The Front

by Mandasue Heller

Genres: Suspense

Synopsis

'One of the bad girls of gritty crime' Daily Mirror

When four old school friends decide to make some easy money, they pick the wrong target.
Very wrong.

Robbing a small supermarket on a Manchester estate looks easy - but with one of them wounded and a dead body on their hands, things can't get worse. But they do. The supermarket is merely the front for something bigger.

The friends are small fish who have unwittingly plunged into a very big pond and they are now swimming with the great white sharks of the criminal underworld.

'A cracking read that will chill you to the bone' Sun on Two-Faced

'Mandasue has played a real blinder with this fantastic novel' Martina Cole on Forget-Me-Not

Release date: July 23, 2009

Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton

Print pages: 416

Sample

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.

       Mal gripped the edge of his seat with as much cool as he could muster as they careered onto the main road on two wheels and hurtled towards the traffic lights ahead. The car had balls, he’d give it that. He just hoped Lee could handle it. It was too nice a day to end in a hearse.

       When all four wheels were back on solid ground, he relaxed enough to unhook his nails from the seat. ‘So what’s this “money, money, money” business?’ he asked. ‘And it better be good, dragging me out of me pit at this time of day.’

       Lee smiled. ‘Oh, it is, mate, it is. Remember that job I said I was working on?’

       Mal rolled his eyes. For a minute there, he’d actually thought Lee might have stumbled onto something that didn’t require his doing anything. Like a mislaid Securicor case stuffed full of cash, or something. But no – he was on with one of his crap schemes again.

       Leaning forward, he fiddled with the radio, flooding the air with The Smiths’ latest dirge. He sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Go on, then. What’s it gonna be this time? Taj Mahal? Crown Jewels? Hi-jacking a jumbo?’

       Lee shot him a sulky side glance. ‘Take the piss all you want,’ he said, his voice matching Morrisey’s for petulance. ‘But it’s right this time, and I’ve worked everything out proper like. Still, if you don’t wanna come in on it, I’ll just—’

       ‘D’y’ have to whine?’ Mal interrupted in a bored voice. ‘I ain’t said no, have I? I’m just saying it depends. Try clueing me up and I’ll let you know. What, when and where?’

       ‘Only if you stop taking the piss?’

       ‘Stop fannying around and tell me if you’re gonna.’ Mal lit another cigarette off the butt of his last and waited.

       Lee wanted to keep him guessing as a punishment, but managed all of three seconds before blurting out: ‘All right. It’s Pasha’s place. And it’s going off tonight.’

       Sure it must be a wind-up, Mal twisted around in his seat to look at Lee fully. ‘Pasha’s?’ he spat. ‘You’re having a laugh! That’s the poxiest shite-hole in Manchester! What d’y’ reckon we’re gonna pull from there? A pack of bleedin’ nappies and some fanny plugs? Jeezus!’

       ‘Nah, man, it’s perfect,’ said Lee, quite seriously. ‘I’ve been casing it for weeks and he is raking it in. Just think about it.’ He held up his hand and began to count off on his fingers: ‘Look at the threads he’s strolling about in – they’ve got to be worth a fair few bob, yeah? And that big fuck-off jeep he’s driving is twenty-five grand’s worth at least. And look at all them new security cameras and shit he’s had put in. How much d’y’ reckon that lot’s setting him back, eh?’ He raised a questioning eyebrow but didn’t wait for Mal to answer before continuing: ‘A fucking mint, that’s what!’ He shook his head, his lip twisting with contempt. ‘The cunt’s flashing it about something rotten, and by my reckoning, it’s time someone relieved him of some, know what I mean?’

       Gripping tight to his seat again as they sailed through a red light, narrowly avoiding a van, Mal considered what Lee had said and grudgingly agreed that he might just have a point. Pasha Singh, owner of the local supermarket, had been acquiring some heavy-duty goods recently, and to do that he must be making serious profits. And now that he thought about it, it also occurred to him that Pasha’s shop was virgin territory in the blagging stakes. All the other shops in the row had been done over numerous times, but never Pasha’s.

