Vicky thought she might burst. It was really that physical. A kind of pulsating presence, sat high in her stomach, a constant pressure which she couldn’t force down.
Heartburn, her mam had said. Which she knew all about, obviously. Vicky sometimes found her swigging milk of magnesia out of the bottle in the mornings, like she was some pisshead on the street and it was meths.
But it wasn’t that. It was nothing amenable to medicine. It was as if her body was protesting about the stress she was under, and constantly bitching at her to sort it. And work didn’t help. It just grated on her nerves. Not the work itself – she could do that on autopilot, mostly – as much as the need to be constantly smiling when all you really wanted to do was curl up and cry. Talking shit to the clients, and all the while smiling and smiling. Nice weather we’re having. Any plans for the weekend? So, where are you going on your holidays this year? How about Armley nick?
Paddy had been released on bail mid-morning on the Monday, just over twenty-four hours since he’d been taken from his bed. He’d been in front of a magistrate, told he’d have to report weekly to the police station, and be available for his court date a couple of weeks hence.
‘And you’re surprised?’ Vicky’s mam had said when she’d blurted it all out to her. ‘He’s a rogue, always has been. Always will be, come to that. This day’s been coming for a long time, as you well know.’
But that was the problem: Vicky hadn’t known. And, despite the increasing weight of ‘facts’, she still couldn’t quite accept it. She wasn’t stupid, she knew Paddy was no angel – who didn’t? That he had a long string of ‘previous’, as her mam liked to call it, to his name. Fighting, possession of weed, being carried in stolen vehicles – but that was no different from half the lads in their part of Bradford, was it? No, not really. And it wasn’t like he’d ever been to prison, or anything. He’d never be so stupid as to let that happen.
And what everyone else knew, and Paddy had been at pains to tell her now this had happened, was that Jimmy’s dad has always had it in for him. Had hounded him remorselessly, trying to pin something on him, however much Lucy might protest otherwise.
And that was another thing; when she sat down and put everything together, she felt sure Lucy knew something about what had gone on that Saturday. Why else had she been behaving so weirdly when they’d spoken? Why else had she been silent ever since?
And that was fine, because perhaps she didn’t want to know. So she’d stopped short of asking Paddy too much about it. He was innocent, Gurdy’d said so. And that would all come out eventually. And in the meantime, she needed to support her man as best she could, whatever lie they were peddling about him actually having been in Derby that night, trying to pass on a cut-and-shut car to some apparently unwitting punter.
It wasn’t true. Gurdy had said so. It wasn’t true.
But, two weeks on now, the supporting bit was taking its toll. She felt like shit. Like she was walking round with a cloud over her head and a stone in her stomach. Because who knew? If Jimmy’s dad really hated Paddy that much, who knew what other kinds of tricks he might get up to? What tricks he might have already got up to. She knew as well as anyone how bent the police could be when they wanted to. And, when it came to Paddy, they clearly wanted to very much.
Vicky looked miserably across to the other end of the salon. Then there was Lacey. The new girl. Who, despite having been nothing but friendly and helpful since she’d started, got right on her nerves. Yes, it was good to have another apprentice come and work there – God knew, since the schools went back, and the boss had buggered off on holiday for a fortnight, she and Leanne had been rushed off their feet. But did it have to be someone so relentlessly cheerful? So chirpy and giggly and little-miss-ray-of-sunshine? So Barbie-doll pretty and so nice?
Vicky could hear her now, while combing out one of their elderly regulars, Miss Read. ‘And holiday plans yet for next year?’ Christ, Vicky thought, as she folded the latest batch of washed towels. Miss Read had been coming in for, what – thirty years? She was at least pushing eighty, not at all steady on her feet, and even Vicky already knew how stupid a question that was, given that she was an agoraphobic who barely left Bradford.
The only small light in her dark mental tunnel was that Leanne had her reservations about Lacey as well.
‘Comes across as too nice,’ was her considered opinion when they found themselves together at the back of the salon. ‘You know what I mean? Trying too hard. Till it grates. Sucking up to everybody. Never has a bad word to say about anyone, you noticed that? Something unnatural in that if you ask me.’ She grinned. ‘Still, she’ll get worn down eventually, you’ll see.’
