by Emmy Ellis
Too late for that.
“What are you on about?” His words belied his expression. He really needed to work on his poker face. It was crap.
“He watched girls, Barry. Slappers. People who have sex for money. What the hell did you get him a job like that for? We have kids. What if one of the girls has them, too, and they know who I am? They could be laughing at me behind my back every day, and I wouldn’t know it. God, they could be the filthy bitches at the school for all I know.”
Barry blinked. “Straight up, I thought he was a bouncer. I passed his name to The Brothers, and they said they’d put feelers out for a job. Frank said he’d landed at The Roxy, and why wouldn’t I believe him?”
She wanted to punch him. “Oh, fuck off. What do you take me for, stupid?”
“Dunno what you’re expecting me to say. Honest to God, I thought he stood on the door and sorted any fights. He said as much.”
And there was no way for her to find out if he was lying. Convenient.
“Do you work for The Brothers and this mysterious woman who runs the corner as well? Is that why you’re hiding the truth, keeping this shitty little secret? Have you been warned to shut your mouth? If that’s the case, I assure you, you’re wasting your time if you think you need to cover for Frank. He doesn’t need your loyalty now.”
He frowned as if what she’d said was difficult to understand, or maybe he was a sandwich sort and didn’t get most things. “What do you mean?”
“He got beaten up, did you know that? A broken nose. He said it was from a fight outside The Roxy, but I gather now that might not be the case.”
“A fight?” He appeared genuinely confused, so maybe he hadn’t known.
“Yes, then whoever had it in for him decided to come round to my house while I was out shopping and stab my husband in the fucking throat.” She’d shouted by the end, her temper rising, those bubbles finally popping.
“What?” He flung the pen as if it had burnt his fingers.
“You heard me. Because of you getting him involved in that sort of thing, Frank’s dead. I have no money coming in, and I’m buggered if I’m going out to work. So, who employed him?”
“Dead? Fuck me…” Barry stood and moved to come round the desk, his arms out as if he wanted to give her a bloody cuddle.
Isla held up her hands. “Stay where you are, I don’t want you anywhere near me. This is your fault, all of it. Why couldn’t you have given him a job as a labourer here? Why did you have to go and send him to the likes of The Brothers? And who the hell is this woman?”
He lowered back into his seat. “Go to The Angel. She lives in the flat above it. That’s all you’re getting out of me—and don’t say I told you. I don’t need any shit.”
Indignance came alive inside her, flooding her system, goosebumps springing up on her arms. “I’ll say what I bloody well like because—”
“You won’t, not if you don’t want the twins on your back.”
Her bravado deserted her, leaving her uncertain, fragile, the seesaw of emotions taking their toll. “Are you threatening me?” That had come out weak, as though she feared him, when she didn’t, it was The Brothers she was scared of, but she wouldn’t be telling him that.
“Take it any way you want, just keep me out of it. And if she offers you money, don’t push for more. She’s looked upon favourably, she’s protected, and you going there and shouting the odds, well, it won’t be received kindly. Accept the cash and fuck off. If it means dirtying your acrylic nails by working, then so be it. You always were a grubby cow, poncing off Frank. Maybe now you’ll stand on your own two feet and get what it’s like to have the pressure of earning money to feed your kids. Frank was bricking it, d’you know that, in case he couldn’t earn what you needed for your trips to the shops. You’re a cow for making him worry.”
“A cow? No, he was the man, he was the provider, not me. I was the homemaker. That was how things were between us.”
“Well, now you’re both, aren’t you. Good luck with getting any money with your attitude.”
She thought of Cardigan and how he’d run things. Everyone knew if you pissed him off, he sent The Brothers round. And now those very men were running things, and they might be funny with her if she upset the woman at The Angel. Okay, so maybe she’d take the cash and walk away. It was better than nothing, plus it’d give her a chance to get used to the fact she’d have to get a job. She’d find something online where she didn’t have to mix with drudges.
