All That Mullarkey (37 page)

At least a thousand years older, Cleo extracted it. Held it in the air with distasteful fingertips. ‘Spare SIM card?’

She forced herself to watch Gav, the panic of expressions jostling across his face, the sweat beading his pallor, the furtive tongue moistening his lips. ‘No law against it, is there?’

From behind her she heard Justin laugh. ‘That depends what you use it for.’

Cleo was tired. So extraordinarily, desperately, hopelessly spent, so exhausted that even breathing seemed effortful. She pushed the card slowly into the deep pocket of her coat, closing her fingers round, feeling the corners dig in. She heard her own voice, but as if from a dream. ‘What would happen if we took this SIM card to the police?’

Gav’s eyes widened.

She waited. Justin fidgeted. Silence lengthened. Abruptly, Cleo flumpfed down onto one of the chairs, her ears ringing unpleasantly. ‘Oh Gav! Was it all too easy? I suppose you sat here persuading yourself that all your troubles were down to Justin, then swapped the unregistered, prepaid SIM card into your phone. Then what? Ring Justin at two in the morning? Call out the fire brigade to his address? Order him a pizza? These untraceable calls, did they make you feel clever?’

Despite her angry attempts to stop it, her voice began to shake. Ignominiously, she had to blow her nose before continuing. ‘And you even
set fire to his flat
. Gav, you
bastard
. Shona might’ve been inside. You could’ve killed my baby!’

Gav’s voice was bleak but defensive. ‘The fire wasn’t down to me. It was when the police began asking questions about it … well, that’s what gave me the idea. The bastard deserves a hard time. If you just think what he’s done to me
 
–’

Justin interrupted, sounding somehow satisfied. ‘That would explain how the campaign appeared to become cleverer. Presumably, the lunatic tenants began it but were put off by the police enquiries, and you took over? What about the guys who set on me in Muggie’s?’

Cleo interrupted her nose blowing to glare at Gav. ‘Manny?’

After a moment, Gav nodded.

Cleo explained drearily to Justin. ‘Ian Mansfield was at school with Gav. He’s a trained bodyguard.’

Justin nodded slowly. ‘He could really handle himself, that guy.’ He stared meditatively at Gav. ‘You’ve gone to extraordinary lengths to make me miserable. Particularly by involving the CID.’

Gav smiled, thinly. ‘When you moved in with Cleo I had to get creative so she wouldn’t be hurt. I wrote to the police a couple of times, but nothing seemed to happen. Then I rang Crimestoppers. Efficient service, isn’t it? Aren’t you impressed?’ He took off his glasses. ‘Are you sorry yet that you screwed my wife?’

Justin took his hands out of his pockets. ‘Not one bit.’

The air almost crackling with the hostility between the two men, Cleo spoke swiftly to claim Gav’s attention before he flared up. She let her voice emerge as a hiss. ‘You’re going to stop now.’ Her hand tightened over the SIM card. She watched his eyes.

‘I suppose so.’ A pause. ‘Are you going to the police?’

She glared. ‘I should do. But we’ve got the card so I think you know it’s over. Your nasty games and cowardly conniving are useless now we’re in the know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And
just you try anything else
– I will go straight to the police.’

His lip quivered momentarily. ‘I don’t know why you spoiled what we had.’

‘I don’t think we ever had anything.’ She mustn’t give him even a microcosm of hope to cling to. ‘My solicitor will write to you.’

He nodded slowly, miserably.

‘Apart from that, I don’t want contact.’

A final nod.

She let the silence spin out, before turning to leave.

Gav sank onto the sofa, let his head tip back, and closed his eyes.

His heart, which had been thumping against his ribs, began finally to slow. The worst had happened: he’d been found out. He almost felt relieved. Continuing the vendetta was now impossible. He had his dark moments, like anyone, but sustaining a hate campaign had consumed him. He wasn’t a bad bloke. Not really. He’d got carried away. That was all.

