Tough Love (16 page)

‘Well, she got very upset when she saw those two idiots pretending to be mad about each other on telly so I don't think she'll be selling her story any time soon, do you?'

Karina shrugged. ‘I would.'

‘Course you would,' Jodie said. ‘That's because you take after Mum.'

‘Oh, and what's Leanne? Some throwback to a saint?'

‘I'm not saying she's a saint, just that she's got more morals than you, and if you want to argue the toss with me when you've got a ball of coke swinging from your neck, go ahead.'

Karina looked down at her pendant. ‘Why don't you piss off and get these developed? They'll give the Saturday lad in the chemist a stiffy.'

‘Thanks,' said Jodie, getting up to leave. ‘I might just do that.'

‘These pictures are really good, Jode,' Leanne said, impressed.

‘D'you think so?'

Leanne did. Jodie had a natural ability in front of the camera, she could tell. And she looked totally different from the podgy teenager she had sent to see Jenny a few years ago.

‘What you two gawping at?' Markie asked, appearing from nowhere.

Leanne put the pictures back into the sleeve. ‘Just some pictures Karina took of Jodie.'

‘Give us a look, then,' Markie said, biting into his lunchtime pasty and thrusting out his hand.

‘No!' Jodie squealed. ‘They're glamour shots.'

‘And I've not seen a picture before of a sister with her tits out?' Markie asked sarcastically. ‘Give 'em here.'

‘God, Markie, you're so mortifying!' Jodie complained.

Leanne passed the photos to her brother. He looked at the first, then the second and the third. ‘You look knock-out, Jode,' he said, handing them back.

‘Thanks,' Jodie said, sounding shocked.

‘She does, doesn't she? I'm going to send them to a management firm I know. I think they'll snap her up,' Leanne told him.

‘How much does a management firm take out of her wages?'

‘Commission's anything from ten to twenty per cent,' Leanne said, trying to remember what Jenny had taken as her fee.

‘Bollocks to that, Lee! Why don't
you
do it?' Markie said, as if he was suggesting the simplest thing in the world.

‘Me?'

‘Yeah. What's the procedure? You book a photographer, line up a page three, lads' mag, whatever, and Bob's your uncle?'

‘It's not that simple,' Leanne said.

‘No? Talk me through it. Which bit couldn't you do?'

‘Well, I could do all of it – I know a lot of people. It's the money. I wouldn't know where to start.'

‘With an accountant. I'd have thought that bitch manager of yours might have sorted one out for you until you rocked up here on your arse.'

‘Thanks!' Leanne snapped.

‘Oi! I'm not being funny, just saying. You should represent Jodie. Why not? You've got a high profile and you can make out this is your new business venture if anyone asks. Except you're not leaving me. Like I said, I need you to answer the phone and do the promotions. How's that thing for the Glass House coming on?'

Markie had asked Leanne to arrange an opening night for his new club. She had managed to secure a high-profile girl band – Party Hard – to play on the night, because she had helped out one of its members a few years ago and Markie was delighted. He didn't mind paying the five-thousand-pound fee they demanded for two songs. Having them there would ensure that the Glass House was
the
place to go for at least the next six months. ‘It's coming along great. Now we've got Party Hard playing, the world and his wife want to be on the guest list,' she told him.

‘I need you to get Mac to sign these papers. He's down at Poles.' Markie handed her an envelope.

‘OK. What are they?' Leanne asked, so that she knew where to send them and where to file the copy.

Markie tapped his nose and nodded at Jodie.

Jodie clocked this immediately. ‘All right. Bloody hell! I'm not arsed what your papers are for, Markie. Keep your hair on.'

Markie watched her go. ‘They're about a house we've acquired,' he said.

‘Right, I'll catch Twisted Knickers up. You know what, Markie?' He looked up from his computer. ‘I might have a think about what you said about representing her. No one else could put up with her strops.'

*

Jodie had driven with Leanne to Poles Apart. ‘I'm not coming in, the girls are knobs,' she said, less than charitably.

Leanne rolled her eyes. Jodie thought everyone she didn't like or didn't know was a knob until proven otherwise.