“Fuck you.” She walked out, slamming the door behind her, and strutted to her car.
Wolf whistles followed her into the driver’s seat, and she stuck her middle finger up in the direction of half-built houses, where pervy workmen no doubt stared at her while they remained hidden, none of them with any guts to come out and do it in the open.
Isla sped away, heading for The Angel, anger mounting by the second. Look what her husband had reduced her to, going begging for cash in order to feed his sons. She’d never forgive him for this. His memory could go and do one.
She parked behind the pub beside a flashy convertible and climbed the steel steps at the side, head bent while she worked out what she’d say. With a couple to go, she glanced up. Someone came out of the front door, and it took her a moment to twig who it was.
Detective Clarke.
He called through into the flat, “Visitor for you.”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Who is it now?” came from inside.
“Frank’s wife.”
Clarke held his hand out to indicate Isla should go in, and her anger which had buoyed her on the journey here dissipated in the face of having to come cap in hand to what amounted to a woman who employed slags.
And why wasn’t Clarke asking her how she’d known where to come?
He brushed past her down the steps, and she took the last two up to a landing and faced the door. A hallway. At the bottom, a woman in her underwear.
“Debbie?” Isla gaped at her.
“Isla?”
They stared for a while, Isla remembering her from school, how they’d partnered in science class but hadn’t been friends as such, Isla jealous as hell of her. Debbie had been popular, super-pretty, and Isla was a nobody. God, this was even worse now, having to basically beg someone she’d shit on from a great height. But, she reminded herself, she wasn’t a filthy piece like Debbie was. She was a married woman—a widow—with children and a respectable life.
Look at her in a bra and knickers. How could she speak to a detective like that? Is she that far gone in her job she doesn’t care who sees her?
Debbie’s body was perfect, and although Isla’s was hidden beneath clothes, she was embarrassed. No amount of going to the gym could disguise she’d had kids.
“Are you coming in or not?” Debbie sounded bored and moved away to the left, out of sight.
Tummy going over, Isla entered and closed the door, trying to get her scrambling brain back on track. She went down the hallway, expecting the place to be a dive, something slappers lounged about in, a mess, piles of dirty condoms everywhere, but when she turned into the doorway, she was presented with a modern kitchen, clean, better than the one at Isla’s, expensive with all the mod cons. So that was what doing rude stuff for a living got you, was it? Or did Debbie just send other women out to do the dirty work and she took a cut? A female pimp?
Debbie sat at a breakfast bar, a sandwich in front of her. “I was just about to get ready to come to yours. Despite what you did to me all those years ago, I’m sorry about Frank.”
Isla stepped farther inside, ignoring the jibe. “People like you pay people like me money. What’s your offer? I need enough to live off for six months—so I don’t have to go to work and can find a new fella to pay my bills.”
“That’s a form of selling yourself, yet there you stand, looking at me like I’m nothing because I sell myself. Life sends you on weird paths, you should know that by now, and where you end up isn’t necessarily what
you dreamed. I expect you’re finding that out for yourself now, and staring down your nose at people… Your decision at school cost you, didn’t it? You had three years of being bullied because of your vindictive nature. Karma’s paid you a visit, forcing you to come here. I should laugh, but I’m not a bitch like you. I actually feel sorry for you. I know what it feels like to lose the bloke you love.”
Isla hadn’t thought of it like that. Shame burnt her cheeks, but still she pressed on, not acknowledging the truth of Debbie’s words out loud. She was here for money, plain and simple. “How much?”
Debbie shrugged. “I need to speak to someone who’ll tell me a fair price. Frank hadn’t worked for me very long, so it’s not like I’m paying you for years of his loyalty. I’m guessing it’ll be something like five grand, hardly enough for you to live off for an extended period, just enough to pay for a funeral.”
“Five grand?” Isla had imagined more than that. She recalled what Barry had said about taking the money and stopped herself from asking for more. “Right.”
