The Footballer's Wife (26 page)

‘You know . . . the usual. Police still wanting to know if I've had a bang on the head and suddenly remembered something, world's press ringing up to see if I'll agree to an exclusive once the murder is solved, just your bog standard few weeks really,' Jodie said wearily.

‘That lot on the estate are loving all this. Sod 'em, I say. They wish they were famous, don't they. They're all jealous of us lot.'

Jodie looked at her mum.
Was she for real?
‘If this is fame you can keep it. It's not like I'm accompanying Colin Farrell to the Oscars, is it? I saw someone dead with a knife through his chest.'

‘I'm just saying, aren't I? That lot on the estate
love all that. Gives 'em something to think about when they get out of bed in the morning other than their shitty little lives.'

Jodie's eyes narrowed. Her mum used the phrase ‘that lot on the estate' to intimate what she was really thinking herself. ‘What you mean is that you're quite enjoying the fact we're back in the news again. You like it, don't you?'

Tracy's eyes narrowed. ‘If I liked it I'd be milking it like some of these low-life mothers you see in the papers. Not me. Keep myself to myself, don't I?'

‘You're a real trooper, Tracy,' Jodie said sarcastically.

‘Button it, gobby.'

‘You button it.' Jodie was indignant. Her mum had a nerve, coming round to her house and calling the shots.

‘Anyway, I'm not here for a row . . .'

‘Makes a change.'

‘I'm here to see how you're fixed work-wise.'

‘I'm fixed fine work-wise, why?'
Where on God's earth is this going?
Jodie wondered.

‘Well, I've been doing my collections and I was thinking I could do them a damn sight quicker if I had my mouthy daughter in tow. I'd split it with you fifty-fifty . . .' Tracy didn't seem to see that Jodie was
standing with her mouth agape, thinking that her mother was truly unbelievable. ‘We're not sure when Mac's coming back and I'm not waiting around for him to put in an appearance and then get some stranger in to help me.'

‘Are you insane?' Jodie said when Tracy finally paused for breath.

‘What you on about?'

‘What I really don't need right now is to draw even more attention to myself by joining my mother loan-sharking around the highways and byways of Bradington. And – if you haven't noticed – I've already got a job – some might even go as far as to call it a career – as a model.'

‘Bloody hell. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I was only offering you a business opportunity.'

Jodie laughed. ‘Listen to you. You've been wandering round tapping up women for a fiver a week for a couple of months and you think you're JR.'

Tracy's eyes narrowed. ‘Don't underestimate me, Jodie. I've come here to be nice. If you don't want to do it then fine. Don't throw it in my face.'

‘I've never underestimated you, Mum. I know exactly what you're capable of. Anything.' Jodie smiled sweetly.

‘You can be an unremitting little bitch when you want to be, can't you?'

Jodie nodded; this was the Tracy she was used to. ‘That's more like it, Mum,' she said. Tracy turned on her heel and headed for the door.

‘Let's go for a drink soon. Get everyone together,' Jodie shouted after her mum, feeling the slightest twinge of guilt that she had offended her and shouldn't leave things on a sour note. Tracy didn't look back; she simply gave her daughter a one-fingered salute over her right shoulder and marched out of the door.

‘Lovely,' Jodie said, totally resigned to the fact that this was all she could ever expect from her mother.

*

Tracy wasn't happy. She was marching down the street like a woman possessed.
That cheeky little cow Jodie
, she thought.
Belittling me like that. Who the hell did she think she was?
The fact was that Tracy might have only been working for Markie a short time but she was good at what she was doing and she knew it: so did he, she could tell. Markie played his cards close to his chest but he had been amazed at how
quickly she'd picked things up; she'd seen it in his face when she, week on week, delivered the outstanding money. And it wasn't just the loan collection part; that was easy to Tracy. But things like how the office itself was run, how the clubs operated, how they made money from people by buying their houses from them to release equity and renting them back. She had taken a real interest and it all made sense to her.