       It didn’t occur to him to wonder why.

       Lee saw the thoughts ticking over on Mal’s face and knew he was interested. ‘Well?’ he asked eagerly. ‘You up for it, or what?’

       Mal shrugged casually. It sounded just the boost his depleted funds needed, but he didn’t want to appear too eager – didn’t want Lee to get ahead of himself and start acting the great I Am.

       ‘Sounds all right,’ he said at last. ‘So long as you’ve worked it out right, ’cos I know what you’re like for ballsing things up.’

       Lee grinned confidently. ‘Nah, not this time, man. It’s a dead cert, this. I’ve worked everything out to a T – all the times and shit. It’ll be right, you’ll see. Especially with Sam and Ged in on it. The four of us together, man, we’d be like a bleedin’ army!’

       ‘They said they’ll do it, then?’ Mal asked.

       Lee shook his head. ‘Haven’t told ’em yet. But if Sam says yeah, Ged’ll do it and all. You know what them two are like. Anyhow,’ he went on with a grin. ‘I wanted to make sure you were in first. You’re me number one, ain’t you?’

       Mal allowed him a small smile for his loyalty, then asked, ‘So what we looking at?’ He just hoped Lee wasn’t planning on loading the car with fags and booze. He needed hard cash, not shopping.

       Lee shrugged. ‘Can’t be sure exactly, but I reckon it should be a fair few grand.’

       Mal frowned. ‘Won’t come to much, split four ways.’

       Lee pulled his head back. ‘Who said anything about a four-way split? Do I look a complete numpty?’

       ‘You don’t want me to answer that!’

       ‘Ah, shaddup!’ Lee grinned, then said more seriously: ‘Look, I’ve got it sorted in me head. If we drop them at Sam’s straight after and take the dosh back to yours to count, they won’t know how much we’ve got, so they’ll be none the wiser when we give them a third between them and split the rest between us, will they?’

       Mal pursed his mouth. ‘Oh, I dunno, mate. It still won’t come to that much. It ain’t really worth the hassle, is it?’

       ‘Come off it,’ Lee spluttered, taking his eyes off the road for a full five seconds. ‘Even if it’s only a couple of gees, it’s gotta be worth it for ten minutes’ graft!’ He grinned hopefully. ‘You’re just messing about, ain’t you?’

       Mal laughed out loud. ‘Course I am, you plank! Think I’m stupid or something?’

       ‘Yes!’ Lee yelled excitedly. ‘I knew I could count on you, mate. And here, seeing as you’re in . . .’ Reaching under his seat, he pulled out a crinkled plastic bag and tipped it up onto his knee. ‘Cop a load of this little beauty!’

       Mal’s eyes widened. ‘Holy shit!’ he gasped. ‘Where d’y’ get that? Giz a look.’

       Reaching across, he snatched up the gun and gazed at it in reverent wonder. He didn’t have a clue what make it was, but he knew a dangerous piece when he saw one – and this was deadly. A thrill ran through his groin as he stroked his fingers along the smooth matt-black finish. Guns were the ultimate turn-on – the ultimate frightener. And this one, as Lee had rightly said, was a little beauty.

       He whistled through his teeth respectfully. ‘Very nice!’ Turning it around, he squinted down into the barrel. ‘Loaded?’

       ‘Course!’ Lee said, his voice thick with pride. ‘It ain’t a toy, you know. That’s the real McCoy, that is!’

       Turning it streetward, Mal closed an eye and peered along the barrel, setting his sights on a young mother pushing a pram along the pavement. His finger quivered on the trigger, the urge to squeeze almost overwhelming.

       Kaboom . . . Kaboom!

       Blowing imaginary smoke away as the girl and her unseen sprog mentally hit the deck in a pool of blood and gore, he asked again where Lee had got it.

