The Footballer's Wife (5 page)

‘What the fuck was all that about?' Joel asked angrily.

‘What?' Charly asked, puzzled.

‘I don't like being spoken to like a twat and your dad just made me out to be a prize one.' Joel threw the car around a roundabout.

‘I don't like being spoken to like a twat either, Joel!' Charly snapped back.

‘Let's call it a night, yeah? I don't want to talk about your cunt dad any more,' Joel said with real anger in his voice.

‘
Cunt?
' Charly said, taking exception to the word. ‘The only cunt in there was you.'

Joel slammed hard on the brakes and Charly flew forward. Her seatbelt cut into her as it pulled her back into her seat sharply and she gasped for breath before looking at her boyfriend in shock.

Joel pressed his face up to Charly's. She could feel his breath against her skin. ‘Call me a cunt again and I'll show you what one looks like.'

Charly wiped the side of her face and looked out of the window as Joel pressed his foot on the accelerator, urging the car into life. She hated living like this but what could she do? She loved Joel, and she knew that if she left him there would be a line of women waiting to take her place. She didn't know what to do, so she'd do what she always did when faced with confrontation from Joel: nothing.

TRACY WAS COUNTING
her blessings. To her complete shock Markie, Jodie, Leanne and Karina had all agreed to come to the Elvis competition tonight. She'd thought at least one of them would have had some moralistic hissy fit and told her where to shove it. Good, she thought, that stuff with Leanne last year was obviously all in the past for her kids. She wasn't quite so quick to forgive and forget, but their year-long avoidance of her was something she would deal with when she saw fit. Now wasn't the time. For the moment she needed her family on her side to show Len Metcalfe that the Cromptons were a family, unlike his rag-tag-and-bobtail mob. There was Jimmy Metcalfe, who had been in and out of the nick for petty criminality since leaving school. There were Anita and Tanita, the twins who sat on their fat backsides all day eating cakes and watching
daytime telly, not bothering to converse with the outside world because they had that weird twin thing going on where they read each other's thoughts and knew if the other wanted a custard slice or a bakewell tart that day. And then there was Charly, who had been a thorn in Tracy's side for long enough when she had gone out with Scott. Now she was a bloody WAG, of all things. What a job, Tracy thought. As much as Tracy loathed Charly, she also had a grudging respect for her, one that she wouldn't be able to admit even to herself – Charly had found her meal ticket and had left Bolingbroke as quick as her sticklike little legs could carry her. Something that Tracy herself would have done years ago if she'd ever had the opportunity.

Kent came into the front room in his Y-fronts with what looked like a sandwich bag smeared with black paint stuck to his head. ‘Am I done?' he asked nervously.

Tracy took a swig of the large vodka she had poured herself and walked over to Kent, pulling at the bag to inspect his hair. ‘Give it another five minutes; you don't want to end up looking like Dickie Davies.'

‘Don't say that!' Kent said, alarmed, scanning the back of the Nice 'n Easy packet.

Tracy began to cackle. ‘It'll be fine; you're like a bloody woman.'

‘I don't want to look like a prize nob tonight.'

‘Yeah, dressed in a white catsuit down the working men's club, how could that happen?'

‘I meant my hair!' Kent was stomping round the room with no obvious purpose.

‘You're shitting yourself about it, aren't you?' Tracy said.

‘Yes! And I don't need you taking the piss and making me feel uneasy.'

Tracy got up and went over to Kent and put her arms around him. ‘You'll knock 'em dead, babe, don't worry about it.'

‘Will I?' Kent asked forlornly.

Bloody hell
, Tracy thought,
I bet Priscilla didn't have all this aggro.

*

Markie walked into the foyer of Bolingbroke Lane Working Men's Club. The tatty cork board that was hanging on the wall informed him that all non-members must be signed in by a member and that women were not allowed in the pool room. He shook his head and laughed.
What year was it in this place?

‘Markie!' a voice said from behind him. Markie turned round, to see his sister Leanne. She looked stunning. Her long blonde hair was tied up in a ponytail and her skin was tanned from the two weeks she'd just spent in the Seychelles with her boyfriend Tony and her daughter Kia. Markie hugged his sister.

