Two-Faced Read online

  CONTENTS

  Two-Faced

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Part Two

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Part Three

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by Mandasue Heller

  TWO-FACED

  Mandasue Heller

  www.hodder.co.uk

  First published in Great Britain in 2009 by Hodder & Stoughton

  An Hachette Livre UK Company

  Copyright © Mandasue Heller 2009

  The right of Mandasue Heller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

  Epub ISBN 978 1 848 94855 6

  Book ISBN 978 0 34095 415 7

  Hodder & Stoughton Ltd

  An Hachette Livre UK Company

  338 Euston Road

  London NWl 3BH

  www.hodder.co.uk

  To my beautiful mum, Jean Heller – for everything you have been and still are to me.

  Acknowledgements

  As always, much love to my partner Wingrove Ward; and my children, Michael, Andrew, Azzura (& Michael), Marissa, Lariah, & bump; Ava, Amber, Martin, Jade, Reece & Kyro; Auntie Doreen, Pete, Lorna & Cliff, Chris & Glen; Mavis & Joseph, Val, Jascinth, Donna, Nats, Dan, Toni, & children – and the rest of our extended families, both here and in the USA.

  Thanks to my editor, Carolyn Caughey, and everyone at Hodder; Nick Austin; and my agents, Cat Ledger, and Guy Rose.

  Hi to Norman; Betty & Ronnie; Wayne; Martina – and the rest of our good friends everywhere.

  Cheers to John Heaton, and Boss Model Management for the technical advice.

  RIP Manchester legend Johnny Roadhouse.

  Hello and thank you to all the readers and staff we met – and who made us so welcome – at the various venues we visited as part of the publicity events.

  And, lastly, Hi to our Dakota band-mates (feel free to check us out at MySpace: Dakota ft Mandasue Heller)

  Kim Delaney was alone when her waters broke. Alone in the sense that the baby’s father wasn’t there to bear the pain with her. But then he’d disappeared pretty much as soon as she’d told him she was pregnant, so it was no big loss. And there were plenty of onlookers to keep her company, it being a Monday and the favoured day for all the harassed mothers in the area to do their weekly Netto run.

  Kim was on the last aisle when it happened, and had just spotted an empty till up ahead. Her basket was only a fraction as full as the trolleys being pushed around by the rest of the women who were dashing about grabbing bargains, but she was a month early so she hadn’t expected to be stocking up on nappies and baby milk just yet. Quickening her pace, determined not to let anyone get to the till before her, she’d just reached down for a tin of deodorant off the bottom shelf when the hot liquid gushed out from between her fat thighs. Jerking upright, she crossed her legs to stem the flow. But there was no stopping nature.

  Peering at the puddle around her feet, she cursed under her breath. She should have known something was wrong when she’d woken up with backache that morning. But she’d thought it was constipation, so she’d glugged some syrup of figs and downed a couple of paracetamol, then set off to do her shopping, thinking she had plenty of time to get everything done before the laxatives took effect.

  She gasped when the first contraction seized her belly in its iron grip and fell against one of the open-topped freezer cabinets, her face just inches from the frozen chips and peas.

  Just as the pain began to subside, a small boy wandered around the corner. Eyes almost popping out of his head when he saw the mess at her feet, he yelled, ‘Maaaam . . . the lady’s pissed herself!’

  Kim tried to distance herself from the shameful pool that was spreading out across the tiled floor, but the second contraction slammed home before she’d taken two steps, and she sank to her knees.

  The nosy boy’s mother came hurtling around the corner just then. Skidding to a halt when she realised what was happening, she wrenched her son out of the way and shouted, ‘Someone call an ambulance! There’s a girl having a baby round here!’

  That was all it took to fetch everyone and their mothers around into the last aisle, some dragging their loaded trolleys with them as they battled to get a better viewing position, others completely abandoning theirs.

  Squatting now and panting like an animal as the pain tore through her, Kim squeezed her eyes tight shut, wishing that the gawpers would all just go away and give her a bit of privacy.

  ‘Ambulance is on its way,’ the store manager trilled, his voice squeaky with panic despite his desperate attempt to sound authoritative and calm. He clicked his fingers at one of his staff. ‘You, fetch a mop before someone slips on . . .’ Trailing off, his cheeks flared as he searched for words to describe the disgusting mess on the floor. ‘The, um, the wetness,’ he managed at last. Then, flapping his hands at the crowd, ‘And can we all back off and give her some room, please?’

  ‘She don’t need room,’ a gruff voice informed him knowingly. ‘She needs a good big slug of gin, so bugger off ordering folk about and fetch a bottle. And get me some whisky while you’re at it,’ the speaker added, giving him a dig in his skinny ribs with her fat old cat-piss-stinking elbow.

  ‘You tell him, Queenie!’ one of the women in the crowd chuckled. ‘But never mind whisky, shouldn’t we be cracking champagne for a new babby?’

  ‘Oh, now, I don’t think we should be encouraging her to drink alcohol,’ an elderly lady piped up disapprovingly. ‘She doesn’t look old enough.’

