Respect (Mandasue Heller) (14 page)

‘I only ever have sausage, chips and gravy,’ Leon reminded her, reaching for the apple he’d turned his nose up at and taking a big bite. ‘Where you off? Got a
date
?’

‘As if!’ Chantelle snorted, resisting the urge to hand him a towel to mop up the juice that was running down his chin. ‘Immy asked me to go to the pictures with her.’

‘Can I come?’ His eyes lit up.

‘No, it’s a girly film; you’d hate it. Anyway, she’s paying, so I can’t just turn up with you in tow, can I? Go back round to Kermit’s, if you want. I’ll call for you on my way home.’

‘Nah, he’s going out with his mum,’ Leon said dejectedly. ‘I’ll just stop in and watch telly.’

Chantelle felt guilty – although she’d have felt even worse if she really
had
been going to the pictures, knowing that he wanted to go too. But he’d been behaving since their talk, and she wanted him to know that she appreciated it, so she said, ‘Look, how’s about we pick out another film to go and watch tomorrow – just you and me?
Or
, if you’re
really
good, we could go bowling.’

She’d thought that Leon would be delighted by this, because he loved ten-pin bowling, but he just narrowed his eyes, and said, ‘Thought you said we didn’t have much money?’

‘We haven’t.’

‘So how come you can afford to take me out tomorrow, but not tonight?’

‘I was going to ask Immy to lend me some.’

‘Why don’t you just ask her to pay for me tonight instead?’

‘’Cos it’s too late to change our plans,’ Chantelle said irritably, annoyed with herself for getting caught out.

‘You just don’t want to take me,’ Leon said accusingly. ‘You’re just like mum; you don’t give a toss about me so long as
you
’re having fun.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Chantelle retorted. ‘I’ve always looked out for you.’

‘When it suits you.’

‘Right, enough,’ Chantelle snapped, fed up with his attitude. ‘If you must know, I’m going out on a job tonight.
That
’s why you can’t come, and
that
’s how I’ll be able to afford to take you out tomorrow, ’cos it’s cash in hand.’

‘Why didn’t you just say that instead of lying about it?’ Leon pulled a face.

Chantelle sighed. ‘Because it might not come to anything, so I didn’t see the point. Anyway, I didn’t want anyone to find out, because we’ll get into trouble if they find out I’m leaving you on your own.’

‘I ain’t gonna tell no one, am I?’ Leon said, as if she should have known that all along.

‘I suppose not,’ Chantelle conceded. ‘But it’s probably a one-off, so I’m not going to start worrying about it. I just need you to promise you won’t mess about while I’m out tonight. No loud music, or running in and out leaving the door open.’

‘I’m not a kid,’ Leon informed her indignantly.

‘I know.’ Chantelle smiled fondly and ruffled his hair. ‘You’re growing up fast; guess it’s time I started trusting you, eh? The offer’s still there for bowling tomorrow, though –
if
you can face being seen in public with your big sis.’

‘
Ewwww!
’

Leon made a gagging face, but his eyes were sparkling, and Chantelle laughed and gave him a playful shove. ‘Watch it, you! Anyone’d think you were starting to like me, or something.’

10

Chantelle was already standing on the corner when Bill May pulled up at 8.15 that night. Her nerves had resurfaced with a vengeance, and her legs felt wobbly as she climbed into the car’s passenger seat. The smell of dog hit her as soon as she closed the door, and she grimaced when she caught sight of the animal lying on the back seat with its tongue hanging out.

‘You’ll have to excuse Mitzy,’ Bill apologised as she handed over the photograph she wanted Chantelle to look at. ‘In dog years she’s almost as old and decrepit as me, and I’m afraid she’s developed a little flatulence problem.’

Chantelle smiled politely and, trying not to inhale through her nostrils, gazed at the picture. It was a head-and-shoulders shot of an ordinary-looking man with brown hair and eyes. ‘Who is he?’ she asked.

‘Names aren’t necessary,’ Bill said, peering over her shoulder to make sure that she was clear to proceed. ‘You just need to remember the face. The recording equipment is in the glove compartment,’ she added as she pulled out onto the road. ‘Take it out and I’ll tell you how to use it.’

Chantelle looked, but all she could see was a mobile phone.

