Born Bad Page 9

  Sheila poked the taller woman in her chest with a manicured fingernail. ‘You were nothing until we started the agency together. Nowt. An old washed-up scrubber from Sweeney Hall with a Boddlington scumbag for a son.’

  Conky sucked the air in between his teeth. Ready to step between the women yet again but privately relishing seeing the feisty side to Sheila come out.

  ‘Now, come on girls. Don’t be saying anything you’re going to regret tomorrow.’

  ‘Too late for that,’ Gloria said. ‘There’s no coming back from this. All the things I could say about you, you overindulged, anorexic white cow.’

  ‘Oh, I’m really losing sleep,’ Sheila said, hand on hip in her satin bathrobe. Sarcasm dripping thickly from every syllable.

  ‘My future’s ruined, thanks to you!’ Gloria shouted. ‘All because you couldn’t be bothered to do one more lousy job, you heartless hussy. A false witness will not go unpunished. Proverbs 19:5!’

  ‘Gloria!’ Conky snapped, grabbing her by the upper arm. ‘Time you went home.’ He had only got the gist of the conversation but could see from the tears standing in Gloria’s eyes that things weren’t good for her. He felt a pang of unexpected sympathy.

  ‘And you think my life’s easy, do you?’ Sheila opened her mouth, as though there was much more to say. But the question simply hung in the air between them – rhetorical and loaded with insinuation. Sheila put her hand over her own mouth. Gathered her robe about her and hugged herself. Spoke in a quiet voice. ‘I’m sorry you feel this way, Gloria, but a promise is a promise. Me and Paddy are packing up and going to Thailand. You want to start your own cleaning company, go ahead. But you can’t have mine. I have the majority share, and Pad says it’s over. All of it.’

  Gloria snatched up her handbag. Glared at Conky as though this contretemps were somehow his fault. ‘Fine,’ she said, throwing her coat over her arm. ‘Leave all those women in the lurch. Forget about the likes of little Efe. Forget about me. Forget about your own hopes and dreams. I’ll see you around.’

  As the front door slammed shut, Sheila burst into tears. A small woman who suddenly looked like a vulnerable scrap of a girl. Conky put his arm around her tentatively. Stroked her hair, wondering if it would be appropriate to plant a gentle kiss on her head. He decided against it.

  ‘She’s so tight,’ Sheila said. ‘Calling me a heartless bitch!’ She hiccoughed the words out, beside herself, now. ‘I never thought it would be so hard just to down tools and step away from all this.’

  Feeling that she was holding onto him with a little too much vigour and not sure if he could trust himself, Conky ushered her to a bar stool and bade her sit down.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ he said. Started to rifle through the convenience food in the kitchen cupboard; rummaging behind the packets of Smash, the tins of beef stew and Patak’s jars to find what he sought. A packet of chamomile tea he had bought Sheila at a time when she had complained that she wasn’t sleeping. He prepared the infusion in silence, allowing Sheila to process her hurt. She blew her nose heavily on some kitchen roll and took the vodka bottle out of the cupboard.

  ‘No need for that,’ he said, taking it from her and stowing it away again. ‘It’ll keep you awake all night. Have this hot drink I’ve made you instead.’

  He watched with some satisfaction as Sheila sipped from the cup. Her hiccoughs slowed before stopping altogether.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked her finally.

  Sheila shook her head. Looked as if she were about to share her innermost thoughts. Placed her hand on top of his, then thought better of it. ‘I do whatever my Paddy wants me to do. And you need to go home, Conks.’

  Chapter 12

  Lev

  ‘Patrick O’Brien cannot step down.’

  Those words were ringing in his ears still. Unequivocal. And there was a price tag attached.

  ‘A hundred and fifty K, Lev,’ his would-be benefactor had said. ‘That’s what you need? That money’s yours if you can stop this crap.’

  Lev stared at the ceiling, watching a small spider make its way from one side of the room to another, circumnavigating the elaborate white Perspex light fitting that hung above Mia Margulies’ bed. All night long at the club, he’d been mulling the offer over. During sex, he’d been replaying the conversation. As Mia tried to engage him in pillow talk, wanking on and on and on about that ponce Jack O’Brien and how he was a bastard and how he’d ruined her life and blah blah blah … There hadn’t been a single waking moment when he hadn’t been contemplating this indecent proposal. And there had been no sleep whatsoever.