The biggest part of running a business like Markie's was looking to be in charge at all times. The fact that Mac had gone to ground hadn't seemed to bother Markie in the slightest. But Tracy knew he must have had a few sleepless nights about it. Markie was a master at striking a balance between being a total professional in everything he did and looking as if ever challenged he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. He also seemed to have eyes in the back of his head.

Tracy knew that he got these attributes from her. She was as sharp as a tack unlike his father – the useless lump. But she wasn't about to start winding herself up about him again by giving him any more time in her head. Markie seemed suspicious any time Tracy asked questions about his other businesses so she just listened and learned as and
when she could. It was interesting and in another life it could have been her running something like this, if she hadn't had a load of kids and been a stay-at-home mum, she thought rather loftily. She headed into the office. There was no sign of Markie, but Tammy was kneeling in the middle of the office rearranging the entire filing system. She gave Tracy a weak smile. Tracy knew she couldn't expect anything more from her; she'd been nothing but a frosty cow to the girl since the first day she'd walked in the office. Today she decided it was time for a change of tack. And as Tracy was the boss's mother, poor old Tammy was just going to have to go along with it.

‘Fancy a brew?' Tracy asked. Tammy, who was on all fours, looked around at Tracy like a dog that was slightly shocked to find another dog sniffing its bum.

‘Me?' she said finally.

Tracy looked down at the girl. She wasn't actually that bad-looking despite Tracy's barbed comment to her the first time they'd met. She had dark brown shoulder-length hair, blue eyes and a button nose. Her lips were a bit on the thin side but nothing that a bit of lip gloss couldn't help. ‘Who else?'

Tammy looked perplexed. ‘Please,' she said.
Tracy wandered through into the kitchen area knowing that the girl was probably eyeing her intently, thinking that she'd never been near the kettle before. Tracy sang to herself as she made two cups of tea and arranged some chocolate biscuits she found at the back of the cupboard on a plate. She returned to the main part of the office to find Tammy sitting at an unused desk with the files arranged in front of her. The poor girl looked like she was barricading herself in.

‘It's alright. I don't bite,' Tracy said, popping the tea and biscuits down. ‘Alright, I do a bit but I won't bite you. Promise.'

Tammy laughed nervously.

‘I think I might have got off on the wrong foot with you and I didn't mean to. You know how it is, you start a new job and you want everyone to think you know what you're doing. That's why I gave it the frosty-knickers routine. I'm not really like that; I'm sure our Markie's said.' She looked at Tammy, who seemed to be searching around her mental filing system to see if there was an example of when her boss had ever said that about his mother. ‘Maybe not. He doesn't say much at work, does he?'

‘Not a lot, no,' Tammy agreed, gnawing nervously on a chocolate digestive.

‘Well, I was wondering if one night me and you shouldn't blow a bit of the petty cash and go into town and have a knees-up, what do you say?' Tracy asked. Tammy looked genuinely terrified by the prospect.

‘Er . . . yes. That'd be lovely,' she said, her falsetto tone suggesting that she'd rather be dangled over a pit of crocodiles.

‘Yes, it would, wouldn't it?' Tracy smiled. There was an awkward silence then Tracy looked at her watch and back at Tammy. ‘Why don't you go have a long lunch? How does two hours sound? I'll man the phones.'

‘Well, I don't know if Markie would be happy if he came back and I wasn't here.'

‘Don't worry. I'll tell him you've just gone and then send you a text telling you to come back.' Tammy looked like a rabbit in the headlights. ‘It's alright, you don't have to be scared. Look, I'm being straight up with you. I want us two to get along. We're the only girls in the office.' Tracy knew she was stretching the term
girls
but she quite liked it. ‘And I think we should get on. So I'm just saying go have a long lunch as a treat.'

‘If you're sure . . .'

