‘Has she said it’s over?’ Jenny probed, waving for him to come in and leading him upstairs. ‘Has she asked for a divorce?’
Mark frowned deeply as he sat down on one of the couches. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that Amy might ask for a divorce, and he didn’t know what he would do if she did. As much as she pissed him off, he didn’t want to lose her. And it would totally crack him up if they split and Amy got together with another bloke and the kids started calling him Daddy.
Jenny switched the lamp on and poured two glasses of Scotch. Mark looked crushed, and she wished she could sit next to him and hold his hand. But she wasn’t brave enough, so she handed his glass to him and carried her own to the other couch.
Mark swallowed a mouthful and closed his eyes, relishing the burn as the liquid slid smoothly down his throat.
‘You know she can’t stop you seeing the kids, don’t you?’ Jenny said supportively. ‘Dads have got rights now as well as mums.’
‘Nah, she’s not like that.’ Mark shook his head and opened his eyes. ‘It’s not as bad as I’m making out. She’ll come back if I get things sorted.’
Disappointed, but determined not to show it, Jenny gave him an understanding smile. ‘How are you going to do that?’
‘Money,’ Mark said bluntly. He took another swig of his drink, then looked her in the eye. ‘I know I already owe you but I could really do with some more. It’ll only be for a few weeks, till my dole comes through. They owe me a fair bit, so I’ll be able to pay it all back in one go.’
Jenny’s heart sank, and she took a slug of her own drink. So that was why he was here. Not because he wanted to see her, just because he wanted more money.
‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got any,’ she murmured.
‘I can wait till tomorrow if you need to go to the bank,’ said Mark, thinking that she meant she didn’t have any more cash here.
‘There’s nothing in there either,’ Jenny told him.
Mark gave her a questioning look. ‘You can’t have spent it all already?’
‘Spent all what?’
‘Your inheritance.’
‘What inheritance?’
‘The money your mum left you. I know you’ve bought all this new stuff, but there must be some left?’
‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Jenny snorted. ‘My mum didn’t leave me anything. And she’s lucky she’s already dead,’ she added bitterly, ‘’cos I’d have killed her all over again if I’d known about the unpaid bills she’d been stashing under her mattress. She didn’t even bother telling me she’d stopped paying her funeral plan, so I got lumbered with that as well.’
Mark was confused. ‘How did you afford all this new stuff if you’re in that much debt? These couches must have cost a bomb.’
‘Credit card,’ Jenny admitted. ‘But I’m totally maxed out – so I can’t use it again, before you ask.’
‘I wasn’t going to,’ Mark lied. A look of sheer misery on his face, he finished his drink and put the glass down on the table. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have come. I’m just scared I’m going to lose my kids.’
‘I thought you said Amy wouldn’t stop you from seeing them?’ Jenny reminded him.
‘I’m trying to put a positive slant on it,’ Mark said with bitterness in his voice. ‘Truth is, there’s no telling with her, ’cos she’s not right in the head. That’s why I need to get the kids home, so I know they’re safe.’
‘She wouldn’t hurt them, would she?’
Conscience refusing to allow him to accuse Amy of something as serious as that, Mark shook his head. ‘No, course not. It’s just . . .’ He tailed off and shrugged. ‘Well, she’s not really been keeping on top of things lately. She just lies on the couch all day, watching telly. The kids would have starved by now if it wasn’t for me.’
Jenny’s eyes flashed with disgust. She had never particularly wanted children, but if she ever did have them she would do her damnedest to take good care of them. Especially if a good man like Mark had fathered them. Amy was a selfish, lazy bitch, and she didn’t deserve Mark or their kids.
‘That’s why I need this money,’ Mark went on. ‘But it’s not your problem, so just forget I said anything.’ He stood up and gave her a sad smile. ‘Thanks for the drink, and listening, and that. I’ll see myself out.’
Jenny felt sick as he walked towards the door. For one beautiful moment she’d thought that he was here because he wanted to see her, and it hurt to think that he was only after money to lure Amy back. But having some of him was better than having none at all – and that was what she would get if she let him walk out.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘There is someone who could help you.’
