The Cover Up Read online

  Looking back at the fire exit of the community centre, Sheila wondered if she should just run. Get back to her mother and hide among the feisty, fun-loving pensioners of south Manchester. If nothing else, they could dart Tariq Khan to death like some lost tribe of South America that had wound up confused but deadly in the mizzle of Chorlton.

  ‘Please, Sheila! We’ve got to sort this out! Have a heart!’

  She could see the solitary track of a tear, shining on Tariq’s cheek in the moonlight.

  ‘I must be sodding mental.’ Exhaling hard through pursed lips, with her breath steaming on the air, Sheila swung herself into his car and closed the door. ‘Don’t you dare lock it or try to drive away with me.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Or Conky’s coming after you and your family.’

  ‘I won’t. All right?’

  The Boddlington boss shook his head in silence. Tears standing in those soulful brown eyes. She had never seen him anything but controlled, suave and quietly terrifying from a distance. Close up, he was a real looker. Smelled good, too. Sheila kept these thoughts to herself, eyeing his thatch of black hair, streaked with silver. Maybe it was just a flattering light and being in close quarters inside his car. She felt her skin pucker up into goosebumps.

  ‘Now do you promise it wasn’t your lot that firebombed my builders’ merchants today?’ she asked. Studying his expression for the subtle tells of a bullshitter. God knows, she knew what those looked like after half a lifetime spent with Paddy O’Brien.

  Tariq took a perfectly folded white cloth handkerchief from his jacket pocket. Unfolded it with care and precision. Dabbed at his eyes, then seemed to give up and merely wiped them with the back of his hand. Pleasantly hairy. Sheila liked that.

  ‘I swear on my children’s lives. I haven’t come near your lot since before Paddy’s funeral. We’ve seen enough bloodshed.’

  ‘But Jonny Margulies is still after Lev Bell. Or so I’ve heard.’

  He shook his head. ‘Jonny’s gone rogue. He’s out of his mind with grief and depression. I’ve got no jurisdiction over what he does outside of the business. Sorry. But Lev … I’ve still got a lot of respect for the boy. He’s not working for you now, is he? I’d hoped he’d show more loyalty than that. I’ve been texting and texting him.’

  ‘And the Fish Man? I’ve heard the Fish Man’s still out there.’

  ‘I’m barely using the Fish Man,’ Tariq said. He swallowed but held her gaze. ‘He’s too hot after the shooting at M1 House. If Jonny’s contracted him to hit Lev, that’s on Jonny. I’m not my business partner’s keeper.’ He looked down at Sheila’s miniskirt. At her knees. Back up to her face. His eyebrows arced in supplication. ‘What have you done with my dad, Sheila? Seriously! Taking out my brothel keepers was one thing, but an innocent, ailing—’

  Sheila had heard enough. ‘Have you finished laying into me? Why the bloody hell should I know the first thing about your old man?’

  ‘A pair of thugs in a black van,’ he simply said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘One had dreadlocks. The other’s hair was cropped. They tried to bundle my dad into a VW van the other week in broad daylight. Now Dad’s gone missing. I haven’t seen him since breakfast yesterday.’

  ‘They don’t sound like anyone working for me, and I certainly didn’t order any of my lot to kidnap your dad. Go to the police, for Christ’s sake!’

  He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Are you kidding me?’

  Chewing on the inside of her mouth, Sheila sized up the line of Tariq’s shapely lips, framed by the neat black beard. Perfectly straight teeth and the skin of a man at least ten years younger than his forty-something years. She was dimly aware of licking her own lips. What was this crap? Some life-affirming nonsense after having survived the firebombing? She felt her breathing come short, gathering pace.

  ‘The last time me and Jon heard anything directly from you,’ he said, his nostrils flaring and that edge to his voice reappearing, ‘was the wreath of lilies you sent to Jonny’s home, saying RIP on the card or something like that. It was in poor taste and it was hardly a bloody olive branch, was it? Then, attempted kidnapping, and now, this!’

  ‘I don’t know a single thing about your dad. Honest. I swear to God. I’ve had my hands full with some dick called Nigel Bancroft.’

  ‘The Birmingham boss?’ She saw concern flit across his face as if a deeper shadow had fallen on the interior of his Mercedes.

