let me in,’ he laughed. ‘It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.’
‘I’m a bit tired, actually,’ she’d yawned.
‘It’s early,’ he’d said, peering at her. ‘You’re never home this early. How come?’
‘I haven’t been well today,’ she’d explained.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ he’d asked suspiciously.
‘I don’t really know,’ said Rita.
‘A drink is what you need,’ Billy had cajoled.
‘No, I …’
Billy’s eyes had fastened on the bottle of wine she’d bought that day. It had been on special and with her discount it had been a good price. Rita’s shoulders had slumped. She should have put it in the fridge. Billy would never have seen it then.
‘Ooh,’ he’d said jubilantly, ‘that looks like a nice one.’
Rita had wanted to cry. She could feel the tears prickling behind her eyelids. That was a special wine. She couldn’t bear for Billy to tarnish it with his eager hands. He’d reached out for it and had stopped abruptly when Rita had growled, ‘Don’t touch that.’
‘It’s for a friend,’ she’d said, her voice placating.
‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ said Billy, disappointed. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Merlot; shall I get it?’
Rita had flexed her neck to release the tension. She didn’t want to upset Billy. But she really didn’t want to have a drink with him. He’d frightened her that night she’d found the gun. He’d hurt her twice. Rita didn’t want him to hurt her again. She’d have to move, and the thought depressed her. Everywhere was so expensive.
‘Billy, do you mind if we don’t have wine tonight. I don’t feel too well. I think it’s my stomach.’
‘You’re not going to be sick are you?’ he’d asked, backing away.