Vicky wasn’t sure that getting worn down was necessarily a good thing. She felt worn down, and it didn’t have much to recommend it. ‘You mean become a bit of a bitch, like we are?’ she asked Leanne.
‘Hey, speak for yourself!’ Leanne huffed. ‘Seriously, Vic. You really don’t seem yourself this past fortnight. Are you okay?’
Was she okay? Now that was a question and a half. A question she wasn’t sure she wanted to answer, not since Paddy had warned her how it was tongue wagging that had got him into trouble in the first place. He meant Jimmy, of course, but she wasn’t sure she could trust anyone. But this was Leanne. It wasn’t like they hung out together or anything. And since Lucy was off-radar and her mam was so full of bile, the urge to talk to someone, share her fears, was strong.
It wasn’t long to break time, so she followed Leanne into the back room, lifted the kettle and filled it, before switching it on. ‘I’m okay,’ she said, suddenly decided, and feeling better for it. ‘Look, shall I nip next door and get some sausage rolls or something? I’ll update you on my dramas over a coffee.’
Half an hour later, as Leanne slipped the bolt across and changed the sign in the door to ‘CLOSED’, Vicky set out some plates for the sausage rolls and strawberry tarts that she’d bought from the baker’s. No Lacey, though, which was a plus. She had some boyfriend, called Roger, who apparently worked at the Market Tavern, so most days she’d take herself off down there for her lunch.
‘So?’ Leanne said, once she’d taken a bite of sausage roll. ‘Spill then. What’s been going on? Let me guess. Judging from your face something to do with your Paddy.’
Vicky nodded. ‘Well, he’s definitely a part of it,’ she conceded, ‘but it’s just everything at the minute – one fucking thing after another. My best mate still barely speaks to me – too busy being loved up with fucking Jimmy.’ She sighed. ‘Who’s turning out to be a right frigging snake in the grass. Then there’s my mam, whose only fucking aim in life is to see how fast she can get to the bottom of a bottle of cider, and who expects me to hand over any spare cash I have to fund it. I’m sick of it all, Lee, I really am.’
Leanne wiped shards of flaky pastry from her lap. ‘And Paddy?’
Vicky considered her own sausage roll. Now it was in front of her she couldn’t face it. She could hardly be arsed eating lately. ‘And Paddy,’ she agreed. ‘My not-so-white knight in shining armour. Well, as you probably know – as everyone knows, thanks to the fucking Telegraph & Argos – he got pulled in for twocking – cutting and shutting and all that. Again, and we don’t know for sure it’s not a fit-up, but we think Jimmy had something to do with him getting grassed up. But anyway, even though they didn’t find anything up at the garage, they had all the evidence they needed to put him on trial for selling a stolen vehicle, then driving said vehicle down to Derby. And knowingly working on the car that had stolen number plates on it. As well as the obvious stuff – no insurance, no MOT and no fucking tax,’ Vicky sighed deeply. ‘So he’s definitely looking at a stretch.’
‘Has his solicitor actually said that?’ Leanne asked. ‘That he’ll go to prison?’
Vicky nodded, putting her sausage roll back down on its bag. John Cordingley, solicitor to every bad boy in Bradford, had told Paddy that although he’d do his best to get some of the charges dismissed, the magistrates would have no option on this occasion but to give him some time. Paddy had been let off too many times in the past, apparently, and was finally due his comeuppance. ‘He’ll plead guilty to whatever they tell him to,’ she told Leanne. ‘That way, it stays with the magistrates and he gets a lighter sentence.’
‘Really? How’s that?’
‘Because if he goes with a not guilty plea it’ll go to a proper court. And that Judge Pickles is a proper bastard apparently – if Paddy gets him, and there’s a good chance he would do, he’s cracking down and would make him an example.’
‘Fucking hell, mate,’ Leanne said as she slurped on her coffee, ‘that sounds serious. You poor thing,’ she soothed. Then her expression changed. ‘And I’ll bet he’s none too happy about it, either.’
‘Course he’s not.’
Leanne shook her head. ‘No, I mean about you.’
‘About me?’
