Tough Love (9 page)

‘No. Right,' Leanne said, cutting her gaze away from him. Even though she and Tony had been an item for a long time he still unnerved her. Not that he was frightening, far from it. He just made her feel different from the way she felt with other men. ‘Best get back downstairs, then.'

‘Yeah. At least Swing's flat on his back.' Tony gestured to a door on the landing. Evidently it led into the room that now contained the useless best man.

‘What on earth did he have to say that for?' Leanne mused.

‘Because he doesn't know when to shut his trap.' Tony sounded tense.

Leanne looked at him. She'd thought Swing had been joking but … ‘Is there some truth in it?' She was shocked that there might be.

‘Listen.' Tony lowered his voice. ‘Swing's a very sorry man who's been living in your brother's shadow since the year dot.'

Leanne's mind was whirring. Mandy had been in Ibiza last year, but had Swing? And surely she wouldn't have gone anywhere near him, would she?

‘So did he?' Tony shook his head and began to walk away. ‘All right,' Leanne said, ‘I'll put it another way. Where did Swing go on holiday last year?'

Tony stopped to look at her. ‘Ibiza. But I swear to God, Leanne, if your Markie finds out he was anywhere near an easyJet flight last year then he's a dead man. OK?'

Leanne followed Tony downstairs.

*

Markie was ready to kill someone. He had come up to the bridal suite to freshen up and was about to go back downstairs when he'd heard his sister and Tony talking. He stood, his hands against the door, breathing hard, trying to get himself together and decide what to do. He knew that something must have gone on while he'd been inside, he wasn't a complete idiot – two years was a long time to wait
– but she could have had the decency to do it with someone he didn't know. But Swing? That fucking imbecile? Well, she must have been desperate, Markie thought. The thing that bugged him most was that, if she'd stoop low enough to shag one of his mates, there must've been others.

He left the room, walked down the corridor and hammered on Swing's door. There was no answer. He spotted a porter along the corridor and, composing himself, approached the young man.

‘'Scuse me, mate. It's my wedding day and my best man's flat out in there and I just want to check he's all right.'

‘The one you got by the scruff of the neck?' the lad asked.

Cheeky sod, Markie thought. ‘One and the same. It's all blown over. He just told a joke I didn't find very funny, that's all.'

The lad looked at Markie, obviously decided that he was telling the truth and swiped his skeleton key along the electronic code reader. The door opened.

‘Ta, mate,' Markie said, and handed the delighted boy a twenty-pound note. It was a small price to pay to see that dickhead Swing get what he deserved.

Five minutes later, Markie came out of the room, nursing a bruised fist, and headed down to the hall. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase when he saw Gemma, Mandy's nineteen-year-old cousin,
one of the bridesmaids. Gemma didn't make any secret of the fact that she fancied Markie and had done throughout her teenage years. But because Markie wasn't about to try it on with someone so close to Mandy, she knew her flirting wouldn't get her into hot water. Until now.

‘Hiya, Bridegroom. Don't you look handsome?' a tipsy Gemma said.

‘Hi, Gemma. I don't know if it's because I'm officially off limits now, but I want to tell you that you're beautiful.'

‘Really?' Stunned, Gemma, batted her false eyelashes.

‘Yeah, really.' Markie let his gaze fall on her chest. ‘It's weird because now that I'm married I want what I can't have …' Gemma flushed. ‘Do you know what I mean?'

Gemma nodded.

‘Come here.' She moved closer. Markie leant forward and whispered, ‘Ever done something you shouldn't?'

‘All the time,' Gemma said, clearly trying to sound confident.

Markie took a key out of his pocket. ‘Meet me in my room in five minutes.'

‘But I can't. It's the bridal suite.'

‘Well, that'll make it all the naughtier, won't it?' Markie winked and left Gemma staring at the key he had pushed into her hand.

He went back into the reception and straight to his bride. He wanted to hurt her, but he knew he had to keep calm. No scene. Not yet. He whispered something into Mandy's ear, and a wide smile spread across her face. As he turned round she slapped his backside. Markie bit his tongue. That's the last time you'll do that, he thought.