  ‘Yep. He seems to think I’m easy meat.’

  ‘And you’re not?’ Tariq was looking at her quizzically. Almost confrontational, now, as he leaned in towards her.

  What the hell did he mean by that? Sheila couldn’t work it out. Had it been intended as an insult? She could feel his breath on her collarbone, he was so close. Beneath his leather jacket, the top three buttons of his black shirt were open. She caught sight of dark chest hair climbing its way up to his neck. The suggestion of a honed body beneath the tight-fitting fabric. The opposite of Conky.

  The thrill of sexual anticipation welled up from somewhere deep within her. Perhaps, the natural conclusion to a day from hell. Sheila stroked Tariq’s beard and leaned in to kiss him.

  At first, he backed away, startled. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

  But she found herself grinning. Registered the spread of anticipation in her knickers. She took his hand into hers and placed it gently on her breast. Leaned in to kiss him again. The chemistry was incendiary. It felt as though the car and its aircon system were powered by the electricity that crackled invisibly between them. Their tongues intertwined. His hair felt luxuriant between her fingertips. Her touch wandered down to the exposed skin of his chest and on towards his abs. Through the shirt fabric, she sought out the happy trail that led along his naval down to his groin.

  ‘Oh aye?! Here we go.’ She ran her fingertips over the bulge in his jeans. ‘Somebody’s feeling a bit more chipper.’

  Tariq broke away, frowning, as though he were surprised by what had come to pass. There was something reminiscent of a spooked deer in his eyes. He took her hand off his penis, placing it on her knee. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this. This is not what I came here for. My dad’s out there somewhere. He could be lying dead in an alleyway. And I’m married. I’m not like …’

  Desire, however, was already coursing around every vessel and along every synapse in Sheila’s body. Whatever pheromones Tariq Khan was unwittingly discharging into the car’s interior were doing their work. And they told a very different story to the one coming out of his shapely mouth. Sheila placed a finger coquettishly on his lips.

  ‘Shhhh. It can be our secret.’ She leaned in for another kiss, stroking the insides of his thighs.

  He pushed her away again, blinking hard. Then the apparent confusion on his face seemed suddenly to subside, as though he had mulled a conundrum over and found a solution he could live with. ‘Actually, I’ve separated from my missus.’ Six words that seemed to absolve him from guilt.

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘But my dad …’

  ‘Come on, Tariq. I know you can feel it. This chemistry.’ Sheila peeled off her jacket and unbuttoned her blouse with hasty fingers. Unhooked her bra and allowed her breasts to fall free.

  He reached over to touch her, caressing each bosom gently as though feeling his way along the curves of a valuable sculpture. Leaned over and took her nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling softly and with skill.

  Needing this conquest, showing no such finesse, she undid his belt with anticipatory, fumbling fingers. Yanked his shirt open, busting the buttons to run her hands over that torso. The antithesis of men like Paddy and Conky. Here was a man who looked after himself. A dish Sheila couldn’t wait to devour.

  With some tricky manoeuvring, they managed to do what perhaps millions of clandestine lovers had done throughout the years. Clambered through to the back seat. Sheila mounted Tariq with little preamble, excited by the union and the prospect of straddling a well-p
roportioned cock that was unencumbered by an oversized gut. His fingers knew where to go as she rode him in that cramped space. She savoured the feel of his soft beard as she kissed him – no sandpapery five-o’clock shadow to take her skin off – and felt every cell in her body charged with erotic adventure as she gripped him inside her. Here Sheila O’Brien was, riding her enemy like a damned choo-choo train. It was the biggest turn-on of her life.

  They screwed with urgency. Sheila’s body convulsed with pleasure as she came; wave after wave of ecstasy washing away the residue of the day’s disasters. She tried and failed to stifle a yelp. Felt Tariq buck upwards, grunting long and low. His eyes rolled back into his head. His eyebrows bunched together in desperate joy and loss of control as he thrust his last. The heat of his orgasm spreading inside her and the sheer delight in his expression made her come a second time. Her knees were wrecked and her knickers torn. It was messy. It was bloody fantastic.

