When Bobby Chevron got back to his flat in Knightsbridge after doing a deal on the fashion shop with Coleman, Maureen had said, ‘Was Shirley lording it up, then?’

‘What d’ya mean?’

‘Well – her and Coleman. They’re seeing each other ain’t they?’

Bobby was pissed off that Coleman hadn’t mentioned it to him. Especially after what Bobby said about wanting a go at her. Although, if he was seeing her, it might have been awkward to mention it.

❊

A week later, Bobby walked into his villa in Marbella and found Shirley sitting in one of the white leather sofas in his sunken lounge.

Maureen was beside her, with one of those grim smiles on her face she used when she didn’t like someone. She was a bad liar, Maureen. That was why he stayed married to her.

‘Maureen invited me over on a holiday any time – so here I am!’ Shirley snapped brightly. Shirley was a good liar. Butter wouldn’t melt. That was why he fancied the pants off her.

Maureen smiled and said, ‘You’re very welcome, Shirley.’ And she made them all a drink.

Chevron told Coleman to offer Shirley protection after her divorce from Devers, hoping she would never need it. This unexpected visit was nothing to do with that, he could tell. The cool way she was looking at him suggested that perhaps Devers was the one who needed protecting.

‘I want that slag out of my house before I get back from the hairdressers,’ Maureen spat at Chevron when Shirley left to powder her nose. ‘This is family time. No business for the next three weeks. You promised.’

‘Another drink, Shirley?’ Maureen asked when she came back in.

‘Thank you, Maureen,’ Shirley said, all smiles.

While his wife was at the drinks cabinet with her back to them, Shirley leaned across and pressed a small, soft package into Chevron’s hand.

Puzzled, he looked down and saw it was her panties. He barely got them into his pocket, managing to smile up at Maureen, benignly, as she passed him a drink.

Maureen knew Bobby and, usually, she could smell the interest of other women, but Shirley was as cool as water, admiring the furniture and complimenting Maureen on her good taste. By the time she had left, Maureen was almost regretting her suspicions.

‘Why are you here?’ Chevron said when his wife had gone.

‘Why do you think I’m here?’ she cooed, uncrossing her legs.

The sex was fantastic.

The next day, Chevron put Shirley into an apartment he owned in a neighbouring complex. He told Maureen he was going on a fishing trip in Torremolinos with the boys.

They barely got out of bed for five days.

Bobby was beginning to think he might be in love. He was certainly in trouble.

Shirley stood up after giving him the blowjob of his life. Bobby watched her walk across the room, naked, except for a pair of frilly, pink panties. Her breasts were firm and heavy; he could almost feel them pressing onto his face again. Her bouffant was dishevelled, sliding out of its pinned scaffolding in bleached mermaid tails.

Bobby Chevron turned on his side and reached for the cigar which he had left balancing on the marble locker beside the bed. Sometimes he liked to smoke at the same time but Shirley was too good for that. She had a way of keeping him on edge and it didn’t do to get the ‘big surprise’ if you were holding a lit cigar. Bobby once set fire to a bird’s hair. He managed to put it out by spraying her with soda water from the bar, and they both laughed about it afterwards. (Well, he had.) But Shirley wasn’t the type who would laugh off a burning bouffant.

‘It’s gone out,’ his voice was whinging, expectant. ‘Pass me my lighter, Shirl, it’s in my jacket pocket, hanging behind the door, there’s a good girl.’

Looking back at him through narrowed eyes, Shirley moistened her lips with her tongue, then slowly slid her long manicured nail into his suit jacket. Chevron could feel himself getting hard again as she rooted about in his pocket, then lifted the solid gold lighter up to her shoulder and threw it straight at his head. ‘Shit!’ Chevron shouted and, in one swift move, barely dodged the lump of metal as it embedded itself deep into the pillow beside him.

‘Fucking hell, Shirl. You could’ve killed me!’

She shrugged. ‘Well, I didn’t, did I?’

Her body tensed as she studied his face, eyeballing him coldly so he wouldn’t read her shaking hands.

Shirley had thrown the lighter at Chevron so he would see she wasn’t afraid of him, but she was afraid of him. Any woman would be a fool not to be. Short and solid with a flat head and a thick head of wavy hair tortured into a neat side parting, Chevron was physically unimpressive. However, every pore of him exuded the kind of casual violence that was immediately apparent to a woman like Shirley who had grown up around violent men. Charm and smiles, drawing you in, making you believe you were the woman who could change everything, the one who would make them soft and safe. They want to believe it themselves, but one joke, one wrong word, a look across the room at another man and – BAM – you never saw it coming. Her father had been like that. As Shirley got older, she thought her mother a weak fool. Then she married Handsome and got a taste of it. She knew from watching her mother that crying and pleading made men like that worse. So, when Handsome knocked her down, she stood up, wiped the blood from the side of her mouth and carried on like nothing had happened. But, when the bruises came out she never covered them up. She let him read his shame across the breakfast table and met his snivelling apology with cold indifference. These men always said they would never hit a woman. But they did. They also said they would never betray a friend. But they did that too. When they didn’t lie directly in their words, they lied in their actions. Shirley wore Handsome’s bruises like a badge, and they won her the sympathy of the only decent man she knew, Coleman. Coleman comforted her and offered her protection in the club, and when their friendship led to bed, Shirley believed they were together. Then, after only a few weeks, he started to make excuses. He said it was because they were working together and he wanted to preserve their friendship.