  ‘Behave!’ Queenie scoffed. ‘She was old enough to open her legs, so she’s old enough for a slug of the hard stuff.’

  ‘For God’s sake, will you all just get lost!’ Kim grunted, her face turning an unnatural shade of puce as the pain intensified. She had an awful feeling that the laxatives were about to kick in, and the last thing she needed was to do a number two in front of this lot. It was bad enough that they’d already seen her piss herself – or as good as.

  ‘Calm down, love,’ a woman said soothingly. ‘It’ll all be over soon.’ Squatting down beside Kim, she reached for her hand. ‘There you go. You just squeeze on that if
it helps.’

  Kim was about to tell her to go to hell, but the next wave of pain washed over her like a tidal wave.

  ‘OOOWWW!’ the woman yelped, struggling to wrench her hand free as Kim squeezed it with all her might. ‘Let go, you stupid cow! You’re breaking my fingers!’

  An ambulance pulled up outside. Ambling into the store as if they had all the time in the world, one of the male attendants proceeded to push the crowd back while the other went over to Kim.

  ‘All right, sweetheart, cavalry’s here,’ he quipped, taking a quick feel of her stomach. ‘What’s your name?’

  She opened her mouth to answer, but all that came out was a low, guttural moan of agony.

  ‘I don’t know her name,’ someone in the crowd offered. ‘But she lives near me on Claremont Road, if that’s any help.’

  ‘It’s Kim,’ she growled, twisting her head to see which of her neighbours was witnessing her humiliation. Then, feeling a cold draught on her thighs as the ambulance man tried to yank her legs apart, she clamped her knees together and shoved her skirt back down to cover her soiled knickers. ‘Not here! Take me to hospital.’

  ‘Doubt we’ll have time for that,’ he told her, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. ‘I reckon this little one’s well on its way.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be,’ she groaned, her teeth clenched like a vice as a fresh contraction flared. ‘I’ve got a month to go yet.’

  ‘And you haven’t had any pains before this? No signs that it might be coming early?’

  ‘No! I mean, yes, this morning . . . bit of backache.’ Remembering again about the laxatives, Kim clutched at his hand. ‘Please, you’ve got to get me out of here. You don’t understa— aaagghhh!’

  Blood spurted out, soaking right through Kim’s skirt and spreading out on the floor beneath her.

  ‘Sorry, lovey, but you’re going to have to let me take a look,’ the ambulance man said, forcing her rigid knees apart. Pulling a pair of scissors from his breast pocket, he snipped straight through the seams of her knickers.

  Kim wanted to shrivel up and die, but the pain outweighed the embarrassment, and she squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath when she felt an overwhelming urge to push.

  Barking at her to stop it, the ambulance man waved his mate over. ‘Head’s engaged, but I don’t think she’s fully dilated yet.’

  His worried tone alerted the watching crowd to drama, causing them to crane their necks to see what was happening between Kim’s legs.

  ‘I’ll put a call out,’ the second man said, heading for the door. ‘See if there’s a doctor nearby.’

  ‘Monday’s child, fair of face,’ Queenie intoned, lounging against the freezer cabinet and munching toothlessly on a chocolate biscuit she’d just liberated from a packet on the shelf behind her. ‘Least it’s not gonna take after its mum, eh, Kim.’

  ‘Don’t be tight,’ someone scolded, with a snigger.

  But Kim was beyond caring. This was her first baby, and the pain was worse than anything she’d ever experienced before in her life. And it wasn’t just confined to her privates, which felt as if they were being ripped to shreds from the inside out; it was everywhere.

  ‘It’s moving,’ someone yelped disgustedly as the slippery, blood-soaked head began to slide out. ‘Oh my God, that is revolting!’

  Just as the baby’s shoulders began to slither into view, a doctor from the local surgery rushed in, along with a midwife who had been in the clinic at the time the call had been put out for assistance. Pushing the ambulance crew aside, she took control.

  ‘It’s a girl!’ she announced seconds later, bringing cries of ‘Aaahhh!’ from the crowd as she helped the squirming newborn into the light and gave it a quick look-over.

  Kim’s pain had momentarily eased, but when it started up again, even more intense than before, she screamed.

  ‘It’s only the placenta,’ the midwife informed her matter-of-factly – scaring the hell out of her, because she hadn’t been to any of her antenatal classes and hadn’t known that you gave birth to that as well.

  ‘I don’t think it is,’ the ambulance man murmured, gesturing with a nod towards Kim’s vagina. ‘It looks like another one to me.’

  Another gasp from the crowd – another excuse to stare at Kim’s gaping hole. And there, amidst the blood and gore, was the unmistakable fluff of a second head of hair.

  ‘Ooh, twins.’ Queenie sucked an ominous breath in through her gums. ‘You’ll have double trouble now, eh, Kim?’

  Kim wanted to tell her to shut the hell up, and to stop calling her by her name as if she knew her when she didn’t. And she wanted to tell the ambulance man he’d made a mistake; that there couldn’t possibly be two babies. But the words wouldn’t come. Then, mercifully, the gawping faces began to dissolve as darkness descended.

