Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance (4 page)

BOOK: Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance
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Nicole

 

Once more, I was headed round to Mason's, but this time, everything had changed. I
knew
now, knew that he was married, knew that I had checked myself just in time - before I fell for him completely. Yes, I had feelings for him, but I had managed to stop myself just in time. All I had to do now was squash them down, bury them under the protective layer of clinical detachment, and I would be free.

I took a deep breath as I rang the doorbell, collecting myself. Every other time I'd seen him, I had been genuine. No front, no agenda. But I was wrong to do that. Now, I had to be the professional – one thing on the outside, another on the inside. A girlfriend on the surface, an investigator underneath. I could do this.

He opened the door and smiled when he saw it was me. Almost immediately, I could feel my resolve flagging. I could see that he looked tires as he wrapped his arms around me, drawing me in for a long, tight hug. I allowed myself a minute to enjoy it, feeling his strong arms around me, breathing in the smell of clean skin and maleness. I could stay like this forever. The hug wasn't a come on, a prelude to sex – instead he seemed to cling to me, as if he was trying to draw strength from me. Something had happened.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Come in and sit down. We need to talk," he said. His expression was grim and tense.

I followed him through to the living room, my mind racing.
We need to talk.
I knew what that meant, everybody did. Surely it was no coincidence that first his wife had turned up, and now we were having the talk. He had chosen her over me. I shouldn't care, not on an emotional level.
All I should feel
, I told myself,
is frustration at my contact becoming a dead end
. But I did care. Suddenly all I could feel was panic – wild, fluttering panic. I didn't want this to end.

"Before you say anything," I said. "Just let me say this. I'm not good at this – talking about my feelings – but I like you. I really, really like you. I think we have something different, something special."

I could feel tears brimming in my eyes. It wasn't just a line, something to keep the communication open. My heart was breaking.

"I really like you too," he said softly. "I didn't want to. I didn't want any of this – but it happened anyway. And because I like you, there's some stuff I need to tell you."

I braced myself for the end.

"I used to be married. It was a long time ago – I was young and stupid and thought that it was a good idea at the time. I never mentioned it before, because it's just not part of my life now. But she turned up here yesterday, my ex, Karen. She's gone downhill since I last saw her. She's hooked on smack, and selling herself to pay for it."

He looked so sad.

"So, you're going to be with her?" I said. "Try and get her off the junk?"

"What? Jesus Christ, Nicole, not in a million years!" He looked at me closely. "Is that what you thought I wanted to tell you? That I was dumping you for my junkie ex?"

He laughed, and the sadness in his eyes was chased away for a moment before it returned.

"It's not that. I'm not dumping you."

My heart soared. Whatever he had to say, I felt like I could take it.

"She told me that she has a kid. My kid. I'm the father. I didn't know – I had no idea. All the this time…"

"Wow," I said. "I don’t really know what to say. ‘Congratulations on becoming a father’ seems a bit inappropriate…"

He smiled thinly at my attempt to lighten the mood. It was obvious that there was more to come.

"It's not just that. She said that she can't look after him any more. She wants me to take him, to raise him."

"That's a big change," I said. "Do you want to?"

"I've been back and forth over it – I don't know. He'll have a dogs life with her, but what's to say I'd be any better at it? My life…" He gestured helplessly, "I don't have my shit together. I don't know anything about kids. I don't earn… legally. Nothing that bad, but not the kind of job a kid can be proud of. I'm not the kind of man a kid could be proud of."

I could see the pain on his handsome face. He was so full of self-doubt.

"That's bullshit," I said. "Any kid would be proud to call you father. You can do this, you know you can."

I leaned in and kissed him, softly at first, but then harder, our passion catching fire as it always did.

What are you doing
?
He's just admitted that he's a criminal, and you're encouraging him to take a child, an innocent child, into his care. What kind of police officer are you?

But I couldn't help myself. I couldn't sit there, and watch him torture himself with thoughts of his child. I knew he could do it, and I wanted to help him. I was crossing a line, and I wasn't sure if I could ever get back, but I didn't care. I had thought that I had lost him, but I hadn't. And now, I couldn't let him go…

Mason

 

The back room of the pub was thick with cigarette smoke. There were more men in here than in the main bar - this place was a dingy little hole way off the beaten path, not the kind of pub to see and be seen in. Which, of course, was the point. Any stranger walking in here would stand out a mile, which is why Terry English conducted most of his business meetings here.