‘That’s it,’ Bill told her. ‘It’s actually a video recorder designed to look like a smartphone. It’s very simple to use, and it’s fully charged, so you’ll have at least three hours of battery life. Just try not to run it until you’ve identified the subject. Oh, and I’ve loaded that picture into it, so you can double-check if you need to.’

As Chantelle studied the photograph and checked out the buttons on the fake phone, Bill drove to a deserted side street off Deansgate’s main drag. Parking up, she switched off the engine and had Chantelle do a test run with the video recorder, showing her how to adjust the contrast and zoom.

‘Right, you’d best get going,’ she said when she was satisfied that Chantelle had got it. ‘The client said her hubby usually leaves the house at around eight-thirty, so you should have plenty of time to get yourself a drink and find a good position before he arrives. Take this.’ She handed Chantelle a £20 note. ‘And if you have any concerns, or you think you’ve been rumbled, leave immediately.’

‘How do you know he’ll turn up?’ Chantelle asked, pushing the money into her bag along with the phone.

‘We don’t,’ said Bill. ‘But if he hasn’t shown in two hours, we’ll call it a night.’

‘Where am I going?’ Chantelle asked, unclipping her seat belt.

‘Ah, silly me.’ Bill rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a wine bar called The Fallow Field; third business down when you turn the corner onto Deansgate. Ready?’

Chantelle nodded and inhaled nervously. She had spent a long time getting ready and had thought she looked fine, but now she wasn’t so sure. Had she put on too much make-up? Was the skirt she’d borrowed from her mum’s drawer too short, or the top too low? Did she look like a woman, or a little girl playing dress-up? Was everyone going to stare at her when she walked into the bar and see right through her act?

‘Stop worrying.’ Bill reached across and patted her hand reassuringly. ‘It’ll be over in no time, and I’m sure you’ll do a grand job.’

Chantelle wasn’t convinced, but she gave a fake-confident smile and stepped out of the car. On the pavement, she squeezed her eyes shut and made a silent plea to God not to let her cock it up. Then, raising her chin, she walked down the road and around the corner.

A roped-in smoking area took up most of the pavement outside the wine bar, and Chantelle saw several groups of people sitting and standing in there as she approached; the smoke from their cigarettes swirling around their heads, their faces glowing from the light of a free-standing patio heater. She blushed when three young men who were sitting at the table nearest the door gave her the eye, but she pretended not to notice and strolled up to the door.

Soft music was playing when she walked inside but she could barely hear it for the noise of chatter, laughter, and glass-clinking. It was still relatively early and she was surprised that the place was so packed. But she supposed that was good, because at least she wouldn’t stand out quite so much. Although it might make it difficult to get a good viewpoint, given that there didn’t seem to be any vacant chairs anywhere.

Her nerves stepped up a gear when she approached the bar. This was the bit she had been dreading. She had never in her life ordered a drink at a bar, and she was terrified that the bartender would take one look at her and know she was too young to be there.

Two bartenders were darting back and forth, filling orders, when she finally found a space. Waiting her turn, she gazed casually out around the room, surreptitiously scanning the faces of the other customers. When she spotted one who looked similar to the subject, she slid the fake phone out of her bag and tapped into the archived photos.

‘Hi, there – what can I get you?’

Almost jumping out of her skin at the sound of the voice, Chantelle quickly closed the screen and turned back to the bar. ‘Erm, Coke, please.’

‘Ice and lemon?’ The bartender was young, blond, and handsome in a bronzed surfer-boy kind of way – and he obviously knew it and traded on it, Chantelle guessed, judging by the super-cool smile he was giving her.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured, giving a small nervous smile in return.

‘Waiting for someone?’ Surfer-boy reached for a tall glass and pressed it up against the cola pump.

‘I’m meeting a friend.’

‘Boy or girl?’

‘Boy.’ Chantelle glanced at her watch, hoping that he would take the hint and back off. The last thing she needed was for her suspect to walk in while she was chatting, because if she missed him she wouldn’t get paid.

‘Shame,’ the bartender drawled, laying a serviette on the counter before placing her glass on it. ‘On the house,’ he said quietly when she held out the money Bill had just given her.

‘Thanks, but I’d rather pay,’ Chantelle said, guessing that he’d take it as a green light to carry on chatting her up if she accepted.