He was waiting behind the bridal-suite door as Gemma opened it. She was trembling as she closed it behind her. Markie began to kiss her, running his hands roughly all over her. She quickly grabbed his hand, guided it to the top of her thigh and gasped as he pushed his fingers inside her. She was trying to unbuckle his belt but he turned her round and pushed himself into her. Markie was pounding into Mandy's bridesmaid when the door opened and his wife was staring at them.

‘Remind you of Ibiza, Mand? You fucking slag!' Markie spat.

Gemma jumped away from him and began to cry with shame.

‘You bastard!' Mandy shouted, flying at Markie, who was tucking himself in.

He grabbed her arm and threw her against the wall. ‘I know about you and Swing.'

‘Nothing fucking happened, you piece of shit.'

‘Save it. He admitted it. Shortly before I kicked fuck out of him.' He looked at his wife in disgust. ‘Get your stuff out of our flat tomorrow and then
get the fuck out of my life.' Markie walked to the door, leaving the two cousins sobbing. Before he left the room, he turned back. ‘You might want to call an ambulance for lover-boy by the way. Room 230.'

Markie could hear Mandy screaming at Gemma as he walked along the corridor. He went downstairs and straight out of the place where only eight hours before he had been married. He didn't want to go back to the wedding party: if he did, he wouldn't be responsible for his own actions.

Tracy noticed a commotion in the corner and thought they'd done quite well to get so late into the evening without a fight. She was far too wired to go and investigate. She hadn't had a knees-up like this in a long time. She'd had enough coke to kill a small cow but was on the lookout for more. Since Paul's financial bombshell earlier, she had been trying to get back to him to find out more but Kent was stuck to her like a limpet, stroking her hair and constantly asking when she was going to take him to bed.

‘I'm tired, babe,' he said now, pushing his bottom lip out like a sulky five-year-old.

Tracy felt embarrassed. If any of her lot saw him acting like this she'd never live it down. ‘Go to bed, then,' she snapped.

Kent looked genuinely put out. He stood up in a huff. ‘All right, then, I will.' He grabbed his double-breasted suit jacket and flounced out. Tracy watched
him go. Now for some real fun, she thought. She caught Karina's eye and put her finger to her nose. Karina walked across to her and handed her another wrap of coke.

‘Your dad say anything to you about having some good luck lately?' Tracy asked. She wouldn't say too much: she didn't want everyone getting wind of him having money.

‘Dad? You're kidding, aren't you? The man who could land in a bed of roses and still come out smelling of shit.' Karina wandered off to find Gaz, and Tracy scanned the room for Paul. She didn't have to look far: he was propping up the bar, watching her.

Tracy sashayed over to him. ‘So then, hot shot. If you're so rolling in it, you can get me a drink in.'

Paul smiled. ‘Two brandy and Babychams, love, and make them doubles,' he said to the girl behind the bar. He turned to his ex-wife and winked at the extravagance of his order. Tracy was impressed.

‘Well, then?' she said, picking up her glass, which the girl had placed before her.

‘Well then what?'

‘You know what. Where's the money come from?'

‘I won it.'

Tracy choked on her drink. ‘You!' she exclaimed. Paul had to be the unluckiest man she ever knew. The only time he'd ever backed a Grand National
winner was the year the result was declared void after a false start.

‘Me.' He nodded. ‘I did a place pot at the bookie's. Rovers for the treble, Sunderland to come back up, and the winner of the first two horses past the post at the Derby.'

‘Well, bugger me,' Tracy said.

Paul grinned, pleased with himself. ‘So how're you and Geoff getting on?'

‘Kent,' Tracy said pointedly.

‘He wasn't christened bloody Kent.' Paul sniggered.

‘We have our ups and downs …' Tracy said, holding her ex-husband's gaze. ‘We don't have the same connection me and you had.'

‘That connection hasn't owt to do with my fifty grand, has it?'

‘I don't want your bloody money,' Tracy said angrily. She hated it when people saw through her. She was usually cleverer than that. Anyway, it wasn't just the money. Kent was getting on her nerves and she wanted her old life back. ‘You start thinking when you get a bit older. About your family,' she added, with drunken sentimentality. ‘But I couldn't have it how it was before, you getting all violent.'

‘Contrary to popular belief I've never laid a finger on you! You're the only woman I know who says, “I walked into a door,” and means it.' He
glared at her. ‘Making me out to look like a wife-beater.'

‘I meant coming round and putting your foot through the door.'

