The Front
The Front
Mandasue Heller
Copyright © 2002 by Mandasue Heller
First published in Great Britain in 2002 by Hodder and Stoughton
A division of Hodder Headline
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
Epub ISBN 9781848942981
Book ISBN 9780340820247
Hodder and Stoughton
A division of Hodder Headline
338 Euston Road
London NW1 3BH
To my amazing family
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following for their support and encouragement:
My beautiful mother – JEAN HELLER – for everything.
My gorgeous partner – WINGROVE WARD – for endless love & support.
My fantastic children – MICHAEL, ANDREW, & AZZURA – for being who they are.
Special thanks to my family – AVA, AMBER, MARTIN, JADE, REECE & KYRO.
NANA, DOREEN & Co.
DANIEL & NATALIE.
KAINE BROWN – for opening the windows.
Many thanks to my agents – CAT LEDGER & FAYE WEBBER. (Talkback) for help and belief.
NICK AUSTIN.
Every-lovely-one at HODDER, especially:
BETTY SCHWARTZ – my guardian angel . . . need I say more?
And lastly – but by no means least . . . My fabulous editor – WAYNE BROOKES (it was meant to be!)
1
Mal woke with a start to the shrill ringing of the phone on the bedside table. He raised his head, but dropped it back when a sickening flash of pain tore through it. His stomach lurched in sympathy. Too much lager the night before.
Never again
! Groaning, he pulled his pillow up around his ears and waited for Suzie to pick the phone up. She didn’t.
‘Oi!’ he croaked, lashing an arm across the bed to wake her. Hitting empty space instead of the expected shoulder, he forced his eyes open, clamping them shut again as a stream of sunlight struck them like a hammer blow. Why had the stupid bitch opened the curtains when he was still asleep? And where was she, anyway?
Annoyed as much by Suzie sneaking off as by the still-ringing phone, he rolled across the bed and snatched it up. An unmistakable snigger flooded his ear.
Lee
! He might have known it’d be that little dickhead. Who else would bother him at this time?
‘Whaddya want?’ he grunted.
‘You still in bed, you lazy cunt?’ Lee yelled.
Mal peered at the small bedside clock but couldn’t focus. It could have been six in the morning for all he knew. It sure as hell felt like it.
‘Why, what time is it?’ Pushing himself upright, he reached for an urgent hit of nicotine.
‘Near enough two!’ Lee was still yelling. ‘Time you was up and about, matey. What you doin’, anyhow?’
‘Getting a fucking headache, thanks to you!’ Mal yelled back. ‘Keep your bleeding gob down, will you!’ Lighting the cigarette, he sucked on it hard, exhaling noisily.
‘Fine way to greet a mate who’s about to do you a favour,’ Lee said.
‘You’d have done me a favour by letting me kip in peace,’ Mal retorted grumpily.
‘You’ll thank me when you know what it is.’
‘I bleedin’ won’t!’
‘You will, mate,’ insisted Lee. Then, with another irritating snigger, he began to sing: ‘Money, money, money!’
Despite his mood, Mal’s ears pricked up. ‘What money?’ he demanded. ‘What you on about?’
‘You’ll see,’ Lee told him archly. ‘All’s I’m saying is it’s a biggie! I’ll be outside in twenty, yeah?’
‘Piss off. I ain’t getting up yet.’
‘If you wanna earn top dollar you will. Anyhow, I’ve gotta give you a ride in me new babe-mobile! Man, you’ll wanna shag it when you see it, it’s so gorgeous!’
‘Where did you get the sponds for a new motor?’ Mal asked grumpily. ‘You’re always skint.’
‘Bit a this, bit a that,’ said Lee. ‘You know the score, man. Anyway, look, I gotta go, so I’ll see you in twenty, yeah? And don’t be late ’cos we’re going to Sam’s.’ And with that, he hung up.
Mal slammed the receiver down hard. He hated it when people did that: hung up before he had a chance to tell them to piss off. Still, Lee had mentioned money, and if anything was guaranteed to get him out of bed it was the ever-elusive dollar. Needs must, and all that – and Charlie was becoming a very greedy lover these days!
Stabbing the cigarette out, Mal pushed the quilt aside and staggered to the bathroom for a cold shower.
Twenty minutes later he heard a series of rapid horn-blasts down below signalling Lee’s arrival. Giving himself a last look-over in the mirror he headed out – feeling much more on form than earlier, thanks to two nice lines of premium-white.
