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  Grabbing her wrist painfully, he pulled her close. Baring his teeth like an agitated lion. ‘We’re not going. I told you. I’m staying here now until I’ve squashed those Boddlington bastards beneath my iron fist.’

  She tried to wriggle free. ‘Ow. Let me go!’ Annoyed with herself for misinterpreting his mood. She’d have to be careful. ‘You’re hurting me, Patrick!’

  ‘Good. Might teach you a bit of gratitude. Anyway, I’m doing you a favour, aren’t I? You were the one who didn’t want to go to Thailand. I thought you were all for staying here to run the Shit Shovellers’ Union with that silly cow, Gloria.’

  Despite her best efforts to bite her tongue, Sheila found confrontational words escaping her lips.

  ‘Does it matter what I think?’ she shouted, wrenching her hand away. ‘Does it matter what anyone thinks apart from you? You say, “jump” and we all say, “how high?” It’s always been the same. It’s all about you. You’re only getting this security cobblers because you’re worried about yourself. Not me. Not our daughters. Not Frank. You!’

  Throwing the full glass of water and the tablets at her head, soaking her through, Paddy bounded out of bed, grabbing her by her throat. He flung her onto the chaise longue at the foot of the bed, squeezing tightly.

  ‘Everything I’ve done to bring this family out on top and that’s how you speak to me, is it? When was the last time you did a proper day’s graft or had to worry about paying a bill? Do you have to dye your own hair and buy your clothes on the cheap, like the old Wythenshawe slags? Do you?’

  Lights exploded in Sheila’s peripheral vision; her eyes felt like they might burst from her sockets. If only she could shout for Conky, who was standing only a matter of metres away in the bathroom, lecturing Steve anew, by the sounds. If only she could drum on the floor with her heels, she might alert Frank, who was sitting in the kitchen, directly beneath them, telling his tall tales. She tugged uselessly at Paddy’s fingers, the weight of him on top of her rendering any attempt at escape fruitless.

  ‘You were nowt when I met you, Sheila.’ A fine film of spittle wet her face. Though her consciousness was ebbing away, she could see the angry vein bulging in his forehead. Sensed the rage of a wounded predator. ‘You were nothing but a two-bit model wearing cheap rags in a nightclub. And now, look at you. You’re my Queen.’ He loosened his grip on her neck. Caressed her cheek. Started kissing her collarbone.

  As the blood rushed back to her head, her vision returning, Sheila’s only thought was to get out of the room before he could force his horrible angry cock into her.

  ‘Not while there’s so many people in the house, Paddy,’ she said. ‘Later, eh?’ Her voice was hoarse, her throat painful. No doubt there would be bruising, which she would have to cover up with a scarf for a good week. Stay calm, she counselled herself. Just ride the tantrum out. You’re strong. You can do it.

  But Paddy had grabbed something. Something she had observed him perusing earlier in silence, mouth opening and closing as he struggled to read the words that accompanied a photograph. His colour had drained rapidly at the time. It was the local newspaper. Now he pushed it into her face so that she was breathing newsprint. ‘Is that why you’re tormenting me?’ he shouted. ‘You think I did this?’

  Snatching the paper from him, she scanned the headline beneath a formal, posed picture of Mia Margulies with a classic muddy-brown photographer’s backdrop, presumably taken when she had been in sixth form at school. Her dark hair had been piled high like a low-alcohol Winehouse.

  Daughter of local businessman found murdered.

  ‘Is that why you’re being a bitch?’ he said.

  ‘Did you do it?’ she asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘I thought that was the whole reason the Boddlingtons came after you and Frank.’

  He shook his head, as she wiped the stink of ink from her face with a tissue from the box by the bed.

  ‘By rights, I should have had her done,’ he said, puffing his chest out. ‘An eye for an eye and all that. But I didn’t want my girls losing me to another heart attack. You lot would be lost without me to look after you. See how I think about you all the time?’ He reached out and caressed her hair using the same hand he had just strangled her with. ‘That’s the whole reason why I’m sticking to the truce, even after what happened with our Jack. And if I say the deal’s back on, I mean it. I’m a man of honour, me. That silly little Margulies tart obviously had enemies of her own. Or who knows?’ He grinned. ‘Maybe our Frank grew a pair of balls and had her popped. But I didn’t order the hit, babe. I swear on my mam’s memory.’