‘It's only two o'clock and they don't start till eight. How long do you think it takes to put a thong on? There'll be no girls in there.'

‘Even so, I'll stay outside, thanks,' Jodie said, leaning against the wall.

Leanne pulled at the main door but it didn't budge. She stood back and looked up at the pink unlit neon sign that read ‘Poles Apart' and furrowed her brow. ‘I'll go round the back. See you in a minute.'

She walked round the building, stepping over discarded bottle bags from the night before, and came to the door that led into the small kitchen – it
produced such delicacies as chicken in a basket. It wasn't locked so she walked in. ‘Hello?' she called. There was no response.

She went to the door that led into the main part of the club. The runway where the girls danced was lit, but the rest of the club was in darkness. There was no sign of anyone, but Leanne knew someone must be here or the back door wouldn't be open. She sat on the end of the runway. The place was eerily quiet. Then she heard a crack from one of the side rooms that were used for private dances and a strangled howl. She jumped to her feet and went to the door from which the noise had come.

‘Please – just take the house. Have it!' There was another jaw-shattering whack and the man who had spoken began to sob. Leanne felt sick. The door opened and a breathless Mac came out. He shut it behind him so that she couldn't see what was going on.

‘Leanne!' he said, walking over to hug her. ‘You look bloody gorgeous as always.'

‘Hi, Mac,' Leanne said shakily. ‘Markie asked me to bring these down.'

‘Good girl. I'll get them signed. You want a drink?'

‘No,' Leanne said, feeling out of her depth. ‘Got to get back to work.'

‘Don't we all?' Mac said, smiling.

He vanished into the room, reappeared a
moment later and handed the envelope back to Leanne. ‘Markie was saying you're doing well with the Glass House opening.'

‘It seems to be going fine, fingers crossed.' Leanne forced a smile on to her face, just as the man she had heard a few moments ago let out a whimper. She glanced at the door. Mac caught her eye. ‘Toothache,' he said, smiling wickedly.

Leanne tried to smile back, but she couldn't make her eyes match her mouth. ‘Anyway, Mac, nice seeing you,' she said.

‘And you, darling. Come down soon. We'll get you comps and drinks all night.'

‘Thanks, I will,' she said.

As she burst out into the daylight, she had a feeling she wouldn't take Mac up on his offer.

‘Come on,' she said to Jodie, who was now sitting in the car, in the middle of texting someone.

‘Hold your horses,' Jodie said. ‘What's up with you?'

Leanne waited until she was safely back behind the wheel before she pulled out the document that had just been signed. Mac had scribbled his name as receiver of the property. Below that, the vendor's signature was accompanied by a streak of blood.

Leanne threw it into the back. ‘What's our Markie up to?'

‘What do you mean?' Jodie asked.

‘I've just heard some bloke being beaten black
and blue in there. And these papers are for his house.'

‘Well, he might owe Markie and Mac money.'

Leanne looked at her sister. ‘Is it only me who doesn't think that's normal? He was pleading with Mac to leave him alone.'

Jodie turned to face her sister. ‘Look, Leanne, I don't one hundred per cent agree with everything our Markie does, but it's the business he's in. He lends money, he's involved with poker rings. You don't think all his cash comes out of a pole-dancing club and a few shops round town, do you? Mac's minted and our Markie will be too. He's just got to build up to it.'

‘And by that you mean batter people and make everyone scared of him?'

‘He doesn't need to make anyone scared of him. They already are.'

Leanne thought about her clandestine meeting with Tony and realised her sister was right. She drove along the road back to the office feeling deeply uneasy. If she was now working for Markie, wasn't she party to his activities whether she liked it or not? Well, she didn't like it one little bit.

Tracy and Paul were sitting in the lounge, drinking vodka and looking at holiday brochures. ‘I'm not going to fucking Benidorm, that's for sure,' Tracy said snootily.

‘What's up with Benidorm?' Paul asked.

‘It's rough as fuck, that's what.' Tracy said, flicking through Thomson Worldwide. ‘What about an all-inclusive in the Dominican Republic? Look at this, free booze
and
free fags. We can smoke ourselves daft.'

