Читать книгу Hidden Sin: Part 3 of 3: When the past comes back to haunt you - Julie Shaw, Julie Shaw - Страница 5

Paula glanced up at the small staff-room wall clock, willing the hands to move faster towards two. She’d come in early, but with Mr Hunter having been so accommodating about her reducing her hours, she didn’t think it fair to push it by asking to leave early as well.

Her friend Susie, still on lunch, begged to differ. ‘Just go,’ she said. ‘It’ll be well past two by the time he gets back. And if you don’t leave now, you’re going to miss your bus. And your chance to progress the cause for women everywhere. It’s almost your civic duty to get down there and state your case. And I’m sure that, old fart that he is, Mr Hunter would agree.’

So she’d left work, feeling better that she’d shared it all with Susie, because her attitude towards strippers and pole dancers was unequivocal – as it would be, given that Susie’s former fiancé had been caught in flagrante with a bloody lap dancer. So it at least put the lie to Paula’s early-hours concern that it might be her, and not the men, who was out of step with the real world; that she was being prissy and old-fashioned; that some girls did feel empowered by that kind of work. No, her resolution – that she would not back down on this – had been the right one.

She knew digging her heels in again might mean she would have a fight on her hands – God, Mo could even sack her if he felt like it – but she felt strangely calm as she hopped off the first bus at the interchange and ran into the baker’s to pick up a pasty.

She didn’t suppose she’d be eating again till teatime at least and, having foregone breakfast in favour of arguing (though not that unpleasantly) with Joey, needed something to soften the sharp edges of the hangover that were still hammering gently at her temples. In a day full of mistakes – that dress; what had she been thinking? And sitting there snivelling with bloody Mo – staying up with her mam till the small hours, drinking lager, had to rate as the worst. Even if the hangover, which had woken her too early, and still fuming, had at least helped to crystallise her thinking. Whatever impression she’d given to Mo the previous evening, she was now doubly resolute. She mustn’t budge on this. Not an inch.

And Joey, whose call she’d refused to take when she got home, had clearly had second thoughts too. Not about the strippers exactly; as he’d said when she’d deigned to call him back on her break this morning, Mo and Nico could and would do exactly as they pleased. But about his own stance. If Paula didn’t want any part in it, then so be it. He’d tell Mo he didn’t want any part in it either. He was a prize idiot (his term), and she was worth way too much to him.

She ate the pasty on the second bus and made the club just on time, where inside the bar, Joey, Mo and Nico were sitting around one of the tables chatting, and thankfully drinking coffee rather than alcohol. The mood seemed light, which was a relief – they all greeted her amiably enough – but she still took a deep breath before walking over to join them.

‘Afternoon,’ she said cheerfully as she pulled a chair across from an adjacent table. ‘Did you decide to do all the bookkeeping for me?’

Mo slid the pile of green-backed books towards her. ‘Not at all,’ he said, smiling. ‘Just been looking at some totals. Don’t worry – we’ve left the donkey work for you.’

She pulled them towards her. The bookkeeping didn’t feel like donkey work to Paula. She’d felt proud to be entrusted with it, not least because of the trust – she was now privy to the amount of money the club was making, which was pretty impressive. She enjoyed the work for its own sake as well. Numbers had always been her strong point, and she derived great satisfaction from poring over all the receipts, wages and till rolls and transferring the information into neat, unblemished columns in the gold embossed Sage accounts books. She did a professional job, and she knew that was important. Mo had told her more than once that her accounts needed to be 100 per cent accurate, as they were going to be looked at by the taxman and their accountant.

She reached for the other paperwork and the plastic packets that held all the invoices. ‘Business is good, then?’ she asked, scooping all the various bits up. In truth, though the figures all seemed very impressive, she still didn’t have a full picture of just what it might cost to run a huge place like Silks. The size of the figures were, for the most part, pretty mind-boggling.

‘Oh, indeed,’ Nico agreed, winking at Mo as he spoke. ‘Very good.’

A few papers fluttered to the floor as she tried to make a pile of them. ‘Well, in that case, maybe I can put in a requisition for a desk,’ she said, wondering quite when the elephant in the room was going to come up.

