Broke

by Mandasue Heller

  Table of Contents

  Also by Mandasue Heller

  About the author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Prologue

  Part One: Five Years Later

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Part Two: Six Months Later

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Epilogue

  Also by Mandasue Heller

  The Front

  Forget Me Not

  Tainted Lives

  The Game

  The Charmer

  The Club

  Shafted

  Snatched

  Two-Faced

  The Driver

  Lost Angel

  About the author

  Mandasue Heller was born in Cheshire and moved to Manchester in 1982. She spent ten years living in the notorious Hulme Crescents which have since become the background to her novels. Not only is she a talented writer, but she has also sung in cabaret and rock groups, seventies soul cover bands and blues jam bands.

  BROKE

  Mandasue Heller

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2013 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © Mandasue Heller 2013

  The right of Mandasue Heller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Ebook ISBN 978 1 444 71296 4

  Trade paperback ISBN 978 0 340 96013 4

  Hardback ISBN 978 0 340 96012 7

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  338 Euston Road

  London NW1 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  For Win; my mum, Jean; my children, Michael, Andrew, Azzura (& Michael); and my gorgeous grandchildren, Marissa, Lariah and Antonio. Also, Ava, Amber, Martin, Jade, Reece, Kyro and Diaz, Nats and Dan, Auntie Doreen, Pete, Lorna, Cliff, Chris and Glen. And not forgetting the rest of my family, past and present, here and abroad. I love you all.

  As I write the acknowledgements for this, my twelfth book, I’m finding it harder and harder to include everybody who has helped, or has meant something to me, without actually naming them all. So if you don’t see your name here, please don’t think that I don’t appreciate everything you have done, because I do.

  Much love, as always, to Win’s mum and dad, his fantastic kids, his sisters, nieces, nephew, aunts and uncles.

  Love also to great friends The Duchess, Liz Paton and Norman Brown. Also to Betty (and Ronnie) Schwartz, Wayne Brookes and Martina Cole, for being there from the start and helping to make my journey a smooth one.

  The usual gratitude to my editor, Carolyn Caughey, for the unwavering faith, support and advice you’ve given me. Also, Emma, Lucy, Auriol, Emilie, Francine – and the rest of the brilliant Hodder team. And not forgetting Phil Pelham, who has spent many an hour driving me and Win around without ever once complaining.

  Massive thanks to Jeffery Deaver for taking the time to read my last book – and being generous enough to give me such a wonderful review.

  Immeasurable thanks to Cat Ledger – for everything.

  And thanks also to Nick Austin.

  I can’t leave out the fantastic buyers from Waterstone’s, W.H. Smith, Asda, etc, who have supported me so fantastically. And a huge thank-you to you, the readers, for making this worthwhile.

  And, lastly, a special thank-you to Jac and Brian Capron, and the rest of my FB&T friends, for the amazing support you have shown me over this last year. You guys rock!

  ‘For, when debts are payable, right or wrong, a short-term loan is as bad as a long . . .

  So why in heaven (before we are there) should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?’

  Rudyard Kipling

  PROLOGUE

  Lacklustre strands of tinsel lined the community centre walls, and silver balloons etched with Mr & Mrs Taylor bobbed limply against the ceiling above the heads of the drunken reception guests.

  The DJ, ‘Cheap ’n’ Cheerful Chas’, had been hired from an ad in the newsagent’s window, and so far he’d lived up to his name in the worst possible way by spinning the biggest load of shite the guests had ever heard. But booze had a way of turning tripe into treasure, so it hadn’t taken long for the mutterings of discontent to change to whoops of delight. The Shoop Shoop Song had brought every female in the room to her feet, and then it was down onto their boat-rowing bottoms for Oops, Upside Your Head, followed by the cheesiest fool-maker of them all: The Birdie Song.

  Halfway through her fourth Vodka WKD, Amy, the bride, was having the time of her life. Everything had gone perfectly to plan, and she felt like the queen of the ball in her hired Cinderella dress, with her blonde hair coiled up and held in place by a pearl tiara. When her all-time favourite, Whitney’s Saving All My Love, came on, she raised her bottle into the air and sang along with her friends at the top of her voice. But just as they reached the chorus, something popped down below, and a puddle seeped out around her white satin shoes.

  ‘Christ, I hope that’s booze, not piss?’ her friend teased, pointing at it.

  ‘No, I think her waters have broke,’ said another girl.

  ‘They can’t have.’ Amy stared down in dismay. ‘I’m not due for another three weeks. Mum! Muuum!’

  Sonia Clark was standing by the wall chatting to an elderly aunt. Glancing round when she heard her daughter’s panicked voice, she noticed the girls huddled together on the dance floor and rushed over.

  ‘Oh, bloody hell,’ she squawked when she saw what was happening. ‘I told you not to overdo it. And you’re not supposed to be drinking, neither!’ She snatched the bottle out of Amy’s hand.