Paul nodded, impressed. ‘How much?'

‘Two grand a pop.'

Paul let out a low whistle.

‘What's up with that, Money Bags?' Tracy asked. ‘It was you who said I deserved a break.'

Paul touched her face. ‘And you do. Right, let's have a look. When do you want to go?'

‘Soon as,' Tracy said. ‘Call 'em now. What time is it?'

‘It's nearly midnight. They're not going to be open, are they? I'll go down in the morning.'

‘Brilliant. It's about time I parked my arse on a nice beach somewhere. It's been too long,' Tracy said. Something occurred to her. ‘Stick the radio on and see if he's still banging on.'

Kent had been bombarding Tracy with texts and phone calls. On his radio show he had been talking about his broken heart and playing everything that had ever reminded him of her. ‘Fuck me, he's running out of songs. It'll be “Una Paloma Blanca” next,' Paul had said the other day, which had made Tracy chuckle.

Paul tuned the radio into
The Late Night Love-in
as the last strains of a song died away. ‘And that was Elaine Paige and Barbara Dickson with “I Know Him So Well”. But did you, ladies? Did you know him?' Kent asked.

Tracy laughed and poured herself a vodka. ‘He's so bloody dramatic, isn't he?'

‘You think you know someone, and then they rip your heart out, trample it into the floor,' Kent went on. ‘If anyone else has had a similar experience, call in this evening. We'd love to hear from you. OK, we're going to line one, Carrie-Anne …'

‘I'm just ringing in to tell you about my husband Pete …' Carrie-Anne said, and droned on about how good he was to her, and how he'd held her hair back when she was sick on their first
date and how there wasn't enough love in the world.

Tracy turned the volume down. ‘When is he going to give it a rest?'

‘Come on, love, he's upset. Let him have his moment,' Paul said.

Tracy sparked up a cigarette and dragged hard on it. ‘He's flogging it, though. You'd think having the police called might sort him out, but no.' She didn't clock that she was talking to a man on whom she had called them countless times. The other day Kent had come round and spelt ‘I love you' in daffodils down the middle of the road. By the time Tracy had opened the window it didn't read anything. It was just a mish-mash of flowers and the neighbours from whose garden he had dishonestly acquired them were kicking up a song and a dance with a policeman.

‘Chuck us another vodka in there, will you?' She waved her empty glass at Paul.

Dutifully he got up and did as he was told, while she went back to her holiday brochure.

*

Tracy pushed open the door at the travel agent's and Paul followed her in. A very blonde, very made-up young woman looked her up and down and asked, ‘Can I help you?' as if she knew she couldn't.

‘We want to book an all-inclusive to the Dominican Republic,' Tracy said, giving her a piercing look in return.

‘Anything at this time of year is quite expensive,' the woman said.

‘Well, we'll worry about that. You park your arse in front of your computer and tell us how soon we can go,' Tracy told her with her best nasty smile.

It took the travel agent twenty minutes to confirm two weeks at the Esplendido resort travelling this coming Saturday. Paul handed over his credit card.

The woman swiped it and waited for the transaction to complete. ‘Have you another means of payment?' she asked, not cracking a smile.

Tracy glared at Paul.

‘That's not right. There's plenty of money in my bank account. Put it through again,' Paul said, panicky.

‘I don't want to do that, sir, as the bank may ask me to destroy the card,' the woman said, giving Tracy
her
best nasty smile.

‘Well, I'll tell you what, I'll go to the bank and sort this out, but we won't be coming back here to book with you, not wi' your attitude.'

‘I'm sorry you feel that way, sir.' Her professional mask didn't slip.

‘Course you are, you snotty cow,' Tracy said, and flounced out.

In the street she turned to Paul. ‘What the fuck was that about? You out of money?'

‘Course not. There's been a mistake. I'll go to the bank now.'

Tracy eyeballed him. ‘Go on, then. I'm off to Yates's for a pint. You can come and find me when you're finished.'

Paul plodded off down the street. Tracy could smell a rat, but she wasn't about to go off at him. She needed to work out if something was going on, or if Paul was just being his usual slack self.