  ‘Jesus,’ she said, panting. Climbing off. A ligament in her knee twinged, heralding a week of pain from an old running injury. Not that that mattered. It was a more than fair trade-off for such fun. She fell to the side, giggling. Breathless. ‘That was incredible. I feel alive.’

  With his erection starting to subside, Tariq wiped the sweat from his brow. Lolled on the back seat. Defeated. Smiling. ‘I never would have thought in a million years …’ He shook his head. Stroked the inside of her naked thigh as she pulled her bra back on.

  She flinched. Pushed him away. ‘Give over, will you! God, you’ve made bits of me ticklish that have never even been ticklish before.’

  ‘Does that mean I’ve got the magic touch?’ His fingers wandered upwards to her breasts. Further up, to stroke her cheek and smooth her hair away from her face. He stole a fleeting, tender kiss on the cheek that had more emotional intent to it than any of the sex. ‘You’re beautiful.’

  Pleased that the shadows inside the car wouldn’t allow him to see her blush, not wanting him to think that she was game for more than an opportunistic encounter, Sheila moved to the far side of the back seat. ‘Let me get my clobber back on before somebody sees us and has us arrested.’

  ‘That would make front page news.’

  Like a pair of furtive teenagers, they dressed, knowing they might be caught at any moment, though every window in the car had steamed up.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ Sheila said, sighing. ‘My Mam’s inside. She’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.’ She planted a passionate kiss on Tariq’s mouth. Pushed him away when he tried to prolong the contact. ‘Look. I hope you find your dad. I promise it wasn’t me. If you like, I’ll ask my people to keep an eye out for him. I’m sure he’ll turn up.’

  ‘Please god, he will,’ Tariq said, all his relaxed demeanour gone now as he ran his index finger up and down the piping on the side of the driver’s seat in front. He sighed. ‘Can we do this again?’

  Sheila thought about Conky with his flowers, his platitudes and his cloying over-protectiveness. She had exchanged a narcissistic monster for a psychopathic gentleman, and neither had hit the spot. ‘Yeah. Why not?’ She traced a line from Tariq’s Adam’s apple to his chest.

  ‘We could join forces, me and you.’ His eyes shone with earnest fervour. Thick lashes batting as he blinked. Flick, flick.

  She laughed. ‘Don’t talk shit. We’re enemies, remember?’

  Tariq cleared his throat, fastening the cuffs of his shirt with precision. Frowning. ‘We don’t have to be that way, though, do we? Paddy’s gone. Jonny’s lost the plot. You’re in trouble with Bancroft.’

  ‘I am not.’

  ‘Really? Okay. Whatever you say. Think of it, though! Twice the turf. Twice the money. Half the overheads. Pool our staff – because I bet you’ve got personnel shortages same as me, thanks to Paddy and Jonny’s little dick-swinging competition.’

  Feeling uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going, Sheila grabbed her handbag from the front seat. ‘Give me a shout when you want to hook up again, Tariq.’ She scribbled her phone number on a piece of paper. Pressed it into his shirt pocket. ‘Seriously. Best of luck with your dad. Let me know how you get on.’

  She opened the rear door to the Mercedes and shrieked when she saw Lev standing over her. Waiting. Eyebrow raised.

  ‘Hiya, Sheila.’ Lev’s arms were folded over his parka. Was that a grimace on his face or the beginnings of a knowing grin?

  ‘What the bloody hell are you doing, standing there like a weirdo?’ she asked. She scrambled out of the car, glancing back at Tariq apprehensively. Faced Lev with her chin jutting in defiance. ‘Are you stalking me?’

  ‘I came looking for you to give you the latest on Mam, seeing as you’re not picking up your calls and haven’t even been to see her in hospital.’ Lev ducked and stared blankly at Tariq, who was holding his shirt closed. ‘Long time, no see, Tariq.’

  Both men appeared to be wary of one another, Sheila noted.

  ‘You’ve been missed, Lev,’ Tariq said, climbing out of the back seat behind Sheila. Clearly dishevelled and with the remnants of an erection and a small dark stain visible even in that dim light on the crotch of his jeans.

  Lev sniffed, his breath steaming on the air. ‘What? By the Fish Man? Yeah, cos I’m really queuing up to get my throat cut by that mental dick.’