‘We can do better than that,’ Nico said. ‘As of next week you shall even have an office. Billy’s working on fitting it out as we speak. On which note –’ He stood. ‘I need to speak to my wife. She is a very expensive woman, and I need to indulge her, so she’ll be very pleased to know just how good.’

‘Even without the strippers,’ Mo said, once Nico was safely out of earshot.

‘Mo, look,’ Paula began, but he held a hand up to silence her.

‘There’s no need to worry your pretty little head about that further.’ He glanced at Joey. ‘Assuming I’m allowed to use a phrase like that?’

‘For God’s sake, of course you are,’ Paula began. ‘Mo, it’s just that –’

‘It’s fine, babe,’ Joey told her. ‘Me and Mo have had a chat about everything, and –’

‘And the subject is now closed,’ Mo said firmly. ‘Well, at least for the moment. It was just one of many ideas we’ve been throwing around. But as we’re doing so well already – well, we don’t even really need it, do we? And the last thing I want to do is cause trouble between the two of you, for the sake of a few grand, so, as I say, consider it forgotten.’

‘Really?’ said Paula. Could it really be that easy? Joey obviously had more influence over Mo than he’d thought. More than she’d thought. While Joey and Mo knuckled down to sorting out the stocktaking and the following week’s brewery order, she took her bookkeeping to another table feeling much lighter of heart, even if somewhat bemused.

Paula’s buoyant mood wasn’t destined to last, though. The bookkeeping done, and after a much more fond farewell to Joey (who was off to see his friend Dicky for a lads’ night in), she headed home with a quieter evening in prospect. Susie had invited her over, so she could hear the outcome, but Paula had declined. After last night, her needs were of a less sociable variety – tea, a long hot bath and a welcome early night. But as soon as she entered the house, she knew it probably wasn’t going to happen. She could see that straight away, by the expression on her mother’s face – not to mention the way her arms were folded across her chest and the fact that she was tapping one slippered foot. If Paula had had a hangover, her mother would almost certainly have had a worse one.

‘So you’re finally home then,’ her mam said. ‘I need a word with you, young lady.’

‘What d’you mean “finally”?’ she countered, irritably noting the ‘young lady’. ‘I’ve been at work all day, haven’t I? And I’m knackered. Can’t it wait?’

‘No, it can’t,’ her mam said. ‘And come into the kitchen please, where your brothers can’t hear us. They’re trouble enough, and I don’t want them knowing their big sister still doesn’t have the sense she was born with.’

Paula gaped at her mam. Where had all this come from? Then at her father, who was sitting on the sofa, pretending to read the paper. Seeing it, she wondered if the write-up on Silks was finally in, plus the much-anticipated photo, having been ‘spiked’ or so they’d told them, due to a factory fire. Was that what this was about? The bloody photo? But what could she possibly have to object to about that? She felt glad she’d had the good sense not to mention the stripper idea the night before.

She followed her mam into the kitchen. She wanted a cup of tea anyway. ‘What are you on about?’ she said as her mam shut the door. ‘Christ, I’m a grown woman, you know – not a child.’

‘Then it’s high time you started acting like one then, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘Don’t play the innocent, Paula. God, I can’t believe you’re so taken up with that cunt of a bloke that you can’t see beyond the end of your fucking nose.’

Paula gaped again, bewildered. What the hell was all this about? Joey? No, it couldn’t be. ‘Mo?’ she said. ‘You mean Mo, I presume?’

‘Who the fuck else would I mean? Of course Mo. Or Rasta Mo, to use his full name, formerly of this fucking parish.’

‘It’s Macario Brown, actually,’ she corrected. What was her mam on? ‘And what exactly is it that I’m supposed to be seeing anyway?’

‘Don’t take that tone with me,’ her mother said. ‘And take that look off your face, too. If you don’t know what you’re getting into, then you’re even stupider than you look.’

‘What then, Mam?’ she said, sitting down on the battered stool her mam usually sat on to peel veg straight into the rubbish bin. ‘Thanks for the compliment, but what exactly am I “getting into”?’

‘You tell me.’ Her mam folded her arms across her chest again.

‘Tell you what?’

‘Paula, are you seriously telling me you don’t know what goes on there?’