Mark turned back with hope in his eyes.
‘I know a man who does loans,’ Jenny went on, reaching for the bottle to refill their glasses. ‘But if I tell you his name you’ve got to swear you won’t mention me, because he’s a family friend – and he won’t be happy if he thinks I’ve been talking about him.’
‘Course I won’t,’ Mark promised, sitting back down, beside her this time.
‘I want you to promise me something else as well,’ Jenny added quietly.
‘Anything.’
She passed his glass to him and looked him in the eye. ‘Promise you won’t dump me when Amy comes back to you.’
‘Do you even need to ask?’ Mark reached for her hand. ‘Why do you think I’m here?’
‘For the money,’ Jenny replied bluntly.
Mark smiled and shook his head. ‘If it was only that, I’d have gone to Steve. But I came here because I wanted to see you.’
Jenny inhaled deeply. ‘Really?’
‘Look, I don’t know about you, but I think we’ve got something special going on here,’ Mark purred. ‘And I don’t see why we shouldn’t go for it – as long as Amy doesn’t find out. I don’t give a toss about her, but I can’t lose my kids. You can understand that, can’t you?’
Jenny’s head was spinning. He looked and sounded sincere, but was it really possible that he felt the same about her as she did about him?
Mark had never jumped through hoops for any girl, and he resented having to do it now. But he could see that Jenny was weakening, so he leaned towards her and kissed her. Surprised when his dick twitched, because sex hadn’t even entered his mind until then, he took her glass out of her hand and put it on the table, then pushed her gently down on the couch.
Clinging to him when he peeled her knickers down and slid into her, Jenny gasped, ‘I love you!’
Mark’s hard-on immediately began to soften. Groaning ‘Ssshhhh!’ he closed his eyes and visualised the last porno he’d watched in order to bring it back to life.
Ten minutes later it was all over, and Mark stood up and pulled his pants up.
‘Are you going now?’ Jenny asked, self-consciously covering herself.
Mark smiled and reached for his glass. There was nothing for him back at the house. Amy definitely wasn’t going to come back tonight, and there was no way he was sitting there in the cold and dark when he could be snug as a bug right here.
‘Fill us up,’ he said, handing the glass to her. ‘Might as well make a night of it now I’m here, eh?’
In the morning, Jenny let him out and stood shivering on the step. ‘Will you ring me?’ she asked. ‘Or should I ring you?’
‘Don’t ring me,’ Mark said quickly. ‘I’ll try to call but I can’t promise when, ’cos Amy always checks my phone. Best just wait till I get a chance to come round.’
‘When will that be?’
‘No idea.’
Jenny’s expression clearly showed her disappointment. She wanted to know exactly when he would be coming so she could make sure that she was ready for him. But she didn’t want to make it any more difficult for him, so she forced a smile.
‘Okay, I suppose I can wait. But please don’t leave it too long. I need to see you – soon.’
‘I’ll try.’ Mark smiled and started ba
cking away. ‘Cheers again for helping me out.’
‘Don’t forget, you can’t mention me,’ Jenny called after him in an urgent whisper. ‘He doesn’t like people knowing his business, and he’ll go mad if he thinks I’ve been sending people to him.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ Mark assured her. ‘I’ll tell him an old mate told me about him.’
He waved goodbye and set off down the road. He could feel Jenny’s stare burning into his back as he walked and wished that she would piss off back inside. She’d served her purpose, and that was an end to it as far as he was concerned.
8
The Beehive pub in the heart of Moss Side had only recently reopened after a spate of murders and several drug busts some months earlier. Mark hadn’t been in there in years, and had tended to avoid the area in general since the Somalians had taken over. Large groups of them hung around on every corner, and it was intimidating even for someone like Mark who had grown up in Hulme and had loads of black mates. These new guys were a different breed from the regular black guys. They didn’t want to integrate, they just wanted to stick with their own, and they eyeballed anyone who dared to enter their territory.
Edgy as he walked past them now, Mark breathed a sigh of relief when he made it into the pub unscathed. Smacked in the face by the familiar fug of ganja smoke, he nodded hello to a couple of Rastas who were propping up the bar and looked around.