Leanne sat back. ‘Cat’s away and all that.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, how’s he going to keep tabs on what you’re up to if he’s banged up in prison?’
‘Lee, don’t start. He knows I wouldn’t look at anyone else—’
‘More’s the pity. You know, mate, you could do a lot better than him.’
Vicky felt her hackles rise. Confiding in Leanne had been a mistake, clearly. For all that she simpered round Paddy when he came in (and ditto bloody Lacey now, too, Vicky had noted) she obviously had a pretty low opinion of him. Or did now. Now she knew he was in trouble.
Oh, she didn’t know what to frigging think. ‘Don’t say that, Lee. You don’t know him. He knows I’d never leave him.’
‘Made sure of it, more like. Look, Vic.’ She leaned forward. ‘Open your eyes. He’s a bad lot.’
Vicky leaned back, frowning. ‘Do you know something I don’t, or something?’
‘Vic, I don’t need to. I’m just telling you to take stock, that’s all. If he goes inside, you’ll be better off out of it, believe me. Get some freedom back in your life – remember what it feels like. Enjoy doing what you want to do without him breathing down your neck.’
For the second time that day, Vicky wondered if she talked too much about Paddy. Wondered, too, despite wishing she wasn’t having to wonder, if Leanne’s words didn’t hold an element of truth. She’d never say so but Paddy had already said as much to her. That if the worst happened, he was going to be sick as hell wondering what she might be up to.
But that was because he loved her. Because he’d miss her. And – hell, how would it be if the boot was on the other foot? She saw girls moving in on him twenty-four seven. And she didn’t like how it made her feel, did she?
‘Listen,’ Leanne went on, ‘I’m not trying to stir things up between you. I just think he’s far too controlling, that’s all. Just an observation. From a friend.’
A friend, Vicky thought, who didn’t have a boyfriend. So how could she possibly understand how complicated it all was? ‘I know,’ Vicky said, knowing there was no point in arguing. ‘I know, but I’ll be fine.’
Then she stood up, grabbed their mugs and busied herself at the sink, so she could continue the conversation with her back turned. ‘And if he’s done, then I’ll wait for him. That’s the plan. We have plans. One day at a time, that’s the way I’m going to play it. And when he comes out,’ she added, turning round and clocking Leanne’s cynical expression, ‘who knows – he might have missed me so much that he wants to get engaged.’
‘Yeah, and pigs might fly, mate,’ Leanne answered.
Lacey was just arriving back from the pub as Leanne unlocked the salon door again. ‘Shall I make us all a coffee?’ she asked brightly as she shrugged her jacket off and reached for her apron. And, smarting still from Leanne’s cynical assessment of not only Paddy but her future prospects with him, Vicky willed herself to respond nicely to Lacey’s kind offer. She was glad of the distraction, if nothing else.
‘Go on, I’ll have another one,’ she said, making an effort to smile. ‘Nice lunch?’
‘Lovely, thanks,’ Lacey answered as she headed for the back room. ‘Oh, and I’ve an invite,’ she called back. ‘To Roger’s party, next Saturday week.’
Vicky and Leanne exchanged glances and raised their eyebrows. ‘Ooh, that sounds interesting,’ Leanne said. ‘What kind of party would that be, then?’
Lacey stuck her head out from the back room, coffee jar and teaspoon in hand. ‘His birthday party. Well, sort of. It’s not at a venue or anything. Just a group of us having a night on the tiles, really. We thought it would be nice, you know, if you’re free. And Paddy, of course.’ She smiled at Vicky. ‘It would be nice to get to know the famous Paddy a bit better. I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to – we just thought, well, that it would be nice, now we’re all working together. But only if you want to. No pressure!’ She disappeared into the back room again.
The famous Paddy? Did she really drone on that much about him? Or, more accurately, given recent developments, the infamous Paddy. Vicky wondered how much Lacey really did know. Perhaps Roger had filled her in, over lunch at the Market Tavern. About how Paddy might not even be around for his little party.
Unless her prayers were answered, anyway. That the dickhead from Derby who reported the car might suddenly die of a heart attack or something. That there’d be no court case. That Paddy would, as he kept promising her, get off. That everything could get back to normal, of a kind.
But then again, yes, pigs might fly.