‘Where's Tony?' he asked.

Leanne gave him a sarcastic look. ‘He'd love to have come but he's washing his hair.' There had been a lot of bad blood in the past between Tony and Markie. Tony had been cold shouldered by Markie after what Markie saw as a total betrayal of friendship. When Tony had got together with Leanne, this had enraged Markie even further. But it seemed like a long time ago and there wasn't any sign of Tony and Leanne going their separate ways; they were stronger than ever. Markie knew that he needed to address this situation and be the bigger man about it. After all, he had been the one to cut Tony from his life, not the other way around.

Markie took a deep breath; he didn't want an argument with his sister. ‘Is he looking after Kia?' he asked.

‘Yes.'

‘Mind if I phone him?'

‘Why?' Leanne looked shocked.

Markie shrugged. ‘Bridge building.'

‘Be my guest,' she said, gratefully handing him her phone.

Markie waited for Tony to answer the phone.

‘It's me, Tone. Markie.'

There was a moment of deafening silence on the other end of the phone before Tony spoke. ‘Markie, what can I do for you?' he asked flatly.

‘I just wondered if you fancied coming down here for the night. Bring Kia, give her some pop and crisps, watch Kent make a tit of himself and I can buy you a few drinks.'

Markie knew that Leanne was staring at him in disbelief but he chose to ignore her. ‘Great,' he said, ‘we'll save you some seats.' He ended the call and handed the phone back to Leanne. Tony didn't sound overly excited about the prospect of spending the night in his company but he thought it was time they buried the hatchet. Markie had enough enemies as it was without having a prospective brother-in-law that he never spoke to.

‘So he's coming?' Leanne asked.

‘Yep. What you drinking?' He didn't want to have a long, drawn-out discussion about why he had
decided to offer an olive branch to Tony. He and Leanne had always been close and, although he knew she wasn't too impressed with the way he'd handled things with Tony, they had stayed close and Tony had taken himself out of the equation when it came to meeting up, just as he had done tonight. Markie knew that this couldn't go on for ever, and he and Tony had been good friends once. Besides, there was a little job that Markie thought Tony might be good for . . .

Markie held the door open for Leanne as they walked into the main room of the working men's club. ‘Don't be going in the pool room – no women allowed! Remember?' Markie whispered. Leanne giggled. There were a few of the usual neck-cranes and head-turns as Leanne took her seat. As a once-famous glamour model and one-time tabloid favourite, people still wanted to get a good look at her when she entered a room. It wasn't as bad now as it had been, Markie observed. There was a time when she couldn't step out of the door without being papped. Now that she was heading up her own successful model agency, people were more interested in the models she represented than her.

‘Where's Mum?' Leanne asked.

‘God knows.' Markie shrugged, heading for the bar. There was a rumble of excitement and Markie looked around from the bar to see Jodie walk in. Spotting Leanne and Markie, she made her way over to them.

‘Large gin and tonic, Markie. And make it sharpish, will you, she'll be here in a minute.' Jodie looked around and anyone who was trying to get a good look at her quickly averted their eyes. Until Charly Metcalfe had started seeing Joel Baldy, Markie's two sisters had been the most famous faces in Bradington. Jodie had taken her rise to tabloid fame in her stride and, because she just wanted to model and didn't want to appear on every half-baked reality show she was offered, she had been left relatively untouched by the media.

‘Don't you see much of her, then?' Markie asked.

‘Mum? You're kidding. I've been round to the house twice since I moved out and both times she just wanted a slanging match.'

‘So what's tonight about, then? No one other than Scott's paid her any attention for the last year and now she wants to play happy families.'

‘Well, I'm sure it'll all come out in the wash,' Leanne said sagely. The door swung open and Markie's other sister, Karina, walked in. She was
bone thin these days and her hair was scraped back. She wasn't wearing any make-up and the top and jeans combination she had plumped for Markie was sure she had been wearing five years ago. She headed straight over to the bar and lit a cigarette as she walked.

‘Smoking ban!' Jodie said.

‘Fuck. Keep forgetting,' Karina said, stubbing the cigarette out into her battered old handbag.