  Tariq focused on his sneakers. ‘I’m sorry about—’

  ‘Forget it, man.’ Lev sucked his teeth. ‘Lots has changed since the spring.’ He inclined his head towards Sheila. Winked. ‘More than what I thought, anyhow.’

  Feeling the blood chill in her veins, trapped between the man she had presumed to be her enemy and the man she had thought was in her debt, Sheila realised that during those few minutes she had spent in Tariq’s car, covertly observed at some point during the proceedings by Lev, power had shifted away from her. Shit. Not good, Sheila. Not good at all.

  ‘I’m going to go and see your Mam in the morning,’ she told Lev. ‘I felt rough, myself. It really shook me up. And I couldn’t get out of this.’ She jerked her thumb back towards the community centre. ‘Anyway, how is she? Your Mam.’

  Lev shrugged. ‘She’s alive. She’s awake. She’s driving everyone pissing mad. Same old, same old.’

  ‘What do you want, then?’

  Sizing her up through narrowed eyes, Lev treated her to a wry, calculating smile. ‘I’ll bob round tomorrow. We can have a chat.’ He nodded at Tariq. Turned back to Sheila. ‘Oh, and don’t be expecting me at the weed farm.’

  Here we bloody go. Mutiny. She could sense it with every fibre of her being. Like so many women before her, she had been undone by daring to satisfy her own basic needs and indulge her heart’s desires.

  ‘You what?’ She took a step towards Lev, drawing herself up to her full height in those heels, though she still fell short of him by an inch or two. ‘I need you. Bancroft’s trying to bring us to our knees.’

  ‘No, Sheila,’ Lev said. ‘He’s trying to bring you to your knees.’

  ‘Cheeky little shit! If I say, you’re working at the farm, you’re working at the farm.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Lev buried his hands deeper into the pockets of his parka. He appeared larger than usual, with that fur hood stretched out behind his head. ‘See you at the hospital in the morning.’ Glanced at Tariq, then fixed her with hard eyes. ‘Oh, and I saved Conky’s life today. Give him my best.’ He winked.

  Chapter 24

  Gloria

  ‘Ooh, these are lovely! Are these for me?’ Gloria ran her fingers over the grosgrain ribbon of the box, all wrapped up in gold paper. Felt the weight in her hand. Checked the label attached. ‘Belgian. Yummy. I haven’t been given nice chocolate in years. Thanks.’

  Sizing up the visitor who was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, she reasoned that the good Lord must be smiling on her at long last. Yesterday, she had been at death’s door. Today, here was Bob: a well-presented man – her very own admirer – showering her with mid-priced Belgian chocola
tes and an only slightly poorly written and misspelled ‘Get Well Soon’ card.

  ‘Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above,’ she said quietly, contemplating the calorific value of the white chocolate ones. ‘James 1:17.’

  Bob leaned forward, taking her hand. Kissed her knuckles gently. ‘My pleasure, cherie. It was the least I could do, seeing you were too poorly last night to make it to our lickle airport love-nest.’

  Gloria looked up at Bob’s orange face, wondering again why his skin was so very shiny and why his facial muscles didn’t move when he smiled. The pastor’s face crinkled up in a wholly pleasing way when that philandering false prophet smiled her way. Still. Where was the pastor when she was lying on her near-deathbed? Nowhere to be found. But this orange admirer was here, bearing gifts.

  ‘How did you find out I was in here?’ she asked. ‘Did my son call you?’

  ‘How about we go for a lovely pizza when you’re back on your feet?’ he asked. ‘Round my way. I know this lovely lickle place on the way to Heywood. They do cracking meatballs too and the manager’s a friend of mine. Always calls me signor when I go in. I get a sparkler in my tiramisu on my birthday. Cheaper than that Bramshott place. You’ll love it!’

  Lickle. The lickle was beginning to pall. At the speed-dating, Frank’s house fizz had dulled her ears. In the not-near-the-airport airport hotel, she had been distracted by Bob’s sexual advances. But now … And pizza? In Heywood? Was that the limit of his sophistication? A weekend millionaire, smoking cheap cigarillos in wine bars and eating spaghetti incorrectly in the only eatery in his small town that wasn’t a chippy. Everyone who is arrogant in heart is an abomination to the Lord, Gloria Bell, she reminded herself.