It turned out that was a lie too. Over the past six months she watched him fall for the Irish girl. He tried to hide it but Shirley knew what it was like to love somebody and not have them love you back, and that’s the way he was with Lara. Shirley was convinced he must be sleeping with her on the sly. Otherwise why would he have first made her a hostess, and now buy her a boutique? He was a liar. A man doesn’t do all that for a woman for nothing.

Men like Coleman, Chevron and Handsome lied and lied and lied to get what they wanted.

So Shirley decided to lie too. Skimming a few quid off the bar was her way of having one over on them all. The extra money was nice, but it was never the point.

Rage flashed across Bobby’s eyes and she thought he was going to snap, but then he smiled and shook his head, as if dealing with a bold child, before flicking the lighter open and puffing his stogie to life.

If she wanted to get my attention, he thought, she’s got it.

‘So tell me why you’re really here, Shirley?’

‘I told you, Bobby, I just fancied a few days away and…’

‘Cut the crap girl. What happened to Coleman? I’m not shitting on my boy’s territory am I?’

It’s a bit late now if you are, thought Shirley.

‘No,’ she said, looking up coyly. ‘Me and Coleman are over. Well – we never took off.’

Something in her voice, something uncharacteristically sweet made him curious.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…’ her eyes flickered up at him. For a second he thought he smelt fear, then it was gone.

‘Coleman just didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was.’ Shirley looked down quickly. Bobby saw she didn’t want to diss Coleman in front of him. That was fair enough.

‘You know what they say about love and war, darling.’ He didn’t like talking about Coleman in this context. Knowing he’d been with her. It didn’t feel right. It was like sleeping with family or something.

‘It wasn’t that.’ Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if he wasn’t intended to hear it. Then she started fussing about finding her cigarettes on the floor and looking for a lighter. She was trying to put him off. The bird was hiding something. Chevron didn’t like being lied to. And he didn’t like birds playing games with his head.

‘Wasn’t what?’

She pretended she hadn’t heard him.

‘Why did you break off with Coleman? What happened?’

Just saying his name out loud reminded Chevron that Coleman was like a son to him. Here he was doing the dirty with some slag who, for all Bobby knew, Coleman might be in love with. It wasn’t right.

He puffed heavily on his cigar, letting a huge plume out of the side of his mouth and nearly choking himself. Sitting up, he threw his legs over the side of the bed, reached down for his trousers and asked her again.

‘What happened, Shirley? Did he break it off?’ Then in his gentle voice, cunningly added, ‘Did he hurt you?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘He didn’t hurt me.’ But that wasn’t the end of it. She seemed to think about continuing but then said, ‘It don’t matter.’

Bobby started to get impatient. Her voice was quiet and vulnerable; not like Shirley. Was she playing him? Or was she scared? What Shirley didn’t realise was that everything Coleman did mattered to Chevron. He ran his business for him. He had taken him on as a kid, so in a way he was like a son. He had carried his mother’s coffin. But mostly, Coleman was Chevron’s representative. If something was going down with Coleman, it was Chevron’s business. Who he slept with, what car he drove, what Coleman fucking ate was Bobby’s business if he chose to make it so. He owned Coleman. He owned this bitch too – even if she didn’t seem to know it. Yet.

‘Oh go on,’ Bobby said, then in a mock posh voice, ‘do tell.’

He was turning nasty. She could hear it now. She just had to hold her nerve.

‘It’s none of my business,’ she said pulling on her cigarette, trying to hold tough.

‘Everything is my business,’ Chevron said, clicking on his Rolex watch, not looking at her. Throwing a lighter at his fucking head. She could have killed him!

‘I’m no snitch,’ she said. That was the trigger.

He reached across from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed, grabbed Shirley’s ankle, then stood up, jerking her body down so that it fell to the ground like a thrown doll. She heard a loud thud as her head hit the floor. It was carpeted. She’d been hit harder. It was a warning.

She gathered herself up, but he pushed her back.

‘What do you mean?’ he roared at her.

‘Your fucking precious Coleman,’ she shouted back, trying to keep the shake out of her voice, ‘is scamming you!’