He clenched his eyes and thought about Cleo with that
bastard, Justin. Deliberated carefully how they’d been together
in his house, their body language towards one another. That
Justin had kept his distance, not making even a single
gesture towards Cleo when she became angry and upset.

He opened his eyes.

It was for all the world as if their affair was over. In fact, the more he considered it, the more convinced he became. Justin hadn’t tried to console Cleo, Cleo hadn’t looked to Justin for comfort. They were no longer lovers! Any fool could see that, if they looked in the right way.

He went into the kitchen and reached into the fridge for a beer, cracked it open and took a shaky draught.

If Cleo wasn’t with Justin, he didn’t feel so bad. Gav might not have won but neither had Justin. Tipping his head back, he let the icy, angry fizz of the beer race into his mouth. So he hadn’t really lost.

There seemed little point hanging around now. He’d ask Dad for a couple of Doncaster papers and look for another job in the friendly north. At the interviews they’d want to know why he’d been shuttling about between jobs. He’d smile ruefully and explain about Mum’s death, Dad’s health, that he felt uneasy about him living alone. They’d appreciate his loyalty. And, he’d add, who wouldn’t want to live in Yorkshire, given the choice? They’d grin and nod at one another.

He’d tell Dad he’d tried his best with Cleo.

He was going to miss her.

Cleo was upstairs. Justin could hear her footfalls. Bathroom, landing, Shona’s room. Her murmurs falling into the soothing cadences of the bedtime story. Shona’s bird-voice replies.

He turned on the television ready for
Frost
. If she took much longer, she’d miss the beginning. He tuned out the irritating adverts and considered events.

That utter shite monster, Gav! Fancy it being him. So much grief. Everything since the fire down to him. Months of fury over unwanted deliveries, nuisance calls, being roughed up. And worst, of course, the police, the kiddie porn thing. Fancy him doing all that. Bastard.

He jerked suddenly, waking to stare uncomprehendingly at David Jason’s face, exasperated under his trilby, on the screen. Had he been asleep? The video clock suggested that half an hour had mysteriously disappeared from his life.

Funny Cleo hadn’t come down. But, now that Shona was in a bed rather than a cot, Cleo got so cuddled up and comfy that she occasionally dozed off, too. If he looked in he’d see her fringe sliding across her face, lips slack, arm round their daughter, book fallen across her legs. He trod up the stairs.

But no, Shona was alone in mouth-open sleep, titchy and adorable in the full-size bed.

On the landing he hovered outside Cleo’s closed bedroom door, slightly disappointed. They often watched police dramas together, theorising who’d “dunnit” and whether the personal problems of the detective in question were going to have a bearing on the finale. Maybe she needed space, an early night? Funny she hadn’t even shouted down that she wasn’t bothering with
Frost
.

He turned away.

From behind the old-fashioned, panelled door, he heard Cleo blow her nose.

He turned back, hesitated, then tapped on a panel. ‘Fancy a coffee?’

Her reply sounded thick. ‘No thanks.’

‘You’re missing
Frost
.’

‘Am I? Oh.’ More nose blowing.

He cocked his head, listening hard. ‘Are you OK? Can I come in?’

‘No! I mean, I’m fine – you go watch telly.’ Her voice wavered and caught.

Oh right, he was bound to. He opened the door.

On the far side of the bed Cleo was an instant too late in rolling onto her other side to hide the red blotches around her eyes.

He made his voice gentle. ‘You’ve been crying.’

Shaking her head, she wiped furiously at her face. ‘’Course not.’

He rested one knee cautiously on the bed. ‘Are you upset about losing contact with Gav?’ He dropped his hands onto the quilt cover strewn with lilac blossoms and crawled a couple of feet towards her.

She shook her head, snatching three clean tissues from the box beside her and burying her face in them. Her shoulders shook.

Hmm. Well, he couldn’t just crouch next to her like some guardian ape. He eased full length then scooted until he was spoon-like behind her, an inch away. Tentatively, he patted her shoulder.