  ‘I’ve only had one,’ Amy lied, clutching at her stomach as a sharp pain ripped through her. ‘I don’t feel well.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jane Taylor, the groom’s mum, asked, wandering over. ‘She’s not gone and started, has she?’

  ‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Sonia said frostily. ‘She’s my daughter, I’ll look after her.’ She turned back to Amy now and, seeing the pain on her face, said, ‘Right, we need to get you to h
ospital. Just let me find your dad.’

  ‘Isn’t that him over there?’ Jane pointed towards the front of the stage where a group of Amy’s scantily clad school friends were sexy-dancing around a fat middle-aged man.

  Furious, Sonia shoved Jane aside and yelled, ‘John Clark! Get your arse over here before I crack you one!’

  ‘I think I’m gonna puke,’ Amy moaned.

  ‘Not here, you don’t!’ hissed Sonia. ‘They’re already going to make us pay extra to clean up the mess you’ve just made. And pick your dress up before it gets ruined and they keep me deposit for that, an’ all.’

  ‘Mum, stop it!’ Amy complained when Sonia started yanking her skirt up. ‘You’re making a show of me.’

  ‘What’s up?’ John Clark ambled over, wiping his sweaty brow on his sodden shirt sleeve.

  ‘She’s started.’ Sonia scowled. ‘Go and fetch the car – you’ll have to drive her to A and E.’

  ‘I’m not going with him, he’s pissed,’ Amy protested. Then, doubling over at yet another pain, she sobbed, ‘Where’s Mark? I want Mark.’

  ‘Where is he?’ Sonia asked Jane. Getting a shrug in reply, she blew out an exasperated breath and yelled, ‘Where’s Mark? Anyone seen Mark?’

  ‘I think he went for a fag,’ Steve, the best man, told her.

  ‘Find him.’ Sonia shoved the boy towards the door. ‘And hurry up!’

  Steve rushed outside. It might be Mark’s wedding day but that hadn’t stopped the sex-mad bastard from casting his net, and Steve had seen him and Ginger Jenny Abbot sneak out ten minutes earlier. They were nowhere to be seen, so he hurried round to the dark alley that ran down the side of the hall.

  Mark had Jenny pressed up against the wall at the far end, her dress pulled up over her hips, his suit trousers on the floor around his ankles. He was going at her like a man who hadn’t had sex in a year – which was what it felt like to him, considering that Amy hadn’t let him near her in weeks. Not that he’d have wanted her even if she’d been willing, because he’d gone right off her since she’d bloated up like a beached whale. In contrast, Ginger Jenny was as thin as a rake – but that was the only good thing she had going for her, in Mark’s opinion. That, and the fact that she was up for it, unlike Amy’s mates who had all thought he was joking when he’d tried to chat them up.

  Eyes shut now, Mark was mentally visualising all the girls he’d rather be shagging when he heard Steve calling his name. ‘Piss off,’ he grunted. ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘You’d best hurry up,’ Steve whispered urgently. ‘Amy’s gone into labour.’

  ‘Oh, fuck!’ Mark croaked, scrabbling to pull his trousers up.

  ‘You’re not just going to leave me here like this, are you?’ Jenny gasped, tugging her dress back down. ‘I need a tissue.’

  Mark was already walking backwards to where Steve was waiting. He pulled out of his pocket the serviette that he’d used earlier to spit a mouthful of rancid sausage roll into and tossed it to her.

  ‘Sorry about the crumbs – it’s all I’ve got. See you later.’

  ‘When?’ Jenny called after him. But Steve had already pulled him around the corner.

  ‘You’re a right one, you,’ Steve whispered as they re-entered the hall. ‘You’ve only been married two minutes, and you’re at it already.’

  ‘Last fling,’ Mark retorted cockily.

  ‘Thought you had that last night?’

  ‘That was me last one as a single man,’ Mark informed him, grinning as he pulled open the door to the inner hall.

  The main lights had been turned on by now, and Amy had been moved onto a chair by the wall. Already furious that the ambulance wasn’t here yet, despite it only being a couple of minutes since the call went out, Sonia lost her temper when somebody in the gawping crowd kneed her in the back as she knelt in front of her daughter.

  ‘It’s not a flaming sideshow!’ she roared, shoving people roughly back. ‘The party’s over, in case you hadn’t noticed, so why don’t you all just piss off home!’

  ‘Leave them,’ Amy groaned, seeing no reason to deprive her mates of their fun just because it was over for her. ‘There’s loads of food left over from the buffet, and the DJ’s booked till twelve.’

  Mark pushed his way through the crowd and dropped to his knees in front of his wife. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Where have you been?’ she demanded. ‘I was shouting you.’

  ‘Nipped out for a smoke,’ he lied. ‘Nearly choked on it when Steve told me what was going on.’

  Amy spotted a smudge on his cheek and jabbed it with her finger. ‘That’d better not be lipstick, ’cos if you’ve been messing around, I swear to God—’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Mark rubbed his cheeks to remove the evidence. ‘It’ll be off that aunt of yours. She’s been following me around all day.’