He was astride her now, his fat thighs sandwiching her torso, trapping her hands by her side. She could feel the weight of his muscular body bearing down on her through his groin. He could accidentally crush her to death by simply sitting on her organs if he was careless about such things. But Chevron wasn’t careless when it came to hurting people. He knew exactly what he was doing.

‘What are you fucking talking about?’

A gob of furious spittle hit her face. His right fist was pulled back. Shirley kept her face forward and held his raging, red eyes. If she turned her face and the punch landed on her cheek, her face was spoiled forever. If he hit her nose, she could get it fixed. Either way, it would hurt like hell. But, Shirley reminded herself, you don’t mess with men like this and expect it to be easy. If you can’t take a punch, get out of the ring.

‘He’s siphoning off booze from the bar and selling it back to the suppliers!’

‘You’re LYING!’

Bobby drew his hand back higher and she could feel his weight bearing down on her chest. Her breast was pushed painfully up under her chin and she strained to breathe as he pressed his knee hard into her abdomen. With every bit of strength she could find in her lungs she screamed at him.

‘GO ON – HIT ME THEN!’

Then Shirley surprised herself by starting to cry. Not the pitiful, please don’t hurt me cries that sent men like Bobby into a blind rage. These were tears of frustration.

‘I swear, Bobby, I’m telling you the truth. Why would I lie? I didn’t even want to tell you.’

That was true. Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe. He lowered his fist but kept her locked to the floor with his legs.

‘Why would my boy cheat me in such a stupid way? Why would he want to cheat me?’

‘How the hell would I know that?’ she said. ‘I just know he is, that’s all.’

She felt the weight of Bobby’s body loosen.

‘How?’

‘If you get your fat arse off me and give me a cigarette I can tell you.’

Bobby stood up, ending the assault with the casual ease of a man turning away from his wife in bed.

She told him the details of her and Brian’s scam, replacing her part with Coleman’s. It was true what they said about lying: stay as close to the truth as you can.

‘Why would he want the money?’ Bobby said. ‘I pay him well, don’t I?’

‘His girlfriend’s shop,’ she said.

Was there a note of bitterness in her voice? Was that what this was all about? Bobby shrugged it off. Nah. No woman would risk his ire for some petty jealousy.

‘I paid for that,’ Bobby said.

Shirley shrugged. She hadn’t known that. A slither of regret slid through her, then was gone.

‘Well whatever it cost, he’s pumping everything out of the club into it too.’

She could still be lying but Bobby didn’t care so much any more.

Everyone lied. He had taken all he needed from her now, and a bit extra with that information. He’d take some time on his own now to think about what to do next. Because, something would have to be done. He didn’t like it, but these things could not be let lie.

As for Shirley? Sure, she’d done him a favour, but no matter how hard the facts were, a snitch was still a snitch.

Nonetheless, they ate a pizza, then Bobby initiated sex and Shirley went along with it.

He asked, out of politeness, how much longer she was staying and she lied and said her flight home left that evening. Bobby knew she was lying but seemed relieved anyway.

After sex, Shirley quickly rearranged her bouffant, then picked up her handbag at the door. As she turned to say goodbye Bobby was standing by the bed, and she thought she caught a look of sadness cross his face. That ‘hard man broken’ thing. For a moment she thought she should walk across to him and tenderly kiss him goodbye.

Then he looked at her coldly, his vole-like eyes nonetheless pleading as he said, ‘No harm done – eh doll?’

The good gangster code: I’d never hit a woman.

‘That’s right,’ Shirley answered. I protect your reputation and you protect my life. She smiled as convincingly as she could then closed the door softly behind her.

❊

Two days later, Maureen was rifling through a copy of the Daily Mail. Her sister posted them over to her in Spain every few days.

‘Look at this,’ she said to Chevron, who was lying mooning on the sofa. ‘You didn’t tell me Coleman’s opened a boutique!’

‘He never. I bought it,’ Bobby said, sitting up.

‘Well, it says here… dashing Coleman, at the opening of his new business venture – a boutique on the Kings Road. Big picture of him with some posh bird. He looks very—’

‘Show me that.’

‘Very good indeed. Hmmm.’

He snatched it from Maureen’s reluctant hands.

‘You’re disgusting – you know that? You stupid birds you’re all the same,’ he said. ‘Go and get me some lunch, woman.’

Maureen laughed. Bobby was so easy to wind up when it came to good-looking men. All the power in the world couldn’t buy you a Coleman face.

When she left the room, Bobby made a phone call to London.

‘Coleman’s getting too big for his daisies,’ he said to the person on the other end. ‘I need someone reliable to sort him out.’

‘He don’t fright easy, boss.’

‘Let’s hope it don’t come to that. Just keep a quiet eye and let me know if he goes off road.’

Then he called out to Maureen for his lunch. Although, in truth, Bobby felt like he had lost his appetite.