For a moment, she stiffened. Then, abruptly, wriggled round, buried her face against his shoulder and collapsed into big, chest-tucking, head-aching sobs. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she choked. ‘I’m so, so sorry. How could I’ve not realised? How could I marry a man like that, a cunning, low bastard? All that trouble, because of me, my fault, all the time, my fault!’

Somehow his arms got themselves wrapped around her back. ‘It wasn’t.’

‘But it was! Because of me! It could’ve driven you round the bend, you could’ve lost your job or gone to prison.’

He tutted. ‘You’re not responsible for a sad git who copes with rejection in such a shitty, underhand manner. Also, you didn’t sleep with his wife – I did!’

Her sobs became a strangled laugh and she settled into a thoughtful, sniffy silence. He even had the opportunity for a bit of thought. To slowly assimilate that he was lying on Cleo’s bed with Cleo clutched to his chest. The bedclothes were soft and smelled freshly laundered. Her shoulder blade was firm and warm under one of his hands, the nape of her neck soft and downy beneath the other.

His hands were developing a yen to travel, to trail across her back, tiptoe up the ladder of her ribcage, to brush across her breast and feel the nipple harden.

He eased his hips away. Wouldn’t want to worry her with a stonking great erection. Mustn’t take advantage of a damsel in distress.

But her chest touching his like that was a bit of an attention-grabber. He allowed one hand to drift from her nape to smooth the glossiness of her hair.

And that’s when all hell broke loose at the front door, a creative rhythm of knock-knock-ring-ring, ring-ring-knock-knock.

Cleo jerked backwards.

After a moment, he rolled away from her. ‘I’ll see who it is.’

Thump-thump, the beat in her heavy head pounded with every movement. But after five minutes with a cold flannel, her face no longer looked like uncooked sausage. Cleo combed her hair and trod downstairs.

Justin had taken the visitor into the sitting room and hadn’t come back upstairs. Why would he? So she could blub all over him again? Men hated being cried over, he’d probably been delighted that answering the door had provided an excuse to leave.

At the foot of the stairs she halted, recognising Drew’s voice over the companionable sound of hissing ring-pulls. Crap. Could she be bothered with Drew tonight? Probably not. She’d tried to get on with him when he called to see Justin, but it was a lost cause.

Whether she kept in the background, ignored him, tried to be friendly or batted his little barbs straight back, he was offish and snippy towards her. But she wanted a glass of water because her throat was raw. And whose house was this, anyway? Was she a woman or a mouse?

She got as far as the partly open door before Drew’s scornful tones stopped her. ‘So, where’s the mother of your child tonight?’

She listened to Justin’s laconic, ‘Around.’

Drew. ‘Thought you might be babysitting. Again.’

Justin, taking a swig before answering. ‘Not tonight.’

She was just considering stepping into view when Drew said, ‘So, why are you never out with your buddies?’

‘What about last Friday?’

‘The first time for a month! What’s the matter with you, mate? Surely she lets you off the leash sometimes? Off stud duties?’

The leather of the sofa creaked before Justin replied. ‘No leash, no stud duty. But it’s my business – OK?’

Cleo lifted her hand and wiped away a small bandana of sweat. This wasn’t very nice, listening, but she was kind of stuck. Maybe she should back quietly away. Or just stride in with a big smile and get herself that drink. She licked her lips.

Drew’s laugh sliced across her thoughts. ‘So if I say, “Let’s go to the pub”, what do you say?’

‘Not tonight.’

‘Because you haven’t got permission?’

She wished she could see Justin’s expression. His voice gave nothing away. ‘Because Cleo’s had some bad news and she’s upset. We can go tomorrow night, if you like. Or Friday.’

She heard Drew sigh. ‘Jus, it was bad enough that when you found out you’d got a kid you showed dreadful signs of responsibility. But since you moved in here you’re a saint. Wake up, mate. She’s had to give up the clubbing and bad behaviour, so she’s settled for this domestic shit. She’s trapped and she’s trying to trap you with her.’

‘Do you think so?’ Justin’s voice sharpened.

‘This woman’s just a heap of baggage and a reasonable body.’