“Thanks, Terry,” I said, and meant it. “What do I owe you for these?” The room was empty now, just me and him.
“Nothing, son. A gift. You’re a good lad, and I want you safe and well.” He looked around him, checking that everyone had left.
“There’s another thing. Your ex, Karen.”
My heart sunk. What trouble was she stirring up now? She’d been suspiciously compliant so far, bringing Damon round a couple times, never asking for anything or pushing the custody issue. I’d been giving her a few quid, of course, but I knew it wouldn’t keep her happy for long.
“What about her?”
“She’s approached Shirley, talked to her about working a few shifts at the parlour up on Derby Road. I wanted to sound you out before I gave the nod to Shirl, like.”
So that was what she wanted - a job at one of Terry’s brothels. They were shit holes, but I guess it was still better than working the streets. It was a thorny question. I didn’t want to give my blessing to it - my ex-wife, mother of my child, fucking anyone and everyone with £20 in their pocket. But if I didn’t, she’d be doing it on the street corners anyway. I sighed.
“She wants money. I’ll take care of it. Can I do anything more, earn a bit more cash?”
Terry looked genuinely concerned.
“And what’s the point of that, son? You graft, earn the cash, give it to her, she turns round and gives it to me - I run every smack dealer in this town. And it won’t be enough. It’s never enough with the smack heads. She’ll be on her back anyway.”
He was right - I was kidding myself if I thought I could finance Karen’s drug habit for her. No amount of money was enough - the addiction was only limited by how much money the addict could regularly get hold of. All I’d be doing would be making it worse.
“Take a step back from it, son. She’s not your problem any more. But if she’s in the parlour, then you can at least have eyes on her.”
“Okay,” I said. “Let her work in the parlour.”
“Besides,” Terry said, “I hear you’ve got a posh bird now. You’ll be needing all your spare cash to wine and dine that one! What did I tell you about not getting involved with the fairer sex, lad?”
He was laughing, and no wonder. Terry had been married for forty years, but everyone in town knew that he kept a string of women who were variously falling out with him, with each other, with any girl that Terry looked at, and generally causing trouble.
“You mind yourself though, with a posh bird. They’re not like us. They don’t understand how the world works. Make sure she doesn’t see that.” He nodded at the sports bag.
Was that true? Certainly, I couldn’t show Nicole the guns - she’d freak out. But the way that Terry had categorised her as being ‘different from us’, the way he’d not blinked an eye at my junkie ex-wife working for him, as a prostitute. Was that who I was, a Terry English? When I was with Nicole, everything felt right, felt solid. We were meant to be together. But to everyone else, was it so glaring obvious that we didn’t fit, that we were wrong for each other?
Before, I wouldn’t have given a shit, but now, with Damon, it mattered. Was I the man Nicole saw, a regular guy, a good boyfriend, a potentially good father? Or was I the man Terry saw, the gun-wielding hard man with the junkie ex?
Because that man could never hope to be a father, not at all…
Nicole
I was at Mason’s, as always. He seemed to have accepted that we always spent time together at his place, never mine. He could have come around - I’d cleared away any incriminating evidence after that first night, but the truth was I preferred it here. Not because I could gather information, although that was the official reason. Really, it was because I liked it here.
When we were here together, it was like our own private hideaway from the world. I could forget all the pressures that were weighing me down, and simply relax. It was only when I was at home, in my soulless apartment the police force had provided, that I could allow myself to think about the bigger picture, the consequences of my actions. One day, I would have to turn Mason in, along with the rest of Terry’s crew. I would lose him forever. I knew that it had to be done, but I wasn’t ready for it yet. Just one more week, I would tell myself, one more week and then I’ll start cutting myself off, preparing for the drop.
The doorbell rang, breaking my train of thought. Mason wasn’t home - he’d gone to pick up a takeaway and some wine for our dinner. Had he locked himself out? No, he’d only been gone a couple of minutes - not enough time to be back.
Cautiously, I approached the door and peered through the spyhole. I could see a small, hooded figure waiting patiently on the step. Too small to be an adult. I opened the door.
“Is me dad in?” the small boy asked.
“Are you Damon?” I said, shocked.
“Yeah,” he said.
I looked up and down the street - there was no sign of the awful Karen.
“How did you get here?” I said.
“I walked here. Me mam hasn’t come home, and I’m hungry. Is me dad here?”
Jesus Christ! Damon was five years old - too young to even be out of bed at this time, let alone wandering the streets.
“He’ll be back soon,” I said, wondering how often this poor boy had heard that line, “Come in.”
I ushered him into the living room, unsure of what to do next.
He settled down in an arm chair, and I got my first proper look at him - Mason’s son. There was no question of paternity. This boy was him in minature form. The same wide blue eyes and unruly hair. Damon would be quite the lady-killer when he grew up. If he grew up, I thought grimly. Under Karen’s neglectful care, that was no guarantee.
“Your dad’s just out getting some food,” I said. “He won’t be long.”
The boy studied me.
“Are you Dad’s girlfriend?”
“I- yes, I am. I’m Nicole,” I said.
