Lost Angel
Authors: Mandasue Heller
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40/body>
Also by Mandasue Heller
The Front
Forget Me Not
Tainted Lives
The Game
The Charmer
The Club
Shafted
Snatched
Two-Faced
The Driver
About the Author
Mandasue Heller was born in Cheshire and moved to Manchester in 1982. She spent ten years living in the notorious Hulme Crescents which have since become the background to her novels. Not only is she a talented writer, but she has also sung in cabaret and rock groups, seventies soul cover bands and blues jam bands.
LOST ANGEL
Mandasue Heller
First published in Great Britain in 2012 by Hodder & Stoughton
An Hachette UK company
Copyright © Mandasue Heller 2012
The right of Mandasue Heller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library
Ebook ISBN 978 1 444 71295 7
Trade paperback ISBN 978 0 340 96010 3
Hardback ISBN 978 0 340 96009 7
Hodder & Stoughton Ltd
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
For Margaret Jobey
With joy to have known you, and sorrow to have lost you
With much love to Wingrove, my mum Jean, Michael, Andrew, Azzura (and Michael), Marissa, Lariah, Antonio, Ava, Amber, Martin, Jade, Reece, Kyro, Diaz, Auntie Doreen, Peter, Lorna, Cliff, Chris, Glen – and the rest of my lovely family both here and abroad, past and present. Also Joseph and Mavis Ward, Jascinth, Donna, Valerie, Natalie, Dan, Toni, children, uncles and aunts.
Love to good friends, Liz, Norman, Betty and Ronnie, Martina, Kimberley and Wayne.
Special thanks to my editor, Carolyn Caughey, for her patience and advice; and to the rest of the guys at Hodder – Lucy, Emma, Phil, Francine etc . . .
Thanks, as always, to Cat Ledger and Nick Austin.
Also to Asda and Waterstones, and all of the other stores who have got behind me in such a great way – and, of course, you, the buyers and readers of my work.
And, lastly, thanks to my Facebook friends who played the game to find a title for my next book, especially Phil Martin and Alison Reeder, who both suggested the one that was ultimately chosen.
Oh, and not forgetting those who have been buying our and Azzura’s music – thank you!
PROLOGUE
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ Angel said softly.
‘Missed you, too,’ said Ryan. ‘But we shouldn’t be in here.’
‘I just want to be alone with you,’ she murmured.
He kissed her gently, but pulled back when she slid her hand down to his crotch. ‘Don’t,’ he groaned.
‘I love you,’ she told him huskily. ‘And you love me, too – don’t you?’
‘Yeah, course, baby girl. But you’re only fifteen, and that’s too—’
‘Sshhh.’ She pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Don’t say anything, just do it. Please . . . I really want you to.
’
She moved her hand back down and slowly unzipped his fly. Ryan closed his eyes. He knew it was wrong, but he’d been dreaming about this ever since he’d first met her, and he wasn’t strong enough to resist.
‘I haven’t got anything on me,’ he gasped at the last minute.
‘I don’t care,’ Angel whispered, pulling him into her.
PART ONE
1995
1
Johnny Conroy woke with a start to find Elvis standing over him.
‘
Jeezus!
’ he squawked, the sheet gathering in a roll beneath his heels as he scrabbled to sit up. ‘What’s going on?’
‘That’s what I wanna know.’ The man’s dark eyes scanned the messy room. ‘I take it you know why I’m here?’
Johnny swallowed nervously and shook his head. Frankie Hynes had the most unnatural shade of jet-black hair he’d ever seen, and his denim jeans and jacket – and shoestring tie complete with silver guitar clip – looked so ridiculous on a man of his age that Johnny would have pissed himself laughing if it had been anyone else wearing them.
But no one laughed at Frankie Hynes – not if they wanted to live.
‘Is that perfume I can smell?’ Frankie’s nostrils twitched like those of a dog scenting drugs.
Johnny’s blood froze when he remembered the girl he’d brought home from the club last night. He flicked a furtive glance at the other side of the bed – and thanked God when he saw that it was empty. He hadn’t heard the girl leave, so she must have sneaked out while he was asleep – and he could only hope that she hadn’t taken anything with her, like the contents of his wallet – or his weed.
Frankie’s man-mountain of a mate, Big Pat O’Callaghan, had Johnny’s flatmate Dave pinned up against the wall over by the door. He raised his head and gave a loud, exaggerated sniff.
‘Yeah, I can smell perfume, an’ all.’
‘It’s aftershave,’ Johnny blurted out.
Frankie snapped his head around and peered down at him. ‘And why would you be needing aftershave, son? I know you wasn’t with our Ruth last night, so who was you trying to impress?’
Johnny’s mouth flapped open but nothing came out. Had someone seen him with the girl and reported him to Frankie? If so, he was already dead and Frankie was just toying with him.
‘It was my birthday yesterday,’ Dave piped up – praying as he said it that Frankie wouldn’t demand proof. ‘We just went out for a couple of pints with the lads, that’s—
Aargh!
’
‘Speak when you’re spoken to, dickhead.’
Johnny winced when Big Pat punched Dave in the gut, but he had a feeling that worse was to come. He licked his lips nervously.
‘Is – is something wrong, Frankie?’
‘First off, it’s Mr Hynes to you,’ Frankie said sharply. ‘And I’d say so, yeah. But I thought I’d hear what you had to say for yourself before I decide what to do about it.’
Johnny was confused, and it showed on his face. Frankie leaned over him and bared his tobacco-stained teeth.
‘Don’t try and mug me off, son, ’cos you know
exactly
what I’m talking about. Your idea to get
her
to tell me, was it?’
Spittle dotted Johnny’s face, but he didn’t dare wipe it off. ‘I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he bleated truthfully.
‘Let me spell it out for you, then,’ spat Frankie, his eyes flashing fire. ‘She’s
pregnant
. . . you’re gonna be a daddy.’
‘No way.’ Johnny’s mouth had gone dry. ‘It’s not mine.’
The last words slipped out before he had a chance to stop them, and the punch landed like a sledgehammer, splitting his lip and sending a spray of blood up into the air. And then Frankie was on top of him, his hands around his throat.
‘I didn’t mean it!’ Johnny squealed, choking as his lip ballooned and blood trickled down his throat. ‘I swear to God!’
Frankie tightened his grip, overcome by a sudden urge to put an end to this right here and now. Ruth deserved better than this piece of shit. But she was adamant that she loved Johnny, so what was a father to do?
‘I trusted you,’ he snarled. ‘You came down to my yard and asked if you could take my girl out, and I thought, now
there
’s a boy who knows the meaning of respect. And you swore you’d keep your dirty little hands to yourself. But I should’ve known you were lying, you little shit.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Johnny gasped, his face turning purple with the pressure. ‘Honest to God, Fra— Mr Hynes, I never meant for it to happen. It just—’
‘If I had my way,’ Frankie cut him off, ‘I’d be slinging you off a bridge minus your fuckin’ head right about now. But, lucky for you, Ruth’s made me promise not to hurt you. So, here’s what’s going to happen . . . You’re going to get your arse round to my place at seven tonight, and then you, me and her are going to sit down and work out where we go from here. Okay?’
‘
Okay!
’ Johnny squeaked.
Frankie let go and pushed himself up off the bed. ‘Seven o’clock,’ he repeated, wiping his hands on the quilt. ‘And just in case you get any stupid ideas about doing a runner –
don’t
. ’Cos I’ll hunt you down and skin you alive, and then I’ll feed you to my dogs piece by fucking piece. Understand?’