       ‘Jamie Wotsisface from the Eagle,’ Lee told him, jealously reclaiming the gun. Slipping it back into the bag, he stashed it safely back under the seat.

       ‘Junkie Jamie?’ Mal sneered, rubbing his tingling fingers on his thighs. ‘That rip-off merchant? How much did he rush you?’

       ‘A tenner,’ said Lee smugly. ‘He wanted fifty, but I bunged him a brownie and promised the rest later. Yeah, like he’s ever gonna see it,’ he cackled. ‘Suck-er! Anyhow, he wasn’t gonna say no, the state he was in, snottin’ and shakin’.’ He wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘Bleeding junkies, man. They’ve got no sense.’

       Mal nodded, totally agreeing with this sentiment. Smack was a mug’s game, in his opinion: it took a man’s pride, ate it up and spat it out. Now Charlie – that was the stuff. The essence of life. Mother of recreation. Charlie was the main man!

       ‘It’s only in case,’ Lee was saying now. ‘Just to shut him up if he gets lippy, like.’

       Mal pictured Pasha on his knees behind the counter, begging for mercy as Lee thrust the gun into his face, demanding all the dosh from the till. He shook his head. ‘Nah, he’s a pussy. You won’t need it.’

       Looking out of his window as they turned on to Barlow Moor Road, Mal’s forehead tightened into a frown. South Manchester sucked the big one. All twitching net curtains and 999 on permanent redial. You couldn’t blend into the background in places like this. Load of creepy bastards! He didn’t care how posh it was, he didn’t want to be here, and he’d make damn’ sure they didn’t stay too long. He didn’t know why Sam and Wendy had wanted to move up here in the first place – or how. It was supposed to have something like a ten-year waiting list.

       As if reading Mal’s thoughts, Lee said, ‘I think they were dead lucky getting a gaff up here. You seen it yet?’

       Mal grunted, ‘Nah. I ain’t had me invitation yet. Must’ve got lost in the post, eh? Anyhow, it’s a bit toffee for me. And I thought Sam would’ve had more sense and all. What’s he want to get stuck up here for?’

       Lee shrugged. ‘You know what Wendy’s like once she’s made her mind up about something. Remember how bad she kicked off when they offered her that dump in Sharston?’

       ‘Yeah.’ Mal smirked, remembering only too well. Wendy had an evil temper, and a tongue that could slice you in half.

       ‘I reckon they shoved her here to keep her quiet,’ Lee went on. ‘Her threatening to go to the news if they didn’t give her somewhere decent. They couldn’t exactly risk that with her fit to pop, could they? Ah, here it is.’

       Swinging through the gateway of a neat, pebble-dashed semi with a tidy gravel drive and a well-tended garden, he screeched to a stop, sending a spray of small stones across the lawn.

       ‘All right, isn’t it?’ He nodded towards the house, as proud as if it were his own. ‘And Sam’s well made up, being this far out, especially with that posse after his arse an’—’

       ‘You what?’ Mal cut him off with a frown. ‘I thought he’d sorted that?’

       Lee shrugged, opening his door. ‘So did he, but Jimmy Feeley give him the tip-off the other week that they ain’t too happy with his attitude now. They reckon he’s been dissing ’em, or something. Load of bollocks, but what can you do?’

       Mal was not happy about this last piece of information. The City Road Posse were an evil bunch of bastards, and Pasha’s shop was smack in the middle of their turf. Being seen with a marked man would be very dangerous, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to take that chance.

       ‘Hang about a minute,’ he said. ‘You reckon we should let Sam in on this? You know what that crew are like, man. It won’t just be him who cops it if they see him. We’ll all get it.’

       Lee shook his head, dismissing Mal’s concerns with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s cool, man, I’ve got it covered. I’ve got us some masks. And wait till you see ’em. They’re the works, man!’ With that, he got out and marched up to Sam’s front door.