Len Yates was sitting with another man at a table in the corner. Mark wasn’t sure it was him when he first spotted him, because he was a lot smaller and skinnier than Mark had expected. If it hadn’t been for the white patches that Jenny had mentioned on his already pale face, Mark wouldn’t have picked him out as a moneylender in a million years. The other one, maybe, because at least he had the build; but not the skinny fella.
Less apprehensive now that he knew he wasn’t dealing with a bruiser, Mark strolled over. The men had been laughing, but they stopped abruptly when he reached them, and four suspicious eyes turned on him. Strangely, given what he’d just been thinking, it was Yates’s stare that unnerved him the most. His tiny eyes were the palest shade of blue that Mark had ever seen, and there was an icy coldness in them that sent a shiver down his spine.
‘What do you want?’ the bigger man demanded.
Mark swallowed nervously. ‘I’m a friend of Coxy’s. He said you were the man to talk to about . . .’ He paused and glanced around before whispering, ‘A loan.’
‘That right?’ Yates’s voice was as thin as his face, and as whispery as his fair hair.
Mark nodded and shuffled his feet.
‘Fuck off,’ the big man snarled, rising up from his seat.
He was huge, and Mark took a step back and held out his hands. ‘All right, mate, I’m going. No problem.’
‘Just a minute,’ said Yates, still staring at him. ‘Do I know you?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Mark replied, nervously eyeing the other man.
‘You look familiar. Where do you live?’
‘Hulme.’
‘Do you drink in The Junction?’
‘Yeah, sometimes.’
‘I think I’ve seen you in there. Take a seat.’ Yates nodded at the chair beside his.
The big man cast a hooded glance at his friend, but when Yates gave a surreptitious shake of his head he picked up his pint and walked over to the bar.
Legs shaking, Mark shuffled around the table and sat down. Yates turned towards him and stared him in the eye. ‘So when did Coxy tell you about me, then?’
‘A few weeks back,’ Mark lied. ‘Not sure. Could be a bit longer.’
Yates draped his arm around the back of Mark’s chair and smiled a sinister smile. ‘Psychic, are you?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Well, you’d have to be if you spoke to Coxy a few weeks back, seeing as he’s been dead for four months.’
Mark felt the colour drain from his face, and his heart lurched when Yates grabbed him by the hair and dragged his head down until they were nose to nose.
‘Who really told you to come to me? And none of your bollocks this time.’
Mark felt something hard press against his ribs and almost fainted when he glanced down and saw the glint of a blade in Yates’s hand. All pretence at loyalty flying out of the window, he was about to blurt out Jenny’s name. But before he had a chance, someone called out his.
‘All right, Tayls! How’s it hanging, star?’
It was Clive, a Jamaican guy who had worked with Mark at the paint-mixing shop. They hadn’t really known each other all that well, but Mark had never been more pleased to see anybody in his entire life.
‘All right, Lenny.’ Clive walked up to the table and touched fists with the man.
‘Killa.’ Yates nodded. Then, jerking his head in Mark’s direction, ‘Pal of yours?’
‘Yeah, he’s cool,’ said Clive, touching fists with Mark now. ‘Used to work at our place – till he got sacked.’ He chuckled now, and turned to Mark. ‘I hear the missus wasn’t too pleased about that? Stevo reckons she gave you a right bollocking.’
‘Yeah, she did,’ Mark replied quietly, still conscious of the knife despite Yates having slid it back into his pocket.
‘Tough break,’ Clive said sympathetically. ‘Stan’s a bastard for kicking you out when you’ve got kids to feed. Have you found anything else yet?’
Mark shook his head.
‘Soon come,’ Clive said supportively. ‘Anyhow, I’ll leave youse to it.’ He rubbed his hands together and grinned widely. ‘Got me a fine lickle lady to wine and dine.’
‘In here?’ Yates scoffed. ‘Fuck me, you know how to push the boat out, you lot, don’t you?’
