The Footballer's Wife (10 page)

‘Wait, Tracy. The other night, I wanted to talk to you but you weren't having any of it.'

‘No I wasn't,' she said, lifting her head and meeting his eye for the first time.

‘I just wanted to clear the air between us.'

‘Well, it's too late for all that really, isn't it?' Tracy seemed to be gaining back some of her bravado.

‘Yeah, maybe you're right. When our Charly was with your Scott I often thought about coming round but decided not to.'

‘Well, you made the right decision. Anyway, I've not got time to stand here idly chatting with you. If Gemma Bartle's in, give her this card and tell her I'll be back next week for fifteen quid.' Tracy looked over her shoulder as if checking to make sure that someone was still there. Len followed her gaze but couldn't see anyone.

Len looked confused but when he looked at the card she had just handed him it became clear that Tracy – for whatever reason – was working for Markie and that Gemma had been daft enough to borrow money from them. Len knew all about Markie's money-lending business. He and Mac were effectively loan sharks, but their rates weren't quite as extortionate as others in the business and their terms were slightly fairer – in that you could hope
to keep your head in the vicinity of your shoulders for a little longer than most loan sharks allowed if you failed to keep up repayments.

‘Can we just be civil with one another? It's years since we knocked about together.'

Tracy looked at him with burning hatred. ‘Knocked about together, is that what you're calling it now?'

‘Went out. Were an item. Courted. Whatever,' Len said, looking at Tracy, hoping for some clue as to where all this animosity was coming from.

‘Have you forgotten what you did?' Tracy was shaking with anger.

Len stepped back; he obviously had. He and Tracy had been kids when they got together and they used to fight like cat and dog, get blind drunk, have sex, then fight again. ‘We did a lot to upset one another – that's what kids do.'

‘Well, why don't you piss off back inside and have a long hard think about how you used to be and see if anything comes back to you.' Tracy looked like she was about to burst into tears. It might be nearly thirty-five years since they courted, Len realised, but Tracy was obviously still prone to dramatic histrionics.

‘Tracy, wind your fucking neck in, will you?'
Len said, getting ready to shut the door. He'd heard enough. He was waiting for a barrage of abuse back but got nothing; she just turned on her heel and walked away from the house, head bowed. Len looked after her, stunned. He might just be the only person in the world who'd ever had the last word in an exchange with Tracy Crompton.

*

‘You alright?' Mac's voice was concerned. Tracy nodded, knowing she obviously didn't look alright. She was shaking and if she looked as sick as she felt she was probably as white as a ghost.

‘Fine. Just saw a blast from the past, that's all. Wasn't expecting it.'

Mac nodded. ‘So, did you get any money from the woman?'

Tracy looked at Mac; she'd almost forgotten what she'd called at Gemma's for. ‘Oh no. Next week. Another fear-of-God job. They'll pay up, don't worry,' she lied.

‘Good,' Mac said, looking at Tracy's profile as he put the car in gear. ‘This blast from the past . . .'

‘Very old news.'

‘Has he ever laid a hand on you?'

‘What makes you ask that?' Tracy asked with mock surprise.

‘You look terrified.'

‘I'm fine.' Tracy was adamant.

‘Well, if you ever get any trouble from anyone let me know and I'll sort it. Don't have to tell Markie; it can be our little secret.'

‘Thanks Mac, I might take you up on that one day,' Tracy said, gazing out of the window over to the house where she had just come face to face with Len Metcalfe.

*

Charly was sitting in the lounge in her dressing gown as Joel, stark naked, poured himself a bowl of cereal and hobbled over to where Charly was and slumped onto the settee.

‘Are you my friend?' Charly asked tentatively.

Joel cocked his head to one side, eyes narrowing. He held Charly's gaze for what seemed like an eternity before slumping back in the chair and shrugging. ‘S'pose,' he said.

Charly breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I'm sorry about my dad.'

‘So am I.' Joel nodded. ‘I never want to see him again.'

‘I know, course you don't.' Charly wanted to say a lot to Joel about this whole messy situation. She wanted to point out that her dad had only been defending her, that Len's anger might have been out of control but his intentions were purely honourable: he knew his daughter had been hit by her boyfriend and he was sticking up for her.

‘I won't be responsible for my actions.'