       Mal followed reluctantly, unable to share Lee’s confidence. If Lee was wrong – which was extremely likely – bringing Sam along could seriously damage Mal’s health.

 

Sam frowned when he peeped out through the net curtain and saw Lee and Mal standing on his step. He was already having a crap day, thanks to Wendy making him look a complete bastard in front of his kids that morning, and these clowns turning up unannounced did nothing to raise his spirits. He was just glad she was out now or there’d have been hell to pay. It wasn’t Mal so much – she didn’t seem to mind him, for some reason Sam had never quite fathomed. It was Lee. She hated him with a passion, and had fully expected him to vanish off the face of the earth after they moved. She wouldn’t be too pleased if she came home and found him here now.

       With that thought in mind, he crept away from the window, hoping they’d think he was out and go away. But it was too late. Lee had already spotted him. With another glass-rattling hammering on the door, he lifted the letter-box flap and shouted: ‘I know you’re in! I saw the curtain move!’

       Sam cursed under his breath, knowing he couldn’t blatantly ignore them after that. It was Wendy’s fault, the bitch! She’d nagged him into submission – turned him into a pushover. She’d always been headstrong and opinionated, but these last few months, she’d turned into a Grade A ball-breaker. And there was nothing he could do about it, apart from belting her – and there was no way he was starting any of that shit, no matter how bad it got.

       Under this cloud of despondency, Sam opened the door without a word, then turned and sloped away, leaving Lee and Mal to make up their own minds if they were going to come in or not.

       Picking up on the atmosphere, Mal hesitated. But Lee had no such qualms. Hopping over the step, he followed Sam through to the showpiece lounge and threw himself into one of Wendy’s new chairs, jeering: ‘What’s up with you, you sad bastard? You look like you’ve had shit for breakfast!’

       Sam rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘It might come to that yet.’ Slumping even further down in his chair he stared at the floor, hoping they’d get the hint and leave in less than two minutes.

       Mal perched on the arm of the couch with a frown. Seeing Sam like this made him even more certain that they shouldn’t involve him in the job. The miserable shit would only put a damper on everything – if he didn’t get them wasted first!

       ‘Where’s the missus?’ Lee asked, helping himself to one of Sam’s cigarettes.

       ‘Out spending what we haven’t got,’ Sam told him glumly. ‘And don’t smoke that in here, she’ll have a fit. Take it out the back.’

       Lee laughed. ‘Piss off, I’ll open a window.’

       ‘I’m not joking!’ Sam snapped. ‘Take it outside!’

       ‘Behave yourself!’ Lee snapped back. ‘I ain’t a dog you can shove in the yard.’ Standing, he opened the window and parked himself on the sill, defiantly blowing his smoke outside.

       Sam gritted his teeth as a familiar wave of nausea signalled an impending migraine. He had to get rid of them ASAP. ‘Look, what you here for?’ he asked, looking pointedly at his watch. ‘Only I’ve got to go out in a bit  . . .’

       Mal’s hackles rose at the obvious brush-off. He fought down an impulse to jump up and kick Sam’s head in. The bastard knew how far they’d come – the least he could do was act pleased to see them. Pushing himself to his feet, he looked down on Sam with contempt, saying icily, ‘Don’t worry, we weren’t planning to stick around. You’re obviously too good for the likes of us now you’re living up here, eh?’ Still glaring at Sam, he motioned Lee to the door with a nod. ‘Come on, mate, we obviously ain’t welcome in his poncey new gaff.’

       Blushing at the partial truth of the words, Sam looked down at his feet. If they did but know it, Wendy had in fact said just that – about Lee, anyway. Still, he shouldn’t let her bully him into treating his mates like dirt.

       ‘Look, don’t go,’ he said as Mal made for the door. ‘Stay for a brew at least. I’m sorry for being such a git, but I’ve got a lot on my plate right now.’

       ‘We’ve all got shit to deal with,’ Mal snapped unsympathetically. ‘But you don’t see us moaning about it, do you? You want to sort your head out, mate.’