“Maybe go to work like the rest of us? Frank did say once you don’t like it, but hey, we can’t all have what we want. You can work in The Angel if you like. Daytime hours while the kids are at school. Lisa, my manager, will train you up.”
Why was Debbie being so kind? Was there a catch? If Isla worked in The Angel, she could snag a man quicker. Those who went there during the day surely had business lunches. She could bag herself a CEO or something, someone who’d earn more than enough for what she needed, wanted.
Isla hated the thought of doing it, but it was better than the dole. The embarrassment of that wasn’t something she could hack, but then no one needed to know she was on it, did they. “How much a week would I get?”
“It’s a tenner an hour, so you work it out. I’ll even pay you cash, won’t put your name on the books, so you can claim Universal Credit or whatever. That’s what nice people do, even for people who caused them trouble. If that’s not enough, there’s always the corner.”
Isla’s face heated, the skin going prickly, and her mouth engaged before her brain. “You cheeky fucking cow. I’m not that sort.”
“Could have fooled me. People who spy on others and do what you did have got to be pretty warped. Did you like watching? Did you learn something?”
Isla’s forehead broke out in a sweat. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Fair enough. Take it or leave it. Probably best not the bite the hand that’s offering to feed you, though, eh?”
She had no choice if she wanted to find a new man. It’d look good if she told any prospective husbands she’d taken the bar job so she could feed her boys, that she’d do anything for them, and with the benefits as well, she might well earn a stash. “Give me a month to sort things. They still have Frank’s body. I have the funeral to arrange.”
And if I find any life insurance documents, you can stick your job up your arse.
Debbie nodded. “Fine. I’ll send someone round with the compensation cash. Let me know when you’re ready to start work—either in the bar or on the street, makes no odds to me. A lot of people think being a sex worker is wrong, disgusting, but I tell you, the money’s damn good, and all the girls are decent, lovely people, so you can get that misconception out of your tiny little brain right away. Maybe you should give it a try. Being decent and lovely, I mean.”
Isla’s cheeks flamed so hot they itched. Humiliated, she walked out of that flat feeling two inches tall. Of all the people it could have been, it was Debbie. No wonder she’d been sarcastic with Isla, and who could blame her? She obviously hadn’t forgotten what Isla had done all those years ago, although she was willing to put it aside. But they were young, silly kids, surely Debbie knew that?
On the drive home, flashes of the past flickered in her head. Debbie having sex round the back of the gym with Nathan Smith, Isla taking Polaroids, wanting to have something over Debbie that couldn’t be brushed under the carpet. Debbie spotting her taking the shots. Said Polaroids being passed round their year. Debbie knowing Isla had distributed them. Nothing being said directly, just icy glares sent Isla’s way, their science collaborations frosty and awkward. Other girls taking up the mantle of bullies, doing Debbie’s work for her, letting her know you didn’t try to take a popular girl down.
Debbie was a better person than Isla for offering her a job. If the roles were reversed, Isla wouldn’t have done the same. No, she would have wanted the satisfaction of sending her packing.
She’d say she had a lot to learn, would try her best to be a better person, but it’d fall on her own deaf ears. Isla wanted what she wanted, and she’d stamp on anyone who got in her way.
She turned into her street. Marjorie stood on the path.
“What the fucking hell is she doing out there?” Isla muttered.
She got out of the car and blipped the locks, readying herself to put up with more irritation from her in-laws.
Life really wasn’t fair. At all. And to top it off, she was about to become a barmaid.
Wonderful.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Beth stood in the back garden, alone, her tummy full of sausages, bacon, eggs, and beans. The Brothers were still in the kitchen, cleaning up after breakfast. They’d told her to go outside to make the call, and it was better that they weren’t there, otherwise she might muff up, come across as nervous with them watching and listening. She’d rather they were on hand, to be honest, but hadn’t argued the toss.