  He rose from the bed. Took a lengthy piss in the toilet of her en suite bathroom. Looked in the mirror and saw a young man in his prime staring back at him, though he felt old beyond his years with the weight of the world on his shoulders. If he took the money, little Jay might make it to adulthood. If he didn’t take the money, Jay would be dead inside a month or two. His son. His baby boy – with honey-coloured skin, green eyes and a head of golden curls that were too good for an angel – would be dead. But if he took the money and got found out, he would be joining his son either in heaven or in hell. You live by the sword. You die by the sword.

  Swallowing a desperate sob, Lev walked back into the bedroom. Beneath the duvet, Mia was stirring. He prayed she would drift back off into a deeper sleep, giving him time to think. Climbed carefully into bed and propped himself up on fat pillows that smelled of fresh washing and Mia’s perfume. Switching on his phone, he brought up the gallery and thumbed through the photos of Jay. Jay in the park on the swings. Jay in a high-chair, eating and wearing his dinner simultaneously. Jay on Tiffany’s lap. He thumbed past that one quickly. If he could turn back time, the one thing he would do differently would be to choose a better woman to bear his child. His innocent son deserved so much better than that selfish, junkie cow for a mam. If only he had a normal job and could apply for custody. If only …

  He scrolled through more photos. None of Jay with his grandmother, of course. Heartless old bag had kept her distance from both of them, thinking she was so much better than a cheap, backstreet drug-dealer. She refused to acknowledge the part she had played in making Lev what he was. Bible-bashing bitch.

  Feeling agitated, he switched the phone back off.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ Mia said, planting a stale-breathed kiss on his lips.

  Lev could barely arrange his face into a smile. How he wished he’d gone home last night or that at least, she’d slept beyond 6am. But no. There she was, sitting up in bed in an ugly, baggy grey vest, wearing a big smile on her face and panda eyes from where her eyeliner and black eyeshadow had smudged. Her complexion, so alabaster smooth last night, looked florid this morning with orange peel open pores. That dark hair, so luxuriously thick and tamed last night, was now ragged and thin. Unclipped hair extensions lay on her dressing table, accompanied by spidery eyelashes. Women. This morning, he didn’t need any of the artifice, unwanted affection or attention-seeking bullshit. He had a conundrum on his hands and it needed solving fast.

  ‘How’s my gorgeous hunk? Did you sleep?’ She wrapped herself around his body, kissing his chest.

  ‘No. I’m gonna have to go, babe. My head’s been swimming all night and besides, I don’t wanna get copped.’ The tighter she clung to him the more claustrophobic he felt. Time was tick, tick, ticking away and the longer he left the proposition unanswered, the closer Jay was getting to the end. ‘If your old man finds one of his lackeys in his princess’ bed, he’ll string me up by the balls. I’m not chancing a run-in with that psycho dick, the Fish Man, either. Do you get me?’

  Pushing her off gently, he picked up his pants from the floor. Briefly savoured the thick carpet between his toes. Under different circumstances, it might have been nice to linger in his boss’ mansion instead of hurrying home to his mildewed flat with its condensation and lifts that always stank of second-hand bodily fluids. But this was no time for self-indulgence.


  ‘Fine,’ Mia said. It had an unexpected edge to it. Ushering in an outburst that was nothing short of a tantrum. ‘Bugger off back to your crappy high-rise. Leave me here on my own, why don’t you? Mia Margulies – good for a lay but not worth hanging around long enough to wake up and smell some freshly ground coffee. Am I right?’ She gathered the duvet to her, kneeling up. Yelling. Starting to cry, so that her chin dimpled and her makeup, already smudged, ran ghoulishly down her face. ‘You’re no different from that bastard, Jack O’Brien.’

  Lev pulled his pants up and leaned in to placate his lover. Realised that if he pissed her off too seriously, things would not go well for him. ‘Hey! Hey! Chill out, babe. I’m nothing like that big ponce. Anyway, why you bringing him up again?’

