Broke (7 page)

‘Maybe twenty years ago,’ Steve shot back. ‘But it’d be like shagging your nan nowadays. Anyhow, I like them dark.
You
’re the one who likes blondes. And gingers,’ he added slyly.

‘Fuck off!’ Mark snorted, taking the dig in good humour. Then, ‘Subject of ginger, I bumped into that Jenny the other week.’

‘Yeah, I know, I was there,’ Steve reminded him. ‘At The Junny, after her mam’s funeral. You said you didn’t remember her, but I reckon you were just ashamed.’

‘No, it was after that,’ Mark told him. ‘This was the day me and you fell out. She’s gone dark now. Looked pretty fit.’

‘You having a laugh?’ Steve gave him a disbelieving look.

‘Nah, serious.’ Mark shook his head and sucked on his cigarette.

A car horn tooted down below. Steve pulled the curtain back and waved before standing up. ‘Sorry, mate, got to go.’

Mark was already on his feet. ‘Have a good ’un. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t.’

‘So, basically, anything goes, then?’ Steve quipped, grinning as they headed out into the hall.

He slipped his jacket on and checked his hair in the mirror before picking up the slim gift-wrapped package from the table. But, just as he was about to open the door, Mark said, ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a few quid to lend us, have you?’

‘Sorry, I haven’t,’ Steve told him regretfully. ‘Layla’s present cost an arm and a leg. Only got enough left for a cab back from town.’

‘No worries.’ Mark stepped out onto the landing. ‘Forget I said anything.’

Steve felt terrible. Mark would never have asked if he wasn’t desperate and, even though he’d brought it on himself, Steve wished he could help.

‘Look, why don’t you come round tomorrow?’ he suggested as they walked down the stairs. ‘My wages should have gone into my account by then. I’ll get some beers, and we can watch the footie and have a proper catch-up.’

‘Yeah, that’ll be good.’ Mark smiled. ‘I’ll ring first, though, eh? Give you and your bird time to get dressed.’

‘Cheers, bud.’ Steve reached out and touched fists with him. Then, pulling his cigarettes out of his pocket, he shoved them into Mark’s hand. ‘Here, take these.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got another pack in the drawer,’ said Steve, adjusting his cuffs as they emerged from the stairwell.

A bronze Lexus was idling at the kerb, and as they walked out onto the path a pretty girl in a long black dress stepped out of its back door.

‘
Wow.
’ Mark whistled through his teeth.

‘Told you,’ Steve said proudly.

‘You look nice,’ the girl said, her eyes gleaming as she reached up to kiss Steve on the cheek.

‘So do you,’ he murmured, conscious of her dad staring out at him from the driver’s seat. ‘This is Mark, my best mate,’ he said as he introduced them. ‘Mark, this is Layla, my . . .’

‘Girlfriend,’ said Layla when he trailed off.

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Mark grinned. ‘And happy birthday.’

Layla thanked him and waved her hand at the occupants of the car.

‘This is my mum and dad,’ she said when they stepped out. ‘Mum, Dad . . . this is Steve.’

Layla’s father was a good foot shorter than Steve, but he had the brooding intensity and stocky physique of a pro boxer, and Steve was conscious of his knees knocking as he held out his hand.

‘Pleased to meet you, Mr . . .’ He realised he didn’t know their surname and gave Layla a helpless look.

‘It’s Gerry.’ The man grasped his hand and pumped it. ‘And it’s nice to meet you, too, son. Good to finally put a face to the lad who’s had my girl mooning around like a lost puppy all week.’

‘
Dad!
’ Layla hissed. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

‘That’s my job,’ Gerry chuckled. ‘You should be used to it by now.’

‘Behave,’ his wife scolded, stepping forward and giving Steve the once-over. ‘I’m Janice – mother of the bride.’

‘Oh, my
God
!’ squealed Layla, a look of mortification on her face.

‘Hi.’ Smiling, Steve offered his hand to Janice. But she was having none of that.

‘It’s so lovely to meet you at last,’ she gushed, pulling him into a hug. ‘Layla’s told me all about you.’

‘All good, I hope?’

‘Do you think I’d be hugging you if it wasn’t? I’d be setting Gerry on you.’

Mark smirked as he watched his friend being sucked into the family like a long-lost relative. Poor sod didn’t know what he was letting himself in for. The dad looked like he’d stepped straight off the set of
The Sopranos
and the mum was like a middle-aged Barbie, all fake tan, peroxide hair and killer boobs. Layla was very pretty, though, he’d give Steve that.