‘Course I am.' Tracy smiled genuinely. She was
sure. And whatever Tammy thought, she wasn't trying to stitch her up; she really did think that they should get on better. Because Tracy wanted an ally, someone she could trust in the office. She didn't want to spend the rest of the days marching the streets of Bradington extracting money; she wanted to learn about the business and make a great living like Markie did. If Jodie wasn't going to come along for the ride then she might as well get the hired help on side. And if it meant the odd piss-up and the occasional long lunch, then it was a small price to pay and one that she wasn't footing the bill for anyway.

CHARLY WAS ALONE
again in her vast house. A week had passed since she and Shirley had had their day out together and Shirley had spoken at length about what had happened to her when she had left. Charly had mixed feelings about it all. She had never suffered from depression so didn't think that she was in any position to assume she knew what her mum had gone through, but a little bit of her thought that Shirley's love for her children should have transcended any thought – or lack of thought – for herself. Since their frank conversation, though, Charly had felt better about her mum being around. And she even found herself opening up to her slightly. But not too much. She didn't want to get too close to her mum only to find that she had disappeared again.

Charly had had the usual stream of visitors
during the week, all of whom seemed anxious to stare out of the window and wish themselves anywhere but sitting opposite the morose, grieving widow. She felt sorry for them. She didn't want to be the person making people feel awkward; she wanted to be able to engage them in conversation and talk about something other than the obvious fact that Joel was gone and no one knew who was responsible.

But today Charly had awoken with a different feeling to the one which she had felt constantly since Joel died. Until today she had been utterly consumed by the blackness of her grief; of wondering how she was going to get by without Joel. Today, however, she was angry. She had entered the kitchen first thing that morning so full of rage that she had swiped the kettle from the work surface, forcing it crashing to the floor. She was angry at Joel for dying, she was angry at Joel for not saying goodbye and she was angry at Joel for how he had behaved with her: for never having the opportunity to right the constant wrongs in their relationship but instead being left with memories of being his punch bag rather than his partner. She was angry at the press camped outside her door every day, the public for their verdict of
guilty by association that they seemed to have labelled her with and angry at whoever had taken Joel from her for putting her in this hideous predicament.

Charly wanted all of this to end. She wanted to be allowed a funeral so that she could stop living in limbo. And she wanted to know who had killed Joel and to see them tried and convicted. She couldn't believe that the police seemed to be no nearer finding a killer. He was one of the most high-profile footballers in the country and yet no one had seen anything that might point towards a killer. She had thought on a number of occasions that Kim or even Jodie might have had something to do with it. But both had been ruled out and were being used only as witnesses. Her mind had raced through everyone she had ever met with Joel, anyone she thought she could point the finger at and say ‘You did it.' But the person she kept coming back to was her father and she couldn't even begin to think about the implications of such a thing. The police were doing their damnedest to find the person responsible. They didn't need the pressure of the media bearing down on their investigation any more than Charly needed it bearing down on her time of grief.
Carol, the liaison officer, had been great. She had listened and been patient with Charly and kept her as informed as possible, but Charly knew that she was just doing a job and that although she might care about what happened to Charly in the short term, it was still just her job and at the end of the day she went home to her family. Something Charly felt that she'd never again be able to think about having for herself.

Charly wished that her mind could settle on something else, even for a few moments, but it seemed unable. Even thinking about the most basic things, like what she should eat that day, in turn led her to think about what Joel would have eaten if he'd been here and then she was back thinking about what had happened.

‘Hello!' a voice shouted from below. It was Terry. ‘I've got a visitor for you.'

Charly shut her eyes and took a deep breath to steady herself; she wasn't in the mood for visitors today. ‘I don't need any surprises. Who is it?'

‘It's me, Charly. I just wanted to see you were alright.' Charly's eyes widened when she heard the familiar voice: Scott Crompton, her old boyfriend. She ran into the hall but seeing Scott, she stopped and smiled sheepishly.

‘Hi.'

Scott stepped towards her. ‘Our Markie said he'd seen you.'

‘Did he?' she asked, worried as to what context Markie had given to their meeting.