‘You're the one who's always sending me texts and then when I try to talk to you you act like you haven't. What d'you expect me to do?'

Not put your foot through the door, Tracy thought, but she wasn't about to argue the toss. At this point Scott came running over from the other side of the room and pushed his dad backwards. ‘Everything all right, Mum?'

‘Course it is, soft arse,' Paul said.

‘I wasn't asking you,' Scott told him sharply.

‘Me and your dad are getting on great, as it happens.' Tracy raised her glass and clinked it against Paul's.

Scott stared at them, nonplussed, as if they'd dropped out of the sky. Then he said, ‘You're getting on great but Mandy and Markie are kicking off with each other. What's going on?'

‘Why the hell are they kicking off already?' Paul asked, looking concerned.

Tracy took a swig of her drink. ‘Because they're married,' she said, worldly wise. Paul sighed and nodded – she was right. Scott rolled his eyes to the heavens and stalked off.

‘He's a nowty get, isn't he?' Tracy said.

‘Gets it from you,' Paul said.

Tracy rattled her ice cubes. ‘Shut it, you, and fill her up.' Tonight was shaping up quite well, she thought.

Leanne was watching TV in Tracy's living room. It was the day after the wedding and everyone had checked out of Hanley Farm at eleven and made their way home. The events of the previous evening were still playing on her mind. Tracy and Kent had had an argument at the desk this morning, which culminated with Tracy shouting, ‘Can't a mum enjoy her son's bleeding wedding in peace?' The fact that her son had decided his marriage was over long before she'd had her last line of celebratory coke was, it seemed, a minor detail.

Leanne had no idea what had happened to Markie. Mandy, in floods of tears, had told her he'd walked out because he'd overheard what she and Tony had been saying to each other about her and Swing. All morning Tony had been trying to contact him, but without success.

Leanne sighed, then stood up to make some tea. At that moment, to her complete astonishment,
Markie came through the door, looking like he'd been dragged through several hedges backwards. ‘Bloody hell!' she exclaimed. ‘Where've you been? We've been worried sick!'

‘Not worried sick enough to tell me my new wife's a slag.' The colour drained from Leanne's face. ‘I heard you and Tony having a nice little chinwag about Mandy's trip to Ibiza.'

‘Mandy told me – and I didn't have time to say anything to you. By the time I came to look for you you'd disappeared.'

‘You wouldn't have told me anyway.'

‘No. Because this is how you react to things. Swing's in hospital, you know. You've shattered his jaw.'

‘Is that all?'

‘Is that
all
?' Leanne echoed, her voice rising. ‘You could have killed him!'

Suddenly the door flew open. Tracy was standing there, hair all over the place, yesterday's makeup smudged under her eyes, stained dressing-gown wrapped round her. ‘Will you fucking well pack it in? My head's splitting as it is.'

‘Fucking hell.
What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?
,' Markie said sarcastically.

Tracy glared at him. ‘And what the bleeding hell happened to you? Mandy crying, that fat cousin of hers bawling, Swing in hospital with a broken jaw and no one's saying anything!'

‘It's over with me and Mandy,' Markie said flatly.

‘Over? It's not even bleeding begun!' Tracy said. ‘Well, I'll tell you something, if it is over, I want that Breville back I bought you.'

‘Have the fucking thing.'

‘I will.' Tracy slammed the door and headed back upstairs to bed.

‘I can't understand it, can you? I mean, she only had fourteen vodkas, ten Breezers, sixty B & H and two grams of coke that I know of.' Markie grabbed the television's remote control. Leanne knew better than to try to get him to talk. He flicked on to Sky News and caught the banner at the bottom of the screen – ‘Leighton Adoption Media Scrum'. He paled and looked as if he might switch over.

‘Leave it on,' Leanne said. ‘They're bloody everywhere, those two.'

Markie sat down, but she could see that he was uncomfortable about what was now on the screen. They were watching Lisa and Jay Leighton holding a baby and being bustled through the large wrought-iron gates of a country house. A spokesperson was saying, ‘Lisa and Jay have today officially adopted a Thai baby, Mae-Khao. The couple have asked that they be allowed some privacy in order to bond with the new arrival. The couple have said in their statement that the child will be renamed Blest Leighton, because they feel
truly blessed by the gift they have been given.' Leanne stared at the screen in disbelief.