Strolling along the fifth-floor balcony, whistling as he walked, he breathed in the crisp April air and looked down on the great sprawl of grass separating Robert Adam Crescent from William Kent. It was a pale greeny-yellow in the weak afternoon sun, heralding spring – his favourite time of year. And today was a particularly fine specimen. Bright enough for shades – nippy enough for his new black leather jacket. The perfect posing day. A Stallone kind of a day.
In the car park down below, Lee was happily revving the balls off his new car: a metallic grey Mark II Escort, with blacked-out windows, alloy wheels, chrome trim, and a full body kit, including state-of-the-art tail fin. He couldn’t wait to see Mal’s face when he saw the motor. He’d be green.
It was the flashiest car Lee had ever owned – and, at two and a half gees, the most expensive. Still, he hadn’t paid a penny yet – and maybe never would. He hadn’t made his mind up yet. It would teach the bloke a lesson if he didn’t. What kind of idiot must he be to hand his car to a complete stranger and seriously expect him to turn up with fifty quid a week just because he’d said he would? The bloke had to be a candidate for Prestwich.
Running his hands around the worn leather steering wheel, he felt a thrill of pride. It was a little beauty, there was no denying that. Maybe he’d bung the bloke a couple of tons for goodwill – if he got the wedge he expected tonight. But then again . . . maybe not. The bloke had said everything was in perfect working order, when in fact, the cassette player didn’t work. The radio did, but that wasn’t the same. And maybe it was a tiny blip in the greater scheme of things, but to Lee it was a blatant lie, and he didn’t see why he should honour his side of the bargain, given that.
Spotting Mal striding towards him through the tunnel beneath the flats, Lee lowered his window and stuck his greasy blond head out, already grinning in anticipation of Mal’s envy. Then he saw what he was wearing and shook his head. What did the cunt think he looked like? Gel-slicked hair, leather jacket – collar up – and ironed jeans –
ironed
, for fuck’s sake! Nobody ironed their jeans!
‘ ’Ere,’ he jeered, squinting against the sun as he looked Mal up and down. ‘What you ponced up for? You look like a right batty boy!’
‘Nothing wrong with looking good,’ Mal retorted, pointedly returning the look. ‘You want to try it yourself, mate. You could start by buying yourself a toothbrush. And a shower once in a while wouldn’t go amiss, know what I mean?’
Too thick-skinned to take this personally, Lee grinned, his cheeks creasing into deep, dirty lines around a mouthful of partially rotted teeth. ‘Nah, I’m handsome enough as I am, me. And birds go for the natural smell, innit?’
‘If you say so!’ Mal snorted, wondering exactly what kind of bird would go for the scent of week-dead donkey? Certainly none he’d care to meet.
Lighting a cigarette, he dangled it from the corner of his mouth and dipped down to check his immaculate black hair in the wing mirror, then slipped his shades on. A Latin James Dean now, he sucked on the cigarette, letting the smoke swirl out from his nose.
Lee laughed. ‘You’re a right poser, you!’
‘You’re calling me a poser?’ Mal drawled. ‘Sitting there like the dog’s bollocks on wheels!’
‘Yeah, but ain’t she gorgeous?’ Lee said, giving his door a proud pat.
Mal flicked his eyes over the car with studied detachment. It looked shit-hot, but he was buggered if he was going to tell Lee that. Giving him the slightest hint of approval gave him licence to go on and on until you had to slap him to shut him up. Anyway, he didn’t deserve praise after his snide cracks.
‘It’s all right, I suppose,’ he said after a minute.
‘All right?’ squawked Lee. ‘It’s a pure babe-magnet, this!’
‘Put a magnet near this, it’s a goner, mate,’ Mal snorted. ‘It’s bogged up all over the show.’
‘Leave it out!’ Lee protested. ‘It’s in top nick, this. The bloke told me—’
‘A load of old bollocks!’ Mal cut him off with a smirk. ‘Now how many times have I told you not to believe everything you’re told, eh? Anyhow, you should have asked me to go with you if you were shelling out for wheels – you know you ain’t got a clue.’
‘Thanks,’ muttered Lee, deflating fast.
Mal shrugged. ‘Hey, man. What are mates for?’ Hopping in the passenger side, he slapped a hand down on the dash. ‘Come on, then. What you waiting for? Let’s go!’
Lee brightened immediately, more than happy to demonstrate what his new baby could do. Mal wouldn’t be so quick to criticize when he got a taste of the action. Throwing it into first gear, he rammed his foot to the floor and rocketed out of the car park with a tyre-burning screech.