We sat around the table, Terry’s collection of hard men, and listened to him speak. There was a new threat in town - a motorcycle club, the Sons Of Erin. They’d been around the north west for years, but it appeared that lately they’d been eyeing up Terry’s turf, trying to move in on his business ventures. Terry was fuming.

“Those Irish pricks can go fuck themselves,” he seethed. “I want eyes and ears everywhere. Any of get a sniff - one sniff! - of those dickheads doing business in my town, you get straight on the phone and tell me. Fucking Callaghan!”

That was the guy who ran the Sons, Donal Callaghan. I knew him, kind of. He’d been a friend of my father’s, back in the day. It was probably best not to mention it to Terry at this point, though. I could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. My dad had never been involved in the club - motorbikes weren’t really his thing. It was merely an Irish connection.

“Mason!” Terry roared, snapping me out of the past. “These are for you. Keep one in the house, and one on you at all times. Nobody goes around unprotected until this thing is settled. Dismissed!”

He slid a sports bag across the table to me, as the others got up from their seats.

“Have a look, son.”

I didn’t need to, not really. I knew what was in the bag. I opened it anyway. Two handguns - black, deadly, and completely illegal. Just to be found in possession of one was a guaranteed prison sentence. I pulled one out, testing the weight of it. I hadn’t held a gun since Iraq, and I was surprised to find it felt good. Safe.

“Thanks, Terry,” I said, and meant it. “What do I owe you for these?” The room was empty now, just me and him.

“Nothing, son. A gift. You’re a good lad, and I want you safe and well.” He looked around him, checking that everyone had left.

“There’s another thing. Your ex, Karen.”

My heart sunk. What trouble was she stirring up now? She’d been suspiciously compliant so far, bringing Damon round a couple times, never asking for anything or pushing the custody issue. I’d been giving her a few quid, of course, but I knew it wouldn’t keep her happy for long.

“What about her?”

“She’s approached Shirley, talked to her about working a few shifts at the parlour up on Derby Road. I wanted to sound you out before I gave the nod to Shirl, like.”

So that was what she wanted - a job at one of Terry’s brothels. They were shit holes, but I guess it was still better than working the streets. It was a thorny question. I didn’t want to give my blessing to it - my ex-wife, mother of my child, fucking anyone and everyone with £20 in their pocket. But if I didn’t, she’d be doing it on the street corners anyway. I sighed.

“She wants money. I’ll take care of it. Can I do anything more, earn a bit more cash?”

Terry looked genuinely concerned.

“And what’s the point of that, son? You graft, earn the cash, give it to her, she turns round and gives it to me - I run every smack dealer in this town. And it won’t be enough. It’s never enough with the smack heads. She’ll be on her back anyway.”

He was right - I was kidding myself if I thought I could finance Karen’s drug habit for her. No amount of money was enough - the addiction was only limited by how much money the addict could regularly get hold of. All I’d be doing would be making it worse.

“Take a step back from it, son. She’s not your problem any more. But if she’s in the parlour, then you can at least have eyes on her.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let her work in the parlour.”

“Besides,” Terry said, “I hear you’ve got a posh bird now. You’ll be needing all your spare cash to wine and dine that one! What did I tell you about not getting involved with the fairer sex, lad?”

He was laughing, and no wonder. Terry had been married for forty years, but everyone in town knew that he kept a string of women who were variously falling out with him, with each other, with any girl that Terry looked at, and generally causing trouble.

“You mind yourself though, with a posh bird. They’re not like us. They don’t understand how the world works. Make sure she doesn’t see that.” He nodded at the sports bag.

Was that true? Certainly, I couldn’t show Nicole the guns - she’d freak out. But the way that Terry had categorised her as being ‘different from us’, the way he’d not blinked an eye at my junkie ex-wife working for him, as a prostitute. Was that who I was, a Terry English? When I was with Nicole, everything felt right, felt solid. We were meant to be together. But to everyone else, was it so glaring obvious that we didn’t fit, that we were wrong for each other?

Before, I wouldn’t have given a shit, but now, with Damon, it mattered. Was I the man Nicole saw, a regular guy, a good boyfriend, a potentially good father? Or was I the man Terry saw, the gun-wielding hard man with the junkie ex?

Because that man could never hope to be a father, not at all…

Nicole

 

I was at Mason’s, as always. He seemed to have accepted that we always spent time together at his place, never mine. He could have come around - I’d cleared away any incriminating evidence after that first night, but the truth was I preferred it here. Not because I could gather information, although that was the official reason. Really, it was because I liked it here.