  Another contraction robbed Amy of the energy to continue the argument. ‘Oh, Mum, it hurts,’ she cried.

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t start pushing,’ Sonia ordered. ‘Just breathe slow and hang on for the ambulance.’

  ‘Anything I can do?’ John asked, wringing his hands behind them. He’d managed to swerve away from Amy’s birth and had no clue how to deal with this.

  ‘Yeah, keep your big gob shut and your eyes to yourself,’ Sonia snapped, still fuming about him flirting with Amy’s friends.

  The door opened and Ginger Jenny walked in. Blushing guiltily when all eyes turned her way, she self-consciously smoothed her frizzy hair. ‘The, er, the ambulance is here.’

  ‘Don’t leave me,’ Amy wailed when Mark stood up to make way for the paramedics.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going nowhere,’ he assured her.

  ‘Promise?’ She clung to his hand.

  ‘Babe, I’m about to be a dad,’ he reminded her proudly. ‘Nothing’s gonna stop me being there.’

  Three hours later, baby Cassie had been delivered, cleaned, and fed – with a bottle, Amy having already decided that she would rather die than let anyone get even an accidental flash of her breasts. Cassie was fast asleep in a perspex cot beside the bed now, and Amy was gazing down at her in wonder.

  ‘Isn’t she gorgeous?’ she purred, unable to believe that she had produced such a perfect little creature.

  ‘The bomb,’ Mark agreed, reaching for Amy’s hand. ‘I know I ain’t always been the best, but you and that little girl are my world now and I’m gonna look after you like a proper husband and dad. Soon as I get home I’m gonna go through the paper and look for a job.’

  Amy’s eyes welled up and a tear trickled slowly down her cheek. ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  ‘Love you, too,’ said Mark, glancing at his watch. ‘Right, I’m off, before me mum thinks I’m stopping out and puts the bolts on.’

  ‘Can’t you stay?’ Amy pleaded, nervous of being on her own with the baby. She’d babysat for other people’s kids a few times but they had always been in bed by the time she got there so she’d never had to do anything. If Cassie woke in the middle of the night and started crying, she wouldn’t have a clue what to do with her.

  ‘What, and sleep on a chair when I’ve got a perfectly good bed at home?’ Mark gave her a come-on-now look.

  ‘I’m scared,’ she admitted, her chin wobbling.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ Mark assured her, leaning down to kiss her before backing towards the door. ‘You’re gonna be a great mum – everyone says so.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Amy sniffed.

  ‘Deffo.’ Mark opened the door. ‘You’ve got the nurses to help you out if you need a hand, and I’ll be back first thing.’

  ‘Promise?’

  Mark winked and slipped out quietly.

  Amy wiped her eyes, then snuggled down and gazed at the slim gold band on her finger. Everyone had said they wouldn’t last, but she and Mark had proved them all wrong. And now they had their beautiful daughter, the council would have to hurry up and give them a house of their own. It was kind of Mark’s mum t
o let them move in with her but Amy didn’t want to stay for one minute longer than she absolutely had to. She wanted it to be just her, Mark and Cassie in their own little palace. And when that dream came true, nothing and nobody would ever wipe the smile off her face.

  ‘Who does she look like?’ Ginger Jenny asked, sitting up when Mark had finished and swiping her hair out of her eyes.

  ‘Spit of me,’ Mark said proudly as he rolled over and reached into his jacket pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. ‘Proper little stunner, she is. Loads of jet-black hair, and this dead cute little nose.’

  Jenny turned her head and made a gagging face. She wasn’t the remotest bit interested in the kid and had only asked so he wouldn’t think she was being funny. It had been sickening enough watching him act all loved-up with that stupid bitch Amy at the reception. But she really felt like puking, listening to him spout off about the brat like it was some kind of fairy princess.

  Mark lit up and lay back against the pillow. ‘What’s up with you?’ He squinted at Jenny through the swirling smoke.

  ‘Nothing.’ She turned back with a smile. ‘I was just thinking I’d best open the window. My mum’ll be back in a bit, and she’ll kick off if she thinks I’m smoking.’

  Mark decided it was time to leave. He’d only called round to finish what he’d started earlier on, and now that he’d shot his load he was bored.

  ‘You don’t have to go,’ Jenny said when he reached for his trousers. ‘Just blow it out of the window so my mum can’t smell it.’

  ‘Nah, I need some kip.’

  ‘When am I going to see you again?’

  ‘Dunno.’ Mark shrugged and stuffed his shirt tails in. ‘I’m gonna be pretty tied up with the baby from now on. Oh, and not a word about me coming round here tonight. If Amy finds out, I’ll know who to blame, won’t I?’

  ‘Didn’t bother you a minute ago,’ Jenny said sulkily.

  ‘Yeah, well, I’m a dad now,’ Mark reminded her. ‘I’ve got responsibilities.’

  When he turned and walked out, Jenny noticed that he’d left his cigarettes and was about to shout after him. But she changed her mind. Why should she do him any favours after the way he’d just spoken to her?