‘Nice to see you made an effort,' Markie said sarcastically.

‘It's hardly the fucking Ritz, is it?' Karina shot her brother a look. He looked back at her, taking in her sunken eyes.

‘Are you still on the Charlie?'

Karina rolled her eyes. Markie knew she didn't want a lecture, but it was tough – she was his sister and she was getting one.

‘It fucks you up,' he said.

‘It's good fun, you want to try it, might make you relax a bit,' Karina retorted.

‘Looks good fun, too. You used to look like these two,' Markie said, pointing at his two glamorous sisters. ‘Now you look like a council estate skank.'

‘Fuck you, Markie.' Karina shouldered past him to the bar. Leanne and Jodie said nothing, just
stared in disbelief. Karina ordered herself a pint of lager. ‘You two alright, then?' she asked, but she didn't look like she was interested in the response.

‘Fine,' Jodie and Leanne said in unison.

Markie leaned across Karina to address the barmaid. ‘I'll get that, love, and another pint of whatever the lady's drinking for me and whatever these two are having.' Karina sneered at him. As he waited for his drink and left his three sisters to chat, Markie looked around the club.
What a seventies throwback this place is
, he thought. He half expected some Bernard Manning lookalike to get on the stage and start telling close-to-the-knuckle century-old jokes.

*

Tracy was dressed to the nines. It wasn't often that she made this much effort but it wasn't often that she came face to face with her first boyfriend and the man she hated with a vengeance. It didn't matter that she'd gone on to have five children and two full-blown relationships since Len. When it came to Len Metcalfe, Tracy felt like the fifteen-year-old that she had been when he first asked her out. Things between her and Len hadn't lasted long but
the way things ended had stayed with Tracy as if it had happened yesterday.

‘You look bloody gorgeous,' Kent said as he stuck a rhinestone-encrusted leg out of Scott's car. Tracy looked down at her outfit. She was wearing a black satin pencil skirt and a black see-through blouse with a conservative – for her – black lace bra underneath. She'd wheeled out some silver stilettos that she'd found for a fiver in TK Maxx a few years ago and had had a spray tan done that morning at Tantastic, the sun-bed shop by the Beacon. Her hair, which she'd been growing out and getting re-permed since her twenties, was ironed straight courtesy of some straightners that had been left at her house by Jodie. All in all she looked, for once, what she was: the good-looking mother of two of the city's best-looking daughters. It made a change from her usual get-up of a velour tracksuit and trainers.

‘Thanks, I could say the same about you . . .' Tracy said, looking Kent up and down. He beamed, pleased with himself. ‘But I'm not going to.' Tracy cackled. Kent looked crestfallen.

Scott finished parking the car and joined them. ‘Come on then, Elvis, let's be having you.'

Tracy let Kent and Scott go ahead into the club.
She took a deep breath before entering the lounge of the working men's club. Once in, she looked around the room and there they all were: Markie, Karina, Leanne and Jodie, all staring at her. She knew they were still angry with her for selling stories to the papers about Leanne and the identity of her own granddaughter's father. But Tracy thought that enough time had passed for them to get over themselves; they were family, they shouldn't be arguing like some Jeremy Kyle scrubbers, she thought. And anyway, she was oddly proud to have them all there, not that she'd ever tell them. So Tracy decided to brazen it out. She wasn't about to apologise; she didn't think she had anything to apologise for. She walked straight over to where her family were sitting and gave Markie a hug. She knew he'd reciprocate and the others wouldn't have much choice but to follow.

Karina stood up next. ‘Mum,' she said simply.

‘Bloody hell, where've you disappeared to?' Tracy asked, looking at her daughter's gaunt face and sharp collarbones.

‘Thanks. I was just about to say you look nice.'

‘I'm just concerned, that's all,' Tracy said. Her daughter looked like a bag of bones.

Karina's eyes narrowed. ‘Yeah right, Mum. Try
visiting your granddaughter now and again if you're so concerned.'

‘For fuck's sake, Karina, you could get an argument out of the sodding Dalai Lama. Button it for now, will you?'

Karina huffed down into her seat.