When we were here together, it was like our own private hideaway from the world. I could forget all the pressures that were weighing me down, and simply relax. It was only when I was at home, in my soulless apartment the police force had provided, that I could allow myself to think about the bigger picture, the consequences of my actions. One day, I would have to turn Mason in, along with the rest of Terry’s crew. I would lose him forever. I knew that it had to be done, but I wasn’t ready for it yet.
Just one more week
, I would tell myself,
one more week and then I’ll start cutting myself off, preparing for the drop.

The doorbell rang, breaking my train of thought. Mason wasn’t home - he’d gone to pick up a takeaway and some wine for our dinner. Had he locked himself out? No, he’d only been gone a couple of minutes - not enough time to be back.

Cautiously, I approached the door and peered through the spyhole. I could see a small, hooded figure waiting patiently on the step. Too small to be an adult. I opened the door.

“Is me dad in?” the small boy asked.

“Are you Damon?” I said, shocked.

“Yeah,” he said.

I looked up and down the street - there was no sign of the awful Karen.

“How did you get here?” I said.

“I walked here. Me mam hasn’t come home, and I’m hungry. Is me dad here?”

Jesus Christ! Damon was five years old - too young to even be out of bed at this time, let alone wandering the streets.

“He’ll be back soon,” I said, wondering how often this poor boy had heard that line, “Come in.”

I ushered him into the living room, unsure of what to do next.

He settled down in an arm chair, and I got my first proper look at him - Mason’s son. There was no question of paternity. This boy was him in minature form. The same wide blue eyes and unruly hair. Damon would be quite the lady-killer when he grew up.
If he grew up
, I thought grimly. Under Karen’s neglectful care, that was no guarantee.

“Your dad’s just out getting some food,” I said. “He won’t be long.”

The boy studied me.

“Are you Dad’s girlfriend?”

“I- yes, I am. I’m Nicole,” I said.

“You’re pretty,”

“Thanks,” I managed, floundering. I really didn’t know how to talk to kids. I wracked my brain, trying to think of something to say.

“Do you like I-spy, Damon?”

“What’s that?”

I explained the rules, and his face lit up. He was clearly unused to people taking an interest in him, and he seemed thrilled. By the time Mason’s key turned in the lock, we were getting on famously. He was an easy child to like.

“Was Karen here?” Mason asked nervously, from the doorway.

I smirked internally. Mason didn’t know that I’d ever seen Karen, and he had clearly been going to great pains to keep us apart.

“No, Damon has come here by himself,” I said, in a jolly, everything-is-OK voice.

“Me mam didn’t come home, and I’m hungry,” Damon piped up. “But Nicole said that you were bringing some food home. We’ve been playing a game.”

“Yeah, I’ve got the food right here, mate. Give me a minute to get it on some plates,” Mason said in the same bright tone I’d used.

What the fuck…
he mouthed over Damon’s head.

I followed him into the kitchen, closing the door so that Damon couldn’t hear.

“He walked here?”

“So he says. There was no sign of his mother, and he was freezing cold.”

“Jesus Christ. I’m going to kill her,” he whispered angrily. “If she ever turns up…”

He grabbed his phone and began to punch in a message. The reply was quick.

“She’ll pick him up tomorrow. No apology, no nothing,” he fumed.

“I won’t stay the night,” I said. I could see he was relieved.

“Well, I guess we’re having family night, then,” he said faintly.

I smiled. “I guess we are.”

 

A couple of hours later, it was time to go. I’d tried to leave earlier, but Damon had begged me to stay. All the games were more fun with three people, he’d pleaded, and it was hard to say no to him.

“I
have
to go now,” I said, laughing. “It’s nearly past
my
bedtime, never mind yours!”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Mason said, kissing me.

“Bye bye, Nicole. Thank you for playing with me.” Damon flung his arms around my waist, hugging me to him.

“No problem, little buddy,” I said, returning the hug.

I was smiling as I drove home - it had been an unexpectedly fun evening. As I let myself into the empty flat, though, my mood darkened.

What was I thinking?

I couldn’t sit around, playing happy families. I was a police officer, one with knowledge of a crime against an innocent child.

I mulled it over for nearly half an hour, going back and forth. But finally, my mind was made up. I picked up the phone.

“Social services? I’d like to make an anonymous report about a Karen O’Donnell. She’s been neglecting her son, and he’s at risk.”

 

 

BOOK: Mason: A Manchester Bad Boys Romance
13.2Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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