Mark winced and glanced up at Clive to see if he’d taken offence. But Clive just grinned, and drawled in an exaggerated patois, ‘Man, me c’d tek her t’ Nandos an’ she still be purrin’ like a lickle kitty cat. Darker da bee, sweeter da honey – seen?’
‘Me see, mon, me see,’ said Yates, mimicking him, badly.
Clive laughed out loud and touched fists with them both again before making his way over to the bar.
Yates turned back to Mark. ‘So you’ve got kids?’
‘Yeah, two.’
‘And you’ve just been sacked, so I’m guessing you need money to tide you over?’
‘Yeah.’ Mark nodded. ‘But I totally understand if you don’t want to give me any after what I said about Coxy.’
‘Coxy was a snake,’ Yates said sharply. ‘And you’re lucky you didn’t get your bollocks sliced off like him,’ he added with a sly grin. ‘But now I know you’re mates with Killa, that’s different. How much you after?’
‘A-a couple of hundred,’ croaked Mark, licking his lips, which were as dry as sandpaper.
‘Address?’ Yates demanded. Sitting back when Mark had told him, he said, ‘I’ll call round in an hour. Make sure you’re there, ’cos I don’t like being fucked about.’
Mark nodded and stood up quickly. Unsure what to do now, he held out his hand, but immediately withdrew it when Yates ignored it and reached for his pint.
‘Thanks,’ he said instead. ‘I really appreciate it.’
Yates took a swig of his beer and looked right through him as if he was no longer there. Taking that as his cue to leave, Mark walked out, waving goodbye to Clive on the way. Then, head down, he hurried past the Somalians and rushed home to wait for his money.
An hour later, a shabby silver Vauxhall Vectra pulled up at the kerb outside the house. Mark jumped up off his chair when he saw Yates climb out and ran to open the door.
Yates walked straight past him into the living room and looked around. Narrowing his eyes when he spotted the framed wedding photo on the mantelpiece, he picked it up.
‘The missus?’
‘Yeah. Amy.’
‘Pretty.’ Yates put the photo down and nodded at a picture of the kids on the wall. ‘They the little ’uns?’
‘Cassie and Bobby, yeah.’
‘
How old?’
‘Two and five.’
‘Family man, eh?’ Yates smiled and pulled a thick wad of notes out of his pocket. ‘There’s five hundred there.’ He handed it to Mark. ‘Count it if you want.’
Mark’s eyes widened as he gazed down at the money. ‘Are you sure you want to give me this much?’
‘That’s my minimum,’ Yates told him. ‘You’ll pay me back at fifty a week. Bring it to The Bee, five o’clock every Monday. Don’t be late, and don’t even think about not turning up, because I will come round, and you will pay. We clear on that?’
‘Absolutely,’ Mark agreed without hesitation. ‘Every Monday, five o’clock. I’ll be there, no worries.’
Yates nodded and walked back out into the hall. He paused before he opened the door, and said, ‘Just so you know, first time I have to come round for it I’ll be breaking something before I leave. Second time . . .’ He tailed off and smiled. ‘Let’s just say there won’t be a second time.’
Mark gulped nervously. Moments earlier, the money had felt as light and as lovely as gold dust, but now it felt like a lead weight. He contemplated handing it back, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be an option now that he’d accepted it.
Amy had just put the kids to bed when Mark turned up at her mum’s house at eight that night. Her parents had gone to the MRI to visit her aunt who’d just had an operation, so she was alone – and bored.
She had enjoyed being back home to start with, eating her mum’s cooking, listening to her dad’s lame jokes, and sleeping in her old bed. But the gloss had worn off within a couple of hours of getting up this morning, and she remembered exactly why she’d been so desperate to escape in the first place. Mark called her a nag, but she had nothing on her mum.
Don’t leave that there . . . Stop slurping your tea . . . Close your mouth when you’re eating . . . Don’t let the kids touch that . . .
She made Amy feel like a five-year-old, and it wasn’t nice. And it definitely hadn’t been pleasant to be reminded of her dad’s farts. Every two minutes he let one go, and Bobby thought it was so funny he’d been copying him all day. Only he hadn’t quite mastered the fart without the follow-through yet, so Amy had had to change him four times before dinner.
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