“You’re pretty,”
“Thanks,” I managed, floundering. I really didn’t know how to talk to kids. I wracked my brain, trying to think of something to say.
“Do you like I-spy, Damon?”
“What’s that?”
I explained the rules, and his face lit up. He was clearly unused to people taking an interest in him, and he seemed thrilled. By the time Mason’s key turned in the lock, we were getting on famously. He was an easy child to like.
“Was Karen here?” Mason asked nervously, from the doorway.
I smirked internally. Mason didn’t know that I’d ever seen Karen, and he had clearly been going to great pains to keep us apart.
“No, Damon has come here by himself,” I said, in a jolly, everything-is-OK voice.
“Me mam didn’t come home, and I’m hungry,” Damon piped up. “But Nicole said that you were bringing some food home. We’ve been playing a game.”
“Yeah, I’ve got the food right here, mate. Give me a minute to get it on some plates,” Mason said in the same bright tone I’d used.
What the fuck… he mouthed over Damon’s head.
I followed him into the kitchen, closing the door so that Damon couldn’t hear.
“He walked here?”
“So he says. There was no sign of his mother, and he was freezing cold.”
“Jesus Christ. I’m going to kill her,” he whispered angrily. “If she ever turns up…”
He grabbed his phone and began to punch in a message. The reply was quick.
“She’ll pick him up tomorrow. No apology, no nothing,” he fumed.
“I won’t stay the night,” I said. I could see he was relieved.
“Well, I guess we’re having family night, then,” he said faintly.
I smiled. “I guess we are.”
A couple of hours later, it was time to go. I’d tried to leave earlier, but Damon had begged me to stay. All the games were more fun with three people, he’d pleaded, and it was hard to say no to him.
“I have to go now,” I sa
id, laughing. “It’s nearly past my bedtime, never mind yours!”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Mason said, kissing me.
“Bye bye, Nicole. Thank you for playing with me.” Damon flung his arms around my waist, hugging me to him.
“No problem, little buddy,” I said, returning the hug.
I was smiling as I drove home - it had been an unexpectedly fun evening. As I let myself into the empty flat, though, my mood darkened.
What was I thinking?
I couldn’t sit around, playing happy families. I was a police officer, one with knowledge of a crime against an innocent child.
I mulled it over for nearly half an hour, going back and forth. But finally, my mind was made up. I picked up the phone.
“Social services? I’d like to make an anonymous report about a Karen O’Donnell. She’s been neglecting her son, and he’s at risk.”
Mason
“So what did she say?”
We were lying in bed, but there was none of the usual crazy sex. Not tonight. Nicole was like a dog with a bone over the Damon thing, him turning up like that out of the blue. I understood - it had been a shock to me too. I knew that Karen wasn’t the best mother in the world, but I hadn’t realised just how unsafe Damon was.
“Not much,” I told her. “It’s hard to talk to her.”
That was the understatement of the century. When Karen had turned up, looking like death warmed up, I’d laid into her. But it was like talking to a wall. She could never see why it was her fault, never admit responsibility. All she had to say on the matter was that she’d left him safe, and he was naughty for running away.
I didn’t want to push it too hard. Karen was a vicious bitch, and I knew she’d take it out on the boy if she felt too hard done to. But Nicole couldn’t see that.
“She’s just scum, Mason. Absolute scum.”
That stung, although I wasn’t sure why. I thought that Karen was scum, too. But somehow, having Nicole say it like that, it felt like an attack on me.
“Am I scum, then?” I said calmly. “I married her, after all.”
I thought of Terry, about how he’d said that Nicole was a posh bird, not one of us. Was that how Nicole saw it, too? She was slumming it with the bad boy, but better than me?
“What?” she said, confused. “You’re not like her. I can hardly even believe that you were ever married to her. The two of you together just doesn’t make sense.”
“How would you even know that? You’ve never met her,” I said.
“Well, of course not, but you’ve described her,” she said hastily. “And besides, you said she wasn’t that bad when you were together. That’s what I don’t get. You turned out out so… normal, and she turned out so badly.”
Normal - that was a joke!
“Is that really how you see me?” I said.
Her face softened, and she took my hand in hers.
“Of course it is,” she said.
“You don’t know,” I said. I was glad the room was dark, so that she couldn’t see the expression on my face. I was… ashamed. Ashamed of who I was, what I’d done. What I might do. She was determined to see me as this paragon of virtue, but I knew better. I was just as bad as Karen, just in a different way.
“So tell me,” she whispered.
“I don’t know why she changed, what happened to her,” I said. “I was away. But I know why I changed.”
“What do you mean?”
I took a deep breath. Should I tell her this? I’d never spoken about with anyone, ever. But I wanted to tell her. I wanted to see her reaction - the disappointment, the disgust. Because then I would know who I was. Once my cards were on the table, Nicole could see me for what I truly was, and this horrible, divided feeling would be over.
“Iraq is what changed me,” I said slowly. I felt her snuggle closer to me, but I didn’t return the gesture. I was staring at the ceiling, lost in the memory.