‘Right, we’d best get moving before they give our table away,’ said Gerry. ‘Nice to meet you.’ He gave Mark a nod before climbing back into the car.

Janice smiled and walked back round to her side, while Steve held the back door open for Layla – giving Mark a look of terror before climbing in beside her.

Mark maintained his smile as he watched the car drive away, but his heart felt like a lump of lead in his chest. It had taken a lot for him to swallow his pride and come begging to Steve. But he’d promised Amy that he would get some money and none of his other mates had any, so he’d had no choice.

He lit one of the cigarettes that Steve had given him and started walking slowly home. It was the last place he wanted to go, because he and Amy had been tearing lumps out of each other all day and he’d had a gutful of it. He’d already admitted that he’d fucked up by getting the sack, and he was trying his best to rectify it. Hell, he’d been down to the job centre so many times in the last month that he was surprised they hadn’t set up a bed for him. But that wasn’t good enough for Amy. According to her, he was useless . . . useless husband, useless dad, useless excuse for a man.

As he mentally replayed the argument they’d been having just before he walked out, Mark’s anger began to resurface. Amy had never had a job in her life, and yet she had the cheek to call him a loser just because he was temporarily out of work. Well, she’d better watch out, because his luck was bound to change before too long. And when it did and she came running to him for money, he was going to tell her right where to shove it.

Almost home by now, he stopped at the corner and stared down the road towards his house. If he went in without the money Amy would go off her nut and they would end up having another barney – and
he
would end up walking out again. It was as inevitable as night following day, and the only way to avoid it was by not going home in the first place.

Decided, he did an abrupt about-turn and strode off in the opposite direction.

Jenny hadn’t felt well when she woke that morning, so she’d stayed in bed and had spent the day watching TV, reading magazines, and generally feeling sorry for herself.

Restless after her soaps had finished in the evening, she got up and had a bath, then wandered into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich. She was just making her way back to bed when the doorbell rang. Cautious, because she didn’t usually get visitors at night, she crept down the stairs and peeked through the spyhole. A man was standing on the step, but he had his back turned so she couldn’t see his face.

‘Who is it?’ she called through the wood.

‘Er, hi . . . it’s me – Mark.’ He turned and looked at the spyhole. When she didn’t respond after a few seconds, he frowned. ‘Sorry, is this a bad time?’

‘No, it’s fine!’ Jenny blurted out, snapping out of the trance she’d gone into at the unexpected sight of his face. ‘Just a sec. I’ll get the key.’

She fled back up the stairs, tugging the towel off her hair on the way. In the bedroom she dropped her dressing gown and quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a jumper. Then, running the brush through her damp hair and slicking a quick coat of mascara over her ginger eyelashes, she grabbed her keys and ran back down.

‘Sorry about that. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I’d already locked up for the night.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Mark stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘I was just passing and remembered you said you’d moved here, so I thought I’d call in and make sure you’re okay.’

‘Thank you, that’s so nice,’ Jenny murmured, touched that he cared. ‘Do you want to come in?’

‘If I’m not disturbing you?’

‘No, course not.’

Jenny went up the stairs ahead of him and switched on the lamp and the TV before drawing the curtains to conceal the urn containing her mother’s ashes.

‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she twittered nervously. ‘Tea or coffee?’

‘Whatever you’re having.’ Mark perched on the edge of one of the two black leather couches.

‘Sugar?’

‘Two, please.’

Left alone when she rushed off to the kitchen, Mark sat back and looked around. The room was surprisingly well furnished, with a fancy fireplace, a massive mirror, and a decent-sized plasma TV. There were only two pictures on the wall, one of a woman who Mark assumed to be Jenny’s mum, the other of Jenny herself – but as she looked now, he noticed; no trace of the ginger freak he’d known and taken the piss out of at school.

Amused by her attempt to rewrite history, Mark reached for the TV remote and flicked idly through the channels. When Jenny came back a few minutes later with two steaming cups in her hands, he smiled up at her. ‘This couch is well comfy. I’d have been asleep if you’d been much longer.’

‘I know, it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Jenny agreed, passing his cup to him and taking a seat on the other couch. ‘The bereavement counsellor advised me to get rid of some of the old stuff so I wouldn’t be constantly reminded of my mum.’