       Sam nodded contritely. ‘I know . . . I know, and I’m sorry. I’ll make that brew, eh?’

       ‘Four sugars,’ called Lee from behind the net, then: ‘ ’Ere! Who’s the bird with big tits going in next door?

       ‘E’ yar darlin’!’ he yelled out through the window. ‘What’s your name, then? You got a fella? Fancy a sha—’

       ‘Pack it in!’ hissed Sam, running across the room to drag Lee away from the window. ‘She’ll tell Wendy!’

       Mal and Lee exchanged an amused glance as Sam hurriedly slammed the window shut. Scared shitless of his own wife. How sad was that? The bloke needed a bollock transplant to remind himself who wore the kecks in the house.

       ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ Sam muttered, heading out of the room with his gaze cast down.

       Mal followed, all set to hammer a few more nails into the coffin of Sam’s manhood. Stepping into the kitchen, however, he was knocked back a step by the fluorescent yellow walls.

       ‘Fuck me!’ he exclaimed, throwing his hands up to shield his eyes. ‘Jesus wants me for a sunbeam or what!’

       Sam grinned sheepishly. ‘It is a bit, isn’t it? And if you think this is bad, you want to see what’s she’s planning for the conservatory!’

       ‘You ain’t got one of them, have you?’ Mal jumped up at the sink and peered out of the window to see for himself.

       ‘No,’ said Sam, ‘but it’s on her never-ending list, second only to the royal nursery!’ He shrugged dejectedly. ‘I’ve told her we haven’t got the money, but what Wendy wants, Wendy gets.’

       Lee popped his head around the door. ‘Does she want me?’ he asked hopefully. ‘ ’Cos she can have me anytime!’

       ‘In your dreams, you plonker!’ Mal snorted. Then, turning to Sam, he asked: ‘Is that what’s up with you? Dosh?’

       Sam nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Man, I’m so far up shit creek I’m gonna need a passport to get back home!’

       Lee came in and jumped up onto the ledge. ‘Might be able to help you out there.’

       ‘I doubt that,’ Sam muttered, moving him out of the way to reach for the kettle. ‘Not unless you’ve got a couple of grand going spare?’

       Lee grinned. ‘And if I did  . . .?’

       Sam narrowed his eyes. ‘Come off it. Where you going to get money like that?’

       ‘Where are we going to get it, you mean,’ said Lee, opening the cupboard behind him and helping himself to a chocolate biscuit.

       ‘Eh?’ Sam looked at him quizzically. ‘I don’t get you.’

       Lee looked at Mal. Mal hesitated, then nodded. It looked like Sam needed this even more than he did. The least he could do was let him in on it.

       Lee grinned and puffed himself up to play Santa Claus. ‘Right then . . .’ he began. ‘I’ve got this plan, see  . . .’

 

An hour later, Wendy and the kids arrived home, complete with the latest Sega games console and four brand new games. The console had cost a bomb, but Wendy didn’t care. It would serve Sam right for being too mean to buy the knock-off one they’d been offered that morning. She’d also treated herself to a couple of new dresses and a jacket. They’d cost almost as much as the kids’ stuff, but again she didn’t care a jot. Let Sam dare to complain – she’d soon set him straight. Anyway, he’d better get used to it, because she planned to buy lots more when she dropped this third – unplanned, unwanted – sprog he’d landed her with. She’d like to see him cart this monstrosity around for nine months without reward!

       Finding the driveway blocked by a car she had never seen before, she had no option but to park on the pavement, and she was not amused. After traipsing around the Arndale Centre all day, the last thing she needed was a further walk to get into her own house. And her with her swollen feet! Sam was such an inconsiderate shit!

       Marching up the path, she slammed the front door open and hustled the kids in, sending them straight upstairs to set the new game up on their week-old portable. Dumping her own bags in the hall, she stalked into the living room in figh