“Before Iraq, I was the regular, normal guy you think I am. But over there - Jesus, I can barely describe it. It’s like another world. Every day, every moment, you’re waiting. Waiting for the bomb to go off, waiting for the guns to fire. Every single meal is your last meal, every sleep is your last one. All you have, the one thing that holds it all together and keeps you sane, is your unit - your brothers.”
“It reminded me of home, in a way. My best friends growing up were Heath - the boxer - and a guy called Adam. You’ve not met him. The unit is like that. The lads feel like your family. They are your family. And one day… one day I fucked up.”
I could feel a tear roll down the side of my face, into my hair, as I lay on my back. I didn’t care. I wasn’t talking to Nicole, now. I wasn’t telling the story. I was confessing.
“There was a woman, running towards us, a local woman. I should have incapacitated her, but I didn’t, because she was young and pretty and that’s not how the world works - your enemies aren’t beautiful women. The bad guys look like bad guys. She threw a grenade, and everyone died. Everyone but me. I shot her in the head, but it was too late. I lay there, concussed, but with barely a scratch on me, while all around me…”
My voice caught in my throat, but I had to carry on.
“All around me my brothers, the men I’d sworn to protect, screamed and died. And I was fine. After that, I promised myself that I would never get involved, never get close to anyone again. Because I’m not enough. I’m not good enough to protect anyone, and keep them safe. And now I have you, and Damon, and you look at me like I’m this awesome guy and I’m not. I’m scum. More than Karen, more than anyone. I murdered someone, and for nothing. All my friends died.”
“Is that what the dreams are about?” she asked quietly.
“How do you know?”
“You toss and turn, crying out in your sleep. I hold you for a while, and then you calm down.”
I was surprised. She’d never mentioned this, and I never remembered it in the morning.
“Yeah, every night,” I said.
“Is it?”
She was right. It had been every night, at first. But lately, things had been getting easier.
“What do you want me to say?” she said. “That you’re right? That you’re some sort of awful person? Because you’re not. I’m not a fucking idiot, Mason. I know the difference between a good person and a bad one.”
She rolled over so that she was on top of me, staring into my eyes, her hands either side of my face. I knew she would feel the wetness of the tears, but I couldn’t look away.
“You are a good man, Mason, and I love you. I’m glad that you told me, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love the whole package, regardless of how it came about.”
“I love you too,” I whispered.
“Good. Now shut up and kiss me,” she said.
I did.
Afterwards, she fell asleep in my arms. I lay there, staring up at the same ceiling, but with a new outlook. We’d had sex, but it was different. More emotional. As I’d moved inside her, I’d gazed into her eyes, and it felt like we were bonded together forever. I was in love.
Nicole
Jesus Christ, Nicole…focus!
My mind was all over the place as I drove to the rendezvous with Thompson. On the one hand, I finally had something significant to report. Mason had headed out early, and I was alone in his bed. Missing him, I’d rolled over onto his side, feeling the faint warmth of the sheets, the fresh, clean smell of his body. I’d had lain there, enjoying the sensations. But then…
Like the princess and the pea, I’d noticed a lump in the mattress. It was a handgun. I’d fished it out carefully, using the bedsheets to keep my prints off it. Deadly, fully loaded, and completely illegal. Nobody in Manchester kept a gun under the mattress unless they were involved in some serious shit. It was no army-issue, either. This had been obtained since he got back. On auto-pilot, I’d called Thompson to arrange a meet. This was enough to bring Mason in and interrogate him - offer him a reduc
ed sentence for rolling over on Terry, although I suspected he wouldn’t play ball. He wasn’t the grassing type.
On the other hand, though… It was Mason. My supposed professional detachment was in tatters, ruined in the face of actual hard evidence. The thought of him in the interrogation room, Thompson questioning him in that sarcastic, superior manner… I couldn’t bear it.
I was pulling up outside the bar - of course it was a bar, where else? - and I still had no idea if I was going to tell Thompson what I’d found. What I needed was a friend, somebody to talk to, somebody to help me sort out the whirling thoughts in my head. There was only one person that even came close to that. My mind was made up. I would tell him everything, but off the record, and hope that Gary Thompson was still the man I’d once cared about.
“Nicole, lovely Nicole, light of my life…”
He was even drunker than the last time I had seen him. His wrinkled shirt was at least a day old, if not more.
“Gary, it’s not even lunch time,” I said.
“Don’t give me the nagging wife routine,” he slurred. “You’re not one of them, you’re one of us. You know how it is. We work all hours, so we have to take our leisure where we find it.”
He winked at me, swaying slightly on his chair. It was true, the job had us working round the clock. Where a regular worker would get Friday night off, we often found ourselves making do with a Tuesday morning. But Thompson was on the clock, and his car was parked outside.
“You’ve been taking your leisure, with your new pet criminal,” he continued. A nasty element had crept into his tone. Suddenly I knew that there was no way I could confide my secrets to him, not while he was like this. He’d probably arrest Mason on sight, mowing down god knows how many pedestrians in the process.
“So, what do you want?”
“I just wanted to check in, see if there was any intel from your end,” I said. The one advantage of him being in this state was that he probably wouldn’t realise how unlikely it was that I would demand an urgent meeting, just to check in.
Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance Page 4