  Sheila laid a placatory hand carefully on his arm, praying he would calm down and get back into bed.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I should have known it wasn’t you.’

  ‘You just don’t trust me.’ He folded his arms and pressed his lips together. An upwards tilt of his chin. ‘I’m insulted. You’re so hurtful when you want to be. Always belittling me.’

  ‘I’m so, so sorry, Pad. Forgive me?’

  The fight had gone out of him, she could tell. She ushered him under the duvet, popping two Migraleve into his hand. Picked up the empty glass from the carpet and refilled it. Stroked his forehead.

  ‘Get some sleep, love,’ she said.

  He took her hand into his and kissed it. ‘I love you, She. I always have. I loved you twice as hard when your mam and dad disowned you, because I wanted to make up for what shite-hawks they were. They thought you were a useless little slapper, but I know you deserved better, and I wanted to give you the world. You don’t need anyone else. You’ve got me, babe. And I’m always going to be here for you. Always.’

  The tightness in her stomach made Sheila feel nauseous. She forced a wide smile and retrieved the glass. Swallowed hard. Tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let go of her hand.

  ‘As long as you stay in the house and don’t go out, you’ll be safe,’ he said. ‘Promise me you’ll not leave the house. Promise me, She.’ Fixing her with a gaze that was pleading on the surface but threatening immediately beneath, like a shark circling the bottom of a shallow reef.

  ‘Course, my love.’ She pulled her hand free.

  ‘Oh, and She,’ he said.

  She had reached the threshold. Her escape still precious inches away. Turning around, wearing a smile. But she didn’t need to see his face to know that there would be more than love, regret and gratitude etched into it. The tone of his voice sounded more than just heavy with migraine medication. It had a dangerous edge to it.

  ‘While I’m in bed, I’m going to have a good think about how everything’s gone tits up,’ he said, folding his hands over the top of the duvet contemplatively. ‘Because someone’s put a dirty big hole in my ship just as I was about to set sail. And the ship’s taking on water fast. But, do you know what? I’m damned if I’m going to let some scheming bastard sink it. I’m gonna work out where the leak’s coming from and I’m going to plug it with the severed head of whoever it is.’

  ‘That’s nice, Pad,’ Sheila said, gripping the architrave to steady herself.

  ‘Oh, and tell Conky, I think I just did a metaphor. He’ll be dead proud.’

  As Paddy laughed out loud to himself, Sheila ran to a guest bathroom and vomited.

  Chapter 40

  Lev

  ‘Look, how much longer are we gonna have to wait?’ Lev asked the paediatric nurse. He reached over to Jay, who lay on the gurney, and stroked his curls with a shaking hand. Felt anxiety pushing his throat closed; pulling his heart apart. Unable to placate the screaming boy even by identifying the Disney characters in the mural on the brightly coloured wall of the A&E side room. Jay was red in the face and clutching at his head. He had been inconsolable for hours, now, with none of the usual signs of let-up.

  ‘The doctor will be with you as soon as he can,’ she said, eyeing the lightning bolt in his hair and surreptitiously judging his dealer’s attire – Lev could tell.

  ‘He’s made himself puke four tim
es with screaming,’ Lev said, pressing the back of his hand gently to the boy’s scorching hot chest. He turned back to the nurse, willing her to show a little sympathy. ‘He won’t drink sod all. His nappies are dry as a bone.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that. We won’t let him dehydrate. I’m going to hook him up to a drip in a minute. We’re waiting for his blood test results,’ the nurse said. ‘The doctor can’t do anything until those come back.’

  ‘He needs a fucking brain scan, not blood tests!’ Lev shouted. ‘That thing in his head is getting bigger.’

  ‘No need for language like that.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘And your son has a temperature, so there’s some kind of an infection going on. The bloods will tell the doctor more. We can’t rule out meningitis at this stage. We might have to do a lumbar puncture test.’

  ‘What the fuck’s that?’

  ‘Language, please!’

  Lev grabbed the sleeve of her blue V-necked top. Released her when he saw fearful indignation in her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just bricking it. I told you, didn’t I? He’s got an advanced inoperable brain tumour. Please! I’m dead scared. He’s definitely loads worse than what he was. I think he’s dying.’