Charly had grown up with threats and danger never far away on the Bolingbroke estate. Her family were renowned as the hard cases on the estate, not just her dad, but her extended family. Charly's mother Shirley's side of the family seemed to stretch across the length and breadth of the estate and she had cousins she didn't even know were relations until they popped up and informed her of the fact; something that happened regularly throughout her teens.

Her mother's side of the family acted like a protective clan. But once Shirley had disappeared they seemed to close ranks, becoming distant and making Charly, Jimmy and Len feel as if they were somehow responsible for her disappearance. They were also a family of troublemakers, stirring up
discord at every opportunity, which meant that Charly knew what it felt like to be permanently on her guard. As a result, Charly was well aware of when she needed to think on her feet and now was definitely the time with Joel. She didn't think things were going to get any better. Whatever her feelings for Joel were, deep down her instincts for self-preservation were stronger.

‘I know, babe, I know,' she said, getting up and walking over to Joel. She gently touched his head. He pulled away, wincing. ‘Want me to get you some ice for your bruises?'

‘Yeah, alright,' he said sulkily. Charly got up and went over to the freezer. She was going to be nursemaid to Joel until he was better. She wanted Joel to propose to her and for them to live happily ever after but at the moment she couldn't see a time when they'd manage a day without falling out. She wanted desperately for them to be compatible. She couldn't understand why he seemed to hate her so much. But there was a part of Charly that knew what she really should do. She needed to buy herself some time and put a get-out strategy in place. She didn't want to be left with nothing other than a broken heart. This sort of thing should have come easily to Charly, who'd been brought up the hard
way. But it didn't. She didn't want to be one of those women who walked away from a relationship and feathered their own nest in the bargain. She wanted to be with the man she loved. But she knew that she was clutching at straws hoping that he was going to truly love her in return.

JODIE AND LEANNE
were sitting in a cafe in Bradington. Jodie had a week off and was thoroughly enjoying the freedom. She lounged around in bed until past eleven every morning and spent the day reading magazines and generally pampering herself. In her hand was one of the celebrity magazines that both she and her sister had featured in countless times. There was something fascinating about them even now that she knew that most of the stories in them were half-truths or that the people smiling out of the pages were only there because they had something to sell. Jodie slapped the magazine on the table.

‘Seen this?' she asked. It was a grainy picture of Charly Metcalfe and Joel Baldy on a beach somewhere getting married. The headline read ‘Shotgun Wedding'.

‘Oh my God!' Leanne grabbed the magazine.

‘I know. They've been knocking seven bells out of one another, haven't they? How's she got him to agree to this?' Jodie was gobsmacked. She'd followed their relationship with interest as when the couple had first met Charly had been living with their brother Scott and had been with her and Leanne on a night out. Jodie couldn't help thinking that this was all either a publicity stunt – although she couldn't think what publicity Charly needed at the moment – or for financial security. A lot of these girls got themselves footballer boyfriends but until they were married their rights only stretched as far as the amount of money they were given to spend on Mulberry handbags each month.

‘God knows. She's a rum 'un, isn't she?' Leanne said.

‘She bloody is. That could have been me,' Jodie said sardonically.

‘Yeah, fat chance. He had your card marked the minute he met you. Anyway, there's no way you'd put up with all the rubbish that these footballers chuck at their girlfriends – one bad word from him and you'd have inserted his footy boots where the sun doesn't shine.'

‘True.' Jodie nodded, contemplating a WAG
lifestyle. ‘They're all thick as pig shit as well, aren't they, footballers?' Jodie looked at the picture of Joel again. ‘Pretty, though.'

Jodie's phone began to ring. She rooted in her bag, past the chewing gum and the make-up and the receipts she kept meaning to do something with and the keys – what were those keys even
for
? They weren't her door keys, probably for the bin shed, and she'd been carrying them round for weeks – and finally found her phone. ‘Karina,' she said, looking at Leanne and raising an eyebrow. Karina hadn't been in touch since the Elvis night. She was rarely in touch these days; she kept herself very much to herself.

‘Aright, sis.'

‘Do I fucking look alright?' Karina slurred.

Jodie didn't appreciate being called up and then abused, especially by her unpredictable sister. ‘Well, I don't know, do I? I'm on the other end of the phone.'