He dipped his head in an
if you insist
motion and carried her money to the till, coming back a few seconds later with her change. ‘I haven’t seen you in here before.’ He rested his elbows on the bar. ‘First time?’

‘Mmmm.’ Chantelle took a sip of the drink and glanced back out across the room. Then, as if she’d seen someone she recognised, she said, ‘Excuse me’ and walked away.

She made her way to a dark corner from where she could see the door and, sipping on her drink, held up the fake phone. The lighting was dimmer in here than it had been in the car, and when –
if
– the man arrived, she wanted to make sure that she got a good clear shot of him.

An hour passed, and Chantelle was seriously regretting her decision to wear heels. Her feet were killing her, she’d already had to fend off two men who had tried hitting on her, and she was beginning to feel extremely self-conscious, sure that everyone in the room must have noticed her standing there and was secretly laughing at her. She knew it was ridiculous, because she wasn’t really waiting for anyone, but her pride was smarting at the thought that the other customers might assume that she’d been stood up.

She was just checking her watch to see how long she had left to suffer when the door opened and her target walked in. She recognised him immediately, and her heart began to beat a little faster as she watched him walk up to the bar. He was alone, but he was looking around as if expecting to see somebody. Seconds later he smiled, and when Chantelle followed his gaze she saw a blonde woman waving at him from a table in the far corner. Hands shaking, she moved into a better position and, pretending to be sending a text as Bill had instructed, framed the table in the screen.

Leon was slouched on the couch with the TV remote in his hand. He’d been flicking through the channels for ages, but there was nothing on that he was remotely interested in. Chantelle had changed the parental lock code, so he couldn’t access any of the sex channels; and the DVD player was broken so he couldn’t even watch a decent film.

Bored off his skull, he wandered over to the window when he heard a whistle outside. Shocked to see Damo and Acky standing down below, he quickly pushed the window open and leaned out.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Come down,’ Damo said. ‘I’ve got summat for you.’

‘Can’t,’ Leon called back. ‘Our kid’s out, and I haven’t got a key to get back in.’

‘What number you at?’

‘Four thirty.’

‘Be up in a minute.’

Leon closed the window and rushed to open the front door. He’d been upset when Damo had sent him home earlier in the day, convinced that Acky had finally got his way and had him kicked out of the gang. But now they were both here, calling for him, so they must still like him.

‘All right, kidda.’ Damo touched fists with him when he strolled up to the door a couple of minutes later.

Leon grinned and stepped back to let him in.

‘Wha’pp’n.’ Acky nodded and followed Damo in.

‘Fuck me, it’s colder in here than out there,’ Damo complained when they were in the living room.

‘My sis don’t like having the heating on too much,’ Leon muttered, embarrassed to admit that they couldn’t afford it.

‘Bit of a bossy fucker, her, ain’t she?’ Damo sneered, walking around the room. ‘Got a right gob on her, an’ all.’

‘I’d soon fill it for her,’ Acky said, grinning lewdly as he thrust his hips forward and mimed holding a head in front of them. ‘I’d be like, yo! Suck on this big boy, baby.’

Leon didn’t like that, but he kept his mouth shut, scared that Acky might turn on him if he said anything. ‘What’ve youse been up to?’ he asked instead, following with his eyes as Damo picked up ornaments and leafed through the letters Chantelle had propped behind the clock on the mantelpiece.

‘Just some stuff for Big T,’ Damo said evasively. ‘That’s why you couldn’t come with us, ’cos some jobs ain’t safe for little ’uns. Gotta look out for our baby soldiers, innit?’ he added, flicking Acky a sly grin.

‘Yeah. Can’t have you getting hurt ’cos of us,’ Acky agreed, flopping down on a chair and draping his legs over the arm. ‘Got owt to drink?’

‘Tea?’

‘Behave. I ain’t your fuckin’ dad!
Tea
, me arse.’

‘You’ll be
some
fucker’s dad before too long if you don’t start watching where you put it,’ Damo jibed. ‘That Julie you’ve been knocking off must have had about ten abortions this year. You wanna knock it on the head before she gets caught for one of yours, mate.’

Acky sucked his teeth in disgust and pulled his fags out of his pocket. Leon frowned when he sparked up, but didn’t dare ask him to put it out. Chantelle was bound to smell it as soon as she came in, but he’d rather have her go off on one because she thought he’d been smoking than risk pissing Acky off again.