  Her fear seemed to subside. The nurse smiled kindly at an oblivious Jay and felt his pulse. Checked her watch. Frowned. ‘His heart rate’s accelerated. Someone will be along to do an ECG in a minute.’

  ‘In a minute? Why not right now? Can’t you do it?’

  The nurse looked apologetic. ‘Try not to panic. It’s kicking-out time at the pubs. We’re mad busy. The doctor is on his way, I promise!’ She looked him up and down again, narrowing her eyes when she spied the tattoo on his neck. ‘Where’s his mum?’

  ‘Stoned off her box somewhere. I’m his dad. I’m looking after him now.’

  ‘Oh.’ She gave him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Do you have a social worker?’

  ‘Are you taking the piss? I see how you’re looking at me. But I didn’t come here to be judged by strangers. I came here because I think my baby son’s on his last legs.’

  ‘I’ll get the drip.’ Looking visibly punctured, the nurse left the room.

  Lev thumbed a text to Gloria.

  In A&E. J gettin worse.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected from his mother by way of support. He had asked her to come to the hospital with him, but she had insisted she couldn’t possibly miss her elders’ meeting at the church. Swanning around with a grin on her face as though she hadn’t just topped a young girl in cold blood. Deranged, heartless witch.

  Lev looked nervously through the window at the night sky, wondering if somebody was watching him from outside. The feeling that he was being observed was persistent and crippling.

  ‘Come on, come on, come on!’ he muttered under his breath. Inhaling sharply with anticipation every time somebody in a green or blue scrub suit passed by the door to the side room. Feeling the weight of parental responsibility and the sight of his shrieking son dragging him down, down, down.

  The minutes trudged by. Still no sign of the drip. Jay started to cough, scream and choke. Lev knew what was coming next. The boy doubled up. Lev snatched a cardboard bowl and held it under his chin, catching a violent expulsion of bile and mucus.

  ‘Help!’ Lev shouted, not tearing his gaze from his son. Where was the damn call button? Distracted, he tried to seek it out, whilst at the same time holding the bowl to Jay’s face. Towels. He needed paper towels and some water to clean him up. Where was that po-faced nurse? ‘Hello! Is anyone there?’ he yelled.

  ‘Ah, Leviticus,’ a familiar voice said. ‘You called.’

  Feeling the blood slow in his veins as if somebody had pumped him full of liquid nitrogen, turning everything crystalline-frosty and brittle, Lev turned round to see the intimidatingly large figure of Jonny Margulies.

  ‘Jonny,’ Lev said, gulping. ‘I …’

  His boss was wearing a raincoat on a hot, dry summer’s evening. One hand in a pocket that bulged. Lev didn’t like the odds.

  Jonny swiftly withdrew a handgun. ‘Pick up the boy, arsehole. You’re coming with me.’

  Lev stared at the weapon in disbelief. He followed the line of sight along the barrel pointed at his chest to Jonny’s shovel-like hand, up his arm to his grimacing, sweating face. The skin beneath his eyes was puffy. His colour was high. But his eyes were shining with fervour. This was not good, Lev assessed. But Jay’s condition was potentially worse.

  ‘Nope. I can’t leave. Sorry. Shoot me if you like, but I’m not moving from this hospital while my little boy’s like this. That’s why I’ve not been around to see yous. Because he’s … he’s … dying. I’m sorry. I should have—’

  ‘Don’t lecture me about dying children, you murdering little twat,’ Jonny said. He aimed the gun at Jay’s head. ‘You come now, or I’ll shoot him. Save the NHS a few bob.’

  Lev felt his extremities start to prickle. His mouth was suddenly dry.

  ‘Pick him up and walk out of here with me,’ Jonny said. ‘We’ve got talking to do.’

  A snap decision to be made. The barrel of the gun and the resolute expression on Jonny’s face ruled out any option of staying. Lev recognised the desperation of a grieving father in his boss’ eyes. Saw himself reflected in them.

  ‘Don’t harm my boy,’ he said, lifting Jay from the gurney. Realising they might both never make it back to the hospital alive if they left. The choice was dying now or dying later.