Leanne's eyes widened in shock. Jodie stuck two fingers up at the phone and flicked them repeatedly.

‘I know what you lot are all up to and you're not having her,' Karina continued her rant.

‘Right, what are you on about? You're starting to sound like a mental patient.' Jodie didn't have the
energy for this conversation; Karina was obviously high, or drunk, or both.

‘You're after Izzy. The Social's been round today, so don't deny it.'

Izzy was Karina's three-year-old daughter. As far as Jodie was aware, Izzy was fine. Karina and Gaz, Izzy's father, had split up in the last six months but from what Jodie could tell this was a good thing. They had been one of those couples who argued all of the time and expected one another to take abuse that they wouldn't dish out to their worst enemy. Now Izzy was spending four days a week with Karina and three with Gaz and she seemed to be enjoying it. Karina was a party animal given half a chance, and had often abused Gaz's access to coke, even setting herself up as a dealer, but she made sure that none of this happened when her daughter was around. The days when Izzy was with Gaz were Karina's kick-back days; the days she was with Karina she made sure they did nice things together. Although Jodie, ever the cynic, suspected that Karina was glad when her four days were up and she could have a bender without feeling guilty. Why else would she be wandering around looking like Skeletor if she was an exemplary mother even when Izzy wasn't with her?

‘Listen here, Scarface. I'm not interested in looking after a three-year-old if you must know, so it's not me that's rung the Social. If I had a problem with you and how I thought Izzy was being looked after I'd take it up with you, or I'd at least take it up with Gaz. I'm not about to go bleating to the Social, am I?'

Leanne grabbed the phone from Jodie's hand. ‘Karina, is Izzy with you now?' She nodded at the response.

‘Right, I'm coming round.'

Jodie shook her head despairingly. Leanne was far too nice. Karina and Jodie used to get on well but now she felt that her sister was totally wrapped up in herself and she couldn't be bothered with her.

‘Let her sort her own shit out,' Jodie said as Leanne looked around for a waitress to bring the bill.

‘She
can
sort her own shit out. I'm just going to go and get Izzy.'

‘Let Gaz get Izzy. Why do we all end up getting so involved in each other's lives?'

Leanne relented. Sitting back down, she pulled her phone out of her bag. ‘Gaz, it's Leanne. Can you go pick Izzy up? Karina's having a bad day, I think.'

There was a pause as Gaz spoke, and Leanne nodded. ‘No problem.'

‘He's in Spain. On some jolly waiting for Swing, of all people, to get there. He reckons that's why Karina's freaking out – she's got Izzy all week this week.'

‘She's so bloody selfish!'

‘Well, we know where she gets that from.'

Jodie was incensed. ‘I'm not selfish!'

‘Not you!'

‘Oh,' Jodie said, realising who Leanne was referring to. ‘Mum.'

‘Wonder how she is?'

‘Scaring the good people of Blackpool, no doubt.'

Leanne laughed. ‘Today's the day.'

‘Kent has now left the building,' Jodie said in a jokey American accent. She looked at Leanne and they both laughed.

‘Poor Kent,' they said at the same time, then laughed again.

*

If Tracy heard another Elvis song she was going to snap Kent's neck. He'd been wandering around the house ‘Love Me Tender'-ing for what seemed
like the last decade. At least Tracy had been able to occupy herself with work.
Work.
Even thinking that she, Tracy Crompton, Bolingbroke's queen of the dole queue twenty years running, had a job, made her smile. It didn't feel like work. Work was wearing a hair net and screwing tops on bottles at the shampoo factory for two hundred quid a week like some of the other mugs on the estate did. To hear them go on about it you'd think they'd won the lottery. Just because they got a bag of Herbal Essences bottles with wonky labels every week for a pound didn't make getting out of bed at five o'clock every morning any more appealing for Tracy. No, this was her kind of work. Spending her days with Mac Jones and having a pop at a load of mouthy mares around the estates of Bradington was far more up Tracy's street. And she'd surprised herself. She was good at it. In the last week she'd managed to bring in over three grand in arrears. Mac was pleased. So was Markie, although he hadn't been able to quite bring himself to congratulate his mum just yet. Give him time, Tracy thought. She'd have a bottle of Asti Spumante out of him by the end of the month if it killed her.