  Feeling herself drifting away, she caught snatches of words floating to her through the fog.

  Haemorrhage . . .

  Emergency . . .

  State of all that blood . . .

  Dead for sure . . .

  But the screaming voice coming from inside her own head drowned them all out.

  It couldn’t be twins – it just couldn’t! She wasn’t even ready for one, so how the hell was she going to manage two?

  PART ONE

  1

  ‘I need a fiver,’ Mia said, hurtling through the living-room door and clicking her fingers expectantly.

  ‘Yeah, and I need a rich man,’ Kim replied, squinting at herself in the mirror through the smoke curling up from the cigarette clamped between her teeth. ‘But I ain’t getting one.’

  ‘Mum, please.’ Mia flapped her hands in exasperation. ‘Me and Laura are going to the youthy; I need it.’

  ‘It only costs fifty pence,’ Kim reminded her, frowning at a fresh batch of grey hairs. Twirling one around her finger, she yanked it out – although she didn’t know why she bothered, because it would only come back tomorrow with friends in tow.

  ‘I can’t go with fifty pence,’ Mia scowled. ‘Everyone will think I’m a right pauper. What about drinks?’

  ‘I haven’t got it,’ Kim told her, reaching for her lipstick. ‘Not enough to give you both a fiver, anyhow.’

  ‘Who said anything about her?’ Mia flicked a dismissive glance at her sister, Michelle, who was curled up on the chair by the window, reading. ‘She’s not even going.’

  ‘If you are, so’s she,’ Kim informed her, stubbing her cigarette out and picking up the hairbrush. ‘I’m off to bingo.’

  ‘Aw, mum. I don’t want her to come. No one even likes her.’

  ‘Tough. She’s not stopping in by herself – not with that peeping Tom still hanging about.’

  ‘Like anyone’s going to perv over a minger like her.’

  ‘Do I have to go?’ Michelle chipped in quietly, wishing they’d stop talking about her as if she wasn’t even there.

  ‘For God’s sake!’ Kim barked, slamming the brush down on the ledge. ‘You’re either both going, or you can both stop in – and that’s that!’

  Muttering a curse under her breath, Mia stomped out of the room.

  ‘You’d better not have said what I think you just said, lady!’ Kim bellowed after her, the threat in her voice diluted by the fact that she made no move to follow.

  Tutting when a door slammed above, she lit another cigarette and glared at Michelle. ‘Why are you still here?’

  Reluctantly closing her book, Michelle made one last plea to be allowed to stay at home. Kim’s reply was a warning stare; the kind that said if you don’t get your arse out of here right this minute . . .

  Heeding it, Michelle ran upstairs.

  The house was a small run-down end-of-terrace in one of the few remaining streets in Moss Side which hadn’t yet been earmarked for renovation. There were two bedrooms, one marginally larger than the other, but Kim had claimed that one for herself, so the girls had to share the remaining shoebox. And the older they got, the harder it became to man
age the tiny space – although it wasn’t from lack of trying on Michelle’s part. She was constantly cleaning up after Mia, who was the complete opposite, and scattered her things around as if Michelle had no right to expect a share of the wardrobe, the drawers, or even the floor.

  Coming into the room now and seeing Mia’s clothes strewn about, and wads of dirty cotton-wool balls and unlidded tubes of make-up littering the dressing table, Michelle sighed.

  ‘That better not have been aimed at me,’ Mia warned, her eyes flashing spitefully in the mirror as she applied another coat of mascara.

  Michelle knew that her sister was just looking for an excuse to start a fight so she kept her mouth shut and reached into the wardrobe for a cardigan.

  Watching as she pulled the misshapen woolly on over the equally baggy jumper she was already wearing, Mia said, ‘Er, I don’t think so! You’re not coming out in public dressed like that with me.’

  ‘It’s cold,’ Michelle murmured, and climbed up onto her bunk, hoping to snatch a few more minutes of reading time before their mum turfed them out.

  ‘I don’t give a shit,’ Mia retorted icily. ‘Get changed, or you’re dead.’

  Ignoring her, Michelle propped her head on her hand and flipped the book open. But she hadn’t read a word before Mia leapt up and set about her, tugging at her hair with one hand and punching her with the other.

  ‘Why do you always have to go everywhere I go? You’re like a smelly fucking dog I can’t get rid of!’

  ‘It’s not my fault mum won’t let me stay in,’ Michelle protested. ‘I don’t even want to go.’

  ‘She’d have let you stay if you weren’t such a little mardy arse!’

  ‘Stop it!’ Michelle cried, her cheek stinging from a sharp slap.

  ‘Or what? You’ll burst into tears and get me wet?’

  ‘I’ll tell mum!’

  ‘And what’s she gonna do? She hates you as much as I do, you stupid bitch. Everyone does, or haven’t you figured that out yet?’

  Struggling to contain the tears, Michelle squeezed her eyes shut. There was no point arguing when Mia was in this kind of mood; she’d only get nastier.