Dead Centre - Andy McNab [48]
‘What about Tracy? Last time I heard, she was in France. She met somebody?’
There was no hint in her face of a drama. ‘Yeah, she’s OK. Some Russian or other. Lucky bitch. I wanted to go over as well, see if I could get one. She’s in love. They’ve got a little boy. Stevie … something like that. I think he’s about four … five … six, maybe. Don’t really hear much from them.’
She didn’t look too impressed with it all.
‘That’s great news, isn’t it? That she’s happy?’
The barman came over to Jan far earlier than our place in the queue deserved. She didn’t even need to tell him what she wanted. ‘What about you, Nick?’
‘I’ll just have an orange juice.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘You still looking to live to a hundred?’
‘Nah. I just know a whole lot of other ways of killing myself.’ I moved the smile back into place. ‘You haven’t heard from Tracy, then?’
‘Not since she’s been in the money.’ She leant in a bit closer. ‘You kept on telling her to leave, didn’t you? Well, hasn’t she done well for herself?’
Her nose wrinkled. It wasn’t a pretty sight.
‘You could go, try somewhere else. You said your kids have left home …’
The drinks turned up, and a brighter future was no competition for a long swig of spritzer. ‘You were always good to her, weren’t you, Nick? She used to give me some of the money you sent, just sometimes, when I was a bit hard up.’
‘Oh, right. And I bet she still sends you a few quid, eh?’
I got a nod, but a disapproving one. ‘Yeah, but not that much. And it’s not like she couldn’t spare it. I thought maybe she’d buy me a house, but no. It’d be pennies for her. But what do I get? Nothing. And I’m her sister, for fuck’s sake.’
Jan took another slug. She’d made the mistake of thinking that just because people had money it was their duty to piss it away. She was jealous that Tracy had it, and angry that she didn’t hand enough of it over. It wasn’t Tracy’s to give away in the first place, but that didn’t seem to occur to her. All she wanted to do was grab.
‘Listen, Jan. I’ve got to meet someone at the Market Tavern. I’ll try and get back later. But if I don’t make it, what’s your number?’
I pulled out my phone, still smiling so much my face was beginning to hurt. She opened her bag. I didn’t expect to see house keys. She got so pissed she’d lose them, so she used to hide a spare set. But there they were. And I also clocked three mobiles.
‘Jesus, Jan. You a dealer or what?’
She selected one and powered it up. ‘Just a complicated life, Nick. Two men to manage, and you’ve got to keep them apart. I’m a bit old-fashioned like that.’
I gave Jan my number once she had worked out how to access her contacts file. ‘This is my personal phone. I don’t really like keeping anything on it. Not even texts or anything. You never know who might sneak a look while you’re busy making yourself beautiful. That wanker BB would have been straight in there. He’d probably send texts from it to all his mates, to tell them what he was up to. If he had any mates.’ She gave me hers. An O2 number. I tapped it in.
‘Whenever you’re in town, Nick …’ She gave me a hug, phone still gripped in her hand. Then she switched it off. ‘I hate these things.’
We parted with a quick kiss on the cheek. Her soapie mates were now getting chatted up by another group of guys with well-clipped hair and Friday-night shirts. She selected the one with a very tight blue-striped short-sleeved number, and was soon in the swing of things. Banter wasn’t necessarily his strong suit, but he was keen to give her the full benefit of his tribal tats. He flexed his biceps by gripping his Bud bottle like it was the last one on earth.
10
I WORKED MY way out of the bar and turned right along Widemarsh Street towards the Green Dragon.
Ant was the taller of my new pair of comedians, but seemed to think lighting a cigarette in the doorway of Marks & Sparks would make him invisible. He was still in his favourite overcoat. I didn’t bother looking for Dec