‘Did it help?’

‘Oh, yeah, loads.’

Mark took a sip of his tea and gazed around again. Never mind getting rid of
some
of the old stuff, she’d obviously chucked the whole lot out and started from scratch. And that would have cost a fair bit, because these couches weren’t cheap, so either she had a well-paid job or she’d inherited a bundle. Either way, she was beginning to look more attractive by the second.

Annoyed when Steve’s phone went to voicemail, Amy slammed the phone down and paced the living-room floor. Mark still hadn’t come back, and while she wouldn’t usually be bothered, because he always went awol after a row, this time she was fuming. He knew that the kids hadn’t eaten, and he’d promised to borrow some money so she could get them something from the chippy. She wouldn’t even have cared if he’d posted it through the letter box and pissed off again, just so long as they got fed. But, as per usual, he was putting his own selfish needs before theirs. And now he’d switched his phone off and none of his friends claimed to have seen him, so there was nothing else she could do.

She turned around and abruptly stopped pacing when she saw her daughter standing in the doorway. ‘What’s the matter, love?’

‘I can’t get to sleep,’ said Cassie, a wobble in her voice, dark shadows circling her sad blue eyes. ‘Bobby’s crying. He says his tummy’s poorly.’

Amy felt like crying, too. But that wasn’t going to put food in their stomachs. So, making a decision, she said, ‘Go and get your coat on. And put Bobby’s on him for me.’

‘Are we going out?’ Cassie asked.

‘I hope so,’ Amy murmured, shooing her back out into the hall before reaching for the phone.

Sonia Clark was lying on the couch in her nightdress, watching reruns of
Only Fools And Horses
and snacking on cheese and crackers. John was at the pub, and she was thoroughly enjoying not having to sit through another football or snooker match – just about all the boring bugger ever wanted to watch these days. When the phone rang, she brushed the crumbs off her chest and reached over her shoulder to pick it up.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s me,’ said Amy. ‘Just checking you’re in.’

‘Why?’ Sonia frowned. ‘I hope you’re not thinking of coming round, ’cos I’m already in bed,’ she lied.

‘Oh. Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you.’

Sonia caught the unhappiness in her daughter’s voice and sighed. ‘What you after?’

‘Nothing,’ Amy muttered. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Well, it obviously does, or you wouldn’t be ringing.’ Sonia reached for the remote and paused her programme. ‘Come on, spit it out. And it’d best not be money, ’cos you haven’t paid me back from the last time yet and your dad’s already giving me flak over it.’

‘I don’t want money,’ said Amy plaintively. ‘I just need something for the kids to eat. There’s nothing in, and our Bobby’s crying. Can I bring them round?’

‘You’re having a laugh,’ Sonia said coolly. ‘Have you seen the time? And you’re gonna drag them kiddies all the way over here in the cold?’

‘I wouldn’t if I wasn’t desperate,’ Amy replied, a sob betraying the fact that she was crying now. ‘Oh, just forget it,’ she said before her mum could respond. ‘I’ll wait for Marnie to come home and ask her.’

‘And what time will that be?’ Sonia demanded. ‘It could be four in the morning, knowing her, and you’d have had them kids sat there starving all that time.’

‘Don’t you think I know that?’ Amy wailed. ‘That’s why I rang
you
, ’cos you’re their nan and I thought you cared. But you’re in bed, so don’t worry about it.’

‘Stop being such a drama queen,’ Sonia berated her. ‘Fetch them round. But don’t you dare make them walk. Get a taxi. I’ll pay when you get here.’

‘Thanks, Mum. I’m really sorry. It’s just been a difficult week.’

‘It always is with you. And that’s half the trouble – you never learn.’

Sonia dropped the receiver back onto its cradle and slammed her plate down. Peace shattered, she shoved her feet into her slippers and shuffled into the kitchen to take some fish fingers and chips out of the freezer. Putting them on to cook, she looked for her purse, then went out onto the step to wait.

This was the first time Amy had brought the kids round so late, but it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d relied on Sonia to fill their little bellies. Everyone knew it was hard to feed a family in this day and age, and Sonia knew it wasn’t Amy’s fault that the DSS was messing her about and her benefits hadn’t come through yet. But Amy couldn’t keep expecting Sonia and John to cough up willy-nilly. It was the fault of that useless husband of hers, all this, and it was about time Amy stopped making excuses for him and gave him a kick up the arse.