She pressed the burner phone to her ear, shaking with nerves, the ring-ring going on for ages.
It stopped. “What have you got?”
“We need to meet,” she said. “Somewhere no one will overhear or see us.”
“Right. Tell them you’re going for a walk. I’ll get Dave to pick you up a couple of streets over. He’ll take you to my place. I’ll phone you back in a sec once I’ve arranged it.”
The line went dead. That hadn’t gone how she’d expected. She had to get him to go elsewhere. The Brothers were more likely to get caught if they barged into Lime’s house. Neighbours could spot them going inside, realise something was up, then phone the police.
She dialled his number again, but he didn’t pick up.
Beth went back indoors. “He said Dave will come for me. I have to go to Lime’s place. I don’t want to.”
George sighed. “That’s a bit tricky for us. Especially in the daytime.”
“He said he’d phone me in a minute.” She swallowed the ball of nerves in her throat, and the burner going off in her hand brought it back again. “It’s him.”
“Answer it then,” George said.
She swiped to accept the call. “Hi.”
“Scrap what I said. My place…not a good idea. They might follow you, or send someone else to do it, then they’ll clock where I live.”
“I did wonder…” She swiped her foot over the floor, side to side, a calming motion.
“Wasn’t thinking, was I. So, I’ll text you instructions.”
“Okay.”
He hung up again, and she told the twins what he’d said.
“He wasn’t thinking, eh?” Greg smiled. “Bit lax, not being on the ball.”
“That’s in our favour,” George said.
The message tone bleeped, and Beth looked down at the screen.
Richie: Go to the shopping centre. Be there for twelve. Stand outside B&M. Someone will come for you.
She showed it to Greg and George.
“He’ll go all round the houses to make sure you’re not being followed once whoever it is has met up with you.” Greg grimaced. “Same as what we’d do. They’ll take you from the centre, drive about, get you to wait somewhere, pick you up again in another car.”
“Maybe we’ll have to bite the bullet and go to his house anyway.” George pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger. “I’d prefer to do it before Beth has to meet him, but there’s not enough time to organise stuff.”
> “What needs organising?” Greg asked. “We drive there, we get inside, and we do him.”
Beth slid the phone away. “That’s just stupid. But if you don’t manage to follow where they take me, I could be dragged anywhere, kept in a different basement or something. I’d give them the info, then they could kill me—I’m no use to them once they have that.”
“Text him back. Say you don’t feel safe not knowing where you’ll be taken. Tell him you’ll speak to him outside B&M, nowhere else.” George paced, a hand on the back of his neck. “Fuck’s sake. I hate not being in control.”
She took the phone out and sent the message.
Waited, breath held.
Richie: Forgot all about your gran, have you?
She held the phone up.
“Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this but…” Greg glanced at George.
“She has a right to know.” George fiddled with his ear. “I said we should have been open about it.”
Beth frowned. Open about what?
“She’s safe,” Greg said. “She’s not even in that fucking care home now.”
Beth’s heart lurched. “What?”
“I phoned them this morning. Said she was going elsewhere, that we weren’t happy with the level of security. All right, they let one of our blokes in to sit outside her room, but it could so easily have gone tits up. And as for me telling them how it is, it’s not like the place is NHS and they can ask questions, is it, but then again, the little chat I had meant the person I was dealing with just did as they were told. Nice woman, Helen. She understood what would happen if she didn’t do what I wanted. The bloke watching your gran…well, he took her out of there, that’s all you need to know.”
Beth’s temper spiked. That was all she needed to know? Fuck was it. “Where is she? I won’t do this until you tell me. You had no right. I can’t believe you did this behind my back.”
“She’s in a secure facility. Top-notch place. Paid up for a year. No one can get in—it’s gated. If Lime’s men turn up at the other home, they’re fucked. No gran to hurt.” He grabbed his phone and prodded the screen. Showed it to her. “There. See?”