‘Boss?’ Mo looked up. Big Billy had popped his head round the door. He was sound, Billy – the sort of hired hand who knew where his bread was buttered. He was really Nico’s lad (if ‘lad’ was strictly the word, which it wasn’t) but now they were partners, and they were both paying his wages, Billy seemed to have no difficulty adopting Mo as a boss too. Which tickled Mo. Though at the same time, he knew how things worked. If he ever crossed Nico – highly unlikely, but never say never – there’d be no ‘boss’ about it. And Billy’s particular brand of talent was well known.
Mo raised his eyebrows in enquiry as he stubbed his cigar out.
‘There’s someone here wants to see you. A bird.’
‘Name of?’
‘Christine,’ said a woman’s voice, this time, pretty shrill. Then the sound of a slight scuffle outside.
Billy’s head popped back out of sight then the door fully opened. ‘Hey,’ he started. ‘You can’t just – hey!’
And in she bowled.
How long had it been now? Mo wondered. Then he mentally corrected himself. Sixteen years, give or take. And she’d changed. So much so that it gave him pause – Jesus, she looked so like her mother. He held her gaze. She looked like she had inherited her mother’s attitude as well.
He raised a hand. ‘You’re alright, Billy,’ he said. ‘Go on. I’ve got this.’ Then, once Billy had shuffled out and pulled the door shut after him, to Christine, ‘Well, well, girl. Long time no see.’
He gestured to the chair she was currently standing behind. Slim rather than skinny. Still pert. Good hair. A T-shirt and jeans on. He let his gaze linger. No trace of the raddled addict he’d last clapped eyes on years back. Mo had no time for drunks or crackheads. He’d had no time for her.
He wasn’t sure if he did now, guessing what she’d come to chew his ear about. He wondered if her own ears might have been burning lately, too.
She sat on the chair, pulling it forward by digging her heels into the carpet. ‘What’s your game?’ she said. ‘What d’you think you’re playing at, Mo?’
He leaned back in his own chair, conscious of his bulk and how slight she looked in comparison now she was seated. He watched her eyes taking stock, her gaze darting round the office, lingering here and there, looking for trouble.
‘I don’t play games, girl. You know that,’ he said mildly.
She made a sound, a sort of snort. Pushing her lips out in a kind of pout. ‘Yeah, right,’ she said. Then seemed to want to correct her expression. Like she hadn’t yet decided – now she was in here – quite how to play him. If that were even possible, which it wasn’t. She should know that.
‘Yes, right,’ he repeated. Then tented his fingers and waited.
‘Mo, what do you think you’re up to?’ she said, leaning her body forwards. ‘What’s your game? A fucking drum kit?’
He enjoyed seeing her agitated. Shades of the fiery mother he’d so often sparred with. To think blow-job fucking Brian was shagging her. It beggared belief.
He spread his hands. ‘I like the boy. He’s got something. He’s –’
‘So what are you? Father bloody Christmas? Mo –’ She leaned closer. ‘Why are you doing this? What do you want from him?’
‘Nothing.’ It was the truth. And he was happy to admit it. It irritated him that she couldn’t seem to see that for herself. He knew Joey didn’t need anything from him anyway. That was his charm. Bottom line, Joey didn’t need anything from anyone. Wanted stuff, sure – what kid didn’t at his age? But didn’t need anything. Because he was in a good place in his head. Because he hadn’t had a fuck-up of a life, bottom line. Fair play to Brian. Though that beggared belief too. How did so much shit end up coming up roses?
‘I like the boy,’ he said again. ‘I told you. He’s a good kid. You should be proud.’
His words seem to electrify her. ‘Christ, you think we’re not? He’s our boy, Mo. Ours. You can’t just turn up and start trying to turn his head like this. You can’t just come waltzing in and messing with his head the way you’re doing. You can’t –’
‘Tell him who I am?’
‘No! You even think about it and –’
‘I hadn’t been.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said again. ‘I know you. Don’t you forget that. I don’t know what’s going through that twisted fucking mind of yours, but if you so much as put the slightest idea in his head, then –’
‘What?’ He shook his head. ‘Babe, you know, you’ve not thought this through. Why would I want him to know who I am when we’re getting on so well?’ He leaned in. He could smell her. Some cheap body spray. Not unpleasant. Something had shifted between them. He wasn’t sure what. ‘He’s a nice kid,’ he said again. ‘And a looker. Good genes.’
He raised his brows, but only slightly, the reference clear enough.
Her eyes glittered. ‘Just back off, okay? Just back off him. Leave him alone. You’ve no right –’
‘It’s not about rights. Joey’s an adult. I’d say it’s up to him what he does, wouldn’t you? And right now I’m in a position to help him.’ He smiled. ‘And I’d like to. If he’ll let me.’
She exhaled hard. Then drew a breath in. ‘Why, Mo? Why are you doing this? All these bloody years and you come back and – are you trying to get him off me? Get back at me? Is that it?’
‘I’m not trying to get anything,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to do right by him. Well, as far as I can do. Which doesn’t take me far, I know. Whatever. It’s what it is. Call it a whim.’
‘A fucking whim? This is his life, you scheming bastard! A life you have no right to meddle in. You had your chance, you walked away. You didn’t fucking want to know!’
It was in that moment that Mo properly saw her. Saw the piece of scraggy arse she’d once been and how soon, having bedded her, he’d come to despise her. He’d not spent a single moment thinking about it since, much less regretting it. But now he saw it all so well. He’d been a piece of shit too.
He almost owed her. But not her. He owed the kid, just the kid.
‘And I hold my hands up to that,’ he said softly, sensing the power he had over her. It suddenly hit him that perhaps she had more to lose in this than he did.
She seemed to shrink a little. Had she just had the very same thought?
‘Just don’t, Mo,’ she whispered. ‘Just don’t.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘And don’t fucking speak like you’re in a bloody gangster film,’ she spat at him. ‘Just don’t tell him. Back off, Mo. I mean it.’
‘I had no intention, babe. I just told you,’ he said.
And in that instant, he realised he didn’t mean it at all. She’d forgotten. No one told him what to do.
Joey climbed down the ladder he had only just climbed up. ‘Bloody typical,’ he huffed as he finally reached the ground. Heavy raindrops were already soaking into his T-shirt, and he knew there was little point in carrying on.
Not that he hadn’t had