  Mia sniffed hard and wiped the back of her hand aggressively across her eyes. ‘He blanked me last night. Didn’t you spot him when we were in Belgrano’s? With that slaggy blonde on his arm, doing shots. He looked right through me.’ She glanced uncertainly, apologetically up at Lev, as though she’d only just remembered it was her new lover in whom she was confiding about her ex. She shook her head and blinked nervously. Back-tracking. ‘I mean, he’s been putting stuff on Facebook for the last couple of weeks. Bitchy, piss-taking comments about some girl he’d been seeing. Talking about her chunky legs and … well, basically describing me. Snide pot-shots at my dad.’ The pitch of her voice rose an octave and tears flowed freely anew. ‘He’s disrespecting me, Lev! And now, you’re using me up and spitting me out, too!’

  Frustrated at how his hopes for a fast getaway were being dashed, Lev said the first placatory words that came to him. ‘Baby, you’ve gotta understand. It’s not you, it’s me.’

  ‘Seriously? Like I haven’t heard that corny line before? Do you really think I’m that stupid?’ Mia yelled. She dismounted the bed and stormed into the en suite, slamming the door and shrieking from the other side. ‘I’m sick of men like you. Get out of my house! Go on. Sling your hook! I don’t need Jack O’Brien telling me how dumpy and unattractive I am. And I don’t need you, Leviticus Bell.’

  Head in hands, hands thrown in the air, Lev couldn’t believe the turn the morning was taking. ‘Come on, Mia. I didn’t mean it like that. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.’

  Something thumped against the door. A foot, perhaps. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Lev remembered his mother saying those words when he had been a child and his father had left. Upped sticks and left them in order to shack up with some loose-moraled hussy in Salford, his mother had said. No fury like a woman scorned. She had kept saying those very words the other day too, during the conversation that had paved tentative steps towards a fledgling reunion, of sorts, pivoting on Jay’s illness. Now, they resonated deep within Lev, stoking up a strange sensation of being excited and anxious, all at once. His head started to buzz, as an idea formed and grew solid out of the primordial soup of stress and sleep deprivation.

  Using the sugared words of a lover, he coaxed Mia out of the bathroom and held her until she finally relaxed her taut, tense body and stopped crying. Stroked her shoulders and back. Started to kiss her neck. Lifted her onto the bed, tracing a line down her middle from her breasts to her groin with his treacherous lover’s tongue. He pleasured her until she came to a shuddering climax.

  ‘See?’ he said, wishing he could rinse the taste of her from his mouth with a nice hot cup of tea. ‘I’m on your side, baby. I’m nothing like that shag-sack, Jack O’Brien.’

  Mia lay spread-eagled with a contented smile on her face, fixated by that spider on the ceiling. ‘Ugh. Don’t ruin the moment.’

  ‘But he dissed you in public, babe,’ Lev said, noticing how Mia’s body started to stiffen at the very mention of the DJ’s name. ‘And you can’t let bastards like him get away with that shit. Not when you’re Jonny Margulies’ daughter. Know what I mean?’

  Curling into a foetal position, now, Mia peered up at him with childish, sheepish wonder in those panda eyes. Poor little rich girl just needed a man to pay her some attention when Daddy was out all day running a criminal empire and Mummy was shagging her gym instructor. ‘He broke my heart.’

  ‘It’s a piss-take, babe. It’s the O’Brien crew laughing up their sleeves at the Boddlingtons. And your dad’s letting that happen. Did you tell him about the Facebook shit?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, he’s done sweet FA about it.’

  Mia closed her eyes and breathed out heavily. ‘Dad never takes anything I say seriously. He thinks I’m just a joke.’

  Lev shrugged. ‘If it was me, I’d have to get back at both of them somehow. Put them in their place. You know?’ He frowned, as if giving her situation some thought, though he had already decided exactly how this conversation would pan out. ‘You can’t have men taking the piss out of you, Mia. You just can’t. It’s not feminist.’

  ‘Oh, Lev.’ She leaped at him and smothered him in unwanted kisses, last night’s champagne rancid on her breath. ‘You’re my hero.’

  He pushed her gently away. ‘Let me finish. What I was gonna say, right, is that if I wanted to dump Jack O’Shiny Bollocks proper in the shit and take your dad down a peg or two into the bargain, I’d shout rape, me. Belt it out like Beyoncé from the rooftops.’