‘What does go on there?’

‘Trouble, that’s what. Criminal trouble. Pimps and drugs. And don’t look so surprised. Christ, even your little sister seems to know more about that bloody place than you do.’

‘Lou?’

‘Yes, Lou. Did you happen to know, for instance, that it’s now the number one place to go to these days to buy your street drugs? Did you know that every pimp in bleeding Bradford goes down there to tout his wares?’ Her mother shook her head. ‘And that’s probably just the tip of the fucking iceberg.’

‘Lou? How on earth would Lou know about stuff like that?’

‘Because that dozy friend Chloe of hers knows all about it. Because her brother’s a bloody dope dealer, that’s why. Paula, don’t be dense. You can’t be blind to the reputation that place is getting!’

Paula was tempted to suggest her mam take her rants elsewhere. Like to wherever her sister was, for instance. ‘That’s ludicrous,’ she said instead. ‘That’s just gossip and you know it. Malicious gossip. Probably spread by competitors. I work there, remember? I do the books, run the entertainment. It’s all bullshit. I’ve not seen a single thing that would make me even remotely suspicious. And no, before you say it, I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain. Anyway, I need a bath. I’m –’

‘It’s the God’s honest truth, Paula,’ her mother said. ‘And it’s not just from Lou. Your dad keeps his ear to the ground and he’s heard stuff too. You might have been born yesterday, but your father and I weren’t, and we’ve decided –’

‘Decided what?’

‘That you’re to have nothing more to do with it. You’re to tell him you’re leaving, as of now, this very minute. That you’re having nothing more to do with the place – or him, for that matter, and –’

‘What? But that’s ridiculous!’

‘No, it’s not. And I’m telling you that’s what’s happening.’

‘And I’m telling you it’s not. Jesus, Mam – I’m twenty! You can’t just decide between you what I can or can’t do.’

‘Yes we can, and we are,’ she said. ‘I won’t have you down there, Paula. It’s bad enough that Joey’s so bloody embroiled in it all, but that’s not our problem. You are, and –’

‘Hang on, hang on, hang on,’ said Paula, getting up from the stool. ‘You really think I’m going to just throw everything in on the basis of some nonsense my gobshite of a little sister has been spouting at you and whatever gossip you got from your cronies down the post office?’

‘Don’t you dare call your sister that!’

‘Well, she is! And I’m twenty, in case you’d already forgotten – an adult. An adult who’ll make my own decisions, thank you very much. Christ, you think I wouldn’t know if there was dodgy stuff going on? It’s me that does the bloody books! And anyway – Christ, Mam – why the hell are you starting on me?’

‘I’m not starting on you. I’m just telling you. It’s not up for discussion. You’re to hand in your notice, and you’re having nothing more to do with it. They’re a bad lot, the lot of them. You have no fucking idea, Paula … God, you’re so bloody naïve!’

‘And you’re fucking pre-menstrual, clearly,’ Paula couldn’t stop herself from saying. Which did it – blew the fuse that had obviously been sparking; she was just quick enough to avoid her mother’s tiny but efficient fist.

‘I’m telling you!’ her mam yelled as Paula ducked it a second time.

‘No, I’m telling you. You can’t tell me what to do.’

‘Oh yes I can – all the while you’re under our roof, you’ll do as you’re told!’

‘Fine, then,’ she said. ‘Then I’ll get out from under it. I’m not staying here to listen to this crap. I’m off to sleep at Susie’s, where I can get a bit of fucking peace.’

Grabbing her handbag, Paula stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind her. She fumbled in the bag for her car keys as she marched down the path. What the hell was that all about? Had her mother completely lost it?

Her head was reeling. She rummaged some more, but her car keys weren’t in her bag. Fuck, she thought, of course, because they were sitting in her fucking bedroom, because she’d – damn it – decided to go in on the bus today.

Which left her two choices. To walk to Susie’s (or maybe to Joey’s, but she dismissed that idea immediately – he was over at his mate Dicky’s and she didn’t even have the number) or to sneak back into the house again and get them. And while she was at it, some spare undies and a blouse for the morning. Hopefully without her psycho mother hearing her.