  ‘Move!’ Jonny said, pocketing the hand that held the gun, now pointed at Lev’s kidneys.

  ‘Can’t I take his stroller?’

  ‘Move it!’

  Wrapping his arms around the writhing, yelling Jay, Lev walked briskly past the front desk of paediatric A&E. Wishing he could shout for help. Wishing it were just him being held at gunpoint, so he could take his chances and try to disarm or disable Jonny by force. The doctor sitting behind the counter staring at the flickering screen of a PC didn’t even look up. If only she had. If only Lev could somehow have communicated to her his fear.

  In the car park, a van was waiting.

  ‘Get in the back,’ Jonny said, sliding the door aside.

  ‘My boy’s going to die tonight if I don’t take him back.’ Lev was pleading now. ‘He needs a drip and antibiotics. Please, man.’ Tears rolled hot and full of woe onto his cheeks. He felt foolish. ‘Let me get him sorted and then I’ll come with you. How about that?’ Stalling, in the hope that Jonny would somehow change his mind. The hundred and fifty thousand and the flight to Baltimore now constituted merely a container ship out at sea, fleetingly within reach of the shipwrecked man but moving further and further away; hope drowning as it dwindled to nothing more than a speck on the horizon. The life-saving operation had been just another empty promise he had whispered to his son on a rainy night when he wasn’t dealing. They would drown together, now, their raft broken up by Jonny Margulies and a manipulative bastard who refused to honour a promise.

  ‘Give me your phone,’ Jonny said.

  With bitter reluctance, he handed it over, silently saying goodbye to his emergency beacon. ‘Will I get it back? It’s got all my photos of Jay on.’

  Jonny pocketed it. ‘Shut it and get in.’

  Lev sat on a wheel arch, struggling to sit a rigid Jay on his knee. The door slammed shut, leaving them in total darkness but for the sparks of panic going off like fireworks behind Lev’s eyes. The change in lighting didn’t jolt Jay out of his apoplexy. Even the engine starting up had no effect on the boy. Lev dug deep for optimism, praying to his mother’s God that somehow this would end well. Perhaps Tariq would just be waiting at the other end to grill him and then let him go. Jay was a convincing excuse for his radio silence. But Lev was a non-believer, these days. Once upon a time, when his mother had kicked him out because it was easier to turn her back on her truanting, wayward teenager than to face his trials and tribulations with him, he had been sustained by his well of youthful optimism. No
w that well had all but dried up.

  The van did not have to travel far down through Crumpsall onto Cheetham Hill Road and through the potholed streets of run-down warehouses behind Strangeways. Even without the ability to see, Lev knew by the very turns to the left or the right and by the sounds outside that they were scudding past Asian groceries, slum housing, abandoned churches and The Fort with its temples to consumerism in B&Q and TK Maxx. Onto Derby Street and the roads that branched off it – a no-man’s land for anyone but dealers and prostitutes after dark.

  When the door opened, flickering streetlight streamed into the rear of the van, making Lev blink. As his eyes grew accustomed to the glare, Lev realised they were not at T&J Trading’s premises but had come to the other factory. The secret sweatshop. Shit. He knew exactly what went on there at night.

  Jonny loomed before him, flicking the gun in the direction of the heavy door.

  ‘Get moving,’ he said.

  Chapter 41

  Lev

  Lev’s heart pounded so violently and unrelentingly, he wondered that it didn’t simply give out. Sweat poured down his back. The muscles in his arms twinged painfully with the effort of holding Jay as still as possible. ‘Please, Jonny. You’re making a big mistake, man. I had nothing to do with Mia’s death. Honest.’

  The factory was in total darkness, meaning Tariq probably had no idea of this abduction. Lev swallowed hard, walking towards that door, realising he was at the mercy of a vengeful father acting as a lone wolf – closer to the truth of what had happened than he knew. Once inside, he felt the barrel of the gun press into his spine. Jonny patted along the wall and switched a solitary light on. The glow was barely enough to navigate the path through the boxes of semi-assembled merchandise and motionless conveyor belt to the back, where dissenters were taken.

  ‘Don’t put me in the hole,’ Lev said. ‘For God’s sake, Jonny. You’re not like this! This is the Fish Man’s work.’