in it either. He was a prize idiot (his term), and she was worth way too much to him.
She ate the pasty on the second bus and made the club just on time, where inside the bar, Joey, Mo and Nico were sitting around one of the tables chatting, and thankfully drinking coffee rather than alcohol. The mood seemed light, which was a relief – they all greeted her amiably enough – but she still took a deep breath before walking over to join them.
‘Afternoon,’ she said cheerfully as she pulled a chair across from an adjacent table. ‘Did you decide to do all the bookkeeping for me?’
Mo slid the pile of green-backed books towards her. ‘Not at all,’ he said, smiling. ‘Just been looking at some totals. Don’t worry – we’ve left the donkey work for you.’
She pulled them towards her. The bookkeeping didn’t feel like donkey work to Paula. She’d felt proud to be entrusted with it, not least because of the trust – she was now privy to the amount of money the club was making, which was pretty impressive. She enjoyed the work for its own sake as well. Numbers had always been her strong point, and she derived great satisfaction from poring over all the receipts, wages and till rolls and transferring the information into neat, unblemished columns in the gold embossed Sage accounts books. She did a professional job, and she knew that was important. Mo had told her more than once that her accounts needed to be 100 per cent accurate, as they were going to be looked at by the taxman and their accountant.
She reached for the other paperwork and the plastic packets that held all the invoices. ‘Business is good, then?’ she asked, scooping all the various bits up. In truth, though the figures all seemed very impressive, she still didn’t have a full picture of just what it might cost to run a huge place like Silks. The size of the figures were, for the most part, pretty mind-boggling.
‘Oh, indeed,’ Nico agreed, winking at Mo as he spoke. ‘Very good.’
A few papers fluttered to the floor as she tried to make a pile of them. ‘Well, in that case, maybe I can put in a requisition for a desk,’ she said, wondering quite when the elephant in the room was going to come up.
‘We can do better than that,’ Nico said. ‘As of next week you shall even have an office. Billy’s working on fitting it out as we speak. On which note –’ He stood. ‘I need to speak to my wife. She is a very expensive woman, and I need to indulge her, so she’ll be very pleased to know just how good.’
‘Even without the strippers,’ Mo said, once Nico was safely out of earshot.
‘Mo, look,’ Paula began, but he held a hand up to silence her.
‘There’s no need to worry your pretty little head about that further.’ He glanced at Joey. ‘Assuming I’m allowed to use a phrase like that?’
‘For God’s sake, of course you are,’ Paula began. ‘Mo, it’s just that –’
‘It’s fine, babe,’ Joey told her. ‘Me and Mo have had a chat about everything, and –’
‘And the subject is now closed,’ Mo said firmly. ‘Well, at least for the moment. It was just one of many ideas we’ve been throwing around. But as we’re doing so well already – well, we don’t even really need it, do we? And the last thing I want to do is cause trouble between the two of you, for the sake of a few grand, so, as I say, consider it forgotten.’
‘Really?’ said Paula. Could it really be that easy? Joey obviously had more influence over Mo than he’d thought. More than she’d thought. While Joey and Mo knuckled down to sorting out the stocktaking and the following week’s brewery order, she took her bookkeeping to another table feeling much lighter of heart, even if somewhat bemused.
Paula’s buoyant mood wasn’t destined to last, though. The bookkeeping done, and after a much more fond farewell to Joey (who was off to see his friend Dicky for a lads’ night in), she headed home with a quieter evening in prospect. Susie had invited her over, so she could hear the outcome, but Paula had declined. After last night, her needs were of a less sociable variety – tea, a long hot bath and a welcome early night. But as soon as she entered the house, she knew it probably wasn’t going to happen. She could see that straight away, by the expression on her mother’s face – not to mention the way her arms were folded across her chest and the fact that she was tapping one slippered foot. If Paula had had a hangover, her mother would almost certainly have had a worse one.
‘So you’re finally home then,’ her mam said. ‘I need a word with you, young lady.’
‘What d’you mean “finally”?’ she countered, irritably noting the ‘young lady’. ‘I’ve been at work all day, haven’t I? And I’m knackered. Can’t it wait?’
‘No, it can’t,’ her mam said. ‘And come into the kitchen please, where your brothers can’t hear us. They’re trouble enough, and I don’t want them knowing their big sister still doesn’t have the sense she was born with.’
Paula gaped at her mam. Where had all this come from? Then at her father, who was sitting on the sofa, pretending to read the paper. Seeing it, she wondered if the write-up on Silks was finally in, plus the much-anticipated photo, having been ‘spiked’ or so they’d told them, due to a factory fire. Was that what this was about? The bloody photo? But what could she possibly have to object to about that? She felt glad she’d had the good sense not to mention the stripper idea the night before.
She followed her mam into the kitchen. She wanted a cup of tea anyway. ‘What are you on about?’ she said as her mam shut the door. ‘Christ, I’m a grown woman, you know – not a child.’
‘Then it’s high time you started acting like one then, isn’t it?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t play the innocent, Paula. God, I can’t believe you’re so taken up with that cunt of a bloke that you can’t see beyond the end of your fucking nose.’
Paula gaped again, bewildered. What the hell was all this about? Joey? No, it couldn’t be. ‘Mo?’ she said. ‘You mean Mo, I presume?’
‘Who the fuck else would I mean? Of course Mo. Or Rasta Mo, to use his full name, formerly of this fucking parish.’
‘It’s Macario Brown, actually,’ she corrected. What was her mam on? ‘And what exactly is it that I’m supposed to be seeing anyway?’
‘Don’t take that tone with me,’ her mother said. ‘And take that look off your face, too. If you don’t know what you’re getting into, then you’re even stupider than you look.’
‘What then, Mam?’ she said, sitting down on the battered stool her mam usually sat on to peel veg straight into the rubbish bin. ‘Thanks for the compliment, but what exactly am I “getting into”?’
‘You tell me.’ Her mam folded her arms across her chest again.
‘Tell you what?’
‘Paula, are you seriously telling me you don’t know what goes on there?’
‘What does go on there?’
‘Trouble, that’s what. Criminal trouble. Pimps and drugs. And don’t look so surprised. Christ, even your little sister seems to know more about that bloody