  ‘Rape?’ She narrowed her eyes. There was a glimmer of a grin turning the corners of her mouth upwards.

  ‘Yeah. Think about it,’ he said. ‘Your dad will go mental when he finds out. Jack O’Brien will get his head kicked in. Frank and Paddy O’Brien are bound to come back at your dad, meaning you’ll stoke up a nice little pile of shit for him to sort out. Everyone sees their arse and you get a bit of well-deserved revenge and maybe even an apology.’

  Mia grabbed his face and kissed him on the nose. ‘Lev, you’re a bloody genius! I’m so sorry for being negative and I’m sorry for not trusting you. I shouldn’t always look on the black side of everything. I’m young and beautiful. I’ve got a hot secret fuck-buddy.’ She clapped her hands together like a seal. ‘From now on, I’m just going to count my blessings.’

  Nodding and smiling, Lev started to mentally count that £150,000, pound by life-saving pound.

  Chapter 13

  Jonny

  ‘Jack O’Brien did what?’ Jonny was up and out of his seat, clutching his phone to his ear. On the other end, every racking sob that Mia heaved sliced into his heart. ‘When did this happen?’ he asked, shooing his secretary Barbara and Mohammed, the book-keeper out of the office. Slamming the door. The rooftops of Strangeways felt as if they were encroaching through the window on an office that felt suddenly claustrophobic as any cell. His baby. His daughter. This couldn’t be happening.

  Mia’s response was garbled. In amongst the hysteria, he recognised the words, ‘April’ and, ‘date rape’.

  ‘April? You’ve kept shtum about this for that long? Did you report it? Did you go to the police? They need to take statements and swabs and that, Mia!’

  The skin around his mouth prickled with icy dread, seeping from his pores in the form of cold sweat. Why hadn’t he noticed there was something wrong with his princess? How could he be such a shitty father? All this time, when he’d been so absorbed in the tax inspection and cutting the deal of his life with that arsehole, Paddy O’Brien, his little girl had been harbouring a dreadful, painful secret.

  It didn’t matter what answers she was giving. He was no longer listening. The fury built and built inside him, blocking out all sound and salient thought beyond the urge for revenge. Jack O’Brien. Big, overly pumped-up poser, with his face plastered across those glossy music magazines that Mia brought home. Some two-bit semi-celebrity who was nothing more than a spoiled brat playing records, spawned by that has-been halfwit, Frank O’Brien. Defiling his baby girl and then publicly humiliating her.

  ‘I’ll deal with this, Mia,’ he said calmly. His voice was deadly. ‘You call your mother and tell her what you’ve told me. She’ll sort out the woman’s stuff. I’ll put the wheels in
motion my end, and then I’ll be home, princess. Daddy’s going to make it right.’

  Jonny dialled Asaf Smolensky. The Israeli picked up on the ninth ring. There was the bustling sound of a fishmonger’s in the background – knives being sharpened with a metallic scrape; women’s chattering voices, excitable with gossip and orders for fish mix. Friday late morning rush.

  ‘Get over here immediately,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a job.’

  Sitting by the window, peering out at the prison, Jonny knew he ought to be mulling over his options. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the desk, calculating that if Asaf dropped everything he had been doing immediately, he should make it over to T&J Trading within ten minutes. Even in that clapped-out rust bucket of an old Previa. Fifteen at most.

  A knock on the office door. Smolensky, so soon? Jonny’s spirits rose fleetingly as he felt resolution and absolution from a father’s guilt draw a step closer. The door opened abruptly but it was Tariq who walked in, dressed in the tunic and loose trousers he always wore on a Friday morning.

  ‘Everything alright?’ he asked, cocking his head to one side. He perched on the edge of the desk. ‘Mo said you’d called time in the middle of a meeting. Said you seemed a bit flustered.’

  At the back of Jonny’s mind somewhere, the notion that he ought to discuss what had happened with Tariq nagged dimly at his conscience. But the storm clouds had descended, heavy and blackened by bloodlust. There was no place in his head or his heart for the kind of reasoned debate Tariq would demand. The fewer people knew what he was planning, the better.